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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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A FRESH START [22]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: panic attack, trauma reaction, mentions of injuries, nonsexual nudity

Word Count: 5,935

Updates every Thursday

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i was forced to shorten the taglist for the sake of my sanity. tumblr won't let me post with more than certain number. I think that's why I've had the hardest time with this shit. I made it a first come, first served so if your username got dropped I am so so so sorry but that's why.]

#22: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

"i find my place in between your arms, in between your tender kisses and soft whispers of 'it will be alright', in between the warmth of your embrace, and the scent of your neck, and the fierceness of your touch, i find my place lost inside your soul." -Hearts and Empires

Din was immensely proud of your skills as a physician. However, if you didn’t get your ass out of the damn medic tent he was going to throw you over his shoulder and carry you home forcibly. More than anything, you needed rest. He wasn’t able to convince you to stop working and because the medical aid had yet to arrive no one else sided with him on these matters. Karga had the nerve to tell him to calm down. Din had nearly wrung the High Magistrate’s neck.

He watched as you flittered around the medical tent aiding those who were injured alongside Aayla. Grogu had refused to leave your side, and that didn’t seem to bother you at all. Right now, as if you weren’t exhausted and barely standing, you had a sling wrapped around your chest which held Grogu against your back. Din could see the little boy resting his head against your back while rubbing your shoulder with his small hand. The sight warmed his heart and Din would be tempted to snap a picture to save if it weren’t for the state of your being. Your scrubs were still stained with blood and you had yet to clean your own wounds. It was stressing Din out to watch you working so hard when you were still in the state you were in.

While turning to see someone else, Din noticed you wavering on your feet. That was enough. He pushed forward and pressed through the injured crowd straight to you. “Hey.” You turned to meet his gaze. “It’s time to go home. You’re barely able to stand.”

“I can’t⏤”

“Ner kar’ta.” Din said firmly.

You sighed. “Alright. Fine.” Your shoulders sagged. “I guess I am a little tired.” Din shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips. Your small smile turned sheepish and Din dreaded whatever it was you were going to say next. “I need to make sure Nima has cleared the tarmac though so the medical team can park.”

“What?”

“We need to get⏤”

Din reached his gloved hands out to cup your face. At the contact, the rest of your words fell away. He leaned forward and spoke firmly. “We’re going home. You need to rest. Somebody⏤ Anybody else can do the rest of the work here.” He let his thumb trace your cheekbone. Din wished he could feel your skin against his. “Have you managed all the emergency cases?”

“I mean, yeah, but⏤”

“Then it’s time to take care of yourself.” Din finished.

Your lips pressed together and gave him a small nod. Din let out a breath of relief. Without wasting another moment, Din slipped his hand into yours and began to drag you away before someone could distract you with a new job. Just having your hand in his was a comfort he couldn’t even begin to describe. During his travels, he imagined what his reunion with you would look like often. Never did he imagine karking pirates would be involved, but this feeling in his chest he had anticipated. He knew being back by your side would feel like coming home. In fact, he may have underestimated how strongly the reunion would make him feel⏤ which was quite the feat considering how badly he craved it.

Din stepped into the shared home and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“Frog. Frog.” Grogu chirped. He turned in time to see you untangling the boy from the sling to set on the ground. Grogu bounded further into the room probably to look for his stuffed toy.

Din focused back on you and his heart ached at the exhaustion painted on your face. Not wasting another moment, Din ripped off his gloves, tossing them aside, and reached out to cup your face. You let out a shuddering breath when his skin came in contact with his and Din felt that last tinge of stress leave his body. You were safe. It felt more real like this.

“Are you still allowed to take this off to kiss me?” You asked. Din couldn’t tell if your quiet voice came from a meekness or just the weariness of your last 24 hours.

“Yes.” Din chuckled. “We just need to be more careful.”

Technically speaking, it would be best if he didn’t take his helmet off anymore. Having you close your eyes was not the most ideal of plans. Accidents could happen, and more than anything it was just a loophole in his Creed. However, Din would give up vital organs before he gave up the gift and honor that was kissing you.

You closed your eyes and Din lifted one of his hands so he could lightly trace your bruised and dirty features. He hummed, “You’re injured and tired. We should take care of that first.”

“Literally nothing is more important to me right now than this.” You replied.

Din hardly needed further convincing. Removing his hands from your face had been painful⏤ even knowing that it was only for a moment so he could take his helmet off. Without the barrier between you and him, your injuries looked worse. The dark coloring of the bruising and the red of the blood was so much more prominent. Din could see bags under your eyes he hadn’t noticed before. With a quiet sigh, Din cupped your face once more.

“Ni ceta.” Din mumbled soft apologies. He leaned in to press his lips first against your left eyelid then your right. He continued to pepper soft kisses across your cheek until they found your lips. Din would be a liar if he said he hadn’t spent every single night while gone imagining what your lips would feel like on his return. And, just as with the reunion, his mental image did not do the moment justice. Din had pictured passion and heat, a battle between one another to devour the other first, but this kiss was not that.

This kiss was soft, tender, and patient.

Three things that Din never got to call his own, living a life of battle in armor of Beskar.

Your lower lip was slotted between both of his and as he gave it a gentle tug you released a shaky sigh. The sound struck him like a hot iron and Din couldn’t help but breathe you in. He pulled you closer so your body was flush with his, let the tip of his tongue trace the shape of your lip, as he deepened the kiss. Din allowed desperation to seep into his very touch. It couldn’t be helped. Din was desperate. He was desperate to feel your very alive heartbeat under his touch. He was desperate for the warmth you exuded. He was desperate to show you how thankful he was for your safety. He was desperate for you to know how proud he was of you. He was desperate for you to know how sorry he was for not being here.

Din was desperate, and it was all for you.

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta.” Din spoke directly against your lips. Nothing short of the Maker would tear him away from you. Your own hands lifted and when he felt your fingers rake against his scalp, tug on his hair, Din’s repeated apology fell out in a groan. Din dragged his lips along your jawline, taking the time to leave a kiss on every inch. Eventually, his lips found your neck and he left kisses over the darkened bruise there. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You replied in a hoarse whimper.

Din disagreed entirely. He should’ve been here. He never should have left your side. You flinched when his lips touched a spot more tender than the rest. It was barely noticeable. In fact, he wouldn’t have realized you flinched at all if it wasn’t for your body being pressed so tightly to his. It was enough to remind him that you still needed care and rest. Din pressed one last kiss against your lips⏤ innocent and loving. When he pulled back you let out a whine of complaints. Din reached down to grasp his helmet and pulled it back on.

He leaned forward to rest the beskar against your forehead and at the touch your eyes opened once more. More than anything, Din wanted to see the color of your eyes unhindered by his visor. Even with the helmet on he found your eyes mesmerizing but the visor always muted colors. It seemed fitting if he thought about it. Even with the loophole of taking his helmet off, with your eyes closed a part of you stayed hidden to him. Just as he was hidden to you.

“Let me take a look at your wounds.”

“No.” You said and Din furrowed his brow. As if reading his displeasure at the response, you shook your head and clarified. “I meant, not now. I want to take a shower first. I need to.”

Din found it hard to argue against that. You wouldn’t be able to fully relax until the day was washed from your skin. He nodded and walked you further into the house. He kept one hand on your lower back, and Din loved that you kept pace with him. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know where the bathroom was, but the action made it feel like you were just as desperate as he was to stay in the other’s presence.

Grogu waddled out of the hall, dragging his stuffed frog behind him, just as the two of them reached the mouth of the hallway. He held his hands up, chirping out a request to be held, and Din knelt down to scoop the boy up before you could. Grogu blew a raspberry at him. “No buir. Need Ma.”

“I know, ad’ika.” Din replied. “But Ma has to take a shower.”

Grogu grumbled in protest, but when you reached out to lovingly pet the boy’s head Grogu was marginally appeased. As you drifted to the bathroom, Din gathered a fresh towel for you and he also grabbed one of his shirts for you to change into. A decision made solely to relieve the itch in his brain that needed to see you safe in his bed wearing his clothes, but you accepted both items with a tired smile.

When the door shut and he heard the water kick on, Din blew out a breath of relief. He glanced down at Grogu who was still staring at the bathroom door. “It’s good to be home, isn’t it ad’ika?”

“Home with Ma.” Grogu nodded in agreement.

“Right.” Din chuckled. “We’re home with Ma.”

The hot water pelted your back and left your skin radiating heat. You had washed your hair, begun to wash your body, but midway through you dropped the bottle of soap. As you knelt down to pick it up, you suddenly had a flash of kneeling beside Wynn’s dead body. It sucked the air straight from your lungs and knocked you to your ass. Now you sat under the unrelenting stream of water with your legs curled up to your chest⏤ gasping in distress. Any air you did manage to fill your lungs with was uncomfortable and brought no relief. It felt like you were suffocating.

A choked sob left your lips as you buried your face in your arms as they rested atop your knees. No matter how much you tried to turn your tired mind off, it continued to ruminate on the decisions you made. If you hadn’t forced Wynn to leave, would she still be alive? She wanted to wait for help. You felt trapped in this memory. A loop of telling Wynn she needed to run followed by watching the life leave her eyes right in front of you. You could still feel the warmth of her hot blood while holding her wound⏤ still feel the snapping of her ribs during the course of your desperate CPR. All useless. You didn’t save her. You sent her to her death.

The sensation of having a towel thrown over your shoulders was startling. Your head snapped up to see Din knelt beside you. The shower head was off, Din’s gray pajama shirt plastered to his body on the side from water, and just behind him you could see the bathroom door hanging off it’s hinges.

“Ner kar’ta.” Din’s voice was rough. “Please talk to me.”

“Din?” You gasped. He had the large towel wrapped entirely around your body covering every inch of you. “What⏤ I don’t understand⏤”

“I heard something fall. I called out for you, over and over, but you didn’t respond.” Din replied. His voice took a sheepish tone. “I⏤I broke through the door.” He let his arms run over the towel covering your arms, giving them a squeeze. “Found you like this. Even when I turned the water off you still didn’t…”

It was the sight of your reflection in his visor and helmet that seemed to push you over your edge. Tears welled in your eyes and once the first ragged sob left your lips it was followed quickly by a string of others. Despite the fact that you were sitting on a tiled floor soaked with puddles, Din sat down right beside you and cautiously pulled you into his arms. You tucked yourself against his chest, and he fully enveloped you with his arms while resting his head on top of yours.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Din murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. Your sobs only interrupted by the sound of your lungs gasping for air. Din tightened his arms around you, a feat you didn’t know was possible, and you found comfort in his solid form. Din was here. Din made everything better. You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there, but eventually Din mumbled softly, “We need to get you dressed. You’ll be cold soon.” You didn’t tell him that you’d never feel cold in his hold. “Need to treat your wounds too.”

Din helped you stand. He cautiously led you out of the shower, arm around your torso, and he stopped you in front of the bathroom counter. “I’m going to get the first aid kit from the kitchen. Are you going to be alright?”

You nodded. Din paused, as if hesitant, before returning the nod and moving toward the door. He mumbled a curse under his breath, you could hear it, and then he grabbed the large chunks of the door that had broken off when he rammed it to set aside where nobody would trip over them. While he was out, you grabbed his shirt and tugged it on⏤ using the damp towel to try and pat dry the dripping ends of your hair. Din returned, his visor scanning your body, before he settled beside you again.

With a focused intensity, Din applied a bit of bacta to the wound at your hairline and then rubbed some of it into the bruise around your neck as well. In the midst of his work, you whispered, “Wynn is dead.” Din’s fingers paused in their motion, surprise reading in his frame, but he was quick to return his movements and stance back to baseline. “She’s dead and I didn’t tell anybody. I forgot to tell someone.” Tears returned to your eyes. “I just left her in the street, Din. I left her like she meant nothing.”

“Hey.” Din said firmly. “This was during the firefight, was it not?” You nodded in confirmation. “You had no choice, ner kar’ta. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I think it was.” Your words fell out a pained whisper.

Din’s hands lifted to cradle your face and you leaned into his touch. It felt like he wanted to say something, but he paused. Instead, Din tangled his hand with yours and pulled you out of the bathroom. He didn’t ask, didn’t even hesitate, to pull you into his room. The moment you entered you heard Grogu’s familiar snores and it was such a comforting sound to hear after weeks sleeping in silence that you nearly cried. Din pulled back the covers and helped you slide in.

Rather than follow you into bed, he took a step back and the look on your face must have been obvious enough that he reached out to caress your face. “I’m coming back. I need to change clothes.”

Your eyes focused on the large wet stains from where you had been curled up into him. Din crossed the room and your eyes widened and bit when he began to pull his shirt off. His movements were confident and it warmed your heart that he was comfortable enough with you to reveal himself like this. Your eyes trailed over the expanse of his muscular back⏤ admiring the rugged lines of his broad shoulders and the various scars that littered his skin. Din pulled a new shirt on and you expected him to come back. Instead, Din began to pull off his sweatpants. Slowly, you sat up, pulling the sheets closer to you, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trace the shape of his lower half. You were blatantly ogling this man in his boxer briefs as he tugged on a new pair of sweats. Before turning back around, you saw him pick up his vambrace, pressing a few buttons, before setting it down once more.

Din turned around, tying the strings at his waistband, and he chuckled. His voice came out as teasing and light hearted. Clearly trying to put you at ease. “Are you checking me out, ner kar’ta?”

“I missed you so much.” You replied. Too tired, physically and emotionally, to tease back the way that you wanted to. Instead, the truth tumbled out of your lips.

He came back around to the bed and slipped under the sheets. As Din’s arm wrapped around your waist, you let him pull you back into laying down. You shifted so your head rested on his chest and Din began to drag his knuckles up and down your spine. “I missed you too. Being away from you was unbearable for Grogu and I both.” Din hummed. “He tried to stay up for you, but passed out. Grogu didn’t sleep well last night. I think my anxiety kept him up.” Your hand was resting on his side⏤ fingers dragging up and down his ribs. You mumbled into his chest. Din’s hand, the one rubbing your back, trailed up to rake through your hair. “I want to talk.”

“About?” You mumbled.

“Ner kar’ta.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Din…”

“You don’t have to talk to me, you don’t have to tell me anything, but…” Din sighed, “I’d like to know. I want to help.” He massaged the back of your neck right where it met your skull and all your tension sat. A soft sigh left your body as you relaxed in his arms. “I sent Karga a message about Wynn. They’re going to find her. Put her to rest.” You buried your face down into his chest knowing your tears would dampen his new shirt all over again. “I just want to help.”

