#i finally drew them lads

[sysig]

Just thinking about @10yrsy’s Things, y’know, casually (Patreon)

[stra-tek]

This is one of the greatest things ever. Walk around every single version of the U.S.S. Enterprise in photorealistic 3D in your browser, from the Roddenberry Archive. On a phone you just see wraparound 3D pics. On a PC or laptop you get the full 3D interactive experience. They NEED to make this VR compatible, it'll be beyond words.

There are more Enterprises here than Tumblr will allow me photos of, and more will likely be added.

Here's the TOS Enterprise, which appears in several incarnations ("The Cage", "Where No Man Has Gone Before" and TOS proper as well as TAS with the second turbolift!), has the correct original graphics and is perfect.

This is the bridge from the unmade Star Trek: Phase II series (whose pilot episode "In Thy Image" was rewritten to become Star Trek: The Motion Picture), with it's legendary big comfy command sofa seat and tactical display bubble!

The Motion Picture, such an accurate recreation that there's even a very faint flicker on the rear-projection animated screens as seen in the movie.

Enterprise NX-01, looking exactly as it did in "Broken Bow"

Recognise this? It's the briefing room of Discovery season 2's version of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701. Although at the front of the saucer on the "real" ship, here it's off the second bridge door which may well be where the set was IRL.

I wasn't expecting modern Trek to be represented equally as the originals in this project, but it is. This is the Enterprise from Strange New Worlds, with Pike's Ready Room located just off the bridge.

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. My favourite version of the classic bridge, as a kid I drew all these control panels and stuck them on my bedroom walls. And now I can look around and look at them all close-up! They've even replicated the noticable TVs stuffed into the panels for the more complex animated screens.

The Enterprise-C bridge from "Yesterday's Enterprise". This one has always fascinated me, being a low-budget TV set (formerly the Enterprise-D battle bridge, originally built from the rain-damaged TMP set's back wall and redressed endlessly though TNG) representing TNG's immediate predecessor. In the episode they mostly shoot the back wall and imply the consoles make a huge circle, but here you can see the set's real dimensions and the weirdness of the classic movie helm/nav console in front of the TNG con/ops panels. I love it.

You know how much I love the Kelvin movies, so seeing this was amazing. For some reason the consoles don't have their screens lit (hopefully this'll be fixed soon), but you can see the saucer under the window and it's shiny and amazing.

The last thing I expected was the U.S.S. Titan-A/Enterprise-G bridge, but it's here. And the lights are on.

Other bridges available to explore which I'm out of pictures to show: The Enterprise-D (of course), Enterprise XCV-330 (the ringship, based on concept art for the unmade non-Trek series "Starship"), the Planet of the Titans U.S.S. Enterprise (again, based on concept art for a cool multi-levelled set) and the "launch" U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 (based on the very first piece of TOS bridge set concept art), the Enterprise-E, the Enterprise-F (seen on viewscreen for all of 2 minutes in Picard) and the U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656!

Take a bow lads, you've done good. Now just add VR support!

That link again.

[skyartworkzzz]

What you think of Celeste?

Also, would you do a crossover of Cult of the Lamb with Undertale?

IVE THOUGHT ABOUT IT ONCE AND NOW I CAN ACTUALLY FORCE MYSELF TO IMAGINE IT

Lads, gents, in and out betweens, I present u my married tisms:

GONNA RAMBLE ABOUT IT A LIL BELOW CUZ MY MIND WENT DOODOO THINKING OF THIS:

Narinder was executed after betraying his siblings so his spirit has been haunting the lands for a long time, until the people were forced to abandon it and create their New Home somewhere else. Narinder kept haunting the Ruins until a little lost Lamb fell to his tomb Now seeing themselves stuck in this world, they made a pact with Narinder in order to escape, having to fulfill his desires of revenge by killing his siblings

The Crowns work as Souls here, but only the strongest creatures are able to make them manifest physically as a snake or any other object I drew all of them as snakes here, but now that Im thiking about it, maybe each Bishop could have their own Crowns morphed into an animal companion of their preference, like Heket having a squirrel, Kallamar a fish, Leshy a bird and Shamura a small bat mayhaps 🤔

The Red Crown will work as Flowey here, since it belonged to Narinder, but after the pact was done with the Lamb, it has since then linked itself with Lambert's being in order to guide them through their journey + also serving as means for them to communicate with Narinder In the end, the Final Battle would be with Narinder, after he has absorbed his siblings' souls and others that the Lamb kills. Depending on the Lamb's choice, theyd be able to either fight Narinder out of sympathy for all the creatures that he'd murder in the lands as to complete his revenge, or leave and have Narinder set free to conquer the world maybe with Lamb by his side

Im still thinking of the endings more throughly BUT THATS THE GIST OF IT ALL FOR NOW tysm for asking!! <3

ALSO AS For ur other question, Im not sure which Celeste ure talkng about, is it like a game or character...? :o

[felibrary]

╭──╯GOOD DAYS | even as the snow falls atop his hair and the colorful fireworks launch in the distance, sylus can't help but keep his eyes off of you.

pairing: sylus x reader (gender neutral) | content & warnings: just some toothrotting fluff, bit of banter and bicker, reader is implied to be shorter than sylus, possibly ooc sylus | wordcount: 1.1k ; ficlet

author's note: this is based off his nightplume card with my own little add-ons lolll (also i don't even play lad anymore..so if you see any mischaracterizations here..yeah..)

A/N: Loll finally posted again and it's lad haha, enjoy!!

"sylus, i'm cold."

your boyfriend raises his brow and sighs, having the audacity to act disappointed. "i've warned you about the cold weather. should've listened to me about wearing a scarf," he smirks while you on the other hand only huff, frown deepening.

"well, i didn't know it'd be this cold," you shudder as the snowflakes meet your nape and slowly dissolve.

you're pretty sure you look absolutely ridiculous right now — with a runny nose and a hoarse voice complaining about something you're at fault for, to sylus who simply enjoys watching your dilemma and chuckles in amusement.

there aren’t often moments when sylus feels at ease, always on the lookout if something happens to you when he isn’t around. but he knows that if he stays by your side there won’t ever be something bad happening to you — he makes sure of that and instead decides to enjoy these simple but meaningful moments with you.

so maybe these little moments make him pay less attention to his surroundings than usual, oblivious to the snow that gets stuck in his hair and you can’t help but cackle a bit. “what?” he asks curiously. “there’s snow in your hair,” you point out. sylus’ gaze drifts up for a split-second before smiling and lowering his head. “help me,” his voice is soft as he requests you to help him.

even through hands covered in mittens, you can feel how soft sylus’ hair is, you play with his hair for a bit, rubbing your hand over his head before finally brushing the remaining snow out. “be careful, even a crow can turn into a dove in this weather,” you smile. “a crow? what a funny thing of you to say,” sylus returns your smile before turning his head away from you to look at the fireworks and so do you.

the fireworks are pretty, magnificent even. they vary in size, motive, and color but despite all of that each of them is unique and beautiful in its own way, making it unable to rip your eyes off them..besides maybe one exception.

not even a moment later, the exception in question turns to you, expectant ruby eyes staring down at you before swaying his gaze down to the snow-covered railing, smiling. "want me to draw you?" the turned-up collar of his stuffed leather jacket rises and falls along his neck as he exhales.

you follow his gaze and scoff. "sylus, what are you up to," you mutter under your breath. he doesn't respond, instead his gloved hand meets the metal railing before slowly tracing circles in the snow, and soon after you're able to recognize what he drew — a cat.

“seriously? a cat? i thought i’d at least be something more intimidating like a tiger,” you complain in faux offense. sylus only hums “do you know what you look like right now?” he doesn’t wait for you to respond before tracing lines onto the cat’s forehead.

