#and would want twilight to know shed always be there one way or another even when shes gone

[luminouslotuses]

my love mine all mine…….with twiglimmer/startwi……….from starlights pov……………….

[happi-tree]

are we out (of the woods yet)

You look down.

Well, this explains the pain, you think, eyes darting over a body that you inhabit but do not recognize in the slightest, in colors that you can scarcely remember seeing.

Father is going to kill me. Then, Where am I?

Or: Henry Oak, and being destined for two worlds and when you've only ever walked in one.

ao3

Here’s my fic for day 3: werewolves. Like day 1, this is part of a supernatural au that @kaseyskat and @llumimoon masterminded alongside me, although this one takes place chronologically before day 1's. Hope you like it!

Life is good for you. Great, even! At least, that’s what Father wants you to believe. 

Below your feet, the leaves crunch in shades of silver and gold, compounded into tiny bits that fly up around you as you sprint through the dense forest, and life is… as good as it can get, for the time being.

The sky is becoming clearer by the day, more and more pieces of azure heaven made visible by the ever-growing gaps in the canopy, carrying with it relief and distress in equal measure.

The sun lances to alight on pale golden fur, warming you through, unfettered by the leaves as you bound from shadow to shadow, light to light. At the same time, you feel the autumn’s chill on the breeze; though it is not yet cold enough for the grass to don their frost-coats at the gray-gold-blue dawn (scarcely ever is, these past few years), there is a weariness in your bones that belies the winter ahead, aching in joints that have not shifted right in quite some time.

It tugs at the back of your mind, the turn of the seasons, the shifting of moons, the shedding of leaves that regrow with the promise of spring. But there isn’t much you can do about it - not without it getting back to Father in some way or another (it always does, and you have long since learned that this corner of the wood has eyes beyond those of the white birches), and that is the last thing you want - so you growl under her breath, clench your jaw, and run harder, as if the ache is just a muscle you can stretch simply by outrunning it all. 

You bank around the trunk of an old, gnarled dogwood and think of winter. They’ll need food stocked up at the Commune, soon. 

(Commune, a name that Father has given your number, because Pack is too much too animalistic, too barbaric, too laughably simple for what you are. For your purpose. For your community.)

(You would personally like to tell Father where he can shove his community.)

(Well, most of it.)

The sun will be setting soon, you know, and as you bask in golden hour you dread the encroaching indigo-tinge of twilight that will bring you to Father’s side, ever the obedient daughter. There is not much you can do, though, except to attempt at grasping ephemeral joy in your hungry jowls, to crush the dead growth underfoot until you are expected back within the heart of Commune territory. 

<Hen!> a familiar mind-voice calls out to you. <Hey, Hen, over here!>

Well. You suppose that maybe there is something else you can do.

The careless footfalls of your partner approach from behind, and you whirl around.

<Goose,> You sigh, half-exasperated, half-fond. <What in the moon’s name are you doing over here?>

<Could ask you the same question, Hen Ry’,> he chuffs, trotting over to brush against your flank. 

<Plus, you always head over to this part of the outskirts when you’re all moody,> he notes, gesturing with his muzzle at your surroundings.

The cliff-wall before you is a massive, towering thing, all craggy rock and silvery moss. You could spend hours following the striations in the stone, nosing at the peaks and valleys, following them to the edge of Father’s influence. You have spent hours doing just that, following the winding currents within the rock, stripes of light and dark that squirm organically like the veins of some giant, petrified creature. 

The trees thin out, here, and you glance sidelong at Goose.

<I’m not “all moody”,> You argue rather pointlessly, staring at the ribbons of light-dark in the stone before you.

<Please, babe, you’re always moody. I can smell it from miles away.>

Goose Sy’ is a gangly, wiry thing, with dark fur that looks lit from within in the dappled sunlight. He hunches lazily now, but there is strength and power and quickness beneath his pelt.

<What’s on your mind?> He asks, and you let him touch his nose to your cheek, an affectionate gesture that is a rarer and rarer treasure, these days. <Is the old man on your ass again?>

<When isn’t he?> You respond simply, growling a bit as you kick up more debris.

You sigh. <He keeps asking if I’ve thought about a mate,> you confess, and you scent his agitation and the slightest bit of worry as he turns his golden eyes on yours.

<He’s not, like, suspicious or anything?> Goose asks.

<Moons, no, thank goodness,> You respond, seeing him untense before you. <Could you imagine?>

<I could, actually,> Goose says, his laughter resounding in your brain. <I’d love to see the look on his face when he realizes his perfect paragon pup has been fraternizing with a mangy commoner. You know, before he kills me.>

You nuzzle against his side, let his scent wash over you. You’ll have to roll around in muck and mire for quite awhile to erase it, but as you bury your face into his ruff, you think it’s worth it.

There’s an ache in your heart that matches the ache in your unshifted bones, and you often wonder which came first.

<Killing is against his own rules, and my Father surely wouldn’t debase himself to such levels. It is beneath our glorious, enlightened kind,> You sniff mockingly. 

<I dunno, Hen, I think I just might send him over the edge.> He bumps his side to yours, snorting.

Father… has been getting very insistent about settling you down. Perhaps a part of you always knew that pups were the only things he judged you as being good enough for, but your stomach turns at the very principle. You feel trapped, miserable here in his territory, heir to his kingdom of oak and earth. To bring more of yourself into the world, to force them to endure as you have…

You scent a chill on the breeze, and it ruffles your fur, causing a shiver to run down your spine. The ache intensifies, and you can practically feel the creaking of your bones beneath the sinew.

You hear yourself whine before you can stop it, and Goose presses closer to your side.

<Have you thought about Changing?> He asks, mind-voice lowered to the slightest of whispers.

You balk. <Are you insane? Father would actually kill me. Just because you can get away with it doesn’t mean I could just - >

<I know, I know,> Goose says, trying on a soothing tone like an ill-fitting coat. <It’s just that - > he snarls, low and angry, and you flinch.

<Sorry,> He cuts himself off. <But you’re hurting, and it’s his fault. Him and his stupid fucking rules.>

It’s not the sun against your fur that makes you feel warmed through, now.

<I hate him,> Goose tells you.

<I know,> You reply, instead of the me, too that lies just below your speech-thoughts. 

<Does it hurt?> You ask him. <The Change, I mean.>

<A little,> He answers. <Well, a lot, at the beginning. But then, the pain goes away a little, I guess. Shrinks. You could try it, you know. I’d take care of you.>

<Absolutely not,> You say. <My Father would have both of our heads, and you know it.>

Your heart says something different, as it always has. You ponder for the briefest moment the concept of running away from it all, of a full-moon sunrise where you awaken in a body that is still yours but also not, side by side with him. You imagine the shift-ache unfurling into a new shape before shrinking dormant below your reformed skin.

You wonder if he would drag you to the treeline outside the nearest town, dress you in human things until you could masquerade among them. If he would teach you how to walk on two legs. 

You wonder what he would look like. Instead of brushing against your side, you wonder if he would hold your hand.

Wondering is a pointless thing, though, Father says, and running is cowardice.

Staying feels even moreso, but you know nothing else.

<Well, if you change your mind and wanna stick it to the old mutt, you know where to find me,> Goose’s voice echoes softly between your pointed ears, breaking you from your thoughts.

<Thank you,> You respond, trying to wrangle your mind-voice into something that sounds less morose and forlorn. You fail, judging by the way Goose presses his muzzle against yours. 

You wish you could go, just pick up and leave, but there are things that keep you. Mother, for one, though she grows more and more distant by the day, ever colder, like the Autumn she is named for, as Father sinks his claws into you both, bleeding you of your heart and your strength and your freedoms until nothing is left but exhaustion and ache and apathy.

Mother belonged to another Pack, once, you know, even though she has never spoken of it. A real Pack, in name and in function. She has known what it feels like to move between forms, between worlds, transient like the phases of the moon.

You would’ve liked a life like hers, a name like hers, one that feels equal parts human and beast.

Instead, you were named in Commune tradition. The first moons of your life you went nameless, in order for your parents (your Father, mostly) to judge what name would best suit you.

You think of Father’s name: Bear, a towering, massive presence compressed into lupine form that looms over you even when he is not there. Strong, masculine, predatory.

Goose was named this way, too, and the name suits him well - your partner is flighty, a free spirit, but brash and loud and quick to bite and clamor at whatever displeases him.

Even your childhood tormentor, Horse, suits his name. Proud and haughty and ornery and loud in his own right, skittish beneath Father and Mother’s glares. 

You do not have to wonder why Father chose Hen for yourself. You are a livestock, a thing to be kept in a wooden cage, with clipped wings incapable of flight, legs unsuited for traveling too far from his reach. Your children and your children’s children will feed the gaping maw of your captor, and there is nothing you can do about it. 

Your name chafes at you, scratches at you like brambles upon your hide. Meek and feminine and prey-animal and all the things you are but wish not to be.

<Sun’ll be down soon,> Goose’s mind-voice resounds in your brain, and you startle, cocking your head to dislodge your useless spiraling.

You look around, noting the yellowish light stretching the tree-shadows longer and longer across the ground. 

<You’re right,> You agree.

<Lost you for a minute, there,> He says.

Goose doesn’t press for answers, but the flicking of his ears gives away his concern.

<Just thinking,> You respond, glancing at the deepening blues on the horizon.

<You were thinking pretty loudly,> Goose remarks with a light press against your side. <You gotta get back, yeah?>

<Wish I didn’t have to,> You grumble, already turning to the depths of Commune territory, pawing forward even as you think it.

<Offer’s always open,> Goose replies. <Full moon’s only a week away.>

The pain within you seems to increase at the reminder.

<I know. Thanks. Don’t forget to get rid of the scent.>

<I know!> Goose exclaims as your paths begin to diverge - his, to his home on the far reaches, yours, to whatever Father has awaiting you tonight. <Thanks. See you soon?>

<Soon,> You agree, and hope you can make good on that promise.

“Hello?”

The first thing you register as you awaken is that your body hurts. 

Bone-deep, marrow-deep, cell-deep, all over. It feels like your limbs have scrambled themselves, ground themselves to dust, and then attempted to piece themselves back together from the rubble. It is as if every muscle fiber within you has been stretched past breaking point, as if every nerve ending fell prey to one thousand claws, one thousand fangs. 

Your very soul yowls in pain, and it is only because your teeth feel so wrong and foreign in your own jaw, because your vocal cords scrubbed raw, that you do not vocalize it beyond a shaking rasp. 

The second thing you register is a presence right in front of you. 

You open your eyes, and the third thing you register is dazzling, dizzying, scintillating color. 

Your hands (hands?) scrabble at the rough earth in a vain attempt to ground yourself as you look around half-dazed and hurting, and the soft, uncalloused flesh of your palms smarts and stings against jagged bits of debris.

You look down.

Well, this explains the pain, you think, eyes darting over a body that you inhabit but do not recognize in the slightest, in colors that you can scarcely remember seeing.

Father is going to kill me. Then, Where am I?

You don’t recognize this part of the woods - the scents of the Commune are all but nonexistent, and the area around you is well-trod, devoid of grass, human odors lingering and overlapping.

A human hiking trail?

You blink rapidly, taking in the fuzzy dawn light and its myriad of hues.

Mother had taught you about colors, once, when you were a very young pup and the world was still bright with more than shades of yellow and cerulean and she was not yet as poisoned by oppressive bear-weight of cynicism. 

She had told you their names, even, though you struggle to remember them. 

You test them out, now, forming their mouth-shapes with a slow clacking of newly-blunted teeth. 

Green, the color of moss and grasses and foliage at the height of solstice. 

Orange and her deeper sister red, the colors of the fallen leaves underfoot, the colors of the sky as evening starts its slow descent toward dusk. 

The coveralls that the human woman before you wears are purple, you think, a flower-color, a dusk-color, a dawn-color. A spring-color, a beginning-color. 

“H-ello,” you attempt, your voice creaking and throat constricting at the novelty of speaking aloud. 

“Hello, again,” the woman responds, slowly and frowning, but… not unkindly, you think.

You inhale, and her scent is tinged with something sparkling and warm and cold all at once. Magic-smell, you realize. There is worry there, as well - not for her own safety, but for yours. 

There is not even the tracest amount of falsehood to her - her demeanor, her expression (though, that, admittedly, is mostly guesswork), her scent. 

It’s a novel concept. 

You cannot remember that last time anyone had had honest intentions with you (apart from Mother and maybe Goose), let alone went as far to show genuine concern over you. 

It takes you aback, strikes you nearly as harshly as… whatever it was that has left you feeling so crippled. 

“My name is Mercedes,” the woman says, gently, softly, as if speaking to a wounded prey animal. 

The comparison is… not without merit. 

“What can I call you?” She asks. 

Smart, this woman is. Or incredibly stupid. To lend her own name like that knowing full well the risks is either an intense show of trust and compassion, or…

There is a glint in her eye, you notice, and the magic-scent sharpens. 

Well… best to repay a kindness with a kindness. 

“Hen,” you croak, trying to get the shape of your name to form on your clumsy, human tongue. “Ry’Oak.”

“Well, Henry,” the woman (Mercedes!) says, and you splutter at the way that she slurs the first two syllables together rather than the last. 

“Are you okay?”

Moons above, no, you are not. 

Your body hurts like it never has before, and your eyes sear with a kaleidoscope of hues you haven’t seen since you were a young pup, and the way this witch has butchered your name might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. 

Henry, you mouth to yourself, running it together. It sounds rather plain, achingly human. Father would hate it. 

You quite like it. 

“I think… I will be,” you tell Mercedes. 

“Good,” she says, extending a hand. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

[rphelperblog]

Anastasia the musical starter part one

“In my dreams, shadows call. There’s a light at the end of the road.”

“I don’t know a thing before that.”

“Taking what I needed, working when I could.”

“How do you become the person you forgot you ever where?”

“If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do.”

“A revolution is a simple thing.”

“I heard the shots. I hear the screams, but it’s the silence after that I remember most.”

“The world stopped breathing and I was no longer a boy.”

“My mother said he died of shame.”

“Could I have pulled the trigger if I had been told?”

“I bartered for a blanket, stolen for my bread.”

“There are some who survive some who don’t”

“Funny when a city is all you know.”

“Even when you hate it, something in you loves it so.”

“That’s where I learned my stuff in some rough company.”

“Nothing here to hold me. No one that I know.”

“But tonight , there’s a sky and quite a view.”

“Dancing bears, painted wing, things i almost remember.”

“Someone holds me safe and warm. “

“Figures dancing gracefully across my memory.”

“Far away, long ago glowing dim as an emeber.”

“How can I desert you?”

“How to tell you why?”

“coachman hold the horses, stay I pray you.”

“How can I desert you? How to tell you why?”

“Let me have a moment.Let me say goodbye.”

“i’ll bless my homeland tell I die.”

“Though the scars remain and the tears will never dry.”

“You are all I know. You have raised me.”

“How to go where I have never gone before?”

“We’ll go from there.”

“I may have gotten fatter, but that won’t matter.”

“Hands shaking, heart thundering, meet the royal mess.”

“Start smiling, stop wondering why did I say yes.”

“Keep a grip and take a deep breathe and soon we will know what’s what.”

“An underhanded girl.An act of desperation.And to my consternation I let her go...”

She wants what she can get-Is that a fair depiction? Does she believe her fiction?”

If my father asked questions Well...where would we be?”

She's nothing but a child.A waif who needs protection”

She says it's all a game.She trembles like a flower But in her, there's a power.I see that now!”

"I'm innocent!" She cries!But then, you see her eyes and something in them tells you that she absolutely lies!”

Heart, don't fail me now! Courage, don't desert me!”

People always say life is full of choices. No one ever mentions fear”

Somewhere down this road I know someone's waiting. Years of dreams just can't be wrong.”

Home, love, family.There was once a time I must have had them too.”

Home, love, family.I will never be complete until I find you.”

“We will do some reminsing she’ll see what she’s been missing.”

One step at a time.One hope then another who knows where this road may go.”

Yes, let this be a sign! Let this road be mine.Let it lead me to my past, And bring me home”

“We have shed our tears and shared our sorrow.”

“Things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember 

“some give up, some give in. Me I won’t.”

“But you’d behave when your father gave that look.”

“You were born in a palace by the sea.”

“Horseback riding, me?”

“They said I was found on the side of the road.”

Everyone’s a writer, painter, poet.Everything is avant garde Or chic.”

I dreamed of a city beyond all compare.It’s hard to believe that I’m finally there.”

“And then come what may.We will each go our way…”

Halfway between where I've been.And where I'm going In between wondering why and finally knowing.”

Maybe we're sharing this beautiful night.Me on the left bank. You on the right”

These strangers, come calling Soon enough they're gone.

The twilight is falling, lamps will soon go on

And where did summer go I will never know summer used to last endlessly Children all in white, running down the sand To me

These strangers, sent packing What do they expect.So grasping,So lacking why not be direct.

You're a lie that I've waited for. Tell them all to go.Tell them all no more.Tell them I close the door.

“once I had a palace. Here meerly a flat.”

“Once ladies in waiting all bending a knee. Now only one lady waiting, me.”

“Let’s live in the land of yesterday.”

“Let’s put on the fancy clothes and while are woes away.”

“In dire circumstances, why wallow in regret?”

“Let’s run up the bill as if we are still royalty at bay.”

“Why are here except to forget?”

[bokettochild]

The Scarf Fic!!!

Inspired by This post by @sekiumiarashi and written as a gift for @into-the-linkverse

I wanted to write Ravio sharing scarves, but I accidentally found that I like writing Ravio, and more importantly, writing him and Legend like they’re a pair of elderly people, because... just because.

Giving Legend glasses was a choice that I didn’t see coming, but do not regret. I do regret Ravio’s naming scheme, but it was too funny to back out so I kept pushing. I’m not sorry that you all must suffer.​

Feel free to read this as being part of my main fic The Ties That Bind, but it can also be separate, just consider the uncle bit as being related to predecessors and stuff.

Enjoy! :)

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir wasn’t wearing his scarf.

 The one constant Ravio knew he could always count on during the war, was that the captain would be wearing that bright blue scrap of cloth with all the pride in the world, no matter what the circumstances (good grief, one time he’d stumbled upon the man bathing and the scarf had been the only thing that saved them both from embarrassment). But today, he wasn’t.

 The heroes had come to stay at Mr. Hero’s house again after a long battle, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, one arm resting across it’s back and his feet propped up on the table. A scowl marred his fine features and his neck was horrifyingly naked.

 “Mr. Captain Hero Sir! Where is your scarf?” The words were out of his mouth in a moment as he looked around the captain to make sure it simply hadn’t fallen off or been laid aside (things the captain would never let happen, ever. He’d once been bleeding out and still managed to keep the trailing blue fabric out of the mud.)

 “It’s shredded.” The captain sighed, a bitter look in his eyes as he motioned down to the arm hanging from a sling around his neck. “And I’m currently unable to mend it.”

 The thought of the captain not having a scarf was so utterly horrible, simply unthinkable, that Ravio didn’t even think about what he was doing, instead bounding over to plonk himself onto the couch and quickly unwind his scarf before rewinding it around the captain’s neck (he had a dozen of these things anyway).

 “There! You can’t be without a scarf.”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir smiled fondly, fingers reaching up to gently stroke the fabric. “And you can?”

 Ravio shrugged. “I have a dozen of those, keep it, it looks fabulous on you!”

 The captain’s eyes sparkled brightly, a familiar cockiness erupting within. “Are you kidding? I make everything look good! Even the Vet’s fashion choices would look fabulous on me!”

  Ravio sniggered. He’d heard and seen plenty of the goods from Hytopia, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Mr. Hero even knew what fashion was. But then again, he was just a simple Lolian; for all he knew, things like bomb outfits and heart shaped collars were absolutely acceptable and normal in this world.

 “But where is your scarf, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?” He asked after a moment, cocking his head on one side as the man looked at him oddly.  

 “Don’t you ever get tired of saying that? You can call me Warriors like everyone else you know.”

 “I know, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, I don’t mind.”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir blinked. “O-kay.” Shaking his head, he answered. “Legend has it. Since I can’t use my dominant hand, he said he’d stitch it up for me.” The captain hero nodded towards the corner of the room, and Ravio followed his line of sight.

 Mr. Hero was perched in that Lolia-awful rocking chair that had been in the house since Nayru knows when. It was a horrid thing in his opinion, old, out of style and absolutely stiff and uncomfortable, and he’d shoved it into the furthest corner of the room ages ago. Mr. Hero loved it though, although he never said why, and he didn’t seem to mind that it was now nearly next to the fireplace all the time, even if he did have to pull it out of the corner to properly rock in it.

 Mr. Hero sat with one leg tucked underneath him and the other one hanging down to gently push at the floor, making the big chair rock steadily. Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s scarf lay in his lap and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, a needle in his hand as he dutifully labored over the brilliant blue fabric of the famed scarf.

 “His eyesight is terrible.” Ravio snickered to the Captain.

 “But his hearing is perfect.” Mr. Hero’s voice rang clearly across the room, violet gaze darting up to look at them disapprovingly over the top of his spectacles.

 The minute he looked away, merchant and captain shared a grin, only to burst into muffled laughter.

...

 Mr. Smithy and Tune are cold.

 It’s obvious from the way the two huddle in place at the kitchen table as everyone enjoys the meal that Ravio and Mr. Hero have pulled together (Mr. Hero is hesitant to let even the finest of chefs in his kitchen for some reason, despite having stated that Mr. Champion Hero is a very good cook and better than him (at cooking, life, or heroing, he does not specify)). Tune- Wind has all but attached himself to Sky’s side, using the bigger hero as a heat source as he slurps down his warm stew, and Mr. Smithy has bundled himself against the Mr. Rancher.

 It’s only autumn, but both of the smaller heroes act like it’s the start of winter with the way they shiver and rub at their arms.

 Mr. Hero’s only response when he asks is to sigh, but when he presses, his pink haired doppelganger eventually explains. “Their Hyrules were never corrupted, so they’re used to warmer weather most of the time, if not always. The mist from the ocean is the worst Wind knows, and heaven only knows if Four could survive a proper freeze.” Mr. Hero shakes his head, wiping the last of the broth from their meal off a plate with his dish-rag. “If they need something, they know to ask.”

 But Mr. Hero isn’t really that cold hearted, he’s worrying too if the way his brows furrow and the lines around his mouth deepen is any indication. “I offered blankets, but they don’t want them.”

 “Does this happen often?” He muses as he takes the plates from Mr. Hero to dry and put away, and to his displeasure, his housemate nods.

 “When we come here or to Sky’s Hyrule, yeah. Usually, Wars will bundle them up in his scarf, or Sky with his sailcloth, even Twilight shares his fur, but...” Mr. Hero’s ears twitch irritably (truly adorable how they do that, although he’ll never say as much). “Sky’s asleep with his cape, the wolf pelt is a bloody mess after that battle, and I haven’t finished mending Wars’ scarf.” The ears flap again. “That thing is so dang complex and Warriors apparently hasn’t the faintest about the proper cloth to use to mend it. He used new material to mend a hole! Brand new material, Ravio! It’s an awful state and I swear if Styla could see it she’d faint dead away!” The vet huffed as he plunged another dish under the sudsy water of the wash tub. “Using new cloth on a worn scarf, it’s like he wants the thing to be ruined...”

 Ah yes, Mr. Hero’s rants. There’d be no righting this one until he’d fixed the problem, and considering he’d only been torn away from the scarf that lay peacefully sitting on his rocker in order to make food, it was quite likely that once his kitchen was clean again, he’d be right back to working on it.

 Ravio smiled, Mr. Captain Hero Sir would be quite pleased.

 His gaze traveled over to where the hero in question was sitting. The captain and Tu- Wind, were talking on the couch, the younger staring nearly longingly at the rocker and the scarf on top of it.

 Kid really liked that scarf, huh? If Ravio remembered right, half the time during his adventure with Mr. Captain Hero Sir, he’d constantly seen either Mask or Tune hanging onto it.

 Somewhere inside of a bunny head, an idea sparked and green eyes brightened excitedly.

 He’d donned a new scarf just before dinner, but it wouldn’t do quite right, so instead, he darted off to his room, much to the displeasure of his dish partner as his rag flew into Mr. Hero’s face and left his housemate spluttering indignantly.  

 “Ravio! You didn’t finish-”

 “One sec!”

 Mr. Hero’s grumbles followed him out of the kitchen, but faded as he darted into his room and towards his wardrobe. It was the work of moments to select two of his largest scarfs, and less time than that to dart back out to the living room and wrap one around each of the smaller heroes.

 “There! Snug as a kit in a quilt!”  

 Two small heroes stared down at the black and purple fabric that now draped around their shoulders, smiles brightening their flushed faces as Tune buried his face happily in the fabric with a bright hum.

 “Thanks, Ravio!”

 “Thank you.” Four’s eyes glimmered warm brown as he sunk into his seat, only the top of his face and his hands visible beneath the striped fabric.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s eyes sparkled as the man looked up at him, and Ravio fought the blush that rose in his cheeks as he fiddled with his own scarf (he’d mess with his sleeves, but he’d shed his robe to help do the dishes, and his undershirt wasn’t nearly long enough to fiddle with). “Don’t mention it, it’s-” He chewed his lip for a moment before a smile broke loose, the one Mr. Hero said was cheesy and fake, the one for when he was trying to sell things. “It’s a complimentary gift for exceptional customers and/or guests!”

 “We’ve never bought anything from you.” Four deadpanned, eyes glinting with a smile Ravio couldn’t see past all the scarf in the way.

 “Yet!” Ravio chirped back, and darted back into the kitchen to help Mr. Hero finish doing the dishes.

...

 Mr. Champion keeps rubbing his scars.

 The heroes had left for a short spell, traveling off to fight more monsters only to be dumped in the orchard a week or so later (Mr. Hero said it’d been a month and a half for them, but by his time it was a week). And when Ravio said they’d been dumped in the orchard, he meant in the orchard. He’d been busy picking some of the ripened apples before the birds took them all (most of the wild birds knew better, but still, it was the principle of the thing, fresh fruit was rare in Lorule) when a shout and the snapping of branches had sounded all about him.  

 Ravio had shrieked in surprise, thinking that he was alone only to find (once he’d removed his hood again) that there were nine heroes hanging from various tree branches around him, and Mr. Hero himself was hanging upside down, one foot caught in the branches, as his face dangled inches from Ravio’s own, a scowl darkening it as a string of mumbles escaped his room-mate.

 He couldn’t stop himself, he kissed Mr. Hero’s twitching nose.

 Mr. Hero shrieked in surprise, jerking in place and effectively loosening himself from the tree, falling all over Ravio in the process. It was worth it, Ravio giggled as he lay on the ground. Mr. Hero was so like the bunnies in Lorule and their noses simply demanded to be kissed.

 Laughter and grumbles sounded around them, the heroes pulling themselves down from the trees around them.

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. moved with surprising ease, despite his heavy armor, clambering down the tree with the same grace that Mr. Champion did most of the time. Some things never change, he could still see him climbing up onto Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s shoulders in the same manner (only now he rather doubted either of them would attempt to do that anymore, Captain Hero Sir Jr. was much bigger now).

 It felt entirely too natural to lead them all up to the house, Mr. Hero trailing at the back with a bushel of apples in his arms. Settling them all down in the kitchen was easy as could be, and he and Mr. Hero worked quickly to set some fresh apple cider to boil before starting on a meal for everyone.