After a few moments of peaceful silence where you listened to Grogu’s snores and Din’s heartbeat, you turned so your face wasn’t pressed into his chest and you could speak. Hesitantly, you began to tell him what happened⏤ starting with the bombs that fell on Nevarro and ending with Paz leading you out of the burning city as you carried Elodie. The entire time Din didn’t speak. He’d mumble an acknowledgement or hum here and there, but he made no comment.

When you finished, Din finally spoke up, “Tell me why you said what you did. You said what happened to Wynn was your fault.”

“She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay hidden and wait for help.” You closed your eyes tightly as the memory of Wynn’s lifeless eyes assaulted you once more. “If I had listened to her she might be alive. Help did come. I⏤I should have been more patient.”

“Ner kar’ta, you made that decision based on the limited information you had. You didn’t know I was coming and bringing help. Where the three of you were hidden wasn’t safe. If one of the pirates did discover you, you’d be pinned down in a hole.” Din spoke with a firmness that left no room for argument. “In that moment, you made the best decision you could. You made the right decision.” He used the arm not around you to grasp your chin and tilt your head up so you were facing his visor. “Listen to me, ner kar’ta. That was not your fault. You did not take Wynn’s life, she gave it to save Elodie. Wynn is a hero. Don’t take that from her by shouldering needless blame.”

There was something about the way Din spoke that resonated with you. His words calmed the turmoil in your soul. Din could repeat the same sentiment that anyone else would speak, but when it came from his lips it soothed your wounds like a salve. He couldn’t heal everything, there was self reflection only you could puzzle through, but he was a hand to hold as you waded through the worst of it.

“Din…” You started. Before you finished your sentence, it occurred to you that the words you wanted to say were significant. You wanted to tell Din you loved him. That’s what you felt right now. It was overwhelming. It was all encompassing.

Din still had his hand at your chin and he let his large hand shift from your chin to your jaw. He held the side of your face and let his thumb trace patterns in your skin. “Yes, ner kar’ta?”

Saying those words felt like quite the leap. You were confident in the way you felt about him and how he felt about you, but there was a part of you that couldn’t quite push the words out. You were too mentally wiped out to process those thoughts right now. Not knowing how else to express how grateful you were for this man, you turned your face so you could press a kiss to the palm of his hand.

Din let out a content sigh and he shifted his body so you could rest more comfortably against him. He hummed and you heard the rumble of it in his chest. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He went back to soothingly dragging his fingers up and down your spine. “I’ll always be here.”

You let your eyes close and took a slow breath as Din’s warmth and the comforting smell of him lulled you into the best sleep you’ve gotten since Din and Grogu left.

Nevarro was in pieces. Rubble decorated the streets and buildings were in shambles. Despite how terrible it looked, Din couldn’t help but be proud of the citizens of the city he looked after. They were strong. Nevarro was already healing only days after the attack. Din walked down the street with Grogu in his arms. The boy was squirming, wanting to get down, but with the rubble and debris Din didn’t want him wandering around. As he walked down the street, every once in a while a person would pause to thank him for bringing help⏤ bringing the Mandalorians. Din would nod in response, but it would shoot a pang of guilt through his chest. He didn’t deserve thanks. He had left them after all.

Din’s steps slowed as he began to pass the school house. Outside of the building, a memorial had been set up for Wynn. Candles, flowers, and cards covered the front steps and Din found himself letting out a sigh. The school teacher was a hero. Din meant that seriously when he spoke to you. It hadn’t been your fault, absolutely not, and both you and Wynn were the reason Elodie was alive and well. Her and her parents were currently off world. The little girl needed more intensive care than could be provided here, but last Din heard the child was doing very well.

“Miss?” Grogu mumbled. Din recognized the title Grogu would call his teacher.

“Yes, ad’ika.” Din confirmed. Grogu’s ears wilted as he stared at the memorial. Din rubbed Grogu’s back and began to walk again with the goal to reach the clinic. You had left home early to go to work. You’d be there for any emergencies, per the norm, but you were also using today to see many of the people who were injured the day of for follow up. To ensure everyone was healing as they should. Din was of the opinion that you needed more rest, if not physical then mental, but trying to convince you of that was a near impossibility.

When Din reached the corner, Bo Katan pushed off a wall to join his pace. Her helmet was tucked under her arm. The Armorer had announced that the Mandalorians needed to come together rather than fall apart. It was a sentiment he could understand. Mayfeld had asked him about the helmet situation. Mandalorians coming together was a good idea, Din agreed, but coming to coincide with one another didn’t change the Creed he had dedicated himself to.

“Once this place gets cleaned up, I can see it being a nice place to live. To settle.” Bo hummed. Din nodded once, and she glanced his way. “I’m glad your partner is safe.”

“Thank you.” Din replied sincerely.

“There is something I’d like to speak to you about.”

“I figured.” He said. “Does this have anything to do with retaking Mandalore?”

Bo chuckled, “Good guess.”

“What about it?”

“Well,” Bo kept by his side, “Is there anything I can say that will convince you to come with me to reclaim my fleet from Axe Woves?”

Din didn’t pause even a beat when he answered. “No. There isn’t.”

Bo sighed in annoyance and Din briefly felt guilt at the waves of frustration wafting off of Bo’s tense frame. Half of him felt like it was his duty to help in any way to restore Mandalore, but the other half could not even begin to fathom leaving you again. It occurred to Din that this might be selfish of him. His people needed him, right? He locked his jaw at the thought.

“Your help would make this all go smoother, I think. We make a good team.” Bo said.

Din chuckled, “Did that hurt you to admit?”

“It did.” Bo smirked. “Which is why you should take it seriously.”

Din paused when the clinic came into view. He turned to face Bo and shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. Retaking Mandalore is a noble endeavor. One I would be honored to help in.” He paused. “But my family is here. I got lucky during that attack. I... I almost lost her.”

“I understand that.” Bo replied. “I know the weight of what I’m asking you, Djarin. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.”

Din glanced back to the clinic and did a double take when he saw you coming out. A smile began to form on his features, but it fell when he watched Paz walk out behind her with Ragnar by his side. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You were wearing your white coat, a look Din truly loved on you, and Paz was chatting with you about something. Something that made you laugh in response. Since when was Paz funny?

“Didn’t know you were the jealous kind, Djarin.” Bo chuckled.

Din snapped a glare at her. “I’m not jealous.”

“It’s all over your face.”

“I’m wearing a helmet.”

“Yet somehow I still know it is.”

Din grunted in mild annoyance. He wasn’t jealous. Per say. It was just like with Vanth. Din was confident enough in his relationship with you, even as undefined as it currently was, that he wasn’t worried about someone sweeping you away. Din just had a bad habit of accidentally letting his possessive nature show and there was something about seeing his brother flirt with you that stirred him into wanting to fight.

Both you and Paz glanced down at Ragnar who must have been speaking and you set a hand on the boy’s shoulder with a smile.

“Hm. They’d make a cute family.” Bo teased.

“Stop.” Din snapped.

He was caught off guard when Grogu jumped out of his arms. Him and Bo quickly followed after the boy who was in a mad rush toward you. Din watched as his son shoved past Ragnar, making the boy stumble enough that Din had a feeling the Force was involved, before leaping into your arms.

“Oh, hey, baby.” You cooed.

“Ma. My Ma.” Grogu cuddled into your arms while shooting Ragnar a glare.

Bo glanced at Din. “Aw. Like father, like son.”

Din wished he could take his helmet off just so Bo could see the full weight of the glare he currently wore. He continued forward until your eyes shot to him and the bright smile that filled your features just from spotting him.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked.

“Just checking in on you.” Din replied. Bo cleared her throat and Din sighed before nodding his head toward the woman standing beside him. “This is Bo Katan Kryze. Bo, this is Soran.”

You held your hand out to shake Bo’s hand and the red headed woman returned the greeting. Paz let one of his large hands settle on your shoulder and Din felt himself bristle at the motion. His older brother chuckled. “No need to worry. Wero’ika is doing more than fine.”

“Yeah, Paz brought me a late breakfast.” You chirped.

Yeah, okay, Din was going to murder him.

“Oh, hang on,” You glanced over your shoulder, “I see a problem patient walking in. I’m not gonna subject Aayla to that.”

Din nodded once and you shot Bo and Paz a smile, squeezing Ragnar’s shoulder as well despite Grogu’s complaints, and then you turned to leave. As soon as you were inside the clinic, Din turned to Paz with a grunt. “Wero’ika? What the kriff is that?”

“A nickname, Djarin.”

“Mir’sheb.” Din snarled and Paz laughed in response. Ragnar tugged on his father’s arm before pointing off to the side. Paz nodded, telling him to be cautious, before the boy ran off to play with a group of kids down the street.

Bo chuckled. “I didn’t realize this was the beginning of a love triangle. Interesting.”

“It isn’t.” Din said.

Paz tilted his head and crossed his arms. “I’m unaware of Soran being in possession of a token of intention.”

“I’m working on it.” Din said through clenched teeth.

“Perhaps, I’ll work on it faster.”

Din knew Paz was just trying to get under his skin. Part of his frustration was the fact that it was working. His hands drifted to rest on his hips as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Paz was smug. Din had known him long enough to recognize the set of his shoulders.

“I’m⏤” Din began then cleared his throat. “I’m giving her time.”

“You’re wasting her time.” Paz argued with a chuckle. “Wero’ika⏤”

“Don’t call her that like you know her.” Din cut in. “A lot just happened. I’m not going to rush her into anything.”

He glanced from Paz to Bo then back to Paz. Din gave the man a gruff good-bye before pushing past the two of them to head into the clinic. He greeted Miriam at the front desk. Before he could cross the threshold into the main room, the young woman caught his attention and let him know that you were down the hall instead. Din furrowed his brow in confusion, but walked down to find you sitting in the break room snipping the sutures off a patient’s wound.

“Marshal.” The patient greeted with a nod that Din returned.

Grogu was playing with a latex glove on the counter while you worked. You shot him a smile before focusing back on your work. Din settled beside his son, leaning against the counter, and just admired you with a sense of calm. He wondered if Paz was right. Not a line he’d ever say out loud, but Din wondered if he was just finding another excuse to hide behind. He wasn’t sure what he was so afraid of. You’ve made your interest in him very clear, the two of you shared a bond like he’d never experienced before, but still he hesitated.

“Alright, it looks good. No need to restrict yourself, but if it starts bothering you again just let me know.” You smiled. The patient thanked you, gave him a final good-bye, then left. You wandered over to where he stood with Grogu and began to wash your hands in the sink. “Hey, so your brother seems cool.”

Din grunted. “Who Paz?”

“Yeah.” You turned the faucet off and grabbed a few paper towels. “I thought he might not like me because I yelled at him during the battle.” Din’s eyes widened. He’d have to ask about that. “But instead I think I accidentally earned his respect? Also, what does ‘wero’ika’ mean?”

Din chuckled. “Little Problem.”

Your jaw fell open. “He’s been calling me a little problem this entire time?” Din nodded. “Son of a bitch. I’m gonna need you to teach me something amusing and mildly rude to call him in return.”

“Oh, I can think of some names for him.” Din replied. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something, but don’t feel any pressure with this, alright?” You quirked an eyebrow at him. Your eyes briefly glanced at Grogu and you shot your hand out to snatch the latex glove from Grogu’s mouth and wagged a finger at him. “I left to redeem myself. To restore my Creed with the plans to…” Din shifted awkwardly. “To court you.” The corner of your lips curled up. “I know a lot has happened recently, so again there is no pressure here, but I wanted to…make my intentions known.”

You reached out and wrapped your hand above his elbow, between his armor plates, and gave it a small squeeze. “Din, I appreciate your patience and concern, but I⏤ I want this. I want you.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “So, just tell me how we do this. How does Mandalorian courting work? Do I sign on the dotted line or…?”

Din laughed, in part due to relief, “No. Nothing like that. I have…” He reached to the back of his belt to unhook the blade and sheath that was once his. Din brought it around to hold out to you and you stared at the blade curiously. “In Mandalorian custom, a token of intention is given to the person being courted and to accept it means accepting those advances.” Din cleared his throat again. Maker, his mouth was dry. “Tokens are usually a weapon with the person’s signet on it.”

He pulled the blade out of the sheath enough that you were able to see the mudhorn etched into the blade’s side. Din tucked the blade back into the sheath and gave you a small nod. With a bright smile, you took the blade from his hands and he felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest watching you run your finger against the mudhorn.

You held the blade against your chest and nodded. “I accept, Mandalorian.”

Grogu began to clap his hands together and you broke out into laughter that relaxed every single bone and muscle in his body. The only regret Din had was not doing this at home where he could pull his helmet off and kiss you.

mando'a translations:

ni ceta: sorry wero'ika: little problem ner kar'ta: my heart mir'sheb: smartass

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @modiddys-blog @harriedandharassed @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #a fresh start #female reader #domestic bliss!din djarin

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monpalace · 9 months

Text

ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, (linked universe) time/reader.

content .. it's only natural you search for your nephew after he enters the lost woods on a dare. you can't have a problem with the hand dealt to you when the beast who gives you shelter is so kind.

warnings .. no beta, we die like the promise i made to finish this before the summer after my junior year ended (i started this in april, it's august). i didn't know where i was going with this after a certain point and i think that's obvious. reader uses she/her pronouns. large, legal age gap (reader is in her 30's - 40's, time is a few hundred years old). less of a fic and more snippets, but it's almost 7.5k+ words. i don't think i explicitly say which link it is, so i guess it's ambiguous? nephew is named because this would be a pain to write otherwise.

notes .. prompted (not inspired!!) by beauty and the beast, but also the batb fanfic i found after my friend showed my an nsfw ao3 tag account on twitter. beelzebub / lord of the flies from fear and hunger was a huge inspo for link / time's physical description but there is leeway for how he can be envisioned. he's still large as shit though lmao. the layout of the manor was this, only because i wouldn't be able to write this without knowing.

supposedly there's gonna be a second part. supposedly.

idk. i might hate this enough to just. not.

The Lost Woods wasn't as intimidating as everyone talked it up to be.

Yes, it felt like the trees moved when you turned your back to them, and, granted, there were a few mobs of monsters that could get the jump on you if you weren't paying attention, but you had managed to get away with a few scrapes the few times it had happened.

The only thing to keep you company was the howling winds that grew in intensity and your own thoughts that were sprawling into whatever corners they could reach, but that was fine. You'd gratefully take decades-old gossip from the next town over instead of the creeping paranoia of what was behind you.