"like a tiger that meows when it opens its mouth," he says, voice laced with sarcasm. upon seeing it, you can't help but crack a smile. "you're so stupid," you express with a shake of your head. "says the stubborn one who refused to dress warmly," he huffs before turning away from you again.

those ruby eyes full of danger and a lust for adventure soften upon seeing the shower of fireworks being cast in the sky. a mixture of bright red and blue colors paints the sky and casts a light shadow over sylus’ figure. 

you playfully roll your eyes at him, grinning as you scoop some of the snow off the railing. “sylus, you still have snow in your hair, want me to get it out for you?” you offer, a sweet smile gracing your lips. “what, you want to deepen our relationship? but if you insist,” he smirks before lowering his head.

you reach forward and unlike sylus’ expectation your hand lands on his cheek, making his eyes widen in surprise while you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the giggle you’ve been meaning to let out ever since you got the idea. sylus shoots you a boyish smile before flicking his fingers against your forehead which catches you off guard. “unprompted benevolence wasn't out of the kindness of your heart,”

before you’re able to process what’s happening, sylus pulls you into a tight embrace, strong arms snaking around your waist and holding you closely to his chest. "sylus let me go, i can't see the fireworks" you muffle into his jacket. "mhm, but weren't you the one who was complaining about the cold just now?” he says absentmindedly and you gaze up at him as he turns his head to the fireworks. 

his eyes find yours again, ruby eyes locking with yours as he gives you a mirthful smile. i'd rather not let you be exposed to the cold again" you glare at him which seems to amuse him even more because his next move is to pull you closer than before. (which you didn’t even know was possible from how close the two of you were already.)

luckily he lets you go soon after and you breathe in relief and observe him curiously as he pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket — a scarf. you gasp in surprise. “you had a scarf with you all along?” you ask him dumbfoundedly, not sure whether to be grateful for having something to warm your neck which isn’t sylus’ biceps, or if you should feel betrayed that he hid it from you.

“i’ve had a hunch that you’d forget yours in the rush, always so forgetful.” he smiles softly before wrapping the scarf around your neck, twice around your neck, and once around your.. eyes? “sylus, i swear to god.” even with your eyes covered beneath the wool scarf you can practically see sylus smirking to himself. “fine, fine,” he mutters, smiling before removing the scarf from your eyes.

the scarf sits nicely around your neck and not to mention it’s very comfortable and keeps you warm. you exchange glances with sylus before turning your attention to the fireworks again. 

from beneath you, on the riverbank, a bunch of people are lighting up their fireworks before watching after them as they fly into the distance. your eyes follow the fireworks as they light up the night sky and their reflections shimmer on the surface of the river. “the fireworks are so pretty, aren’t they?” you turn to sylus, expecting him to watch the fireworks too, instead you find his ruby eyes fixated on yours. 

“yeah, they really are.”

TAGS: @azullumi we're just gonna ignore the fact that this is dedicated to you and your birthday you oldie gramps of a geezer which was one week ago.....but anyway although i don't want to repeat what i said in my birthday letter (which you haven't read yet LOL) i want to tell you that in such a short period of time you've grown to a person I've learned to love so easily as if it were naturally - which it is. you're so loveable that it makes me wonder how anyone could ever hold a grudge towards you? you're the sweetest soul on earth and i wish i would've been there for your birthday to congratulate you in person but well beggars can't be choosers. azul, you're my soulmate and i appreciate everything about you and everything that you've done for me. i love how clear and easy our communication is, i love our little playful banters that other people find questionable and i love that people associate the two of us together, even when it means mistaking us for one another, which just proves how close we even appear to other people. you're the embodiment of lovely and loveable to me. i love you to death azul and once again happy birthday! <3

© FELIBRARY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[bellybiologist]

Matter-Eater Lad and Beast boy having a junkfood movie night. (with bonus BB WG)

It's been a good bit since I had time/energy to draw for myself, and longer than that since i've tried shading a piece again (last time was in December with the Caspar+Raphael christmas pic!), but I managed to do a thing the past couple days!

I finally had something I wanted to draw with my own design for Matter Eater Lad I posted in August. Drew him with Beast boy. Played around with BB's design cuz I'm on the fence with the personal design i made back in 2020 (I will post them up here later).

I injected some TTG vibe into this current one with ME-Lad. Most BB"s have some Vibe I like about them, but i'm unsure which vibe i like the most!

[gay-ppl-real]

Had this silly little idea where Frank's bowtie flaps like a butterfly if they're kissed/smitten/etc.

Y'know, like "heart aflutter"? ft. Eddie hiding behind his mail cap because he is a polite and discreet fellow.

<-Left - Stress stimming! I love that Poppy, Frank and Julie all do the hand flappies. I do hand flappies too!

->Right - I finally drew Howdy! Now I've drawn all the main lads :) (I drew some very rough doodles of Home on paper when I was making my Minecraft build of them.)

[ornii]

Do you still do requests?

Can you please do Wednesday Addams X reader who has abilities, powers, and a backstory similar to John Constantine? Thank you.

Black Rum

A little short and sweet.

Nevermore really didn’t change much after the attack, and overall some things never truly did change. But what did was the relationship between (Y/n) and Wednesday, she was cold and standoffish towards him in the beginning. Slowly he melted her icy demeanor and made himself home in her heart. Whether she wanted to admit it or not; she loved him. While continuing their studies, the two participate in… extracurricular activities together.

(Y/n) stood in an old Church, dark magic swirling around him as a magic pentagram was drawn around him. He stood calmly in the tornado of darkness as from that black mist, a demon made purely of shadows reaches out, calling his name with his ethereal voice. “(Y/n)… your soul, is mine…” the ethereal voice called out to him, its arm elongated and askew of humanity. Its bony fingers ready to tear his soul apart.

“Any time now love..” he grumbled, ready for a fight to the death. Standing upon the scaffolding of the interior. Wednesday drew an arrow, dipped in Silver. Her eye focused on the demon, ready to reveal itself. Its body began to open up like a cage of bones, darkness emitting like smoke. What was there was a black heart, beating so callously.

“Dammit Wednesday..” was his final thoughts, until the arrow let loose. It flew though the air and it struck true. Nailing the monster right in the heart, Wednesday began to descend the scaffolding, the beast reels in pain. Screaming as the silver sears his heart and thematically seals him to this world temporarily. The monster collapsed down, writhing in pain. (Y/n) sighs with relief, as the monster spirals in pain. Wednesday stands next to (Y/n) as they look over the monsters body.

“I..I will have my revenge!” It calls out, (Y/n) raises his hand.

“Sure lad, you try that, back to where you came from.” He said, the monster growls.

“W-wait! Fine, perhaps we can, strike a bargain?” He said.. (Y/n) scoffs and shook his head.

“Heard that Wednesday?” He said.

“A god begging for mercy.. pitiful.” She said, the demon reaches out but (Y/n) raised his hands to seal his spell.

“Attiuaiasis Qutendo Beneesta Sulpus Accuule!” He chanted, the spell holding the demon in this world was shattered. And once more he was dragged back to the pits of hell. The two stand there and (Y/n) kicks some of the salt, breaking the spell circle and putting an end to it all. Their peace was interrupted by a priest slowly opening the door, he peers in to see the two standing there. (Y/n) casually motions the priest to follow, the middle aged man looked around to see books everywhere, paper, and the unnerving sense of evil.

“Alright Bishop, your Church is free of the vicar curse.” He said, The priest blesses them.

“May god bless you both a thousand times over. We had no way to deal with this dark energy alone.” He explains, and Wednesday wasn’t the one for chit chat.

“We take our payment in cash and check.” She said flatly. (Y/n) glares at her, before the priest nods and hands them said check.

“Of course, like the Bible says; ‘You shall not muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain,’ and, ‘The laborer deserves his wages.’” He said, Wednesday takes it and departs, (Y/n) sighs and shakes the priests hand.

“If you require any other services or know anyone who does, give us a ring.” He said and catches up to Wednesday. She looks at the check but it’s suddenly pulled away from her and flies back, she watches it fall into the hand of (Y/n). The two begin to walk together along a barren plain like trail.

“You could at least say goodbye to the old man.” He says.

“Why?”

“Because we’re in Kansas and I highly doubt we’ll come back. Plus clientele.”

“I don’t see the point of pleasantries, we came to do a job, simple as that.” She says, (Y/n) shakes his head and they reach a building, but they didn’t need the building just the wall. Reaching into his pocket the reveals chalk, he draws a door on it.