 He missed not having them all around, it was going to be awful dull when they all had to go back to their worlds when this adventure was over again.

 He was determined to enjoy the moment for that very reason while they all sat about in the living room, sipping apple cider as Mr. Hero had settled down in his blasted rocker, spectacles on his nose and more mending in hand. He never would rest until the light was faded, and Ravio had half a mind to take out his knitting (he was still currently short three scarves) before he decided to simply flop down on the nearest open spot on the couch and just enjoy his cider.

 Except, Mr. Champion was sitting in the seat beside him.

 The young hero kept rubbing at his scars, eyes distant, and despite the numerous amounts of times that either Mr. Captain Hero Sir or Mr. Rancher tried to move his hands back down to the still full mug he was cradling in his other hand, Mr. Champion (he was younger than Ravio though...would Mr. Be an appropriate title for him?) kept reaching right back up to rub his neck and face.

 The scars were enflamed, harsh red and puffy where they peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and it made Ravio wince to even think of how he’d acquired such injuries that would scar so.

 He only winced more with every drag of broken nails and rough finger pads over the skin, but Mr. Champion- Wild? He could think of him as Wild right? He was kind of the kid’s uncle in a weird way- didn't seem to even notice that he was doing it. Cornflower blue eyes stared unseeing into the fire, face still and only his hands moving.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, worry pulling his lovely face into shadows as he grasped Wild’s hands again. “Wild, hey, no more of that, okay? You’re hurting yourself.”

 Fingers twitched, but no other movement came from the young Champion until Mr. Captain Hero Sir (wait, was Wild also Captain Hero Sir Jr.? Or was he Champion Hero? Oh fiddlesticks, he wasn’t sure anymore) let go, and then broken nails moved right back up towards swollen flesh.

 Ravio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

 Mr. Hero had spaced out before, did it a lot when the sun set or when he was outside, but he never scratched like that. He sang and fiddled with his rings. If Wild Champion Jr. Sir (oh heavens) did something like that, it would be fine, but this was... this was rather unsettling.

 Ravio shifted in his seat, curling around his mug as Mr. Captain Hero Sir had to reach out to stop the wild-child's hands from reaching the inflamed wounds (the last scratch had broken skin, and a thin trail of red has appeared).

 It was without a thought that he acted, pushing his mug into the captain’s hands and promptly looping his scarf around Wild Champion Hero Captain Jr.’s (oh Lolia help) neck.

 Thoughtless fingers nose just as before, but this time, they brushed against soft fabric. Ravio tensed, dearly hoping that his scarf would not be ripped off or simply pushed aside.

To the surprise of all of them, rough fingers brushed over the fabric, paused, and gently stroked its material. The Champion’s face did not move, but slowly, long fingers ran down the fabric, rubbing it between their tips as cornflower blue eyes blinked slowly. In an instant, the young hero’s gaze was lost to sight as the fabric was nuzzled with all the fondness of a cub nuzzling their parent.

 “He likes scarves, of course he does.” Mr. Rancher chuckled wearily, a tired smile playing over his features as both he and Mr. Captain Hero Sir sat back (but not before Ravio took his mug back).

 “So he does.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, eyes fond as he watched the hero in question curl up on the couch, face lost in purple fabric and bare toes the only moving part of the kid. The wiggling toes were almost like a dog wagging its tail, but weirder, still, he wasn’t one to judge.

 Mr. Captain hero Sir caught his eye. “Thank you, Ravio.”

 “Customer loyalty.” He murmured softly into his mug.

 He caught the way Mr. Hero and the others stared at him though, and he could only be thankful his hood shaded his face enough to hide his pleased blush.

...

 Mr. Rancher needs to wear more color.

 It’s like looking at the photos of Mr. Hero from just before he’d come around. Mr. Hero always fussed at him for going through things, but he couldn’t help but laugh at how odd his room-mate looked with black hair and dark clothes. “You dyed it?”

 “For safety reasons. How many people have you see in Hyrule with pink hair of all things? It was a dead giveaway!”

 “But you’re the hero?”

 “A hero whose face was plastered on every wanted poster in Hyrule. Still is in some cases.” Mr. Hero had grumbled, folding the last piece of newly clean washing and throwing a pointed glare in his direction. “Life on the run sucks. I was thirteen and just wanted to be ignored.”

 A glance at the dark haired but smiling youngster in the photo and back up to the bitter pink haired hero he knew told him (even if Mr. Hero hadn’t already) how well that wish had been fulfilled.

 But seriously, those photos at least showed Mr. Hero with some color. The most Mr. Rancher wore was that horrid sash and obi, and the orange and blue looked simply terrible with his color scheme, something that, when brought up to Mr. Hero, his friend seemed to agree with, stating that ‘he’d never get into Hytopia’s capitol looking like that’.

 Ravio had never been to Hytopia, but based on the stories and mannerisms Mr. Hero took on after that adventure, he can only agree.

 Originally, he’d hoped he could simply find something among his wares that he could sell to Mr. Rancher, but that proved to only be so effective, after all, when one sells weapons and items, it’s hard finding a normal piece of clothing amidst all the blessed or charmed pieces.

 Oh well, he was counting on ending up sharing the rest of his scarves with them all anyway.

 It wasn’t any dramatic or particularly touching moment when he walked up and slung a clean scarf around the rancher’s shoulders, but Mr. Rancher, after initially starting, smiled as he touched the sun-warmed material. Of course, that expression quickly faded into one of awe as the hero squeezed the fabric lightly.

 Mr. Rancher’s eyes lit up like a dog being given a new toy (Ravio wasn’t stupid, he knew a dog when he saw one) and the man proceeded to continue squeezing and petting the springy fabric with eyes sparkling as if Ravio had just handed him the stars themselves.

 He was down to two scarves now, but it was worth it.

...

Mr. Traveler Hero is small.

He is small, and wild, and the clothes he’s wearing are nearly too small. The traveler is a growing child (never mind that he’s still a teenager himself) and he’s out and about in nearly threadbare garments that leave Ravio shivering at the mere thought of wearing.

And this is the other hero who grew up in a corrupted world where the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it should and the winters are always too long.

Ravio doesn’t think twice when he sees the first signs of cold in the young hero. He’s got two scarfs recently made, and he’s only too happy to share.

Purple and black stripes nearly drown the young hero when he walks over and wraps not one, but two of the comfiest scarves he’s ever made around the youngster's neck.

Like Mr. Rancher, nothing is said or done immediately, but Mr. Traveler Hero smile at him shyly, holding up a hand and scampering over to his bag.

The pair of polished stones he’s given don’t make much sense, but he catches sight of Mr. Hero and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Both smiling over at the two through the doorways.  

“Thank you.” He murmurs warmly, tucking the rocks in his pocket.

“Thank you.!” Mr. Traveler smiles in return, eyes twinkling in the shade of the room and scarf tails flapping like the four wings of a fairy as he spins around to show them to Mr. Hero.

...

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. has nothing comfy to wear.

 Once more, the heroes had been whisked away, and once more they’d appeared at the house weeks later, looking exhausted and utterly soaked.

 The chill autumn rain might be to blame for that.

 Mr. Hero hadn’t even protested that... Wild (he’d just call him Wild, he couldn’t do this title thing this time) had bustled off into the kitchen to warm some tea, and instead promptly collapsing in all his soaked glory onto the couch.

 The other heroes followed suit, and Ravio (like a good host) immediately hopped up and fetched some blankets. Mr. Rancher was already stoking the fire, and with a bit of work, Ravio was able to help Mr. Her grasp what was left of his own steaming mug of cider (his hands were quite the state in this bitter weather) before popping off to the kitchen to brew more of the sweet apply goodness to share with the heroes.

 Armor and over-clothes had been stripped off, sitting wet and dripping in one corner (Mr. Hero eyes it with distaste, knowing just as Ravio did just what that would be doing to the floor) but neither housekeeper said anything, Mr. Hero nursing his cider and letting its warmth sooth his gnarled fingers, and Ravio puttering about with a kettle and mugs to share with everyone else.

 Blankets had been pulled from the shelves and were cast around quaking shoulders as chattering teeth uttered breathy thanks to the purple-robed merchant.

 There was nothing like being thanked for good service, and Ravio beamed as he passed between them.

 That smile faded however when he noticed Captain Hero Sir Jr.

 The man sat in a thin linen shirt and under-armor, looking far from being near the level of comfort that the rest did in their undershirts and pants (or a dress in Mr. Hero’s case).

 Come to think of it he’d never seen Captain Hero Sir Jr. dress in any comfortable manner since he’d come along behind Mr. Hero that first time since they’d started this adventure. Did the poor kid- er... Man, not have anything comfortable to wear?

 While the heroes slept that night, in the two bedrooms and sprawled across the couch, Ravio kept Mr. Hero comfortable, sitting before the fire with his knitting needles while Mr. Hero repaired yet more damaged clothing (poor mister Chosen Hero’s sailcloth had been damaged somehow).

 Usually, one or the other of them would eventually remind the other to go to bed, but both were so wrapped up in their work (Mr. Hero started singing even, that goddess ballad Miss. Princess told hm about) that neither seemed to remember to check the clock, or even to go to bed.

 Come morning, Ravio finds that he has fallen asleep wrapped in the tails of the scarf he’d been making, and Mr. Hero has become entangled in his mending, a peaceful smile on his face, worn fabric brushing his cheeks and spectacles teetering precariously on the tip of his nose.

 Mr. Chosen Hero is the one who wakes them up, stirring awake with a violent sneeze, but he smiles fondly when he lays eyes on them, opening his arms in an offer of a cuddle if either feels inclined to return to sleep. Neither does, but Ravio appreciates it, and even if Mr. Hero doesn’t say as much (quite the opposite really) he knows his friend does too.

 The day is normal, as far as a day with nine heroes in the house can be, and with the rain still pouring, they spend their time cleaning, although Mr. Hero shoos them all away after a time because they’re not doing it the right way (AKA Mr. Hero's very practiced manner of cleaning and organizing). It’s after Mr. Hero had shooed them all into the main room while he organizes the basement (thank goodness, it's an awful mess down there) that the talk starts.

 It’s cold out, and most of the heroes have donned the scarves they’ve been gifted over time (Ravio isn’t blushing, he’s not). Smiles shine and laughter rings as they explain to their brothers how they’d some to have them.

 “And he just... threw t at me! Not a word, not an explanation, just came up and tossed it over my shoulders.” Mr. Rancher chuckles. “Kinda like how my ma would do when I was a tot, jist wrap it up and ‘round soon as the cold weather came a’creepin’ up.”

 The others nod, smiles fond. Ravio beams as he lights the candle set near the masks on the wall.

 “I had one too once,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Muses aloud. “Back in the war, you remember, Wars?”

 “Do I ever.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir smirks. “I used to tie you up with that thing when you got too rowdy.”

 “You and the general both.” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Chuckles, soft and deep and so different from his nearly witch level cackle that Ravio remembers.

 “What ever happened to it?” He asks curiously, blowing out his match and turning to move towards the rest of the group.

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. Smiles at him, eyes far older but far more at peace than they used to be. “I outgrew it. It was a child’s scarf, even if it was a bit big at the time. I considered bringing it, but it just doesn’t do much anymore.” A thin smile pulls at his features, almost guilty as he admits “I didn’t take the best care of my clothes as a kid.”

 Well, that doesn’t matter over much. Ravio smiles at his young (old) friend, and around him he can hear the others whisper and laugh. They know what’s happening, and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Does too if the twinkle in his eyes is to be believed, so Ravio makes a point of flourishing his gift with all the fuss he can before reverently draping the garment around the tall man’s neck. The eldest hero has to stoop, even from where he’s sitting on the couch, so that Ravio can reach, but it only adds to the mock reverence as Ravio adorns another bare neck with one of his toasty scarves.

 “Mind you take care of that one,” He scolds lightly. “I was up all night making it.”

 “Yes sir.” Captain hero Sir Jr. responds with a playful smile in his eyes, even if his face is the picture of obedience.

 Giggles sound around them, and despite hating it, Ravio takes the only seat left available (he really hates that rocker) and curls up. “You all be quiet now, I’m tired and need a nap.”

 “Okay, gramps.” The sailor whispers faintly, a giggle in his tone as titters and chuckles erupt.

 Strangely, it doesn't take too long for Ravio to doze off, especially when Mr. Hero settles in beside him and starts to rock the stupid chair, humming lightly as fingers work over another project, the light buzz of activity all around them as Ravio allows himself to be carried into dreamland.

...

 Mr. Chosen Hero has caught cold.

 He’s not surprised, not with how drenched the others all were day before last, but the Skyloftian is shivering madly, miserably sniffing into handkerchiefs and trying his best to avoid drinking the nasty herbal teas that Mr. Hero claims are good for people. Ravio doesn’t care if Mr. Hero drinks them, but for pities sake, drink black tea if you’re going to drink tea! What sort of decent being are you if you’re just drinking plant water?

 “Legend, I’m serious, I don’t-” Mr. Chosen Hero breaks off coughing. “I don’t think tea will-” Another cough, nastier than the last. “I don’t think it will help.”

 “Trust me.” Mr. Hero already has a small table pulled up to Mr. Chosen Hero’s side, tea and handkerchiefs both set carefully on top. “Tea’s just what you need. Eucalyptus does wonders for a cold.”

 “He’s right.” Mr. Traveler Hero chimes in, gaze warm and sleepy as he sips some of the tea himself. “And it’s got a calming effect.”

 Mr. Hero cocks a brow. “What are you, ‘Rule, a koala?”

 No one knows what that is, except Mr. Traveler Hero, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, as Mr. Chosen Hero breaks into another coughing fit and bundles a blanket closer around his shoulders, voice hoarse when he speaks. “I wish it’d stop raining. I didn’t even realize-” A cough sounds and is followed by a sniffle. “I didn’t realize the surface got so wet.”

 And Ravio sees where this is going, the shivering hero, the gentle atmosphere. He doesn’t bother waiting for Mr. Chosen Hero to sniffle again, he just wraps a scarf around the man’s neck, tucking it in close enough to keep the heat in.

 The smile exchanged is silent, and Ravio is thankful that the others aren’t about at present to tease, only Mr. Hero and Mr. Traveler Hero are here with them, and neither says a word as they sip their leaf water.

 “I’ll make you some real tea.” He murmurs softly, offering a wink and a gentle pat to the knee before he’s off towards the kitchen.

...

 Mr. Hero doesn’t have a scarf.

 It was glaringly obvious, as whenever the rest of them appeared at the house, they'd all be wearing their Ravio gifted scarfs proudly, smiles on their faces as the ends trailed or dragged after them (despite that, they were all in perfect condition).

 But Mr. Hero didn’t have a scarf.

 He was never going to get one either.

 They’ve all just returned to the house (it’s been two months since the last visit) and the snow outside it up to Ravio’s waist in places. It took him ages to shovel himself out of the house, but the harvest of apples is in and the bees are well prepared for the winter, and Mr. Hero finally tidied the cellar enough that they have room for food storage aplenty.

 Cider and tea are brewed as the heroes gather, fluffy socks and scarves on full display as they sit around the fire.

 Mr. Hero is shivering.

 Curious glances are thrown at both himself and Mr. Hero as the heroes drink their beverage of choice, concern in their gazes as Legend eventually gets up to pull the most ridiculously bulky quilt in the entire house over his shoulders. He’s all pink in the face and he’s shaking like a leaf, and it’s only because he won’t hold still that Ravio hasn’t attempted to try and help him hold a warm mug enough for his fingers to relax.

 Mr. Hero moves like a man thrice his age, if not more, and he creaks worse than the roof does in the wind outside.

 “Where’s your scarf, vet?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs softly, one brow raised as he watches Mr. Hero fumble with the quilts edge.

 “My what?”

 Glances are exchanged among the others. “Your scarf? The one Ravio gave you?”

 “I don’t have a scarf.” Mr. Hero answers, dropping the quilt again with a scowl that makes his nose wiggle.

 “But” Cornflower blue dart between himself and his housemate. “Aren’t you two friends? How do you not already have a scarf? Even Time did!”

 “It’s a customer service thing.” Mr. Hero murmurs. “I’m already a loyal customer, so he doesn’t waste resources on trying to earn my loyalty. That, and I don’t wear purple.”

 He shakes his head, loosening his scarf as the eyes of the others twinkle, but rather than taking it off, he only loosens one end, before wrapping it tightly around his friend’s neck, fluffing up the quilt in both of their laps, and settling a warm mug of cider in Mr. Hero’s hands.

 “Nonsense!” he chirps, trying not to be hurt at the obvious surprise on his friend's face, so he muses Mr. Hero’s hair instead. “You have every item I offer except this scarf. Why would you keep buying from me if you get it? I have to keep you from having one until I get something better in, otherwise business will plummet!”

 Knowing smiles are exchanged amidst the others, but Mr. Hero just sighs and shakes his head, leaning slightly into Ravio’s side as he sips his cider.

 A bitter expression overtakes Mr. Hero’s face. “You forgot the cloves.”

 “Oh shoot!”

[lyrabythelake]

Stick Together

Legend is lost, and so very alone.

Read on AO3

CW: gore, mentions of death, just a shed-load of Legend angst

No birds sing in these woods.

It’s the thing that stands out most to Legend as he stumbles his way over fallen branches and rotting logs he cannot see, for the fog swallows his legs and the foreparts of his arms he stretches blindly out in front of him. There are no twittered conversations or scuffling of small creatures, no trickling nearby streams or even rustling leaves.

Just complete, all-consuming silence.

It’s the kind of silence that sits heavy in his chest and threatens to choke him, the kind that reminds him every second that he could not be more alone.

It’s not how it’s meant to be, he thinks desperately. Woods are places where life and nature thrives, but the trees that emerge from this ghastly fog are withered and decaying, twisting shells of what they once were. Or perhaps they have always been like this. There is no life in this place; it is a graveyard for the lost, one that threatens to bury him alongside all those who were unfortunate enough to die here, so very alone.

“Time!?” he calls, but it is half-hearted at best, his voice long hoarse from hours spent shouting the same eight names in futile hope that one of them will hear. The sound falls pitifully short, consumed by the banks of white swirling mist that cave in on all sides. He sounds small and frightened, incredibly pathetic, but he would give anything for someone, anyone to hear him.

How long has it been? he wonders. Time loses all meaning when the world around him provides no landmarks but the homogenous, gnarled faces of those mangled, warped trees that stare down at him every few steps. Time doesn’t flow in the same way when one is staring into that infinite abyss of swirling white.

His feet ache fiercely, but he cannot stop. He entered this place, so there must be an exit, there must. His mouth is so, incredibly dry and his stomach aches with hunger, his legs are weak and his ankles are splintering with pain from turning over on the uneven floor, but still he blunders forward. He has no way of knowing in which direction he is heading, every turn of his head is disorientating, every trip of his feet he is left wondering if he has just been going in circles all this time.

He has never been good at following orders, he’ll admit. Perhaps it is not so surprising that eventually it was the thing that brought his downfall.

“Stick together,” Wild had said, “and whatever you do, don’t stray from the path. This place is called the Lost Woods for a reason.”

Simple really, but the Captain had been on top form that day (is it the same day or have weeks passed without him knowing?) and after a jab that hit particularly close to home, he had stormed off in a fit of prideful rage.

None of that anger remains now, all that is left is clawing desperation and uncontrollable terror. There have been many times in his life where he thought he might die, when he had accepted that he may be nearing his last few moments in this world, but never has he felt so completely helpless about it.

This isn’t like dying in a sudden, electric explosion of a lightning strike. This isn’t like falling mid-battle, fighting for his life, sword held out in front of him until the very last second. This is slow and quiet and suffocating, it is drawn out and long-suffering, like Hylia is playing with him, torturing him before she finally ends it all.

It’s not like he deserves any better, he supposes.

A scream echoes in the distance, guttural and full of fear, like the sound of an animal crying out as they are torn limb from limb by a larger predator. Except there is no mistaking that this one is human.

“Hello?!” His breathing picks up as he clambers forward more quickly, half twisting his ankle on a tree root.

“Is anyone there?!”

Had it been a figment of his imagination? Is his worn-out mind configuring hallucinations from the ringing in his ears just so he can focus on something other than this endless white murk?

The scream sounds again, closer this time, but coming from all around him, the direction impossible to determine. But this time he hears the familiarity in it; he knows that voice, though he’s never heard it in this capacity, never heard such blatant terror held within it.

“Hyrule…” he all but whispers, his voice choked, the sound not coming out how he intended. “HYRULE!” he screams louder, his vocal cords feeling like they’re tearing under the strain. He spins around, desperately scrambling for the direction he needs to go in order to save him. But there is none. The sound had come from everywhere.

Had he gone searching for him after he had disappeared? Has he been wondering lost and alone all this time because of Legend’s stupidity? Has he met a grisly end in these woods, ripped to shreds by some wild animal, or is he lying somewhere in the mud, staring up into this boundless white mist, bleeding to death on the woodland floor in bleak agony?

“HYRULE!”

He can’t let that happen. Hyrule is too sweet, too determined, too kind, and he has already spent most of his life alone, he doesn’t deserve to die like that, he can’t die like that.

Another scream echoes out, lost to the white darkness and again, its tone is horrifyingly familiar.

“WIND!” Legend cries. There are tears streaming down his face, though he can’t remember when they started. Perhaps they have always been flowing.

Wind is so young, so hopeful and holds such promise. He told Legend only the other day how he dreams to explore every inch of the ocean, discover everything it has to offer. When he said it, he held such excitement in his big, blue eyes that Legend couldn’t even pretend not to be enthusiastic on his behalf.

“WIND! HYRULE! Where are you,” he utters miserably, those last words quieter but as much to himself as any of his pleas. His heart is banging in his chest, beating away the last stems of energy he has left within him. He dares not set out in one direction, for he might only extend the distance between him and his friends and when he finally loses his last morsel of energy, he won’t have the strength to rectify the mistake.

Another scream. Warriors. The man is like a brother to him, even if they have their disagreements. He has fought too hard in his life, he deserves a noble death, not this.

Then there is another scream, then another. Twilight, Four, Wild, Sky, their voices warped from terror and pain, so different from what he is used to them sounding like, none of them indicating any further as to where they may be located.

Legend is not holding back his sobs anymore, there is no point, no one can hear him. The mist takes his tears and draws strength from them, seeming to get ever thicker, that cruel, hypnotic swirling ever more disorientating.

Time’s voice sounds next, low and strained as if he’s trying to keep himself from screaming but fails as the pain gets the best of him.

“Time! Warriors!? PLEASE!” That last word comes out more of a scream, raw and painful, every fragment of helplessness he feels carried in its din, and he sinks to his knees. He has nothing left to give; dirt and twigs dig into his knees and shins and then his hands as he brings them too to the ground. The screams are a cacophony around him, coming from every direction, a symphony perhaps in the way they seem orchestrated to break him down until he is nothing. They are so frequent he can no longer tell them apart; it is just noise and agony and his own pathetic crying.

He wants to bring his hands to his ears, but he can’t bring himself to, for what awful kind of coward would block out their friends as they suffered. He cannot go to them, he cannot help, so he listens, and his tears fall and wet the muddied ground as he cries for his companions and all the others he could not save.

It is ridiculous now to think of all those who called him a hero when it’s clear all paths led to this moment, to him cowering on the slowly softening ground, snot dripping from his nose like a child while his friends die their endless, painful deaths.

But then the screams stop. Suddenly and all at once they cut off, and if it weren’t for the ringing in his ears and the heaviness of his face, he might have thought they never sounded at all.

They weren’t real, he thinks, they couldn’t have been. But his heart is still beating like a rabbit caught in a trap and adrenaline makes him tremble violently. The sheer disparity between the screams and the silence makes it seem like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He is waiting for something, waiting for them to start up again, perhaps worse than before.

And start up again they do, eventually, except this time, there is only one, and it is different. A jolt rips through him as if from a lightning strike, sudden and totally unpredictable at the scream that is higher in pitch than the rest and so, unbearably familiar.

Marin.

“Please, no,” he sobs, and though he knows it isn’t real now, that almost makes it worse.

He has not heard her voice in oh, so long. There have been nights where he’s lain awake trying to remember it, replaying those distant memories over and over in his mind, helpless as the picture of her gradually fades. He once would have given anything to hear her voice again, and it seems his desires have been thrown back in his face, distorted and satirical.

His heart aches as if it is tearing in two, and he truly believes it would be impossible to feel any more pain than he does in this moment.

He does move then, finally. He curls up into a ball, his back leaning against the rough, gnarled trunk of one of those dead, shadows of trees, his eyes pressed to his knees, listening to the sounds of his lost love, her sweet voice warped in excruciating pain.

There is a time during the potential hours he sits there that those screams turn to something melodic. He doesn’t know when it happened, perhaps it was too gradual to put a finger on the exact moment it changed, but the sound that reaches his ears is now a beautiful, eerie, and terribly familiar song.

It doesn’t sound like he remembers it. It’s not her voice, not really, there is an ethereal quality to it beyond the echo the woods provide and there is something strange and creepy about it. It’s a mockery of the girl he loved, and it is worse than any of the screams that came before it.

His tears stop. There are no more within him left to cry. The singing drones on and, he supposes, if he is to die here, at least he is thinking of her.

And he is. He thinks of lighthouses and gull’s cries, of falling asleep to the waves gently crashing on the shore. He thinks of the feeling of sand between his toes which he thought unpleasant at first but grew to love. He thinks of thick, red hair and the smell of strawberries and a time that brought true happiness in a way he hasn’t felt since.

There is an aching peace in those memories, so he hides in them. He lets himself be cowardly, because you know what? He’s given all that he has to play the hero, and perhaps he does deserve to die alone in the end, but in the face of it all, he’ll take back what he can.

So he gives up, lets the fog consume him.

 _______________

 “Legend!?”

He is aware, vaguely, that the singing has stopped. Aware of the ache in his head from crying and in his stomach from hunger. It is distant, but it is there, and logically, that means he’s not dead.

“Legend!?”

The voices… sirens… whatever they are haven’t given up then. Perhaps they’ll keep torturing him until the life finally leaves him completely. How cruel the world can be.

“Legend, where are you?!”

He perks up, finally bringing his face from his knees, for all the good it does. The fog is the milky white of a blinded man’s eyes.

Footsteps in the distance. The snap of twigs, desperate chatter. Maybe…

“Hello?!” Goddesses, his voice is wrecked. He’s never sounded so pitiful in his life.

“Legend! Is that you?!”

“Over here!” he cries, the small beginnings of hope blooming in his chest, despite him trying his best to smother it. Hoping never did end well for him.

“It is him!”

“Which direction did that come from?”

“This way, I’m pretty sure.”

“It’s a wonder we found anything in all this goddessdamned mist.”

“Over here, I think I see him!”

All of a sudden, a familiar face is staring into his own, worry etched into every feature, his curly brown hair wilder than usual, one cheek streaked with grime. But Hyrule is looking miraculously alive as he kneels in front of him, and this time Legend sobs in relief. He reaches out a trembling hand, the frailty of it almost sickening, and grabs a fistful of green tunic.

“You’re real?” he whispers hoarsely. It’s more a plea than a question and Hyrule’s eyes widen in something similar to shock.

“I’m real,” he tells him, watching helplessly as Legend reaches out his other hand to grab a handful of material in that one too.

