#I might do more portraits in this still but I’m not sure yet
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“The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife / Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little children.”
King Aenys Targaryen, the Son of Rhaenys the Conqueror
#I might do more portraits in this still but I’m not sure yet#we love a niche targaryen#or do we idk i don’t hang out in targ nation much#aenys targaryen#rhaenys targaryen#my art#asoiaf#extra tags:#rhaenys the conqueror#fanart#artists on tumblr#art#digital art#a song of ice and fire#valyrianscrolls#house targaryen#fire and blood
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Do you think maybe a large part also of why Chilchuck's wife left him was because of how much he changed after becoming an adventurer? He seemed naive and spirited once, but became more jaded the more dungeon crawling he did. I like to think with the new image of his wife that Flertom and Puckpatti's cheerful demeanor came from how Chilchuck was once as a child. But she accepted that people change. And yet that night, meeting how he is with his coworkers, reminds her of how he used to be.
Yes I do! I go into it in my masterpost on Chilchuck’s family, though I made it before we got his wife’s face reveal. If you want to see my thoughts on what things might have pushed her to leave I recommend you go to the ‘Possible strains on the marriage’ section!
Ooh I like your thoughts! Flertom and Puckpatti inheriting good cheer from him would be soo cute (it’d also be funny with how he’s like "Meijack, my daughter most like me" meanwhile the ones with the opposite of her personality got it from him. Sike Meijack’s like her mom the most lmao), but for Puckpatti at least I’m skeptical.
Chilchuck likes good cheer out of work sure, but he dislikes optimism/carefreeness. It makes him worry on if they can take care of themselves or if they’ll be able to make it (in part due to how he was himself tricked by parties in the past), so I’ve theorized that Puckpatti’s carefree demeanor is actually an effect of Chilchuck working out of home more and more as the years go by, and thus having the least of an influence on his youngest child, leaving his wife to do most of the raising and teaching lessons.
I don’t know what to make of his wife’s portrait yet, she does seem pretty jaded herself, or like she has a lot on her mind. Since it’s supposedly set into the present of canon, it could just be that she’s still affected and upset by having left him… Or maybe that’s just how she is! Maybe Chilchuck rubbed off on her too, or maybe she grew that way more over the years by herself, or maybe she’s always been a little gloomy/ice queen looking, no clue! I don’t think trying to take away a lot of her personality from just the portrait would be effective or wise, but now I do think she’s the more reserved and serious type.
"Yet that night, meeting how he is with his coworkers, reminds her of how he used to be" Asker I looooove this, you’re so right!! That could definitely be part of it, I hadn’t seen that angle. He’s very cheerful and open when sharing drinks with people as we see, so it’s possible she’s like "Wow, he’s having such a good time here with his coworkers. Why isn’t he usually like that with me?" plus just being hit with a ton of bricks of realization that that part of him was why she loved him, but he’s changed so much so maybe they should cut their losses and part away.
And especially since they were childhood friends, too! 20 years sure do change a man. Chilchuck does say she fell into a bad mood after the outing on the way back home but didn’t know why, so there’s a lot of thoughts and feelings we can assign to her. Again, I encourage you to read my big post on it if it interests you, I give many different interpretations and whatnot~!
#Dungeon meshi#chilchuck tims#chilchuck’s wife#Puckpatti#flertom#Ask#gonna take longer to reply to your other asks sorry!! I have an old one I need to get back to 😭#dungeon meshi manga spoilers#The way Chil says “but she’ll probably get by all right.” gets to me… Having faith in his daughter and letting himself be optimistic#For once <3 That’s the Marcille influence in his character arc talking#Also I just now noticed how he calls her Patti instead of her first name Puck… Interesting interesting#Chilchuck’s family
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Best Kept Secret
chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (RE-UPLOAD)
ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧
pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader
rating : 18+ mdni
word count : 5.4k
summary : the mandalorian and reader do some reading
warnings, etc. : language, mentions of sex
A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!
It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline.
His helmet is still off.
And the room is completely illuminated by the sunrise.
He seems to sense your hesitancy and after some adjustment his face is concealed once more as you gaze up at him.
“Sorry sarad, I must have fallen asleep without it on.” His voice is gravelly and thick with sleep as he looks down at you. He’s acting like it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you accidentally saw.
It might very well be.
You know his creed is precious to him, even if he says he is an apostate. You don’t want him to break it just for you and end up regretting it later.
“I don’t want to see until I’m allowed to.” That doesn’t really make sense and you know it. “Will I ever be allowed to? How does that work?” He sits up as you speak, stretching his arms above his head.
“I’ll explain it another time, right now I need to get you back to your room before someone realizes you're gone.” He’s crawled to the edge of the bed and he’s already pulling his boots on.
Oh yeah.
It was easy to fall into a fantasy of staying here with him. For a moment there you had completely forgotten that you were married, and expected in other places. You stand looking for your dress as he attaches his armor.
“Don’t change yet, it’ll be easier to sneak you back in if you aren’t wearing a shimmery gown.” He’s so quick with it, in the time it takes you to even find your gown he’s completely done getting ready. “Do you have everything?” He turns to face you as he takes the dress from you and throws it over his arm.
Your eyes dart to the shelf.
Your knife is up there.
He chuckles when he catches your line of sight.
“Not gonna happen, princess. Let’s go.” He takes your hand and hastily drags you out of the cabin. In the morning light you can see what he had been carrying you over last night.
The cabin was built partially on top of the lake. It must be a pain having to carefully step over all of the water but he doesn’t seem to mind as he scoops you into his arms and looks to be contemplating something.
“Is your bedroom window unlocked?”
That’s an odd question. But you know it is, you’re several floors up so you never lock it.
“Yes, why?”
“No reason.” You can hear a grin on his face.
He starts walking, not really caring if he steps into the water as he carries you towards the castle. Once you're through the gardens and past the forest trail he adjusts his cowl to cover your face. You rest your head against his chest as he makes his way towards what you assume to be the servant's entrance. But you never hear a door open, instead he leans down to whisper to you.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
Is he about to take off his helmet in broad daylight?
You don’t get a chance to question it as you shut your eyes and you feel the cowl ripped from your face, there’s an unfamiliar rush of air against your skin and the sound of a click and a creak.
“You can open them now.” He whispers again, you aren’t sure what you expect to see when you open your eyes but it certainly isn’t him standing on the outside of your window sill, balancing you in his arms.
You know immediately that it’s a mistake as you look down and find yourself several stories off the ground.
“Maker! What is wrong with you!” You cling to him tighter but he simply laughs as he peels you off of him to set you inside.
“Sorry, hand me your clothes.” There’s a sudden urgency in his voice that keeps you from arguing, you strip to your undergarments and toss him the things you borrowed, he doesn’t hesitate to throw your dress onto the floor. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” You’re left staring dumbfounded as he jumps off the ledge at the same moment your door swings open and Elaine’s voice fills the room.
“I’m telling you, we don’t have to knock, she isn’t here, we’ll just wait for h-“ She stops and stares at you with wide eyes and your face gets hot at the implications of her words.
“Good morning girls.” You stammer out as they both look surprised to see you.
“Apologies for not knocking my lady.” Elaine bows as she says it, cocking an eyebrow in your direction but you don’t give her a reaction as you simply walk to the mirror to be prepped.
They seem relieved that you don’t have anything to say and you’re relieved that Elaine doesn’t press further as they begin to dress you. The gown Lysa chooses for today is a soft gray color, the fabric shimmers in the light and it sort of reminds you of the Mandalorian’s armor.
Nobody seems to have anything to say to each other this morning but you truly don’t mind. In a few minutes you’ll get to see him again.
And things are okay now.
Right?
You’ve established a mutual want.
But what does that mean?
Shit.
You hadn’t really talked about that. But that shouldn’t matter, he had practically confessed his love, he had given you his name.
You need to talk about it.
But he never wants to talk about it.
This time has to be different though, things are good.
It has to be different.
You don’t even realize they’ve finished until Elaine clears her throat.
“Kriff, sorry, thank you girls, you’ve done wonderful work as always.” It’s true. As you look up at yourself in the mirror to take in another amazing job done by them. You can’t even tell that you were being carried through the forest less than an hour ago.
“Thank you, my lady, shoes?” Lysa holds up a pair of flats and you nod, taking a seat at the vanity and hiking your skirt up a bit.
Shit.
You’re still wearing his socks.
In your rush you must have forgotten about them.
She stares for only a moment, her eyes darting up to your face before she removes them, slipping on your flats. You can tell by the way her eyebrows raise ever so slightly that she sees the dirt on the soles of your feet from your barefoot walk in the gardens last night, but thankfully she says nothing. After a beat of silence you cough awkwardly.
“Thank you girls, that will be all.” They nod as they both take their leave. You give them time to make their way down the hall before you grab your journal and some pens, as you throw the door open he’s there just like always. He doesn’t look like someone who had flown you up to your window this morning, he looks exactly the same as always. There’s no sense in concealing the smile on your face as you stare at him.
“Library?” You ask as he nods, you begin your trek and he still stands behind you but closer than ever before, just a step or two back. “Can we talk today?”
“Of course, princess.” A wave of relief washes over you as he says it. This might be the first time he’s ever had a positive reaction to that question. You walk in a happy silence until you arrive. Today you do not hesitate to sit in the nook, no longer haunted by the memories of what’s transpired there.
He stands sort of bashfully, looking at you and then at a few chairs nearby.
This is why you need to talk.
It’s things like this, your relationship is so vaguely defined and in the cold light of day, just Din, doesn’t know where to sit.
You scootch over a bit and pat the space next to you.
“Sit with me?” You say softly to hopefully ease the anxiety that is apparent in his body language. He relaxes a bit as he takes a seat next to you, you fit like puzzle pieces, like the nook was made for the two of you to sit comfortably.
It’s an added bonus that it’s far enough into the shelves that you’ll hear anyone coming before they see you.
He leans back against the glass as you open your journal, uncapping a pen and lazily doodling. You can feel his gaze on the pages but you don’t mind.
“What did you want to talk about mesh’la?” He murmurs as he begins to trace his fingers along your back, drawing shapes into the fabric of your dress.
It shocks you a bit.
His blatant affection.
Nothing could have prepared you for him to act like this in the daylight.
Of course he had humored you in the markets, and when you had been “together” he had always been kind but now his voice had a certain devotion to it, and he touched you like he needed to do it to stay grounded.
He almost seems… clingy.
It makes your heart flutter.
“I guess I just wanted to talk about this,” You gesture at him with the pen. “us.”
He hums softly in agreement.
“Okay, what about us?” He tugs gently at one of the ribbons on your corset, not hard enough to pull it loose, just hard enough to grab your attention. You shoot a glare at him, there’s no actual fire behind it.
“I thought you said you’d be good?”
“And you said I could touch you a little.” As he says it you roll your eyes before turning back to your drawings. You’ve been sketching the same curved line. The hook of his nose you had felt last night. If he recognizes it he doesn’t say anything.
“Fine. What exactly are we?” He resumes his tracing as you say it, it feels like a juvenile question, it’s what you would always ask your boyfriends back on Hoth after a few weeks of screwing around, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“What was it you called me in the gardens? Your lover? I could be that if that’s what you’d like me to be.” His fingers have moved to your shoulders now, the shapes on your pages have turned into rough outlines of what you remember his jaw is shaped like.
Lover feels too impersonal.
This is more than that.
He certainly isn’t your boyfriend, can you even have a boyfriend? Afterall you already have a husband.
Would Din want to be your husband someday?
Could Din be your husband someday? Kodo certainly wouldn’t just let you leave, the trade deals your family so desperately needed would be useless if you did. Is it too soon to be thinking such a thing? You have only just truly become emotionally involved but also you’ve spent every waking moment with him for several weeks at this point. And you’ve had sex.
Maker, why does this have to be so confusing?
“Is there maybe a Mando’a word for what we are?” You turn to look at him again.
He starts to say something but then he stops, seemingly changing his mind.
“How about kar’ta?”
“Kar’ta? What’s that mean?” You like the way the word feels in your mouth. His knuckles are dragging against your arm now.
“It means heart. You would be my heart and I would be yours.” His voice is warm and it feels like you’re sinking into his touches.
His heart.
You like that.
“My Kar’ta.” You say, looking down at your drawings, you have several mixed and matched faces, none of which seem to look right, you hold them up for him to see. “Do any of these look correct?”
He points to the one of the bottom left, the eyes are lopsided.
“That ones the closest, other than the eyes, none of the eyes are right.” You sigh, you already knew he would say that.
“They never are.” You flip the page and start drawing pairs of eyes. You’re silent for a few minutes, he continues tracing shapes into your back and you continue drawing, you eventually realize he’s mimicking your sketches.
You know what you want to tell him. It’s a strange pivot in conversation but you need him to know.
Your next words force themselves from your mouth. “I don’t love Kodo, I don’t even like him.” His movements stop, only for a second before continuing.
“I would hope not, I don’t know if you noticed but he’s a bit of a monster.”
“I know, I just wanted to say it. I just- I mean, I don’t think of myself as married to him, it’s more a title than anything else.” You hesitate for a moment. “And we don’t have sex. In case you were wondering.” You haven’t thought about that fact in a while.
Someday Kodo will want heirs.
It makes you shudder a bit.
Maybe Din will get you out of here before that happens.
He senses the tension you’re suddenly plagued with and he switches to just rubbing gentle circles against your back.
“Okay.” He speaks so quietly now.
“I don’t ever want to have sex with him.” You whisper, mostly to yourself.
It had always been an inevitable thing. A duty you had to fulfill. But that was before you knew who he was. Before you knew you had married a monster. And that was before Din, before your kar’ta.
“You don’t have to. I promise.”His voice is soothing but it does nothing to put you at ease.
It’s a promise he can’t keep.
But you don’t want to linger on this any longer so you nod, much to your chagrin he senses your hesitancy as he sits up.
“Hey, I mean it. If he so much as touches you again, I swear it will be the last time.”
“You can’t guarantee that Din.” He’s taking your sketchbook from you, setting it aside before holding your hands in his.
“He isn’t going to touch you. Ever again. I never should have let him in the first place.” His grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly as he recalls the memory, you can’t help but frown.
“I’m glad you let him, you wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t.”
That makes him go quiet.
You both know you’re right, if he had laid a finger on Kodo he would at the very least have been fired. Worst case scenario he’d be dead.
“He won’t touch you again.” He sounds firmer this time. “I’m sworn to you. No one gets to touch you unless you want them to, not even me.”
You want to believe that he could stop Kodo. That he could stop all six of his battle droids. It’ll be easier if you just let yourself believe it.
So for now you do.
You drop his hands and rest your head on his shoulder.
“Okay.” You mumble.
“Okay.” He tilts his helmet slightly to rest against your head.
You reach around to grab your book back. Opening to the page with the eyes.
“Which ones are right?” You point around the page. He analyzes them for a bit before taking the pen again, scribbling until he’s drawn messy but identifiable eyes.
“Like this.”
His drawing is crude but the eyes are nice. You carefully tear the outline of them out before placing them over the other drawing he had pointed out.
It almost looks right.
It almost suits the person you know.
He lets you stay leaning on his shoulder so you don’t bother moving as you flip to an empty page. You think for a few moments on what to draw.
The tiny toothbrush.
You think of the sketch of mismatched parts you now have of him and what you’ve been able to feel out and you subconsciously start drawing a child.
You give him Din’s nose, and dark curls. You don’t bother trying to copy his eyes, opting to instead give the little boy wide dark eyes. You scribble out several different versions of the child you’ve made up as he watches silently.
Eventually you stop and just stare at the page full of little faces staring up at you.
Does this boy exist somewhere out there?
It sort of seems that way, when you look at all the pieces of Din that don’t seem to make sense. The toothbrush, he had mentioned a kid at one point but hadn’t said much about it and now you know that he willingly showed his face to someone. Was it his child? Why did he have to say goodbye to his own child?
Can you imagine Din being a father? When you think of how well he takes care of himself it makes you worry a bit for any child in his care but then you think of how well he takes care of you.
Selflessly.
He’s probably a good father. That must be where his protective nature comes from.
His laughter breaks you out of your trance and he points to one of the drawings, the boy in that one has the largest eyes, and the pupils take up nearly the entirety of them.
“You got his eyes right in that one.” He says as he chuckles.
“What?” You stammer out.
His eyes.
“I assume you’re trying to figure out who he is? None of these are even close, but those eyes, those are his.”
Of course he knew what you were doing, nothing got past him.
You wait for more but that’s all he gives you.
You can wait longer, until he’s ready to talk about it. Based on the way he sighs you think that moment might be right now but he says something else instead.
“I don’t think I’ve apologized yet for what I said. Truly apologize.” You close the journal on your own this time before setting it down.
He’s talking about what he said.
“I was… bored. You were entertainment.”
He knows you haven’t simply forgotten about it. Afterall, how could you?
“It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I didn’t mean a word of it.”
You want to believe him terribly, but that nagging feeling in the back of your mind is persistent. A reminder that any moment he could decide to stop being Din, and go back to being nothing more than your shadow.
“Why did you say it then?”
You don’t want to have this conversation either. The last thing you want to do is relive those moments but you aren’t an idiot, your insecurities will eventually bubble up, it’s better to take care of this now before it grows into resentment. He’s leaning back again, out of your peripherals.
“I meant it, when I said that I ache.” Is he sitting like that so you can’t look at him? “None of what I’m about to say is a good enough reason to explain my actions, nothing ever could be. You control my every thought and decision, sarad. I suppose I just thought that it would be best if you hated me, that it would make the pain dull, instead it only served to make me realize that I cannot live without you.”
That’s one hell of a proclamation.
“You wanted me to hate you?” As you say it you feel Beskar rest against the back of your shoulder.
“For a while. It seemed like the least painful option. I deserved- deserve, your loathing. At first for feeling the way I did towards a married woman, a woman I was supposed to be protecting and instead was picturing naked.”
Hot. It’s hot in the library. It hasn’t been hot in the library for some time.
“And then I saw the two of you together. And I knew immediately that you did not feel an ounce of love for that thing you were forced to wed. At that point I simply needed you to hate me to soothe the ache that signified that you could never be mine.” He sighs, and there’s a moment of hesitation before you hear the hiss of air you’re becoming all too familiar with. You aren’t exactly sure what you expect, it definitely isn’t the feeling of several kisses being peppered along the curve of your shoulder but you certainly aren’t going to complain about it. “I did not know weakness before I met you, you have turned me from a man made of steel to one of glass.” His voice rings clear and unfiltered throughout the room.
He plants another kiss into your hair, there aren’t any traces of lust behind the action, just a pure adoration, he brushes a bit of your hair out of the way and for a moment you feel the bridge of his nose press against the back of your neck before he places one final, chaste kiss against your spine. When he speaks again his voice is modulated once more.
“I don’t want your forgiveness, I certainly haven’t earned it.” He finally leans forward so he’s back in your field of vision. “But I will. Someday I will be worthy of you, I promise.”
He already is. He always has been.
Will you ever get used to this? His genuine affections? It takes your breath away more than the sex did, the way he talks about you like you are not a woman, but a deity. The way he removes his helmet as if it doesn’t mean anything, just so he can feel you against his lips.
There’s no sense in telling him that’s all you needed to hear. You know him, he won’t accept that, he’s far too stubborn. So instead you opt to make things more lighthearted.
“How do you plan to make it up to me, my kar’ta?” As you say it you can visibly see some of the stress leave his body, thank the gods.
“I have plenty of ideas.” The way he says it makes your heart flutter and you nearly forget that he’s promised not to fuck you. “I was thinking I could take you to the library tomorrow.” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t sort of kill your buzz, considering where you’re currently sitting but he senses your reluctance and chuckles. “The big one, in the city, cyar’ika.”
“Oh.” You can’t help but laugh along with him now. “You know, you’re getting better at talking, about the important stuff that is.” You give him a smile.
“It’s easier when you don’t look at me.” He says it a bit abashedly.
“Why is that?”
“Before you I never felt like someone could see my face. Yet everytime you look at me it’s like I’m not wearing a helmet at all, like you’re staring right at me.” He takes your hand and brings your fingers to the bottom of the helmet, tilting his head down slightly so you can feel his lips as he kisses the pads of your fingers before withdrawing them.
Maker.
Yeah, you’re never gonna get used to that.
Eventually he gets up to find some books, bringing you a mystery romance novel, you wouldn’t normally pick it for yourself but the cover art is interesting enough to draw you in, he appears to have some kind of maintenance guide on ship engines, you have no idea how he reads that kind of thing. As he hands you the books he motions for you to stand, when you do so he sits in the nook horizontally, with his feet up on the cushions, his back leaning against one of the surrounding shelves, motioning for you to sit between his legs.
You want to protest that it won’t be comfortable for him but your resolve simply isn’t strong enough to resist as you crawl between his thighs, your back resting against his chest as you hand his literature to him. The nook isn’t really built for two people to sit like this, it’s a bit cramped but you couldn’t be more comfortable, you want to make sure he’s okay with this position but he’s already got his book open, held in one outstretched hand so you simply open yours, placing it on your bent knees.
It’s surprisingly good. You’ve always had a preference for campy, over the top romance books. The sort of books with shirtless men riding horses on the front. The more ridiculous the better. But you’re completely absorbed by the story you find yourself in, gasping every so often at the reveals.
It’s shocking once you realize you’ve already made it to the last chapter, you had completely forgotten you were lying against Din until you turn and see that he must have finished his book at some point because now he’s reading yours over your shoulder.
“Can we finish this before I take you to get your dinner?” He mumbles, leaning forward slightly.
There is a peace to this situation that you’re sure you’ve never known.
This is the kind of life you could have with him.
You can’t seem to find the words to respond, and the lump in your throat won’t let you make something up so you nod, and you lean your head back against his chest and continue where you left off.
You like the ending. Much to your surprise the story ended happily, you had even teared up a bit when you realized everything was going to work out for the love interests. You might let him pick books for you more often, as long as he lets you find him something less boring to read. There has to be at least one exciting book about ships in here.
If there isn’t, you’ll find him one tomorrow when you go to the city library.
He sits up, which of course means you also sit up. He lets you stand first, your legs are stiff from being in the same position for hours but you find your footing quickly. He seems to be having no issues as he’s putting the books back.