“Point is love, we want this “Black Rum: Occult Detectives” thing to work out, we have to actually be like able.. well I have to be. You just be cute dark and broody.” He said, he then turns to the chalk drawing and spoke. “Ecrumis Queeyela Various.” He then blangs on the wall and it crumbled and behind the chalk outline was a door. (Y/n) walks on as Wednesday grumbles “I’m not Broody.” She said, they walk in and suddenly appear back at Nevermores Quad, (Y/n) closes the door and it crumbed to dust.

“So, why don’t we cash this in and ..Spend some quality time together?” He said raising an eyebrow.

“Fine, I suppose your company wouldn’t be an entire bore.” She walks off as the Magician follows. Chucking to himself.

[john-get-the-salt]

Third Times A Charm (w/tyrion lannister)

Imagine: Two times Tyrion realized he was falling in love with you, and then the third time when he finally did something about it.

Contains: cute Tyrion moments, use of she/her pronouns, fem!reader, Bronn totally shipping his two besties, brief mentions of rated R activities but no actual acts, some lyrics from High Enough by K.Flay because i think they fit the way Tyrion would love so well

Warnings: none

Tyrion wasn't sure exactly when he began falling in love with you. There were plenty of instances that he longed for you, but he couldn't be sure when that feeling began.

Could it have begun that night you drank too much ale and accidentally shared some of your deepest secrets?

-

Tyrion and Bronn were hiding away from the world and drinking together, as they did any other night, when a knock at the door to Tyrion's chambers interrupted them.

"Yeeeees?" Tyrion called out. The door to his chambers creaked open and a familiar face popped in.

"I was walking past and couldn't help but overhear the two of you. Are you having fun without me?"

The men grinned at you.

As the daughter of a distant lord you'd been sent on your families behalf to King's Landing a few weeks ago to mend your people's relationship with the iron throne and according to your father, find a wealthy husband. Despite Tyrion's reputation you'd inexplicably befriended the man and his guard. Before long they were the few people in King's Landing that you trusted fully and vice versa.

"My lady!" Tyrion cheered.

You closed the door and plopped down at the table across from the two.

"Come on you two, share the goods."

They obeyed, opening a bottle and pouring out another glass of precious liquid. You took a hearty gulp, sighing as the liquid warmed your belly. "That's better. I'll tell you this, politics would be much more fun if everyone drank beforehand."

Bronn laughed. "That's what I've always said. Lads would start less wars if they had an ale in hand."

"And perhaps they would perform better....both on the battlefield and off!"

Tyrion shook his head fondly as he watched you and his guard giggle. He was so used to Bronn being a stubborn headed mule, but he treated you like a younger sister and you brought out the child in him.

Bronn wiped tears out of his eyes at his laughter died down. "And that's my cue, lass. Once I start laughing at your ridiculous jokes I know I've had too much to drink."

"Aw, but I've just started!"

"And I'm sure Tyrion would love nothin more than to continue drinking with you, my lady." He winked at the Lord, who was by then glaring at his guard. "But I take my leave." And with a nod goodbye Bronn was gone.

And then there were two. Lord Tyrion and yourself fell into easy conversation, swapping tales and laughing at each other's past misfortunes. He told you about the time he woke up hungover in a barn alongside goats and you told him of the time you accidentally started a fire after attempting to learn how to cook.

The night drew on, alcohol sipped and chugged down, and you two grew more and more inebriated. By time the alcohol was gone it was the middle of the night, and you were both lying on your backs on the floor rambling on about everything and nothing.

"Tyrion?" You asked at one point.

"My lady?”

"What would your dream life look like?"

"Do you not dream enough?"

You knocked his shoulder with yours, unable to withhold a giggle. "That's not what I mean, you buffoon. I mean if you could live anywhere, do whatever you wanted, what would you do?"

"That is a terribly deep question for a couple of intoxicated fools. What would you do?"

A sigh left your lips as your giggly mood slipped away. "I would live in the mountains, near the ocean. I'd tend to my garden and write and learn how to wield a bow and arrow. I'd set traps in the water and feast on seafood and fresh bread every night. And I'd have a husband who loved me even when I didn't love myself."

"Any children?"

You scrunched your nose. "No children. I mean, maybe one day, if my husband wanted. But I think I could be quite content with my world."

Tyrion was quiet as he thought about the question.

"I'd live somewhere far, far, away from Kings Landing. Far away from everybody, really. No neighbors. I would read every book I could get my hands on, sitting in a window where the sunlight hit just right. Not too far from the sea, so I could go feel the ocean breeze when I desired. And I would have my own apple trees, so I could make my own cider.

"That sounds nice," you murmured, eyelids beginning to droop. "I think I'll just sleep on your floor tonight, Ty. I'm much too tired to return to my own chambers."

"Here," he reached out a hand, pulling the blankets from of his bed and onto the floor. "We can at least stay warm."

Humming in thanks, you allowed yourself to be swathed in the warm furs. You curled closer to your friend, who always seemed to be radiating heat.

"Maybe in our dream lives we could neighbors." You whispered into the air as you began to fall asleep.

Tyrion smiled softly as he too began to succumb to the warmth inviting him to rest.

"Indeed."

•

If that hadn't been the time he began falling, was it when you saw right through the facade that fooled everyone else?

•

Tyrion sat amongst the lords and ladies, nursing a goblet of wine. The only reason he was allowed at these events was his family connections. No one discussed battle strategy, no one asked him to dance, and no one would even dare to attempt small talk.

And the prince was fine with that. That was what he always said, wasn't it? When faced with his harsh reality he would grin and snark and insist that he wouldn't be able to stand it even if someone tried. His sharp mouth protected his soft heart. And no one knew.

Tyrion caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, turning to see the only person stupid enough to approach him at a time like this. You.

"You foolish woman," Tyrion muttered as you settled at his side, your own cup in hand.

"I'm not going to deny it, but what have I done now?" Your voice came out smooth, the accent of silk brought out by the alcohol you'd no doubt been consuming.

"Your father told you to find a husband, and here you are during your best chance of that sitting with the pitiful dwarf."

He wasn't wrong. If you had any desire to find an advantageous match this was the time, as the King hosted lords from all across the continent. However, you had no such desire.

"I don't appreciate your lamenting tone. You know I care not for my father's wishes, I would much rather sit with my friend. These people are cruel to you, and thus I do not care for any of them.

"You know I care not what these people think of me, my lady. It no longer bothers me."

Yet even as Tyrion said that he could feel eyes on the two of you as you conversed, sharp as daggers.

"The world is a curse, Tyrion. It'll kill if you let it."

Tyrion turned to look at you. Your kept your gaze forward, eyes drinking in everything you could.

"Don't let it kill you."

•

Were either of those times the start? Tyrion couldn't be sure. But what he could be sure of, was the moment that he knew he needed to do something about it.

•

Of all your family, it was your younger sister who insisted you come home for an extended visit. She knew you planned to be at King's Landing for a long while but she missed you. More than that your father had allegedly began harping on her to find a husband the moment you left, and you couldn't stomach that. She was too young to worry of such things.

You obliged, after getting King Joffrey's blessing. You could not stand that petulant child, but all you had to do was bat your eyes and he usually allowed you to do as you wished. It helped that you tended to stay out of his way.

So for a few weeks you reunited with your family and homeland. Father was upset you hadn't managed to find a 'high ranking husband' but you were happy enough that he didn't press the issue. You told of the immature new king, dishing all the gossip of King's Landing. Your younger sisters, who'd never let the comforts of home, absorbed it all with childish wonder.

It was a comforting trip, but you found yourself missing King's Landing and a select few of it's inhabitants. You were quite relieved when it was time again to return. 

The throne room was full, in the middle of a day court, when the thick heavy doors swung open. A front guardsman apologized for the interruption before announcing your official return. You stepped into the room with your spine straight as a pin and head held high, accompanied by your guards.

The corset you wore tightly gave the illusion of a perfect hourglass and did wonders for your bust, no doubt noticed by the King as he gave you a disgusting grin. You knew everyone's eyes were on you. Your father raised you to know that if you presented yourself as if you belonged, others wouldn't question it. It was how you moved unnoticed, how you infiltrated royalty when in reality you had no business in it. It was how you survived.