“I wasn’t sure.” But he is now. Hyrule’s tunic is soft in his hands and the details of his face, the faint freckles on his skin, the green of his eyes, they’re too real to be anything else. Reality has been warped so many times for him that it’s become difficult over the years to tell what’s real and what’s not, but Hyrule is here now, and that’s as much confirmation as he’s going to get.

The others arrive, falling silent as they see Legend on the ground. He knows what a state he must look, he must have been crying for hours, but he can’t bring himself to care. The colours of their clothes are the most vibrant he’s seen for an eternity, and he turns his gaze from the Prussian blue of Warriors’ scarf to the glinting gold of Time’s chest plate like he is starving for it.

“What happened?” Time asks immediately, his voice soft but sombre.

“I thought you were dead. All of you.” Legend’s voice has almost given out completely, every syllable feels like he is ripping up the inside of his throat. There is another silence, and it seems no one knows what to say. Legend supposes the sight of him in such a vulnerable state must be a little shocking. He may not be the most stoic member of the group, but like them all, he keeps his emotions close to his chest.

“They say travellers who get lost in these woods hear the sounds of their loved ones in pain in the last moments of their life,” Wild murmurs quietly when no one says anything. His voice is muffled by the fog, but they all hear him crystal clear.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner,” Twilight says sombrely, as if it wasn’t his fault for running off in the first place. He doesn’t want apologies; he just wants to get out of this goddessforsaken woods and pretend all this never happened.

He knows that’s impossible though. The screams of those who stand in front of him unite in his mind with the strange, beautiful melody sung by the girl in his dreams. The way it echoes in his ears makes him fear it will never fade.

“Can you stand?” asks Sky, clearly sharing his desire to leave this place as soon as possible. To tell the truth, he doesn’t think he can, but he lets Hyrule haul him up, and though he wobbles palpably, he remains on his feet.

“We’ll rest as soon as we’re out of this fog,” Time tells them as they follow Wild closely. He somehow seems to know where he’s going, though Legend isn’t paying much attention to him, lost in his own relief and remnant horror.

“Let’s not come here again.” Wind’s voice is smaller than usual, containing none of its usual optimism. Legend could not agree with him more.

The atmosphere around them feels slightly strange to him. His ears still carry those Goddessawful screams and nothing feels quite normal. It is only the feeling of Hyrule by his side helping him along that assures him he’s truly been saved. But he trusts his friends, believes them to be real. And that belief is all he has.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

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The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. “Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

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The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

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August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

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Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

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August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

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August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

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August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

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【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[firstofficerwiggles]

Chapter 8: Desperately Seeking Mandos

Link to Chpt. 7, Link to Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (F and M receiving), explicit description of sex (still romantic smut though), canonical violence

Word count: ~11K

Author’s Note: This chapter took a bit longer than I originally planned, but my semester has reached its busiest time and it’s harder to carve out as much time as I’d like to write. So, thank you for being patient with me. Also, I would like to send a special thank you to @imthemandalornow​ for being an excellent source of inspiration -- you’re the best, darling. As always, thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

You sit in the passenger seat of the Razor Crest as you stare out at the blue glow of hyperspace, normally you find it pretty and rather peaceful, but today you’re sitting tense and fraught with worry. Din monitors the scanners regularly and it appears as if you have avoided detection by any Imperial vessels. Still, the feeling of unease stays with you. Din talks to you about some possible planets you could try to avoid detection, but neither of you seem very sure about what your next move should be. You’re distracted from having to decide when the comm dings with an incoming transmission.

“Princess and Mando, are you there? It’s Mistress Eira.” Her image comes in over the holo and she looks distressed.

“We’re here, Eira,” Din replies. You come over to stand close to him so you can see the holo better.

“I’m so glad to hear your voice, Mando, I was so worried for you both, something terrible has happened here,” she tells you in a serious voice. “There were ex-Imperial officers here; they killed Mistress Sigrid.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Eira,” you tell her with a heavy heart, “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No, but, honestly you shouldn’t shed any tears over Sigrid,” Eira sounds angry now, “She had some type of deal with them, apparently she was helping them find you. I’m calling to warn you.” You gasp at this news, you didn’t expect such treachery from Sigrid.

“Eira, do you know who any of the Imperials were?” You feel like you already know what her answer will be.

“Yes, the man that killed Sigrid is a Commander Kerrick Hoven, we have security footage of their interaction and then the shooting,” Eira confirms your worst fear, “I have to tell you, Princess, the man seems obsessed with you, the footage of him is unsettling, he was… talking to you, well, an image of you.”

“I’m sorry, Eira, I had no idea he was looking for me, I haven’t seen him in years and I never would have thought that I was putting anyone in danger,” Ok, technically you did know there were Imps after Din and the baby, but not you too. But who could have predicted that they’d find you on Angel One of all places?

“It isn’t your fault,” she says, “We’ve discovered that Sigrid has been in contact with the Empire for years making many underhanded backdoor deals.” Eira pauses for a moment and then says, “Listen, I’m going to send you the security footage, I think you should see what I mean about this man, you need to know what he’s like.”

“Alright, thank you, Eira, any information we can get about him will be helpful,” you say.

“Do you have any information about their ship?” Din asks Eira.

“Oh yes, I’ll send all that we have to you now,” she replies.

“Eira, thank you for helping us, you’re a true friend,” you tell her before she ends the holo.

A few minutes later, the files she promised come through. Din reviews the information for Kerrick’s light cruiser and confirms that it was the one the scanners detected as you were leaving Angel One. After he’s stored all the pertinent details about the ship, you know it’s time to see the second file.

As the holovid begins to play, you watch as Kerrick goes from an icy calm officer, to an angry bully, and then to a disturbing ex-lover. You clutch Din’s hand as you watch and you cringe in horror, as it continually gets worse. When Kerrick finishes his creepy soliloquy to your image, you feel ill.

“Oh, cyar’ika, come here,” Din stands and pulls you into his arms, “Don’t cry, my love, you’re safe here with me.”

You didn’t even realize there were tears streaming down your cheeks until he says that. You let your arms come around him tightly and you try to even out your breathing. Din rubs your back and murmurs soothing words to you and slowly you feel yourself calm down. With your face still pressed against him, you say,

“I had no idea Kerrick still thought about me, let alone that his feelings for me have become so twisted, ugh and he still calls me his ‘doll’, I always hated that, even when we were a couple… I can’t believe we ever were,” your voice shows your disgust.

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep him from you,” Din pledges to you.

“I know that you will, Din,” you murmur against his chest. You hear a sad little coo and look over to the child who is looking back at you with teary eyes.

“Oh sweetie,” you say, and you go over to him, pick him up, and hold him tight to your chest, “I’ll be alright,” you look back to Din, “We’re all going to be alright,” you promise.

“Maybe you should take him downstairs and try to get some more rest?” Din suggests his voice full of concern, “I’ll reach out to my contacts and work on finding us our next destination.”

You’re feeling exhausted and so you pull Din into a hug with you and the little one, before heading down the ladder and crawling into your bed. You don’t bother to put the child in his hammock and instead let him cuddle up next to you. You rub his back as you watch his tiny face and see as he slowly drifts off to sleep. Eventually your own eyes start to feel heavy and you fall asleep too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frustrated, Din ends another holocall without much to show for it. He’s been at this for almost two hours now and he still has no idea where to go, or what the best course of action will be. He knows he needs to be more patient, he’s made the calls for assistance and now he has to see what comes from them. Still though, the churning in his gut keeps him far from patience and instead brings him doubt and worry. It doesn’t help that he can still hear Kerrick’s disgusting words in his ear, calling you his ‘doll’ and promising to rid you of the ‘vile Mandalorian’. He’d never wanted to shoot someone through a holopad before, but as he watched that holovid his fingers were itching to pull out his blaster. When you first told him about Kerrick, Din had thought about tracking the man down, thinking maybe he’d help you get a little revenge on the man who broke your heart and betrayed you. Later, he realized that was just a silly fantasy to make himself feel important to you, but once Din understood how much you’d come to care for him, he had stopped thinking about your ex-lover altogether.

Din sighs, rolling his neck and stretching the muscles there. He’s wishing he could go down and join you in some sleep for a few hours, when the holo dings.

“Din Djarin, I hope you are well,” he hears as the Armorer’s image glimmers into view, “Word has reached me that you are being pursued once again by Imperial forces.”

“Yes, that is correct, I am seeking shelter for a few days to formulate a plan,” Din replies.

“The Covert has regrouped and joined with another,” the Armorer tells him, “You will join us here and we will assist you in your strategy.”

“I- I do not wish to endanger the Covert, I should not come to you,” Din responds, his tone regretful as he remembers all that the Covert has sacrificed already on his behalf.

“By its very nature the Covert is always in danger, it is a fact that we accept,” she states calmly, “We are gar vode, your brethren, and we welcome you in your time of need. We are always here for you. This is the way.”  

“This is the way.” Din responds and he enters the coordinates she gives him into the nav. As he does this, he tells her about you and the latest trouble that has managed to find you both. Din feels comforted by the Armorer’s genuine interest in you as he tells the story, and he greatly appreciates her willingness to help you.

Feeling a sense of relief Din after his conversation with the Armorer ends, he switches on the autopilot and heads downstairs. When he sees you and the child sleeping so soundly, Din feels a sense of contentment wash over him. As he snuggles up next to you in the bed, he knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe and that it will be worth it no matter the cost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Din explains that you’re heading to his Covert, you feel reassured at first because you know how formidable your Mandalorian is and you can’t think of safer place to be than surrounded by a whole group of them. Nonetheless, it dawns on you that this is Din’s family that you’ll be meeting and you find yourself wishing that you were getting to meet them under better circumstances. You also start to feel a tad nervous about making a good first impression.

The Covert is currently located on Dol’har Hyde, a planet almost entirely covered in dense forests. When you land in a clearing that is just large enough for the Razor Crest, you wonder if the coordinates were correct because you can’t see any type of settlement or structures of any kind. You follow Din down a narrow forest path listening to the birds singing and enjoying the natural beauty of the place. It’s soothing and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the planet was uninhabited. The further you go down the path, the thicker the forest becomes and it seems as if you are walking in twilight as the multitude of leaves above you block out more and more of the sun’s rays. Finally, the path appears to end and you see the opening of a cave.

“This is it,” Din says, and you look up to see a small carving of a mythosaur in the stone entrance. You get no more than five steps into the dark cavern when two Mandalorians appear out of nowhere asking you to identify yourselves with blasters raised. Different from Din, their armor is decorated with paint, one in orange and the other in blue. Once they recognize Din, they lower their weapons and greet you.

“Welcome home, Djarin,” the Mando in blue says as he thumps Din’s pauldron in greeting, “Still getting into trouble I see.”

“Vizsla, still a pain in the ass I see,” Din replies curtly.

“I’m afraid the trouble is my fault,” you speak up, not wanting Din to take the blame for your past catching up to you.

“Well hello,” Blue Mando welcomes you with a pleasant tone, “The Armorer mentioned Djarin was bringing someone with him, who knew you’d be so pretty.”

His compliment surprises you, and you stutter out, “O-Oh, thank you.”

Din makes a grunting sound as he places his hand on your lower back and steers you past the two guards, “We’re going to see the Armorer now,” he informs them.

“I’ll take you to see her,” Orange Mando offers.

“Thank you,” Din responds.

“I guess I’ll see you later then, pretty one, you too, Djarin,” the Blue Mando chuckles as you walk deeper into the cave.

As your eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of the cave’s passageway you can see that there are drawings on the walls, many featuring Mandalorian helmets. They look like they could be children’s sketches given the simplicity and the height of most of them. It makes you smile, knowing that you’ll be somewhere with families, maybe your own little one will be able to make a few friends while you’re here. Eventually, you can hear the sounds of other people and when the passage opens up to a large room in the cave you see a comforting and homey site.

This part of the cavern has a small pool in the middle and it creates a beautiful soft glow as the water reflects back the artificial lights that have been arranged throughout the space. Around the room, there are small groups of people chatting with each other, playing sabacc, helping children with schoolwork, polishing armor, and performing all sorts of small domestic tasks. It makes you smile to yourself. Everyone here wears helmets, including the children, and all of the adults wear armor too. You notice a few helmets turning towards you as you move past the groups and you wonder if you must seem odd to them with your face uncovered.

There is a second passageway on the other side of the room and you follow Orange Mando down this next path. As you walk, you can feel a hot wind run through the tunnel and you hear a metallic clanking in an almost rhythmic pattern. The noise grows louder and soon you reach a warm room where the Armorer is working. You are mesmerized by her striking golden helmet and the graceful but powerful movements she makes as she forges a piece of beskar armor. When she sees Din, the child, and you, she pauses in her work and nods in your direction. Din motions for you to sit on a stone bench and the three of you sit patiently as she finishes her work.

“I see your foundling is doing well,” the Armorer comments, “And this is the caregiver.” She looks over at you and you offer her a smile and a nod. She rests her tools on her workbench and comes over to you. Din stands and you mirror his movement. The Armorer offers you her hand and welcomes you to the Covert.

“Din Djarin tells me that you are a very special woman, it is clear you have been a positive influence in his life.” The Armorer speaks in such a deliberate way that you feel honored to hear such praise from her.

“Thank you, I’ve tried to do my best to help him and we’ve grown very close, but I feel such regret that it’s my fault we’re in trouble now,” you admit to her and you know your face shows the guilt you’re feeling.

“It isn’t your fault,” Din corrects you, “You have no control over Kerrick’s actions.”

“Din is correct,” the Armorer affirms his statement, “You are not responsible for the actions of an evil man who seeks to control you. We will do all that we can to assist you. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Din repeats.

“Thank you, I am beyond grateful for your help, and for making me welcome with your tribe,” you tell her.

“You are welcome,” she responds, “I must ask now though to speak to Din alone with the other members of our tribe, if you do not mind.”

“Of course.”

You hear footsteps behind you and you see that several other Mandalorians have joined you. Several of them give you a nod in greeting in your direction and a woman with purple armor steps forward.

“I can take you and the child to the place where you’ll be staying while you’re here,” she offers. You turn to follow her, but before you can, Din reaches out to give your hand a squeeze and says, “I’ll find you later, cyar’ika.”

Din watches you leave and then turns back to the Armorer, feeling a little nervous now that he is alone with her and those who remain in their tribe. His own feelings of guilt rise within him as he looks around the room and realizes how few their numbers have become.

In a low voice full of shame and remorse he says, “I am sorry for Nevarro. I can never thank you enough for helping me and the child, but I--”

“Have nothing to apologize for,” Paz interrupts him in a gravelly voice laden with emotion. Din turns his head toward him in surprise.

“We were honored to help you and we would make the same choice again,” a female member of the tribe speaks up.

“It was our duty and our privilege to fight alongside of you in Nevarro,” another tribe member says.

“You are ner vod, an important member of our tribe and we are here for you,” yet another person tells him.

One by one each tribe member speaks up to reassure Din of his place in the tribe and to express that none of them hold him responsible for the attack on the Covert in Nevarro. His eyes fill with tears and he can feel them slowly gliding down his face in response to their acceptance and love for him. He’s felt so disconnected from the tribe since being forced to flee but being with them here now, and hearing their words of support makes him feel like part of a family again. It is so much more than he could have asked for and it means everything to him.

“Th-thank you,” Din chokes out when the last person has spoken, he wants to say more but his emotions are causing a tightness in his throat and it’s all he can get out now.

“Now, let us discuss the threat against your companion,” the Armorer says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Purple Mando leads you to a small room with modest furnishings where you are able to stow your bag of belongings. She asks if you want to rest, but you tell her that you’d rather spend time with the others if that’s alright.

“I know that little one would love a chance to run around a bit too and maybe play with some other children, if he can,” you suggest.

“That sounds like a nice idea, and you can meet some of my tribe members.” Her voice has a pleasant tone and her friendly demeanor puts you at ease.

When you’re back in the larger cavern that seems to serve as the common room for the Covert, she introduces you to a group of her friends.

“Look at your little foundling, what a cutie he is,” one of the women coos at the kiddo.

“He’s a sweetie,” another one says, “He’s welcome to go play with the other children, here, I’ll introduce him to my two boys.”

“Thank you,” you reply and you put the child down so he can toddle over to the other little children who are playing with blocks. “Be sure to share, buddy,” you call after him.

“Oh, is he in the ‘mine’ phase?” Purple Mando asks you.

“It’s hard to tell really, it’s more that he doesn’t have much time to spend with other children so he’s used to all the toys being his,” you explain.

“Ah, I see, well I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” she says in a reassuring manner.

“So, will you tell me a little about your tribe? I’ve only ever met the one Mandalorian.” You’re really curious to know more about their way of life.

“Sure, we’re happy to tell you anything you want to know.” Her friends make positive sounds and nod their heads in agreement. “But you also have to be sure to tell us all about you and your Mandalorian,” she says with a small chuckle.

You agree with a smile, and the women proceed to tell you about the tribe. They’ve been here in this Covert for quite some time now. On the other side of the cavern system there is a settlement where they can go for various necessities. Unlike Nevarro, there is less threat here so they are able to leave the Covert in small groups. The adults in the tribe have one of four principle jobs. The protectors assist with guarding the Covert and training the others in fighting techniques. The hunters are responsible for bringing in fresh meat from the surrounding forest. The crafters make weapons, vibroblades and other knives in particular, that they sell to help earn income for the tribe. Finally, the caregivers are responsible for the domestic tasks including maintaining a large garden to grow food for the tribe. There are also a few members who have special jobs like the tribe’s two healers, the Armorer, and the beroya, a bounty hunter, like Din.

“Although we hear your beroya is more skilled than ours,” one of the women says, hinting a little at the subject of Din.

“Well, he isn’t one to brag, but he always seems to be successful in catching his quarry, at least as far as I’ve seen,” you explain but you can’t keep a note of pride out of your voice.

“His tribe has only been with us for a few months, but we have heard stories about him,” Purple Mando tells you, “And they were very pleased to hear that you were coming to stay with him for a bit.”

“Really?” This surprises you because you wouldn’t have believe that Din’s tribe would give too much thought to you seeing as they’ve never met you.

“Mmhmm, yes, apparently he’s never been serious about a woman before, so they’re all wondering if he’s finally ready to settle down,” she laughs lightly as she says this and tips her helmet in your direction.

“Oh I- I don’t know about that,” you stumble over your words a bit, feeling flustered at the implication, “He um hasn’t said… I mean, I wouldn’t assume anything… I-”

“Don’t let her tease you,” another woman pipes up, “She’s a hopeless matchmaker.”

“Oh c’mon, what can I say, I just adore love and a riduurok,” Purple Mando giggles.

“What’s a riduurok?” you ask.

“A marriage ceremony,” she tells you, “When two people become each other’s riduur, or spouse.”

“Well, I appreciate learning new words in Mando’a,” you say with a chuckle, “But I don’t think there’s going to be a riduurok any time soon, unless one of you are getting married this week?”

The women laugh with you and you feel a contentment that you haven’t felt in days, it feels like you can let your guard down with them. As much as you enjoy spending time with Din, you’ve missed having friends. The afternoon passes quickly as the women fill you in on the gossip in the tribe and you watch the child playing happily with the other kids.

When Din returns to your side with several members of his tribe, he introduces you to many of them although all without names as per their tradition so you continue to refer to them in your mind by the colors of their armor. Even though some of the colors are repeated, the patterns of the paint vary sufficiently that you can easily tell everyone apart.

One woman with pink armor seems very chatty and interested in you. She asks you all about your work with languages.

“Oh, how did you know about that?” you ask surprised.

“Din told us of course,” she says pleasantly, “He’s very sweet on you and talked at length about your many accomplishments while we were catching up.” As she comments on Din’s affectionate side, she nudges him slightly with her elbow and it’s clear she’s teasing him. It’s cute and it reminds you of the way you used to tease your brother about girls.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you whisper conspiratorially to her, “I’m sweet on him too.” You hear Din let out a chuckle at that and he rests his hand on your knee. He’s relaxed here in a way you’ve not seen before and it’s nice.

“Oh, but yes, languages have always intrigued me, I love figuring out how they work and learning about new ones,” you explain, “I’ve even learned several words in Mando’a today.”

“Which ones?” Pink is curious to know.

“Well, beroya, talking about Din, of course,” you say with a smile, “And then a few related to families, ad’ika, aliit, and buir, oh and then riduur and riduurok too.” You’re just happy you remembered all the new words.

“Hmm, riduur and riduurok, talking more about Din, I suppose?” she giggles.

“Oh! No! I- I didn’t mean in reference to him, it- it just came up…” you trail off embarrassed to have implied such a thing. You’re thankful that Din is deep in conversation with one of the other men and doesn’t appear to have heard that.

“Don’t worry, I’m only playing,” Pink reassures you, “I’m just so happy with my own riduur. It’s only been eight months and I’m already expecting.” She tells you this excitedly and places a hand on her lower abdomen tenderly where you can see a small baby bump.

“Congratulations!” you beam at her with delight, “That’s so exciting.” You ponder her news for a moment and then ask, “What’s it like? Being pregnant, I mean? I’ve always been curious.”

“Well, at first I just felt really tired and I could throw up at a moment’s notice,” she explains, “But now, I’m further along and I just feel really happy and excited. Plus my riduur is just so proud and happy too.” She points to a man in black armor. Then she leans in closer to you and drops her voice low as she whispers, “And honestly, the sex has never been better. You’d think he was trying to get me pregnant twice.”

You laugh merrily along with her, not realizing that you’re drawing Din’s attention back to you when you pipe up to say, “I’ve always fantasized about being pregnant, it seems like such a special time, knowing that a new life is growing within you.” Your face takes on a dreamy, wistful look as you say this to her. But then thinking about your reality, you say, “I guess it’s just a far-off wish, but it’s fun to dream about it.”

Din’s helmet snaps to look directly at you when you say this, and, as it turns out, so do several other curious helmets. Something deep inside Din’s chest pulses with a desire to make your wish come true. Suddenly he can see what you would look like round and swollen with his child, the beautiful glow you would have, the tender way you would look at him when he’d caress your belly, and so much more. He wants to say something, anything to you, but he can’t think of the right words, especially not in front of so many people. Happy giggles from you and your new friend distract him from these thoughts.

Pink giggles at your statement and then leans in to stage whisper, “You should be careful saying that around a bunch of Mandalorians, one of them might take you up on it and put a baby in you tonight.”

Her statement is rather blunt, but it just makes you laugh along with her. After the stress you’ve been under all day, you’re enjoying making a new friend and just giggling along with her. As nervous as you were about meeting Din’s tribe, you are so thankful to be here now.

“So Djarin, your woman wants a baby,” Paz ribs Din, “You know if you’re not up to the task, I’d be more than happy to oblige her.”

“Shut up, di’kut,” Din mutters at him.

“Vizsla has a point; she is a beauty, I’m surprised you’re not trying harder,” another guy sitting next to him gets in on the teasing.

“Not you too,” Din replies and gives the guy a shove.

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves, get to know her,” Paz says cheekily, then walks over closer to where you’re seated. “Hey, mesh’la, how are you doing this evening?” he nods his helmet in your direction.

“I’m pretty sure he means you,” Pink snickers.

Not wanting to be impolite, you smile kindly as you answer, “I’m having a nice time; everyone has been so welcoming.”

“That’s good; we all want you to feel welcome.” He props his knee up on a rock formation and then leans his arm down on it so he can be closer to where you are. “Maybe later you’d like a nice tour of the caverns? I know some really nice spots.”

Din stands up at this and positions himself between you and Blue Mando, “You want to ask her that again, Vizsla?”

“I dunno, maybe she’d rather see some Mandalorian sparring? Let her see how a real man fights,” Paz jeers at Din.

“Why not? I’m sure she’d enjoy watching me kick your ass.” Din taunts back.

“Whoa, guys, there’s no need for this,” you try to interrupt, but the air is thick with tension and testosterone. This seems to be an older dispute, and you’re just a convenient spark to reignite the flames of the argument. You’re worried that they might actually start fighting when the child comes to your rescue.

The little guy toddles over carrying a big piece of paper in his claws. He wants to show Din and you a picture that he’s drawn.

“Hi, buddy!” You purposely step between Din and Blue Mando to reach down and pick him up. “What do you have here?”

It’s a drawing of a stick figure family with flowers and what looks to be frogs surrounding them. One of the figures has a helmet-shaped head, another has hair that looks a lot like yours, and the third little figure has big green ears, so it’s clear that he’s drawn his own little family of Din, you, and himself.

“This is so good, buddy,” Din tells him and then he leans over to pat the kid on the head.

“You did so great, kiddo!” You say enthusiastically, feeling a bit relieved too. You lean in and kiss the child on the forehead, and then whisper, “Good job calming down your papa too.” He coos at you in his happy way and you could swear he understands everything you say to him.

Just then, a soft gonging sound rings out across the cave. You watch as the other children scramble back towards their parents and little groups begin to funnel out of the room.

“What’s happening?” you ask Pink.

“It’s time for the evening meal. The food is prepared collectively, and each family goes to collect their portion before heading to their private quarters to eat. Follow me and we’ll get you three all set up.”

You follow her and the rest of the Mandalorians towards another large room with a buffet of food. It all smells delicious and you didn’t realize how hungry you’d become. The child starts wiggling in anticipation when he sees the feast before him. He starts making little whiny sounds and grabby hands towards the dishes.

“It’s ok, sweetie,” you tell him, “We’ll get our food very soon, I promise.”

Din moves forward to begin collecting your dinner and he quickly scoops up a bun that had started to mysteriously float upward and hands it to the child so he won’t get too fussy. “Don’t get too impatient, kiddo,” he says gently reproaching the child.

You retreat to your appointed room with your meal and once you make sure the child can’t peek over at Din, you’re able to enjoy the food. For a while, you simply eat in a comfortable silence. There’s been so much going on today, it’s nice to be here where it’s more tranquil and you have a moment to yourselves that doesn’t feel as stressful as early in the day.

“I’ve really enjoyed meeting everyone here, they’re so caring and nice,” you tell Din, “Pink and Purple did a great job of introducing me to lots of people and teaching me about the Covert.”

“Pink and Purple?” He asks, confused.

“Oh, well, I don’t know anyone’s names so I’ve just been referring to them by the color of their armor in my head, Pink, Purple, Orange, Blue, you know?”

Din laughs at this and says, “You’re so adorable, cyar’ika.”

“Thanks, darling,” you say laughing a little with him, it is rather funny, “Seriously, I’ve felt so safe and at home here, even though it’s only been a few hours.”

“It makes me happy to hear you say that, cyar’ika,” he responds, “I hope you don’t mind but I told my tribe a lot about you, I wanted them to know how hard you’ve worked to take care of the child and keep him safe.”

You feel a fluttery sensation in your chest at his words, “I’m honored that you wanted to tell them about me.”

“Of course I wanted to,” Din says, “You’re very important to me.”

“You’re important to me too, Din,” you admit softly, trying not to get too choked up as you share your feelings with him. You hear him come closer to you and then he’s placing his arms around you, hugging you to his chest. His helmet is still off and you can feel him nuzzle his face into your neck and hair.

You sit like that for a while, just enjoying the closeness; you’re holding the child in your arms and Din is holding you in his. After a bit, you start to rock the child a little and hum a little song to him. He’s had a long day after running around with the other children and now that his belly is full, you can see he’s getting drowsy. As his big eyes start to blink longer and longer, you get up to put him in his little pod for the night. When you close it, you can feel Din has followed you and is standing right behind you.