You’re waiting for him to take your hand so you can fetch dinner, the two of you standing in silence for a moment, when it hits you, you feel like an idiot.
He isn’t going to take your hand.
Because you’re leaving the library and someone could see.
You plaster on a strained smile before leaving, thankfully he says nothing about your hesitation as you begin walking towards the kitchens.
Leo is of course waiting for you by the entrance. (You’ve come to accept that he’s simply everywhere at this point.) And you do the same thing you always do, he asks what you’d like to eat, you tell him whatever they’ve cooked, he insists you can request anything you’d like, you insist you’d like what they’ve cooked.
The only difference this time is that you ask for seconds.
He disappears in a huff before swiftly returning with several sealed dishes, as always he hands them to Mando and not you.
✩
The two of you return to your chambers and when he steps inside you lock the door behind you.
“Sit.” You say it as sternly as possible. Like it’s an order. He sets the food on the floor before sitting with his legs crossed next to it. “You’re gonna eat, this is non-negotiable.”
He immediately begins to protest but you shush him.
“You don’t need to feed me anymore. I can take care of myself.” He starts trying to stand but you firmly plant your hands on his shoulders and push him back down.
“Clearly not, you didn’t eat once today, I’m sure of it.” You frown down at him.
“Neither did you.”
“That's because I was watching you! And now to make up for it I’m going to eat real food, not ration packs.”
He doesn’t budge, still staring at you blankly.
“Listen… if you do this, I’ll reward you.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively.
You hadn’t really planned to give in so soon but you’re only human, he had gotten you pretty fired up in the library today whether that was his intention or not.
And you certainly aren’t going to say it, but you miss being with him in that way.
“Are you trying to bribe me with sex?” The disbelief in his voice is apparent, you ignore it, dividing up the food, making sure his portion is considerably larger, they always give you too much food anyway.
“Is it working?” You set the plate in front of him, batting your eyelashes innocently. He coughs nervously, leaning back.
“No. I don’t want sex to be a currency with you, I want you to want it.” His voice is strained and you can’t help but smirk.
“That’s a shame, because you’re going to eat either way.” You stand, walking so you're behind him, sitting back to back, your plate in your lap.
“That’s a wild assumption, princess.” His voice is still modulated so you know he hasn’t made any attempts to listen.
“I thought you were trying to earn my forgiveness?” That shuts him up. He grumbles for a few moments before you hear a hiss and a clunk as he sets his helmet on the floor. “Thank you.”
“Don’t sound so smug, you can only use that reason so many times before I stop giving in.” He mumbles through a mouthful of food, it makes you grin.
“Speaking of your road to redemption, can I ask you any questions I want now?” You swallow a bite as you say it.
“Sure, I’m not going to guarantee an answer, but sure.”
“What was on the flower, the one I gave you for your birthday?” He groans the moment you ask it.
“Please don’t make me say it, I know you know.” He sounds terribly embarrassed but you’re simply furrowing your brow in confusion. Are you supposed to know? You think on it for a few minutes, chewing thoughtfully before your eyes go wide.
“Was that a piece of my nightie that you ripped the first time we-“
“Yes.”
Your face couldn’t possibly get any redder and your smile couldn’t possibly get any wider.
“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” You can’t help but tease, he’s so rarely flustered in lighthearted moments like this.
“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me.” You hum softly at his response. “I’d like it if you did know them.” He always has to have the upperhand, he can never just let you tease him without leaving you breathless.
“I’d like to know everything.”
“I’d tell you everything.” He sounds so sincere.
But he doesn’t sound ready.
“When you really want to.”
He’s quiet, briefly, and then he reaches back to set his empty plate down next to you, you aren’t even halfway done with yours. You turn around as he stands, you didn’t hear him put his helmet back on but there it is.
“It’s late princess, I need to go home.”
There’s undeniably disappointment on your face as you stand, following him to the door.
“You don’t want to stay? I’m pretty sure I owe you a reward.” You give him a hopeful smile and his glove covers your eyes, your heart is racing.
There’s that wonderful hiss of air. It’s quickly becoming your favorite sound in the world.
You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.
And then you feel a soft kiss on your forehead.
In an instant the glove is gone and the helmet is back in place as if it had never moved.
“Good night, sarad’ika.” You feel ridiculous as you pout at him.
“You can’t be serious.”
He chuckles as he opens the door.
“Are you really going to turn me down?” You reach past him to try and close it again but he holds it open, still laughing.
“Yes, I am. Tonight I am.” He’s got one foot out the door now.
“Din… I’m giving you permission, I swear, it’s fine.”
“I’m afraid it’s not gonna happen tonight, cyare”
For Maker’s sake you’re practically begging him.
“Then when?” As you ask he leans forward, just a tiny bit.
“When you really want to.”
And just like that he’s leaving, shutting the door behind him.
Cocky bastard.
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I shoulder through the front doors into the fresh spring air, still a little breathless with adrenaline, to where Michelle is waiting for me. She looks unhappy.
“How did it go?” I say.
“Oh, awful, they were like robots, so intimidating. I didn’t know what they thought of my work, you know? I really thought I’d start crying at one point.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and that woman was so cold. She was pulling all of these faces at my self portraits and saying they were naive.”
“Oh, God,” In an attempt at reassurance I start rubbing her arm, “I’m sure they liked plenty things about your work.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I sensed they hated all of it.”
“They couldn’t have, it’s probably just your perception, they… I bet they’re harsh to everyone, you know? They probably don’t want to get anyone's hopes up with there being limited places and all…”
She looks at me, “Was yours bad too?”
“Awful,” I say without missing a beat, “Same as you, they gave me nothing. It was hard to tell what they really thought of my work, but they didn’t seem overjoyed by any of it to be honest.”
“Oh,” her shoulders relax, “well if they were like that with you then they must be just playing hard ball.”
“I think so.”
“What if we don’t get in?”
“Well fuck ‘em,” I grin, “We don’t need them. NCAD? Who cares, right? It’s not exactly at the top of our list.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“Something else will work out, right?”
“Of course it will! C’mon, let’s just grab a coffee and chill out,” I drape my arm over her shoulder and walk her around the corner to where I parked the car.
The car, the brand new, shiny, blue Volkswagen Polo that my parents got me for my eighteenth birthday, is gleaming under the afternoon sun, one tyre wedged awkwardly against the kerb because I haven’t yet mastered the art of parallel parking when there are two other impatient drivers beeping their horns at me and gesticulating wildly out their windows.
“He just got his fucking licence, you spas!” Michelle screamed at them from the passenger window as I manoeuvred myself into a gap big enough to house an articulated truck but somehow felt the width of a water closet as soon as I tried to fit my 1.0 litre hatchback into it. I could have told her that firing middle fingers at other drivers left and right wasn’t really doing much to diffuse the situation, but it seemed she was reaching some sort of catharsis from it. She likes that. Screaming, I mean.
This car has been a point of contention, not because I can’t park it well, but because it was an extravagance I neither needed nor desired. “We live in the city,” I protested when my parents handed me the keys, “I can just take the bus.” But they had this idea that I might like to drive it into school and be the envy of all the other students, poverty stricken losers without parents who can buy them vehicles worth half the average national salary. I told them I can just walk like always, and they didn’t like that.
“This is a good present,” said my dad, as though insisting could make it so, “You can drive all over, you won’t have to rely on public transport any more.”
“Did I say I didn’t like public transport?”
“Well, you could get mugged on the bus, someone could pull out a knife and take your phone and all of your money! That kind of thing is happening all over the city lately.”
I showed him my Nokia from 2004 and asked him what kind of person might like to risk prison for it, but he didn’t appreciate that, and it just escalated the argument further.
“I’m not going to even live in Ireland in a year, not if I can help it!” I cried with exasperation, after a further ten minutes of his dramatics, “What’s the point?”
“Sell it then!” he bellowed back, “I don’t care what you do! It’s yours!”
“I just don’t need it! It’s too much. You can use that money for something better.”
“Money? Money is not an issue.”
“Well that car will be wasted just sitting in the driveway.”
“You’ll figure out what to use it for.”
And I did. I still walk to school, I still take the bus into town most days (when I’m not hauling two A1 portfolio cases along with me), but sometimes, late at night Michelle and I drive up and down the coast. We get ice cream at the drive through, we talk, but mostly I park it in the darkest corner of some car park, sea facing for maximum romance, and we fuck in the passenger seat. Not that I’ve kept track of it by any means, but I’m almost certain I have spent more time having sex in my shiny, blue, Volkswagen Polo than actually driving it. I’m sure it wasn’t Christopher’s intention for it, and it might affect the resale value, but the car has become a haven of sorts, a place where we can go to be alone, at a safe distance from my nosy sister, from Michelle’s anxious father, and perhaps most vitally, from Jen, who has never quite stopped being weirded out by our relationship, even with nine full months to get used to it.
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Best Kept Secret
chapter eighteen : portrait of a man
THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!
pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader
rating : 18+ mdni
word count : 5.4k
summary : the mandalorian and reader do some reading
warnings, etc. : language, mentions of sex
It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline.
His helmet is still off.
And the room is completely illuminated by the sunrise.
He seems to sense your hesitancy and after some adjustment his face is concealed once more as you gaze up at him.
“Sorry sarad, I must have fallen asleep without it on.” His voice is gravelly and thick with sleep as he looks down at you. He’s acting like it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you accidentally saw.
��It might very well be.
You know his creed is precious to him, even if he says he is an apostate. You don’t want him to break it just for you and end up regretting it later.
“I don’t want to see until I’m allowed to.” That doesn’t really make sense and you know it. “Will I ever be allowed to? How does that work?” He sits up as you speak, stretching his arms above his head.
“I’ll explain it another time, right now I need to get you back to your room before someone realizes you're gone.” He’s crawled to the edge of the bed and he’s already pulling his boots on.
Oh yeah.
It was easy to fall into a fantasy of staying here with him. For a moment there you had completely forgotten that you were married, and expected in other places. You stand looking for your dress as he attaches his armor.
“Don’t change yet, it’ll be easier to sneak you back in if you aren’t wearing a shimmery gown.” He’s so quick with it, in the time it takes you to even find your gown he’s completely done getting ready. “Do you have everything?” He turns to face you as he takes the dress from you and throws it over his arm.
Your eyes dart to the shelf.
Your knife is up there.
He chuckles when he catches your line of sight.
“Not gonna happen, princess. Let’s go.” He takes your hand and hastily drags you out of the cabin. In the morning light you can see what he had been carrying you over last night.
The cabin was built partially on top of the lake. It must be a pain having to carefully step over all of the water but he doesn’t seem to mind as he scoops you into his arms and looks to be contemplating something.
“Is your bedroom window unlocked?”
That’s an odd question. But you know it is, you’re several floors up so you never lock it.
“Yes, why?”
“No reason.” You can hear a grin on his face.
He starts walking, not really caring if he steps into the water as he carries you towards the castle. Once you're through the gardens and past the forest trail he adjusts his cowl to cover your face. You rest your head against his chest as he makes his way towards what you assume to be the servant's entrance. But you never hear a door open, instead he leans down to whisper to you.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
Is he about to take off his helmet in broad daylight?
You don’t get a chance to question it as you shut your eyes and you feel the cowl ripped from your face, there’s an unfamiliar rush of air against your skin and the sound of a click and a creak.
“You can open them now.” He whispers again, you aren’t sure what you expect to see when you open your eyes but it certainly isn’t him standing on the outside of your window sill, balancing you in his arms.
You know immediately that it’s a mistake as you look down and find yourself several stories off the ground.
“Maker! What is wrong with you!” You cling to him tighter but he simply laughs as he peels you off of him to set you inside.
“Sorry, hand me your clothes.” There’s a sudden urgency in his voice that keeps you from arguing, you strip to your undergarments and toss him the things you borrowed, he doesn’t hesitate to throw your dress onto the floor. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” You’re left staring dumbfounded as he jumps off the ledge at the same moment your door swings open and Elaine’s voice fills the room.
“I’m telling you, we don’t have to knock, she isn’t here, we’ll just wait for h-“ She stops and stares at you with wide eyes and your face gets hot at the implications of her words.
“Good morning girls.” You stammer out as they both look surprised to see you.
“Apologies for not knocking my lady.” Elaine bows as she says it, cocking an eyebrow in your direction but you don’t give her a reaction as you simply walk to the mirror to be prepped.
They seem relieved that you don’t have anything to say and you’re relieved that Elaine doesn’t press further as they begin to dress you. The gown Lysa chooses for today is a soft gray color, the fabric shimmers in the light and it sort of reminds you of the Mandalorian’s armor.
Nobody seems to have anything to say to each other this morning but you truly don’t mind. In a few minutes you’ll get to see him again.
And things are okay now.
Right?
You’ve established a mutual want.
But what does that mean?
Shit.
You hadn’t really talked about that. But that shouldn’t matter, he had practically confessed his love, he had given you his name.
You need to talk about it.
But he never wants to talk about it.
This time has to be different though, things are good.
It has to be different.
You don’t even realize they’ve finished until Elaine clears her throat.
“Kriff, sorry, thank you girls, you’ve done wonderful work as always.” It’s true. As you look up at yourself in the mirror to take in another amazing job done by them. You can’t even tell that you were being carried through the forest less than an hour ago.
“Thank you, my lady, shoes?” Lysa holds up a pair of flats and you nod, taking a seat at the vanity and hiking your skirt up a bit.
Shit.
You’re still wearing his socks.
In your rush you must have forgotten about them.
She stares for only a moment, her eyes darting up to your face before she removes them, slipping on your flats. You can tell by the way her eyebrows raise ever so slightly that she sees the dirt on the soles of your feet from your barefoot walk in the gardens last night, but thankfully she says nothing. After a beat of silence you cough awkwardly.
“Thank you girls, that will be all.” They nod as they both take their leave. You give them time to make their way down the hall before you grab your journal and some pens, as you throw the door open he’s there just like always. He doesn’t look like someone who had flown you up to your window this morning, he looks exactly the same as always. There’s no sense in concealing the smile on your face as you stare at him.
“Library?” You ask as he nods, you begin your trek and he still stands behind you but closer than ever before, just a step or two back. “Can we talk today?”
“Of course, princess.” A wave of relief washes over you as he says it. This might be the first time he’s ever had a positive reaction to that question. You walk in a happy silence until you arrive. Today you do not hesitate to sit in the nook, no longer haunted by the memories of what’s transpired there.
He stands sort of bashfully, looking at you and then at a few chairs nearby.
This is why you need to talk.
It’s things like this, your relationship is so vaguely defined and in the cold light of day, just Din, doesn’t know where to sit.
You scootch over a bit and pat the space next to you.
“Sit with me?” You say softly to hopefully ease the anxiety that is apparent in his body language. He relaxes a bit as he takes a seat next to you, you fit like puzzle pieces, like the nook was made for the two of you to sit comfortably.
It’s an added bonus that it’s far enough into the shelves that you’ll hear anyone coming before they see you.
He leans back against the glass as you open your journal, uncapping a pen and lazily doodling. You can feel his gaze on the pages but you don’t mind.
“What did you want to talk about mesh’la?” He murmurs as he begins to trace his fingers along your back, drawing shapes into the fabric of your dress.
It shocks you a bit.
His blatant affection.
Nothing could have prepared you for him to act like this in the daylight.
Of course he had humored you in the markets, and when you had been “together” he had always been kind but now his voice had a certain devotion to it, and he touched you like he needed to do it to stay grounded.
He almost seems… clingy.
It makes your heart flutter.
“I guess I just wanted to talk about this,” You gesture at him with the pen. “us.”
He hums softly in agreement.
“Okay, what about us?” He tugs gently at one of the ribbons on your corset, not hard enough to pull it loose, just hard enough to grab your attention. You shoot a glare at him, there’s no actual fire behind it.
“I thought you said you’d be good?”
“And you said I could touch you a little.” As he says it you roll your eyes before turning back to your drawings. You’ve been sketching the same curved line. The hook of his nose you had felt last night. If he recognizes it he doesn’t say anything.
“Fine. What exactly are we?” He resumes his tracing as you say it, it feels like a juvenile question, it’s what you would always ask your boyfriends back on Hoth after a few weeks of screwing around, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“What was it you called me in the gardens? Your lover? I could be that if that’s what you’d like me to be.” His fingers have moved to your shoulders now, the shapes on your pages have turned into rough outlines of what you remember his jaw is shaped like.
Lover feels too impersonal.
This is more than that.
He certainly isn’t your boyfriend, can you even have a boyfriend? Afterall you already have a husband.
Would Din want to be your husband someday?
Could Din be your husband someday? Kodo certainly wouldn’t just let you leave, the trade deals your family so desperately needed would be useless if you did. Is it too soon to be thinking such a thing? You have only just truly become emotionally involved but also you’ve spent every waking moment with him for several weeks at this point. And you’ve had sex.
Maker, why does this have to be so confusing?
“Is there maybe a Mando’a word for what we are?” You turn to look at him again.
He starts to say something but then he stops, seemingly changing his mind.
“How about kar’ta?”
“Kar’ta? What’s that mean?” You like the way the word feels in your mouth. His knuckles are dragging against your arm now.
“It means heart. You would be my heart and I would be yours.” His voice is warm and it feels like you’re sinking into his touches.
His heart.
You like that.
“My Kar’ta.” You say, looking down at your drawings, you have several mixed and matched faces, none of which seem to look right, you hold them up for him to see. “Do any of these look correct?”
He points to the one of the bottom left, the eyes are lopsided.
“That ones the closest, other than the eyes, none of the eyes are right.” You sigh, you already knew he would say that.
“They never are.” You flip the page and start drawing pairs of eyes. You’re silent for a few minutes, he continues tracing shapes into your back and you continue drawing, you eventually realize he’s mimicking your sketches.
You know what you want to tell him. It’s a strange pivot in conversation but you need him to know.
Your next words force themselves from your mouth. “I don’t love Kodo, I don’t even like him.” His movements stop, only for a second before continuing.
“I would hope not, I don’t know if you noticed but he’s a bit of a monster.”
“I know, I just wanted to say it. I just- I mean, I don’t think of myself as married to him, it’s more a title than anything else.” You hesitate for a moment. “And we don’t have sex. In case you were wondering.” You haven’t thought about that fact in a while.
Someday Kodo will want heirs.
It makes you shudder a bit.
Maybe Din will get you out of here before that happens.
He senses the tension you’re suddenly plagued with and he switches to just rubbing gentle circles against your back.
“Okay.” He speaks so quietly now.
“I don’t ever want to have sex with him.” You whisper, mostly to yourself.
It had always been an inevitable thing. A duty you had to fulfill. But that was before you knew who he was. Before you knew you had married a monster. And that was before Din, before your kar’ta.
“You don’t have to. I promise.”His voice is soothing but it does nothing to put you at ease.
It’s a promise he can’t keep.
But you don’t want to linger on this any longer so you nod, much to your chagrin he senses your hesitancy as he sits up.
“Hey, I mean it. If he so much as touches you again, I swear it will be the last time.”
“You can’t guarantee that Din.” He’s taking your sketchbook from you, setting it aside before holding your hands in his.
“He isn’t going to touch you. Ever again. I never should have let him in the first place.” His grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly as he recalls the memory, you can’t help but frown.
“I’m glad you let him, you wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t.”
That makes him go quiet.
You both know you’re right, if he had laid a finger on Kodo he would at the very least have been fired. Worst case scenario he’d be dead.
“He won’t touch you again.” He sounds firmer this time. “I’m sworn to you. No one gets to touch you unless you want them to, not even me.”
You want to believe that he could stop Kodo. That he could stop all six of his battle droids. It’ll be easier if you just let yourself believe it.
So for now you do.
You drop his hands and rest your head on his shoulder.
“Okay.” You mumble.
“Okay.” He tilts his helmet slightly to rest against your head.
You reach around to grab your book back. Opening to the page with the eyes.
“Which ones are right?” You point around the page. He analyzes them for a bit before taking the pen again, scribbling until he’s drawn messy but identifiable eyes.
“Like this.”
His drawing is crude but the eyes are nice. You carefully tear the outline of them out before placing them over the other drawing he had pointed out.
It almost looks right.
It almost suits the person you know.
He lets you stay leaning on his shoulder so you don’t bother moving as you flip to an empty page. You think for a few moments on what to draw.
The tiny toothbrush.
You think of the sketch of mismatched parts you now have of him and what you’ve been able to feel out and you subconsciously start drawing a child.
You give him Din’s nose, and dark curls. You don’t bother trying to copy his eyes, opting to instead give the little boy wide dark eyes. You scribble out several different versions of the child you’ve made up as he watches silently.
Eventually you stop and just stare at the page full of little faces staring up at you.
Does this boy exist somewhere out there?
It sort of seems that way, when you look at all the pieces of Din that don’t seem to make sense. The toothbrush, he had mentioned a kid at one point but hadn’t said much about it and now you know that he willingly showed his face to someone. Was it his child? Why did he have to say goodbye to his own child?
Can you imagine Din being a father? When you think of how well he takes care of himself it makes you worry a bit for any child in his care but then you think of how well he takes care of you.
Selflessly.
He’s probably a good father. That must be where his protective nature comes from.
His laughter breaks you out of your trance and he points to one of the drawings, the boy in that one has the largest eyes, and the pupils take up nearly the entirety of them.
“You got his eyes right in that one.” He says as he chuckles.
“What?” You stammer out.
His eyes.
“I assume you’re trying to figure out who he is? None of these are even close, but those eyes, those are his.”
Of course he knew what you were doing, nothing got past him.
You wait for more but that’s all he gives you.
You can wait longer, until he’s ready to talk about it. Based on the way he sighs you think that moment might be right now but he says something else instead.
“I don’t think I’ve apologized yet for what I said. Truly apologize.” You close the journal on your own this time before setting it down.
He’s talking about what he said.
“I was… bored. You were entertainment.”
He knows you haven’t simply forgotten about it. Afterall, how could you?
“It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I didn’t mean a word of it.”
You want to believe him terribly, but that nagging feeling in the back of your mind is persistent. A reminder that any moment he could decide to stop being Din, and go back to being nothing more than your shadow.