However this time there was an added, unexpected reaction. Unlike the first time you arrived in King's Landing, Tyrion was now witness to your official entry.

The moment you stepped through the doors his eyes were glued to your form. The lord wasn't used to seeing you this way. He was used to pants and tunics while practicing swordsmanship, riding boots while flying around on horses, tight buns and loose jackets as you chased after Bronn.

He already thought you beautiful, even when wearing tough leather and shaking dust from your hair. But wrapped in silks and diamonds you looked dangerously divine, like the gods themselves had blessed you.

You fit right in, Tyrion thought as you approached the King. You could easily be a member of royalty, a high lady, a queen. And when your eyes glided over to meet his, the way you shifted, the Prince had to raise his fist and bite into it for fear he would say something crass.

You stopped in front of the Iron Throne, bowing your head. "My grace, I thank you for your kindness in allowing me to return to your castle."

The child grinned, staring unashamedly at your body. "Of course, a creature as gorgeous as you is welcome to come and go as much as she pleases. Have a good time with daddy, did you?"

You nodded, keeping your face neutral. "Yes your grace. My father sends his love and support for your rule on the iron throne."

Joffrey preened. "Good. You may be dismissed."

"Thank you your grace." You bowed your head once more, and as you turned to leave you paused to face Tyrion. His gaze was still glued to you.

"My lord," you said softly, bowing deeply before rising and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Murmurs broke throughout the room, the people shocked that anyone dare acknowledge the dwarf in the presence of the king, but before anyone object you picked up your skirts and glided out of the throne room. As the doors closed and you made your way to your old chambers you could hear nothing but the beating of your own heart. Tyrion had been staring at you with such fervor, such awe....it made your skin prickle.

You reached your chambers and with shaky hands let yourself in. However when you attempted to close the door behind you it stuck, and someone forced their way in before slamming it behind them.

You teetered on your heels, falling back onto your bed with an oof. Eyes wide and blinking in surprise, you stared at Lord Tyrion as he now stood in your chambers. It was utterly silent as he walked over to the bed where you sat still as a statue. He stopped just in front of you, only a breaths width away.

"You bow to me, in front of the king and his people, in that dress and then expect to vanish." He paused for long enough to take a shuddering breath. "Had I no self control I would have taken you right there the moment you rose," he finally whispered.

Your lips parted, eyes measuring his expression before meeting his gaze.

"And how’s your self control now....my lord?"

•

Tyrion chuckled to himself at the memory. That was a long night, and the official beginning of this angelic new life.

"Humoring yourself, my love?"

Speaking of angels...the lord turned to watch as you approached him. For his entire life before you, he was fighting. Fighting for his place in the world, fighting to be inspired. For what was life without inspiration, without reason, without drive? He used to like liquor to get him inspired, but you were his new supplier.

Tyrion held out his hand and you wordlessly took it as you joined him in overlooking the gardens. 

"Just reminiscing on the times we're shared, my dear. I was trying to decide when exactly I began falling in love with you, but for the life of me I can not seem to narrow it down."

You smiled sweetly. "I know the exact moment I began falling in love with you."

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue. 

Instead you shook your head. "That's for me to cherish, and for you to ponder."

The lord tsked. "I'll get you to tell me, mark my words."

You cheeks warmed as you gazed at him. "I'm sure you will....eventually."

Tyrion chuckled before he raised your hand in his, kissing your knuckles softly.

"I'm in no rush, my dear. After all-we have forever."

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Three

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Three: The Red Keep

Word Count: 4,146

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella faces the true dangers of the city, and a terrifying encounter leaves her questioning everything she once knew about her safety. As danger closes in, a familiar figure comes to her rescue, but their appearance only deepens the mysteries surrounding her past.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

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Daella of King's Landing

Daella froze as the men inched closer, her feet sinking into the muddy ground as if the earth itself conspired to hold her captive. There was nowhere to go. Their leering gazes crawled over her trembling form, and she finally understood the true dangers of King’s Landing. She had walked these streets before, stepping over pools of blood and freshly cut bodies, never once caring because it hadn’t been her blood, her body. Trouble had always kept its distance—after all, who would care about a bastard like her? But now, as these men closed in, she realized that there were those who simply didn’t care. To them, she wasn’t a person, just a young girl ripe for the taking.

She screamed as she hit the ground, the impact softened by the mud, but sharp pain flared as her head snapped back. The world swam before her eyes, fogging her vision. She kicked out desperately, but their laughter only grew louder, taunting her.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a fighter, lads,” one of them jeered, kneeling over her, his weight pinning her down. His rough hands tore at her nightdress, pulling it apart. Daella squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, praying someone—anyone—would hear her. Her voice grew raw with terror, tears streaming down her face, but his laugh cut through her cries. “Keep going, I like it when they scream.”

Suddenly, silence. The only sound was her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, and her ragged breathing. A heavy weight collapsed on top of her, and she felt something wet and warm soak through the remains of her dress. She opened her eyes and stared into the lifeless, terror-stricken face of the man who had just been on top of her—his head severed from his body. She scrambled out from beneath the decapitated corpse, her limbs trembling as she stood and stared at the growing pool of blood.

A choked gurgle drew her attention further down the road. Daemon stood over another man, wrenching his sword from the man’s gut. Daella’s gaze swept over the scene, taking in the five bodies now littering the path between her and the man who claimed to be her father. Five men dead. Their evil wiped from the world. A strange, cold satisfaction welled up inside her. She couldn’t help but feel relieved, even happy.

She stepped over the bodies, moving slowly toward Daemon. Hearing her approach, he whirled around, sword poised, the blade slicing through the air above her head. Confusion clouded his features for a moment before he realized there was nothing left to fight. His gaze softened as he lowered his sword and dropped to his knees before her, his hands gently cradling her tear-stained face. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice thick with panicked concern.

Daella shook her head slowly, the motion numb. She rubbed at her wet cheeks before launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. Her tears soaked his collar as he lifted her off the ground. “Shh, little one,” he murmured, stroking her back in comfort. “Let’s get you to Mellos.”

The guards watched them closely as they ascended the steps of the Red Keep, their faces drawn with apprehension, but none dared stop them. Laughter and music floated from the hall ahead, a stark contrast to the horror Daella had just escaped. They moved deeper into the keep, down a long corridor where two knights in polished silver armour stood on either side of large wooden doors, their pristine white cloaks a stark contrast to the blood still streaking Daemon’s hair.

Daemon exhaled sharply as they approached the doors and the knights guarding them. One of them was young, with slightly tanned skin and wavy brown hair, his eyes burning with barely concealed rage as they settled on Daemon. The other was older, tall and broad, his bald head gleaming in the torchlight, a greying beard adding to his severe appearance. The older knight stepped forward, his voice formal. “We were not aware of your arrival, My Prince. The King is currently indisposed.”

“I have no desire to see my brother yet, Lord Commander,” Daemon replied, his tone dry and impatient. “I only wish to borrow his maester.”

“The maester is also occupied,” the younger guard snapped, his words edged with disdain.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze on the young knight. “Well, Crispin, be a good little dog and un-occupy him.”

The young knight shot a glance at the older man, who nodded curtly. He spun on his heel and pushed through the heavy doors, leaving them slightly ajar. Through the gap, Daella caught a glimpse of a grand hall bathed in golden light. At the far end, a man stood at a raised table, cup in the air as if to make a speech. A stout man leaned in to whisper in his ear. The man with the cup suddenly looked toward them, his brow furrowing in displeasure.

The knight returned, glaring at Daemon as he addressed him. “The King wishes to see you.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Now? In there?” He sighed, pulling Daella tighter against him as he headed up the steps and into the hall.

As they passed, Daella glanced back at the two knights. Ser Criston sneered at her, but the older knight stepped forward, blocking her view with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine.