“I have something for you,” he says, his voice a little gruff, but modulated so you know he’s wearing the helmet again. You turn and face him and you see he’s holding out a small leather pouch for you to take.

You smile broadly at him, “A gift for me?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

You untie the strings of the pouch and reach inside to pull out a necklace with a heart pendant made of beskar. It glimmers in the light and you can see there is a mythosaur skull imprinted on the heart. You hold it up and smile, touched by the gesture.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Din,” you breathe out in delight, “Thank you so much. Will you help me put it on?”

You hand him the necklace and then turn away so he can clasp it at the nape of your neck. He tries to do it first with his gloves on, but then you hear him mutter, “Kriffing gloves,” followed by some shuffling before you feel his bare fingers against your skin as he finally secures the clasp for you.

“How does it look?” You ask him.

“Beautiful, just like you,” he says, before adding, “It’s made from a piece of my armor.”

“It is?” you gasp a little, “So it’s like I’m wearing a little piece of you?”

“Mmhmm,” he nods.

“Then I love it even more,” you tell him truthfully. “If I close my eyes, can I thank you with a kiss?”

“Absolutely,” Din says. You let your eyes flutter closed and then you feel his lips on yours, kissing you softly and slowly. It’s so sweet and romantic, you feel like you want to swoon. His tongue comes out to brush lightly against your bottom lip and you open your mouth letting him deepen the kiss. You pull him closer to you, running your hand up into his hair as you tug lightly and shift against him to position yourself to an even better angle. This rouses something in Din and he kisses you more passionately as his hands run down your back to your hips before pulling you flush to his body. After a bit he breaks away from your lips, only so he can trail kisses down your neck and throat, traveling further down until he kisses your chest right above the pendant.

“I’m glad you love the necklace,” Din says and you can feel his breath on your chest as his fingers lightly play with the pendant, “It… it means a lot to me, giving this to you means I feel attached to you… it means that you have my heart.”

“Oh, Din,” your voice fills with emotion, “You have my heart too.”

“Then I don’t need anything else in the galaxy, cyar’ika.” After those sweet words, Din moves back up to give you another scorching kiss.

When he pulls away this time, he rests his forehead on yours and asks, “Did you think to grab the sleep mask before we left?”

You giggle a little at that and say, “Yes, I did. It’s in the outside pouch of my bag.”

He kisses you again, “Can I get it?”

“Yes, but, do you think it will be ok with the little one right in the room with us? I mean I know he’s in his pod…” you trail off, really wanting things to continue but a little torn given the sleeping accommodations tonight.

“His pod is soundproofed, but I’m sure we can be quieter if we try,” Din replies, “But if you’re not comfortable with that, we can just sleep.”

“Well, if you think we can be quieter,” you reply honestly, “I’d rather keep going.”

“Me too,” Din says and in almost an instant, he’s back by your side slipping the mask over your eyes and kissing you soundly again.

“Cyar’ika, can I undress you?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you respond. Gently, Din removes each piece of your clothing. He is unhurried as he reveals more of you to him, almost as if you’re a present and he’s savoring the unwrapping. When he reveals a patch of skin, he pauses to kiss you there, sometimes letting his hot tongue slip out and taste you. Each time he does it, you melt a little more into his touch. When you’re completely naked, he guides you to the bed so you can lie back. He kisses your lips one more time before telling you, “Let me remove my clothing now, I’ll be just a bit.”

You wait in anticipation, and when you hear him moving closer to the bed again, you’re surprised when you feel him kissing your toes.

“Din!” you yelp in surprise.

“Shh, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, “We’re supposed to be quieter.”

“You surprised me,” you explain, but in a softer voice this time.

You feel his lips again on your feet as he starts to kiss his way to your ankle and then up your calf. He’s gradually parting your legs as he works his way up higher and higher. You can guess his destination as he places a kiss high up on your inner thigh, but then you’re surprised again when he pulls away. When you feel him kissing your other foot, you realize he’s repeating the whole process on the other leg this time. He’s taking his time kissing and tasting your skin, and it feels so good that it’s turning you on more than you can believe. This time when Din gets to your inner thigh, you’re trembling in anticipation. As he lingers, you can’t take it anymore and you start to beg him.

“Din, please,” you whine out so softly it’s almost a whimper.

“Do you want more, cyar’ika?” he says against your skin and he lets his tongue caress the very top of your thigh. It’s so good, but it’s still too far away.

“Yes, please, higher.” This time it is a whimper and you don’t even care just so long as it gets him to finally kiss and lick where you need him most.

“Well, when you ask so nicely…” Din finally brings his tongue to your pussy and licks a path from the bottom all the way up to the very top where he places a kiss directly on your clit.

You let out a soft mewling sound and he says, “Was that better?”

“Please, more,” you manage to get out in a breathy voice.

“Anything for you, cyar’ika,” Din says before licking you again in the same deliberate manner. He keeps this up, licking in long strokes but very slowly, driving you completely crazy with desire. You start to try to grind your hips against his tongue but his hands come up to hold you still.

“You’re so eager,” he chuckles, “But be patient, my love; I’ll make it good for you.” With that comment, he pushes his tongue inside you as his fingers come up to draw light circles around your clit. It feels incredible and you let out a shaky moan as he finally starts to give you more. His tongue and his lips start to explore you in earnest, tasting and sucking on your most sensitive parts, turning you into a moaning mess. It an attempt to be quieter, you hold your hand up to your mouth to muffle the sounds because you just can’t stop making them.

“Mmm, that’s a sound I like to hear,” Din says between licks, “Reminds me of when you were first on the ship with me, late at night, I’d hear you trying to be quiet as you touched yourself.”

“You heard that?” you manage to gasp out, you’d be a little embarrassed but considering where his head is now, you don’t care.

“Yes, and I lived for it,” he tells you before diving back in and picking up his pace. You keen up into his mouth as he sucks hard on your clit, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste, and you feel your thighs starting to quake. When he pushes two fingers deep inside you, you can feel yourself starting to tighten around them. Your pleasure builds and just when it seems like you can’t take anymore, you feel yourself coming apart all over his face and hand.

You’re still panting when he makes his way up your body and then pulls you into another passionate kiss. His enthusiasm for you is humbling, but truthfully, you feel the same way, like you can never get enough of him. You break the kiss to move down his body now; you place hot, open-mouthed kisses all down his torso. You stop at both of his nipples to tease them with your tongue and nip at them lightly. Now it’s his turn to moan as you let your hands and mouth guide you lower and lower.

“Where are you g-going, cyar’ika?” Din grounds out, his voice stuttering as your tongue delves into his navel.

“Mmmm, can’t you guess, my love?” And with that, you let your mouth envelope the head of his cock and swirl your tongue all around it. Din lets out a loud groan that is almost a whine and you smile to yourself.

“Now who needs to be quiet?” you tease before returning to let your tongue caress his shaft all over with long, wet licks.

“Aaaahhh, just feels so fucking good,” Din breathes out, his voice low.

“I’m going to make you feel amazing,” you promise, and you return to the head, rubbing your tongue across the sensitive spot just underneath before sucking him into your mouth. You go about halfway down this time before pulling off him again. You return to taunting him with licks, this time running your tongue over his balls before you resume sucking him. You repeat this teasing process, each time sucking him deeper into your mouth until you start to hum to open your throat as you begin to reach his base. When you finally take all of him, he’s practically shuddering at the sensation. You take pity on him and instead of continuing to tease, you hollow your cheeks and begin to glide up and down, showing him how much you want to please him, wanting to give him the same intense pleasure he brought you a few moments ago. You can hear him doing his best to muffle his moans as he shakes and writhes underneath you. You can tell he’s trying not to thrust into your mouth, but he can’t help bucking his hips a little and when he does, it causes your throat to constrict around him increasing his enjoyment. You can tell he’s starting to get very close, but before you can get him there, he’s pushing you away.

“No, no, wait, I… I don’t want to yet…” Din gasps.

“Are you sure? I wanted you to finish in my mouth,” you explain, still eager to resume.

Din groans a little, but moves to haul you back up against him, “If I do that right now, I don’t think I’ll be able to make love to you anymore tonight, and I want that more.”

“Oh, Din,” your voice catches a little, “I do want you to keep making love to me, but sometime, I want you to let me finish you with my mouth.”

“Yes, sometime,” he kisses you to seal the promise. Din rolls you onto your side so that your back is flush against his chest, “I want to take you like this, cyar’ika,” he says. His hands are already maneuvering your legs so he can slide himself between them, and then you feel his steely erection rubbing deliciously between your folds.

“Yes, Din… aaah, like this is perfect.” Your breath hitches in your chest as he positions himself to enter you.

“Tell me,” he says.

You reach back to cradle his head with your hand and bring him closer to you, “Take me like this, Din, I want you… I need you.”

With that, he thrusts into you in one swift motion causing all the breath in your body to push out in a gasp. As he moves within you, he winds his arm around you tight holding you close against his chest. It’s like there’s no space between you at all. His mouth attaches itself to your neck where he’s biting and sucking a new mark into your skin. You can feel him everywhere and it’s overwhelming in the best way.  It doesn’t take long for you to feel the stirring of your climax again and you start to struggle to stay quiet. In this position, every thrust hits on your most pleasurable spot deep inside you and it’s taking all that you have not to scream out Din’s name. You know he must be getting closer to his peak too, as he’s also starting to groan and grunt more.  

“Are you close, cyar’ika?” Din asks you desperately and he drops his hand to your clit to rub fast circles there. All you can get out is a whimper and a shaky breath, as you start to feel the waves of your orgasm lapping at you. Din doubles his efforts and starts to beg you, “Please, cyar’ika, please… I’m so close… want you to come first… need you to… oooh, please.”

Hearing him plead with you like that is all you need to send you over the edge and almost as soon as your inner muscles begin to flutter around him, Din is following right along with you. He holds you as tight as he possibly can as he pumps himself into you and bites down on your shoulder to keep himself from crying out. You’re so stunned by the sensation you feel like you might black out from the pleasure. You’re shuddering from little aftershocks of bliss when Din starts to speak to you again but he’s speaking in Mando’a and you can’t fully understand what he’s saying.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika,” he says reverently and turns you towards him so he can kiss you fully.

When he breaks the kiss, he speaks again, only this time in Basic, “I love you, my sweetheart.”

Your heart skips a beat and then you tell him, “I love you too, Din.” His lips find yours again in the sweetest, most tender kiss.

When you break apart the next time, you ask him, “Will you say it in Mando’a again?” He does and you carefully repeat it back to him. You barely get the last syllable out and he’s kissing you again, as if he can never kiss you enough. You kiss him back fervently trying to pour all of your love into it, wanting him to understand just how much you love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two days pass pleasantly in the Covert. Din feels pleased that you fit in so well with everyone and it warms his heart to see how eager you are to learn more about his culture. It fills him with a new hope for the future, and he lets himself daydream about being able to return to the tribe permanently with you. Still though, Din can’t ignore the danger that you’re in and each hour that passes makes him anxious that the Imps could be headed here right now. In discussing the predicament with his tribe, Din was able to come up with a plan to keep you on the move and, hopefully, to find a stronger Covert that could help you defeat Kerrick. While his tribe and the others in this new Covert offered up their fighters, Din refused to accept based on their already reduced numbers. Now each moment that passes, his unease at being caught builds. It’s on this third evening, that he brings up his worries with you.

“I think we should leave tomorrow,” Din suggests, and you can hear the concern in his voice.

“You don’t think we’re safe here?” You’d been feeling so much better since arriving, that you’d hoped you’d be able to stay longer.

“It isn’t that-- I… I don’t think we’re safe anywhere, really,” he pauses and looks down at the ground when he says, “I’m worried that if we stay any longer, I’m endangering the Covert again, like Nevarro.”

You know all about Nevarro now as the other night the Armorer and the rest of Din’s tribe spoke about it, wanting both you and the other Mandalorians to understand more about that part of their history, and as a way of honoring those who lost their lives during the battle. Din was very quiet though as the story was being told, opting to simply grip your hand tightly and listen. You could tell that he still felt responsible for the loss of the Nevarro Covert, despite his tribe’s endeavors to show everyone that only the Imperial forces were to blame.

“I understand,” you reassure Din, “We can leave tonight if you think we should, it won’t take long to get our things together.”

“Can we? I think it would be the best option.” You can hear a note of relief in his voice as you agree with him and let him know that you’ll start packing right away.

“I just need to speak to the Armorer again,” Din tells you, “I shouldn’t be too long.”

When he finds the Armorer at her forge, she appears to have been expecting him. He doesn’t know how she does it, but it’s almost as if she can anticipate his thoughts, it’s always been that way with her. He wonders for a moment if she might share some of the child’s powers.

“Din Djarin, I have the pieces you have requested,” she speaks in her carefully measured voice.

“Thank you, I appreciate that you’ve worked to complete them so quickly for me,” he responds and watches as she moves to collect two small leather pouches. When he opens the first, he pulls out another beskar pendant; this time it is a mudhorn, the exact match to the one on his pauldron. The second pouch contains three rings, one is a ring of yours that Din swiped from your jewelry collection, and the other two are matching bands of beskar, one in the same size as your ring and the other sized to fit his own finger.

“I see that she wears the heart pendant with joy,” the Armorer tells him, and then asks, “When will you ask her to join your clan?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Din admits a bit bashfully, “But I want to be prepared to ask her when the time is right.”

“You have the blessing of the tribe, if you should want it,” she declares to him, “Your woman has mandokarla and we will always welcome her.”

“Thank you, that means so much to me,” Din replies gratefully.

“You have decided to leave us,” the Armorer states, again already seeming to know his thoughts before he shares them.

“Yes, I think it is for the best.” His voice can’t contain its concern, but he knows she understands as she nods to him.

“You must do what is best for your clan. This is the way,” she confirms.

“This is the way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later and you’re back in hyperspace. You’ve been following the plan that Din’s tribe helped him design, stopping at some remote outposts in hopes of finding other Mandalorians. So far, the information the Covert shared with Din has been reliable and you both feel confident in your efforts. A sudden pinging on the dash draws Din’s attention and he sees that a transmission is coming in.

“Brother, we heard you are seeking assistance,” a strong voice speaks out into the cockpit, but no holo accompanies it.

“That depends on who’s offering,” Din responds carefully.

“Our Covert has heard that you need warriors to battle against some Imps,” the voice says, “We are willing to help you in that endeavor.”

“How did you come to hear that?” Din questions the voice.

“We are in communication with many other Coverts, and heard of your needs through our contacts,” the voice explains.

Din stays quiet as he thinks; the caller’s explanation seems logical but trusting a disembodied voice also seems a bit naïve. He continues to hesitate in his response when the voice speaks again.

“We also have information about where you can find the Jedi.”

“What are your coordinates?” Din asks, his mind made up. If they know about the Imperials and the Jedi, then they must have spoken to his Covert.

“We’re transmitting them now,” the voice informs him.

“Thank you, for being willing to help us,” Din says graciously.

“Ibic mando’kar,” the voice states.

“This is the way,” Din replies before ending the call.

As soon as the transmission is cut off, you speak up, “Do you think they’re the Mandalorians we’ve been searching for?”

“They must be, I know they’re an older sect and it makes sense that they’d say ‘Ibic mando’kar’ for ‘This is the way’,” he explains to you, “I think they can help us.”

You’re about to ask him more about these Mandalorians and what he knows, but you’re stopped by the child who has started fussing and crying. You go over to pick him up, but he’s worked himself up into a real tantrum, and no matter how much you try to soothe him, he won’t calm down.

“Are you hungry already, buddy?” You pull out some snacks from your pocket for him, but he shoves them away and cries harder. You know Din needs to focus on piloting the ship to the new coordinates so you descend to the hull with the poor little guy. You try rocking him, singing to him, even a warm bath, but nothing seems to help. He doesn’t seem to be in any visible discomfort so you simply sit and hold him hoping that ultimately your presence will show him that everything is ok. Eventually, he’s exhausted himself and falls asleep. You clean the tears off his little face, and although it’s finally quiet on the ship, you can’t shake a feeling of unease after how upset the child has been. However, you’re exhausted too after trying to care for him and you find yourself curling up on your bed your own eyes closing shortly afterwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You reach the coordinates provided to you by the Covert on a remote planet whose name you don’t know. The scenery does nothing to lift your mood, as the place appears to be an old industrial center and now looks run-down and abandoned. Although, given what you know about the need for the Mandalorian Coverts to remain secretive, you suppose that makes sense. You follow Din off the Crest with the child’s pod floating right beside you. As you walk to the designated meeting point, a large warehouse building, the child begins to whine again. You see the familiar sight of a mythosaur skull painted above the doorway to the warehouse and you breathe a sigh of relief, that this must be the correct place. You enter the building, but everything is dark and dusty inside and it doesn’t look like anyone is around. Thinking back to Din’s Covert, you expect that some guards will probably appear like before. When you see a helmeted figure in the shadows, you think you must be right, that is until the person turns to reveal the stark white helmet and armor of a storm trooper.

“You found us!” An eerily cheery voice trills out, making your blood run cold. It’s Kerrick.

Din instantly moves to shield you behind him, but you know it’s in vain, as now you can see an entire squadron of troopers moving out of the shadows to surround you. Even with Din’s impeccable skills as a gunslinger, there’s no way you could take on this many troopers, you are hopelessly outgunned.

“Come now, my little doll, don’t be shy,” Kerrick’s voice is almost sing-songy in his joy at trapping you, “I’ve missed you so very much, baby doll.”

Your heart is lurching in your chest and you feel sick to your stomach. You’re running through all the possible scenarios in your head, but there’s only one that you can think of which will keep Din and the child from being hurt.

“I’ve missed you too, Kerrick,” you call out, stepping out from behind Din.

Din’s hand reaches out to pull you back, but you gently shake your head and pull away. Before you do, you try to look into his visor with all the love you can and silently try to tell him that everything you’re about to say is a lie, but you have no idea if he can understand that.

“My sweet baby doll, come here and give your man a kiss,” Kerrick leers at you with a wide grin.

You raise your hands up as you walk slowly towards him, and you make your voice high pitched and girly, the way he used to like when you were in bed together, as you say, “Kerrick, all these guns are scaring me, can’t you have them put the blasters away?”

“Oh, my little doll, those are for your protection,” Kerrick explains condescendingly.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I can come any closer, I’m too scared,” you tell him.

“Alright, my doll, for you,” and he motions for the troopers to lower their blasters.

You feel a tiny sense of victory as you can tell you still have some power over Kerrick even with how twisted and vile he’s become. You move closer to him and when you’re within arm’s reach, he becomes impatient and he reaches out to grab you. Din’s instincts kick in and he draws his blaster without thinking and aims directly for Kerrick.

“Uh, uh, uh, Mandalorian, she just said she’s scared of blasters,” Kerrick admonishes, “You don’t want to scare my doll any more than you already have, do you?”

Oh no, you need to salvage this and quickly, “It’s not like that, Kerrick, he’s been trying to help me find you,” you lie, “I’ve been so lonely and sad without you, and he’s been protecting me until I could get back to you.”

“Is that true?” Kerrick asks, skeptical, “From our visit to Angel One, I was under the impression that you’ve been acting like a little whore for him.”

You want to die as you say these next words, but you know you need to convince Kerrick to let Din and the child go, “I was just using him, so he’d keep helping me, but it was just so I could find you again, Kerrick, after all, I’m still your doll.” Your hand comes up to your chest to sit over Din’s heart pendant hidden under your tunic and you hate yourself for having to put Din through this.

Din’s blood is boiling and he feels heartsick as he hears you lie to Kerrick. He knows you must be lying in an attempt to save him and the child. But he can’t ignore how much your words hurt, even if they’re not true. Hearing you call yourself “doll” though and seeing you grip your pendant, he tells himself that you don’t mean what you’re saying, that you do really love him, and that you’re prepared to sacrifice yourself to save him. He’s so angry with himself for leading you into this trap and he’s desperate to find another solution, but like you, he’s out of options. He has to do all he can right now to reign in his desire to start shooting.

Kerrick’s arms are wrapping tighter around your waist, and you know you’re going to have to muster up every acting skill you have if you’re going to convince him of your falsehood. You bring a hand up to caress his face, and he nuzzles into your touch. You thought he was handsome once, but his years with the Empire have changed him and his smug, pretty boy face holds no attraction for you now. You push these thoughts deep down though, and close your eyes as you bring him closer to you for a kiss. It takes everything you have not to shove him away in disgust. As Kerrick forces his tongue into your mouth, you tell yourself to be calm and then you pretend you’re kissing Din. It’s a struggle, but you manage to fool Kerrick enough that when he pulls away he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Let’s go, doll,” he says and he starts to tug you away.

“Wait, Kerrick, will you do something for me, please?” You do your best to make yourself look as sweet and innocent as you can and you use the girly voice again.

“What can I do for you, baby doll?” He looks at you like you’re a child asking for a treat.

“Will you let the Mandalorian go back to his ship? He really did help me find you, and if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have this wonderful reunion.” You pray Kerrick won’t see through your ploy.

“You always were so softhearted,” Kerrick says as he pats you on the ass.

“Please, for me? Please, Kerrick,” It’s soul crushing to have to beg him like this, but if it can help Din even a little you have to do it.

“Oh alright, I don’t want you to be sad or distracted all night. I have much better plans for us,” Kerrick tells you suggestively. You do your best not to throw up right then, but plan to save it as an escape for later.

“You six, take the Mandalorian back to his ship,” Kerrick motions to a group of troopers. Ok, six is still kind of a lot, but if feels like a number Din can probably handle. You don’t believe for a second that Kerrick is actually going to let Din go without a fight, but at least now he’s not facing an entire squadron.

“Can I say goodbye?” You know you’re pushing it, so you add, “To the child.”

“Fine, but make it quick,” Kerrick pats you on the ass again and you run back over to Din and the child. You scoop the baby up in your arms, but you look directly at Din and mouth, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He inclines his head in the slightest of nods and you know he understands. It doesn’t stop your heart from breaking in two though and you know tears are threatening to spill from your eyes.

“That’s enough!” Kerrick’s sharp voice calls out and you place the baby back in his pod before fixing a fake smile on your face and turning back to Kerrick. It’s shaky at best and you know you can’t hide your teary eyes so you throw yourself back into Kerrick’s arms hoping that a seemingly enthusiastic hug will mask your true feelings.

He chuckles, pats your head, and says, “Don’t worry, doll, I’ve got you now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The troopers lead Din out of the warehouse and each step feels painful, as he knows it’s taking him further away from you. All he wants to do is run back into that warehouse and fight for you, but he knows a deathtrap when he sees one. He doesn’t believe for one second that the troopers are going to let him leave, but he’s pretty sure he can take them out and get to the ship fast enough to get away. If he can make the jump to hyperspace before Kerrick’s cruiser can realize what’s happening he should be able to escape with his life.

“Be sure to get the asset,” one of the troopers is muttering to another, and Din knows it’s time. He charges and fires his whistling birds taking out four of the troopers at once and as he turns to fire at the other two, he sees their bodies being slammed together forcefully. Despite the terrible situation, he smiles to himself as he sees the child’s hands raised, helping him defeat the Imps. He quickly dispatches the last two troopers and then dashes to the Razor Crest.

He takes off as quickly as he knows how and, risking everything, makes the jump to hyperspace while he’s still in the planet’s atmosphere. It’s incredibly dangerous but it pays off and thankfully, the Crest manages to get away.

As hyperspace glows blue around him, Din plots in a course back to his Covert. He needs reinforcements and this time he can’t let the past hold him back from accepting help.

“We’re going to get her back, buddy,” Din vows looking at the child, “Don’t you worry.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Link to Chapter 9: Not Without My Cyar’ika

Mando’a glossary:

gar vode = your brethren, your brothers

ner vod = my brother

beroya = bounty hunter

riduurok = marriage, wedding ceremony

riduur = spouse

ad’ika = little one (affectionate)

aliit = family

buir = parent

di’kut = idiot

mesh’la = beautiful

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you (literally, I know you forever)

mandokarla = having the right stuff, the epitome of Mandalorian spirit

Ibic mando’kar =This is the way (there is some debate about how to say it)

Tag list: @grogusmum @wellofeternalthirst @idreamofboobear @theamuz @fangirlalexia @callmekane @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @theravenreads @nicotinebirds @boomtownboy @nova646 @wandering-storm-lost-shadow @becks-things @sleepwithacommunist @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative @punkdalek @pinkninja200 @s-unflowxr @ladyjenny19 @peppywitch @haley7242 @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @hotsauceonabiscuit @asta-lily

[forcefully-awoken]

this is for @pleasantanathema’s classics collab!

Summary: Hange Zoë is the only interesting person in the small, perpetually rainy town you’ve moved to. They look at you like they want to eat you, too bad it’s just not in the way you want.

Pairing: Hange Zoe x F! Reader, twilight AU

Warnings: Blood, violence, vampire stuff, no sex ):

WC: 2.9k

Hange Zoë was the only interesting person in your new town. A local at the coffee shop you worked at, and the only person to come in and order for other people. Hange paid for several drinks behind themself but never ordered anything to consume. They were fun to watch- incredibly pale, and almost disturbingly still. You knew they came in for you, something that still made you shiver. At first you thought they were simply being polite, but the longer you worked there the more the rumors started to swirl- Hange never spent this much time in town, and never became a regular like they had now.

Hange’s dark eyes (always behind sunglasses, but you swore they were red) were always on you, and the locals all knew it.

It’s been a little over three months since you moved, and one since you first saw Hange. You took their order every day but had yet to say so much as a hello to them outside of work. Still, you felt like they were the closest thing to a friend you had in town, something that would have depressed you otherwise.

It’s closing time, one of the few times you’ve had to close the little shop, and rain is pouring down so hard you wonder if it’s even worth it to leave. Maybe you should just sleep in the back room? Walking out right now would leave you soaked, you might even get a cold and you really can’t afford to miss work.

You close the door to the back, stepping to the front, and are so lost in thought you almost miss it- Hange is in their regular seat, waiting in the dark, for you. There’s a sharp spike of fear that blooms in your chest- you know you locked the front door. How the hell did they get inside without you noticing?

“Would you like a ride home?” Hange’s low voice cuts through the darkness to you and- there, red eyes are staring at you. There’s no sunglasses to hide behind now, and you can see them clear as anything in the dark. You know you should run screaming the other way, the logical part of you is yelling that this is how every horror movie starts, but when your mouth opens you find yourself saying yes.

The front door is still locked, you have to unlock it to let the two of you out, and before you can ask Hange slips a key from their pocket with a wink.

“Friends with the owner,” They explain, “I doubt he remembers giving it to me, though. Erwin’s always been a little forgetful.” That brings you up short- the place is family run, has been for generations.

Erwin Smith was the man who started the little coffee shop. Approximately seventy years ago. Perhaps Hange was thinking of someone else, or had known the man when he was still alive? Your brain rushed to try and rationalize away the comment.

“Thank you,” You finally think to say once inside of the car, holding your hands in front of the heater, trying to warm up. Hange was parked right out front, but still the rain chilled you to the bone. “I don’t have a car. It would have sucked to walk home in this.”

“That’s why I offered,” Hange replies, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot and onto the town’s one main street. “You always have so many more layers on than the others, something that you wouldn’t do without a longer walk.”

“Have you been watching me?” Your question is meant to be light, teasing, but the returning smile Hange gives you is anything but. It’s predatory, but the shiver you give now isn’t from the cold at all. Hange turns the heat up anyways, until you find yourself shedding the first of your many layers.