Of course, you would willingly go through this, that, and whatever else one thousand times over if it meant finding your nephew— and to keep yourself from reprimanding yourself from reprimanding the teens that had dared him out into the woods, but that was another thing.

Along your investigation, you'd found a broken trail of breadcrumbs that led to nothing when you followed them. They were torn pieces of fabric from his clothes, just big enough to be noticeable but small enough to keep himself protected from the elements.

(You'll forever be thankful that a younger your drilled the idea into his head.)

You'd long since discovered calling his name was useless. The only thing you've managed to do was draw the attention of a few wandering stalfos dressed in clothes from centuries ago.

The ones that had managed to find weapons were always the most painful to deal with.

If your determination weren't so established, you would've lost your sanity within the first day.

Food and water were no issue, you were smart enough to pack more than a week's worth of both. There were non-perishable options and several choices for your nephew when you found him; he'd no doubt have his fair share of cravings after being lost for so long.

(Three days was an eternity to you.)

Just before the sun had reached its crest in the sky, you'd realized that there were more empty clearings than trees. Wildlife had become scarce as well.

Where deers and wolves previously ran abundant, birds and squirrels that ran from the smallest of noises replaced them.

The wind had calmed, at least. It no longer wanted to push and shove you in whatever direction it pleased or steal the bag full of items you brought along. You didn't have to hug your sweater to your chest in fear of it being ripped from your arms either.

Instead, it was still.

Admittedly, the clearing gives you more paranoia than anything else.

When your mind starts to wander to places you'd rather it not reach, you begin to hum a quiet tune to yourself— your nephew's favorite— and allow it to ground you.

You were here for a reason. You wouldn't leave until you found him. You'll be fine until you find him, and you'll find some way to live in the forest that refuses to let its inhabitants go peacefully.

It's hours later when you hear the first sound of life (or suspended death) that doesn't feel like a threat— though, in hindsight, you should've been smarter and more suspicious of it when you first heard it.

A high-pitched instrument repeats each croon you let out, eventually taking over and silencing you. You follow the tune without much of a thought. If it were some sort of elaborate trap to lure you in, you couldn't be mad at yourself if you fell for it.

Clusters of trees become less and less as you follow the instrument and its recreation of your nephew's song. You call his name and are met with nothing but the music (from an ocarina, you quickly recognize) growing louder as time passes.

To say you're shocked when a large and, admittedly, well-kept manor enters your field of view would be an understatement. It's covered in vines, invasive arrowroots, and spreading flowers, but looks lived in if the smoldering smoke slowly dissipating in the afternoon air was anything to go by.

You couldn't begin to imagine who lived inside before the woods took it over (or what lived in it now). The architecture says it predates the Hero split in four, but you doubted the inhabitants of the floating sky built something so elaborate when they returned to the surface.

Your eyes jump past the crumbling pillars and dilapidated statues to the half-glass double doors that seemed to open on their own.

The music was coming from inside the manor now.

Steeling your nerves and squaring your shoulders, your hand grips tight on the strap of your satchel as you walk up the stone stairs covered in moss. You have to hold onto the guardrail installed next to it just as tight. Looking down, you find the carvings of it sorely separating it from the older antiquity of the manor.

Taking in smaller details (for future escapes or weapons against whatever lived inside, you'd figure out later), you find that the small pools of water that came from the sides of the manor and ran and fell alongside the stairs you climbed held small clumps of straw-colored fur. Some caused the surrounding water to turn into a pink hue that reminded you of fairies you've seen in childrens' books.

(Your hand reaches into the satchel to make sure you brought all of your nephew's well-loved books as well as a novel or two for yourself.)

(You did, thankfully.)

There's a smell filled with musk that permeates the air the closer you get to the manor, thick with amber and ginger and it reminds you of the times you come across a pack of wolves during your childhood.

Upon entering the manor, you find it was strongest in the wing of the manor to your right. It took over almost the entirety of your senses, but it wasn't an unwelcome or overwhelming sensation. If you paid close enough attention, you could sense the homely feeling underneath the ferality of it.

You prayed you'd be able to tell when the beast returned; if it was gone in the first place.

You take close note of how the foyer wasn't truly a foyer with how it was filled with windows rather than walls that led to a courtyard and how the only way to enter the wings of the manor was the winded stairs that connected via the terrace.

You don't fail to notice how the wing coated in the musky scent is coated entirely in shadows despite all the sources of light.

You couldn't decide if you were thankful or filled with loathing at the idea of what roamed on that side of the manor.

It's a struggle to turn your eyes away from the darkened wing of the manor, but you do manage when the music picks up once more from the left wing. It's significantly brighter and doesn't fill you with a sense of dread as the right one does.

Trap be damned, your nephew was here, you knew it— you felt it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you find that you're inside a parlor room that leads to three other pathways. One was a library, another was a dining room, and the last was a small hallway.

In any other situation, you'd explore some more. The supposed beast that possibly lived in the manor kept everything in better shape than what you'd expect— or hopefully it was the forest spirits that lived throughout the forest.

Hopefully, those same spirits kept your nephew safe.

You have to close your eyes to better determine where the music is coming from, the only thing you can hear beside it and your own breathing being the manor settling. Your ears guide you inside the hall and you find it branches into a corridor, a bathroom, and two bedrooms.

Common sense seems to leave you when you spot the back of your nephew's head. Your breath quickens as you watch him clap along with the ocarina, you force your eyes to keep their clarity when you hear him hum each note just as you remember.

"''ire," you call in a weaker voice than you intended or thought you had. The nickname he claimed he hated so much tumbled from your lips so easily as you rushed inside the room, one arm rushing to remove your satchel while the other reached out to almost check if he was real.

The Lost Woods were known for their tricks, after all.

When he turns to face you, he's scrambling over himself in the bed. You're able to see how he limps on his right ankle and knee, how the entirety of his limbs were wrapped in bandage wrap as though done by a child. There was no blood, so you hold off on checking him over.

(The bandages were stained, thankfully not with blood. It was mostly dust and grime.)

(You'd have to sanitize whatever was wrong.)

You meet him more than halfway when you catch the way he winces and hisses with each movement.

"Auntie— Auntie— Titi!" His voice is airy as he speaks, emotion causing his words to come out as chokes. His arms reciprocated the tight hug you had on him, forcibly keeping his arms from trembling due to either nerves or injuries. "Titi, Titi, Titi!"

The way he says the word makes him sound like some chittering bug. If you listened hard enough, you could tell how his teeth clattered together, but you couldn't decipher if it was from a chill or emotion.

All you wanted to do was keep his head against the crook of your shoulder and neck while you pressed kisses to the crown of his head and kept him as close to you as you could, but you knew better.

Pulling away, you reach back for the satchel that you previously discarded. "What's wrong? What happened?" You force your voice to even out when you speak, hands already reaching for his arms after you sit the bag against your hip.

He shakes his head, but you've known him long enough to know there was something wrong. "They're from when I first went in the forest," he answers, voice quivering. "It's all healed. I think."

He doesn't push your hands away or pull his arms back when you skillfully unravel the bandages, carefully pulling and prodding the scars that littered the skin, and he was telling the truth despite the coloring.

"Did you forage like I taught you? Why are most of them green?"

"The spirits."

"The spirits?"

"And the soldier." He looks over your shoulder as though searching for their figures. "I haven't seen him yet, though."

Your eyes squint as one of your hands rubs over the strange texture of the scar, the other reaching for the antiseptic and clean fabric in your bag. "Are these spirits children or small trees with masks?"

You'd heard of both in legend. No one's ever seen them.

You're not sure which you'd rather watch over your nephew.

His eyes drift to his side before peering back over your shoulder once again. His brows furrow as he thinks of how to answer, head tilting as his pupils dilate.

"Both," he answers, "and ones that look like scarecrows. I asked them to bring you."

You force your gaze to keep itself on your nephew. You wouldn't let it wander to spirits you couldn't even see. "The ocarina?" You instead ask another question jumping around your mind, sucking your tongue in appreciation when he nods. "Smart boy."

An airy laugh leaves him, his face lighting up with a smile. "Learned from the best," he snorts.

You risk pressing kisses to the apples of his cheeks and forehead at his flattery, hands cupping themselves on the nape of his neck to bring him closer.

A younger him would push you away without a second thought, whining on about how you were embarrassing him in front of his friends.

He lets you do so now regardless of the spirits that surround you both.

"What've you been eating?" Your hands drop to his biceps when you pull away. They weren't thin like you'd expect them to be after three days in the forest; they were fatter than they had been before he left. "Who's been feeding you?"

His answer of "the Soldier," is quicker than you would've liked. "He goes out and hunts. He always brings back meat. I think it's deer.. it tastes.. bland."

"He.. cooks it, right?"

Another laugh wracks through your nephew's body. He knows you're only being cautious, but he can't help it.

"All the way through," he hums, flexing his arms when they start feeling stiff. "I think I don't like it because it's not your cooking."

He knows what your response is going to be before he finishes speaking, years of having lived under your guidance making him attuned to the smallest of your movements.

When your expression shifts from being relieved to disappointment with a twitch of your eye, he can tell you're not pleased with his statement.

Dousing the fabric in the antiseptic, you take his arm in your hand and begin wiping it down. "Don't be rude." Your voice takes on a less-than-pleased rasp, speaking lowly as if you knew the Soldier was near; but you still apologize when the sting sets in. "Have you thanked him?"

(You're sure you would continue to speak quietly regardless of the context of the conversation. You didn't want to risk "the Soldier," doing anything unfavorable.)

(Your nephew's words of praise did little to ease your stressed heart.)

"I never know when he's here. He drops the food off while I'm asleep. He brings books and carvings too." He watches as you wrap his arm in another roll of (cleaner) bandages, undoing the old one on his other arm while you prepare another piece of fabric. "The Spirits say I'm the most excitement he's had in a while, so he doesn't mind."

His voice was beginning to grow hoarse from speaking so quietly. You tap his throat to tell him to relax.

"They say he's nice," he continues, doing as told. Tapping the fingers of his now free hand against your shin, he tries to recall what all they've told him.

"I think they said he used to live in another part of the woods when he was a kid?—" His eyes glance back over your shoulder, suddenly becoming sure of himself. "— Ah. They did. They said he left and came back when he was older."

You raise a brow but don't speak your question.

Your nephew takes hold of your retreating hands in both of his.

A clatter and snippy huff outside the bedroom door rouses you from your light sleep.

Nearing a week into your stay at the manor, you'd think you'd be more accustomed to the noise, but you aren't.

You carefully remove your nephew's head from your arm, using even more caution when trying to remove the conjoined weight of several spirits from your legs as you slip out of the bed.

It's hard, but you manage to do so without waking any of them— you hope.

(You still couldn't see any of the Spirits, but over time you could feel when they crowded around you and when the wind moved as they rushed past you.)

The floorboards creak beneath your feet.

You hear the sound of claws scratching against the floor on the other side of the door.

Pressing the crown of your head against the door, you tap your fingers along the handle to give the Soldier a warning and wait a few moments.

If you listened hard enough, you swear you could hear him scurrying into one of the other rooms before he shut the door behind him.

It reminded you of a dog.

Smiling to yourself, you're careful opening the door, keeping your head to it and your eyes on the floor. You turn to the other side of it to close it, waiting for the click of the lockset to speak.

"Are you decent?"

His confused "huh," sounds more akin to a gasp than any other noise.

You rap your fingers against the handle again. "Can I look up?"

"Oh—" he sounds choked. "Yeah— Yes. Yes. You can. Sorry."

"Thank you," you hum, leaning down to pick up the tray of food. It consisted of almost entirely meat with a few vegetables you figure are exclusive to the woods. "For both the food and taking care of my nephew."

There was a thumping noise behind the door, the frequency of it was like a tail beating excitedly.

The Soldier lets out a croaking noise and you know his mouth started moving before his mind was able to catch up. "No, I should thank you for looking for him— and for telling him not to use his name."

You let out an airy laugh. "It's common knowledge where I'm from. I wouldn't be a good parental figure if I didn't."

Another noise leaves the Soldier as you fix yourself to open the door. You can't discern what this one means. "I don't know when they started calling me the Soldier, but it's not— uhm.. A favorite.. of mine."

"Oh?"

"Soldier," he sounds more confident in himself and you don't have the heart to tell him you heard him the first time, "it's a nickname. I don't know where the kids got it, but I don't like it."

Readjusting the tray to rest against your hip and forearm rather than in both your hands, you hum curiously. "So what should we be calling you?"

He pauses longer than you'd think it'd take to remember your own name, but you wait.

"Link."

"Link?"

"Yes."

"Like in a chain?"

".. Yes."

You nod even though you're sure he can't see you. "I'll be sure to tell 'ire."

"Thank you." There's more thumping from behind the door.

"And thank you."

There's another noise from Link you struggle to understand, but you figure it's because he starves for conversation. "I heard what your nephew said about the food, too. I'll try to find something to flavor it with next time I'm out."

"Thank you," you repeat. Your eyes curve with your smile. "He'll greatly appreciate it."

Link raps his fingers against the door in response, but he doesn't say anything. You take that as your queue to reenter the bedroom.

"How come your side of the house is always dark?"

You gently pinch your nephew's elbow and he swats your hand away, leaning impossibly close to the door that separates him and Link.

There are a few moments of silence from the man that 'ire filled with bated breath. Link takes an audible, steadying breath before knocking what you think is his nail against the door.

"I wouldn't want to scare you both off."

It was an answer you expected, but you were disappointed nonetheless.

"Boo," your nephew groans. You're sure Link could hear the pout in his voice if the quiet chuckle he lets out was anything to go by. "You can't be worse than what I've seen out there."

There's genuine intrigue in the noise Link lets out. "Oh? What exactly have you seen then?"

Pure excitement fills your nephew's expression when he turns to look at you from over his shoulder. His fingers tap against the floor restlessly, tongue already listing off whatever monsters he's encountered (read: come up with) in his twelve years of life.

"— but their teeth are the worst! They're poisonous and there isn't a cure for it!"

You have no clue as to what creature he was talking of now. There were at least fifteen of them who injected poison through their teeth, eight of which had no cure.

(You don't have to strain as hard to see the Spirits as you did two weeks ago. The shadows and light shift around then as they move to sit around your nephew, seemingly hooked on your nephew's every word.)

(You remember when he would crowd himself around you similarly whenever you would tell him a story.)

You close the book that sat in your lap more for decoration than entertainment at that point and place a hand over your heart.

"I drew a lot of them too! My aunt brought them with her!" He pushes himself through the motions of standing up before immediately stopping and returning to his seat in front of the door. "I'll show them to you if you eat dinner with us!"