The hall was breathtaking, with dragon silhouettes and red ribbons hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently in the breeze. Two long tables were laden with food—more than Daella had ever seen in her life. A roasted pig, platters of fruit, and golden loaves of bread. To the right, a group of musicians stood with instruments poised, their lively tune faltering as the room fell into a stunned silence.

No one spoke as Daemon strode down the central aisle, his boots echoing on the stone floor. All eyes were on them, the whispers quieting as they took in the blood-streaked man and the girl in his arms, her once-white nightdress now torn and stained red.

As they neared the raised table, Daella took in the features of the man with the cup. His sharp nose and silver hair mirrored Daemon’s, though his was pinned back beneath a heavy crown. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized who he was. This was Daemon’s brother. This was the King.

“My King,” Daemon said softly, bowing his head.

Daella scanned the people seated beside the King. To his left was a beautiful young girl with long silver hair flowing down her back, the shade only slightly darker than Daemon’s. Her dress was off the shoulder and black, silver stitching ran throughout it, creating the illusion of scales.

On the King’s right sat a slightly older woman, no less beautiful, her long auburn curls framing a face of stern beauty. She wore a dark green dress, embellished with gold detailing, and a small seven-pointed star sat in the divot of her throat. She was deep in conversation with a young man beside her, her face pinched in frustration. The boy, with silver hair grazing his shoulders, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The King studied Daella, his face lined with confusion and concern. His eyes flicked back to Daemon, hardening. “Why have you returned, Daemon?” The displeasure in his voice was unmistakable.

“Mellos was the closest maester,” Daemon replied, his voice stiff. “I have only come to have our wounds seen to and beg an audience with my brother.”

Ser Harwin appeared, and Daella’s gaze snapped toward him as he approached the older, stout man sitting a few spaces down from the king. As he turned, his gaze locked with hers, and her heart skipped. “Daella,” he whispered, confusion flashing in his eyes as he hurried around the table, his expression quickly turning to concern.

Daemon turned to face him, his gaze hardening to steel as Ser Harwin approached.

The King’s eyes narrowed as he watched. “Do you know this child, Harwin?” he asked, his voice sharp with confusion.

“I do, Your Grace,” Ser Harwin replied, his eyes never leaving Daella. “Give her here,” he demanded, arms outstretched.

Daella shrank further into Daemon’s embrace, clinging to him.

Daemon’s voice was low and deadly as he glared at Ser Harwin. “I like you, Ser Harwin, but touch her, and you’ll lose a hand.”

“What in the seven hells is going on?” the King barked in confusion, slamming his cup onto the table.

The red-haired woman’s gaze landed on Daella, taking in her torn dress and the fresh bruises on her legs. “Dear gods, what has happened to that child?” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with concern.

Daella turned to her, her voice barely a whisper. “Bad men.”

The woman’s face pales, her eyes wide with horror. “Lord Commander Westerling,” the red-haired woman commands, her voice firm with authority, “escort Daemon and the child to a guest chamber. Send for Grand Maester Mellos immediately. Have the servants draw a bath and find her something to wear. Burn that dress afterwards.”

The Lord Commander bows. “At once, My Queen.”

Daemon’s gaze met the Queen’s, his voice low and controlled as he quietly said, “Thank you.” Though his words were formal and polite, an undercurrent of tension simmered beneath them. He turned to follow the knight, but his eyes found the silver-haired woman standing beside the King for a fleeting moment. Her violet eyes lingered on him, almost imperceptibly, as though drawn to him against her will. A silent moment stretched between them, so subtle that it might have gone unnoticed by others, but it felt heavy with something unsaid. She hesitated, her breath catching before her gaze shifted, reluctantly, to Daella.

“Niece,” Daemon said, the soft smile tugging at his lips feeling both familiar and distant, as though there was more behind the word than he dared to reveal.

“Uncle,” she replied, her voice quiet, as if afraid to speak any louder. Daella shifted in Daemon’s arms, glancing over his shoulder. The woman’s gaze followed him, her composure barely concealing the warmth in her eyes. A faint blush touched her cheeks, fleeting but noticeable, before her eyes flickered forward, as if she was suddenly aware of being watched. Yet, in that brief exchange, something lingered—something unspoken but undeniably present—slipping away as quickly as it had come.

As they were led away, Daella, peering over Daemon’s shoulder, caught sight of two children. A beautiful silver-haired girl, engrossed in a glass case, muttered softly to herself. But it was another boy, close to Daella's age, with silver hair like Daemon’s, who captured her attention. His gaze met hers, piercing and unreadable, holding a curiosity or silent question that she was too exhausted to understand.

The King’s voice boomed behind them, cutting through the thick silence. “Alicent, what is the meaning of—” His words were abruptly silenced as the heavy doors closed behind them, shutting out the noise of the hall and the festivities within.

Once inside the private chamber, the atmosphere shifted, becoming heavy with the scent of burning wood and the muted crackle of the fire. An old man in a cream-colored robe knelt at Daella's feet, carefully bandaging her wounds as she stared at the charred remains of her nightgown crumbling into the flames. The heat from the fire seemed distant, almost unreal, as though the pain and fear had dulled her senses to everything but the steady, rhythmic motion of the maester’s hands.

“How bad are her injuries?” Daemon’s voice broke the silence, low and measured, though the tension in his posture revealed the depth of his concern. He watched the maester from his seat at the table, his chin resting on clasped hands, his eyes never leaving Daella’s bandaged feet.

“Her injuries are minor, My Prince,” the maester replied, his voice steady with the authority of experience. “Other than the bump on her head and the cuts on her feet, she appears to be in good health. However, she must try to stay off her feet so they may heal properly.” The old man groaned slightly as he rose from his kneeling position, his movements slow and deliberate.

“And what of the bruising?” Daemon’s voice sharpened, his violet eyes narrowing as they fixed on the maester.

“The bruising does not extend past the knees, so I do not believe it necessary to examine the girl further at this time. Should anything change, have her brought to me immediately,” the maester advised, his chains clinking softly as he gathered his things and moved toward the door.

“Thank you, Maester,” Daemon said with a curt nod, his attention already shifting back to Daella as the old man exited the room.

Daemon approached her slowly, his presence filling the space as he sat down beside her on the settee. His eyes softened as they met hers, the intensity from moments ago replaced with a gentleness that felt almost foreign. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice tender as if afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm.

“Scared... and sleepy,” Daella whispered, her voice small and tired as she curled her feet beneath her, seeking comfort in the warmth of the blankets.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweet girl,” Daemon murmured, his tone a soothing balm to the lingering terror in her chest. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her to the large bed in the centre of the room.

The mattress was soft and warm, as though someone had prepared it just for her. Daemon tucked the covers around her with the same care one might use for a fragile piece of glass, his touch light but reassuring. He stroked her hair gently, sitting beside her as she settled into the bed.

“Can you tell me a story?” Daella asked, her voice barely more than a breath as she curled into a ball, seeking the comfort of his presence.

“Of course, I can, my sweet,” Daemon replied, his hand continuing its soothing motion through her hair. “Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys—” His voice, low and steady, became a lullaby that pulled her into the welcoming arms of sleep. As she drifted off, the horrors of the night faded, replaced by the safety and warmth of Daemon’s presence. For the first time since the terror began, Daella felt truly safe.

The soft morning light trickled through the windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. A quiet creak followed by a gust of air pulled Daella from sleep. As she opened her eyes, she took in the unfamiliar surroundings: soft green wallpaper covered the walls, statues of the seven-pointed star were purposefully placed around the room, and even the books on the shelves bore the same star on their spines. The blankets that covered her were green as well, completing the theme. Her gaze drifted toward the adjoining room, where the boy she had seen the night before stood in the doorway, staring at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he had been running.

She pushed the covers aside and slipped out of bed, walking toward him. Her eyes raked over his form, taking in his dishevelled appearance. His long hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his fancy clothing was smeared with black soot. The smell of smoke clung to him, sharp and undeniable.

“Why do you look like that?” Daella asked, gesturing to his blackened tunic with a questioning tilt of her head.

“Dragons,” he answered breathlessly, leaning against the wall as though to steady himself.