“Why did you say it then?”
You don’t want to have this conversation either. The last thing you want to do is relive those moments but you aren’t an idiot, your insecurities will eventually bubble up, it’s better to take care of this now before it grows into resentment. He’s leaning back again, out of your peripherals.
“I meant it, when I said that I ache.” Is he sitting like that so you can’t look at him? “None of what I’m about to say is a good enough reason to explain my actions, nothing ever could be. You control my every thought and decision, sarad. I suppose I just thought that it would be best if you hated me, that it would make the pain dull, instead it only served to make me realize that I cannot live without you.”
That’s one hell of a proclamation.
“You wanted me to hate you?” As you say it you feel Beskar rest against the back of your shoulder.
“For a while. It seemed like the least painful option. I deserved- deserve, your loathing. At first for feeling the way I did towards a married woman, a woman I was supposed to be protecting and instead was picturing naked.”
Hot. It’s hot in the library. It hasn’t been hot in the library for some time.
“And then I saw the two of you together. And I knew immediately that you did not feel an ounce of love for that thing you were forced to wed. At that point I simply needed you to hate me to soothe the ache that signified that you could never be mine.” He sighs, and there’s a moment of hesitation before you hear the hiss of air you’re becoming all too familiar with. You aren’t exactly sure what you expect, it definitely isn’t the feeling of several kisses being peppered along the curve of your shoulder but you certainly aren’t going to complain about it. “I did not know weakness before I met you, you have turned me from a man made of steel to one of glass.” His voice rings clear and unfiltered throughout the room.
He plants another kiss into your hair, there aren’t any traces of lust behind the action, just a pure adoration, he brushes a bit of your hair out of the way and for a moment you feel the bridge of his nose press against the back of your neck before he places one final, chaste kiss against your spine. When he speaks again his voice is modulated once more.
“I don’t want your forgiveness, I certainly haven’t earned it.” He finally leans forward so he’s back in your field of vision. “But I will. Someday I will be worthy of you, I promise.”
He already is. He always has been.
Will you ever get used to this? His genuine affections? It takes your breath away more than the sex did, the way he talks about you like you are not a woman, but a deity. The way he removes his helmet as if it doesn’t mean anything, just so he can feel you against his lips.
There’s no sense in telling him that’s all you needed to hear. You know him, he won’t accept that, he’s far too stubborn. So instead you opt to make things more lighthearted.
“How do you plan to make it up to me, my kar’ta?” As you say it you can visibly see some of the stress leave his body, thank the gods.
“I have plenty of ideas.” The way he says it makes your heart flutter and you nearly forget that he’s promised not to fuck you. “I was thinking I could take you to the library tomorrow.” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t sort of kill your buzz, considering where you’re currently sitting but he senses your reluctance and chuckles. “The big one, in the city, cyar’ika.”
“Oh.” You can’t help but laugh along with him now. “You know, you’re getting better at talking, about the important stuff that is.” You give him a smile.
“It’s easier when you don’t look at me.” He says it a bit abashedly.
“Why is that?”
“Before you I never felt like someone could see my face. Yet everytime you look at me it’s like I’m not wearing a helmet at all, like you’re staring right at me.” He takes your hand and brings your fingers to the bottom of the helmet, tilting his head down slightly so you can feel his lips as he kisses the pads of your fingers before withdrawing them.
Maker.
Yeah, you’re never gonna get used to that.
Eventually he gets up to find some books, bringing you a mystery romance novel, you wouldn’t normally pick it for yourself but the cover art is interesting enough to draw you in, he appears to have some kind of maintenance guide on ship engines, you have no idea how he reads that kind of thing. As he hands you the books he motions for you to stand, when you do so he sits in the nook horizontally, with his feet up on the cushions, his back leaning against one of the surrounding shelves, motioning for you to sit between his legs.
You want to protest that it won’t be comfortable for him but your resolve simply isn’t strong enough to resist as you crawl between his thighs, your back resting against his chest as you hand his literature to him. The nook isn’t really built for two people to sit like this, it’s a bit cramped but you couldn’t be more comfortable, you want to make sure he’s okay with this position but he’s already got his book open, held in one outstretched hand so you simply open yours, placing it on your bent knees.
It’s surprisingly good. You’ve always had a preference for campy, over the top romance books. The sort of books with shirtless men riding horses on the front. The more ridiculous the better. But you’re completely absorbed by the story you find yourself in, gasping every so often at the reveals.
It’s shocking once you realize you’ve already made it to the last chapter, you had completely forgotten you were lying against Din until you turn and see that he must have finished his book at some point because now he’s reading yours over your shoulder.
“Can we finish this before I take you to get your dinner?” He mumbles, leaning forward slightly.
There is a peace to this situation that you’re sure you’ve never known.
This is the kind of life you could have with him.
You can’t seem to find the words to respond, and the lump in your throat won’t let you make something up so you nod, and you lean your head back against his chest and continue where you left off.
You like the ending. Much to your surprise the story ended happily, you had even teared up a bit when you realized everything was going to work out for the love interests. You might let him pick books for you more often, as long as he lets you find him something less boring to read. There has to be at least one exciting book about ships in here.
If there isn’t, you’ll find him one tomorrow when you go to the city library.
He sits up, which of course means you also sit up. He lets you stand first, your legs are stiff from being in the same position for hours but you find your footing quickly. He seems to be having no issues as he’s putting the books back.
You’re waiting for him to take your hand so you can fetch dinner, the two of you standing in silence for a moment, when it hits you, you feel like an idiot.
He isn’t going to take your hand.
Because you’re leaving the library and someone could see.
You plaster on a strained smile before leaving, thankfully he says nothing about your hesitation as you begin walking towards the kitchens.
Leo is of course waiting for you by the entrance. (You’ve come to accept that he’s simply everywhere at this point.) And you do the same thing you always do, he asks what you’d like to eat, you tell him whatever they’ve cooked, he insists you can request anything you’d like, you insist you’d like what they’ve cooked.
The only difference this time is that you ask for seconds.
He disappears in a huff before swiftly returning with several sealed dishes, as always he hands them to Mando and not you.
✩
The two of you return to your chambers and when he steps inside you lock the door behind you.
“Sit.” You say it as sternly as possible. Like it’s an order. He sets the food on the floor before sitting with his legs crossed next to it. “You’re gonna eat, this is non-negotiable.”
He immediately begins to protest but you shush him.
“You don’t need to feed me anymore. I can take care of myself.” He starts trying to stand but you firmly plant your hands on his shoulders and push him back down.
“Clearly not, you didn’t eat once today, I’m sure of it.” You frown down at him.
“Neither did you.”
“That's because I was watching you! And now to make up for it I’m going to eat real food, not ration packs.”
He doesn’t budge, still staring at you blankly.
“Listen… if you do this, I’ll reward you.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively.
You hadn’t really planned to give in so soon but you’re only human, he had gotten you pretty fired up in the library today whether that was his intention or not.
And you certainly aren’t going to say it, but you miss being with him in that way.
“Are you trying to bribe me with sex?” The disbelief in his voice is apparent, you ignore it, dividing up the food, making sure his portion is considerably larger, they always give you too much food anyway.
“Is it working?” You set the plate in front of him, batting your eyelashes innocently. He coughs nervously, leaning back.
“No. I don’t want sex to be a currency with you, I want you to want it.” His voice is strained and you can’t help but smirk.
“That’s a shame, because you’re going to eat either way.” You stand, walking so you're behind him, sitting back to back, your plate in your lap.
“That’s a wild assumption, princess.” His voice is still modulated so you know he hasn’t made any attempts to listen.
“I thought you were trying to earn my forgiveness?” That shuts him up. He grumbles for a few moments before you hear a hiss and a clunk as he sets his helmet on the floor. “Thank you.”
“Don’t sound so smug, you can only use that reason so many times before I stop giving in.” He mumbles through a mouthful of food, it makes you grin.
“Speaking of your road to redemption, can I ask you any questions I want now?” You swallow a bite as you say it.
“Sure, I’m not going to guarantee an answer, but sure.”
“What was on the flower, the one I gave you for your birthday?” He groans the moment you ask it.
“Please don’t make me say it, I know you know.” He sounds terribly embarrassed but you’re simply furrowing your brow in confusion. Are you supposed to know? You think on it for a few minutes, chewing thoughtfully before your eyes go wide.
“Was that a piece of my nightie that you ripped the first time we-“
“Yes.”
Your face couldn’t possibly get any redder and your smile couldn’t possibly get any wider.
“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” You can’t help but tease, he’s so rarely flustered in lighthearted moments like this.
“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me.” You hum softly at his response. “I’d like it if you did know them.” He always has to have the upperhand, he can never just let you tease him without leaving you breathless.
“I’d like to know everything.”
“I’d tell you everything.” He sounds so sincere.
But he doesn’t sound ready.
“When you really want to.”
He’s quiet, briefly, and then he reaches back to set his empty plate down next to you, you aren’t even halfway done with yours. You turn around as he stands, you didn’t hear him put his helmet back on but there it is.
“It’s late princess, I need to go home.”
There’s undeniably disappointment on your face as you stand, following him to the door.
“You don’t want to stay? I’m pretty sure I owe you a reward.” You give him a hopeful smile and his glove covers your eyes, your heart is racing.
There’s that wonderful hiss of air. It’s quickly becoming your favorite sound in the world.
You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.
And then you feel a soft kiss on your forehead.
In an instant the glove is gone and the helmet is back in place as if it had never moved.
“Good night, sarad’ika.” You feel ridiculous as you pout at him.
“You can’t be serious.”
He chuckles as he opens the door.
“Are you really going to turn me down?” You reach past him to try and close it again but he holds it open, still laughing.
“Yes, I am. Tonight I am.” He’s got one foot out the door now.
“Din… I’m giving you permission, I swear, it’s fine.”
“I’m afraid it’s not gonna happen tonight, cyare”
For Maker’s sake you’re practically begging him.
“Then when?” As you ask he leans forward, just a tiny bit.
“When you really want to.”
And just like that he’s leaving, shutting the door behind him.
Cocky bastard.
tag list : dm or reply to be added!!
@stagerightlauren - @dins-riduur-anthe - @littleguy-bendy - @rarachelchel - @laurensnotsparkly -@gerardingurway -@reallyidontcare- @clear-your-mind-and-dream -@estoniacobaltpayne - @buckyandgeraltsupremacy-@cookielovesbook-akie - @diabaroxa - @love-the-abyss - @sasakipsposts - @eclipsedplanet - @fatima-marisa -@somanyminidragons - @dindjarinsmut - @lemonboynsp - @disregardedplant - @sarraa-26 - @babeincolor - @djarinxore - @yulivzqz
#best kept secret#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin/reader#luckbealincoln#din djarin x reader#mandalorian fanfic#mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian#din djarin
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Being a Witch with Vampires
Carlisle Cullen x Witch!OC
Summary: Stella (A witch) and Carlisle (A vampire), and how they blossomed from roommates to friends(?) to partners
Chapter 6/7
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7
Notes:
This was inspired by this fanfic on tumblr by lis-likes-fics titled "In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised"
This is also on Ao3 under the same title and same username too if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448940)
Posting is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story
This is officially the last chapter before the end, and holy shit thank you so much for the support that you've shown in this series, you guys are all wonderful!
As I have said, I do have another Carlisle series in the works, but I will most definitely post some other things before that so make sure to leave a follow if you're interested in some of my other works
Word Count: 2722 words
TW for this chapter: Death mentions
Timeline: Breaking Dawn
Masterlist
There were 18 vampires in the Cullen household, all either willing to fight or be witness against the Volturi, and a Jacob, and Sam (who Stella has convinced to be of witness for them as well)
“Carlisle might not ask you to fight, but I will. For the sake of my family.” Edward started, his desire to protect his family higher than ever “But also, for yours. And for the way you want to live.”
“The packs will fight. We've never been afraid of vampires.” Jacob immediately started
“I will fight alongside.” Sam announced as well “The Volturi have terrorized our home, and the home of our fellow witches. About time that we get them back and avenge our fallen soldiers.”
Soon, everyone was announcing them joining. Stella snuck out of the crowded room and into the privacy of hers and Carlisle’s room to accompany him, looking up at the portrait of Volturi that he had
“He’s a brave man.” Stella muttered, wrapping her arms around Carlisle who was in deep pondering
“Until when will we be forced to be against the Volturi?” Carlisle asked quietly as Stella sits next to him
“Until they decide that the Cullens are not of threat anymore.” Stella answered softly “You know they won’t stop until they get what they want.”
“They’ll start with you.” Carlisle whispered, facing Stella and resting his hand on her cheek “They consider you the weakest, yet they know that your death will do the most impact to us.”
“Then I will die protecting our family.” Stella answered at once, holding onto the hand that was on her cheek and leaning onto it
“And besides, you heard Sam. They’ve terrorized my fellow witches for thousands of years already. I will die protecting you and avenging them. I would have done my purpose as the blessed witch of today.” She continued
“I would not be able to live in a world without you.” Carlisle said quietly, the thought of losing his confident witch scared him
“Nor would I be able to live in a world where I didn’t die protecting you.” Stella responded
“I love you.” Carlisle muttered softly, pulling her face and leaving a peck on her forehead
“And I—” Stella started, pulling Carlisle for a kiss on the cheeks “—love you more.”
~~
Benjamin used his skill to start a bonfire, getting Stella to immediately position herself near it, still not being used to the cold. Benjamin and Tia sat down next to her, looking at Stella with a smile.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jacob said with a small smirk, nodding as he sits next to Stella “A little pre-battle bonfire. Telling war stories.”
“Or just standing there like frickin’ statues.” He added, looking at the group of vampires that were indeed standing like statues
“There’s a reason that they have marble-like skins.” Stella joked, giggling at her own comment. Garrett moved to where they were, joining them around the campfire
“Name any American battle. I was there.” Garrett mentioned casually, getting Stella to shake her head at him
Jacob mentioned the Little Bighorn, which Garrett mentioned his association to it. Kate moved to where Garrett was, sitting very close to him and mentioning another war, making a side comment about how he didn’t deal with that alone.
Everyone was sharing stories from their time in any battle back and forth. Vladimir and Stefan were soon to share about their time as the considered most powerful coven, before the Volturi overthrew them. Now Stella understood why they were so keen in helping them be witness, it was for their own benefit as well.
“How about you, witch?” Vladimir suddenly spoke up, looking directly at Stella “Any stories to share to us?”
“Oh no,” Stella said, shaking his head not at him “I have been with Carlisle since he left the Volturi, I have no such experience with anything related to battling or overthrowing a coven.”
“We used to be allies with the Romanian witches.” Stefan started, his gaze on Stella as well “Not until we accidentally feasted on their blood.”
“Thanks.” Stella said awkwardly, sending an awkward smile to the two of them “Very comforting for the two witches with you right now.”
“Do not fret. We do not have intentions on feasting on Carlisle’s mate.” Vladimir assured, smiling back at her “We just wish to hear stories as your time before you joined your Carlisle.”
“What do you want to know anyways?” Stella started, trying to remember every detail of her life as if it only happened yesterday
“Why did the witches never try to prove that they’re stronger than vampires?” Liam asked, getting Stella to ponder at his question
“We never liked violence.” She answered, deciding on what was the proper response to his question “We preferred living in peace and quiet. And if that includes letting vampires think that they’re stronger than us, then so be it.”
“Then why be here right now?” Garrett asked
“Because I have something to fight for.” Stella simply replied, looking for Carlisle in the darkness, only to see him already looking at her with a smile on his face
“We’ve always respected the witches that we were blessed to be allied with.” Stefan opened up “They were strong, too strong that we couldn’t keep up with their capabilities during battles.”
“Every one that we kill will be equal to them killing ten.” Vladimir continued “They were a beast, a powerful weapon to have during war.”
“But you killed them.” Sam snickered, sitting next to Jacob
“That has been our biggest mistake.” Vladimir accepted his comment “Our incapability to have self-control like Carlisle does led to our own demise.”
“But a witch’s blood has two outcomes, either it could drive the vampire mad. Or that we will calm them.” Sam continued “Does our blood drive you mad right now?”
“Carlisle has wished that we do our hardest to resist the temptation of having a taste of you right now, Stella more in particular.” Stefan assured them
“Drop that discussion, we can’t be starting a silent war between us right now.” Carlisle called them off, lightly tapping Benjamin’s leg to sit next to Stella. He and Tia moved, giving him the space to sit next to her.
“You good?” Stella whispered to Carlisle. He nodded at her question before leaving a peck on her forehead
“How did you and Carlisle even conclude that you’re mates?” Kate asked
“They just know.” Edward answered for them “It’s almost the same as how we feel that we’re mated to our mates.”
“I mean, I get that.” Kate told him “It’s just, obviously, a vampire meeting their mate is an understood experience by almost everyone here. I just don’t get how it works with a vampire and a witch.”
“Trust me, we didn’t understand it either at first.” Stella assured her with a chuckle “There’s a reason why we spent 280 years being together without accepting that we’re mates. It just didn’t make sense at that time.”
“A witch’s existence is a…complex discussion really.” She continued, getting everyone to listen intently to her
“We’re human, but we’re not at the same time. We’re this thin line between humanity and immortality. In a sense, it puts us in the same group as Renesmee, but not really at the same time. A witch can only be born during a hybrid eclipse, which explains why we’re so human at some part yet so immortal in others.”
“You’re very rare then.” Tia spoke softly in realization “The last hybrid eclipse happened in 2005.”
“Exactly.” Sam answered “We’ll be considered lucky if we have 2 hybrid eclipses happening in a decade. There were only 6 hybrid eclipse in the past century alone, that’s how rare we are.”
“How old are you then?” Garrett asked
“We were both born in 1668, making our family immediately paired us as mates early on.” Sam answered again “We weren’t keen on the idea, her more so, but we just followed. We didn’t know when another witch was gonna be born by then.”
“That’s before I met Carlisle.” Stella added, looking at the blonde vampire next to him before looking at the bonfire again
“Meeting him gave me this sense of hope for myself. The sheer fact that I could be with him without him ever losing control gave me hope that maybe I could leave with him if he ever asks me to ever join him. And he did, two decades after we met.” She continued, intertwining her hands with him
“The best decision I’ve ever made.” Carlisle said softly, leaving a soft kiss on Stella’s hand
~~
“Carlisle!” Stella yelled as Carlisle ran to save Alice and Jasper, her heart pounding heavily in anxiety, watching as he pushed upon the Volturi that were stopping him from saving their children
She watched as Aro and Carlisle had a face off, ending with Carlisle’s head on Aro’s arm, his body being burnt
“No!” Stella yelled, seeing her mate be burned while Aro taunted everyone with Carlisle’s beheaded body
Stella knew what was gonna happen, it was only a matter of time until it was her turn to join Carlisle in the afterlife under her own decisions. But she didn’t want Carlisle’s death to be in vain. She led them to rush the Volturi, wishing to avenge her mate who died in Aro’s hands. She was yelling as she ran to the Volturi, in pain and in anger, as the others with them rushed alongside her
The battle begun, flying bodies of both from the Volturi’s side and the Cullen’s were all over. Stella was using all spells that she knows to finish off the Volturi that were getting near her, her desire to avenge Carlisle stronger than ever.
And as the number of the Volturi was slowly decreasing, Aro walked to the battlefield, the same thirst to kill and avenge his mates high.
“ARO IS MINE!” Stella yelled, running to Aro, no sense of sympathy on her face
They met in the middle, where Stella used her magic to stop Aro from even moving. She wanted him to die, the cruelest way one could ever think of.
“This is for my fellow witches!” She yelled, tugging off his arm with one swoop
“This is for those you’ve terrorized!” Stella yelled again, finishing off his other arm
Stella felt the same stabbing pain as before, Jane was targeting her, but she ignored the excruciating pain flowing through her body, focused on one thing in mind. It didn’t take long until the pain disappeared, figuring out that either Bella has shielded her, or someone has targeted Jane.
She forcefully pushed Aro down to his knees and grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing him to look up at her.
“Did you find satisfaction in killing him, Aro?” Stella asked, a demented smirk on her face
For the first time in Aro’s long existence, he felt fear.
“It seems like Carlisle got you to be his mate.” Aro taunted despite nearing his death “No wonder you were so adamant in being the one to kill me.”
“This is for Carlisle.” Stella laughed in such a horrific tone that caught all of the Volturi’s attention
In Stella’s final attempt to avenge Carlisle, red flames flowed in her hand, it was a death sentence for her as the fire was burning her away. Stella dug her nails deep into Aro’s head, using all her strength to separate his head into two lengthwise pieces of it, the fire already causing some parts of him to burn. Multiple Volturi tried to save their master, all piling up on his and Stella’s burning body. She was trapped in the middle, joining them as they burn to ashes.
Stella could hear Emmett and Rosalie’s pained yell from outside the piled bodies above her. She could hear Alice’s gasp in shock and Edward and Bella’s rushing feet in an attempt to retrieve Stella’s body from the pile of burning vampires. She could hear the fight continuing, the Volturi witnesses wanting to avenge their masters.
But she closed her eyes in acceptance of her fate.
Had this been her end, she will be happy. For she will not have to suffer a lifetime without her Carlisle.
--
Alice showed what would be Aro’s fate had he continued the fight against the Cullens. Making him back down, to Caius’ dismay, but knowing that he will be back for Edward, Bella, Alice, and the other gifted vampires there one day.
Stella pulled Edward and Alice from the celebrating group, hugging them and kissing the temples of their head
“You both are so strong for having to see those visions.” She murmured to them
“You could see it too?” Edward asked
“Learned a bit of telepathy myself before being with Carlisle.” She winked to him “Just didn’t use it as much. I see how much of a stress that it with you, so I just choose when I use it.”
“So—
“I know a lot of things that you wouldn’t tell, Carlisle.” Stella answered to the shying Carlisle, playfully winking at him
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Edward murmured “It must have been tough to keep your composure, seeing Carlisle die like that.”
“You’ve been dealing with that for centuries; I want to carry the burden that you two do. Even if just for today.” Stella hushed, pulling the two for another hug
Carlisle watched the sight of the three of them hugging, a content smile on his face. He doesn’t personally know what vision Alice showed for Aro to back down like that, but he was glad that no fight broke out
It was finally over; their family is in peace again.