There are a few stammering noises from the other side of the door and yet you can't bring yourself to apologize for your nephew's bargaining.

Your own curiosity was quickly starting to get the better of you against your wishes.

The noise he had made several nights before makes itself heard again. His claws (you discovered those a few nights ago) scratch against the wooden flooring as he moves to sit against the other wall rather than the door, his voice moving with him.

"I don't want to— I wouldn't want— want to disturb you— either of you." His words are muffled by the door and his growing quietness, a regretful lilt stuck in his throat. "But thank you for the offer."

If he truly didn't want to join you and your nephew (and the spirits) for dinner, he was terrible at showing it.

"I know I wouldn't mind," you hum, standing to put away the book. A loud thumping makes the floor vibrate and 'ire has to stifle a laugh. "I wouldn't mind picking up a pot and pan again either."

"No!" Link quickly apologizes for his tone after realizing his outburst. "You don't have to. I wouldn't be a good host if I made you do that."

"Are you scared I'll poison you?"

Your nephew's voice drops to a whisper he swears you won't be able to hear. "She can't. She's the best cook ever."

You're not sure how the two correlate, but you'd take thew compliment.

"She won't?" Link's voice drops to entertain your nephew despite his earlier convictions. It takes on a playful direction, fur rubbing against the wood-tiled floors in excitement (based on prior interactions). "You've never gotten sick? Not once?"

'ire begins to shake his head but quickly stops. "Only from eating too much— which you will do, by the way. Best cook around," he reiterates.

Link chuckles, tapping his fingers against the floor restlessly. It takes him a moment to come up with something to say and neither of you push him to hurry.

You were both too hooked on his every word to do so anyway.

"I'll.." He's shy for all the attention. You wonder when the last time he got so much focus on him outside of the spirits. ".. I'll be sure to think about your offer. Why don't you tell me about a few of your monsters so I have more of an incentive?"

Your nephew jumps on the opportunity while you think over the plethora of recipes in your mind.

It wasn't rare for one of the imps to accompany you outside when you went foraging.

You never strayed too far from the manor— the last time you had been dragged outside of the area you had designated for yourself (and your nephew) by the children, Link had to come and rescue to lot of you before the sun had gotten too low.

Suffice to say, it was a rather humbling experience.

Kneeling, squatting, or sitting on the ground had never been easy on your knees or back, but the grass below you had felt as though it were a pillow hailing from the Heavens itself.

Your body works on picking herbs from the ground before placing them in your bag repurposed for your (new) everyday tasks while your mind wanders elsewhere.

You're humming to yourself when a twig snapping breaks your focus.

It was a nice reminder that the imps hadn't, in fact, accompanied you that day.

Your head lifts to survey the surrounding woods. Your entire body was still, mimicking a deer caught on a hunting trip.

There was nothing immediately in your line of sight that could be seen as a threat, but you had lived a long enough life to know that wasn't enough reason to let your guard down.

You're slow to rise to your feet and your ears are strained as you listen for whatever had made the noise.

"I'm sorry!"

You can feel your body relax when you hear Link's voice call out from behind a tree. You sink back to your knees without much thought, clutching the fabric of your top to calm your battering heart.

You weren't sure what you were going to do if it were an actual danger anyway.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he continues. His arms move and you can see one drop against the side of a tree while the other tightens around the corpse of an animal. "You were so still, I wasn't sure if you were okay."

A quiet, breathless noise leaves you. You're not sure if he could hear it, but you can see his shoulders relax when you do. "You're— You're fine! I just.. didn't know that you'd be out and about at this time."

When the hand not occupied with that week's dinner (barely) lifts to grab ahold of a tree branch, you're shocked to just now find out how tall he is.

"It's not your fault. I didn't know you were out here," he grunts while gently tugging at the branch. "Are you alone?"

Your eyes drop to the flora that surrounds you to not feel so invasive. Your fingers rub against the blades of grass idly when a restless feeling overtakes you. "A few of the kids said they'd join me later, but I'm not too sure when that's supposed to be." A short, genuine laugh leaves you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they forgot."

Link lets out his own, quiet laughter that you can only clue together when you see the entire tree shake in your peripheral. "I wouldn't take it to heart. They say they'll join me in hunting all the time but never do."

"Have you ever given them a stern talking to? I've heard that usually works with spirits."

"They barely listen to me as is. I think you'd have more luck than me."

"Is that an offer?"

"Are you headed home now?"

A strange vice tightens around your heart at his wording while you look through your bag. "Mhm," you hum, standing now that your legs aren't like that of a newborn. "You'll have to remind me of the way, though."

"I can guide you," he hums in reply. "You just can't look back."

Turning your back to him, you're surprised you don't jump when a sharp claw gives a ghostly touch to the center of your back.

You're shocked that you disregard the urge to check over your shoulder every step back to the manor.

You were no stranger to 'ire's night terrors.

They'd gotten better over the past few years as he aged, but all that progress had been undone during the near month you'd been in the forest.

Wiping away the tears that had managed to slip out, you ignore the prickly and uncomfortable feeling that comes with keeping your lulling head up so you can watch him.

You'd done it a thousand times before and would do it one thousand and one more if it meant he felt better.

You don't miss how his grip on your arm tightens when you start humming his favorite song. Your hand trails up to his hairline, nails (claws?) tracing the paint on his face that refused to fade.

You'd spent so long trying to scrub them and the green marks off, you hadn't even realized his skin had started to pale into a sickly grey in patches while darkening into (what looked like) a necrotic black in others.

You didn't even want to think about the changes that had started coming to your body.

You were, however, thankful you weren't thinning into a stalfos.

"You're not as sneaky as you'd like to think."

"How'd you know?"

"I have a young nephew. You learn quickly."

A brief laugh leaves Link from behind the cracked door. Though you didn't face him, you could see the way his eyes illuminated the wall in front of you, even managed to catch on some of 'ire's face.

It was a pretty blue color.

You don't comment on it.

"What's wrong?" Your voice has a deep rasp to it, your hand continuing to stroke your nephew's face even after he begins to calm down.

He'd slowly begun dropping more and more barriers (physical and mental) when it came to communicating with you both, having taken up shadows in their stead. He had gotten more confident in conversation as well, stammering and stuttering less the longer your nephew forced him to talk.

It makes you wonder how long it'd take for him to finally make true on those dinner plans.

"I heard him," Link hums just as quietly, the glow of his eyes moving to instead look over the sleeping spirits that crowded themselves around the space not occupied on the bed. "I was worried. Do you want help with them?"

A soft laugh leaves you when one of the imps buries their head onto your calf as though it were a pillow. "They've been like this since we first got here. 'ire," you press a kiss to his forehead when he rouses, waiting for him to settle before speaking again, "says they like to cling."

"You don't mind?"

"He's not too far off from them nowadays."

"Does he miss anything?"

Laying on your back, you being 'ire's head to rest against your shoulder. Your gaze is finally able to see how he'd take up all of the doorway (and then some) through the crack of the door.

You'd be shocked he hadn't flinched away if it hadn't been for the way his hand reached out to clasp it.

The tips of his fingers reached well past the frame of the door, his claws further, and you could only imagine just how much space he was taking up in the small hallway.

You were confident he could fit five or six of you in his hand without trying.

Your eyes jump back to the three (possibly four?) eyes before he can become self-conscious.

"Almost everything," you answer after pulling yourself from your thoughts. "His clothes, his dolls.. He could go without his friends, though."

His eyes jump from your face to the window as he huffs out a nervous laugh. It makes you wonder if he knows something you don't, but you don't push. "And you?"

"Hmm?"

"And yourself," he clarifies, "what do you miss?"

You're silent.

What exactly did you miss?

The feeling of your village's grass between your toes after the rain, the baker's treats that no other could replicate, being a part of such a tight-knit community, the sun after a particularly muggy morning—

There wasn't any need to be a sap.

"I'm not sure," you finally say after a long period of silence. You hadn't realized your eyes had left Link, yet when you force your gaze back to him, he holds it without issue. "I struggled with becoming attached to things unlike 'ire."

"Hm."

"What?"

"I can't remember the last time someone said something like that."

"You have visitors like us often?"

"More than you'd think."

"And what's become of them?"

The glow of his eyes drops to the sleeping spirits that litter before looking to the window again and you quickly understand.

The hum that leaves your throat is more lackluster than you intended it to be, but given how quickly the topic had changed, you give yourself the grace.

"Well," you start after clearing your throat, "what's something that you miss?"

The manor creaks when Link leans against a wall and his confidence in the movement tells you more than you'd expected.

You don't think you'd ever have the same amount of trust he held in it.

There's a playful tone in his voice when he speaks, one of his hands raised to scratch against his chin. "You'd have to promise not to be dramatic when I say."

"Is it my fault you use such outdated terms thousands of years behind my time?"

Link turns away to stifle his laughter, shrouding the room in darkness and forcing your eyes to strain with it.

"I can't say I've had the easiest experience understanding you or your nephew's sayings," he hums, drowning you in the light of his eye when he turns back, "the kids have to keep filling me in."

"Shame, and here I thought you'd been closer to my age. Have you been leading me on this entire time?"

Link's claws knock against the wall, his tail wagging against the floor while he huffs his amusement. "Have I? When I don't even know your name?"

If the weight of 'ire wasn't on your shoulder, you're sure you would've had a physical reaction of some sort.

"It'd do you good to not forget it," he hums, the movement of his tail slowing until it stops entirely. "Titi and Auntie, as much as I hate to say it, won't do much good."

Another lackluster noise leaves you as the arm trapped underneath your nephew lifts to rub your thumb during his forehead. "How fun."

"The kids are too attached to do anything now." The door slowly creaks open before stopping. It shuts so there's only a crack instead. "You'll be fine to share your name now."

"You never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"I haven't asked a lot," you huff before taking a softer tone, eyes rolling closed. "What is it that you miss?"

Link quietly snorts, muffling it by pressing his face to the door. He takes a steadying breath before saying a quiet, "a lot, I suppose. I can't name just a few things." A low noise leaves him, it's similar to a growl. "My friends? Playing music as well— my hands aren't good for much but skewering these days. My horse, Epona, too. She was the prettiest mare."

"Is she red with a white mane?"

"You saw the kids' drawings?"

"I've seen her before, I think— or maybe it was a hallucination?" The hand stroking 'ire's forehead stops as you scrounge your memories. "When I saw her outside the forest, I knew it was real. Another fated hero was mounting her."

You'd like to think yourself a master of figuring out what each noise he makes is meant to mean, but the one Link lets out once you finish speaking is short and of a higher pitch than normal.

When he begins to stammer over his words as he had when you first interacted with him, it feels like years' worth of progress has been undone.

"I— uhm— You— I don't— err— Thank—"

His tail thumps three times before he knocks his head against the door with a heavy groan. He lets out a quiet "Hylia, be damned," you couldn't help but think he hoped you wouldn't hear to go along with his frustration.

"It's been a long night," you finally prompt. "You'd best get some shut-eye before 'ire bombards you with more from his imagination, yeah?"

"Yeah," Link answers in a weak voice. "Yeah," he repeats to himself more than anything, "of course. Good night," he steps away from the door. "Sleep well."

"Same for you."

The night Link finally takes you and 'ire up on your offer for dinner, your nephew and the spirits had taken to floating around the east wing's dining room to prepare it for such a grand event.

"Titi, titi!" One of the Kokiri exclaims, tugging at the fabric of your skirt (that Link had made out of a spare bedsheet). Her voice had a strange echo to it— all of them, really— and had given you migraines up until you'd finally become accustomed to it. "'ire says that you'll make your world-famous pudding! Will you? Will you?"

You ignore her exaggeration in favor of forcing yourself to wrench your eyes away unless you wanted her puppy dog face to work on you. "Should I? I.. I can't say any of you have been acting well enough to deserve it.."

Even in your peripheral, it's not hard to miss the absolutely crushed look on her face. Her eyes were wide and her bottom lip wobbling like she was about to cry despite your joking tone.

"But why—y," she whines, dragging the last syllable on while hiccuping on her breath as she went on. You know the tears pooling in her eyes are just as fake as your rejection of her request— but you know just as well who'll win the battle at the end of the day.

"I—" hiccup. "Want—" hiccup. "Cake—" hiccup.

You raise a brow. "Pudding or cake, sweetheart? I can't make both."

The girl begins to climb your back while you return to sautéing the vegetables, arms wrapping around your neck so she can press her cheek against yours. "Cake! No, pudding! No! Cake! No—"

"I'll tell you what," you interrupt, taking the pan from over the open flame once the food is charred to your liking. Your skin thanks you when you step away and douse the fire, the arid air leaving through the open window. "Why don't you ask a few of the others which they want then we can try and get Link to bake it after dinner?"

The girl jumps off your back with stars practically filling her eyes. She cries out for several names while she runs off, hands clapping excitedly as she shouts out the change in plans.

You're left in peace until your nephew enters with his journals clutched between his arms, bouncing between his feet while he watches you finish plating each food item on dishes you could only dream of owning where you're from.

"D'you think he'll come?" 'ire's voice is low, almost as though scared Link will hear. You know he does if the night of his nightmares a few months ago were anything to go by— but he didn't need to know that.

"He'd better," you answer in an equally low tone. "I didn't spend so long slaving away at this just for him not to."

"Is that a threat?"

The plates in your hands aren't spared by the flinch that wracks through your body. Your reflexes are quick to catch them before any of the food can hit the floor.

'ire, on the other hand, has no issue with voicing his shock in the form of a scream, scurrying from the doorway while dropping his journals. He jumps behind you, hands clutching the fabric of your skirt while he hides himself behind your hip.

"Well?"

Placing a hand over your racing heart after putting the plates down, your other hand comes down to rest on 'ire's head. "It's rude to sneak up on people, you know."

The blond fur of his chest rustles with his laughter. It was difficult to see much else other than that, what with the way he hid himself behind the wall connecting the kitchen to the pantry.

You hadn't even heard his footsteps or creaking floorboards when he first approached. Had he been there the entire time and 'ire hadn't seen him, or had he only walked in after 'ire entered?

You wondered if he was naturally quiet or if he just learned which floorboards were loose.

"Is it sneaking when you were expecting me?" Link's voice is lighter than it usually is, a slight tremble could even be heard if you focused on it enough. He rocks on his feet and briefly leans forward, a less organic-looking side profile coming into view before leaving right after. "If I knew I would be this unwelcomed, I—"

"That's a joke, right?" 'ire stomps away from your side while he speaks, stepping over his discarded compilations of works to stare up at Link with wide eyes. Your nephew ignores the way Link's hands raise to cover his face and how he backs away as soon as he pivots in his foot to face him. "You're not actually gonna pansy out, right?"