Daella gasped, her eyes widening in awe. “You have a dragon? Can I see it?” She rushed toward him, her excitement bubbling over as she grabbed his hand eagerly. “Please, please, can I see your dragon?”

“No!” he snapped, yanking his hand away from hers with such force that it stung. His glare was sharp, his expression hardening as he stepped back, his eyes flickering with something like shame or frustration.

“Why not?” Daella huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, a pout forming on her lips. She felt the weight of her disappointment pressing down on her.

“Because I don’t have a dragon!” he shouted, his face flushing with embarrassment as his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Oh.” The disappointment vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced with an understanding nod. “That’s okay. I don’t have a dragon either.” She patted his shoulder gently, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “How did you get in here?”

“Come,” he said, his voice quieter now as he took her hand again, leading her to the far side of the room. He pressed hard against the wall, and to her amazement, a hidden passageway opened, revealing a dark, musty corridor. “These can take you anywhere in the keep, and no one can see you. As long as you don’t mind rats,” he added with a mischievous grin.

Daella's eyes widened with wonder. The thought of sneaking through the keep, unseen, sent a thrill through her. Rats didn’t bother her—she’d seen plenty in Flea Bottom. As long as you left them alone, they tended to leave you alone too.

“Daella!” Ser Harwin’s voice boomed from the other room, followed by a heavy knock on the door. “Why is this door locked? Daella!”

Daella glanced back toward the relentless banging of the door, her heart skipping a beat. “Coming!” she called out, turning to the boy, who was already stepping into the hidden passage. “Go, before he breaks through the door,” she whispered with a smile.

The boy’s violet eyes met hers one last time before he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

Quickly, Daella unlocked the door and opened it wide for Ser Harwin. He strode in, worry etched across his face, and without a moment’s hesitation, he knelt down and pulled her into a tight hug. His embrace was warm, grounding her in its familiarity.

“What happened, Daella? Why are you here?” he asked, his voice thick with concern as he pulled away to examine her face.

“Daemon found me in the market,” Daella began, the words tumbling out as tears welled up in her eyes. “He wasn’t happy that I was alone again, so he took me home. He was arguing with Rose, and I—I ran. I tried to find you, but I couldn’t. There were men... they tried to hurt me.” She sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Daemon killed them. He brought me here and made sure I was okay.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, sweet girl,” Ser Harwin murmured, pulling her into another hug. His voice was heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Daella pressed her face into his chest, finding comfort in the familiar scent of him. “Is Prince Daemon really my father?” she asked, her voice muffled by his tunic.

Ser Harwin gently pulled her away, his eyes softening as he looked at her tear-streaked face. “Your mother always said he was,” he admitted quietly. “It’s why Rose and I tried so hard to keep you safe. We didn’t know how Prince Daemon or the King would react, but it seems that the Prince cares for you.”

His words sank in, but there was still so much she didn’t understand. “What are you doing in the keep, Harwin?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “I thought you’d be with the City Watch.”

“My father is the King's Hand, Daella. I’m expected to maintain a presence at court, which means attending feasts and announcements whenever needed.” He chuckled softly, stroking her hair. “Like the one you and Prince Daemon interrupted last night when you walked in covered in blood.”

Daella smiled sheepishly at the memory, but before she could say more, Harwin’s tone shifted back to concern. “Enough about me. Are you alright? What did the Maester say?”

“I think I’m fine,” Daella replied, her brow furrowing in confusion. “The Maester told Daemon that I was in good health apart from the bump on my head and the cuts on my feet. He said the bruises didn’t go past my knees.” She paused, trying to make sense of the cryptic statement. “I don’t know what that means, but I feel alright. Just a little scared.”

Harwin’s eyes softened further, and he nodded in understanding. “Ah, I see,” he said, though he didn’t elaborate. The silence that followed was thick, hanging in the air like a question left unanswered.

“Do you think the King will let me stay?” Daella asked suddenly, breaking the stillness. “I like it here... well, apart from all the green,” she added with a small laugh, glancing at the verdant surroundings.

Harwin chuckled and ruffled her hair. “That’s up to the King, little flame. But if you’re family, I’m sure things will work out the way they are supposed to.” His smile was warm, but beneath it, Daella sensed the weight of what was to come. Harwin’s smile lingered, but there was a heaviness in his eyes. “The King is a hard man to read, but you belong here more than you know, Daella.”

His words brought Daella a sense of relief, though her thoughts were still a jumble. She leaned into his side as he stood, and they walked toward the door together, her mind still racing with unanswered questions.

As Harwin opened the door, sunlight flooded in from the hall, and for a moment, Daella was blinded by its brightness. She stopped and turned to him, her voice barely above a whisper. “Harwin… if Daemon really is my father, will he want me to stay? Or does he just feel like he has to?”

Harwin knelt down to face her again, his expression thoughtful. “Daemon may be many things, Daella. He’s fierce, unpredictable, and often more driven by duty than emotion. But what I’ve seen… the way he looks at you… there’s something there. Maybe he’s just beginning to realize it, but he cares for you. I believe he wants you here.”

The weight of his words made Daella’s heart swell with hope, but also uncertainty. She nodded slowly, trying to make sense of it all, but before she could respond, the sound of distant footsteps echoed down the hall. Harwin straightened up, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll have to go soon, but if you ever need me, you know where to find me. Stay close to the Prince for now, alright?”

“I will,” Daella promised, gripping his arm for a moment before letting go.

As Harwin left, the room suddenly felt too big, too empty. Daella stood there, staring at the door for a long moment, unsure of what to do next. A part of her wanted to explore those hidden passages, to run through the castle unseen and discover its secrets. But another part of her felt the weight of the past few days settling over her, the exhaustion of everything that had happened.

She glanced back toward the passage the boy had shown her, curiosity pulling her toward the unknown. But the memory of his violet eyes watching her before he disappeared lingered in her mind, and she decided to wait. There would be time for that later.

For now, she headed back to the bed and sat on its edge, staring at the green blankets that surrounded her. This place felt foreign, but at the same time, there was a strange comfort in it. Maybe this was where she belonged after all. Maybe she had a place here, with Daemon, with Harwin… with her family.

She didn’t know what the King would decide, or what Daemon would want in the end. But for now, she had the chance to find out. And that was more than she had ever thought she would have.

As the day moved forward and the castle stirred to life outside the door, Daella lay back on the bed, letting the soft green light wash over her. There was so much ahead—uncertainties, dangers, and decisions to be made—but for now, in this quiet moment, she allowed herself to hope.

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[fruitysoupy]

100 years later I finally drew all of my AU Links

Say hello to my lads! They're going to be in a comic I've been scripting and planning for about a year now I think? I'm calling it Link and the Links, latl for short!

More info under the cut :]

(this is the old post, consider checking out the new version!)

(please don't tag as LU/Linked Universe!!)

The Plot

The Links find themselves in a mysterious forest that seems somewhat familiar to all of them yet none of them know where they are. Now they have to work together to find their way home. On the way they'll discover a thing or two about each other and grow closer!

The Cast

I could talk about these guys for hours, but to keep it digestible I'll make it short

A bit of info before I get into it - all of them are taken from different points in time after the end of their adventure(s)!

Birdie (Skyward Sword)

18

Roughly 6 hours after defeating Demise

The start of it all. Unbeknownst to himself and the others, the space they find themselves in was created out of his desire to meet the heroes after him. He feels terribly guilty about the curse and very much blames himself for the possible suffering of future heroes. His main goal is to check up on everyone and help where he can!

Grasshopper (Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask)

10

4 days after leaving Termina

Somewhat disoriented after his journey still, he tags along simply because he thinks Birdie is an idiot who would get lost without him. He doesn't talk a whole lot but he likes listening to other people's stories

Seagull (Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass)

13

6 months after leaving the domain for the ocean King

He's a real genuine pirate, yarr!! Or so he'd like you to believe. He talks a great deal about his strength and bravery, but really is just afraid and terribly homesick most of the time. He wants to fit in with Tetra's and her crew's toughness so much he might go a little overboard on the act in a way that may or may not end up biting him in the butt.