He gets to be in peace with his Stella.
~~
“No!” Stella said, waking up from seeing another version of what the fight could have been
“What’s wrong?” Carlisle asked, a book on his lap “Another nightmare?”
“You keep dying in every single one of it.” Stella frowned “I keep killing Aro but that doesn’t stop the fact that you’re dead in every single one of it too.”
“I’m sorry mi amor.” Carlisle frowned, putting the book on the nightstand and pulling her closer to his chest
“If it makes you feel any better, I can help you if you can’t sleep.” Carlisle offered, a plan bubbling behind his golden eyes
“How so?” Stella asked, a small smirk forming on her face
Carlisle didn’t answer, but his hand made its way down to the hem of the tank top that she was wearing. He was toying with it, teasing her as if he was gonna lift it up. It didn’t help that Carlisle stayed topless when he accompanies her to bed. “Just so I can cool you down quicker” he says
What a complete bullshit.
“Mr. Cullen, you surprise me.” Stella said, an amused smile on her face as she sits up properly to look at him
“I wasn’t doing anything.” Carlisle said, fake innocence in his tone
“Aww,” Stella fake pouted
She left the bed and started to undress herself down to her undergarments, an expensive set that Carlisle gifted to her. She knew Carlisle was watching her every move with intent eyes, she didn’t even need to look behind to know so.
“I am gonna be in the shower, in need to cool down a bit.” Stella announced, though her tone hinted that she wanted Carlisle to do something
“Why need the shower if you’ve got a perfect cooler in your bed right now?” Carlisle asked in a sly tone, making Stella look at him
“Oh?” Stella asked, turning around and looking at him, a smirk on her face. He opened his arm, waiting for Stella to come back in his embrace
Stella rushed back to the bed, pulling Carlisle in a deep kiss and resting her hand on the band of his pajama wear. Carlisle wasted no time wrapping his arm around her. He pulled her down the bed as he positions himself on top of her.
“I love you.” Carlisle murmured, indulging himself and leaving shallow bite marks on her shoulders
“I love you more.” Stella replied back, tracing her hand down the vampire’s cold but toned torso
@kisekihany
#carlisle cullen#twilight saga#alice cullen#bella swan#carlisle cullen x reader#edward cullen#jasper hale#rosalie hale#the cullens#twilight renaissance#twilight x reader#twilight#no esme on this one (i love her though i promise)#emmett cullen
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Interlude
In between the 1989 timeline and the reputation timeline, I'd like to take a brief moment to chronicle all the things Taylor said about her plans (or lack thereof) for her next album in 2015 and early 2016.
February 3 & 4, 2015: Taylor is photographed at Catchlight Studios. I can not find any record of them producing any song for any artist ever and Google calls the a portrait studio, but the Mirror did call them a recording studio when Taylor was seen at it.
February 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue is published (likely conducted on January 14/15).
"I don’t worry that I haven’t started the next record yet. I don’t worry that I don’t know what it’s going to be. I’m not worried that I have absolutely no timetable as to when it needs to be done. It could be two years from now; it could be three, it could be four. Or it could be one. You get these bursts of inspiration right at the moment you’re not expecting to. You just have to live your life, and hopefully you’ll take the right risks."
March 2, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a studio. (Note: I can not find a place that specifies if this is a recording studio, dance, photography, radio, or television studio).
May 20, 2015: Taylor's interview with Marie Claire is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).
Taylor is not even sure she'll have made another album by the time 2020 rolls around (Author's Note: Taylor nearly doubled her discography between 1989 and the end of 2020). "I'm not going to put out an album until I've made one that's better than this one and that's going to be really hard," she says. And how might her music evolve if she does find love? "If that does happen, I think I could find complexity in happiness," she says. "I don't think anything's ever simple. Just because you're happy in a relationship doesn't mean there aren't moments of confusion or frustration or loneliness or sadness. Hopefully, if I ever find some sort of meaningful relationship, I'll be able to still find inspiration, just through everyday ups and downs."
October 7, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a recording studio in New York.
November 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue Australia is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).
Every two years since 2006 she has released an album, followed by a tour, then moved onto the next one. But her latest album, 1989, might change plans a bit. “This album has produced more number ones than any album in the past, so we’re just going to go with it,” she says, going on to explain how the usual album cycle could be extended. “Then I’ll feel like I’ll need to give people a breather from me because at a certain point they’re going to get a little sick of hearing about me, so I’ll need to go away for a while then, depending on my gauge on how sick of me they are, I’ll decide when to put out the next album.” [...] “I’ve been learning every single day what the right amount of sharing [of her personal life] is, and lately it’s been not natural because this album is such a snapshot of my life – it was so vivid, direct and honest.”
April 20, 2016: Taylor interview with Vogue is published (conducted in February).
So what the hell are you going to do with the rest of your life, Taylor Swift?
“I have no idea,” she says, with a sigh that’s more blissful than anxious. “This is the first time in ten years that I haven’t known. I just decided that after the past year, with all of the unbelievable things that happened . . . I decided I was going to live my life a little bit without the pressure on myself to create something.”
Do not freak: Swift is not abandoning making music. Those who know her know this is chemically impossible. (“Her not being creative is one of the last things I’d ever worry about,” the musician and producer Jack Antonoff tells me later.)
“I’m always going to be writing songs,” Swift says. “The thing is, with me, I could very well come up with three things in the next two weeks and then jump back into the studio, and all of a sudden the next record is started. That’s an option, too.”
But probably not for the moment. “I would really like to take a little time to learn things,” Swift says. “I have lots of short-term goals.”
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happy holidays! this is arguably a little late but i’ve had a rough go of it these past few days so i only just finished this tonight lol. Ii insist that i’m not late because we’re still in 2022 and the new year hasn’t hit yet!
anyways this is just a relatively short fluffy feel-good thing because i wanted to feel warm and fuzzy. so it’s absolutely self-indulgent.
word count: 3,229
warnings: swearing, it’s christmas eve and that’s important so that should probably be a warning, no y/n, no mention of gender but ravenloft reader is AFAB, minor ravenloft spoilers if you squint
for reference, this scene (with a bonus crown) is what the reader would’ve drawn.
and for the record, since it was mentioned on ao3, i'm very well aware it shouldn't have been a perception check! ravenloft!reader was never written with the intention of making them a tabletop rpg wiz, they just know enough to get by and follow along if they're sitting in on a game.
𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓
When the phone rang, you didn’t even greet the speaker. You immediately answered with ‘what do you want you fucking menace’ because there’s really only one person who’d call you near midnight like a heathen.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
You snort and wedge the phone between your chin and shoulder and sit back down at your dining table to keep sketching.
“Dunno. Like, all of them?”
“Dude that’s the epitome of unhelpful,” Eddie deadpans, and you can’t help but laugh.
“Right, well like, is there any context to this? Cause you should know I don’t have a favourite colour,” you reply, frowning and erasing a small portion before swiping the eraser shredding away.
“Come on,” Eddie whines, and you can practically see him throwing his head back in annoyance. “Not even one? Like, something that just always makes you happy when you see it?”
You hum for a second and put your pencil down. “I guess maybe black? I—“
“Nah, nuh uh. Boring as hell.”
“Rude, what—“
“Black’s not even a colour, that’s what you constantly say!”
You scoff and pick your pencil back up, switching the phone to the other shoulder.
“Did you seriously just call me in the middle of the night to bitch at me for not having a preferred perceptible wavelength of light?”
There’s an unusually long silence on the other end of the line. You frown again and pull the handset away and follow the coiled line. Confused but satisfied that it hadn’t somehow gotten unplugged from the cradle on the wall, you wedge it back where it was.
“Ed? You good?”
“Yeah, no. Yeah, sorry, just thinking.”
“Jesus, don’t burn yourself out there bud.”
“Oh fuck off.”
The rest of the phone call is relatively short, and colours aren’t mentioned again by the time you hang up. You don’t go to bed until nearly two in the morning, and by then you’re content with having gotten down the main lines of your portrait.
The snowstorm that rolled in on the 23rd was entirely unexpected but wholly welcomed. You were scheduled to work on the 24th, but with the state of the roads and the fact that nearly half of Hawkins was running off of generators, you were graciously allowed to stay home until the new year. And given that this is your first Christmas in your new home, you were more than happy to hunker down and, ha, weather it out.
You’d had plans, sure; Harrington had already made sure everyone knew to show up at his place on the 24th, your parents had been expecting you on Christmas morning and the rest of the day would have been spent going around to see extended family. And though the thought of not being able to fulfill your annual Christmas traditions did dampen your mood, just thinking about the astronomical amount of energy you’d save made it a bit more palatable.
If the same thing were to happen next year, though, you might cry.
You’d already called Steve to let him know you were staying home. Pleasantly surprised, he’d admitted he’d had a whole speech prepared about how he’s have The Swarm tear you a new one if you even dared thinking about touching your car keys. (Which would have been an effective threat, honestly. You really had no interest in giving Dustin a reason to get uppity at you, and you definitely didn’t want to have to deal with Max’s ire. Girl held grudges like you did trauma.)
Your parents were only slightly less understanding, with your mother trying to insist that your father could come pick you up. A little resistance put that all to rest, though, and with a promise to call on Christmas morning, that was dealt with as well.
You’d just settled down on your couch, swaddled in the fluffy blanket you’d gotten from Eddie the year before, mug of hot chocolate held in both hands for warmth, when the doorbell rang. Confused, you look at the time—just after dinner on Christmas Eve—and sigh before heaving yourself off the couch to buzzer by the door. You hesitate for a second before pressing the button to let the mysterious visitor in. You’re already on your way back to your couch, having assumed it was just a neighbour who’d locked themselves out again, when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.
You quietly walk back up and carefully lean forward to look through the peephole.
“What the…” you mutter, leaning back, nearly jumping out of your skin when the knocking finally comes. You quickly unlatch the chain and unlock the deadbolt before pulling the door open. “Ed, what the fuck—“
“Merry Christmas,” Eddie blurts out, thrusting a box out at you, though it really sounded more like ‘murr cr’sms’.
“Merry Christmas to you too but Jesus come inside!” You pull Eddie through the door by his arm, quickly shutting the door behind you and getting started patting the snow off of him. “The hell did you do, walk here? You look like a damn yeti!”
“Y-yeah I kind-kind of d-did.”
You pause in your patting before grabbing Eddie’s arm again and turning him around to face you. You ‘reabout to ask if he was serious, but a quick glance at his face—reddened cheeks and nose, frosted lashes, dry lips—tells you he has, in fact, told you the truth.
“Fuck me, okay,” you whisper, before shaking your head and getting a move on. “Stay there and take your boots and coat off and then get your ass on that couch, I’m making you coffee.”
You don’t hear any complaints. And though normally you would’ve been glad for the silence, even perhaps proud to have shut him up, Eddie’s silence is, once again, unsettling. And this time you’re pretty sure it’s not because he’s thinking, and most likely because he’s borderline hypothermic.
You try to be quick; you grab that one pair of sweatpants Eddie leant you when you got splashed by a car outside of the arcade. That one metallica shirt you borrowed one time when one Friday movie night turned into an impromptu sleepover. You make your way back to the living room, where thankfully Eddie’s listened to you, and has made himself at home swaddled in the blanket you’d left on the couch. You throw a quick glance to the front door, where his jacket and boots are slowly leaving a growing puddle of snow water.
You definitely need to get a welcome mat or something if this is going to keep happening.
Your first instinct is to chuck the clothes at Eddie’s head. What you would usually do. But it’s Christmas eve, there’s a god damn storm outside and this maniac walked to your place. For some reason. You feel like you owe him to be nicer than you usually would be. Call it the ghost of Christmas conscience.
“Here,” you say quietly, holding out the sloppily folded shirt and sweats. “You can change in here. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Eddie mutters a very stuttery thanks and takes the clothes from you. You pause for a second to see what’s on the TV—seems like A Christmas Story is about halfway through—before hastily turning away when you see Ed starting to lift his shirt over his head.
Coffee, right. You said you’d make coffee.
You’re being so normal about this, it’s absolutely fine. You’re totally fine.
By the time you return to the couch in the living room, Eddie’s clothes are exceptionally neatly folded on your coffee table and he’s even more huddled up in your blanket than he had been before. You place his mug of coffee in his waiting hands and have to bite back shocked laughter when, even outstretched, underneath the blanket, he looks like a frozen T-rex.
“Alright,” you huff out when you finally take your seat on the other end of the couch. “You wanna tell me what’s in that box that was so important that you felt you had to walk here in a storm?”
Eddie sputters in his coffee a bit. When he brings the mug back down, he does look a little sheepish.
“Yeah, y’know it sounds pretty stupid when you say it like that.”
You nod and take a sip of your own coffee. “M’hm. That’s cause risking hypothermia to deliver a gift that very well could’ve waited until the storm passed is pretty stupid. No offense.”
Despite your disclaimer and your attempt to sound light about it, Eddie lapses into silence, again.
“Okay, you keep going quiet, is there something—“
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
You stop yourself, mouth agape. You bring your coffee mug back up to your lips to try and shake off the surprise.
“I—okay. What, uh, what about Wayne?”
Eddie gestures vaguely under the blanket, and you assume he’s waving the issue of. “He’s with the Hendersons.”
“Oh. That’s…”
“Dustin asked me to go. I said no.”
You frown. “In favour of walking though the snow to get to me?”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie starts, but he doesn’t continue until he takes another long sip from the coffee mug. “Walking wasn’t the plan. Van broke down halfway here.”
“Oh thank god,” you sigh, leaning back into the arm of the couch and pulling your legs up and under you. “I literally thought you walked from your place!”
“God, never,” Eddie laughs, pulling his own feet up on the couch to sit cross-legged. “But I was halfway here and there’s no power at the trailer, so.”
You hum and nod, but otherwise keep your silence. And you both stay like that for a few minutes. And while you’re taking the time to try and bring your BPM down to something a nurse might not scream about, Eddie seems to be appreciating the warmth that you’ve thrown at him.
“So,” you say after a while, clearing your throat and putting your mostly empty mug on the coffee table. “What’s in the box?”
Eddie grins and puts his own mug down. The blanket falls away from his shoulders when he reaches toward to grab said box, and he turns it around in his hands before passing it over to you.
“Wait,” you rush to say, just as he opens his mouth. “Shit, wait, I have,” you trail off, and nearly jump over the back of the couch to run to your room. You quickly snatch the gift bag you’d left on your dresser and run back to the living room, nearly tripping over your own feet. You throw yourself back down onto the couch and shove the bag towards Eddie.
“What—“
“Gift for a gift,” you explain shortly, a little out of breath.
Eddie laughs lightly but takes the gift bag from you, and you eagerly snatch the box from his hands. You’re about to start tearing into the tacky Santa-print wrapping paper, but glance up to make sure it’s okay. Eddie chuckles and nods and motions for you to go ahead.
You make quick work of the paper and nearly tear the top off the box before turning it over in your hand and letting its content drop into your palm.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, turning over the giant cut glass piece in your hand. You hold it up to the do lamplight, and it looks like it’s shimmering from the inside. Every which way you turn it, it’s like each facet is a different colour that reveals itself to you with each new angle.
You don’t miss the fact that there are nineteen carefully carved and painted numbers on each face, and the last one has a little flame where the 20 normally would have been.
You look up to thank Eddie, throat a little tight, but you nearly choke on your own tongue when you see his expression.
He’s holding your gifted frame in his hands like it might break if he holds it too tightly. You can’t really understand the expression on his face, and the more time he spends staring unblinkingly at it, the more unsure you feel.
“I, uh, is it… do you not like it?”
Eddie slowly shakes his head before lifting his eyes up to you. He tries to start a few different sentences before clearing his throat.
“Is this—this is really what you see?”
You let your hands fall into your lap and nervously turn the massive D20 around in them and nod.
“Yeah, I mean. The crown might be a bit much,” you chuckle lightly, looking up and away towards the TV. “But yeah. You look really, uh. You look happy, when you’re DMing for the kids. Really cool. Thought you should be able to, I dunno. See it for yourself.”
When you do muster the courage to turn to look back to Eddie, he still has that absolutely confusing look on your face. You lift the heavy dice in one hand and wave it around a bit.
“This is why you asked for my favourite colour, huh?”
Eddie blinks a bit owlishly at first, but laughs and shakes his head. Slowly, carefully, he puts your gifted portrait on top of his folded clothes. Leans forward to pluck the dice from your hand and gently put it down on the coffee table next to your mug.
“Ed, what’s wr—“
You inhale the rest of your question when Eddie reaches out a hand to grab and pull at one of your ankles. You screw your eyes shut when your head meets the couch cushion below your with a soft ‘thump’. And when you open your eyes, Eddie’s hovering over you, hands braced on the couch arm just above your head. You swallow thickly and promptly forget to breathe for a second.
The end credit music for A Christmas Story feels like it’s playing from miles away.
“You good?” Eddie asks, quietly, and all you can do is nod. “You sure?”
“Yeah, uh huh. Fine,” you whisper, holding your hands close to your chest. Close your eyes when he leans in to rest his forehead against yours. “Why did you really come over?” You whisper, hesitantly uncurling a hand to place it on his chest.
“Missed you.”
“You see me almost every day.”
“Worried about you.”
You snort and lightly slap at his chest. “Bullshit. I own more knives than you do guitar picks.”
Eddie exhales sharply before pulling back a bit. When you open your eyes, you almost want to hide from the tenderness you see in his.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, turning your head to the side to watch the TV turns from black to blue, now that the tape’s over.
“Like what?” Eddie asks, and you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice when he nuzzles at your neck.
You grunt. “Like, I don’t know. Like you—like…”
“Like you’re the only person I’d drive and walk through a snow storm to see?”
You hum but keep your head resolutely turned away. Shiver when you can feel his lips ghosting against your cheek.
“Like you’re in love with me,” you mutter quietly, screwing your eyes shut.
Eddie slowly peels a hand away from the arm of the couch to turn your head to look at him. You still avert your eyes. He brushes the hair away from your face instead.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he says, almost whines, tilting his head to try to catch your eyes. “You’re smarter than me, you’re not that dumb.”
You huff and cross your arms and finally look up at Eddie. There was some kind of combative quip on the tip of your tongue but it dies there as soon as the look on his face properly registers.
“You’re not fucking around,” you say frowning.
“I’m not fucking around.” Eddie sighs and moves up to kneel on the couch, both knees boxing in your legs. You move up on your elbows and scoot up a bit to lean your back against the arm of the couch.
“Since when do you—“
“Dude, you literally saved me from a swarm of hell bats, somehow managed to team up with a super powered teenage girl to save the world, still don’t think I’m an absolute coward and show up at my doorstep if I call you when I can’t sleep,” Eddie lists off, starting to wave down at your a bit frantically. “And you actually listen to my shitty garage band music!”
“It’s not shitty!”
“You’re proving my damn point, woman!” Ed shouts, swatting your hand away when you go to slap his chest again. “Merry fucking Christmas, I’m in love with you!”
You let yourself slide back down to lie on the couch and laugh when you throw an arm over your face.
“The fuck, this isn’t funny!” Eddie whines, trying to slap your arms away from your face. “This is serious!”
You choke your laughter down enough to say, “Roll for perception.”
“Excuse me?” Eddie squawks, indignantly, pausing his assault on your arms. You lower them just enough to be able to peek at him.
“You heard me, roll for perception.”
Eddie scoffs but turns to grab the massive dichroic dice from the table and gently rolls it along your carpeted floor.
“Huh. 18. Do I get to add my wisdom modifier to that?”
Though you bring your arms down from your face, you still cover it with your hands.
“You’re the only name and phone number I keep in my address book,” you start quietly, biting down on your lips before continuing. “That portrait of you isn’t the first one I’ve ever bothered trying to do. The photo of us Max took in the hospital is the only one I have framed. I hate cashews.”
“But you keep a tin of cashews in the cupboard on top of the f… fridge…”
You nod and part your fingers to catch a glimpse of Eddie. He sighs before shouting and shaking his head.
“Ed, what the—“
“Why are we so stupid complicated!” He shouts again, but it peters out into laughter. “Jesus, why can’t we just say shit like normal people?”
“We hate normal people,” you deadpan, slowly letting your hands slide down your face. “So, uh,” you start, curling your fingers under your chin. “Merry, uh, Merry fucking Christmas, I lo—I love you too?”
Eddie closes his eyes and tilts his head back to sigh like you’ve just given him a glass of water after spending weeks in the desert.
You move to half sit up on your elbows again.
“Hey, you—“
“Does this mean I can kiss you now and you’re not going to think I’m just doing it because it’s the holidays and there was mistletoe over your door?”
You blink for a second and pull yourself up on the arm of the couch and twist around to look at your door. Huh. Sure as shit, there it is.
“Oh. Mrs H must’ve put that up when she came over,” you say nervously, but when you turn around you’re shocked, both because of the still-freezing hand that comes up to your jaw and the lips that are pressed almost chastely against yours.
“God bless Mrs H,” Eddie whispers, and your laughter is a quick huff before you loop your arms around his neck to pull him down against you for another kiss.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#reader insert#fanfic#fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#holiday fic#christmas fi#fluff#no sad feelings here#mentions of el dustin and max#Minor ravenloft spoilers if you squint#ravenloft#Christmas#holidays#christmas eve#roll for perception
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TWILIGHT FOREST, TWILIGHT KING UPDATE: PART 5
another huge whammy of an update. this time we’re exploring more of the interactions with YUGA!!! things kick into gear, and then back out of gear, to have some well-deserved downtime before the campaign on the eldin province. and of course our favorite nasty men bond. 13k words under the cut
ao3 mirror HERE!
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
Ghirahim cocked a brow at the curious figure so busily admiring him, bewildered yet charmed by his immense enthusiasm. “And yet I must insist! I’m afraid the Master has not yet given me the gift of your introduction,” he said. “I would very much like to put a name to my admirer.”
The strange man snapped out of his bout of fascination, and with a flourish, took a step back. “Where are my manners? Of course, Lord Ghirahim,” he curtsied, his arms, clutching his staff in one boney hand, spread to either side. “Yuga, High Sorcerer of the Kingdom of Lorule! I am very much looking forward to our cooperation. If the tales I’ve heard of your battling prowess are anywhere near as accurate as those of your stunning appearance, then we are firmly set on the path of glory, indeed.”