It probably should concern you that you don’t have to tell Hange where your apartment is, but it is a small town and people gossip. Old Mrs. Jaeger was the only person who had anything to rent in this area, for miles around. It wouldn’t be too hard to put two and two together.

“This is me,” You needlessly announce, trying to put your jacket back on in the car. Hange turns the car all the way off but the doors don’t unlock. Instead they reach over, hands brushing yours, making you jerk back. Hange is cold, worryingly so. You open your mouth to say something, but then Hange is right there, their face so close it makes your head swim. You swear you can feel their lips brush over yours, right as they zip your jacket up over you again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hange says, and now you know you can feel their lips against yours. It’s too much, you can’t think, or breathe, or focus on anything that’s not pressing yourself into them more. Hange’s fingers grip the fabric of your jacket even tighter, and you think you hear a ripping sound. It’s a chaste kiss, all things considered, but it leaves you reeling, your head dizzy. Hange pulls away, just enough to look into your eyes, never breaking contact as they lean over to open your door for you.

“Until tomorrow,” You agree, the rain hitting you and pulling you from your revere. You finally look away from Hange, running up the creaky stairs to your apartment as fast as you can. When you turn back at the door, the car is already gone.

Your lips tingle for the rest of the night, and you feel eyes on you until you’re fast asleep.

With your closing shift behind you, it’s your day off. The sun shining through the slats of the blinds wake you, pulling you out of sleep at the early hour of ten. You stretch, feeling well rested for the first time in a while. Rolling over, you almost fall back asleep before you remember Hange’s words from the night before- what did they have planned that they would see you today?

The thought has you scrambling for your phone, but there’s no messages or missed calls waiting for you. Which makes sense- after all, small town gossip doesn’t mean Hange will have your number. Still, you pull yourself from the bed, showering and taking extra care to get ready. Despite the sun it’s still rather cold out, and you throw on a sweater to be warmer, cooking up a small breakfast. You nearly burn yourself when you hear the text notification go off in the other room.

It’s Hange, somehow, and the message is brief.

Meet me in the clearing behind Mrs. Jaeger’s, one hour. I have something I need to show you.

It’s hard not to get too excited after that. You know the little clearing they’re talking about, it’s about a mile away from where you are now, but surrounded by trees, and with all the rain from the night before it’s going to be tough to get there. You eat breakfast so fast you do end up burning your mouth, but it’s worth it. You have to pull out some worn boots that are kicked under your bed, that are a little too snug now.

The walk itself isn’t bad- the air smells amazing, sun is shining down on you, and somewhere you can hear birds chirping. You end up at the clearing a little before the hour is over, but you appear to be alone. There’s a tree stump near where you entered, perfect for sitting you decide, and ignore the way you can feel water seep into your jeans. When you check the time on your phone you see there’s no service.

“Hello there,” Hange’s voice is right next to your ear, and you fall off the stump you’re sitting on into the muddy ground with a shrill scream. Hange isn’t even near you when you turn to look at them- hidden in the shadows of the tree line, but your heart still races ahead. There’s sunglasses back on their face now, oddly colored eyed hidden from you but you know they’re trained on you still.

“Hange!” You greet them, wiping yourself off as much as you can when you stand back up. “That was… scary.” Hange’s head tilts back, a rich laugh spilling from their lips, and then and there you decide it’s your new favorite sound in the universe. Hange doesn’t make any move to come towards you though, and you have to ask, “Why did you want to ask me here?”

“Do you believe in the supernatural?” Hange’s question takes you off guard, and you give a quick shake of your head, opening your mouth to reply but they cut you off, “Why not?”

“Why would I?” You had to hesitate, though, not having given the question too much thought before, you words coming out slowly as you continue on, “I haven’t been given any reason to.” Hange laughs again, and you find yourself feeling thrilled to have pleased them even a little.

“What a wonderfully mortal response,” Hange’s reply leaves you even more confused, but you’re taken aback when they pull their sunglasses off, and you can see their eyes are a vibrant shade of red now. Hange takes a step towards you, and you find your feet moving to take a step back automatically. One step towards you, and another back from them. The sunlight catches their forehead, and you blink several times in a row, trying to believe what you’re seeing.

Hange steps fully into the light, and their skin shines, more than just an incredible beauty routine will do. They look ethereal, like something otherworldly, something you would only see in a movie. Their smile is soft, the kind you give to a child.

“I’ll ask you again,” Their voice carries over to you, though you’re not sure you see their lips move, “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

“I think I’m starting to,” Your mouth moves before your brain can catch up, and there’s a glint in Hange’s eyes that’s not soft at all. Before you can blink they’ve moved, and they’re right there in front of you. One soft, deathly cold hand comes up to cup at your cheek, and you lean into it without thinking, eyes drifting shut.

“Do you trust me?” Hange’s voice is so sweet, you think, no matter what they are this can’t be wrong, surely it’s a dream anyways, you’ll wake up back in bed when you can open your eyes. You nod your head, not trusting your voice to speak. Hange lips press to yours, briefly, and then you hear them murmur out a thank you.

Before you can ask what they’re thank you for, your whole world explodes into pain.

There is only pain in your world now.

It’s a supernova, ripping through you with a scary efficiency. You can’t tell up from down, or even if you’re awake. Fuck, you can barely tell if you’re even still alive. You can’t see, you think someone might be screaming but it’s far off you can’t be sure. you don’t even know how long it’s been like this- your only memories are of this pain, and it seems to be never ending.

And then- and then you feel it, your foot brushes the soft fabric of your blanket in your bedroom. It feels familiar because it is- the same blanket you’ve used for the past decade and a half of your life, the one that rested on your parents bed before it became yours. You’d know this fabric anywhere, anytime. That’s how coming back to yourself starts- you feel your bedding, and then the clothes touching you, the air. Somewhere your air conditioner is chugging away, someone nearby watches cartoons.

It takes days, maybe weeks, you have no way of tracking the time. Slowly your breathing starts to steady, you start to remember where you are, who you are, who you were with. You get feeling back in all your extremities, and despite all the pain you suffered through you somehow feel better than ever now. Your eyes pop open- or maybe they were the whole time?

You room looks the same- but sharper, clearer somehow. It’s like the world is just… better now. When you take a deep breath you can smell everything- Mrs. Jaeger is making chicken noodle soup downstairs, there’s freshly washed clothes hanging outside. You can hear everything. All your senses have been heightened and yet somehow-

“Hello,” Hange’s voice takes you by surprise. You crouch, actually crouch, behind your bed, hissing at them. They hold their hands up in surrender. “Easy there, don’t take my head off.”

“What did you do to me?” Your voice is melodic, the same beautiful timbre of Hange’s own now. “What happened?”

“I turned you into a vampire,” The sheer nonchalance that Hange says this with leaves you trembling. You can vaguely remember them… biting you before there was pain.

“I’m like you?” Your voice sounds so loud even though you’re trying to keep it at a whisper.

“God, I hope,” Hange replies, still cool and casual, “That was my plan, at least.”

“I- what?” You start, break off when a new smell distracts you, a soft sound accompanying it- Mrs. Jaeger is bringing you soup, walking up the stairs to your apartment.

Your throat burns now, like you’ve never had a sip of water in your life. It burns and burns, and you close your eyes to take a shuddering, deep breath and when you open your eyes the burning is gone.

In front of you, on your bed, lies your landlady, Mrs. Jaeger. Her throat has been ripped out, and blood is staining every surface of your room. You, yourself, are covered in it. Hange is covered in it as well, looking all too delighted despite the macabre scene in front of you. You feel almost high, like you’re floating, and there’s a strange fullness.

“What have I done?” Your voice is a hoarse whisper, cracking out of you. “Oh, god.”

“Well, there’s certainly no going back now!” Hange announces, clapping their hands together. “Not after you murdered a beloved old woman.” You’re left speechless as Hange licks up some of the blood off their wrist, tongue trailing up through to their fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on but still a shudder runs through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Kinda fucked up to get turned on at a time like this, you know?” Hange smiles, taking a step towards you, and like before you take another step away. “I mean, I am, but I know I’m fucked up.”

“I’m not- this isn’t- what’s wrong with me?” It’s all to easy to pitch yourself forwards into Hange’s arms, feeling the sticky blood on their hands as they wrap around you.

“We should go,” Hange whispers into your hair, “You were loud. Someone will come.”

“Good!” You sniffle out, “I should be arrested, or staked, or something!”

“Darling girl,” Hange presses a soft kiss through your temple, and the sensation of their lips on your skin rips through you like lightning, “You’ll kill them all without blinking.”

Hange leads you slowly from your room, to the bathroom where they help you out of the stained clothes you wear. You have no shame when you bear your body to them, not when all you can focus on is the blood swirling down the drain. You feel their hands on you, but their skin isn’t cold anymore.

It feels like yours.

You dress, in clothes that look familiar but feel awful on your skin. You look around your room, seeing it in new eyes, all the dust you had missed in cleaning, the tiny cracks in the ceiling that had been invisible to you before. Everything was overwhelming about it now, and before you would have been tired, exhausted by the world but now? Now all you could do is drown in the sensation.

“Let’s go,” Hange says from your doorway. Their car isn’t there, but they grab hold of your hand, twining your fingers with theirs. When they tug you forward, back into the woods, it’s at a sprint, and you find yourself outpacing them quickly. It feels like you’ve only been running a few minutes but when you stop the air feels different- part of your brain tells you it’s bitterly cold now but you don’t feel it. You’ve stopped in front of a small log cabin, and you can see that all the lights are off.

“Where are we?” You ask as Hange opens the unlocked door. They turn on a light, and the room comes into view. There’s a bed in one corner, but the rest of the room is covered in bookcases, the shelves filled to the brim, with some books piled on the floor. In the middle of the room was a desk, piled with papers.

“My home,” Hange replies, smirking at your annoyed look, “Somewhere in Canada, a place like this doesn’t really exist on a map.”

Canada, then. Your first international travel and it’s illegal. You lived in the Pacific Northwest before, so depending on how far into Canada you were, you had traveled a few hundred miles in only a few moments. You sat on the bed to process it while Hange took a seat at the desk.

“Now that we’re alone, we can begin,” Hange turns towards you, “I wanted to start before, but well, there was that whole mess.”

“Start with what?” You find yourself almost afraid to ask.

“The rest of your immortal life, of course.” Hange smiles once more, and you feel something inside of you resign quietly, a light being snuffed out.

[midzelink]

People of Shadow: Who Were the Twili’s Ancestors, Really?

The speculation surrounding the mysterious origins of the Twili in Twilight Princess is far from a new topic amongst fans of the series; I distinctly remember staying up late into the night scrounging around old forums in my early teens, ingesting thread after thread on the very subject, hoping against hope that someone smarter than me would at last have found the truth amidst the lies.  Those kinds of analyses, the pure intrigue that leads to hours of reflection and research, has long been one of the series’ drawing points for me; that no matter how cracked and inconsistent the story Nintendo has chosen to weave, fans of the series will again and again use everything at their disposal to fill in the cracks.    

If you’re reading this, it’s highly likely you’re familiar with the the two most common theories: that they were either Sheikah or Gerudo (though the evidence I’ve seen for the latter has always been shaky at best). When you get right down to it, it’s not as if who the Twili once were really matters - it’s certainly something Nintendo didn’t give more than a few seconds thought - but speculating is fun, and something on which I’ve spent much more time than I’d like to admit.  Though the reality, of course, could simply be that they were no one, just a hodgepodge group of dark magic users, never before seen, I always found myself asking: If they were anybody, who would they be?  Is there any in-game evidence to suggest as much?  I would argue that yes, there is - and though what I’ve written here is hardly groundbreaking, it is fairly comprehensive, and with any luck, I’ll be able to convince a few of you along the way.

With all that out of the way, I would at last like to state that, if anyone, I firmly believe the Twili’s ancestors were Sheikah, and I’ve done my best to compile my reasoning for this below.

The Banishment of the “Interlopers”

Before we get into specifics, I wanted to lay some groundwork establishing when, exactly, the Twili’s ancestors were banished by the Light Spirits at the behest of the gods, as the timeline of events will be important in a moment.  In Twilight Princess, we first hear about the dark interlopers and their quest for the Sacred Realm from Lanayru; there was an era of peace in Hyrule, but when word of the realm and the holy triangles within it spread, war broke out amidst the populace.  From within this greed-fueled chaos arose the interlopers, “wielding powerful sorcery” - and so great was their transgression against the goddesses that they ordered the Light Spirits to seal them away in shadow forever. (If the story of a war breaking out over the Sacred Realm sounds familiar, that’s because the Hyrulean Civil War, which ended shortly before the events of Ocarina of Time, shared the same conflict; it’s entirely possible that the two wars were one and same or overlapped in some fashion, but for this post specifically, that possibility isn’t entirely relevant.)

This era of strife is colloquially referred to as the Interloper War by many, and from Lanayru’s tale alone we can extrapolate that, at the very least, the banishment of the Twili happened before the events of Ocarina of Time; the struggle was fought over the Triforce, after all, which was claimed and broken apart in all three splits of the timeline following the events of that game.  It’s also important to note that Ganondorf was banished to the Twilight Realm shortly after the events of Ocarina of Time in the Child Timeline, and that this was long after the Twili’s ancestors had been banished there; so it can be said conclusively that the Interloper War could not have taken place between the events of Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess.

The Sheikah, Few and Far Between

It was important that we establish a rough estimate of when, exactly, the Twili’s ancestors were banished for one very crucial reason: to shed some light one who they likely weren’t, and who they could have been.  At some point before the events of Ocarina of Time, there was a mysterious group of dark magic wielders known only as “the interlopers” that, all at once, were banished to an alternative dimension - an act that, had there been any of their tribe left behind, likely would have put a serious strain on their numbers.  And within Ocarina of Time - a game that takes place after this banishment would have occurred - we learn of a tribe who suffered one such fate:

“They say that Princess Zelda's nanny is actually one of the Sheikah, who many thought had died out.”

As we all know, Impa is the only Sheikah present in Ocarina of Time - I would argue not quite the last, if Impaz in Twilight Princess is any indication - but regardless, they are so few and far between that the general populace had one point believed them to be extinct.  Things weren’t always this way; at the very least, we can extrapolate that there were a great many Sheikah around the time of time of Skyward Sword, and even within the context of Ocarina of Time, Kakariko Village was in relatively recent history a Sheikah village that was closed off to the common people.  What truly happened to the Sheikah that drove them to near extinction is anyone’s guess, but I would argue that it was likely a combination of two things: 

the Hyrulean Civil War, which lasted very, very long, had many casualties, and the Sheikah (being in service to the Hyrulean Royal Family) were likely at the forefront of this, and

on top of this, perhaps before or even coinciding with the Civil War, a not unsubstantial number of the Sheikah broke off from their tribe, betrayed the Royal Family, and tried to claim the Triforce and the Sacred Realm as their own.

Of course, this relies on the assumption that the Sheikah could ever, under any circumstances betray the Royal Family - betray Hylia, the goddess whose bloodline it is supposedly their sworn duty to serve.  And though I will not be touching on this quite yet, I did want to bring it to attention, as it is overall a crucial piece of the puzzle - but we have some more ground to cover first.

(As for what I meant in the beginning of this segment when I said who they likely weren’t, I was specifically referring to the Gerudo, a people who many others speculated could have been the the Twili’s ancestors.  While it’s true that the Gerudo people have mysteriously vanished by the era of Twilight Princess, they are very much present in Ocarina of Time - and we have established that the banishment of the Twili’s ancestors occurred before the events of that game.)

Beings of Shadow, Enter the Twilight Realm

When all is said and done, the coincidental timing of both the banishment of the interlopers and the dwindling numbers of the Sheikah isn’t quite groundbreaking evidence of anything; after all, it would not be completely out of the realm of possibility that the Hyrulean Civil War had been entirely at fault for their dwindling numbers.  However, given what we know about how twilight affects ordinary denizens of the world of light, I would argue that Sheikah may have been the only group of people capable of becoming the Twili, and it is for this reason that I feel assured in my conclusions:

“Twilight covered Hyrule like a shroud, and without light, the people became as spirits.  Within the twilight, they live on, unaware that they have passed into spirit forms...”

This twilight - the very glow that transforms the unawares citizens into spirits and Link into a beast - is the very same “light” that pervades the Twilight Realm, and it can only be assumed that any ordinary light dwellers banished there would also become as spirits. Yet in the case of the Twili’s ancestors, this emphatically was not the case; they were able to persist, evolving over time to become the Twili we know and love today. When Midna is explaining to Link the history of her people after the duo enter the Gerudo Desert, she says this:

“What do you think happened to the magic wielders who tried to rule the Sacred Realm? They were banished. They were chased across the sacred lands of Hyrule and driven into another realm by the goddesses... Its denizens became shadows that could not mingle with the light.”

And after Link retrieves the Master Sword, breaking the curse that Zant placed on him:

“This thing is the embodiment of the evil magic that Zant cast on you.  It's definitely different from our tribe's shadow magic...”

It’s clear that the Twili and their ancestors had and continue to have a very strong connection to shadow.  We know that anyone from the world of light who enters the twilight becomes as a spirit; not even wielders of the Triforce are exempt from its effects, though it does, admittedly, affect them in different ways.  (Zelda is the one clear exception to this, an anomaly which I go over in this post - a short and recommended read before continuing.)  Just as the Twili, a people of shadow, cannot mingle in the world of light, people of light cannot mingle in the world of shadow - but the Twili are hardly the only people in the series to have a strong connection to the shadows.

"Have you heard the legend of the ‘Shadow Folk’? They are the Sheikah...the shadows of the Hylians.”

The Sheikah, time and time again, are referred to as people of shadow; Impa awakens as the Sage of Shadow, and the accursed Shadow Temple lies on the outskirts of her hometown of Kakariko.  We know that the twilight affects all whom it touches in the world of light - “light and shadow can’t mix, as we all know” - but what if the light dweller in question were a Sheikah?  How could a realm of shadows snuff out the light of one who is already a shadow?

I would like to posit, then, that even if the Twili’s ancestors had been a mixed bag of peoples and cultures drawn together by the lure of the Sacred Realm, only a people like the Sheikah - a tribe who had perfected mastery over shadow magic, so much so that they had become one with them - would have been able to persist in the anti-light of the Twilight Realm and, over centuries or perhaps millennia, evolve to become the Twili.  Anyone else would have simply become spirits upon entering the realm, doomed to spend the rest of their days neither alive nor dead.

Eyes of Red, Show Us the Truth

Now, there is one other crucial piece to this puzzle, and it revolves around one other trait that the Sheikah are known for: with the exception of Breath of the Wild (the disparity of which I have my own theories about, but I won’t get into that here), they all have red eyes.  This is something that’s never really commented on in any of the games, but it’s an important enough physiological trait that Sheik, who is merely Princess Zelda in disguise as a Sheikah, also bears the distinctive eye color.  Though it’s common knowledge that Midna’s eyes are also red (as are the rest of the Twili’s), this alone doesn’t speak much to a correlation between the two peoples; no, in order for this parallel to mean anything, we must first understand the significance of the Sheikah’s red eyes, and how exactly that ties back to the princess of twilight and the rest of her people.

First, let’s take a look at Ocarina of Time.  When Kakariko Village is attacked just before Link heads for the Shadow Temple, Sheik has this to say about Impa:

“The evil shadow spirit has been released! Impa, the leader of Kakariko Village, had sealed the evil shadow spirit in the bottom of the well... But the force of the evil spirit got so strong, the seal of the well broke, and it escaped into the world!! I believe Impa has gone to the Shadow Temple to seal it up again...”

Anyone who has played Ocarina of Time knows that the Shadow Temple is a dark and wicked place, teeming with the souls of the undead and illusions that, without the ability to see through, would completely inhibit any progress one would try to make.  As Link traverses the temple, he bears the Lens of Truth: a peculiar artifact (importantly, in the shape of a Sheikah Eye) that reveals the world as it truly is.  It is a one-of-a-kind item, and without it, no ordinary person would be able to make it through the Shadow Temple, much less fight the invisible monsters that lurk within - but Impa is no ordinary person.

The explanation is really quite simple: the Sheikah’s red eyes are not merely a distinguishing, but purely aesthetic characteristic (like the red hair of the Gerudo), but are indicative of the fact that they can see through even the strongest of illusions with the naked eye.  It’s the reason the Lens of Truth was crafted in their image; though one who wields the lens may not be a Sheikah, they, too, can view the world as one with this powerful artifact, seeing through artificial walls, finding invisible items...and even meeting the spirits of the departed.

Let’s go back to Midna; after you first meet her in the sewers of Hyrule Castle, slowly making your way to the rooftops and the imprisoned Zelda beyond, you encounter several spirits of Hyrulean soldiers along the way.  Midna taunts you, saying this:

“It looks like the spirits in here... They're all soldiers.  Where in the world could we be? Eee hee!”

As a beast, Link is now able to tap into his new “animal senses” to see that which would be invisible to his human eyes. Yet Midna is able to see the spirits as they are, naturally, without any aid whatsoever - almost as if she retained the truth-seeing eyes of her ancestors.

Before we move on, I did want to bring attention to one other thing the Twili and the Shiekah have in common - and though it’s not technically directly related to their shared ability to see the truth of the world around them, it is tangentially related in the sense that it involves illusions.  Early on in Twilight Princess, there is a scene where Midna seemingly transforms herself into Colin and subsequently Ilia, taunting Link about the capture of his friends.  It’s a somewhat strange occurrence that happens exactly once and is never brought up again, and it happens so early in the game that, for a very long time, I simply brushed it off and never gave it a second thought.

However, I think it’s pretty safe to say that what we’re seeing here is a demonstration of illusion magic - Midna is not literally shapeshifting into Link’s friends, as if she had this ability, she could simply return herself to her true form at any given moment.  This is significant because there is a fairly notable example of something identical to this in the very game I mentioned earlier in this segment; in Breath of the Wild, the Yiga Clan, a group of Sheikah who swore allegiance to Calamity Ganon, consistently over the course of the game demonstrate the ability to use illusion magic, posing as weary and lost travelers on the road, waiting to ambush Link and take him by surprise.  And though the Yiga may not technically be Sheikah anymore, they were at one time - and I find it exceptionally hard to believe that such a technique would be exclusive to the Yiga and the Yiga alone.

Echoes of the Past

I would, of course, be remiss to not touch on the various architectural and technological similarities between the two peoples.  On their own, they aren’t very substantial pieces of evidence - but if we have already accepted the fact that the Twili’s ancestors were, in fact, Sheikah (which, for the purposes of the rest of this essay, I will now do), then it is worth it at the very least to take a look, to paint a somewhat fuller picture of the story.

Take, for instance, the runes in the above photo, adorning the wall behind the throne in the Palace of Twilight.  Similar runes adorn the cloak that Midna wears while in her true form, and other miscellaneous places scattered throughout the palace.  It is not that much a stretch to say that the large emblem in the center is somewhat reminiscent of the iconic Sheikah Eye, though distorted and changed over time as it may have become.  An eye that is unmistakably Sheikah in inspiration even appears on the back of the Fused Shadow, and it is for this reason that I chose that image to head this essay to begin with.  But eyes aside, by far the most significant comparison once again returns us to Breath of the Wild, and the Sheikah as they were ten thousand years past.

The ancient-yet-highly-advanced Sheikah technology scattered across the once mighty kingdom of Hyrule in Breath of the Wild simply oozes Twili, from the harsh, blue aesthetic to the angular similarities between the script of the Sheikah and the runes of the Twili.  And while it is worth mentioning that this is decidedly technology, and not magic,  there is an argument that can be made in the world of fantasy over whether there is in fact a significant difference; looking at the image below of a room in the Palace of Twilight, floating platforms decorated in patterns resembling circuitry, it’s not hard imagine that this is nothing more than highly advanced tech, remnants of a history they left behind.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t especially matter whether either is a case of expressly magic or technology; all we can extrapolate from this information is that the Sheikah who had been banished to the Twilight Realm likely had some rudimentary knowledge of their tribe’s lost technology, had they been banished in an era when it already was lost - or, at the very least, had the same design sensibilities.  Whatever the case, it is worth is to try and acknowledge the potential connection, as there is much that can be gleaned by examining the world around us and its history - even a fictional one - and to that end, I would now like to begin wrapping up this unnecessarily long piece of persuasion by doing just that.

Those Who Do Not Learn From History...

...are doomed to repeat it, as the saying goes.  Taking everything I’ve written here into consideration, it’s not hard to construe a conceivable timeline of events that could have led to the birth of the Twili, and the eventual invasion of the world of light headed by Zant.  Long ago, in an age ravaged by a war over a lust for the Sacred Realm, a sector of Sheikah betrayed the Hyrulean Royal Family, split off from the main clan, and sought their own power - and if the story of a Sheikah betrayal sounds at all familiar, that’s because it emphatically is.

Breath of the Wild is an anomaly in many respects; it seems to defy all expectations of what we understand about the timeline, reviving a people (the Sheikah) who, for all intents and purposes, died out long ago - but it paints a very important picture of what the Shadow Folk had to endure serving underneath the Royal Family of Hyrule, a picture that elucidates precisely why such a betrayal would conceivably take place.  The story of the Yiga Clan is, ultimately, one rooted oppression - and though I could go into great detail about the nature of this oppression here, and quite frankly the justification for their cause, I’ve already done so in this post, which I would again encourage be read by anyone who cares about the subject.  Very basically, the Yiga were right - having been cast out and mistreated by the very family they served, they did the only thing they could, and turned against them.  Glimpses of this mistreatment are riddled in previous entries of the series, but no more jarringly than in Ocarina of Time’s Shadow Temple: a place that likely was once a sacred place to the Sheikah people, reduced to nothing more than a haunted torture chamber recounting Hyrule’s “bloody history of greed and hatred" under direct orders by the Royal Family.  In Twilight Princess, Zant specifically refers to Link as “one of the light dwellers who oppressed [their] people” while talking to Midna at Lanayru Spring - and though I would not go so far as to say that Zant was completely justified in his actions, perhaps he had a point.  Perhaps the story of the Twili’s ancestors isn’t one of a an evil, mindless group of powerful interlopers who sought power for power’s sake - but one of fierce retaliation.  One of a group of people who had soiled their hands with the blood of the Royal Family one final time and said enough.  I believe that the Twili’s ancestors were Sheikah, and I will continue to believe it until proven otherwise; for all the reasons listed above, and also because, frankly, if I were a Sheikah, I would betray the Royal Family, too.  It happened once - so it will happen again - and again, and again, until the cycle of violence and oppression is studied and learned from, and the truth comes out.

But then, so long as history is written by the winners, it will take more than the red eyes of a Sheikah to parse the truth from the lies.

[fatefulfaerie]

Yearning (All I Want For Christmas Is You)

Day 3 of the 12 days of Christmas prompts orchestrated by @zelink-prompts

Incarnation: Twilight Princess post-Ganondorf

Zelda always loved the Hylia’s Day ball as a child. The joyous occasion was met with festive decorations that adorned the ballroom with hues of red and green. She remembered smiles and laughter, times with her mother and father that were now just melancholy memories.

Now, all grown up, her perspective inching further and further away from romanticizing the holiday that was really no different from any other day, she anticipated it with little excitement.