Your feet lead you to the two before you can have much of a thought. "Zaire," you say in a terse voice, taking hold of his shoulder and bringing him against your front so you can stop him from interrogating the poor man. "Don't be rude."

Whatever argument he has dies on his tongue when he takes a good, long look at Link. His mouth gaped open like a fish, one of his fingers lifting so he could push it into the fur of his stomach, watching the skin beneath sink with the force of it as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Woah."

If you had any less sense of dignity, you'd let yourself have the same reaction.

"Don't be rude," you reiterate, pushing Zaire's hand down until it finally reaches its rightful place at his side.

"No," Link breathes into his palms, clearing his voice to try and rid it of the anxiety (and, possibly, humiliation). "He's— he's fine. This wouldn't be the first time someone responded like that. I'd be more concerned if he did any other way."

Zaire shrugs your hands from your shoulders, stepping until he is toe-to-claw with Link. "Then why are you hiding your face? It can't be that bad," he says, tugging at the fur of Link's elbows, rubbing them between his fingers so he could better be accustomed to the texture.

Spreading his fingers enough so you both could see the four holes in the inorganic material, Link lets out another heavy breath. "I'm self-conscious," he can tell the answer doesn't please Zaire and continues speaking, "It's been.. too long.. since I've shown anyone either of my faces."

"A mask is.." Your voice falters off when you finally find the words to speak, losing them again when you fail to find a proper way to articulate your thoughts.

"It's mostly you and the kids, no?" You try again when you figure out a way to better word it. "Is a mask not.. Is it.. necessary?"

When the blue light that emits from his eyes lifts to look at you, an unidentifiable emotion shoots through you. He holds your gaze for a few, silent moments before turning his head and dropping his hands.

"It's like a second skin," he simply offers.

"Sad," Zaire sighs, backing away and turning until he stood in the center of the kitchen. "Can you still eat with it? Like I said, Auntie is the best cook in all the realms and you have to taste it to believe it."

Curse your nephew's skill of lightening a mood.

Rather than let his insecurities keep him from looking at either of you for the duration of the night, Link looks down at Zaire with a playful jolt of his shoulders. "It's not fused with my face."

Zaire's eyes curl into crescents while he grabs two of the plates from the counter. "Good!" His tail (a terrifying new addition when he first started changing) wraps around the third dish, walking himself past the two of you in the pantry so he could place each one on the dining table. "You'll love this then! Auntie," you don't miss the way he adds your name causally, "always makes this on a big day!"

Link repeats your name under his breath before doing the same with Zaire's. He lets out a thoughtful nod as each one rolls off his tongue, one pair of eyes looking at you while the other continues to follow your nephew.

He wrings his hands together when he catches the way you examined him oh-so-carefully, arms crossed with your head tilted.

"It's nice," he gulps as though every inch of nervousness had reentered his body. "It's a nice name. I like it. It suits you."

You don't know if you were teasing him prior, but you decide to do so now.

"I'd hope so." You pat a hand against his arm as you walk into the kitchen, ignoring the oily feel of his fur. You ignore the feeling of him watching and instead focus on searching through the cupboards for the drink you had foraged around to make just days before. "I could say the exact same for you, thankfully."

"Now, why don't you have a seat so I can play host this time?"

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arealphrooblem · 1 year

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Terms of Surrender -- The End!

So I already had the ending written a long time ago and decided to finish it up since I left you guys on such a bad cliffhanger lol. Thank you for all the enthusiasm for this fic, I really did not think anyone would read it lol.

Summary: The queen of a doomed city makes the deal her husband refused to make with the conquering warlord outside her city's gates

Part one here

Part five here

The Queen leaned back against the molded, damp walls of the cell and tried to find the relief. She had always expected to be here and now she finally was. Away from sunlight, time passed and did not pass. Time did not exist. She could not say if she had sat there for a day or a week.

The cut on her neck stung each time she swallowed. The urge to pick at the scab felt overwhelming at times, and only the fear of infection in this filthy cell kept her from touching it.

Eventually someone would come to torture her for information on whatever scheme her husband’s friend had planned. She had no information to give and she wondered idly if they would kill her for her perceived stubbornness or if she would make up an elaborate lie in order to broker for any relief.

The fear of it glowed dully through the fog of her apathy, so faint she barely acknowledged it. In fact, she almost welcomed the opportunity to get it over with. She did not blame the Warlord for not believing her. As the last remaining heir to her family’s name, she was a beacon for anyone resisting his rule. Just as she thought her lush captivity too good to be true, he must have thought her surrender and cooperation too good to believe. How easy would it have been for her to merely bide her time and lure him into false security?

She had no way to explain herself that did not sound like a desperate, self-serving lie. That felt more unbearable than her impending execution: that she would die with the Warlord thinking she was nothing more than a manipulative snake, that their strange but beautiful connection was all in his head.

And yet she could do nothing about it. Except wait.

His guards collected her at dusk. She knew it was dusk because they took her out of the cell, out of the dungeon, and to her old rooms. A bath was run for her, two foreign maids (or perhaps not foreign anymore now that their two countries were joined) scrubbed her without mercy.

This felt crueler than actual torture. What was the game here? Did the Warlord want to lure her into false security before he ripped it from her again? Would she be shuttled from cell to room over and over again until she lost her sanity?

Once they bathed and dressed her in her old, simple linen gowns, the Queen was instructed to wait.

The Warlord joined her soon after. He looked at her with guarded suspicion, his eyes as impenetrable as the city walls. She looked away.

“My men have committed a full investigation,” he announced quietly, sitting across from her. “The guard you conspired with had not appeared in the castle before the day he left with you. You had received no communication, no visitors, and you had not left your rooms. If you conspired with this enemy, you were very sneaky about it.”

If. Not when. It gave her hope, and the hope terrified her more than anything else. She said nothing, afraid to ruin it.

“Of course, you know this palace better than any of my men. You are intelligent and quiet and cooperative enough to have earned their trust and mine. It’s not impossible for you to help plan a rebellion under my nose.”

“No, it is not impossible,” she admitted, daring another look at him. “But I did not do it.”

He looked at her for a long moment, with that unnervingly penetrating gaze. She struggled not to shy away from it.

“When you came to me that night for surrender, what was your worst fear?”

The question surprised her. She could not guess his angle, but answered honestly regardless. “That you would execute me on the spot and then murder my people in their homes come morning.”

“And yet you came anyway. You gave your city to me regardless. Why? If death was inevitable, why not fight until the bitter end? Or join your husband and avoid it all together?”

A small, desperate hope had driven her actions that night. A reckless hope that inspired an insane decision she would never have made under any other circumstances.

“When I first heard your terms for our surrender they sounded very generous to me,” she answered slowly. “They did not sound like the ideas of a man bent on our destruction. I had a hope that, despite what followed, you could still be that man.”

“A leap of faith,” he said softly. “You risked everything on the small hope that you could trust me.”

This time she tried to give him a penetrating look of her own. It felt like trying to find the bottom of a murky river. He was much more skilled at hiding his thoughts than she was with hers.

“Why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to?”

He took a measured pause before answering. “I am trying to remind myself of what I know you have done. Of what it took from you.”

“I do not regret it.”

“Even now?” His eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Even now.”

She meant those words deeply. The Warlord had done more for her city and her people in two months than her husband did in his entire reign. She did not fault him for his lack of trust in her because only a fool would blindly trust their former enemy and captive. But she had no idea how to make herself believable.

“No matter how short our acquaintance may be, you have given to me far more than you have taken,” she said. If he believed anything she said, please let it be this.

The wall of his gaze cracked just a little to reveal a hint of pain, of longing. “I don’t understand how you can say that.”

“You don’t know what my life was like before you,” she said simply.

Such a statement stunned him into silence. He looked at her as if she’s a battle ground he can’t figure out.

“Why did you bring me back here?” she asked, wondering if he would lie to her. “Is this some mind game you’re playing before you have me tortured?”

He looked at her in surprise. “How underhandedly cruel you must think me to come to that conclusion.”

He sounded almost offended.

“No other conclusion makes sense. You are convinced of my guilt, regardless of the truth. I should have been tortured for information by now, and slated for a morning hanging.”

“I should have done that,” he agreed, and something in her gut curdled at the sound of it. “If you were anyone else, I would have done that. But . . .you took a leap of faith for me. I feel I owe you the same.”

“A leap of faith?”

“I will take us back to our original arrangement — with extra precautions — as a show of trust. Just like the one you gave me when you surrendered. You will not return to your cell. You certainly will not be tortured. But know this: even a whiff of suspicion will be enough for me to gut you myself. I cannot have my reign threatened. Not even by you.”

The only thing that kept her knees from buckling in relief is the rigid disbelief that tightens her insides like a bow string. The risk of believing him could cost her much indeed, in both body and heart. And she was very tired.

“You don’t believe me,” he said with that knowing glint.

“It doesn’t sound very believable.”

He stepped towards her until he was close enough to take her hands in his. His long, rough fingers closed around her wrists.

“I’m still not completely convinced of your innocence. But your company is worth the risk of my trust. Whatever has happened . . I very much enjoy your presence.”

He squeezed her wrists, as if in reassurance, and she could not hide the wince of pain. And of course it did not escape his gaze.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said quickly — too quickly by the way his eyes narrowed. “It’s just . . .a bruise.”

“A bruise? You were not in chains.”

He held up her arm and pulled the sleeve down to reach the delicate skin of her wrist, still mottled purple and yellow.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

“How did you get this?” He asked softly, dangerously.

The Queen swallowed tightly. She feared how much this reminder would erode what little camaraderie they’d gained back. “A bruise,” she said. “ . . .from when they took me.”

His gaze roved up her arms to her collarbone, her face, scrutinizing every inch of her. It caught on the small, scabbed cut on her neck and all the breath in her lungs froze. On instinct she tried to cover it with her hand but he batted it away.

“What gave you this?”

“A knife.”

“A knife,” he repeated flatly. “Held at your throat.”

Anger fell over his features like a storm, crackled like lightning in his eyes. He looked more terrifying than she had ever seen him, even when he gutted his own guard. She braced herself for his sword or even his hands around her throat. Instead, he turned around and walked briskly to the window, hands in tight, shaking fists at his side.

The Queen’s heart and her hope disintegrated to ash in her chest. For the second time, tears fell in the Warlord’s presence. She could not stop them even if she wanted to.

Even a whiff of suspicion will be enough for me to gut you myself.

“Will you please just kill me,” she whispered, begging. “You will never trust me and I cannot live with your fear hanging over my head like a sword, waiting for the moment it will finally fall. If any respect for me remains, you would —“

“Stop.” He did not need to shout for his voice to echo like thunder. She felt it in her chest.

The Queen clenched her jaw tightly closed, body trembling, crying as she had not done since she was a little girl. It humiliated her. She covered her face with her hands, biting her lip to muffle herself. How weak and pathetic he must think of her. How stupid she was to fall in love with someone who could only ever think of her as their enemy.

Suddenly his hands were upon hers, pulling them gently away from her face. She had not even heard his approach. The Queen did not dare look him in the eye.

“I am not angry at you,” he said softly.

He tipped her chin up and forced their eyes to meet. The anger in his gaze had melted into deep, derisive shame.

“I am angry at myself. You would not have those wounds unless you resisted your own capture. And if you gave them to yourself on purpose you would not have try to hide them from me.”

His thumb brushed over the pulse of her wrist, as delicate as a puff of air. “I have been a fool. I have treated you with cruelty and dishonor.” He snorted with derision. “I offered you my forgiveness, thinking myself so magnanimous, when I should be begging for yours on my knees. I would now, if I thought I was worthy of it. But what I have done to you is unforgivable.”

He released his gentle hold on her and stepped back. The raw emotion on his face slipped back behind a calm, diplomatic mask. “Where would you like to go? I will send you anywhere, and make sure you want for nothing, and you will never have to worry about the sword of my fear hanging over your head again.”

He could not have offered her a more undesirable outcome. She swallowed back tears, trying to compose herself.

“If I had a choice,” she said shakily, “then I would stay here. With you.”

He gave her a pained look. “You do not have to be afraid to leave. I know I have broken your trust, but I do promise with all the honor I have left that nothing would happen to you.”

“I’m not afraid to leave,” she told him. “I just don’t want to. This is my home. And . . .”

“And?” he prompted.

She hesitated at the thought of revealing her final secret. But the worst had already happened between them. What else did she have to lose?

“And I love you.”

The confession horrified him. He flinched.

“You are my prisoner,” he said. “Ten minutes ago you were begging me to kill you. I put you in a dungeon cell.”

“I have had a happier time as your prisoner than I ever did in my marriage,” she pointed out.

He winced. “I hate it when you say things like that. It makes me furious that I did not have the pleasure of murdering your husband with my bare hands.”

“My apologies,” she said without meaning it. “I harbor no expectations that you could return my feelings. I just . . .thought you should know —“

“Marry me.”

This threw her. “ . . . What?”

To her utter shock, the Warlord sank to his knees, looking up at her beseechingly.

“Marry me. . . .please.”

“Why?” she faltered. “Why would you want me? Wouldn’t you marry someone of your own court?”

“There is no one better suited than you and I would have no other. You are careful, intelligent, and kind. You know this city and its needs. You have helped me immensely thus far even in your limited capacity. And . . .I love you.”

Now this felt too good to believe. Never before had someone expressed love to her with such raw sincerity, such simplistic purity. She wanted so badly to believe it.

The Queen knelt in front of him, searching the beloved features of his face.

“Not an hour ago you thought I had conspired to overthrow you,” she said softly. “Now you want to marry me. I do not understand it.”

“You do not trust it,” he corrected, again seeing the heart of her.

“I want to.”

“An hour ago I was a fool and a coward,” he said, not shying away from her gaze despite the disgust in his own eyes. “I am unworthy of you, I fully admit it. But if you will stay with me, then you will be my equal. No more of this captivity. You have put your life in my hands and now I will gladly put my life in yours.”

He reached out and delicately traced the line of her jaw. “I am not a man who makes the same mistake twice,” he murmured. “But if you will not have me, the offer stands to care for you anywhere in the world.”

Though she understood it, his distrust of her cut her deeply. Part of her hesitated, afraid the rug of their relationship might be pulled out from under her yet again. But the Warlord had always kept his word, and she would rather have a life cut short with him than a long one without him.