“You do so flatter me. I’m afraid I must disappoint you, though. As of late, I happen to be occupied,” Ghirahim laughed with a gesturing peek to Zant, fingers casually resting against his cheek in amusement.
Yuga scoffed, for a second looking almost disgusted. “Oh, please. Do not get ahead of yourself. My appreciation of your beauty is merely an aesthetic one. I have no intentions of pursuing anything so frivolous!”
Perturbed, he just grinned in return, shooting another quick glance at his still shut-away companion. Had that helmet not been blocking his view of his face, he might have caught a glimpse of the steam coming out of the Twilight King’s ears.
“I see! Well, then… What is it exactly you are pursuing, then?”
“Why, mere artistic intrigue! You have such delicate features, dear Lord,” Yuga dismissed his staff and clasped his hands together. “Have you ever considered having your portrait taken? I can see it now, you would be an absolute delight to paint.”
Now, Ghirahim’s impression of this man was skyrocketing. A portrait? Of him? Thinking about the past, he did remember how his likeness was portrayed by the people of the skies. Hideous, unflattering blotches of paint, making absolutely no attempt to depict him accurately. Meanwhile, such vanity was denied him by his own people, as, rightfully so, Master Demise was central in their so-abstract iconography. Naturally, the glory of such a powerful figure could do nothing but overshadow his measly importance in comparison! There had never been a need to deify him similarly, but…
This was different. He was now a commander of high standing, and Master Ganondorf seemed to grant him somewhat more of a spotlight in their conquest. Certainly, a portrait would not be too drastic to request..?
He blinked at the man again, looking him up and down. Certainly, he did strike him as a painter… Never had he met any artistic fellow that didn’t look horribly tacky and eccentric. If such correlations were to be believed, this harlequin-like figure must know what he was talking about.
“A delightful offer, certainly. My only problem is pinning down a proper moment for me to sit and pose… You must know, we are terribly busy.”
“Of course! I am well aware of my duties here, but surely we have some time here and there?”
Ghirahim’s eagerness to be flattered almost made him lose sight of his initial goal. Indeed, he did not come to find the man for small talk! “That we will, indeed, but today is not that day. Our Master has requested we walk you through the progress of our campaign thus far. If you would be so inclined, you ought to get yourself ready and head to the war room. Do you know where to find it?”
Yuga nodded. “Right off to work already? Ah, I adore such an efficient pace! Yes, I will gather my bearings, as you wish.” He awaited Ghirahim’s acknowledgement, before bowing his head as a polite gesture. “I expect to see you there, then,” he said with a smile, before trotting off toward the staircase.
The hall was cast in a deafening silence once their new associate left them to sort out his business, leaving Ghirahim and Zant to stand there thoroughly nonplussed. Well, if anything, Yuga had set a baseline of thorough friendliness, so he expected to find no more trouble in meshing with him throughout their mission. Zant, on the other hand…
Amused, Ghirahim brought a hand to his cheek, tapping a finger to his face in thought. “I daresay, Zant. When was the last time you complimented me like that? If I wasn’t so fond of you, you might have had competition.”
Zant’s head whipped around to him with such speed the metal of his helmet squeaked. “Unbelievable,” he exclaimed. “That is all you think of right now? This entire conversation, and he did not acknowledge me even once!”
Ghirahim laughed. “Oh, it’s terrible, I know. Forget about a third wheel, you weren’t even near the wagon,” he nudged him in the elbow playfully, but Zant did not share this amusement. “I suppose I do draw the eye.”
Zant grunted in annoyance, turning away from him at once. Silence befell the pair again, but Ghirahim did not relinquish his self-satisfied stare, boring holes in his co-lieutenants helmet. Whether he noticed this or not, Zant’s confidence whittled away nonetheless. “… Do you truly wish for me to praise you in such a way?”
A shriek of laughter burst out from him in response. This new ‘friend’ of theirs was truly making life so much more amusing, and it hadn’t even been ten minutes since they had met! Just this encounter alone had the menacing King of Shadows feeling jealous and insecure in his courtship. It was a delight. “Please, Zant. Can we discuss this later? You’ll kill me before we can teach our rookie the ropes!”
He was met with silence until Zant set off down the hall again. “Very well,” said Zant, the sharp snap of his metal soles against the tiles betraying an irritable mood.
“Oh, you’re mad at me, now?” Ghirahim tittered, unable to resist the opportunity to bully him, and fully embraced the snappy fit of bickering that came to follow…
Despite the pair’s now thoroughly acquired taste for shenanigans, they were still bound to their duty, especially in such a pressing situation. Master Ganondorf had given them the time window of tomorrow to introduce Yuga to their campaign, but they both knew that that was more the window he gave them until swift punishment was to come. By all means, it meant they should be ready by tonight. And if there was any place in Hyrule fit to orient any fledgling commander, it was the war room of Gerudo Palace. Ghirahim stepped nostalgically inside, squinting to adjust his eyes to the contrast of the torchlight and cavernlike darkness that blanketed the room. The place was made to be nigh impenetrable, which meant that it had been situated in the basement, not a speck of natural light entering it. Such a setup was preferable to their night-dwelling soldiers first of all, but also ensured such high security, not even a fly could enter unauthorized when the meetings were ongoing. The room was certainly imposing, and every time he stood in it he felt as much of an invigorating sense of devotion as he did when he first stepped inside. Banners and mosaics, depicting scenes from ages of Demon Kings long past and alternate adorned the walls, emblematic of Ganon’s forces. They had mostly been gifts from the sorceress, Cia, in an attempt to appease Ganondorf’s boundless fury and lust for power, but as things stood, his Master of course had simply pocketed them and chose to betray her either way. The real showstoppers, enshrined above an auxiliary throne to the north of the room, were depictions of Ganon during his time of victory, the once humanoid-appearing Demon King then twisted into a mighty, giant-tusked wild boar. The other mosaics were equally grand, and though they all depicted battles ultimately lost, they were not to be understood as attempts to sugarcoat his Master’s losses. Instead, they symbolized his unwavering tenacity, his endurance, and the inevitability of his return, no matter how many times his soul was sealed or ripped from the mortal realm. Ganondorf’s pride as a Gerudo was similarly celebrated through the antiquary of traditional weapons and armor displayed near the walls, showcasing his people’s mastery of smithing and fast-paced, efficient warfare. All golden helmets placed in the corners of the room gazed at the centerpiece of the room; the strategy table, a dark wooden surface that now stood empty, waiting to be covered in maps and pawns.
Zant passed into the room before him and walked straight past the central table, instead browsing the shelves across the entrance. With astounding clarity, as though he had already figured out their exact steps, he began scooping map scrolls and various boxes of navigational pegs and tools into his lanky arms. Soon, he had spread the biggest essentials neatly across the table, and under Ghirahim’s watchful eye began dividing the first pegs to denote the advance of their skirmish thus far. Right as they were about to devise a way to summarize the past efforts of war, Yuga, indeed, found his way to the room and stood idly turning his flaming staff in his hands.
“You will have to forgive the delay, gentlemen. Those bokoblins of yours simply couldn’t figure out how I wanted my room!”
“Tell me about it,” Ghirahim groaned, before idly beckoning Yuga to approach the table. He quietly noted Zant’s mood dropping the instant their new coworker made himself known. How adorably juvenile!
Yuga strutted his way on over, gait floaty and rhythmic as he bounded across the carpet, and came to a halt at Zant’s side of the table. Half-lidded eyes brought out his rainbow-layered eyeshadow immensely as his eyes scanned over the table, perusing the various maps and registers of stocks. “Oh, yes. You lot are certainly more organized than my previous team. I reckon we will take over the Valley in no time flat.”
Ghirahim but smiled at him, while Zant gave him not more acknowledgment than a brisk nod, and a short “indeed.” To prevent himself from getting annoyed, instead of endeared, by Zant’s indignant grumpiness, he quickly changed topics. With Zant’s assistance, they completed marking the keeps that they had captured on the maps and gave Yuga an overall run-down on their available troops and provisions. The summary was welcome to Ghirahim, as well, as, to be frank, other than the delightful memories he’d made of thrilling victories and near losses, he himself was losing track and had Zant do most of the talking during briefings. Invigorated by their talk, he assembled another stack of documents and was about to reach the next stage of their meeting. Alas, his enthusiasm was struck down quickly enough, because Yuga interjected.
“Ah, if I might be so bold. Before we are to discuss any future plans, I do have some of my own intel that will be most crucial to our advance,” he offered, hovering with the narrow end of his staff above the map, using it as a pointer.
Zant hummed. “By all means, continue.”
“Now, it is still in the works, but on my way here from the northeast, I heard tell of an ambush from the Zora preparing to take our flanks during our next advance,” Yuga daintily tapped the end of his staff on the map. “They will surface from the water somewhere north of the lake, and skirt the river to strike right at the edge of Death Mountain. They will be led by Princess Ruto, and some rumor General Impa will assist. Though, personally, I find it very unlikely she will leave the Hylian Princess’ side for even a minute.”
Ghirahim leaned on the table, peering down at the trail Yuga had laid out. “This is valuable information. You ought to have led with that, I’d say!” He laughed, only to be met with a contemplative purse of the new lieutenant’s lips.
“I thought it wise to gauge our resources first, is all! That way we can get right to the planning.”
Zant had not responded yet. He simply loomed over the table, staring at the map. “That will not be a problem,” he suddenly said, with the same grave clarity he had every meeting. “I propose the following,” he gestured with his own designated pointer at the map, drawing a trail from their pinnacle keep in Eldin to the north. “You join us in our trek through Eldin, but split off to intercept their ambush. There is another entrance to the Eldin cave system that leads near Lake Hylia; I trust you are familiar with it?”
Yuga nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s how I got here.”
“Excellent. You split off with your troops to intercept them at the edge of Hyrule Field, where I suspect they will surface to organize their formation. It will be wisest to allot you a sizable company of Lizalfos, who will be able to chase the Zora even as they retreat into the water.”
Yuga, who hadn’t given Zant as much as a glance before, was now paying great attention to him, eyes increasingly gaining a spark of captivation. Ghirahim, too, found himself once again swept away by the vividness of Zant’s plotting.
“While you are there, I request you dedicate several platoons to the capturing of King Dodongos.”
Yuga cocked his head, turning his gaze from the map to Zant’s helmet. “Dodongos? As far as I know, those linger on Death Mountain, no?”
“In this world, there is a pseudo-aquatic variant. For the time being, two will suffice. We will need as many beasts as we can throw at them,” Zant said with candid eagerness. As cold and calculating as he might be, Ghirahim came to know that such brutish assaults remained one of his guilty pleasures.
“I see! Very well, that all sounds feasible.”
They continued plotting the specifics for about an hour or so. Ghirahim was once again out of his element, somewhat, but to his comfort, Yuga appeared similarly overwhelmed. Much like him, he was used to bossing around smaller groups, while any further strategy was limited to simply letting loose a random number of monsters on unsuspecting Hylians. This comforting level of peerage at least soothed his biting feeling of incompetence a little bit. Still, one thing bugged him. Their last advance, they were thwarted by the sudden appearance of one of the Hyruleans' higher commanders. With the injuries they inflicted upon Midna, she would likely be out of commission for some time. Yuga’s arrival may have given them an advantage in that regard, but even then, it was three against… At least eleven, at this point. Cia may have been whittling away at them at another front, but in her exacerbating madness, she was no longer reliable. Not to mention, while Zant admitted to having acted carelessly at the time, it took both of them to take down just one of the enemy’s higher commanders. As good-natured as they might claim to be, the Hyruleans may have caught on to the weakness that emotional turmoil brought upon Zant, arguably their most terrifying commander, and sought to exploit it. Ghirahim worried, idly, what they would throw at them next, and if perhaps he would be targeted this time around. Nevertheless, chipping away at team morale was the last thing he wanted to do, especially in front of their rookie. Such worries would have to be left for another time.
With their negotiations wrapping up, each lieutenant retreated to their individual duties for the day. For Ghirahim, this meant another afternoon spent in the training fields. As the resident master swordsman (though quite a few ranks below his Master, still), it was his duty to perfect the form and technique among their troops. This proved to be somewhat difficult, as by far not all their troops actually wielded blades. Furthermore, the sheer differences in anatomical proportions between all their rich types of troops proved to be quite a challenge. Still, he had many a trick up his sleeve, as there was a clever method of striking available to all, no matter how stubby their legs or the count of their fingers. By far his favorites to train were the twilit Darknuts, not to speak of the elegant and disciplined desert warriors of the Gerudo. Frankly, he hardly had to teach them a thing, but their eagerness to learn new techniques and to spar with him caused his pride to swell and soar. Where other people might prefer to wind down for the day with an idle evening tide hobby, Ghirahim found the best way to ease his frustrations to be a good tussle out in the dust. It was bullying, frankly. Unless they played dirty, none of their troops stood a chance against him; and of course, everyone held him in too high esteem to try taking potshots at their commander. The battlefield was his dancefloor, one he glided through in ferocious choreography. His feet rhythmically striding across the beaten dirt, he used nothing but his hands to deflect the flurry of swords advancing on him. Blades screeched to a halt between his fingertips and chipped when bouncing off against his metal body; he needed only flick his wrist to disarm even the most frothing beasts from their weapons. He was in peak form once again, now that the ache of cursed magic no longer ailed him. No weapon could harm him, slicing through his false skin as they may, littering his body with a hatching pattern of facsimile injuries. The glittering black and white of his true form were slowly unveiled to the world around him, dazzling the nearest troops with the scorching sunlight refracting off of him. Straps of his clothing tore off of him in the scuffle. Any other time he would be angry, but oh, he had just so much fun like this, and it could all be made right with swift jabs of his elbows to the teeth of the offenders, stomps on their toes, or kicks in their groins. Others may leave this battlefield battered and bruised, but he was looking forward to leaving it a new man. Gradually, those brave enough to try and face him grew fewer and fewer, intimidated by the sheer number of monsters backing away from him, limping or not. He panted, a smile stretched across his face as he retracted his excitably lolling tongue back into his mouth.
“It was a decent effort you all have put in today,” he spoke, straightening his posture as he referred to the crowd around him. “But next time, I expect far more of a challenge out of you! Look at yourselves, and I haven’t even broken a sweat!” Hundreds of beady eyes looked back down at him, sheepishly nodding berated yet determined, and the lot of them turned back to the barracks to nurse their injuries. These brutes knew only the rule of the strongest, and lithe as he might be, he once again firmly seated himself at the top of their hierarchy. Perhaps one of these days, he ought to invite Zant or Yuga to come spar with him, and see where they landed in the pecking order… For the time being, he ought to change into his more presentable threads, before the dinner bell could summon them back to the halls.
The sun was slowly setting as he entered the mess hall, clad in his open-backed body suit and a shawl lazily draped over his arms. He only ever hung around here as an excuse to socialize; he did not need to eat, but the distant sounds of merrymaking tended to make him furious was he not involved in them. As usual, he entered it alone, though he quickly heard an unfamiliar footfall coming up behind him as he stood waiting at the doorway. Behind him, of course, was his admirer — the one he wasn’t romantically involved with, that is. He turned to see Yuga, too, had changed into more leisurely clothing. Though he was as gaudily caked in cosmetics as before, his layering was far less obnoxious. This time, he simply wore a flowing dark robe, adorned with subtly shimmering tyrian purple patterns. Small beads glittered on the outlines of the inverted triforce emblems on the fabric, almost delightfully tasteful compared to his previous attempts at dressing himself. Hands daintily clasped in front of him, he addressed Ghirahim with a smile.
“Lord Ghirahim! What a joy it is to see you again, not to speak of getting a glimpse of your extended wardrobe!”
At least someone gave him his well-deserved attention. “The sentiment is quite mutual, Lord Yuga. I take it you have settled well?”
Yuga nodded pleasantly, his massive curls bouncing under the motion. “Oh, yes. All is in perfect order,” he purred, before his eye contact was, with visible struggle, broken, his eyes instead wandering around the mess hall. “Shall we be seated? I reckon it will be much easier to converse over a warm meal.”
Ghirahim hummed in thought, peeking for a moment back into the hallway. Unfortunately, he did not find what he expected — no one else appeared to be coming. “Ah, well,” he started, “it appears Zant hasn’t quite arrived yet. It would be best if we sit at the darker end of the table, so that he may join us later.”
Yuga’s smile cracked just a bit at the mention of the Twilight King’s name. “Right, Zant.”
It was evident Yuga did not care much for the Twili’s company. From their very first encounter, he seemed to ignore him completely, only giving him the slightest bit of recognition during their strategy briefing. Disliking Zant was terrifically easy, but Ghirahim was deathly curious how he could have immediately developed a disdain for him before having spoken to him even once. Perhaps he could tease it out over dinner? “Oh? Do you dislike him?” he queried, bringing a hand to his cheek as he made his way over to the grand table reserved for their commanders.
Yuga followed him obediently but let out a conflicted sigh. “Oh, I shan’t gossip on my first day! For now, I have… Some respect for him as a commander, nothing more, nothing less.”
So there was something that awakened his ire! What a delicious development. They approached the table, bowing in respect for their Master who sat at the center overlooking the mess hall, and quickly took their seat after receiving his greeting. In the few minutes they sat there chatting, Ghirahim would learn an awful lot about their new co-lieutenant. Nothing he explicitly told him, per se, but rather the quirks that his rambunctious attitude completely failed to hide. Yuga was horrifically vain, even more so than himself, and extended this obsession with aesthetic perfection to every bit of his surroundings. He carried himself precisely so, from the way he consistently brushed the wrinkles out his clothing, to the careful and sweeping gestures he moved his hands with to avoid damaging his manicure. Really, he was starting to wonder if a creature so keen on his own appearance could survive even a second on the battlefield, but he made his way all the way over to Gerudo Desert from his respective Gate of Time, so perhaps he could set his gargantuan pride aside for such moments.
Soon, a demonstration of ‘such a moment’ arrived. All decorum went out the window when Yuga suddenly appeared distracted, his eyes widening and his jaw falling slack as his fingers tightly gripped the edge of the table. If it were not for the bustle of hundreds of men gathering in this hall, Ghirahim could have heard the wood creak under his knuckle-whitening squeeze. Yuga exclaimed a high-pitched noise of shock at whatever he was looking at and hastily began beckoning a certain someone to take their seat near them.
Zant had arrived.
The royalty-obsessed Twili had failed to change garbs as they had, but he was notably lacking the armor usually perched on his shoulder. Much more interesting was the completely befuddled look that pulled at the four corners of his split lips, and hesitantly, he made his way over to their corner of the table via the proper procedure.
Yuga had sat quivering in his seat, looking as if about to explode all throughout Zant’s advance towards them, and whatever pent-up energy burst out from him as soon as he stood at the seat they had reserved for him. “Zant! I thought that abominable helmet was your face all this time,” he hissed and screeched. “Good Lord! You are… Beautiful! Perfection!”
Ghirahim reacted to this statement almost as severely as Zant himself. He sat there with his brows knit, eyes wide, as Yuga began to wax poetic at his boyfriend. Zant, similarly, had not the slightest idea of how to react to such treatment, standing stiff and powerless as a bright red blush coated his cheeks. The poor man could do nothing but stutter out a ‘pardon?’ before being assailed with further compliments and carefully manicured hands snatching him by the chin to observe his face from various angles.
“Oh, forgive me for being so awfully forward! I simply… Agh! You, too! I must paint you! Never in all my years of living have I seen faces like yours,” Yuga clasped his hands together in a fawning gesture, continuing to ramble. “Coming here has truly been a fantastic decision! Had I known you two were hiding here, I never would have lingered in that shadow image of my home.”
Much of that evening was spent being mercilessly praised and ogled by Yuga, which Ghirahim was far more capable of taking in stride than his fellow sufferer. Zant only managed to fend off his delirious admirer with the feeble request to have his meal in relative peace, after which Yuga, too, remembered his mortal needs, and agreed to join him for dinner. The matter of Zant’s eating habits, Ghirahim suspected with some smug amusement, was very likely to put a damper on Yuga’s enthusiasm and redirect the praise he had for that bumbling fool of a Twili and back toward himself. Which, frankly, would be a favorable outcome for both of them. At first glance, the shadow-veiled King’s table manners might appear impeccable, with how patiently and delicately he handled his utensils. Ghirahim knew better, though. He looked on with a smirk as a dangling strip of meat was lifted to Zant’s mouth, and promptly, the end of it disappeared into the sharp-toothed maw. He chewed but a few times per overly-gluttonous bite before leaning his head back to swallow the entire slab whole, a visible lump slowly sliding down his undulating throat. Even past his gorget, the detail of his neck’s bulging anatomy was unpleasantly visceral to look at, though Ghirahim had grown used to it. He expectantly looked at their newest co-lieutenant, hoping to find him unnerved, but instead, read nothing but morbid fascination on his face as he continued to eat.
Oh.
Well.
Perhaps Ghirahim was not the only one with an iron stomach at this table.
Now that the bustle of the day was dying down, their conversation turned to more leisurely matters. Yuga once again inquired about their portraiture and was shocked to find neither of the men had their likenesses depicted in quite some time. The time to pinpoint a date for their posing was drawing ever closer and more inevitable, it seemed, which seemed like such an inane prospect in the midst of war. Even now, miles and miles away, troops were dying in battle for their glory, and here they were, discussing paintings and looking on in amusement at their fellow commander’s oddly lizardlike gorging. It struck him then, what a different life he was leading under Ganondorf’s leadership. In his efforts to resurrect Demise, he could not even dream of a moment to himself, spending every waking second scouring the lands for iconographical hints and monsters to beat into submission. And here he was, leisurely sitting at a dining table, finding the time to mingle with his fellow men. Taken aback by this realization, his eyes wandered to his Master, who was engaged in pleasant conversation with one of the previously reigning Gerudo governesses. Equipped with an acute perception of when he was being gawked at, Ganondorf soon met his gaze and, upon noticing he was occupied with neither dinner nor conversation, he beckoned him over with a sweep of his hand. Nigh instantly, and without looking back to his companions, he stood up and marched towards him with great enthusiasm. Though Ganondorf was seated upon his throne-like wooden chair, Ghirahim found himself in no need to bend down to meet his gaze and simply took his place beside his throne. To be at eye level with him was infinitely jarring, but there simply was no space for him to kneel, and the Demon King showed no sign of malcontentedness at his presence.