Her dress, which felt as if it were being tied securely around her very lungs, nearly breaking her ribs and flattering her chest a bit more than she was used to, was a dark green. It fell down to the floor elegantly and, since she was now Queen, showed more skin than perhaps the dress of a princess. The green velvet dress had sleeves that dangled off her shoulders and a heavy petticoat underneath that rounded out the skirt.

Zelda placed her hands on her hips as one last pull of the corset strings cemented her into a perfect figure. She was glad she could breathe, but in the mirror she couldn’t help but be worried about the amount of her breasts that could be seen. The entire kingdom knew that she hadn’t yet found a King Consort to measure up to her high standards, and thus every male had his gaze upon her.

And yet all she wanted for Hylia’s Day was the one man who gave her those expectations in the first place, who stole her heart and yet disappeared without even knowing. She supposed in this coming year, she should give up the hope of his return, give up the warmth of her feelings and marry the best suitor in line, to produce heirs and become just another Queen with just another arranged marriage.

“How does that feel, Your Majesty?”

Zelda had lost herself in her reflection, tipping her head, still mesmerized by the bottom of the dress and imagining it gliding across the floor as she danced with the man who saved her kingdom.

“Hm?” She hummed before registering the question in her mind, her head realigning to sit on her shoulders evenly. “Quite satisfactory. Thank you.”

“I take it you have quite a bit of suitors coming tonight,” the handmaiden commented as she carefully placed an ornate crown upon Zelda’s head. 

“I do,” Zelda said, her fingers finicking with the skirt of her dress, a habit she had ever since she was a child.

“I guarantee they’ll fancy you in this dress,” the handmaiden continued as she made small, minute adjustments to Zelda’s updo, to Zelda’s makeup. “Is there a suitor whom you particularly fancy?”

Zelda thought upon her answer, staring at her sad blue eyes in the mirror.

“No,” she lied quietly. “Not yet.”

“Well, you never know what this day will bring,” the handmaiden said. “Hylia’s Day is a magical time.”

“Of course,” Zelda said with a small and forced smile.

“Is there anything else you need of me, Your Majesty?” The handmaiden said with a step back.

“No, thank you,” Zelda said as she turned away from the mirror, facing her handmaiden with elegantly clasped hands. “That will be all.”

The handmaiden bowed and departed to the servant’s quarters to enjoy her night off, Zelda wishing she could follow.

——————————————————————————————————

She felt alone in a crowded room of dignitaries, of suitors, of court members and distinguished soldiers. Even when someone asked her to dance she felt alone, that dangerous hole in her heart eroding at her and telling her that with Link nowhere to be found, she would be pining for him until her dying days.

It took a couple hours until she could saunter to the outside balcony without being stopped by another suitor vying for her attention. Hands on the railing, she basked in the cool night air as she closed her eyes, reveling in her temporary freedom.

Her thoughts strayed to Link, as they often did, the last time she saw him becoming smaller against the horizon, the feelings she had that she never had the courage to voice. And, of course, the distance that came after that made her heart grow even fonder of this man of her dreams.

“Perhaps it is time to let you go,” she said to the open night sky. “Three months is a long time to be gone.” She laughed to herself. “You would probably think I’m crazy for my feelings. You were part of my life for such a short time and yet…”

She sighed, hanging her head.

“I just want you back.”

“Your Majesty?” She heard someone inquire somewhere in the ballroom.

“Not even five minutes to myself,” Zelda grumbled to herself, turning around to see not a suitor but one of her servants, carrying a tray with a folded note.

“Thank you,” Zelda said as she took it, the servant bowing and returning to other duties.

The Queen had no idea what matter could be so pressing for her to receive a correspondence during the Hylia’s Day ball, but she figured she would humor that distraction.

Meet me in the west courtyard at your earliest convenience. I assure you it will be safe, but I suggest you bring a guard nonetheless.

She tried not to hope that her mysterious correspondent was Link, but by the time she reached the courtyard, she was convinced it had to be. She didn’t bring a guard because of that. The swordsman who saved Hyrule surely would still be courageous in protecting its Queen.

——————————————————————————————————

Her heart pounded in her chest as soon as she recognized his silhouette. There was no doubt it was him, Zelda having near-memorized the way he stood for her own dreams and fantasies.

Link had, however, positioned himself beyond the reach of the moonlight, standing deliberately in the shadows. Zelda steeled her excitement at the fact that he was alive when she saw his hesitation.

“Link?” She asked as she walked forward cautiously. She watched as he knelt almost immediately.

“I must apologize, Your Highness,” he said, his very voice making Zelda swoon, her cheeks blushing pink. “I no longer am of any use to you.”

“Link, what…” Zelda said with a step forward. “What are you talking about? Where have you been?”

His head remained bowed and his figure remained shrouded in shadow. Zelda’s concern grew by the second and yet at the same time, her relief that he was here was contradicting it.

“A distant village to the south heard of my battles in Hyrule,” Link said quietly and submissively, Zelda’s blue eyes already sinking at the sadness in his voice. “They travelled to Ordon to ask for my assistance defeating a monster that was terrorizing their village, killing innocent people. I left immediately, travelled back with them, and faced the monster. The battle was difficult. I was cocky, over-confident fighting a monster even though I had never seen anything like it. I defeated it eventually, but…not before the monster…robbed me…of my arm…cutting it clean off. These past couple months have been a great deal of recovery, but I’ve also been avoiding facing you, telling you that…you can no longer depend on me to be the hero. I am deeply sorry, Your Highness. I come to you ashamed that someone you depend on for the safety of your Kingdom has betrayed you in such a way, is now so…useless…”

Zelda had shed tears but she didn’t care to wipe them, rushing forward and kneeling in front of him.

“Link,” she said, placing a hand on either of his shoulders. “You aren’t just a soldier to me. That is not all you are worth. Hey! Look at me!”

His blue eyes seemed scared to meet hers until they finally did, Link taking a shaky breath.

“I am so glad you are okay,” Zelda said before insisting. “You. Not your ability to fight. You are worth so much more to me.”

“Yeah right,” Link figuring she was just saying that to be nice.

Zelda was almost angry at his lack of self-worth, for brow furrowing before she captured his lips with his, so suddenly that he didn’t even know it was coming.

Link pushed her off as soon as he could, searching her for why a person of her status would do such a thing, whether or not this was one of his dreams where she actually likes him back. Zelda placed a hand on his cheek.

“I love you for who you are,” Zelda said. “Not what you did or used to be able to do for Hyrule. I don’t love the chosen hero, I love Link. I love you…and I’m so relieved that you are back.”

Link still look absolutely shocked, Zelda worrying he didn’t return her feelings before he surged forward much like she had, only this kiss continued as they pleased.

“I love you, too,” he whispered against her lips. “From the very second I met you, I knew the meaning of love. I’m not sure how that’s possible but…it’s true.”

Zelda couldn’t help but smile.

“I feel the same.” She said, their foreheads touching. “All I wanted for Hylia’s Day was you.”

Link chuckled.

“I didn’t plan to come back on the day of the ball,” Link said. “But you look as beautiful as I remember, even more so in that dress. In the moonlight you look like Hylia herself.”

“Pale and ghostlike?” Zelda jived.

“Transcendently gorgeous,” Link corrected.

Zelda chuckled.

“You know,” she said standing up, backing away, and excitedly positioning her arms, ready to dance. “I’ve danced with every one of my suitors except you.”

“As much as I’d like to be,” Link said, standing up and stepping into the moon light. He was just as charmingly handsome as Zelda remembered. “I’m not one of your suitors.”

“Oh?” Zelda asked as they stepped into each other, Zelda taking his hand with hers and placing her other hand on his armless shoulder. “And why is that?”

“There must be some rule,” Link argued softly, the two starting to waltz in circles. 

“Rules can be changed,” Zelda said. “Remember you are dancing with a Queen.”

Link froze immediately.

“I…I-I am?”

He looked absolutely panicked.

“You didn’t know that?” Zelda asked with a smile.

“I…I don’t know, I…” Link looked for more words. “I don’t know I guess I didn’t even think you would…I-I mean of course you would rise to Queen, I…”

Zelda giggled, and her smile accentuated by the moonlight made Link’s blush.

“I supposed I should have assumed,” he said, prompting her to continue dancing in circles.

“Are you,” Link cleared his throat. “A-already in line to marry someone then? Because if I’m getting in the way of that, I really don’t need to stick around. I just want you to be happy.”

“Link,” Zelda said with shakes of her head an an elegant smile. She kissed him again. “You make me happy. Happier than I’ve ever felt. You. No one else. Those other suitors never had a chance with you in my heart. I never chose any of them.”

Link chuckled nervously.

“Good, that’s…that’s good,” Link said before laughing again, a sound much more hearty and warm, his eyes locked in hers. “I’m happy, too”

[miss-tc-nova]

Willing - Vanitas x Reader

Well Anon, I write whatever I want. My specialty tends to be the Scala kids, but before they existed, I definitely had a fascination for Vanitas! I hope you enjoy. 