“I will have you,” she said.

A smile of soft, pure joy bloomed across his face, the sight as stunning as the sunrise. He leaned forward, capturing her face in his hands, and pressed his forehead against hers. Breathing her air.

“We will make this world a place where we can be happy,” he promises.

And they did.

If anyone is curious, I was heavily inspired by Netflix's Rise of Empires: Ottoman season 1. I loved the actor who played Mehmed II and he was in my head as the warlord this whole time. It's a great series!

Taglist:

@cesspitoflove @aprilraine @talesofurbania1 @sarcasticlittlebook @hasel-anne @weaverofbrokenthreads @prismaticpizza @tantive404 @newfangled-artistry

#hero x villain #fantasci tumblr #enemies to lovers #my writing #terms of surrender

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plantboiart · 2 months

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Okay finished relistening to episode 1 (will listen to episode 2 and maybe more tomorrow but its like 10 pm and i have school tomorrow) of bitb and heres just like small collection of things that stuck to my mind!

Rolan does in fact canonically have a car i forgot about that so sorry rolan in my fic you got to live but lost your ability to drive such is life

Kian’s first act being just drinking something…. Like he wakes up and immediately gets alcohol… grizzly honestly just does such an incredibly amazing job making kian seem so like depressing but hiding it so well behind making everything seem like just some funny rockstar stuff its amazing

Also! The super tired ‘hey’ before he remembers and switches to ‘i mean whats up dude’??? Like could that have been a genuine mistake by grizz, sure, but i highly fucking doubt that. Like grizzly is so incredible at voice acting i refuse to believe that wasnt intentional

Rand. Just. How fucking mad he is at rolan. Its just painful. And how clearly done with it rolan is like you know this is an argument theyve had like hundreds of times before

So so so many details about kian that are so fucking fun to think about, specifically when he describes the look officer dudes gave him? Like (cant remember the exact quote but you get it) ‘ive seen some bad people in hollywood, people who just smile at you a certain way and you know you wouldnt want to meet them at night because they want to kill you’???? I am using that against him so hard holy shit

They just. Know nothing about how time works. They keep saying that its been a decade (it hasnt its been 15 years) and barc is supposedly old enough to have met them but no he is absolutely not and also charlie described barc as a golden retriever but then who the fuck is the black dog in rands official art just. Wow theyre so inconsistent about everything.

Theres definitely a few details about kian that i had forgotten about (like him just saying he has plenty more cars at home and whatever) but the pros of that is. I dont even need to decide to just ignore canon because i can just fucking believe that hes lying! Like its kian we cant trust his word on anything and thats great for me because i dont need to worry about messing up the canon!

Trying to just keep track of their stats and such but its. Its so hard. Because most of the time they just say ‘thats a success/hard success/failure/etc’ and not even what they actually rolled and then when they say what they rolled they still usually dont say what the number they had to beat was so just like.

Kian has 30 strength and 75 in guitar and 11 hp and that is all i can actually remember

Rand has 45 strength and 30 sanity (for like the first half hour) and ive already forgotten everything else

And rolan. Im going to be real i remember nothing already. I think he has 8 speed? But that was in the solo ep so i cant be sure. Also either him or rand had 14 hp i have already forgotten which one

Rat’s death is so hard to think about but its also very hard for me because im just thinking of kian going through the same fucking thing. Like hes aware of it and hes in pain and he just hears a buzzing and. Augh. (And kian probably died alone. God knows becky wasnt comforting him through that)

…..kian going fucking four times over the speed limit getting to galloway but then specifically not speeding with the others until theyre trying to leave after seeing rats whole thing? You cannot convince me that thats not like him being passively suicidal and just not caring about his own safety unless other peoples lives depend on it as well

Also, quick pat on the back for myself, i feel like i did very well with especially rand and rolan’s dynamic. Like just the intense care and love they have for each other but its been overshadowed by years spent apart and basically the second theyre left alone they immediately get into an argument and instantly start going right for all the things that hurt the most? Jesus they need therapy

Also kian (yes of course im focusing on him again thats my guy) just cares for them so much?? Like him immediately going after rolan and trying to help him without even knowing whats going on, also as fucking stupid as it is grizzlys plan being literally ‘im going to flirt with donna so john walks in on us and chases me with a shotgun to give a distraction for rand’ its like. So ridiculous. Yet somehow also very caring that this idiot is really willing to risk getting shot at to help rand out a bit

#jrwi show #jrwi #just roll with it #jrwi bitb #jrwi blood in the bayou #blood in the bayou #jrwi spoilers #jrwi bitb spoilers #bitb spoilers #blood in the bayou spoilers

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idontknowreallywhy · 3 months

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Resurface 9 - Rebalance

Stepping away from the main event a little for a look at how the Tinies are doing…

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

Thunderbird Two sat steaming on the icy concrete of the hospital’s helipad. It was a bright morning in Calgary but everything was deeply, deeply white. It was only marginally above eyeball-freezing temperature and it would definitely have been more sensible to wait for Grandma to finish whatever argument she was having with the pharmacy inside… either inside the ship, or the hospital. But Gordon didn’t seem to want to do either of those and Alan sort of got it, so… here they were.

Alan paced the length of the big green behemoth. Slowly. Carefully, testing each step before putting his weight on that foot. He didn’t want to slip and cause an incident. If only they’d suited up his uniform boots would have been far more grippy… and warmer. Still, he needed to concentrate on something and the act of walking was, ironically, safer ground than most of the other options. He shivered.

“You alright, Allie?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” He didn’t look around. Focussed on placing his feet one at a time into the footprints he left on the last pass.

“Well I dunno, perhaps the horrifying experience of our most consistent, reliable elder brother suddenly losing his sanity, yelling at our dead father and nearly throwing himself and Scott down a cliff?”

Alan flinched. Then looked down at Gordon who was crouched by one of Two’s struts, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. He looked young, and lost and in need of a big brother. But right now there weren’t any available, only Alan the perpetual younger brother. Alan the baby who needed protecting from everything. Alan the small and incompetent who hid a terrible secret inside.

If Gordon knew… if Scott and John knew… what if Virgil told them? Did Virgil even know?

He may only have been a little kid but he had been smart enough to know he’d messed up. Smart enough to join the dots between his clumsiness and Virgil getting sick. He hadn’t been smart enough to understand why one brother had left him, but he had known he was to blame for nearly losing the second.

He grit his teeth and started pacing again.

And then paused and made a U-turn back to where his usually irrepressibly sunshiney brother huddled, stony-faced in the shadow of his wingman’s ship. Alan crouched alongside him and they both stared into the distance for a while.

“This sucks.” He ventured.

“Yup.”

“You alright?”

“No.”

Alan let out a humourless laugh.

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“I asked it too.”

“Yeah, and I lied. Sorry.”

“S’ok.”

He really wasn’t very good at this. He tried to think what Scott or Virgil would do, and mostly the talking bit happened later… the first response to a sad sibling usually boiled down to one of those magical all-encompassing big brother hugs. But surely he needed to be bigger than Gordon for that to work? Alan was the baby, he didn’t have the arms for it. Didn’t have the presence.

Yet… maybe it wasn’t about size. Thunderbird Three was, after all, a lot bigger than Two. But Two’s wings had an unparalleled ability to shelter them all. While Three was adventure, Two was safety. And Four, Alan realised, depended on her more than any of them.

Right now Four needed Two badly.

But Three was better than nothing.

He held his breath and reached around Gordon’s shoulders and pulled him close. His elder brother stiffened for a moment, clearly conflicted. Then seemed to melt into Alan’s side with a gasp. Alan wrapped his other arm around him and squeezed tighter.

“What if we don’t get him back, Alan?”

“We will. He will be ok.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but… I’m hoping really really hard.”

“I guess that’s all we’ve got.”

“That and… we always have each other? Tracys stick together no matter what, right?”

Gordon huffed a small laugh from somewhere in the vicinity of Alan’s armpit.

“What?”

“You’re just a teeny tiny Scott clone, you know that right?”

“I’m not that small!”

Alan flicked Gordon on the ear. Gordon jabbed him in the side which made him squeal uncontrollably. They scrabbled for a few moments before both tipped over and lay there for a minute, laughing the kind of laughs you laugh when the only other option is to cry.

💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️

Sally hurried out of the lift, dragging a small suitcase and clutching the paper pharmacy bag she’d had to shout down three junior pharmacists and two senior to obtain. Turned out, even when you have the consultant psychiatrist convinced, the pharma team were very reluctant to dispense an older drug, even if it had been proven to work well on a particular patient in the past. She didn’t have time to mess about with the shiny new third gen antipsys when she didn’t know how her boy would react. She just needed some certainty. They all did. That she’d managed to make them see sense without having to use the Name was professionally satisfying. She didn’t really want to risk that kind of speculation right now. People could be unkind about things they didn’t understand.

Somewhat apprehensive as to what state Gordon and Alan might be in, she was surprised, although not unpleasantly, to find both younger brothers on their feet, brushing slush from their clothes and hair… flicking it at each other just a little more than seemed strictly necessary. She raised an eyebrow in askance then lowered it, deciding not to go there. Whatever kept these two going right now was fine by her. She hugged them both briefly but hard, then heaved the case on to the platform.

“Right boys, let’s go home.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #gordon tracy #alan tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #thunderangst #what is a big bro anyway #tw: mental illness #Resurface fic

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yanderes-galore · 1 year

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(Prompt: 38 "My life has been so barren without you...." & 52 "My world's covered in darkness without you!" & "I'd burn this world and everything in it for you.") For yandere Reaper (Overwatch) and his innocent darling after he kidnapped her, please? Sorry, I know you got a lot of requests already, but these sentences really fitted this pairing. Thank you for considering writing it in case you do accept it. I appreciate it a lot!

It's fine! I don't mind a lot of requests. Prompt list used was mine. Short continuation of this concept.

Yandere! Reaper Prompts 38, 52, 1

"My life has been so barren without you...."

"My world's covered in darkness without you!"

"I'd burn this world and everything in it for you."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Kidnapping, Murder, Blood, Manipulation, Stalking, Forced relationship.

Reaper was the man that broke your innocence. He had not done anything to you physically. Intimacy-wise, at least...

He had instead shown your horrors. He had shown you the murder of your family before your very eyes. You still remember the way blood caked on your skin.

He was death itself. A being with no regrets when it came to killing. He held no remorse, he didn't think about his actions, if he did you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't be stuck in a dark room with the murderer of your family.

Intentionally or not, Reaper had killed most of your innocence. You thought the world was cruel after meeting death himself. Now you were alone...

Left to grieve while he watched.

"There's no need to cry...."

"You killed my family... why else do you think I cry?"

"Death claims us all at some point."

You don't look at him, refusing the acknowledge the ghastly mask he wore. Your captor was obviously not the comforting type. His presence only makes you cry harder.

"... I took you here for a reason."

"To finish what you started?"

"No..."

He readjusts you to face him, deadly hands holding your smaller ones.

"My life has been so barren without you...."

He doesn't let you go, sitting beside you.

"I am simply meant to kill. That is my job as death incarnate. I even find it fun...

His tone chills you the the bone. When his cold touch transitions to your cheeks, you try to pull away. He only digs his fingers into your cheeks tighter.

"Then I saw you. Your life so calm compared to mine.... So I watched you. From the shadows I kept you safe from the world's dangers. Until I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to have you."

"You're saying you killed my family... because I'm special?"

"Save your outrage..." Reaper barks at you, roughly pulling you into his chest. "...My world's covered in darkness without you."

You were his light. You were someone he could fight for. Although, to keep that light in his life, he had to cover yours in darkness.

Despite your protests for Reaper to let you go, he didn't yield. He rests his head on yours and enjoys the warmth you give off. Even if you cried, he didn't care.

Murder wasn't all that impactful to him.

"I'd burn this world and everything in it for you."

He would kiss you if he could. He yearned to give into his desires and break the rest of your innocent mind. To harvest everything from his darling, his lamb.

Although while your fear is cute... he wishes it would stop. He's given himself all to you and you only cry. He'd kill whoever and whatever if you asked for it. Even if you didn't ask for it, too.

Life required sacrifices. You could not have one thing without giving up another. Reaper obtained his happiness through you...

Although it sacrificed yours.

"You will grow used to it," Reaper says, his tone like a growling beast. "I only wish to keep you safe. I'd never kill you. I only want to hold you. To love you, an emotion I thought I lost long ago."

You say nothing, silently laying on his chest. After a few days, not just your innocence will break. Your sanity will too.

You aren't worried about you...

You're worried for those that will die because of you.

"You're mine to keep, lamb."

#yandere overwatch #yandere reaper #yandere gabriel reyes

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annakacoyett · 8 months

Text

Crimes Committed

Summary: Continuation of Ghost!verse. Set in Episode 1 of Assassination Classroom.

Pt.1 here

Pt.3 here

“Great! No absences! Take your textbooks out please, and flip to page fourteen!”

Everyone was getting used to this daily routine.

After the initial hit Rei made, not a single one of his attempts after that had worked. Mr. Octopus was being slightly more cautious, dodging and guarding his weak points better than before.

Frustratingly, nothing they did made a dent.

What was that first hit for then? An arrogantly lowered guard? Just Rei's luck that the yellow Lovecraft-esque being was caught by surprise?

Whatever it is, that chance wasn't going to present itself again anytime soon.

Rei sighed, putting away his S.A.A.U.S.O. gun, pulling out his textbook and getting ready to make notes.

This alien was quite adamant about fortifying their current education.

It doesn't look like it has any reason to.

But whatever it was, Rei was pretty disgruntled by Mr. Octopus’ competence.

He's a damn good teacher, no one can deny that.

—

Lunch came.

Rei glared jealously at the spot the octopus once stood.

Damn him and his Mach 20 speed. Not everyone could go to another country for lunch and come back within ten minutes.

What's more, Rei's been craving Mapo Tofu too.

Everyone is going somewhere for their lunch. From here, Rei could see Rio talking animatedly with Kayano and Okuda, while Shiota was leading a rather uncomfortable conversation with Teraseka.

“Hey Furuya!”

He looked up, seeing Isogai, Maehara and Sugino waving him over.

“Yes?” - He made his way over.

“Can you help us with our math assignment? We would've asked Sensei but he's…” - Sugino trailed off, making a ‘flying-away’ gesture, while Maehara mimed an exaggerated expression of the octopus taking off to Sichuan.

Isogai only shook his head fondly, looking somewhere between done and just plain exhausted.

Rei snickered.

“Sure. Where don't you understand?”