“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf rumbled, voice resonating through his metal interior. “I trust that your negotiations with Yuga have concluded successfully.”
He closed his eyes with a nod in response. “Indeed, Master. All is in order for our briefing come the morrow.”
Ganondorf hummed contentedly, leaning his chin on his rugged fist as he overlooked the rich chaos in their mess hall. “And what of your cooperation?”
That made Ghirahim pause. Less than an hour ago, the matter stood that Yuga and Zant had a remarkable distaste for one another, that only just now seemed to be mending itself. He glanced at the end of the table where the two engaged in idle conversation, their earlier unease with each other beginning to fade. Though their bickering was far less snappy and furious than his own early days with Zant, he found himself at a loss for an answer. “Ah, well,” he started, hoping to find confidence in his words as he went along. “I myself am getting along quite swimmingly with our new recruit,” he gestured to himself with newfound pleasantness, “and I expect Zant to follow quite soon.”
To his barely disguised horror, Ganondorf let out a chuckle, idly shaking his head. “You should know better than to come to me with such trivial matters, though I suppose the morale of my most loyal men is not entirely irrelevant…” The massive man shifted in his seat, wood creaking under his weight. “Your synergy. How fares your compatibility in battle?”
Long he had feared this question. Yuga was not even the biggest thorn in his side over the matter. Truth be told, even after the past few months of battling together, he and Zant still had not the slightest bit of synergy. Though they were adept at assisting one another in fending off threats, their styles of battle completely clashed. Ghirahim found himself better off standing at the sidelines while Zant went off on his many rampages than attempting to squeeze himself into the front and risk his hide. To face his Master with this knowledge fresh in his mind felt like an affront to everything he stood for, and he feared that he could read the inner conflict from his expression. “I must confess, Master. I have not yet been able to gauge the new lieutenant’s skills. We were quite occupied with his settling, and our plans for the next campaign,” he finally stammered, less secure than he would prefer to appear before the Demon King.
Ganondorf averted his gaze from him, idly rubbing at his beard. To Ghirahim’s anxiety, his warm amusement from earlier faded with the wind. “Then see to it. I entrust the assessment of Yuga’s fighting prowess to you, Ghirahim, and with it, his place on the battlefield.” Sternly, he looked at him again. “I realize I may have spoiled you, but I cannot afford you shirking your efforts when not on my watch. You all are irreplaceable. Even one of you falls, and so does our formation. Do not give me any more reason for concern. Understood?”
Ghirahim could do nothing but respond with a nod, before as quickly as he had summoned him, Ganondorf dismissed him again with a wave of his hand, and he sheepishly returned to his seat after a brief bow. Rejoining his companions then felt like crossing a threshold, the worry caused by the scowl of his Master forcibly setting itself aside to avoid showing weakness in front of his peers. Said peers greeted him again pleasantly with a hint of curiosity, but both knew better than to pry into the private matters of the King of the Gerudo. Instead, they dawdled for a moment, wondering whether to pick up their conversation from where they left it, before Ghirahim folded his hands together and leaned forward with great felicity.
“So! What did I miss?”
Night fell, and the pair retreated to their usual spot in Zant's chambers. His quarters in Gerudo Palace were significantly larger and furnished as Ghirahim would expect of the Twilight King. After dismissing a gaggle of gruff-looking Gerudo from fussing with his room, they finally seated inside to collapse after a long day of negotiations. This room, unlike the one at Eldin, had an actual seating area, and to his mild chagrin, that's where they had sat down. It seemed that Zant's earlier tolerance for his presence on his bed was primarily motivated by the lack of other seating before, and now that they could be sat politely, he decided to park the both of them straight there. Well, whatever. For the time being, he was happy to simply sit and gawk. He noted that some of the furniture had been freshly painted with details of some sort of phosphorescent dye, mimicking the teal glowing markings so typical of Twilit artifacts. Particularly receiving an upgrade was Zant's desk area, which was fitted with multi-compartment storage, and two sizeable bookcases on either side. Save for perhaps a dozen books, the text on all of the covers was illegible, meaning these were likely all smuggled from the Twilight Palace. Naturally, him being the only person capable of reading the text, these volumes were better off in his personal collection than the palatial library. His eye then fell on the bed, that big, pillowy thing, with its large mass of pillows and the sheer, sparkling shroud that encircled it. He would pout about his lacking presence on top of it, but amid their idle chatting, Zant had found something to giggle about and thoroughly distracted him. His eye was drawn to his face, only to spot one peculiarity. Sitting across him, rather than every night at his side in entanglement, allowed him to idly notice more things than usual. Right now, it occurred to him that Zant's hair was getting long enough to obscure the mark on his forehead.
Ghirahim sighed, gesturing nonchalantly at his balaclava. "Say, Zant. Isn't your hair growing awfully long?"
Zant hummed curiously, running a finger through his front bangs. "I suppose so."
Suddenly struck by an idea, Ghirahim shifted to sit on his knees. "May I?" he asked, reaching over to his balaclava. Zant gave him a brief nod, curiously eyeing his hands, squinting his eyes shut as Ghirahim's fingers slipped under the garment framing his face. Gradually, he pushed the tough, leathery fabric back, fingers running through his hair as he went along. As he thought, it was getting long. That messy mop upon his head was in even more disarray now that the haphazardly chopped locks were starting to tangle and overlap.
His eye returned to Zant's face, back at those big, bug-like eyes that stared so expectantly, and mildly flustered, up at him. "You're due for a haircut, I'd say. If you are to have your portrait taken, you want to look your best, wouldn't you think?"
A mischievous glint sparkled in Zant's eye. "You mean, the way you do every day?"
To Zant's amusement, the hand that was still plucking through his hair quickly stiffened as Ghirahim let out a scandalized squeak, and promptly delivered a light smack to his cheek. "Oh! You and I both know you wouldn't have said that if it weren't for Yuga riling you up earlier."
Zant squinted his eyes in a daring smile. "You'll never know for sure," he sneered.
Rolling his eyes, Ghirahim sat back down, his hand trailing to rest on Zant's shoulder instead, and he turned to the triptych vanity near the easternmost window. The idea of a man like Zant, constantly covered by his helmet, and overall frumpish as he was, possessing, much less using such a thing was perplexing to him. He wondered the last time the elegant granite surface must have last had elbows resting upon it, at the mercy of whoever was dolling themselves up. Peeking back at Zant through the slight gaps in his bangs, he promptly stood up, starting to pull him off of the couch and towards the vanity. Zant yelped slightly in response, the sudden manhandling likely rousing his scabbed-over injuries, while Ghirahim dragged him over and shoved him down into the seat before the mirrors of his dressing table. Fingers ran through his hair again while Ghirahim loomed behind him, meeting his restlessly darting eyes with a flirtatious gaze. He bent over to hover with his face next to his, fiddling with the locks of his hair — stretching out his bangs to measure their length to his chin, ruffling the back to see how it puffs out. Much of it was now shoulder length, unexpected from a man who’d always kept it fussily cropped short. Perhaps it had gotten away from him, with how occupied his evenings had been. Well, thank Demise for it!
“At least I have plenty to work with,” Ghirahim chuckled, fluffing his hair as he stood back upright.
Zant scoffed. “You? You’ve taken enough possession of me to start cutting my hair?”
“I only mean some offense by this, but every time I’ve seen that hair of yours, it’s messier than the last time. What you need, is someone with a steadier hand.”
Zant folded his arms poutily but was unable to think of a retort that did not incriminate him. Ghirahim continued his stylistic brainstorming instead. “You know, now that I look at it… Don’t you think you would look quite regal with longer hair? I could trim the ends, so it all grows out evenly—“
Zant quickly raised a hand, stopping his line of reasoning. “Ghirahim, I have tolerated your musings until now, but this I must decline,” he hissed, before his next words left his mouth with more of a mutter. “I do not see myself in my own reflection, when it is long.”
Ghirahim paused, then chuckled. “Surely it is not so drastic!”
But Zant’s expression did not change. “I am serious.”
He stood there blinking, caught off guard by his grave tone. Such an abstract concept was nigh incomprehensible to him, but if anyone was familiar with being picky about one’s appearance, it would be him. So, he did the next best thing: play right into his hand. “Right. Then, I’d like to suggest we stick to your usual length, but try to make it look less like a herd of goats went and ravaged it. Does that sound agreeable?”
Still in a bit of a sore mood, Zant’s earlier sternness lingered, but Ghirahim’s incessant taste for bugging him chipped at his composure. Soon, he sighed, meeting his eye again through their reflections. “If you absolutely must.”
Ghirahim chuckled victoriously, finally relinquishing his toying with his hair. And how good it was that he did, as that sweaty, greasy mess was starting to make him cringe to touch. “I’d reckon we ought to find an opportunity to wash it before I do, though.”
A sudden spot of genius struck him. “Why! I have the perfect idea. Before we get back to Eldin, we ought to make good use of the bathhouse here. Surely you’ve seen it!”
Zant, by now fed up with being treated as a dressing doll, refused to speak to him through their reflections any longer, and instead turned in his seat to look up at him. Their meager height difference as he sat was a little grating. He nodded. “I have been to it, on occasion.”
Speaking to him today was just one surprise after the other. Someone as modest as he? Sneaking off to bathe in a public place? Voluntarily, without him to goad him into it? Ghirahim was learning many new things about him, and he hardly even had to prod for the candor to come dripping out. “That spares me the effort of showing you around, then,” he nodded, resting a hand on Zant’s shoulder again. The Twili did not even as much as acknowledge the gesture. “Perhaps it’s an idea to invite Yuga along?”
This startled Zant out of his monotony. “Yuga?” He stammered. “We have only just met! You want our second encounter of diplomacy to be spent in… Well! In the nude?”
Ghirahim jeered, retracting his hand from Zant’s shoulder to wave him off with it. “Oh, he wouldn’t make a fuss! Most he’d show is an enthusiasm for sculpting us, or something like it,” he drawled on, reminiscing their earlier encounters with that eccentric figure. Indeed, most Yuga had done was ogling at them, but in a distinctly… Platonic way. The man viewed the two of them with deep aesthetic admiration, but in the same way one would a picturesque landscape or a particularly pleasing assemblage of still life knickknacks. In short, Yuga beheld the both of them as though they were living, breathing pieces of art already, itching to immortalize them. Needless to say, Ghirahim wanted to make fast friends with him.
Zant frowned at him for a moment, before his long, pointy ears drooped with a sigh. “Oh, I truly do detest how right you are. Very well; though I wish to gauge his reaction, personally, when you do offer, otherwise I will take to the baths some other opportunity!”
Ghirahim smiled, again sidling up behind him, laying one hand on either of his shoulders. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Your Majesty.”
Unable to resist the charms brought on by his enthusiasm, Zant exhaled a single squeak of amusement, leaning back to rest against him. Ghirahim’s hands slid their way up his neck, gliding past its taut muscles, and rested instead upon his jaw, stroking thumbs across his cheeks. His lips puckered in endeared enthusiasm as Ghirahim looked down to him so fondly, the heat from his face spreading to the darkened metal of the sword spirit’s hands. Oh, if only kissing him wouldn’t wobble the two of them off balance.
Amidst their sickeningly saccharine display of affection, Zant broke their fond silence. “If this is your attempt at seducing me into letting you crawl into my bed again, it is working,” Zant purred, cracking open one eye to peer up at him.
Offended as he was, Ghirahim couldn’t help but laugh, his face wrinkling in a mischievous grimace. “You think me a harlot!”
Zant giggled in response. “Throughout at least half of our conversation earlier, you were eyeing the sheets without even so much as a shred of subtlety.”
Ghirahim narrowed his eyes sharply and dug his fingers in to squeeze his cheeks as punishment. “Well, then. Aren’t you going to invite me?”
“Do I need to? You tend to simply go wherever you please.”
That was enough! Ghirahim promptly smacked his hands back on his shoulders, shrouding the both of them in yet another explosion of monochromatic diamonds. They arrived at the other end of his spatial warp wrestling for the better spot, somewhat in mid-air before they dropped with near-synchronized ‘oof’s into the mattress of Zant’s aptly king-sized bed. It had been a few days since their last night together, but from the previous handful of times, he remembered he must savor his time wisely. The Shadow King was a surprisingly kind lover, preferring his affections to be light and feathery over the carnal crashing of mouths Ghirahim was so used to, and tonight was no different. Still, they never did stay entangled for long. The passionate creature had a way of caressing him like a poem had its arcs, which meant that no matter how swept away they may get during its central stanzas, an end truly meant an end, and he would always request his leave after. There was something he was hiding, certainly, but he found this form of courtship oddly intriguing. Perhaps it was a Twili custom, or simply Zant’s overall way of being, that made him treat their budding romance as a dance, guiding Ghirahim through its various steps and twirls all the way through. His curiosity for whatever came next bested his impatience in this regard, but eventually, his urge to turn the tables would burst free from its chains, and show Zant just how fiery a lover he could be. For now, he was content to lay in his arms, those strange, split lips leaving their marks on his own, before bidding it all farewell for the night.
——
Another day went by in their usual routine. This time, it was Zant who approached Ghirahim’s quarters come daybreak. The man arrived at his doorway somewhat dispirited, dark circles set under his eyes, though he greeted him with a smile as always. He was mellow that morning, to Ghirahim’s great surprise, and simply seemed to want to poke around his room now that it was furnished. In comparison to Zant’s scholarly clutter, his own abode was disturbingly minimalist, save for what he could only refer to as his sewing corner. Currently lacking any projects, all there stood was simply a mannequin and a shelf with rolls of fabric, which Zant took to with great interest. Much of that morning was spent with light-hearted chatting, with the Twili leaning on him, seeking comfort from an ailment he would not share. Ghirahim found himself trying to brush it off. Certainly, if it was important to their mission, he would have poured his heart out to him as the impulsive creature was expected to do. Despite this sound logic that usually would sway him, an odd worry continued to eat at him. His Master’s words echoed in his mind; if even one of them were to fall, it would spell doom for their entire mission. Zant’s well-being was crucial to them all, as dubious as his mental state usually was. Still, Ghirahim found it was not merely his sense of duty that agonized at his inability to gain his trust…
Odd mood or not, the war continued. Their briefing with Ganondorf and the lower-ranking commanders went by as smoothly as it could. The Demon King seemed most pleased with their negotiations, and, as though reading Ghirahim’s mind, had only the possibility of the higher Hyrulean commanders swooping in as a concern. That very noon, scouts would be sent ahead on either route, hoping to spy on camps and keep an eye on any noteworthy occupants. Despite his disappointment from the night before, to Ghirahim’s great joy the Master actually seemed pleased. Still, he could not grow complacent just yet. That very afternoon, he was set to spar with Yuga. As expected from a mage, the man was far from an expert in melee, but this did not take away from his overall versatility. His choice of weaponry was most confusing, as other than the beams from his staff and a frequently summoned trident, his primary way of fighting was carried out… Using a picture frame.
“Oh, those are portals!” Yuga cheerfully proclaimed, swinging his staff wildly to force Ghirahim back out of melee range. “They summon various elemental magicks, weapons, and, well,” he ranted on, assailing his opponent with narrowly-dodged bolts of lightning and arrows pelting out of thin air, “They also pack quite a punch!”
Ghirahim grunted as out of the corner of his eye, he noticed far too late a teal smudge hurtling toward him at breakneck speeds. He reeled as it smashed into the back of his head, cracking the false skin upon impact. Thankful then for his constitution, he only needed to shake his head to rid himself of the worst dizziness. Yuga covered his lips with the tips of his fingers, a little bashful under the burning glare he shot at him. “Oh! I do beg your pardon, I expected you to dodge that.”
Indeed, it was his mistake. After this morning, he had been distracted, and in his attempts to tease out Yuga’s abilities, he overestimated his reflexes to the point of carelessness. How unbecoming of him! “Quite the nasty tricks you have. If anything, it made for a fine demonstration…” he trailed off, his attempts at saving face interrupted by a familiar giggle coming from the shadows of the nearby storage rooms. It appeared they had an audience. Zant apparently found the time to sneak off and watch their practice and took great amusement in his fumbling.
Ghirahim responded to this mockery with a scowl. “Don’t you have some bugs you need to be looking at?”
Zant’s earlier amusement all but faded, but he did put his hands in his sides, squinting at his snide comments. “I am simply here as your fellow commander, sating my curiosity about our new lieutenant’s skill in battle. If you so desire to make a fool out of me, I will be more than happy to join Yuga in beating you into ingots!”
Ghirahim grimaced at him with a sarcastic laugh, before lunging back at Yuga, rapier extended. Not expecting the sudden onslaught, Yuga shrieked, just barely deflecting the tip of his sword with another flying frame. This time, he had the upper hand, driving the man back by continuing to push against his shields. He stabbed and kicked at the translucent frames that appeared before him, pushing the sorcerer backward with each strike, before finally deciding to sidestep past. With one decisive thrust, the tip of his rapier was now under Yuga’s chin.
“Your skills are terribly interesting, I do say, though your defenses could use some work,” Ghirahim said with a smile and a tilt of his head. “Sturdy as those frames may be, they’re quite easy to slip past.”
Yuga swallowed, the bob of his adam’s apple briefly pushing the blade further into his skin. “I see! Well, ah, thank you for your insights!”
“You are most welcome. Oh, by the way,” he intoned cheerfully, removing the blade from the poor man’s throat. “Now that Zant is here, I have a proposition…”
It went without saying, but Yuga was incredibly enthusiastic about the matter of there being a bathhouse, even more so about joining the pair for an afternoon of socializing. Zant, on the other hand, was more difficult to persuade. He seemed to be having a severe case of ‘cold feet’. It was nothing a bit of well-timed prodding couldn‘t help, though. Before he knew it, he had the lanky thing stripped down to his robes and padding, and shuffling obediently, yet uneasily, down to the north of the building after him. Yuga had gone on ahead, apparently in more need of preparation than the both of them… Whatever that meant. Walking past the colonnades and into the bathhouse itself, the two men quickly went to the dressing rooms, the sound of gently running water just behind the wall. They had the place to themselves, Ghirahim had seen to that — they’d be meeting nobody but the occasional attendant.
“Ghirahim, I must attend you to one thing,” Zant stated with slight apprehension in the hitch of his voice. “When I have undressed, you may find my anatomy… Not as you expect it.”
Now he was even more curious than before. He had promised Zant to keep his back turned until they were both more or less bared, but the temptation to look over his shoulder was starting to get nigh unbearable. “Not to worry, I’ve long since made myself comfortable with your otherworldly appearance. I’m certain it will be nothing shocking,” he intoned, trying foolhardy to mask his burning curiosity with a nonchalant tone. Oh, but what if it was shocking? The possibilities were endless! He had felt his body pressed against his, but only ever through the padding of countless robes! Whichever way it went, he was terribly intrigued, and could only imagine what was hidden on the lanky form beneath.
Zant was silent a moment, before humming in mildly conflicted affirmation. He heard nothing more but the gentle slaps of shuffling straw slippers on the tiles and the rustling of thick clothing for a while, until they had both well and enough prepared themselves for their little afternoon of relaxation. By now Ghirahim decided he’d waited enough, and he promptly turned around.
The Twili stood before him, a woven towel held loosely at his waist. Against all odds, the humble creature had indeed undressed to nothing but his footwear, allowing him his first-ever glimpse of whatever mystery he hid behind his eternal mass of robes.
Various features could have caught his eye. It could have been the weak glow of the elaborate markings adorning his body, or the black-and-white patterns swirling around his limbs and torso like shadows, or even the way the deep black on his upper arms slowly faded into a sickly grey the further down his arms he looked. Instead, his eyes were promptly glued to one particular trait.
Were those..?
Those were definitely..!
A small clear of the throat snapped him out of whatever wild goose chase his mind was sending him off on. “I must beg your pardon,” said the voice diagonally in front of him, “I realize this may be somewhat difficult for a man of your stature, but I truly would prefer for you to look me in the eye when we speak.”
Embarrassed, Ghirahim quickly craned his head back to meet Zant’s gaze. He feared having insulted him, but instead, he was greeted with a smile, clad in subtle, eye-squinting smugness. That bastard was toying with him!
“Of course,” Ghirahim found himself stammering, shamefully, yet futilely, fighting against the blush creeping up on his cheeks. “Oh, I do apologize… How unbecoming of me,” he muttered, clutching his towel to his chest during a struggle to find an appropriate pose for his arms.
Zant’s smile broadened, baring the first glimpses of his teeth. “Very forward of you, indeed,” he crooned, “but such curiosities and inquiries will have to wait until some other time.”
As Ghirahim still stood there, perplexed by the strange up-and-down in the gravity of this situation, Zant was already turning to leave. “I believe we have a guest to tend to, and it would be even more unbecoming if we left him waiting, no?”
Turning to look over his shoulder, Zant curiously gauged his next course of action or perhaps hoped to spot him sneaking in more opportunities to ogle. Against both their expectations, Ghirahim found himself, shockingly, too shy to do so, and instead stood staring at the face so gingerly obscured by the choppy locks of his plum-colored hair. Him, shy? Embarrassed!? It was unheard of! He had to save face quickly.
“You are most right, my dear,” he purred, briskly taking off to keep up pace with him. “Let us hope our new comrade hasn’t gotten himself lost a second time!”
Soon enough, they encountered Yuga standing in the middle of the hallway leading to the baths, hair wrapped in a towel. Without his gaudy clothing and flashy hair, he could only recognize him from his boney, yet delicate build, facing away from them to gaze out the window to the courtyard oasis. The sound of their sandals slapping against the tiles alerted him, though, and he turned with a smile. It seemed that his horridly pale skin and long lashes were natural, for he was lacking his trademark jester-like makeup.
“Ah, gentlemen! Not to worry, I wasn’t waiting long,” he said, casually looking the both of them up and down.