Choo (Spirit Tracks)

14

6 months after peace returned to new Hyrule

He wouldn't call himself a hero, in fact he'd say it's a miracle he made it out alive. Self-esteem and confidence really aren't his strong suits, he often finds himself dragged along and unable to say no. He is very friendly however, and if you just give him a little space he might even open up to you.

Wolfie (Twilight Princess)

21

4 years after defeating Ganondorf

Left Ordon after intrusive thoughts convinced him he was a danger to his village, now works at Telma's bar as a waiter in exchange for a room. He's responsible well liked, though he's not too fond of himself. He has some complicated feelings about the whole turning into a wolf thing

Apple (A Link to the Past, Oracle of Ages/Seasons and Link's Awakening)

20

Just a few seconds after Koholint disappeared

From one dream right into the next (sorta?) he's understandably disoriented at first. He pushes that aside pretty much immediately though, much more interested in getting to know everyone. He's a kind and soft spoken, weirdly wise sort of guy and near instantly becomes the heart of the team

Wallflower (A Link Between Worlds)

19

4 years after wishing upon the triforce with Zelda

Bitter doesn't even begin to describe this uh.. Pleasant fella. After being bossed around for the better part of his life he doesn't take orders from anybody and is this close to quitting his job as a blacksmith. He hates being stuck here, he hates these strange people, really there's not much he doesn't hate. But that can't be all there is to him...

Puzzle (The Legend of Zelda and Adventure of Link)

18

1,5 years after waking Zelda II

Confused, disoriented, but still happy to help and ready for adventure. Though some of the others don't really like him around he's still just as friendly to everyone. Since he struggles to communicate he tends to stay quiet. He appears to be simple minded on first glance, but he'll prove to be a valuable member of the team.

Sprout (Minish Cap)

23

13 years after defeating Vaati

After his grandfather died he retreated into his house and dedicated himself to improving his blacksmithing skills to live up to his grandfather's name, he was quickly forgotten by his community and faded into obscurity. Now he may be the best blacksmith in Hyrule, so good that even the royal guard hires him, but among the general castletown population he's nothing more than a forest cryptid. He only leaves the house when he has to, carefully avoiding people. Not because they disgust him, he just has a major case of social anxiety!

Squire (Breath of the Wild)

14

3 years pre calamity

This absolute rascal couldn't be happier about his current circumstances. These unknown woods are his playground and all of these weirdos are his friends now! Though everyone's pretty sure he's a knight trainee, he insists that he's just a stable hand for the guard. His chaotic and carefree nature surprisingly doesn't get in the way of things as he's eager to help out wherever he can, seeing the whole journey as an impromptu camping trip.

Some funfacts :]

Most of them are neurodivergent in some way!

Birdie and Seagull have ADHD, Grasshopper and Choo are autistic, Squire gets the combo platter AuDHD and Wolfie has OCD

Additionally, Birdie has auditory processing disorder and dyscalculia, and Squire has dyslexia

A few of them also have speech disorders

Choo stutters and Puzzle has cluttering speech disorder

Apple has a weak voice, so after a while his voice gets tired and gets hoarse

Choo enjoys drawings and cartography, two skills that will be very important!

One of Seagull's hobbies is photography! He takes his pictobox everywhere

Wolfie also does entertainment at the bar from time to time! He sings or does card tricks

Sprout knows HSL (hylian sign language) because his grandfather was deaf

Seagull's piratey way of talking is 100% for show and painfully inconsistent

Wolfie speaks in a thick southern (in universe ordonian) accent but he's trying hard to mask it since he moved to castletown

Wallflower absolutely hates Puzzle

Squire's special interest is horses

Birdie is a bit of a doormat so he has the ideas but Wolfie is the one to actually get them through

A number of them are blood related (has nothing to do with the colours of their names in this post, I had to reuse some because there weren't enough orz)

That's all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! :]

If any of you have any questions about my Links or AU you'd like answered, my inbox is open!

Have a lovely day everyone!

[aeondelirium]

Here is my gift for the White Oliphaunt event! Have a lovely, healthy, happy new year. ❤️

Frodo had been intrigued by the elf since he first saw a glimpse of his injury; a thin sliver of greyish flesh spotted between the the cuff of a sleeve and the trimming of a glove. Illness was rare among the elves, and it had begun to make a small loneliness in Frodo’s heart that grew as Bilbo went from old to ancient and he himself was getting on in years. Master Elrond was a healer of great skill, nor was he the only one eager to see to the comfort and health of the hobbits; still he could not halt the march of time. Frodo felt that it pained the elves to witness the slow failing of their mortal bodies. More than once he had seen their neighbours flinch or quickly avert their eyes when Bilbo struggled to rise from the bench outside his home, or when an indrawn breath gave away a sudden pain in his joints. Frodo felt reminded of an old yellow tomcat who had liked to sleep on the warm cobblestones by the well outside Bag End, and the way he had flinched to see him limp away in the evening as his days drew near their end.

The elf with the injured hand drew similar looks of mingled pity and distaste, though Frodo had been made to understand that he had earned the latter. He found it difficult to picture soft-spoken, withdrawn Maglor either as a joyful minstrel or a ruthless warrior; rather he felt as though an invisible hand had plucked kin strings in their souls, and loneliness sung in both of them.

One afternoon, Master Daeron’s beautiful harp had been carried out to the shore by no fewer than four strong elves, and the hobbits had spent a delightful time listening and singing until Bilbo’s rhymes reduced most of the audience to tears of laughter. Frodo’s smile had grown somewhat fixed when he found he was no longer certain that the merriment stemmed from his uncle’s cleverness, rather than the jolly nonsense of his wandering mind. Frodo’s gaze lingered on Maglor, who had not laughed along with the others.

“Does it hurt still?” he found himself asking. Maglor did not turn his eyes on him, but his burned hand twitched inside its glove.

“The hurt is less a thing of the body and more an ache of the soul” he said softly.

Frodo nodded. “I’ve some of those hurts myself.”

“I miss my harp” Maglor confided, his eyes still fixed straight ahead as though he were speaking to himself. “That is perhaps the greatest hurt of all.” There was a silence. Frodo knew no comfort to give the elf.

“Pimpinella Bracegirdle”, said Bilbo beside him, stirring from a brief rest against his shoulder, “loved to dance.” He fixed his watery old eyes on Maglor with an intensity that finally forced the elf to turn his head and acknowledge him. Bilbo manoeuvred himself upright with a huff and a puff and wet his lips, ready to spin yet another yarn.

“Now the trouble was”, he continued, “her dear Hugo was lame in one leg whenever the weather was about to change, an old injury from when he was a lad … I seem to recall he’d stepped on a bee and rolled down the hill up near Sandson’s farm …”

Frodo felt a slow flush creeping up his neck and put a gentle hand on his uncle’s arm, hoping to dissuade him from his tale. Bilbo, however, was undeterred. Maglor simply looked at the old hobbit, his face betraying neither amusement nor disdain. He listened with the careful attention of a minstrel.

“Now, a little further down Bagshot Row lived a hobbit who didn’t care much for dancing, despite having two good feet at the end of two good legs. We called him Daddy Twofeet, if you can believe it, for he’d more sense in his toes than that foolish head of his, heh. So on every other feast day, if the weather was about to change, and Pimpinella wanted to dance, Hugo would limp over to Daddy’s hole, and borrow his good right leg, on the condition of course he’d have it back by morning. And then he and Pimpinella would dance the night away, and they didn’t care who knew about it.” The old hobbit finished with a snort and a shake of his grey head.

“Oh Bilbo”, Frodo sighed. 

His uncle bristled. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young hobbit! Hugo and Daddy were my neighbours for many years, and every word is true.”

“Bilbo-”, Frodo began, but the old hobbit shook his hand from his arm.

“Why, I ought to send you to bed without your supper!” he sputtered, now truly querulous in a way only the elderly can muster.

“To bed, yes”, Frodo agreed wearily, and made to rise. “Perhaps it is time for bed.”

“Perhaps you ought to listen to your uncle, Master Baggins.”

All three of them stopped and looked up to where Daeron was watching them, a twinkle of merriment in his bright eyes.