TRIGGER WARNING: for mild abuse references.

~~~~~

               Things sway ever so slightly, making climbing these stone steps a trying experience. I eventually reach the top, overlooking my small town settling in as the sun sets. Extra care is taken as I swing my legs over the protective wall and plop down on the concrete. Cool air swirls past, a relief against the throbbing, and much needed peace settles in me.

               “Always waiting.” His arrival went entirely under my radar. Another pair of legs climbs over the wall to join me. Eyes that almost glow like molten gold turn on me. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

               A meager laugh makes it past my lips. “You should know the answer to that by now.”

               It’s been over a week since our last encounter but he’s right: I’m always waiting—every day. These meet ups are all I have and I’m not about to miss a single one if it can be helped. They’re important to me; they saved me—he saved me. And perhaps, in my rare hopes, I saved him. He found me at my lowest point, when I was so far gone there was no way anyone could be beneath me, and I believe he’s seen as much crap as I have—never meeting someone he actually had the option to show mercy to. He could’ve destroyed me, attacked and belittled me, but instead he hoisted me out of the dirt told me to suck it up and keep fighting. I guess in some ways I did but I know it’s only for him.

               His sigh shows his disappointment. “Do anything exciting since last time?”

               “Nope.”

               “Then why don’t you tell me why you look so awful.”

               The true meaning of his statement doesn’t escape me, but there’s no enjoyment in talking about such dreadful things. With a smirk so easily contrived, I tease, “What? Vanitas, you don’t think I’m pretty?”

               “Nah, you’re fine. But that bruise is pretty bad.” Golden eyes stick to the violet across my cheek. “He hitting you again?”

               The smile drops and I shrug. “It’s nothin’ new; he just managed to get in a good sucker punch this time. I’m fine.”

               “Fine?” he scoffs. “With a bruise like that you should have a concussion.”

               “Probably but it’s only a mild one. I didn’t even pass out.”

               A prodding finger causes an instinctive flinch. There’s a flicker of a crease across his nose and his jaw tightens. “Why do you stay there?”

               “Where else am I supposed to go? He’s my father; and it’s not like anyone else in this forsaken town cares,” I say with a wave to the window-lit homes below. “Everyone here is out for themselves; the unfortunate and incapable be damned. Besides, look at me—I’d never be able to make it on my own.” Tearing my gaze from the hell below, I look to the twilight sky where stars are just beginning to reveal themselves. “If only I could be like you: strong enough to go wherever I wanted—to get out of here and live my life.”

               There’s a long pause that feels physically heavy before Vanitas finally says something. “Come with me.”

               “What?”

               “Let me take you away from here.”

               It takes everything I have not to agree on the spot.

               Vanitas has shown me nothing but kindness in his roundabout, snarky kind of way; as I said, he saved me in some ways. But deep inside him hides rage; I know it’s there—I can see it burning in his eyes and in the way he holds himself. He was asked about it a long time ago, but when the answer was dismissal, I acknowledged his need for space. However, no matter Vanitas’s intentions, that fury will always bring trouble so long as he holds onto it.

               “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” The rational brain and desperate heart scream at me for being a fool and turning down a chance at freedom.

               “Why not? You’d rather stay with that abusive bastard?” snarls the boy.

               “No. I’d give almost anything to go with you…But would you?”

               In his inadvertent saving of me, Vanitas created an admiration in me. I marvel at his strength and freedom as I stated but I also admire him. There’s no telling if it was born from his pity or from our continued interactions and it’s really only become apparent recently—I like him, as more than a friend. In saying that, this animosity that he’s been hiding frightens me; it could drive him to abandon me or, gods forbid, become the very person I’m fleeing. Without some reassurance that none of that will happen, I don’t know if I can let go of what miniscule stability I have.

               “Would you give up your past?”

               It’s that rage compelling him to react so harshly. “You’re the one with an abusive family; why would I have to give up anything?!”

               I’ve endured a lot in my life, enough to reduce most of my traumas to just simple inconveniences; it’s been a long time since I’ve shed any tears yet here I am. At least I manage to smile. “Because I’m scared.” Aggravation is wiped from his face. “Whatever life you live…I’m worried it’s scarier than anything my father could do. I already worry about you; so who knows what’ll happen if I get involved. If I runaway with you, could you leave all that behind?”

               Once again that silence takes over but it’s far more foreboding this time. The omen holds true when, without a warning, Vanitas just gets up and leaves. Peering back, I watch the black portal swallow him up and vanish. Some imaginary grip takes hold on my heart, tight enough it might as well not be beating. Not only has my only means of escape vanished, but I may have scared off my only friend. More tears fall until the late hour forces me home.

               In the following weeks, I maintain my ritual of climbing to the town overlook at sunset, all the while things don’t let up at home. Each day without a visit drops my hopes of his return lower and lower and breaks my heart just a little more each time. I go through phases of hatred, pity, and regret for both me and him; sometimes all in one day—it’s miserable. Finally, on day ninety of his absence, I break; I just can’t bring myself to go to our meeting spot—there’s no point.

               Nevertheless, I can’t force myself to just stay at home when the evening begins to approach. My legs carry me along the clearing streets while my brain finds more and more things to hate about this place. It’s a nagging worry that I’m becoming just like everyone else in this wretched place.

               A set of fast-paced steps puts me on guard, only for my arm to be snatched in a firm grasp. All resistance leaves me when I meet a pair of fury-filled, gold eyes.

               “You idiot! You’re supposed to be waiting for me!” he snaps, pointing up at the overlook.

               Still partially caught in the shock, I hesitate. “It’s been three months…”

               “So what!” Are those tears? “I don’t care if I go missing for a hundred years! You fucking wait for me! Do you understand?!” His grip pulls me closer. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

               “Why?” I squeak out.

               Vanitas huffs but never surrenders his hold on me. Instead, with an about faced, I’m being dragged towards one of those dark circles he often left me through. Fear of the unknown causes resistance, feet skidding across the ground. It’s futile—Vanitas is stronger.

               It feels like passing through a substance between air and water with a chill to it. My home disappears, leaving me to the whims of Vanitas and this dark realm yet my friend refuses to stop.

               A second portal rises and I receive no warning before he shoves me through.

               I don’t know what I was expecting to meet on the other side of the chaos but it certainly isn’t what I got. Warmth contradicts the cool darkness, soothing some of my mania. Salt travels by on the breeze and I can hear birds in the distance. Daring a peek, I open my eyes.

               It’s beautiful—a city of white and gold in mountains among water before me. Windmills of all sizes and purposes spin in the gentle wind. Atop the largest mountain sits an enormous castle with a massive clock face on the front. This is nothing like my dingy hometown.

               “Because even if I’m not willing to give up the hatred that made me who I am, I’m not going to leave you alone in that hellhole.” Turning back, I find the softest expression I’ve ever seen him wear. “But I am willing—so here we are.” Some that old cynicism returns. “Ah geeze, are you crying?”

               Dragging an arm across my face, I laugh. “Maybe.”

               “Come here, you crybaby.”

               For the first time, Vanitas holds me. It takes some time to subdue the sobbing but the arms wrapped around me definitely help. Once it’s contained to sniffles and hiccups, the young man delivers a sentence that I’m sure I’ve misheard.

               I lean back to get a look at his face. “What?”

               “You dork,” he mutters, brushing a thumb under my eye. “I said I love you.”

[numbaoneflaya]

I got a lot for you, you don't have to answer all of these 💀. 2, 4, 8, 21, 35, and 50 for Jilly. 3, 7, 10, 41, and 64 for Valkya. And 6, 7, 14, 25, and 52 for Mike. And a large fry 😁

I FINALLY DID ITTTTTT IM SORRY FOR THE WAIT!! all under the cut bcs ofc its LONG

JILLY

2. What are their favourite possessions? Why? (sentimentality, history, price, etc)

-She has 2 stuffed ferrets shes had since she was little :) she calls them stinker and slinker and she loves them so much. Also a collection of friendship bracelets she pretty much makes matching ones for everyone she likes and wears them in rotation.

4. Are they a good gift-giver? What do they tend to give as gifts? -Jilly LOVES gift giving bcs she naturally hoards and steals shit and then ends up with too much shit, so what better to do with it than give to friends?? You're likely to get anything she can swipe that reminds her of u. Tries to vary it to suit whoever shes giving a gift to but her go to is something like stuffed animals and jewelry bcs thats what she likes best

8. What does their dream house look like?

-She would like an at home gym with giant climbable pillars and hoops and obstacles, or just a house with a lot of land and forest she can run around in. She's also way a fan of hidden passages and secret hiding places, anything she can snoop and weasel around in. No scary basement tho

21. What’s their ideal date like?

-Carnival or theme park! Anything with lots of action and noise and prizes. Shed want to play all the games for hours straight and go on all the biggest rides.

36. Do they trust easily? What would you have to do to earn their trust?

-Yes she trusts easily :/ mayhaps too easily. Her way of thinking is innocent until proven guilty and even then, it takes a looooot to make her start to doubt someone because she wants to believe everyone has good intentions. To earn her trust, being nice to her and other ppl is the easiest way, but she's also prone to trust you if you seem secure somehow or just in charge like a position of authority.

50. Why would they be a good partner for a road trip?

-Snacks. On demand. She packs every snack and drink you could ever hope for and stashes up on blankets and pillows too. The type to wanna play my spy and car games and to sing along really loudly to music. WILL stick her head out the window sometimes. Will want to stop at every roadside attraction. Just for fun the reason she might be a bad roadtrip partner is that she talks a lot. And will be loudly singing and sticking her head out the window. And after a while the car will start to smell vaguely of ferret and she might shed.

--------

VALKYA

3. Do they get jealous easily? If so, what usually causes it?

-Shes really not a jealous person at all, especially not romantically. Shes pretty chill in general. Even so, some times she gets jealous of all the time other people get to spend with Naryu. If Valkya feels like someone else is being prioritized over her shes more likely to act out like a baby ggdghdf

7. What’s their “type”? What romantically attracts them to another person?

-Women who could kill her and men who are pathetic, but shes open to anything. Has a thing for nerds, goths, vampires, werewolves, short people, assassins, and most importantly people who are easy to fluster. She will bone anything that moves

10. What’s a simple thing that brings them joy?

-Finishing a good book, especially a series. When shes not in life threatening danger or fucked up out of her mind shes a pretty avid reader. She likes having the free time to sit around a fireplace and snuggle up with a book, though she'll deny it if caught and say she doesnt know how to read hgfdgsd.

41. What would they dress up as for Halloween?

-Demetria 💀 shed just steal her clothes and stretch TF out of em gsdgdfhsd. Or dress up as herself bcs who needs originality when your famous?

64. Describe what their social media would be like.

- Random memes from the last century all mixed up, millions of selfies and nudes out of nowhere. Drunk posting at 4 am and getting into fights w Dem over dumb shit, subtweeting everyone to start drama. Has thousands of followers and does giveaways of shit she finds lying around her house for no reason but shes bored

-----------------

MIKE

6. Do they prefer to have a big social circle, or a few close friends?

-Shed prefer to have a few close friends as long as they ride or die. Most likely die tho. Shes desperate for frienship shell stalk someone to get to know them really well and then delude herself into thinking theyr besties. Sometimes it doesnt go well but she still gets a meal out of it even if shes sad

7. What’s their “type”? What romantically attracts them to another person?

-Someone who looks like they're up for fun! Really into alt fashion and people who seem like they dont give a shit. Confidence, fighters, rebels, anyone she can party hard with. Likes people who are interesting and is especially interested in befriending other killers, they have so much to bond about!

14. Who do they go to in a crisis/emergency? Any particular reason why they choose that person?

-Probably Zeke tbh. Since she turned him hes like the only other vamp besides prim she knows and hes always pretty level headed. Probably goes to him for advice on how to make friends and hes like “maybe dont break into ppls houses and drain their victims out of nowhere :/” and shes like “that was ONE TIME and it worked!!”

25. What are their dreams like?

-All chaotic! Theres seldom ever a storyline or anything, just bright colors and random things happening and an overlying sense of panic or dread. Like those images you look at to understand what having a stroke is like, everything is off color and melting and shes usually running away from something. Typically nightmares but about nothing in particular, just disconnected sounds shapes and figures.

52. What topic should nobody bring up around them, lest the other person be subject to a massive ramble/rant?

-ANYTHING to do with twilight. She knows everything about it. Has seen and read is 12 times over and can quote it directly at any time, do not attempt to argue twilight with her. Diehard team Edward forever. If your tied up and somehow the topic of it comes up just pray she kills you soon bcs she will go on for hours and bring out her annotated copies and force you to go through them with her.

[border-spam]

Typhon

Typhon has only ever meant well.

The white lies, the sprinklings of exaggeration in his stories? Well, that just made people laugh, made ‘em happy. The bravado and bad jokes? Leda liked those, made her smile, and if Leda was happy then what else mattered?

Nothing.

Till she was killed.

Everything that built up to that night had been soul crushing, days of tears and rage as they screamed at each other and the undeniable end that approached.

Troy was dying.

8 years they’d managed to play pretend - a makeshift little family unit on a forgotten star -  that everything would be ok, when they all knew there was no way the boy would reach adulthood. Even Tyreen, too young to even really comprehend death, knew deep in her core some way.

They’d gotten 8 years, but they wouldn’t get another. Typhon sat on that rickety little bed he’d carved from Nekro-wood when the twins were born, sat for what felt like days now next to his exhausted wife, and waited. Waiting was all there was left to do, but they shouldn’t have expected an 8 year old to understand that.

They shouldn’t have ignored Tyreen’s outbursts, clearly confused and lashing out for attention while the back of her mind screamed how wrong her twin looked in his frail little body, eyes closed and chest barely moving. He knows now they shouldn’t have done that, how much it hurt her and why it lead to what it did.

But Typhon has only ever meant well.

When he passed out to Troy’s screaming and the crack of Leda’s stone skin as Ty wrenched her crushed fist from it’s grip, there was no expectation of anything bar dread. His last slipping thought as he blacked out, unable to process the horror he’d just witnessed, was the grim humour that tomorrow he’d be burying his son and his wife.

Waking up to a flushed, confused Troy asking where Leda was as he carefully sat up in bed while his twin curled around him, was like a blow to the skull.

He was alive. He was awake. It was a miracle. It had to be a miracle, what else could it have been? Whatever had.. had happened to Leda.. she must have done something, must be watching down on them from the heavens and healed their boy, that was it. That had to be it, and Typhon had sobbed with his twins, hugging their little bodies to his chest and promising he’d make sure they stayed safe, he promised Leda that day.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but Tyreen would choke him to death with her bare hands if she didn’t know Troy would turn on her like a switchblade.

He’d tried so hard to do what he’d promised, to keep them safe, but he’d never actually listened to Tyreen despite coddling her to a suffocating level. She’d tried to explain so many times, tried to tell him about the “bad feeling” in her stomach as The Leech wracked hunger pains through her tiny system that were too inhuman for her to be able to describe in terms he could comprehend.

She’d told him she wanted to leave, that there were people out there who needed her and Troy’s help, that there were so many lost souls she could reach out to and give belonging, but he’d just laugh and shake his head. Tell her that would be a terrible idea, that “the people out dere” would skin them both alive and sell their bodies to “da corporations” before they’d manage to say hello, and she’d hated him. The Leech squirmed in rage within her ribcage as it’s lure to Pandora was denied over and over while years passed, and Tyreen was forced to remain on Nekrotafeyo for far longer than she could bear.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but the looks he gave his daughter, the fear in his eyes and nervousness in his words only added to the dread she’d begun to understand as she got older. The realisation that her father thought she was a monster, and it might be true. He’d kept her trapped on a planet with nothing she hungered for, and the great maw swallowed pieces of Tyreen instead.

Troy was just forgotten.

Typhon hadn’t meant it, he’d not purposefully relegated his son to a provider that kept their larder stocked and bots functional, but it had happened anyway.

Tyreen was the one who needed attention, Tyreen was the one he needed to watch and keep close, she was the troublemaker. Troy was just.. Troy was just there, a lanky shape in the side of vision that was hyperfocused on his flighty twin, and it happened so slowly neither of them really noticed.

Troy was quiet, Troy was easy to manage, Troy didn’t complain or pout or have tantrums, he’d just do as you asked. Troy would scurry up rock-faces till twilight set and he couldn’t see clearly anymore, then limp back to camp with scraped knees and bloody knuckles and beam at being thanked for bringing back some Manta eggs

Troy would disappear for 10 hours and arrive home with a sack of glow pods, even though there were none for miles around, all just to see the smile light across his sister’s face as she leeched the plants and hummed their deliciousness.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but Troy was so easy to raise that his father stopped even seeing him.

It took about a year on Pandora for the rose tinted lenses to begin to clear for Troy about how things had been at home.

He was at Tyreens neck about it at any opportunity till then, jumped at any chance to remind her she made him come here and lied, to rub it in and make sure she was perfectly aware how much he wanted to leave, but it died down as he began to really see the truth of things.

Tyreen didn’t change, shed always wanted off Nekro from the moment The Leech sowed its seeds of influence through whispers in the back of her mind after what happened to Leda. She hated Typhon, but Troy didn’t, and still doesn’t years later despite having a far more realistic view of how poor a father he’d been to them. Can’t bring himself to want to cut him off completely when he knows how easy it is to make mistakes that hurt other people…

Typhon has only ever meant well, but the twins had been starving on that planet.

Tyreen in spirit, no life source more complex than animals to feed from meant The Leech constantly gnawed at the back of her mind demanding she leave, but Troy physically.

It hadn’t been so bad before, when he was younger. He and Typhon could easily hunt more than enough food together even if Troy mostly ended up carrying small loads and helping his dad as a kid, but by the time Typhon’s loss and fear had left him too concerned about Tyreen to let her accompany Troy and too paranoid to leave camp with him, things were bad.

They were very bad.

The twins are two sides of the same ravenous hunger. Tyreen’s ate her soul, but Troy’s decimated his body.

He’d take Grouse on long trips, the bots ability to carry a life saver even if he was too loud to actually help with the hunt itself, but there was just never enough food.

The animals on Nekrotafeyo were more energy than flesh, there wasn’t much on them in the first place, and coupling that with vegetation humans absolutely hadn’t evolved to eat, survival became a harder struggle every year that passed and bigger he grew.

Typhon was half his size and seemed to never pick up how much Troy was flagging, but that’s just how things were.

That was life, that’s how it is. Right?

Troy had believed that was the case till Pandora, and him actually getting to see how other people lived.

He’d been so proud of the few kilos he put on in those 6 months on Seifa’s ship.

She’d been insistent on eating way more often than he was used to and oddly grateful in a way he didn’t understand when he’d finish a meal, but when the first medic he’d let near him at Sol’s insistence when they’d entered their business partnership told him he was dangerously underweight, it had been a slap to the face.

He wasn’t, he’d put on weight. He was bigger than he’d ever been, you could pinch his skin now, so what were they fucking talking about?

Ranting at Ty afterwards had left a shitty taste in his mouth. She’d looked almost sad as she’d listened, told him he needed to actually trust her for once, that she wasn’t wrong about dad. That dad had been a fucking monster.

He couldn’t agree, wouldn’t. Stormed back to his room in their tiny studio space and brooded for hours - gnawing at his nails as Pandora’s night air turned frigid.

No one looked like he had when he came here. Dad had never said anything about him being thin. He was normal. He was normal, wasn’t he? He’d had no one to compare to, but…

No one here looked like he had.

He’d not seen anyone that thin, skeletal structure that visible. Hadn’t seen anyone yet who was normal and had cheekbone ridges you could see a jaw hinge through as it moved.

That hadn’t been normal, had it. He didn’t know and dad hadn’t said anything, acted like nothing was wrong for years.

He’d been starving, hadn’t he, and Typhon had slapped him on the back and thanked him for dinner every night instead of even hinting at worry. He’d been starving and the only person who could have helped him understand how sick he was had cared more about keeping his children by his side, than if one dropped dead.

So he stops bringing up wanting to go home. He stops defending Typhon if Tyreen needs to rage against her past in a monologue at night to help her shrug off the anger and get some rest.

He’s weird about food.

He won’t stand for waste when the Slums are hungry.

Neither can forgive their father for the childhood he caused.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but his children won’t speak of him at all.

[bokettochild]

Touch and Go

Whumptober Day 6: Touch-Starved

Is this late? yes.

Is this proofread? No.

But I had Feelings about this one, so please excuse the shameless hurt/comfort and Legend fluff at the end, and let me project my lonely ass onto my favorite character again.

I hope y'all enjoy! Consider this a break from the unresolved whump of the last few prompts.

There are days when Legend really hates being alive.

Today's one of those days. Today's one of those horrid days when everything is cold and everything is bitter and all he can do is snap when Wind chatters at his side. All he can do is bark out something harsh and cruel that makes the sailor avert dark eyes and slowly move away from him.

The kid has spirit, he'll say that at least. Wind doesn't blubber up and cry about it, just looks hurt and walks away, shoulder's stiffening as the kid wanders over to stand next to Warriors instead, thin arms wrapping tight around the sailor's chest as the kid hugs himself, only relaxing slightly when Wars buries his hand in the kid's hair and gives the golden locks a gentle tussle. The kid's lips twitch as he stares up at Wars with his big dark eyes, rain pattering over his face as the captain throws the end of his scarf over the kid's head.

Legend pulls his own cloak closer and purposefully ignores the exchange as he continues to slosh through the mud.

They've come to Sky's world and while the area isn't one that the Chosen Hero recognizes immediately, Wild had climbed a tree a while back (regardless of the clouds that threaten lightning or the rain that makes the bark slippery) and called out the direction of what he was certain was a village. At any other time, Wind would climb up after the champion with his telescope to confirm, but Time isn't willing to take that risk and instead called Wild down back to them.

The champion trudges on ahead, laughing light and free as rain soaks through log golden hair and Twilight fusses and scolds like a worried mother cuckoo, trying to make the champion pull up the hood of his cloak while the rancher's own furry hood bobs low enough to cover his eyes, making Wild only laugh harder. The hood has ears, he notes with a scoff, and Twilight doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed at that, instead punching Warriors' shoulder when the man points it out, a toothy grin on the rancher's face while the captain shoots him a hurt look, rubbing his bruised shoulder with something like a pout.

Time's own soft chuckles mix with the light patter of rain, and Legend takes a moment to consider why the man isn't earing a cloak, only to realize that Hyrule isn't either, and that his protege is darting about in the rain with a bright smile that stretches all the way to his slowly flapping ears, the kid practically flittering about Time and giggling as the cold and wet rain dribbles through his curls and sings against their leader's armor.

Legend huffs, wrapping his own cloak tight about himself. Fine, let the other's catch cold for their foolishness. Let Time be sneezing his obnoxiously loud sneezes and Hyrule low himself back with the force of his own. Let Wild be red in the face and nasally for the next week, it's their own fault for being such blasted idiots! He'll just wear his wool cloak, thank you very much! He'll tuck it close and wrap it around and around and-

Another cold breeze makes Wind giggle as it swipes through the sailor's curls and send Warriors huffing out complaints. Wild laughs louder as Twilight's hood is pushed back, dampening the rancher's dark hair as the man sighs in defeat. Four giggles from where they're hiding with Sky under the sailcloth, the fabric held over their heads like an umbrella as they walk, both red in the face from the cold but dry save for the feet that squelch through the mud.

Legend only shivers and pulls his cape closer. How is this funny to them? How is rain nice enough to play in or laugh or try and sing, like Time is doing? Rain is cold and miserable and wet, and he's shivering as he pulls on his hood with a firm tug. It's too cold, and too wet and the only thing he really wants is to find somewhere where he can just collapse into the corner and sit. He's not asking for one of Uncle's old oversized tunics, or a warm fire, or even a mug of Ravio's cocoa, all he wants is to sit down and just... be.

It's dark out here and it's dark inside and it's dark everywhere and all he wants is to sit in the darkness and let himself flop against whatever happens to be available and just sit, mind blank, body still, nothing and no one needing him and nothing and no one to disturb him.

"Lights ahead!" Four calls back to them with a bright grin, red cheeks nearly glowing as their eyes sparkle the same color, and beside the smithy Sky perks up, ears twitching slightly as a grin break across his face. "It's the village!"

In seconds Sky has scooped Four up and started jogging towards the lighted houses before them, ignoring as the smithy laughs out warnings about asthma and slippery paths, and Legend can only shake his head slowly with a sigh as the others follow suit, even Time. Honestly, where are they getting this much energy?

When they reach the settlement it's to find Sky and Four both covered in mud and Sun and Sky's big red-head friend waiting at the door of the common house with towels and hearty laughter.

there's still a lot to be done here to make a proper village, but for the time being those who are constructing it have settled in a large common house that Sky's told them will one day be a festival and meeting hall. "Maybe even a school," the Chosen Hero had grinned. There are mostly only a few villagers who rotate out to help with construction in turns, but on the rare visit the heroes have had here, Sun and- Goose? Gross? Whatever the heck the man's name was- are always there to greet them with wide smiles and exuberant displays of affection for their best friend.

Even now, Sky is tucked under the red-heads arm, playfully protesting the fist that rubs over the knight's head, even as Four sits atop the big man's other shoulder, laughing and swinging their feet gently at the sight of their predecessor getting a noogie.

Legend sweeps past the chaos with a sigh, briefly accepting the towel Sun offer to him with a tender smile. He doesn't even bother shedding his boots, no matter how touchy his is about it in his own home, and instead flops down in the only place that doesn't seem to be occupied and gives his hair and face a quick rub with the towel before laying it aside and leaning back against the wall.

Cheery voces and laughter sound around him, but it's like a dark cloud hangs over him as he wraps his arms tight around his chest and curls up.

Even next to the roaring fire, he's cold. It's like his bones are cold, even as sweat starts to bead at his brow, and a shiver still manages to travel through him as one of the former Skyloftians stokes the roaring flames.

He's not sick, he's been wrapped to tight in warm clothes recently to have gotten a cold or something, and anything contagious hasn't been run into as they dart across worlds after the shadow. Still, he's cold, and almost hollow feeling as he presses his hands to his ears to try and block out Wind's laughter. The sound hurts, even though he doesn’t know why. His head isn’t pounding but his chest aches and throbs around nothing at the sound. His throat is tight and his bones continue to ache miserably as he finally pulls his discarded towel over his head and ears in a last-ditch attempt to stop all the noise coming over to him.

Once, he’d worried about this sort of thing. He’d panicked when he stopped being able to feel properly warm and when his bones never quite settled. Now, sitting beside the biggest freaking fire he’s ever seen outside of a festival, he accepts the chill in his bones with an exhaustion that settled in ages ago.

Violet eyes flitter shut slowly as he tries to focus on the crackle of flames, a sound he can always rely on to help him settle himself. He has to drop the towel, but the others have dulled their chatter to a quiet murmur as something clatters and sheet shuffle over the fresh wooden floor. There's the occasional laugh from one of the others, but it’s nothing he can’t handle as he wraps his damp cloak closer around him.

He could ignore it. He could get up and join the others and just ignore the cold empty hollow inside of him, but today he just wants to be. He doesn’t want to fight it, and he doesn’t want to bother using energy to ignore it. The cold cave in his chest is there and it’s not going away so he may as well accept it and t himself just drift along in the amid the cheer of the evening.

The others seem keen on leaving him alone, letting him brood in silence as Wild darts over briefly with a warm smile and an even warmer bowl of seasoned rice. The kid called this stuff pudding, but there’s nothing smooth and creamy about it. It’s good though, and he accepts the bowl with his usual nod of thanks before Wild is darting back to the others where they sit around a rough wooden long table. His brothers are all laughing and chatting with the big Goose man, and only Sun spares him a curious glance before her attention is swept up by Hyrule, who presents her with something that makes the woman blush and beam as she wraps the traveler in a warm hug.

Pain pangs through his chest as the vet lowers his bowl. He’s not... he’s not hungry he finds, staring down at the sweet and seasoned rice with apathy. He’s not really upset about not being hungry, not surprised either, just... it is what it is.

Gnarled fingers reach up and he twines a lock of pink hair through his fingers, violet gaze darting up to the table across the room as the others continue their ceaseless chatter. No one looks at him, and it draws a sigh of relief from him as he loosens up a bit.

He’s not proud of how he handles the cold, not of how he fills the emptiness enough that it stops aching. It’s embarrassing really, but he’d rather handle it himself than have to get attached to having someone else ease the ache for him.

Long ears droop slightly as he runs his nails over their shells, rubbing behind his own ears like a goddess darned weirdo and letting his other hand brush through his hair again. It’s grown some, catching on his shoulders when he turns his head and he debates letting it grow out long again for a moment. It would be more convenient when switching with Fable to not have to put on a wig, but he’s not overly keen on having to take care of the long tresses again and long hair does get so easily tangled.

There’s a burst of laughter from the table again, and while he glances up quickly, hands drawing away for a moment he finds relief in the fact that the others are all too busy teasing the captain for one thing or another to bother looking over at him. Relief blossoms in his chest as he rubs his own ears again.

It’s stupid, he knows it, but being touched, being close to someone is the only way to make this never-ending emptiness fill for a little bit, and if he just ignores it, it gets more and more unbearable. Once, Fable had thought he’d been cursed, he’d been so stiff and shivery, and it didn’t help that the bags under his eyes had grown dark enough that he looked like he’d been in a brawl. He’d explained he was just tired, restless after returning from the sea and unable to sleep properly without fear of dreaming. But sleep was the only relief from being utterly and completely empty, so he was caught in flux, perpetually tired and cold and both wishing for sleep and doing all in his power to avoid it.

Fable had dragged him up to her room and nestled them both into her big bed, her favorite fuzzy pink blanket tucked up so tightly around him that he couldn’t even squirm free as she’d wrapped him a hug and started to try and sing. It was horrible, and he’d very nearly cried at his sister’s off-key screeching right in his ear, but she’d promised to be quiet, grinning like a gremlin, if only he would lay still. He had, and the next thing he knew it was lunchtime the next day and Fable was laughing her ass off because he apparently both drooled and talked in his sleep.

He wishes Fable was here now. She’s the only one Hylia can’t rip away from him, because she's the freaking princess and needs to rule Hyrule one day. She’s safe, she won’t disappear or die before her time or leave like everyone else. She’s the only constant he can rely on, and more than anything he wants to feel small beside her as she teases him and plays with his pink hair and jokes about bunnies and cherries and Ravio and a dozen other things that make him scowl usually but only provide a constant stream of chatter when he’s too tired to care anymore.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember the last time he slept properly, and as he tugs the tip of his own ear he briefly wonders, entirely too spent to care how pathetic it sounds, if the others have even noticed.

As laughter bubbles up across the room from him he lets self-pity take over as wonders if they even miss him right now, so happy and warm and content together. War’s is dozing, propped up on his fist and instants away from either landing in Twilight’s food or on his shoulder, and the rancher doesn’t look like he knows which would be worse. Sky is already conked out against the Goose man, snoring softly and drooling on his friend’s arm while the others continue their yammering, Time’s hand is buried idly in Four’s hair and Hyrule and Wild are both leaning back in their seats with easy smiles that whisper warnings that the two might topple over at any minute. Only the rancher and Wind seem to be keeping awake enough to talk to Sun and the other settlers, Goose long since having left the discussion to set his big boots on the table and listen in, only throwing out the occasional comment that has Sun blowing out her cheeks and rolling her eyes as they glitter with stifled laughter.

It’s downright homey.

Legend curls up tighter. Call him a crybaby, but he wants to go home.

It’s over sooner than later, but not soon enough, and as Time and Goose exchange snarky quips, both dragging their friends and brothers over to some of the spare beds, Legend has given up self-soothing to curl in on himself. He’s still wet, still cold, and by now the damp on his face isn’t from the rain they came in from a couple hours ago. He’s exhausted and he really wants to pass out, but he’s too sore and distracted and that itself is enough to make his eyes water in frustration as his ringer fingers dig into his arms hard enough to leave bruises.

He hardly registers when something brushes against his boot, but then something warm is pressed to his cheek and the vet darts back in surprise and fear at the sudden sensation eyes wide as they stare up to meet twinkling blue.

Sun is as warm as her name and her eyes twinkle like the night sky itself, full of light and life and hope that Legend hasn’t seen on the face of any living being ever. “Hey,” the goddess incarnate hums softly, like she’s approaching a particularly skittish remit, head cocked and hand extended cautiously, “You okay there, little hero?” Her voice is warm, rich and deep in a way he hadn’t expected but that somehow suits her better than the voice he’d imagined his comrade’s fiancé to have.

He blinks up at her, startled, mind empty as Hylia herself stands over him with concern in her blue eyes.

This... is weird.

The goddess tilts her head softly, golden hair brushing over her rosy cheeks charmingly as thin brows pull together in a light frown that makes him feel guilty for being its cause. “Are you alright?”

The hand reaches out again, and he has to try hard not to shiver as it presses against his brow again, impossibly warm and gentle and...

“You don’t seem to have a fever.” Hylia herself hums softly, scooching closer with worry glimmering in her gaze, hand pulling back at his continued grimace. “Hey.” His ears flicker slightly at the call as the woman before his ducks her head to be closer to his eye level. “Is something wrong? Are you-” royal blue widens as the woman reaches out yet again, stopping herself inches away as he flinches back. “Are those tears?” She whispers softly, but the question isn’t directed at him, so he avoids her gaze and shuffles in on himself again.

He expects that Hylia- Sun? - will back away, will wander back to her bed with furrowed brows and a shaking head as she dismisses the sorry bundle of self-pity sitting in the corner from her mind. He’s expecting a heavy sigh and the rustling of fabric as she pushes up and away. He’s expecting the chill that travels down his spine at the thought of sitting alone while the others curl up in their shared beds. He doesn’t expect the warm hands that settle on his back as toned arms wrap loosely around him, golden hair drifting into his vision as warmth spread through at every place that the goddess incarnate’s skin pressed against him.

He doesn’t expect the sob that rises in his throat either, or the desperate clutch onto the woman’s blouse as he silently begs her not to let go.

“You’ve been sad for a long time, haven’t you?” Rich tones whisper softly into his ears as one hand rubs up and down his back. “I’m sorry.”

Tears prick at his eyes again and when the woman pulls him forwards, he doesn’t resist as he’s pulled up into her lap, strong arms wrapping tight around him as a golden-head rests against his own. He hardly knows Sun, but he hardly cares right now as warmth surges through him from where he’s tucked in her arms, and even if his back is cramping up and his fingers are sore from how tight they’re holding her blouse, even if he’s flushed and embarrassed and blubbering, he doesn’t care, because the empty cold inside of him isn’t as heavy, and the heavy weight on his chest has lifted enough for him to breathe.

“Hush,” The goddess breathes against his ears. “Let it all out, little chick.”

Sobs stutter in his throat as long fingers rub against his back, a light hum filling the silence between gasping sobs as the goddess's own ballad drifts through the air, the notes of Zelda’s lullaby lilting through the melody as Sun rocks gently in place, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head as he continues to soak her in rainwater and tears.

They stay like that he doesn’t know how long, long enough that he’s sore and his eyes are puffy and his throat aches and everything is sore and darkness tints his vision as he sags in the arms that hold him. The Goose man’s voice rumbles something nearby, and Sun whispers something back, hands buried in his hair and brushing through it with delicious care as he lets the world fade from his mind. Briefly, he registers being shifted, lifted maybe as Sun continues to sway and sing. Numbly, he recognizes something warm being pressed to his lips and something warm and soothing trickling down his raw throat as he nuzzled closer to the damp fabric of Sun blouse. He’s past shame now, too tired to care how childish or ridiculous he may look as he revels in the touch, the gentle, goddess blessed touch of warmth that presses in around him and smothers the cold in his bones. Th empty cave in his chest is glowing softly with light, even as darkness washes over him and his eyes fall shut.