—

Their Sensei came back from lunch break with a souvenir.

If one could say a fully functioning, polished and cleaned missile tucked on his back qualifies as a souvenir.

Had someone told Rei exactly four weeks ago he would be accustomed to seeing a giant, three meter tall yellow octopus teaching him literature and bringing back multiple different types of machinery of destruction to teach them about nuclear history, he'd call the nearest mental institution and tell them one of their patients had escaped.

But alas, fate works in such weird ways.

One of which, was the amount of creative liberty it's demanding to conduct a poem about tentacles without it sounding vaguely sexual.

Anyone sane would question why their teacher felt the need to torture them so.

And Rei was ecstatic to know that everyone in his class, at least, hadn't lost their sanity, - “Was tentacles all along?!”

“Indeed!” - The damn octopus was too cheerful for Rei's liking, - “When you're finished, bring them to me! I will be looking for proper grammar, and whether or not you've aptly conveyed the tentacles’ beauty!”

He could feel the shock of the sheer audacity this guy is demanding.

‘The tentacles’ beauty?! The only goddamn beauty I see is how good they are flambléd!’

“An example: Not the storm of garden's snow, or flowers moving on. But sprouting there instead, was tentacles all along!”

It only made it more infuriating that the entire verse was grammatically correct and functionally descriptive.

The class was in a riot, and their teacher seems to be enjoying the chaos his ridiculous assignment is causing.

In the end, they are the student assassins and he was the teacher target.

Emphasis on student and teacher.

They still had to do the poem.

—

“I have a question!”

“Yes, Kayano-san?”

“It feels weird only asking this now but… what's your name? How else are we supposed to refer to you specifically?”

That's… a good question actually.

Up until this point, most of what they've been calling him was Sensei or Sir.

“My… name?”

Rei looked up from his heavily scratched out paper.

Murmurs went around. Seems like the class realized how they've never gotten Mr. Octopus’ name either.

“Hmmm…. I don't have the kind of name that you can tell people. How about you come up with one for me?”

“Are you sure sir?”

“Can we actually do that?”

“Yes, but later please. Right now, focus on your school work.”

“Hai!”

—

“Nagisa!!” - Kayano screamed.

Their light-haired classmate was on the ground, passed out and trembling.

“Aha!! Ten billion yen, here we come!!”

“We're rich!”

“Terasaka!!” - Rei yelled, - “What the hell did you do?!”

The tension was as thick as syrup. Isogai and Maehara’s faces were dark with anger, as did most of the others. Kayano and Sugino are glaring at Terasaka, Yoshida and Muramatsu venomously; occasionally glancing at their fallen friend with worry.

Rei had seen enough to know that Shiota was alive at least. The shock waves must've knocked him out, hard.

They're all lucky that that's the only thing that happened to him.

Tersaka grinned, feral, - “Bet he didn't expect a suicide bomber!”

“Hey!! What did you give Nagisa?!” - Kayano screamed again, the girl making her way to give Terasaka a good punch.

He couldn't blame her, honestly.

If Rei wasn't busy checking the older boy for burns and impact wounds, he would've given the brute a good beating.

“Huh? A toy hand grenade, duh. I beefed it up with a little gunpowder, then filled it up with those stupid BBs. Had this runt here walk up to the octopus, and BAM!! Don't worry, it's not enough to kill him. I'll pitch in on his medical bills—”

“So you admit to attempted murder, huh?

Terasaka looked confused.

“Wha—”

“Coercion. Illegal possession of black arms. Attempted murder. Modification of a tracked weapon model. Malicious intent. Harming of a minor. Blackmail and threatening a minor. Tampering with military-grade weapons. Possible breach of N.D.A. contract.” - Rei calmly stated, still crouching next to Shiota, his tone of voice icy, - “Should I go on? You've broken at least ten different laws on weapon possession and violated a few human rights. Considering the fact that he's fourteen, and you're fifteen, you're liable to juvenile court and face possible lifetime imprisonment as soon as you become of age if he hires a half-decent lawyer.”

He's seething on the inside.

He sees this type of shit happening everyday in Beika. But the sheer stupidity of this entire plan and the fact that none of the perps are planning to own up to it was pissing him off.

At least in Beika, when someone commits a crime, they take responsibility if they get caught and know exactly what they signed up for when they decide to commit the crime.

While it's infuriating to see a guilty criminal walk free, at the end of the day, it depends on the system and the winners are the ones who know the stakes.

Tersaka on the other hand?

He’s just a tiny little baby compared to the monsters Rei's been seeing since childhood.

“Not to mention, since the fact that our Sensei's existence is a national secret and that stunt you had Shiota do can be heard from the main campus, you might face punishment for that too. So add treason to the list of crimes you've committed today.”

The silence was deafening.

“Everyone here is a witness, and none of us are cowards who don't want to get our hands dirty. This has nothing to do with us and everything to do with you. I'm sure you've long accepted the fact that you won't be anything other than a street rat, but I can tell that you don't want to be locked behind bars this early in the game.” - Rei glared, - “Your choice; Tersaka. Yours as well, Yoshida, Muramatsu— you both can be seen as accomplices. Own up to the fact that you've broken federal laws, and would've killed Shiota had he not been covered in whatever the hell this stuff is. At least then people will know you're actually mature and might give you a reduced sentence.”

There was a pause, then a loud, - “BRAVO!!!” boomed into their ears.

A familiar yellow octopus came into view.

“Full marks Furuya-kun! You were correct with every single felony dear Terasaka had committed!”

‘Dear Terasaka’ in question paled, while Yoshida and Muramatsu looked like they just saw a ghost.

If you can't do the time, don't do the crime, cowards.

“That being said…” - Their teacher's normally yellow complexion turned pitch black, - “Shedding once a month does have its uses, and my skin was just thick enough to shield Nagisa-kun from the impact of the blast. I believe that you haven't read the fine print in that contract you signed, Terasaka-kun. You are also betting on the fact that my agreement with your government meant that I wouldn't be able to harm you should I wish to, correct?”

If yellow means normal, gray means blank, and pink means bliss— then black must mean…

…pissed.

Everyone was scared, while some tried not to show it.

“What's your deal anyway?! Just showing up out of nowhere all ‘I'm going to blow up the Earth’ and ‘Assassinate me!’ like it's something a bunch of 3rd years hear everyday?! Of course we'd try to do something!”

Rei finds himself getting increasingly frustrated with this meathead.

They have an unidentified creature severely angered right in front of them, who had proved he could kill them with a flick of a tentacle should he want to, and had only specified that he wouldn't harm them.

And even that isn't guaranteed.

“Who said I would keep my word? As we've proven, not even a nuclear bomb might have a chance of annihilating me. No one in this world could hope of landing one of those BBs onto my being. I could also simply make the world go ‘poof’ right this instance. Nobody said I couldn't.”

The implications seemed to have dawned on the thicker heads in the class.

“My agreement with your government only prohibits me from harming you, yes. But nowhere does it say that I have to follow. Nowhere does it claim that I couldn't, wouldn't harm anybody else. Your family, your friends, everyone you know— I have the choice to kill everything on Earth except for you.”

It didn't take long.

Everyone understands now, what's at stake.

“Try another assassination like that one again, and I might just harm someone else.”

They couldn't hide. They couldn't run.

They couldn't escape this even if they went to the bottom pits of Hell.

The only way out— literally— is to kill this thing by March.

“SO?! You're a real pain in the ass! What's wrong with using an annoying method to kill an annoying guy?!” - Terasaka shouted.

Ah.

So the idiot had spoken again.

“Annoying? Hardly. Your idea itself was a very good one. Especially you, Nagisa-kun. The way you carried yourself so naturally on your approach gets full marks from me. You did an excellent job making it past my defenses.”

The damn octopus did a full one-eighty in less than ten seconds.

Rei shouldn't be surprised.

“However! None of you, except for Furuya-kun who assessed the situation and reacted amazingly, looked out for Nagisa-kun— not even Nagisa-kun himself. Students like that aren't fit to assassinate anyone. We need an assassination worth smiling about— one to be proud of! You're all capable assassins who have that power within you. Just a few words of advice from your teacher-slash-target.”

One minute they were being scolded at Mach 20, the next everyone got a tentacle pat on the head.

“I have not the slightest intention of being killed. I will enjoy my time with you all until next March, and then I will blow up the Earth. If you don't like that idea, what do you plan to do about it?”

There was a beat, before someone broke it.

“Sensei…”

“Yes, Nagisa-kun?”

“Before you blow up Earth, I'll kill you.” - Shiota's voice was determined.

Rei can respect that.

“I'll kill you too.” - He piped up.

“So will I!”

“Don't count us out!”

“You better watch out, sensei!”

—

They decided on Korosensei.

‘Koro’— as in Korosenai; unkillable.

‘Sensei’— as in teacher.

So the octopus’ new name?

Korosensei.

They are killers, assassins picked to save the world.

And their target?

Their teacher.

#furuya rei #dcmk #assassination classroom #classroom #koro sensei #nagisa shiota #kayano kaede #class 3e #assassination time #crossover #fanfiction #fanfic writing

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skibasyndrome · 4 months

Note

Hey Simon 💜💜 Hope you had a good day!!!

I’ve completely lost track of which ones you’ve answered so I’ve you’ve already answered these pls consider this a wildcard and choose whichever ones you find interesting!!

⏰,💛,👑, 🎯

Hey Lia! Thank you so much for the ask and for the wildcard :) My day was good, I hope yours was as well! 💜💜💜

(I'll just answer the ones of these I haven't done yet plus an extra one)

⏰️: Do you like to post fics on a schedule or at random?

I haven't yet had the experience of having any chapters pre-written so I could even think about establishing a schedule, but I think for my next multi-chaptered thing I wanna be more systematic about it. Just for my own sanity as well, because I do have a tendency to get very very overeager about posting as quickly as possible whenever I finish something and then I take foreeeeeever to update.

👑: Do you like writing short fics or long fics?

I would love for many of my fics to be a lot longer than they are, but for self-preservation reasons, some just need to stay oneshots lol. I think with a real multi-chaptered fic I need to have it figured out fully before starting to post because I want to be able to have a thought-through piece of something. But then again I get so very impatient...

tldr: I think I'd like to be someone who effortlessly posts longer fics and I'm definitely gonna be working on that skill but my attention span and... whatever it is that makes me wanna publish everything immediately... lends itself a lot better to oneshots.

🎯: Do you have a writing milestone you’re working towards?

Funnily enough, this also connects to the other two questions, because one milestone is to have a proper multi-chaptered fic and FINISH it as well! I think I've learned a lot about writing and discipline and finishing works during my years at uni, but it's still definitely an uphill battle!

BONUS: 💌: Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

I'm never sure what definition of "trope" we're going with at any given moment, but one??? theme??? I love to death and will include all the time no questions asked is having my blorbos be absolutely sickeningly obsessed with each other. Like only-each-other-on-their-mind.

Send me fanfic writer asks

#bigalockwood #answered #theme of this ask is: Simon's impulsivity makes him a very uncoordinated fic writer </3 but I'm working on it I promise!!!

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levmada · 1 year

Note

one of my headcannons for levi is that he’s secretly afraid of thunderstorms. it only reminds him of losing isabel and farlan. they’re loud and it’s simply not something he’ll ever grow accustomed to. sure, he’s seen and heard much worse on the battlefield but thunderstorms while never fail to make him shiver.

him just distancing himself whenever it storms to a quiet space, spacing out.. trying to cope with the haunting memories that come flooding back to him with each strike of lighting.. 😭

goddd yes i’ve incorporated that exact thing into so many of my fics. it’s real. Levi was probably set on hating thunderstorms even before he lost Izzy and Furlan bc the constant rain hammering against every wall and the ceiling was stifling. the gusts of wind and the possibility of a branch coming crashing down. Levi does NOT understand why lightning has to exude… light, why it flashes or why it zig-zags, and he’s heard horror stories about people being struck by it. not to mention the way the sky explodes with thunder right after - sometimes shaking the floor’s foundations. and it’s just a loud startling sound which does not mix with someone like Levi.

after he loses his friends, he not only despises thunderstorms, but it’s a complete phobia. he’s afraid of thunderstorms in the way that he would push through whatever duties need to be done during, but in that hollow, distant state of mind that practically puts everything on auto-pilot, including his mind. Levi thinks erroneously that he’s a fucking grown man, and much less the strongest, so he shrivels up at the idea of hiding under covers or god forbid taking extra care of himself on days where it storms - bc he simply doesn’t take care of himself period.

he doesn’t want to put up with anyone, and he has an even lower tolerance to bullshit than usual. his temper is short because that’s how him being overwhelmed and - he had to admit - “intimidated” manifests.

ironically, a late night thunderstorm would be easier for him to put up with, because at least then he can convince himself that hiding under covers is simply convenient. his breath hitches with each stroke of lightning, and the rain is like a constant battering at the edges of his mind. silence and darkness are his friends at that point. it’s one of the only times he would feel half-okay waiting the storm out underground.

i even think, for the first few years after that day, there’s a quality of PTSD to Levi’s state of mind during thunderstorms. he’s sort of stuck in place when he has things he needs done, like a deer in headlights. even showering or changing out of his uniform. he feels everything he has compartmentalized or buried deep inside him boil over, like he’s back in that exact moment of coming upon Isabel’s lone head. remembering the dull, dead shade of green compulsively has him tearing through his closet for one of his cloaks and staring at its rich tone to get rid of that image in his mind. it’s irrational, and he’ll later consider whether or not he’s lost some of his sanity because of his own mistakes and find that a fitting punishment, but that’s the way he has to cope sometimes, even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.

he hates himself for not understanding his own mind. the fear is pathetic, he thinks. no one understands what the slime on Furlan’s hand felt like when Levi yanked him free, or the way Levi’s stomach dropped to his feet when only half of him came out. no one heard Isabel say his name, and not finish it. no one knows his rage. and there is no lonelier feeling than that.

#levi angst #aot angst #snk headcanons #levi headcanons #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman angst #aot drabbles #levi drabble #levi ackerman drabble #levi.thoughts

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vivienneyoungx · 3 days

Text

Girls Just Want to Have Fun

Even though Vivienne had been in Salem for five years now, she mostly left the Bookstore alone. Obviously, it was hard not to notice the stares she got from mister Walters. Every time she walked in, she felt his gaze caressing her from top to bottom, lingering on her breasts, lingering on her legs; she noticed the way he wet his lips every single time she leaned over the counter. No, she didn't do much to him because she always had a plan. First, it was just to get whatever she needed from him. Apparently, not all books were allowed to be read by her. Yet Vivienne made sure to give him just enough view that all his 'moral code' went out of the window.