Ghirahim, fully aware of this, cocked his hip, a hand resting on his waist. “Good to hear. Lovely place, isn’t it?”
“Oh, indeed! I only hope the water isn’t all too heated. It is sweltering in this desert!” Yuga responded, fanning himself with his hand with a sigh.
For once, Zant cut in. “You will find it to your liking, then. Come along. I hear that I’ve a need to wash up.”
Trying his very hardest to crane his head up to look at him, Ghirahim watched the Twili leave rather quickly, making his way straight for the washing rooms. Zant’s sudden change of demeanor was puzzling to him, but he supposed he preferred it over having to drag him kicking and screaming. In fact, his favorite part was coming up next. He trailed after him, Yuga in tow, to reach the lineup of square plaster tubs that lined the entrance of the bathhouse proper. Casting his towels aside, Zant lowered that towering body somehow down to the shoulders into the very first bath he came across. Ghirahim saw his moment and shot his shot. Before Zant even noticed him coming up, he already sat on the edge of the bath directly behind him and locked him in place with his legs over his shoulders.
Zant yelped. “What foolishness are you up to this time?”
Ghirahim chuckled, reaching over to the edge of the tub to fetch a handful of bottles of soap. “Hush, you. Some people would pay for this kind of treatment!”
Zant groaned as well-manicured fingers found their way to his hair. “I can wash my own hair perfectly well, thank you!”
“Oh, I know. But I can do it better.”
“You-“ he sputtered as water was promptly poured over his head, running into his eyes and nostrils. A frustrated whine sounded from him, struggling in vain against the legs that so firmly held him in place. His stubbornness would not hold, though. A cold trickle of soap cascaded upon his head, and soon, hands rubbed across his scalp, pulling apart the strands that were once held together with sweat and grease. If anything could successfully pacify even the most aggressive and nasty-mannered of people, it was having one’s hair played with. Zant, who now grew slack under his touch, was evidently no exception.
“You might want to pick another bath, Yuga,” Ghirahim remarked bluntly. “Lord knows what I’m about to scrub off of him.”
“Oh, say less,” Yuga responded blandly, before so luxuriously claiming an entire tub for himself next to them.
A good scrub-down later, it was just about time for the primary goal of their outing. They sat Zant across the window, close enough to the light to allow them to work accurately, but far away enough for him to not get scorched within seconds. Zant nervously eyed the two men who hovered around him like vultures, fiddling with the asymmetrical locks that now limply hung wet from his head. Ghirahim frowned at what he saw, once again, before taking hold of the long strands of his side bangs.
“Now, whatever is the point in these?” he inquired, twirling one of the locks in his fingers. Zant, never one for fashion, simply shrugged in return. Ah, so they were pointless. But before he could approach with the scissors, Yuga halted him.
“Ah-ah! Not so fast,” he said, taking the strand into his hand. “Now, hear me out. What if we were to braid this, and then…”
As they continued bickering, it was clear that Zant had absolutely no say in what was to happen to his own hair, aside from the length. Ghirahim was the one holding the scissors, after all, and he made sure Zant knew better than to even attempt to take them from him. Yuga, in the meantime, was proving to be a fine assistant, using his many years of experience in portraiture to pick out just what would look flattering on a royal. A King Zant was no longer, but getting to play the part still seemed to bring him some delusional fulfillment. Who was he to deny him such a pleasure? Damp, purple locks gathered on the floor around him, but mostly on Zant’s shoulders and lap, as his face was slowly being framed with an unprecedented, actually decent-looking haircut. Seemingly zoning out to someplace else, the Twili wide-eyed and obediently followed their every command in the angling of his head and the squinting of his eyes, and he hadn’t uttered a word of protest since they’d trimmed the hair away from his forehead marking. Perhaps the undivided attention of two people vastly exceeding him in levels of stylishness finally shattered his poise.
A good ruffle with a towel later, Zant was sitting stiffly upright, eyes darting between them as they styled him back to perfection.
Yuga stood back upright, adjusting the knot of the towel he had wrapped around his chest to cover himself. “Why,” he exclaimed delightedly, “how lovely this looks! Zant, if it weren’t for your one-in-a-million face, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
Indeed, Zant was quite the looker when he actually put effort into his appearance. Or, well, if others put the effort in for him, Ghirahim casually observed, dissipating the scissors into thin air. “We ought to find you a mirror… But first, you might want to wash all those little hairs off. Careful not to get your head wet, we worked hard over here!”
Idly, but with utmost carefulness, Zant began to feel at the silhouette of his hair. “I appreciate your efforts, ah,” he contemplated, “but I will refrain from thanking you until I’ve seen it.”
Yuga rolled his eyes with a laugh. “You’re worried? Please! Our tastes are hardly any more flashy than yours.”
Zant narrowed his eyes with a hum, shivering under a sudden chill. Ghirahim had taken the liberty of giving him somewhat of an undercut, which those twiggy fingers were now curiously rubbing at, fascinated by the texture.
As Ghirahim expected, though admittedly, he was also a little relieved, Zant was most pleased with their work. Less pleased he was by the otherworld sorcerer now constantly buzzing around him, who was far more interested in him now that his appearance was a bit more groomed. A brief wash-up later, Yuga signaled them to go on ahead, as his own hair care routine could get rather lengthy, and he wouldn’t want to keep them standing around in the dry heat of the desert that wafted in through the windows.
Little did he know, this was the exact window Ghirahim had been hoping to get. For what was a trip to the bathhouse without a bit of skinship? A short walk down the next hallway later, he took Zant by the wrist to halt him in his step and quickly slid in front of him.
“Bend down, you nasty creature, and give me a kiss,” Ghirahim murmured, shimmying up to stand closer to the object of his affection. “We’ve been wandering about nude for nearly an hour, and you expect me to keep my composure?”
And yet, Zant stood perfectly upright still, unmoved by his advances. “I do! We have a guest!” He cheerfully chimed in, before giving him but the mildest peck on the nose, and promptly wandering off again. The nerve! To reject him was one thing, but to belittle him was just plain unnecessary!
Huffing grumpily all the way, he trotted after him. “Whatever’s wrong with, ‘no thank you, Ghirahim, some other time, Ghirahim’,” he inquired, caricaturing Zant’s voice. “Why must you make a mockery of me?”
Zant snickered in response. “You spend every breathing second trying to get a rise out of me, so forgive me for retaliating!”
“You bumbling fool! I ought to drown you,” he growled, clawing hands about to dig into the Twili’s ludicrously long waist, but he promptly warped out of his grip. Amused by the thrill of teasing him, he reappeared quite a few paces ahead of him, gait floaty and arms swaying. Zant looked back at him just once from across the hall, a smirk stretching across his face, before he disappeared around the corner. One way or the other, he had to figure out a way to get his hands on that man…
They made their way over to their reserved bathing space, away from the burning sun, and into a cooler apex of the building. Such a space was preferable, not only for the overall comfort of all three of them, but also because Zant would last perhaps five minutes if exposed to any more of the deadly rays of daylight. They had an entire pool to themselves, not exactly large but certainly clean and heated, which they casually reclined around, dipping their feet in the lukewarm water. Yuga had not arrived yet, which gave them a few precious minutes to sit shoulder to shoulder, doing… Whatever nonsense Ghirahim could tempt him into. He swayed his feet in the water, watching the little waves lap lazily at the Twili’s ankles next to him. His gaze trailed up his body; he found himself captivated, then, by how the refracting light from the cyan water danced across his pale skin, making the dull glow from his markings appear that much brighter. Against the cool blue hue the water cast the room in, his orange eyes were once again quick to draw and trap his gaze. Zant caught him staring and cocked his head playfully.
“Peeping at me again?”
Not a problem. He could segue into favorable territory with ease. “You truly do look far more handsome with your hair like this, you know. You ought to let me do this more often.”
“Perhaps I will,” Zant chuckled, turning to face him with an almost serpentine motion of his neck. “You, too, are looking quite a few shades brighter after your wash-up, Sword.”
It seemed that Yuga’s incessant flattering still kept him on edge and at a need to overperform. Either that, or Zant’s amorous mood began to match his own. He leaned in, unsubtly pressing his shoulder to his arm. “You’re quite certain you don’t want to sneak in a peck or two?”
Zant smiled at him again, slinking away from him. “Quite certain indeed,” he said, before unceremoniously dropping himself into the water. Thankfully for the both of them, his sheer height made sure not even a droplet of water landed on his freshly-groomed haircut.
Ghirahim laughed purely out of reflex at his tremendously quick escape. His chin rested upon his palm and his elbow on his knee, he leaned forward to look down at him. “Of course, I’ve no intent to force myself upon you, but you’ll have to forgive me for wondering about your sudden insistent prudishness.”
His inquiry was met with a sniff. “In roughly twenty seconds, you’ll see,” Zant smirked, before swimming off to the other side of the pool in a surprisingly swift motion. Long, lanky arms flowed like octorok tendrils, jetting him forward in bursts. Perhaps his earlier mental comparisons of him being a lizard were unfair, he pondered. The man was really much more like a frog. Zant continued to amuse himself in the water, twisting his body back to face him as he continued to paddle himself backward. He really wasn’t going to let any more words slip, was he?
Oh, this cryptic creature! He blew his bangs out of his face with a single puff and crossed his arms in a miffed gesture. Truly, he wished he would just tell it to him straight sometimes, but with the way he was always sending him back and forth with his own teasing, he supposed he had it coming. The meaning of the Twili’s words soon became apparent, as indeed, a few seconds later, Yuga came around the corner, holding a sizable fabric fan, and his hair hanging loose and wet over his shoulders.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for too long! I managed to hail a servant, she’ll be down here with a jug of wine in a little while,” he said cheerfully, dapping the water out from his ear.
Zant crooned approvingly, while Ghirahim’s eye was moreso drawn to his new accessory. “And where did you get that thing?”
With a smirk, Yuga unfolded the fan, and daintily fluttered it before his face. “I borrowed it,” he giggled, before joining the two of them to sit across the pool.
Much of that afternoon was spent with varying degrees of productivity. Ghirahim knew that between lieutenants, even outings such as these were meant for diplomacy. He recalled it so during his time under Cia, where any alliance was wobbly, and his compatriots could be expected to be swayed by their own selfish needs any minute. Not that he particularly enjoyed spending time with either Volga or Wizzro; the former was a bore, and the latter… He preferred not to dwell on the thought too long. But as he sat there, watching his Twili dipping in the water and Yuga reclining close by, giggling under the enjoyment of a cup of wine, he couldn’t help but consider the two as friends. Yes, they were all united under Ganondorf, unwavering in their loyalty to the Demon King. They had a cause and a promise, with incredibly little need for worry of subterfuge. But perhaps he was naïve in assuming that. Still, today was not about gathering intel or picking apart every little word to hope to wring out any and all secrets that would come dripping out. It was about… Companionship. Boosting their morale. Finding another moment of cheer before those goody-two-shoes could swoop in and beat the tar out of them, and vice versa. As the day of their campaign through Eldin crept ever closer, Ghirahim could not think of a wiser way to spend their time.
The day flew by. They had dried off and had their supper, and after the last meetings were tended to, the bustle of the castle died down, the troops inside retreating to their chambers under the setting sun.
All but two.
Ghirahim and his co-lieutenant sauntered through the hallway to their chambers, having joined each other wordlessly in their stroll. Yet as the doors that would come to separate them grew ever closer, Ghirahim broke the silence and looked up to the King of Shadows, who had long since shed his helmet.
“Are you feeling better after this morning? I hesitated to bring it up, but you seemed somewhat… Downtrodden, when you first came to see me today.”
Zant perked up, his ear twitching slightly at the sound of his voice, as he looked down at him with a smile. “Your care for me flatters me, Ghirahim. Yes, it has been quite a productive day. I find myself quite fulfilled, indeed.”
Humming in response, he once again found himself lost in thought. So childishly they stood before the door to Zant’s sleeping quarters, not knowing what to say yet not wanting to bid goodbye just yet, toeing at the ground and hesitant words sucking back into their throats. He was a weapon, a tool for bloodshed and destruction, yet here he was, at the mercy of the thumping in his chest. Truthfully, Zant frequently angered him, dragged the proverbial blood out from under his nails with his foolishness and incompetence. But when alone with him like this in the shades of evening, he found himself longing for nothing but his company. A man so strange, so opposite from him, threatened to be the one to understand him most intimately.
This, too, ticked him off. Was he going to let a lanky imbecile like him play him like a fiddle? He had to suck up this timid reluctance and assert himself once again. Zant perked up as he stepped closer to him, and gingerly reached over to him, taking hold of his forearm. “We needn’t say goodbye here, Zant,” he whispered, craning his head up to look at him. “Won’t you let me stick around?”
Zant swallowed, yet in his shyness, did not break eye contact. “If you’re so inclined,” he responded with a sigh, “but we have a long day of preparations yet ahead of us, you oughtn’t to stay long.”
Again with this! His hand slid from his arm down to his wrist, and despite his apprehension, Zant clasped their hands together before Ghirahim could think to do so. He needed to hear it, he wasn’t putting up with getting pushed out any longer. “Why must you always dismiss me? Have I not earned your trust?”
For once, it was Zant that broke his own hypnotic gaze, darting his eyes away from him as inner conflict furrowed his brow. “It is not just a matter of trust, Ghirahim,” he muttered.
Oh, this man was going to be the death of him. Once again, the alien creature had managed to slip past his defenses and rid him of any desire to snap at him. “Then whatever could be the matter?” he insisted, “Tell me.”
The Twili visibly hesitated in his arms, his spindly fingers squeezing his hand once, before retreating from his grip. Yet, Ghirahim did not let him relent, and stepped in closer to him, stroking his gloved hands up his forearms as his eyes pleaded with him for an answer. Finally, Zant sighed and met his eyes again. “Restless dreams plague me, and unbothered sleep does not come easy. You, as a being without need for sleep, must know how terribly long such nights feel.”
The warmth of his body radiated off him, the beat of his pulse thrumming through his sinewy arms. Ghirahim slid his fingers down that barren grey skin, only to end up hand-to-hand, lacing his fingers with Zant’s. “Then why not seek out my company?”
“You do not know what you might find,” he responded gravely, trying to shy out from his grip.
Such struggles were only met with another step closer, and a tip of Ghirahim’s head, looking up to draw their faces parallel. “Do you think me afraid?”
“No. Perhaps I am.”
“Then let me soothe those fears, Zant, creature of the night you are,” he whispered, lips now agonizingly close to his, enough to feel the Mortal’s breath on his skin. His voice buckled under the weight of his words. “Please don’t send me away again.”
Hesitation. The Usurper looked down at him, eyes glazed over with a film of early tears. A tremble coursed through his body, holding back the crashing waves of an insurmountable feeling, one so strong Ghirahim could feel it through his skin. Raw, arcane, and violent. Yearning deep enough to infect him, surging from his lips to his core.
Attunement.
Suddenly, silk-clad, lanky arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and pulled him through the threshold of his chambers. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind them and sheltered them from the outside world with a click. Pale lips met his own, and all faded around him when his back hit the cushioning of the mattress, losing himself to a living dream when the shadows of the Twilight King enveloped him.
For just that night, Zant would lift the weight of such a betrayal of loyalty. He was his, and they were one.
#beararts#doodlies#bearwrites#ghirahim#zant#hyrule warriors#tp zant#legend of zelda#yuga#yuga albw#ganondorf#ghirazant#tftk
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Hi Liv! I know you're still on a fandom break, but your rec lists are the best and I really need some Harry pov fics—think Away Childish Things, Nice Things, and Here's the Pencil Make it Work all of which which I've already reread too many times in the past six months for me to describe accurately myself as "okay" so if you know of any other similar fics I'd much appreciate it!
Tysm and hope ur having a lovely evening 💜
Hello friend, happy to help! I haven’t read a lot recently so I apologize for not reccing any new fics here. I’m assuming you already know Turn by SG which has an iconic Harry POV, so I have listed other titles with a focus on pining!Harry. I hope you find some exciting new reads here!
Still Life, orphaned (M, 3k)
in a rambling way by @fw00shy (T, 7.5k)
Ron knocked Hermione up, and now Harry's got to figure out how to clone himself so that his friends don't split up fighting over him. Falling for Draco again was never part of the plan.
Clear As Mud by scoradh (M, 9k)
Set post-war and post-Harry's-conscience...
Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (M, 12k)
Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.
Take These Lies by @pennygalleon (E, 20k)
There’s a portrait of his godfather in Draco Malfoy’s potions shop and Harry needs to know why. But that’s not why he keeps coming back.
Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (2019, T, 29k)
Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works.
On Your Shore by @xanthippe74 (M, 35k)
Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too.
Rush (For A Gap That Exists) by @sleepstxtic-drarry (M, 42k) - F1 AU
A story of love and loss that grew amidst the most infamous rivalry in Formula One history: the story of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.
Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)
Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.
The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things by @writcraft (E, 63k)
Harry has terrific friends, an amazing girlfriend and his job as Head Auror enables him to work on challenging cases and Ministry reform. He just wishes he could work out why he’s been so out of sorts.
The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (M, 66k)
How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy. Harry finds himself once more watching and following Malfoy, trying to work him out.
Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites, art by @fantalfart (E, 67k)
In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.
Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose and dustmouth (T, 96k)
Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.
Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (E, 122k)
Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.
By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)
Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.
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A Sailor With Nothing
Vasco x De Sardet
Word Count: 1.4K
Warnings: None
Author's Note: Hi, I started playing GF again and I'm back on my Vasco whoring shit. -Thorne
**********************************************************************
Vasco wakes slowly, like the waves that crash against the hull of the ship when they’re docked at port; it does sound unusually quiet on the ship though and something tells him to get up and go see what his men are doing lazing about, but he can’t find it in himself to rise. Sun streams through the window in his cabin as he shifts in the bed, arching his lower back as he digs his face further into the pillow. The warmth bleeds along his back and he lets out a long sigh as he begins to lull deeper into sleep once more. That is until the scent of cinnamon and leather reaches his senses, and he cracks a single golden eye open, taking in the crimson walls and unfamiliar portraits on the walls.
He realizes all at once that he is in fact, not aboard his ship nor is he in his bed in his captain’s quarters, but in an unfamiliar yet very familiar bed. He lifts his head, blinking blearily around the room, then he turns to his side where he sees De Sardet quietly flicking through a few documents that Petrus wanted him to review from the night before.
“You snore like an old dog when you’re completely exhausted,” he says without moving his sharp eyes from the pages. “Did you know that?”
Vasco blinks again, flopping over onto his side to lazily stare at De Sardet. “How long have you been awake?”
“A few hours, give or take a couple minutes.”
“You should’ve woken me,” Vasco mutters, rolling onto his back, though he inconspicuously shifts closer to De Sardet’s side. “I’m sure the others are wondering why we haven’t set out yet.”
“And yet, none have come up here to tell me that they want to, so I think we’re in the clear.” De Sardet absentmindedly curls his arm around Vasco’s head, palm flat along his toned and tan chest, thumb brushing circles in his skin. “How are you feeling?”
“Not as sore as I assumed I would be.”
“I can’t help but wonder if perhaps that is a good thing because I was thorough on preparation or if it is a bad thing because I didn’t perform well. The latter would severely damage my pride.”
Vasco can’t help but snicker and he turns his head, lips brushing against De Sardet’s hand as he replies, “Preparation was good, and you were even better.”
“Well, now I feel like you’re just stroking my ego.”
“I am, but don’t let it go to your head,” he murmurs, turning back to face him. “It’s in fact, quite large.”
De Sardet still hasn’t looked at him, and Vasco hopes that the next words that come from the Legate’s mouth after this aren’t what his worst fears are. Because he’s slept with nobles before but he also knows that this might be the last time he ever does.
He clears his throat quietly, gazing out the window as he repeats aloud, “Those who fear the waters should stay within the shore’s sight. Those who fear the pain that love procures, should shun the flames when love endures. And both shall be safe from founder and blight.” His fingers dig into his ribs in hesitation. “That’s the next part of the poem. De Sardet…are you afraid of sinking?”
“Hmm…”
It’s a quick and clean grunt that severs every muscle in Vasco’s young and fiery heart. A flame so carefully tended suddenly snuffed out, deprived of life. And it hurts. It hurts worse than the first time he’d ever gotten his heart broken.
“I understand,” he murmurs, trying not to let his heart fall out of his throat, tears in his eyes as he slips from the warmth of the noble beside him, feet touching the cold floor that causes the second break in reality as it really comes to life that De Sardet didn’t want him like he did. How could he be so foolish as to offer a noble his heart? Him, a man with nothing to his name, nothing to offer De Sardet in terms of equality. A single sailor with nothing. “I swear I won’t let this affect our work. I’ll see to it that—”
“For if water could quench loves dying embers, your love that burns and pain and severs, I would douse this fire with the sea of all my tears.”
Vasco stops dead in his tracks, staring up at De Sardet in shock, fingers stilling from where he was tying his pant laces. Did he just—
“Such an impatient lover I have,” he notes, finally looking up over the documents; his eyes pierce the very depths of Vasco’s soul as he adds, almost chastising, “You are not the only one who has read that poem more times than he cares to admit in order to one day speak it to the one he loves.”
“You…you feel the same?”
De Sardet merely raises a hand, crooks a finger in a beckoning motion that books no room for any other answer than to obey; and Vasco obeys, crawling back onto the bed as he watches the Legate set the documents on the table followed by the glasses he’d been wearing, and Vasco has half a mind to make a joke about him being hard of sight and that’s why his accuracy is terrible.
He pulls Vasco down atop him, wrapping his arms around the Naut’s bare back, one arm secured tightly around his middle, the other hand firmly at the back of his neck, thumb brushing the base of his skull.
“I thought you didn’t feel the same as I.”
“Now we know to wait before we jump to conclusions, Captain Vasco,” he retorts, tugging at a caramel strand; he sighs wistfully, hugging the sailor impossibly close as he buries his nose in Vasco’s hair, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and sea salt. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth if it meant I would be with you forever, Vasco,” he murmurs, hand shifting from the back of his neck to cup his chin, tilting the sailor’s face to look at him; he gently caresses the cheek of his lover and confesses, “I love you.”