The goddess’s ballad- lullaby? - is the last thing he registers before the world fades.

[mattzerella-sticks]

metamorphosis (ao3)

What if, when Jack was born, he stayed a baby?

A retelling of season 13, with a few key differences.

No planned schedule, will update when I finish chapters lol

Prologue - Mary I

THEN

           Mary stared out the cab window at hers and John’s home, at the bare branches of their tree reaching towards the sky and at their lawn mower abandoned underneath it, guts scattered about in disrepair. Her heart stirred, suddenly; Mary’s breath shortening as the vice around her chest tightened. She squeezed the handle, frozen in her seat and reticent to depart the safety of this yellowed rust bucket. Instinct, strangely, kicked in; Mary’s gut rumbled like some emergency siren, begging her to run to safety, run and never look back.

           “Hey, girlie,” a gruff voice startled Mary from her reverie, it belonging to the cabbie behind the wheel, “You leavin’ or what?” He tapped one cigarette-stained finger on the meter, fare ticking ever-upward.

           She chewed the gloss off her lips watching it ascend inch by inch, nearing an even twenty. It was an affordable sixteen dollars when they arrived. The cabbie cleared his throat again. Mary finally tore her eyes from the fare to meet his cloudy grey glare in the rearview mirror. He repeated his question. Mary didn’t have an answer for him, not yet.

           There was the obvious answer. Mary could dig inside her duffle, pay him, and leave without another word. But what kept her in his cab, kept the fare running higher and higher, was this selfish urge she fought against. The urge to tell him ‘no’, to keep driving, to not stop driving until Mary spent every dollar she won from hustling pool the night before.

           And she hated that. She hated him. Mary hated how she ditched a perfectly fine, albeit stolen, Oldsmobile at the edge of town for his cab that reeked of tobacco and stale booze. She absolutely loathed how he spent the entire drive lobbing innuendo her way even though every attempt was met with a polite smile and forced chuckle instead of the end point of her hidden boot-knife. She chafed at the thought of asking him for further help. Most of all, Mary despised how if she gave in, if she breathed life into her desires, this cabbie wouldn’t be any wiser to the huge decision she made. He wouldn’t judge her. He would not care. The burden of leaving, of making that choice, rested entirely on her.

           It felt humiliating.

           “Seriously, blondie, is it just air between those ears or –“?

           “I’m leaving.” She handed over what was owed, not bothering to wait for any change. She hurled herself out of the cab, slamming the door shut in her wake. Mary lingered on the sidewalk, white knuckling her duffle, while the cab drove off. The fumes, toxic and tantalizing, tickled her nose. She stayed firm, refusing to look behind her as it left. Mary knew that, in doing so, her resolve would crumble like Lot’s wife in the breeze.

            She was forged of hardier stuff than her.

           Mary began marching, each step bringing her closer to that other version of herself. Each step, and she shed another layer of who she was to become who she needed to be, what she chose. The guts of her being stripped bare like the lawnmower John left in their yard, a shell of what remained unlocking the door with the key in her pocket.

           There’s no fanfare announcing her return. Their house was silent save for the low hum of the television. Mary followed it, dropping her duffel at the foot of the stairs. She found John, alone, in the living room, asleep with stains on his shirt and a beer can in his hands. The corpses of three other cans were strewn about his feet, their lives given at some earlier time when the game on the screen actually held his interest. Mary grabbed the remote on his thigh, John snuffling slightly. He didn’t wake. He stayed sleeping even when Mary flicked the television off and didn’t stir when she collected the empty cans. Mary carried them into the kitchen, leaving them by the crowded sink, stacked high with dirty pans and plates.

           It was empty last she remembered, three days ago.

           “Dammit John…” Mary reached for the dish soap, pausing midway. Her hand hovered over it briefly. She dropped her hand to her side, skipping the chore for the moment. Mary exited the kitchen, another destination in mind.

           Urged onward by a sudden migraine, caught in its early stages where the pain was annoying but bearable, Mary climbed the stairs for her room. She saw it there, her bed visible because John left the door open. It looked deliciously inviting, Mary imagining the soft blankets wrapped around her shoulders, not John’s, not like they always were, as she sank into unconsciousness strewn across the entire mattress instead of the small sliver that John left for her whenever she finished cleaning their messes in the twilight hours of night. Within seconds, she wouldn’t have to imagine what that might feel like.

           That imagination would be her reality.

           On her journey to the bed, however, Mary heard a tiny sniffle; then a second, followed by a large hitch of breath – all coming from Dean’s room.

           She hesitated, glancing between her room and her son’s. Mary stared at the former, soul yearning for nothing more than rest. But when Dean sobbed, an awful keen that pushed the other option out of her mind, she knew where to go. She sighed, shuffling in the direction of her crying son.

           Mary slowly opened his door, a sliver of light breaking through the depressing darkness blanketing his space. The lights were off, and his curtains were drawn shut. She reached inside to flick on the overhead.

           Dean startled immediately, hiccupping in fright. Wide, bloodshot green eyes met her worn hazel, silent conversation interrupted only when Dean rubbed his fists at them to brush away any lingering tears. “Mommy,” he whimpered, the word bruising her already purpled rib cage, “you’re home…?”

           She smiled, fully entering the room. “Yes, baby, I’m home.” Mary leaned all her weight on the doorknob, shifting on her feet. “Why are you in here all alone?”

           Dean shrugged, looking down at the doll in his hands. He swung its arm back and forth, dragging the silence out. Mary waited. She waited, even though her eyelids began to droop. She waited despite the tiny voice whispering in her ear about how sweet it’d be to lay down. She waited, stayed until he was ready. Dean’s lib wobbled, silently mouthing his thoughts. Soon enough, he set the doll aside. “Dad tol’ me to.”

           “He did?”

           “Said I was bein’… loud.” Another sob racked his small frame, Dean shuddering to contain it. “I coul’… I tried not bein’ loud. But I – but I didn’t see the twisty-thingy twist, and when he open-ed it I, I was there, and it hurt. It hurt!” Tears poured freely from him like the tap water at the motel Mary camped in last night, thick and gross and disgusting. She couldn’t stand tears, or criers.

           Though Mary hid her disgust well, covering an instinctive grimace with a heavy cough. She had to.

           “Oh baby,” Mary cooed, lowering herself onto the floor. Her knees protested, the cut from a stray claw on her left calf flaring from the strain. She swallowed her pain, then beckoned Dean close so she could do the same for him. Dean crawled into her arms, wrapping sticky fingers around her neck while burying his face into her chest. “How long have you been up here?.”

           “A while,” Dean muttered, drooling and crying onto her shirt. She felt his warm breath dampening her shirt, the fabric clinging to her skin. “He said if I were good that he’d lemme out but he… I’ve been quiet s’long, an’ he never came.” Dean gasps, burrowing deeper into her. “Di’ he forget about me?”

           Mary clung tighter to her son, remembering how she found her husband. John, soundly sleeping in his chair, drunk, while their son suffered in his room. She trusted him for one weekend. He promised her it would be fine, that everything would be fine. This wasn’t the first time her faith in him had been misplaced. The disappointment never lessened. Will she learn this time? “I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Mary pressed a kiss to his crown. “I wish I could have brought you with me.”

           She hadn’t meant that.

           Where she went, Dean couldn’t follow. It was a promise she made after the first hunt, after falling into bad habits again. These trips were hers. Outlets for her aggression. Measured doses to feed her addiction. Reminders of why she left that life, why she chose a picket fence that kept those shadows at bay, why she never wanted her new family to know what she really was.

           Dean shined too brightly for that dark hell. Monsters and ghosts and demons would shatter this innocent child into irreparable pieces, ruining him like it’s ruined every Campbell before him, like it ruined her.

           It was depressing to accept, but denial became maddening. Pretending drained Mary of her strength. Repeating lies, staring down her reflection with mantras that one day she’d not judge herself like an impostor, or an outsider, or a fraud, ate at her soul. Motherhood was not what she imagined. Motherhood did not come naturally to her. Motherhood proved to not be the escape she hoped.

           On those days where she felt low, like nothing she did was right, hunting reminded Mary that she was not just a mother.

           But that’s who Mary was to the little boy in her arms. That’s all she was.

           “Mommy,” Dean whimpered, calmer now that he spilled his tears into Mary’s embrace, “Mommy… can I haf’ food now?”

           “What?”

           “I’m hungry,” he whined, tugging on her hair, “Please! I hadn’t eated since Daddy left for his juice!”

           Mary looked down at Dean, her little boy. She watched his eyes shyly poke through his lashes and past oily, sandy bangs; how his fists curled tighter around her golden waves. Her own hands twitched with the dreadful urge to shove Dean off of her and tell him to make his own food. A scream echoed in her throat, trapped, that she was more than that. She was more than Dean’s mother. She was more than John’s wife. A fighter’s blood pumped through her veins and a soldier’s head sat atop her shoulders and it was a killer’s hands this clueless boy asked to prepare his food.

           While that storm whipped inside of Mary, she hardly let it show. Mary fought against her initial reaction, instead scooping Dean into a loose hold. “I’m kind of hungry, too,” she lied, “dinner sounds wonderful.”

           There was more to Mary than motherhood, except those other pieces of herself grew smaller as motherhood, in its frenzy, consumed them bit by bit. It was determined to be the dominant aspect in her life, the sole expression of Mary’s identity. Motherhood was a monster impossible to slay. Worse, it was a monster of her own making, in her own visage. It was much of her as all the others, conceived at the exact moment Dean was.

           But Mary wondered, if this beast that she became, that worked to destroy everything that came before it, had always lived inside of her, biding its time. That there was never an option of being anything else besides a mother.

           Running seemed pointless, then. Hunting delayed the inevitable.

           She stood in front of the stove, a pot of tomato soup simmering over a low flame. Mary watched the fire burn, hotter and hotter as she spun the dial further towards the highest setting. The tomato soup boiled, bubbles bursting and spewing tomato gunk everywhere. Some landed on her hand. Soup scalded her skin, though could not compare to the inferno tearing apart her being.

           Fire burnt away all that ugly, the darkness Mary was mired in since birth. Blistering heat will make her into the perfect mother. Motherhood was a monster of its own design, unslayable, that demanded suffering and sacrifice.

           I chose this, she mouthed to herself, I did.

NOW

           Mary stumbled out of the memory-dream, slowly at first, then thrown into consciousness by a calloused hand. She yawned, stretching, agitating the knot in her lower back. “Yeah?”

           Bobby offered her his gun, gaze darting to the smoldering embers of their campfire. It didn’t add light, or warmth, but it seemed appropriate when Mary broached the topic of stopping for the night. “Your turn.”

           She nodded, hauling herself off the fallen log she slept against. Bobby dropped in response, taking her station. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to head out. Sweet dreams.”

           “Unlikely.” He twisted, rolling away from her and onto his side. Mary shouldered the rifle, looking from him to the others around the fire.

           Crowley, in his dirty, wrecked suit, sullenly poked the kindling with a knife Bobby must have given him. He hadn’t moved since Mary closed her eyes; however, he appeared more disgruntled than she remembered. An agonized expression carved into his soot-covered face. She might hazard a guess on what caused it, attention flitting from him to the last member of their party.

           Lucifer studied Mary from his own perch. She didn’t know how long he watched, her skin prickling with that feeling of a thousand stares tracking her every move since she crossed over into this other dimension, the apocalypse world. He raised his hands, shackled by a pair of handcuffs that Mary smuggled in with her. He winked, then blows her a kiss.

           Mary spun on her heel, advancing to an outcropping perfect for scouting and a good distance away from the devil’s cold, calculating glare. Her grip on Bobby’s gun tightened. She thought of her boys, of Dean and Sam. How gutted they must be because of her decision, of her sacrifice.

           If only they knew she had no choice. Motherhood demanded it, craved such violence. It was the only aspect of that beast she understood.

[xiao8-bb]

Man, I Feel Like A

A Linked Universe fic

At what point is it considered appropriate to tell your travelling companions you’re actually a man, and at what point are you supposed to take the secret to your grave?

Wild himself would admit he makes a pretty good shieldsister, if it weren't for the fact he's not even a woman half the time.

Chapter 1: First Meetings [posted on ao3 here]

Hylia help them, they almost got skewered onto spears where the portal spat them out.

Hyrule is quick to hold up his hands in a gesture of peace, feeling crosseyed trying to focus on the gleaming metal just centimeters away from his nose.  The woman on the other end of the weapon sneers.  “Voe!  How dare you invade our town!”

Voe?  It’s a foreign word.  He darts his gaze around, taking in the training dummies lined up, the weapons in racks and in every woman’s hands, and, well, the crowd of armed women that look ready to kill for whatever offense their group have inflicted in the single minute they’ve had since being dropped three meters down a rock wall.  This looks more like a military barrack than a town.

To his side, Time tries appeasement.  “We apologize for the fuss, we did not intend to disturb your town.  We were ambushed by monsters when a portal opened up and brought us here.”  He was the one to crowd the group back, keeping them from immediately fighting back when the guards cried out with alarm at their unexpected appearance.  

“Gerudo,” he had hissed out between clenched teeth.  “Stand down and we should be fine, but stay on your guards.”

It was a good call; guard after guard flooded into the area they had dropped down into, and they were surrounded almost immediately.  It would’ve been a brutal fight, not one they were likely to win.

One of them, it’s impossible to tell who, jeers.  “Unfortunate for you voe, then.”  

“We will escort you out,” another says.  Her grip on her sword is less aggressive than before, but a pass of her glare is enough to warn them not to try anything.  “Follow me, and do not touch or bother any of the civilians, or your safety will not be ensured.”

“Wait.”

The crowd around them shifts, slowly breaking away, and yet another woman steps through.  Like all the others, she towers above them all, but her presence manages to be even more intimidating than the rest.  “Portal, you say?  You were teleported here?”

Legend scoffs, loud enough that Hyrule can’t help but look to the sky and pray that he’s not going to piss off the locals and get them killed.  “Did you miss the big swirling void that let us bounce down the rock wall?”  He yelps when a hilt jabs his back.

“Don’t speak to the captain that way!”

The captain, as she seems to be, only narrows her eyes at them.  “It would do you well to watch your tone.  Khali, Leena, escort them out to the shrine with me.  Kanom, go summon Link.  I believe they may be of interest to her.”

Link?

His wide eyes catch on everyone else’s, flickers of surprise and excitement crossing their faces.  Was this a new land?  He’d thought it was Time’s, given that he knew the people, but the name is strikingly consistent.  Would the hero really be so easy to find?

“Who’s Link?” Wind pipes up.  His young age works in his favor—none of the women seem as hostile to him as the others.  “What’s he- uh, she gonna do with us?”

Two warriors nudge them into walking, the captain leading the way.  “She is a gentle soul, so you have nothing to fear, little one,” one says, sounding more relaxed now that their group is on their way out.  “She’s been tracking down the portals, so she will likely ask you questions and send you on your way.”

The other guard snorts, a faint giggle rising from the end.  “Bah, send them on their way?  She’s too sweet for that.  Little Hylian vai will probably insist on helping them get to the bazaar or the stables herself.”

“Quiet, you two,” the captain snaps, and both fall silent.  Her eyes are cutting as she glances back at the group.  “Link is a kind vai, yes, but do not be mistaken.  If she finds any of you a danger to herself or others, she will cut you down with no hesitation.  Step wisely.”

They’re led out through an out-of-way path, only a few non-armed Gerudo catching sight of them.  The moment they’re out of the town walls, the sun seems to take that as permission to beat down harder.  Sand shifts under Hyrule’s feet, and he can’t help but look around in wonder.  Desert as far as he can see, storms of it whipping in the distance.  He walks along in a daze, twisting his head and nearly knocking into poor Twilight as he surveys the land.  The older man looks like he might soon keel over in the heat, covered as he is.

He’s not the only one looking around.  There’s something about this place that speaks of its vastness.  Even Legend and Time, seasoned adventurers they are, seem disconcerted at how never-ending the desert seems to be.  That settles whether it’s Time’s Hyrule or not, then.  A new land, a new Link.

They turn around a corner of the wall and stop.  “Over there,” the captain says as she points to a strange stone structure.  It’s tall, engraved with strange blue markings that glow even under the afternoon sun.  Swirls and disjointed lines, a strange eye framed by a few more flourishes.  Under the eye, an alcove sits, another circle glowing in the floor as if a small mirror to the platform that leads to its entrance.

“That’s the… shrine, you called it?” Warriors asks.  It certainly doesn’t look like a place of worship, but the religion could be different here for all they know.  All he gets in reply is an indifferent hum.

For what it’s worth, the shrine provides blessed shade, and Hyrule doesn’t hesitate to duck inside, though he avoids getting too close to any of the glowing circles in the floor.  Twilight and Legend do the same, and one by one the others sigh and stretch and sit where the sun can’t burn.

Without further ado, the captain says, “Link should arrive sooner than later, and it would most likely be in your best interests to stay until she does.  Perhaps she can keep you from stumbling into another portal.”  She spares them one last look, sharply assessing, and adds, “And for the child’s sake, do not try to traverse the desert.  Not until late afternoon when it’s cooled down, at least.”

And with that, the Gerudo leave.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Four asks, “So we’re in a new Hyrule, right?  Unless anyone here can claim it?”

One by one, each deny the possibility.  “Another hero, then,” Sky murmurs, something regretful under his breath.  He was the most haunted as their band grew, and though they’ve reassured him that the cycle is in no way his fault, he still seems to ache at every new iteration, every sliver of adventure’s lore revealed.  “Did you hear the guards?  They said she, so…?”

“A heroine!” Wind cheers.  He’s sitting on the edge of the platform, curiously sifting the sand through his fingers.  He looks up and grins at them as he speaks.  “Aryll’s gonna be happy, she’s always wanted a big sister.  Oh!”  His eyes sparkle at a thought.  “Do you think she’s gonna be younger than me?  Another little sister!  I don’t know about you guys, but I need someone to dote on, it’s kinda weird without someone younger around.”

Warriors snorts gently.  “I don’t think my heart can take it if we get someone even younger than you, squirt.  Yes,” he says before Wind can protest, “you are an experienced adventurer and all, but the fact that you had to be isn’t great.  I would hate to think of someone even younger.”  

Hyrule thinks he looks to Time for a second, but he’s back to smiling at Wind before Hyrule can be sure.

It drops to a comfortable quiet after that while they wait for Link to show up.  Not completely silent, though.  Twilight and Sky rib at Time to remove his armor “before you get heatstroke, which you will definitely get” while they themselves shed layers.  Wind and Four discuss how beach sand and desert sand are different.  The sun doesn’t let up, hazily drifting down the sky a few degrees at most.  Hyrule lets his eyes unfocus, staring at the mirages that float along the horizon.

Legend sits up from where he leans against cool stone.  “Is that her?”

There, at the town entrance.  A Hylian dressed in the same garb as the Gerudo talks to two guards, hands gesturing and pointing to the shrine.  She raises a hand to shield her eyes as she peers at them, and Wind waves widely when he notices.  Link waves back, a little less enthusiastic but still clearly.  After a farewell to the guards, she makes her way over to them.

Suddenly, Hyrule feels nerves eat at his fingertips, a buzz under his skin.  Yet another hero to get used to being around.  Will they get along?  Will she tip the scale from the group being tolerable to overwhelming in their presence?

Someone bumps into his shoulder—Legend makes a show of not looking directly at him, eyes fixed upon the approaching figure.  “Loosen up,” he says quietly, still not looking at Hyrule.  “It’ll be fine, we’ll figure it out as we go along.”

It’s too late to dip further into anxious thoughts.  Link crests a sand dune and becomes clear to the sight for the first time.

Pretty, Hyrule thinks.  Scarred, he thinks next.

They’re everywhere, disfigured skin all around her left side, crawling up her shoulder and neck and even past the veil that covers her face and into her hairline.  Burns linger on this woman harsher than they could exist on anyone living, and countless other scars litter the remaining skin.  Sword slashes, spear stabs, even what looks to be lightning ferns.  

But she’s undeniably pretty.  Beautiful, even.  Her eyes are a dazzling blue even from afar, and she moves with a grace only royalty could hope to emulate.  Long hair swings in time with her strides.  Despite the battles written in her skin, she walks with a confidence born out of having survived all of them.

“Sav’aaq!” she calls out.  “I’m told you lot got dumped out of a strange portal?”

-

Well, she’s definitely older than Wind, but she is definitely going to be a cool person to adventure with.  The sword strapped to her back is probably bigger than he is, and she stands before them with her hip cocked out just like how Tetra does.  It’s a strong pose, confident and with a hint of swagger. 

Wind loves it.  She looks like she has a million wild stories to tell.

“Sav’aaq!” he greets back, fumbling the word a little.  Only a little, though!  The way her eyes curl into a smile tells him he didn’t do too badly.  “That’s hello, right?  Are you Link?  The captain said you’d wanna talk to us!”

He slips out from between Twilight and Four to grin more directly at her, unable to help his excitement.  She’s Link, one of them; he can feel it in his heart.  The same feeling of familiarity and recognition and right that he’s felt with all the other heroes.

This close, she doesn’t look that much older than him.  Maybe a few years at best.

“It means ‘good day’, yeah.  And yes, I’m Link.”  She walks right up to the platform, uncaring of the blue glow under her shoes.  There’s a terseness in the line of her shoulders, but she holds herself otherwise loose, casual.  “So—portal?”

This is where Time steps up, exchanging glances with Twilight and Warriors.  Wind allows himself to be pulled a bit further back into the shade while they decide: do they come clean immediately?  Do they play along with what Link is after?

Wind’s seen this debate a handful of times.  They usually make a good enough judgement, so he’s content to follow their lead for the time being.

Warriors is the one to speak.  “Yes, a dark portal, big enough to swallow us all.  We fell into it, and it took us from where we were to, well, the middle of this town.”  His tone shifts to wry.  “I take it men aren’t welcomed here, miss?”

Link hums.  “No, voe are not allowed to enter Gerudo Town.  Though it’s strange…”

She takes another step towards them, gaze intent as she studies them one by one.  Beside him, Hyrule takes a step back, uncertainty tightening his eyes.  Sky shifts uneasily.  Four’s breathing purposefully evens out.  Even Legend tenses up.  Despite not doing anything threatening, something in her stance has shifted to scream danger!, and Wind swallows with an abruptly dry throat.

“What is strange?” Time prods.  His stance also changes, from unassuming and relaxed to on guard.  The other two also hold themselves differently, like subconsciously they’re all preparing for a fight.

Suddenly, Wind realizes she’s cornered them in the shrine.

“These portals have only ever released monsters, you see.”  Her voice drops quieter and quieter, but the steel underneath is almost visible.  “Then how is it your group gets dropped out of one?  Hylian travelers, unlucky enough to fall into a portal rather than being ambushed by monsters from one?

“...Unless you aren’t truly Hylian travelers?”

“Wait!” Four blurts out, but it’s too late.  Only Time’s battle-ingrained reflexes keep him from being cut, his own sword drawn just fast enough to block her blade.  “This is a misunderstanding!”

Quick as lightning, Link raises her shield to block a strike from Warriors, taking the opportunity to parry back and swipe at his knees.  Warriors swears and jumps back, nearly bashing his head into the wall behind.  

“Wait!”

Metal rings out against metal as Sky meets her next strike, the glow of the Master Sword ghostly across his face.  “Please, hear us out!”

“...!”  Link backflips once away, dodging a grab from Twilight.  “That’s…!”

Sky waits, but after a few moments, he lowers his arm.  She’s staring at the sword in disbelief, incredulity obvious even in the way her ears stick up.  “I take it you recognize her?” he asks, not quite daring to fully lower his guard.  They’re all frozen in a tableau of wariness, all aware of the danger she could pose to them before they can convince her of the situation.

Her gaze travels up from the blade up to him, and even though Wind isn’t at the end of her glare he feels its feral intensity.  “Why,” she asks—no, demands, “do you have that?”

“It’s a long story, if you’d just let us explain—”

“I restored the sword to its resting place,” Link says, low and fierce.  “Calamity Ganon is dead.  What kind of trickery is this?  Are you the ones responsible for the monsters?”

Wind brightens in spite of himself.  That’s as good as confirmation she’s wielded the sword before.  His hunch was right.  If only they can get her to trust them…!

“Take the sword and she’ll tell you!” Sky insists.  “This isn’t a trap.  We mean you no harm, really.  Please, we are heroes just like you.”

“Is giving the woman who just tried to kill us your sword a good idea?”  Wind elbows Legend harshly.  “What!  It’s a valid concern!”

To be fair, Wind hasn’t lowered his weapon either.  They’d all jumped into action the moment she did.  Fellow hero or not, reflexes are a life-saving thing.  It’s with wary stances that they watch Sky flip the Master Sword, offering it hilt first to Link.  A moment passes, two, and Link’s sword swings back up to be sheathed on her back.

When her hand grips the Master Sword, its glow paints her scars in lurid blue.

“...Otherworldly travelers?”

Wind lets out a breath he didn’t know he was even holding.  “I dunno, it kinda sounds like we’re aliens when you say it like that.  We’ve figured out we’re coming from different parts of different timelines, though!”

Link huffs out a laugh, hostility sliding off her frame.  She hands back the Master Sword to Sky and takes a step back to survey their group once more.

“My apologies for the rough start,” she says, dipping her head in a bow.  “It’s been more and more dangerous around here lately.  Portals are popping up everywhere and spitting out strange monsters.  Did you hit the wall?”  She directs this last part to Warriors, who smiles charmingly, if not a tad warily.  Bleck.

“Not to worry, miss.  It’ll take more than a stumble to take me down!”  Gross.  Grossssssss.  Wind forgoes holding up his sword to cover his face and groan.

“Do you have to flirt with every person you meet?” he complains.

“Why you little—!  It’s called natural charisma and being polite!”  Warriors catches him in a headlock and starts scrubbing at his scalp, much to his horror.  “I’m not going to flirt with someone who’s essentially me!”

With that, the tension breaks.  Hyrule laughs at the fuss and even louder when Legend says, faux-casual, “That doesn’t exclude everyone else you flirt with, captain.”  Wind twists and squirms to throw Warriors off, bolstered by the laughter of his friends and of the newest hero to join their group.

Link, for her part, relaxes considerably.  She speaks quietly with Time and Twilight while the rest shake off their little adrenaline high, then addresses the group as a whole once they quiet down.  “There’s an inn at the bazaar near here where voe are allowed to enter.  Just don’t cause any trouble and you should be fine.  If we leave now, the sun shouldn’t be too hot to bear and we should arrive before it gets cold.”

The path is long and winding, sand getting in boots and under clothes.  Wind finds himself near the front of the group, pelting Link with questions that she seems amused to entertain.  She smiles, at least, so he’s taking that as a win.  What’s a voe?  It’s the Gerudo word for male, with vai as female.  How far is the trek to the bazaar?  A couple hours, maybe even three or four if there were enemies in the way.  What are those round plants that grew in random spots?  Hydromelons, and she picks up all the ones in their path and magicks them away with a tap of a slab on her waist and a wink, much to his awe.  How does she not get sunburned in that outfit?  She leans close, showing him the magic interwoven into the fabric.

Finally, a large rock spire becomes visible in the distance, draped in flags and with lanterns hung up.  “Just about another half hour,” Link says.  She doesn’t seem at all tired by the long walk.  “Once we’re there, I’ll get you boys some dinner and you can fill me in on the details of your quest while we eat?”

“Sounds good,” Twilight says, obviously relieved.  Poor poor rancher; even with the sun beginning to lower, he still looks the most bedraggled by the desert.  Sand has stuck into his pelt til it looks more tan than grey.  “Your Hyrule uses rupees too, right?”

Link waves him off without even turning to look.  “Dinner’s on me, let me call it even for trying to behead you all before now.”  Wind turns to exchange wide eyes with Four—behead?—but his are a lot more eager than Four’s look.  Link is totally going to be his older sister.  She’s already like a pirate, except she’s one of a sea of sand rather than water.

The sand gives way to steady rock.  Time sighs in relief, and Wind can’t help but turn around to give a cheeky little “That’s what you get for wearing such heavy armor!” and prancing away from a half-hearted swipe.  He and the smaller heroes probably had the easiest time of it, those more heavily clad sinking into the sand.

With the evening chill sweeping in, they’re quick to weave their way past stalls and lighting torches to enter a building carved in the spire they had seen earlier.  A general store sits in front, the shopkeeper barely flicking her eyes up at them before waving them further inside.  “Sav’saaba,” Link greets.  “Do you have room for…”  She takes a moment to count them all.  “Nine guests?”

The innkeeper stares at the large group for a moment before sighing.  “You’re lucky today’s caravan is camping outside,” she says.  “180 for regular beds, 360 for soft beds.  If you want dinner too, it’s double for regular and 540 for soft beds.”

“Regular beds, no dinner.  I can use the cooking counter inside, right?”  At the innkeeper’s nod, she taps the slab at her waist and pays with a handful of rupees that materialize in her other hand, ignoring the heroes’ protests.  “Pay me back later if you’re so hung up over it,” she says, firmly herding them over to the inn’s baths.

“So, not the little sister you hoped for, huh?” Four teases, sinking into the bathwater.  The baths are big enough that a few can go in at once, and they’re all tired enough to forego the usual turns.  The warm water feels nice against muscles aching after an eventful day, and Wind blows a few bubbles under the surface.  The only thing nicer than this is the hot springs Twilight brought them to a few portals ago.  “Guess she’s pretty nice.”

“You seem taken in by her,” Warriors adds, sliding in to join them.  He rolls his shoulders and sighs as he settles in, tipping his head back.  His eyes close even as he continues talking.  “Shouldn’t get on my case of having manners when you’re trailing after her like a puppy—HEY.”

Wind ducks back under the water to avoid the revenge splash.  Being wet by choice is infinitely better than being wet by attack.

“It’s not my fault she’s cool and you’re lame,” he proclaims once he comes back up.  “Besides, no one was really talking to her much, you can’t blame me for wanting to not be a stranger.  We’re supposed to be companions!  Traveling together across time and space!”

Four frowns at that.  “Mm… yeah, I kinda hung back today.  I wanted to get a better feel for her, I guess, but you’re right.  We’re stuck with each other anyway.  ’ll try to engage her more later then.”  

A banging against the bathroom door startles them all.  “Hurry up!” Twilight calls out.  “Dinner’s going to be ready soon!”

They get out and dressed awfully quick after that.

-

Link didn’t leave the house expecting to feed a small horde of heroes, but he’ll make do.  It’s lucky that he’s a bit of a hoarder; he might’ve gone overboard with the proportions, but travellers are always hungry, young warriors even more so.  “Give it 15, 20 more minutes to simmer,” he tells one of them (Cloud?  Sun?  Something to do with sky, he thinks) and goes to take his own bath.

Once he’s clean and in the water, he slumps, letting out a long groan.  Idiot.  He’s an absolute idiot.  Tried to kill his ancestors, past incarnations, however this hero spirit thing worked—who does that other than idiots?

At least it’s not unusual, he reminds himself.  The wolf pelt guy said Lore (Myth?  He really should remember actual names instead of vaguely remembering concepts) had also tried stabbing their group the first meeting, so Link’s not alone in this.

Oh goddesses.  Is he gonna have to get a weird nickname now?  Mushroom the Hylian champion? Century-old Failure?  Ser Shrine Dude?

The old tunic and leggings he slips on look decent enough.  Kachuu doesn’t spare him a glance, already used to the apparent presentation change.  “Oh, it’s you!” the smallest one exclaims mutedly at the sight of him.  His name’s a number or something, but Link has just been calling him Colors for his odd tunic.  “Sorry, miss, thought you were another traveller.”

Link pauses.  “Miss,” still?  That’s new; usually people stopped using feminine words for him once they saw him out of traditional women’s clothing.  Maybe he’s being considerate, not wanting Link to be seen as some sort of perverted imposter where they may be overheard.   

(Oh, how he’ll come to regret that moment.  Would’ve spared him a whole lot of trouble if he’d just corrected Four in the first place.)

“No need for ‘miss’, Link is fine,” is all he says, before he frowns.  “Ah.  This is where I get a nickname of some sort, isn’t it…”

The one watching the soup laughs.  Cloud or whatever, though Sun certainly seems like it’ll fit better with the easy way he smiles.  “No need to look so apprehensive!  It’s just taken from your hero name.  If you don’t already know yours, we can ask the sword.”

“We can settle that later,” Thyme (Time?  It’s one or the other) cuts in.  “Let’s eat before the soup burns.”

Much to Link’s delight, the creamy heart soup is a smash hit.  There’s excited chatter as they all dig in, more than a few compliments thrown his way.  It’s only because he ladled the portions ahead of time that he has enough to share with Kachuu and Shaillu.

“None of us are really good at cooking,” Hyrule (he remembers this one, because it’s pretty hard to mess up the name of the kingdom) says to him.  “We can get by, but, uh, well…”

“Hyrule’s the worst of us,” Four (Link got a proper introduction a few minutes ago) tells with a conspiratorial smile.  Hyrule’s ears turn red as he laughs guiltily.  “He could probably burn water if he tried.”

Lore-or-maybe-Myth scoffs.  “Bold words from someone who fed us all burnt rocks last week.”

“Hey!  I was distracted by the frogs you let Wind put in my bedroll!”

Hylia, may She ever watch over him, has sent Link comedians as ancestral spirits.  He can’t help but giggle at the thought of serious-looking Four burning dinner because he was too busy trying to catch frogs from his pack.

Dinner goes mostly along those lines, a few heroes talking to him at a time.  After he accidentally referred to Sky as Cloud, they’d all taken the chance to introduce themselves to him properly.  Wind is probably his favorite, first to reach out and eager to laugh.  He just about begs Link for a story, which soon is to Twilight’s consternation.

“How do you set a bear on fire and think riding it is a good idea?” he keeps asking.  Maybe this is a sign Link will fit right in, the funnyman to Twilight’s straightman in this comedy act.  The story was rocky to get out at first, mostly because Wind didn’t know what a bear was, but it’s fun seeing the boy light up with excitement.

It’s only after cleaning up that Sky approaches him again with intent in his expression, Master Sword in hand.  Shaillu had left ages ago, and Kachuu bid them goodnight as she retired for the night, entrusting Link to keep any damage away from the inn.  He keeps his tone soft, but there’s something welcoming in his direct gaze.  “I believe you may have some questions?”

Many.  He didn’t bother asking when they were on the road, travellers walking past at any given moment, but it’s quiet and secluded in the inn.  Most are content to camp outside where setting up shop is easiest, and Link knows after having spent many nights here that none of the Gerudo here are the type to pry.  First one: “Who is the spirit of the sword?”

That’s how the rest of the night goes.  Link learns of Fi, listens to the heroes’ retelling of their joined adventure thus far, laughs at the easy banter and jibbing made when dark memories become too heavy.  The longer he sits there, the more comfortable he feels.  

The Master Sword—Fi—she had spoken only the bare minimum, just enough for a frantic Link to calm down and extend some trust.  Incarnations of the same spirit, she’d said.  Comrades pulled from other worlds, lands past, by Hylia’s hand.  Have faith, champion.  

Something in his heart had tugged at him to believe her, but this… It’s almost unsettling how easily he falls in with them.  Already they feel like fast friends, a few still a little reserved but all quick to allow him into their circle.

“So,” Four says, drawing Link’s attention out of his thoughts.  He blinks and finds eight pairs of eyes on him.  “Do you know your hero title?”

At least he doesn’t have to go by Mushroom.  The alternative isn’t much better, though.  “I’m not sure, but the Sheikah monks called me the Hylian Champion.”

“‘Hyrule’ is already taken,” Legend muses.  “Champion?”

It’s a word commonly applied to him, but Link’s nose wrinkles all the same.  Champion, like Mipha, Daruk, Revali, Urbosa—no, it doesn’t sit well with him.  He may have been one, but it is a title of an age long dead.  There are few who refer to him as the Champion still, and they’re all old guard.  Anyone else who tries gets a gentle correction: he isn’t the champion, not any longer.  Just a traveller, or Zelda’s knight if the situation calls for it.

His distaste isn’t subtle enough to go unnoticed, but thankfully no one asks.  “I can ask Fi, just to check, and you can decide a different name if you want,” Sky reassures, sending him a rueful grin.  “I got called Chosen Hero, and I didn’t like it at all.  I was about to cry in relief when the others settled on Sky for me.”

“Chosen Hero!” repeats Link in disbelief.  “That’s a heavy title you bear.  Sky fits you much better, I’m glad.”

“The same goes for Hylian Champion.”  Hyrule speaks softly, as if to himself, and he flushes when the others turn to look at him.  “You seem more lively than where the burdens of a kingdom lie, is all.”

“Yeah!” Wind pipes up, saving him from the sudden attention.  He winks at Hyrule, and Link can’t help but feel endeared at the obvious care they hold for each other.  “Man, when we get back to my world, Tetra’s gonna love you!  She’s always a sucker for good stories, and you act them out and everything.  I’m pretty sure you’re older too, and she and Aryll wanted an older sister so it’ll be great!”

Older sister.  A nagging suspicion begins to bloom, but before he can even begin to consider examining it, Sky interrupts.

“Got it!”  He looks so pleased Link immediately forgets his thoughts.  “Hero of the Wild.  Wild, then.  Does that work for you?”

Wild.  Link rolls the name on his tongue.  Wild rolls the name on his tongue and nods.  Grins at the faces grinning right back.

It fits perfectly.

[chapter 2 - tumblr - ao3]