Second? Well, that was the plan she was about to execute.

"Walters." Viv said gently as she walked over to the counter. "Do you have a moment for me? I know you're so busy, but..." She licked her lips as her voice purred in his direction. Mister Walter was mesmerised already, leaning in, breathing her scent in as if she was the forbidden apple herself.

"Yes, darling." The man said breathlessly. Vivienne leaned in closer, her index finger in her mouth as her tongue slowly grazed the length of it. "I just have to fix something." slowly removing the finger from her mouth, she placed it upon his lower lip, as if there had been sugar on his mouth. "You had a little something there." Her face had just been inches away from his and she could see how he leaned into her touch, how quickly he started sucking on her finger as if that was what she really wanted.

Vivienne stood before Mister Wallace, her eyes glinting with a predatory sparkle. Her finger, soft and deliberate, pressed gently against his lips, sending an electric shiver down his spine. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear.

“Sign this for me,” she whispered, her voice a velvet command.

Wallace’s heart raced as he realized there was already a pen in his hand. The thrill of her nearness and the intoxicating power she exuded made him shiver with happiness and excitement. Without a second thought, without even glancing at the document, he nodded eagerly and scribbled his signature.

Suddenly, the scene changed.

In reality, Mister Wallace was standing rigidly behind the counter of his occult bookstore, his eyes glazed over, lost in a vivid illusion. Vivienne, a dark smile playing on her lips, stood in front of him, holding the freshly signed deed to the store. Her fingers pointed at him as she manipulated the fabric of reality, pulling him out of his fantasy and back to the harsh truth.

Her laughter rang out, sharp and mocking. “You’re so fucking weak,” she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “A disgrace to society.”

Wallace’s eyes widened in horror as he grasped what he had done. The store, his life’s work, was now hers. Panic and despair began to claw at his sanity, but Vivienne wasn’t finished with him yet.

With a subtle gesture, she unleashed her powers of emotional manipulation. Wallace’s mind began to twist and contort under her influence, his thoughts becoming a chaotic storm of fear and madness. He clutched his head, trying to hold on to reality, but it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

Vivienne’s laughter grew louder, filling the room as she watched him unravel. The last coherent thought Wallace had before he was completely consumed by insanity was a desperate, futile wish that he had never met her.

"Thanks." She smirked, as she walked out, closing the door behind her.

#;; para #;; Hemlock & Dagger #;; how things came to be #;; might as well have this here too hahaha

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skyloftian-nutcase · 1 year

Note

Do you think you could write a snippet, for any of your fics?

Have multiple snippets! Guess which each is from!

.....

This felt like his past, like the painful ache of everyone he’d known before the Calamity haunting him. He didn’t know their circumstances, he didn’t know what had happened to them, he’d barely been able to start piecing it together. He’d barely even resolved to try to piece it together, stories and people from another life a century ago gnawing steadily at his sanity.

But Sky wasn’t a phantom from a past he couldn’t remember. Sky was a part of his life now, and he was terrified he’d become another lost Champion, another piece of his life that just vanished into thin air with no explanation, no closure, nothing.

Wild hugged himself a little, feeling ice cold and alone. Goddess, he hoped Sky was okay. He wanted to get up and look for him now. The sunlight was beginning to make the horizon glow, and he shot to his feet to wake the others. He doubted they’d mind the early start.

A bush rustled and snapped, and Wild grabbed his bow and arrows in a heartbeat, yelling, “Everybody up!”

Snores and yelps sounded around the camp, and a figure shot out of the bushes with its hands held high in the air, eyes wide and terrified.

“Easy!” the figure said shakily, and Wild recognized the skinny, muscular physique and voice after a few seconds of confusion. The postman took a steadying breath as Wild lowered his arrow while others scrambled for weapons and then froze in bewilderment. “I have a letter for a Mr. Rusl, I’m just passing through to get to Ordon.”

Legend dropped his sword to throw his hands in the air. “Do you ever sleep?!”

........

“Is that why you sell my stuff?”

“One does have to make a living—”

“You have a job, Ravio.”

“B-but what if it isn’t enough, you know I need comforts and the world can be so unpredictable and scary—”

Legend’s phone buzzed again. Sighing even more heavily than last time, Legend snatched the blasted object to put it on do not disturb when his eyes caught some of the words in the texts.

—help and I don’t know what—

Furrowing his brow, the travel nurse unlocked his phone to read the messages fully.

hey need a a favor wellaact ually actually maybe more of yeah I need a favor look I might be a liytle tipsyandd cant drive ok hang on swearica n type ha stnadby Ok. Typing slow. Need a drive. Ride Whatever I can’t drive myself an I need help and I don’t know what else to do Don’t want Wind to see me like this pls

Legend stared at the mess of texts. He… what? Why was Warriors drunk texting him of all people? He typed, Can’t you call Time? Or Sky?

Time would fuss Sky would worry Pls Ledge?

Legend frowned. You think I won’t fuss?

You alwayssfuss

His ire flared. I do not!!

LEDGE RIDE PLS

This night couldn’t get any worse. UGH FINE YOU MORON JUST TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE

......

His mouth became a thin line. “And I… I screwed it all up. I cursed everything, everyone. I cursed them.”

“Link,” Zelda said, caught off guard. She was struggling to understand how Demise had survived as well, but she wasn’t blaming either of them for it as he seemed to be. His worries were clearly eating him alive.

“Don’t,” Link immediately hissed, growing stormy. “Don’t even try it. You did everything right, you did your part, you trusted me to finish things and I didn’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Zelda asked, putting a hand to his cheek. “Link, you defeated him. We had no way of knowing—”

“I did,” Link spat, pulling out of her reach and turning away, his hands shaking as he clenched his fists. His shoulders hunched and his entire body was so tense it was ready to snap. “He said it himself. I thought—I was such a fool, Zelda, I—I thought—he started speaking about how his hatred would follow my spirit and your bloodline, and it sounded like the dying words of a monster, I—I didn’t realize it was a curse, that he was—I didn’t—I d-didn’t—”

Link’s body stiffened even further as shuddering gasps and hiccups interrupted his words, and he bowed his head, hugging himself. Zelda immediately rushed around him to face him fully once more, dragging him into the tightest hug she could muster, willing all of her love into it.

“You had no way of knowing,” she repeated as she processed what he’d said. “And who’s to say it was a curse right in that moment? Who’s to say it wouldn’t have happened whether he spoke it or not? Who’s to say there was any stopping it? Link, I was a goddess. I was a goddess and I couldn’t stop him. You did everything you were meant to do – you solved the puzzles, you tempered the Goddess Sword and made it into the Blade of Evil’s Bane, you traveled through time, you got the Triforce and used it to kill him. You beat him. It was Ghirahim who screwed everything up.”

#you ask skye answers #lovely anon #writing #also since this is the only way I can communicate this to everyone:#I JUST WATCHED THE MOST RECENT EPISODE OF HERO'S PURPOSE BY MAJORLINK #AND I AM S C R E A M I N G

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scarletsaphire · 8 months

Text

Mikey has been the DM for his Dungeons and Dragons group for ages. But that changes today; the local game store is holding an event, which means that he is finally going to get to play! The sorry sucker that's been assigned their DM, named Edgar, will have no idea what hit them.

---

And the other definitely not forgotten one @phantasycentral

"Are you excited?" Nathan asked as he walked down the street next to Mikey, holding his folder close to his chest.

"Am I excited," Mikey repeated in a mocking tone. "Of course I am! I've been stuck as you lot's dungeon master for five years now. Finally, I'll be able to be a player and join in your game ruining shenanigans!"

"Hey!" Caroline said. "We don't ruin any of the games."

"Yea," the other Nathan, or Nate as the gang tended to call him, added. "We enhance it!"

Mikey stopped in his walking to turn and look Nate in the eye. "You caused a black hole by sling-shotting a bag of holding into another bag of holding, ending the big bad instantly, and causing a TPK. On session four."

"Ok, but it's your fault we had two bags of holding," Nathan argued.

"It was not!" Mikey protested. "You guys are the ones who broke into the Grand Wizards Tower the second it was introduced, and then robbed him blind when he tried to stop you!"

"I mean," Caroline said, "You are the one who gave him two bags of holding."

"He made them!" Mikey was nearly yelling at this point. "He was the maker of like, all the enchanted items in the land, of course he'd have two bags of holding!"

"Still your fault," Nate said.

Mikey tugged at his hair. "This is exactly why I am so excited this event is happening. If I have to run one more game with you dunderheads as my party I'm going to lose my mind."

"I thought you already lost your mind when I made that Tabaxi?" Caroline asked, grinning deviously in a way that she only ever did around them. She was normally very self concious about her braces, but apparently bashing orcs heads in with a great axe made for great bonding experiences.

"Oh yea, that one that could run like, 300 feet in a turn!" Nathan said. "I remember that! You ran circles around that Dragonborn, literally!"

"I did!" she preened. "And I distinctly remember you saying that it was the final nail in the coffin of what was left of your sanity."

"I got it back," Mikey sniffed. "Because I'm just better like that."

"If you were than you wouldn't get so hung up on us just having some fun with your games," Nate said, elbowing Mikey in the side.

"Whatever," Mikey grumbled. "Hopefully, whoever is our DM for this event is someone really good, and our schedules will line up, and they can take the curse of Forever DM away from me."

"Well, we're about to find out," Nathan said, coming to a stop in front of the game store. "You all ready?" The group traded determined nods, and made their way into the building.

It was populated, but not full. A number of people were sitting at fold out table in the rear end of the store, just visible through the shelves of board games, RPG books, and fancy dice. A middle aged man stood behind the counter, helping a young woman buying a pack of Pokemon cards. He waved to the lot of them when they came in briefly, before returning to the transaction. They all hovered at the counter, waiting for him to be finished.

It didn't take long before the woman was happily on her way out, Pokemon cards in hand, and the man turned to the four of them. "Howdy folks!" he said, voice thick with a southern accent. "Y'all here for the D&D stuff I take it?"

"Uh, yea," Mikey said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "We uh. We signed up online?"

"Yup, most did," he said. "My name's Chris, I run this place with my sister. Give me just a second to pull up the list and..." Chris clicked a few buttons on his computer. "Ok, it looks like you'll be playing with Edgar. He's the fella in the purple jacket, right back there." Chris nodded his head towards the back, where, just as described, a man sat at the head of one of the empty fold out tables, a DM screen in front of him and a play mat stretched out across the table.

"Ok," Mikey said. "Uh, thank you!" With that, he led the group the rest of the way into the game store. Edgar looked nice enough; he was on the paler side, with dark black hair and a well kept goatee. He had also set up the map pretty well, at least from Mikey's perspective; most of it was covered with papers, which he presumed would be removed while they explored. When the three of them approached the table, Edgar looked up and smiled at them.

"Aw yes, you must be my adventurers!" he said. "I'm Edgar, and I'll be the story writer for the evening. I assume you have all created characters for the evening?"

Mikey and the rest of the group gave a variety of affirmatives, as they all took their seats at the table. "Do you want to take a look at our character sheets before we get started?" Nathan asked, pulling the paper out and holding it out to Edgar.

Edgar waved the paper away. "There's no need. I'm sure I will become... properly acquainted with all of your characters by the end of this story. Now, are you all ready to start? I promise, it will be an adventure to die for."

Mikey caught Caroline's eyes from across the table. She looked nervous. They all did; none of them were exactly what would be described as sociable, outgoing people, so it was only natural that they'd all have some kind of social anxiety in this situation, but there was something off about Edgar. Something about the way that he spoke...

Mikey took a deep breath. His mom had been getting on his case lately, about needing to get out of his comfort zone more. She probably meant to start playing a sport or something, but this counted. Maybe Edgar was just as nervous and socially awkward as they were, and just had an odd way of saying it? "We're ready," Mikey said.

"Wonderful. Then let us begin."

---

Mikey couldn't say at what point during the exposition things started to get weird. Edgar was a very good storyteller, so for a while, it just seemed like he was painting a very vivid picture of the forest laid out before them, vivid enough that Mikey could see the towering trees and dappled sunlight on the ground. And then he could smell the clear, cool air, and hear the bird song and the wind rustling in the leaves, and feel the dirt on the ground beneath his leather boots, and Mikey was no longer just Mikey, he was Erdri, his dragonborn paladin.

"What..." Nathan, a half-elf cleric named Vaeril. "What happened? How are we..."

"Ok cool so I'm not just going crazy," Nate said. His spoke with a lisp, his half-orc tusks making the softer sounds of Common awkward.

"Not unless we all are," Caroline replied. Mikey almost missed her; she was a halfling rogue, which made her very, very easy to miss. "You don't think..."

"That I was a ghost?" It was Edgar's voice, coming from a squirrel in the trees. "If you didn't, you'd be wrong. You can call me Ghost Writer, and I've decided to play my hand at this new form of collaborative story telling. You will be my test group! How lucky you are."

Nate drew his great-axe from behind his back. "You let us go right now! You won't get away with this!"

"Oh, none of that," Ghost Writer replied. "If you won't play fair, than neither will I." Nate tripped and fell face first on the ground, the great-axe flying from his hand. "All you have to do is finish this adventure. That's what you agreed to do, is it not?"

"Not like this!" Nathan complained.

"Tomato, tomato," Ghost Writer said. "You agreed, and now you have to see the story to the end. Be careful! I'm not planning on going easy on you." The squirrel lost the imprint of Ghost Writer's features, returning to existence as a completely regular squirrel.

"We're gonna die," Caroline said, just above a whisper. "We're totally going to die!"

"No, we're not," Mikey said. The strength in his voice surprised him. "We're going to win."

"How can you say that?" Nate asked, brushing the dirt off of his face. "We've never done anything like this before!"

"Yes, we have! We've been playing Dungeons and Dragons for years. You all are experts at breaking a DM's story, and I know all the tips and tricks about DMing that there is to know. This "Ghost Writer" won't know what hit him."

"Ok," Nathan said, taking a deep breath. "Ok. I believe you. But why the hell do I believe you."

"I rolled like, an 18 in charisma."

"That'll do it."

"Onwards and upwards?" Nate held his hand out between the four of them.

One by one they all added their hands to the stack.

"Onwards and upwards!" They said the cheer unanimously, throwing their hands up in the air. Together, they made their way deeper into the forest, where adventure awaits.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phantasy phest 2023 #mikey danny phantom #I do not think a single other character has a tag. I dont even know if mikey actually has a tag!#take it.

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