Vasco’s entire body feels as light as the sail catching a breeze and he smiles at De Sardet. “We shall set sail on the bitter seas together, my Tempest.”
The man’s expression softens in a way that Vasco has never seen before and suddenly knows that it is only for him; he lays his head back down on De Sardet’s chest, eyes slipping shut as he breathes in deeply, all negative feelings leaving his body.
And as much as he doesn’t want to say it, he does. “And we should begin to get ready. We can’t waste daylight. We’ve too much to do.”
De Sardet lets out a long and whiney sounding groan, wallowing against the bedsheets as Vasco laughs. “I do not want to move. I want to stay here all day.”
I want to stay here all day with you. Is the unspoken that has goosebumps rising all over Vasco’s body and he rises slightly, shimmying up De Sardet’s body until he can bury his face in the noble’s neck. “We can spend one more hour here.”
“I am the Legate of the Congregation of Merchants. If I so choose to stay in bed all day with my lover then I shall.”
It makes Vasco giddy to hear him be called De Sardet’s lover. “One hour.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Someone has to keep you accountable.”
“Then in turn, someone must also keep me satisfied,” De Sardet purrs, and it takes all of one intake of breath before Vasco is staring dazedly up at the Legate who is wearing a rather hungry look. “Well, well, well, look what we have here. I seem to have found my source of satisfaction.”
Vasco squirms under De Sardet’s heavy grip, suddenly very aware of how close their hips are, practically slotted together. “De Sardet…” he starts. “We don’t have enough time for this.”
“Oh, we have enough,” he replies, dipping down to take the sailor’s lips in a searing kiss that has Vasco panting when they part, body set aflame with desire; De Sardet nudges their noses. “I love you,” he murmurs, fingers tracing at the black-inked tattoos along Vasco’s chest and abdomen.
The Naut swallows thickly, unable to fight the fluttering in his chest as he breathes softly, “I love you, my Tempest.”
#vasco x de sardet#vasco x de sardet imagines#vasco x de sardet imagine#vasco imagines#vasco imagine#vasco#vasco greedfall#de sardet#de sardet greedfall#vasco x reader#vasco x reader imagines#vasco x reader imagine#greedfall#greedfall fanfiction#greedfall fanfic#greedfall imagines#greedfall imagine
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regarding that ask about Dismas and candlemaking... didn't RH remove candlemaking from his backstory in DD2 because it wasn't cool enough for their vision of him…?
I'm not sure, I gave up on DD2 for now, frankly (._.)
but if they rewrote his backstory, do you think it means it's a completely different reality from DD1 altogether? items and some story bits disapprove it, but... I dunno anymore, really, what even to make out of it all.
Hi hi! I wouldn’t go and say Red Hook outright erased the candlemaking from Dismas’s backstory– I feel more like they… forgot about it (lol)? Like, they just didn’t show us that part of his past, if that makes sense? Dismas could have still been an apprentice before he got involved in crime! Here, I’ve made a diagram to show what I mean:
DD2 HWM backstory follows him from prison to the incident, the blue bits are things that never once showed in DD1 backstory (the distance between the dots do not represent time length).
Personally, I feel like the whole rat-eating thing weakens the incident– as in, he accepted this one last job cause he was desperate and hungry, he needed the money, what choice did he even have? It was way more tragic to think of the incident as him being overconfident in his robbery skills after years on the road (“I never miss” and all that). He *could* have been a humble candlemaker instead but nope, he chose the life of crime, he caused the death of an innocent mom and kid out of a hunger for gold and thrill. This Dismas badly needs redemption. DD2 HWM? Not as much.
But yeah, to answer your question about whether DD2 is an entirely different reality from DD1, I do like to believe it’s some sort of branching alternate universe (mostly to cope with the fact I dislike DD2 Dismas) but it’s hard to say as of now, we don’t have the full story out yet. There are some elements in DD2 that seem to point towards a connection to DD1 universe, but the nature of this connection is unclear: is DD2 set directly in the future of DD1 events, facing the aftermath of defeating the HoD (or failing to defeat it)? Is it an alternate timeline where we don’t get stuck in DD1 looped ending, as in, something broke the loop? Or is it something else entirely? We just don’t know, we might never know! I’m sure it will be easier to draw some theories once all the acts are out though.
For now, all we can do is compile the nods towards DD1 lore found in DD2! I haven’t played DD2 in a long time, so I might be missing some, but here are the ones I can remember:
RETURNING NPCS
Just like with some heroes, there are a few familiar NPCs back from the first game! Half of them didn’t seem to change or age much (save for a new sick arm scar), but the Nomad got a silver lock and the Caretaker/Hoarder went totally gray. Maybe this means DD2 is set in a timeline posterior to DD1 events, maybe it means nothing.
About the Hoarder, the Highwayman is the only one who seems to recognize him somehow. Maybe due to the fact we always start each DD1 save with the Caretaker bringing Dismas and Reynauld to the Hamlet? Is this some sort of memory from another life? When leaving the Hoarder node, the HWM might say this bark: "I swear I've seen him before someplace..."
To give us more to think about, the Academic (DD2’s narrator) has this to say about him: "His attention is unfocused, as though he is in two places at once."
No idea if this means something or if it’s just a meta nod towards DD1 (probably the latter). It’s curious to me the Hoarder seems to be carrying some heirlooms, he clearly has a bust and a portrait in his pack. Is he clinging to what remains of the Hamlet?
ANCESTOR’S PORTRAIT
Speaking of portraits, there’s actually an Ancestor’s Portrait in DD2! It can be randomly found in the Academic’s Study, it’s named as ‘unsettling portrait’ in the files, and the Academic line about it is so interesting: “A handsome rendering of that devilish degenerate who so eagerly welcomed us to his table.”
Again, I haven’t been playing DD2 at all (I haven’t even reached the second act boss), so I don’t know much lore wise to say if the Ancestor holds any significance to DD2 events. All I know is that the Academic and the Protégé (the player) held a common interest in the occult, and their studies brought them to many places over the world– apparently the Ancestor’s table was one of them! I wonder what was in for the Ancestor in hosting for those two?
THE SLUICE
The last thing that comes to mind that seems to connect DD2 to DD1 events is the Sluice, an unfinished DD2 region that brings back the Pigmen we typically find in DD1 warrens. One of the enemies is even named Wilbur, just like the Swine Prince’s little minion-- though DD2 Wilbur is way bigger, like a grown up version of it. When choosing to go to the Sluice, the Academic mentions this:
"The swine were first reported by denizens of a small hamlet nestled on the western coast."
Many people take this line as hard evidence that DD2 *is* in the same universe as DD1, but again, it’s so hard to tell. I still like the branching alternate universe better, as in, maybe DD2 is set in a universe where there was no heir to receive the letter. There was no Dismas and Reynauld at the Old Road, there was nobody to fight the corruption on the Estate. Maybe that’s when the Pigmen spilled out of the Warrens, they grew and reproduced unchecked! The NPCs flee from the doomed Hamlet, the darkness spreads and it all eventually leads to DD2 events. Can you even call this the same universe as DD1 if there’s no Heir (player)?
In the event of this being an alternate universe, there’s nothing stopping us from imagining other events happened differently in here as well, such as Dismas’s backstory (all of this just for that lol). But oh well, I guess we’ll find out more once the game launches!
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Thought tumblr might appreciate this story so I’m gonna relay my Tale Of Woe™️ from the other day.
So my University hosted a trip to the New England Aquarium in Boston this past Saturday, and I love going to Boston so I signed up as soon as the invites went out. Because we’re not children anymore, we were basically set loose after the initial headcount and were told we had to meet at Faneuil Hall (down the street) at 6:30 to get back on the bus. So I enjoyed the aquarium for the majority of the day with my classmates, but had something else on my mind.
I’m a simple person, and I really wanted to stock up on Boston Goodies to take back to school with me. One of the Boston Goodies in particular that I wanted was Ube Cake. I am a greedy little slut for Ube Cake and unfortunately happen to live in an extremely White part of America where nobody makes Ube Cake (and I suck at making cake rolls). So whenever I go to Boston, I go to this little bakery in Chinatown called Bao-Bao to stock up on their pre-packaged Ube Rolls.
So after getting lunch I go to Bao Bao and unfortunately, they’ve sold out of their famous Ube Rolls for the day. But they have individual slices of Ube Crepe Cake! I’m a slut for Ube Cake, but I’m even more of a slut for crepes, so I buy a slice.
The lady who served me puts it in this little fold-up box that I can only describe as being a like a lamination sheet. I did not trust this box from the moment I saw it, especially considering that I was going to have to transport this cake in my backpack. So I resolve to be extra careful, and I check the box every so often to make sure it hasn’t exploded.
Fast forward a few hours and I get on the bus to go back to school. I had nearly had a cake-slip a few minutes prior while getting some stuff from Bova’s but had fixed the box and I just wanted to check it to make sure it was stable.
To my horror, the box has exploded and my Ube Cake is about to fall out into my dirty ass backpack. My containers from Bova’s do NOT have enough room for this piece of cake. I am a cornered animal and I am out of options.
So I begin to shovel this pile of purple crepes and whipped cream into my mouth like a lioness on a kill.
People were getting situated on the bus and just about everyone saw me. One person asked me “…Elsa are you just eating an entire head of cabbage?” I drew a self portrait to capture this primal moment with the help of several eyewitnesses.
So I eviscerate this cake down to one bite, and by now the bus is moving, the roads are bumpy, and I’m starting to feel slightly motion-sick so I put the last bite in one of my other pastry boxes. Now the main issue at hand is that my hands and face are absolutely covered in whipped cream.
On one hand, the school was nice to us and got us a coach bus for our travels because it’s a 5 1/2 hour drive from campus to the aquarium. So there’s a bathroom and a trash can right behind me because I’m sitting towards the back. I get up, throw the box away, and knock on the bathroom door but receive no answer, so I open it. It’s worth mentioning the lock on this bathroom door was broken… And I walk in on a guy who has been hitting on me all semester (despite knowing I’m a lesbian) taking a shit.
I quickly close the door and apologize and go back to my seat, mortified and still covered in whipped cream. I sat there covered in whipped cream for another fifteen minutes rethinking my life choices and every choice I made that led me to this moment, and then finally this guy comes out. I apologize again and he says, with a wink;
“Don’t worry. You haven’t seen all of me yet.”
And pats me on the shoulder before going back to his own seat. I sit there for a moment in silence, and my friend across the aisle is like “what the fuck???” But finally I get to go wash my hands. So I go into this bus bathroom that I hadn’t been in before…
Two Sentence Horror Story: There is No Sink. Only Hand Sanitizer.
This would have been worse if I hadn’t been somewhat of a road trip veteran, and I resolved this by taking some toilet paper and pouring water from my water bottle on it and wiping my hands down with that.
So yeah that’s my road trip tale of terror. How was everyone else’s weekend?
#personal#Boston#New England#Ube Cake#Ube#new england aquarium#uni life#student life#Who knew that cake would awaken such a primal moment?#when I told my mom this I showed her the drawing and she said ‘yeah not the first time I’ve seen you do that’#so this is normal for me
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Dear Wren!
I couldn't help noticing that for a while now whenever there is something you need to take out of your bag — there is always this red envelope in there that you hurriedly bury underneath everything else.
Oh, and I assure you, I do not spy on people. But I do tend to spend a lot of time in the Astronomy Tower (the view is just too good) and that red envelope keeps catching my attention. By sheer coincidence, once again, I do not purposely keep an eye on anyone. You just tend to announce your entrance sometimes rather... Well. Let's say you might want to tone down on your visits to the Three Broomsticks for a little bit.
But as it happens it is also the reason I'm writing to you: earlier this week you dropped your bag after one of those Butterbeer visits, the bag's contents spilling out like the guts of a slain dragon... And that red envelope was there. The third time I've seen it that week.
Is it a howler by any chance? I'm dying of curiosity! Who is it from? What is inside? Why haven't you opened it yet? Why do you carry it around if you do not plan to open it? I don't need to actually know the content, no, that is your private business, but... I move more questions than answers and it is killing me!
I apologize if those questions are too personal, feel free not to answer. But my name is Richard Jackdaw, and it's a it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance! I do like inquisitive minds, and if your grades are any indication, you are a very bright young witch!
Sincerely yours (and curious),
Richard Jackdaw
Wren winces as she reads.
This is the second owl she’s received commenting about her habits at the Three Broomsticks, even some of the portraits have begun whispering about her antics…
“Suppose I have indulged a bit too much in Butterbeer lately…” she acknowledges, “Lesson learned – next time, I'll stick to just one Butterbeer…or maybe two.”
-
Dear Richard,
I hope my owl finds you in good spirits, both figuratively and literally (heh).
We’ve not had the luxury of a proper greeting, but I heard wonderful things from those who find themselves drawn to your haunting presence, how your grace and mysterious allure have captured the hearts of many!
Apropos the red envelope, you’re spot on on all accounts. It’s indeed a Howler, mailed by my Ma, evidently two years ago.
It’s always a dreadful predicament, finding one’s self a recipient of these infernal missives. This concerns me in particular, mostly through the fact my parents are, well, Muggles - this is no word of a lie.
How they managed to write and send a Howler is beyond my comprehension, and that terrifies me more than anything else.
And as much as I’d love to slake your curiosity, in truth, I’m not quite confident why I’m still rattling about in the castle carrying it anymore, or if I’m even likely to open it.
When or if I do eventually work up the nerve to unfurl it, though, I’m sure you’ll be one of the firsts to know - or hear it.
With warm regards and affection,
Wren
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꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ DON'T BE SORRY FOR LEAVING AND GROWING OLD || ch. 2
ᯇ summary ! ✦
Jack Kelly finally gets out of New York and makes something of himself. Though, he's never been good at goodbyes and David won't answer his letters. || read full thing on ao3 now
WRITTEN FOR THE NEWSIES FIC EXCHANGE
ᯇ warnings ! ✦
cussing & angst
777 WORDS
© 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲
prev. chapter || next chapter
Jack had finally made a life for himself. He no longer wondered where his next meal would come from or if he might spend the next week in the refuge instead of the lodging. It wasn’t like he was famous, but he was known enough.
Santa Fe wasn’t as small as he had hoped, but still smaller than New York. In his mind, he had pictured a town where everyone knew him, and neighbors would bring him eggs and invite him over for Thanksgiving.
It had taken a while, but everyone did know him. However, it wasn’t due to the shortage of population, but due to his impeccable art that was sold at coffee shops and diner’s all-around town. He had aneighbor that brought him eggs, but she only did so in hopes that the boy would fall in love with her and draw her.
Which he did… draw her. He never could fall in love with her. She was missing something, something he had yet to find anywhere but New York. But he married her anyway, because he didn’t know what else to do and he was horrified of being alone.
That’s when his career kicked off. Darla, his wife, came from a well-off family who had many connections in the art business. It was sheer luck that her father’s best friend happened to be a curator, who had chosen the art that was displayed in many popular museums.
When he got paid for the first time, the bubble of guilt that had popped long ago began to fester again. He knew what he had sacrificed to get to that point, the friendships he had lost and the family he had left behind. That’s when he wrote his first letter.
Dear David,
It’s been a while since I left, and I guess I’m kinda hoping you’ve gotten over the whole leaving ya behind thing. Which I guess ain’t fair of me to ask.
I’m glad you were mad at me. You let me get away with too much, Dave. I shouldn’t have talked to you the way I did, I should have said goodbye, and I should’ve brought you’se with me. So, I’m sorry.
You probably don’t care, but I’m doing pretty good out here. People really like my art. I just got my first check, it’s weird to see dollars and not cents. Sorry, I feel like I’m bragging. I’m not trying to. It’s just…
Well, I dunno really. You always told me I could be something more and I guess this is me thanking you, because you’re right. I wouldn’t be here without you. And I don’t want you to blame yourself for me leaving, cuz I would’a done it anyway.
I’ve been thinking about coming out and visiting. But I’m sure no-one wants to see me ever again.
I want you to know that I felt guilty, I still feel guilty. I don’t know why I didn’t want to say goodbye, but. Anyway. I’m sorry for everything, Dave.
Sincerely & forever yours,
Cowboy.
It wasn’t too long after that that his art began to change. Colorful landscapes of Santa Fe that took deep breaths of fresh air turned into dark Manhattan sky lines with smog that leaked out of the edges. Portraits of Darla began to showcase curly hair, freckles, and light blue eyes. Images of Darla’s younger cousins swinging over the lake turned into young, raggedy-clothed boys hugging each other tightly during a storm.
“Jack…” His wife started. She approached him carefully, softly. “Honey, I think you might be missing New York.”
Jack hummed, barely acknowledged the statement. “Why do you say that, dear?”
“Your last five paintings were supposed to be of me,” she said. “Not that they had to be. But you said they were.” She looked in a mirror that hung above their dresser. “I don’t know if you haven’t taken a good look at me recently. But I have long, straight black hair and brown eyes. My skin is pale, and I don’t even have freckles during the summer.” She paused too long for Jack’s comfort, then turned and waited until he looked up at her. “And I’m not a boy, Jack.”
Immediately, tears began to well in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Darla smiled and wiped the stray tears off his cheek. She kissed his nose and pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve known for a long time, Jack. I just want you to be happy.”
“I really do love you.” Jack said quietly.
“I know you do.” She intertwined their hands and ran her free hand through his hair. “But you’re in love with him.”
#to be completely honest#i havent read this thing at all since i've written it#so idk if its good or not but#here LOL#javid#jack kelly#david jacobs#newsies#newsies fic exchange#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // fics ❥#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // leaving & growing old ❥
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3 - masquerade
(part of "my princess (choose your own adventure)")
no cws
wcs: 1071
“The ball sounds great.” You said, looking up at him to lock eyes. “I know our marriage hasn’t been announced yet, but it would be a great way to establish ourselves, right?”
“You do make a good point,” he mused.
“I’m not sure if I have an outfit, though…”
“Do you have anything formal? I’m sure my mom would be more than delighted to help pick an outfit.”
“Let’s see.”
You spent the rest of the afternoon in preparation for the ball alongside Kyle, his mother, and yours. You were just dressing up to go to some gala with Kyle, but your mothers made it seem like it was already your wedding day.
Needless to say, they enjoyed playing dress up with you. They even made you two match outfits! You were wearing a silk, forest green, and creme dress that reached the floor, while Kyle found himself wearing a suit of the same color.
It feels embarrassing to admit, but you enjoyed all the pampering and attention you got while being dressed. It made you feel like a princess, not that you weren’t, however. You simply just felt like the princess most people dreamed being of, like the one in the books.
You stood there as your moms do the final touch-ups on your and Kyle’s outfits. It was around 5:30 PM? The party wouldn’t officially start until 7. The ride wouldn’t take that long, maybe an hour at most. It wouldn’t be a hassle at all to get there. You were sure of that.
You find your eyes looking over in Kyle’s direction. Call you shallow, but if you had to look at Kyle for five more minutes, you might fall a bit too in love with him—or just face up.
You got to know Kyle since, while you were getting dolled up, his mom shared many wonderful and hilarious stories about him growing up. The look on Kyle’s face as she recalled the stories about him was priceless. The way his brows scrunched and his lip pouted. You could still see the child that his mom was talking about. The one that would become the man you were about to wed to.
You had a thought in your head about you and Kyle as children. Would either of you have ever expected to get yourselves in a situation like this? You didn’t mean it in a bad way, not at all. It’s just that this doesn’t seem like any either of you as kids would want to do. It seemed like you spent your childhood stuck staring at portraits while Kyle spent his getting tutor sessions from the best scholars in his kingdom. Marriage wasn’t something that was important to either of you. Would the children you two were be disappointed in who both of you are now? You’re sure little you would probably be so.
Speaking of Kyle, you hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him yet. You two were preoccupied with getting ready, so you didn’t have time to catch up with him. Hopefully, on the way, you can strike a conversation up.
You took one last look at Kyle before you both left. You found yourself only looking at him. He was gorgeous. That’s all you could say. Do you know how people say that someone’s appearance took their breath away? Kyle might’ve just killed you, and you hadn’t even gotten to know him yet. You felt a pang of guilt nipping at you for liking him just at face value.
Luckily, the ride on the way did bridge the two worlds you two were from. If you thought Kyle was just your lungs at the sight of him, you’re sorely mistaken. You found him taking your heart whole as you spoke with him.
As much of a persuasive speaker he seems and honestly sometimes sounds to be, it was just him you liked. You got a hint of his rawness on the ride. No borders of formality, no fear of the future, no worry of the past. It was just you and him, and that’s all that matters.
“Do you think you’re the person you wanted to be?” You hummed.
He paused to think. He didn’t seem hesitant to answer, but he did take his good time to brush through his words. “Yes and no, I think…”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Like,” he laughed at the vagueness of his answer. “I just think that there are aspects of me I’ve achieved, but there are many other things I can still work on.”
“So a no?” You raised a brow, slightly confused.
“Yeah, more like a no, but I guess you could say I’m halfway towards my goal of becoming the person I’d say I would be happy being.” He paused once more, his mouth agape like he want to say more. Hesitance was written all over him, even in the dark you could feel it. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly satisfied with myself. I’ll notice little things about myself I want to change more, and then it eats me up. I’ll notice more things, and it’s a cycle.”
You felt for him that moment. In a way, you could see yourself in him. “Yeah,” you nodded. “I understand. I used to be hypervigilant of every single detail about myself, but I eventually got over it.”
“Just how did you do that?”
“I had to be okay with the fact that ‘true’ perfection is unattainable. Like, there are always going to be blemishes you’ll notice, and you have to realize they shouldn’t swallow you up cause it’s the farthest thing from healthy, even if you’re doing it for the better. When I came to that realization accepting myself became an easier thing to do.”
“Huh,” he smiled, leaning his head onto yours. “You’re very perceptive. I admire that.”
“Thank you.” you sunk your face in his neck, humming against it.
A silence was brought forth between you, yet after a few moments, Kyle spoke up. “I have a question. I hope you don’t take any offense in it.”
“What is it?”
“I remember you mentioned frequenting events like these earlier, yeah?” You nodded. “Do you actually enjoy going to the galas and balls and whatnot?”
Which do you pick?
I enjoy spending my time in places like those
Honestly? Not really.
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