“I think there is some wisdom in his tale”, he went on, and raised a graceful hand in beckoning. Beside the hobbits, Maglor stiffened where he sat, not unlike a rabbit hoping to elude the hunter’s searching gaze.

“Come, Maglor. Sit with me.” Daeron’s voice was gentle, yet brooked no argument. Maglor rose, but doing so cast a sideways glance at Frodo, who could not help but feel he had done the elf a bad turn.

“Show me”, Daeron said as Maglor settled himself on the smooth rock next to him. He opened his hand in invitation, and received Maglor’s own in return. None around them spoke or even shifted as Daeron gently peeled the glove away, a shadow of pain passing over his features at the sight of the marred flesh.

“The skin has hardened”, Maglor said in a voice barely above a whisper, forcing the words out quickly as though they hurt him. “The fingers are too stiff to play.”

Daeron hummed a soft note of agreement, turning the hand over and gently extending the scarred digits. “Yes”, he said at last, “that hand is hardly fit to pluck my harp.”

His finger’s tightened around Maglor’s wrist to prevent him from drawing away. Daeron removed from his shoulders his own lovely blue scarf, and, resting Maglor’s hand in his lap, gently pulled the soft fabric over it.

“Between the two of us we have three good hands to play.”

The tune was halting and strange at first. Taking half of two famed minstrels did not, Frodo thought to himself, make a whole one of outstanding skill. Yet there was not a face in the audience that did not smile, or shed a tear, or both.

Beside him, Bilbo rested his wizened head back on his shoulder. An elf maiden draped a soft woollen blanket around him against the evening chill. And when the old hobbit begun to hum along in his faltering voice, the music was sweeter than any that had been heard on that shore in a long time.

[jackactuallywrites]

Drunk and Disorderly Chapter Five

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x you

Rating: It’s still fluffy, no sex

Warnings: Ghost dances

Summary: You and Ghost go out to the gay club together

Notes: @xxven kicking my feet and giggling 🤭

Word Count: 2,280

ao3 link

What the fuck were you supposed to wear on a date— no, not a date, just a night out with Ghost.

The first time you’d seen him out at the clubs, it had been a complete coincidence, so you’d quite happily dressed up to the nines, half your rack hanging out, your dress short enough to risk giving everyone a good look of your arse every time you forgot to pull your dress down. This time, it would be a deliberate choice, a choice you were making fully knowing that Ghost would see you in it. Whatever you chose, he would know that you’d chosen it for him. Hence the conference call.

“I, for one, think you should go all arse and tits. You have jugs that could knock a man out. Tits out for the lads!” “Yes, I know your opinion, Elle.” She leaned into the camera, so all that was visible from her end was her large green eyes, “TITS.” You decided not to continue arguing with her, “Katy, help me out here.” “What part of your body do you want to show off?” Elle drew out the word ‘tits’ again, but she had a point. Other than your eyes, you did like your chest the most. “I mean, I guess tits, yeah, but there’s a limit.” Katy considered your words carefully, nodding sagely as she thought. “That strappy metallic gold dress, with those heeled golden sandals. Metallic eyeshadow, smudged black eyeliner.” Elle oohed, “Yes, bitch, that’s the one!” “You think?” Katy nodded, “That’s the one. It’s flirty but not entirely going into outright ‘fuck me’ territory. There’s plausible deniability.” “Plausible deniability. You say it like he’s going straight to HR afterwards to dissect everything.” “Better to be on the safe side with fraternisation.” Katy glanced away from the camera, “I’ve gotta go walk the dog with my mam. In a bit.” Elle followed after Katy’s example, but she gave you a final encouragement of, “Tits, babe, tits!”

You still weren’t entirely sure how you felt about wearing such a short dress around Ghost, but you were never one to question Katy’s sage fashion advice; she had a knack for picking the perfect outfit, so you just had to trust in her choice.

When you’d decorated your eyelids with a beautiful sparkly gold shimmer, lined your eyes with black, curled your eyelashes and darkened them with mascara, you were done. You could feel the anxiety already beginning to spike in your veins, your leg bouncing as you text your girls. Unfortunately for you, Elle was absent, no doubt busy canoodling with her partner, and your texts didn’t even deliver to Katy. If you hadn’t already scrubbed your lips until they were buttery soft and smoothed them over with lip balm, you might have chewed your lip bloody, but as such, you were unable. What bothered you most was that you hadn’t been all that specific with Ghost. There was no time, no meeting place; all you’d told him was that you’d see him at the club, so infuriatingly vague.

As it happened, you ended up at the club early enough that it was still light out, the sun just beginning to sink below the horizon. It was practically empty, though patrons were starting to trickle in, so you didn’t look too pathetic sitting in the corner by yourself. You knew it would be too early to even consider Ghost showing up within the next few hours, so you soothed your nerves with an early drink of vodka lemonade and settled in the corner.

You only managed to hang on for one hour and twenty-five minutes before you were already out the back door, cigarette in hand. It would ruin the warm, sweet scent of your perfume, but you were desperate for the soothing that you could only get from nicotine. Thankfully, it wasn’t windy, so your cigarette took up quickly, flooding your system with relief, the slight anxiety in your fingers already quieting. At the very least, the club had opened up more, finally beginning to pulse with music and people, so you weren’t so obviously alone, a few stragglers outside smoking nearby. Still, you couldn’t keep your eyes from nervously scanning the streets, desperately trying to pick out Ghost’s figure from the mingling people.

About halfway into your second cigarette, you finally caught sight of the tall, hulking figure coming down the pavement toward the club, that familiar white skull on his balaclava seeming to almost float in the darkness. It was impossible for you to not be excited, but you did your best to downplay your eagerness, lifting your hand in a casual wave beckoning him toward you. Naturally, when he caught sight of you, he made a beeline to you, slipping through the small crowd of people.

When he finally came into the glow of the orange streetlight, you finally saw him properly, dressed in his usual outfit of black boots, black cargo trousers, and a black jumper, yet he had a second jumper draped over his arm. You couldn’t imagine a man like that getting cold, but then again, you couldn’t judge; every soldier had their quirks.

“Sorry I’m late,” were the first words out of his mouth, and you smiled, lying through your teeth, “Don’t worry. I haven’t been waiting long.” He looked over your outfit, silent, and you could feel the slight prickle of uneasiness underneath your skin, unable to tell what exactly he thought of it, finally prompting him, “What do you think?” Ghost’s head snapped up from where it had been lingering on your waist, and he cleared his throat, “No, I- uh, yeah, you look nice.” You gestured to the jumper over his arm, “You planning on a snowy night?” He shook his head, “I had a feeling you’d come underdressed. I wanted to come prepared.” The gesture surprised you, and you tilted your head, “You brought an extra jumper for me?” He tilted his head back at you, “Did you bring a jacket?” You pursed your lips, “No.” He held out the jumper to you, “Well then, here you are. Add it to the collection.”

It wasn’t until he used those exact words that you remembered you still had his jumper tucked safely underneath your bed, and you cringed a little, “I never returned that jumper to you, did I?” “You did not.” “I can get it-“ He snorted softly, shaking his head and pushing the jumper at you, “I have dozens. Don’t worry about it.” You weren’t about to deny the opportunity to take another jumper from the man, but nor were you about to cover up the outfit Katy had picked out for you. “We’re going to be inside; it won’t be cold enough for a jumper there.” He paused in holding out the folded jumper, then shook it out, draping it around your shoulders and tying the sleeves loosely around your neck. “There.”

Even the gentlest touch of his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder sent thrilling tingles up your spine, and you spoke the first words on your mind, “Do you want to grab a drink, then?” “Are you offering to buy me a drink?” It was impossible not to grin at that. “I guess I am. You gonna take me up on the offer?” He considered it for a moment, then nodded, “You know what, I think I will.” He offered his arm out to you, a surprising gesture of chivalry, and you wrapped your arm around his, amused at the way you could feel his biceps flexed as you laid your hand on them, allowing him to lead you into the club.

You’d never thought about what a bonus it was to have a large man like Ghost around; the crowd in the club was usually an irritating thicket barring you from easy movement, but Ghost carved a wide path for you both, the crowd seeming to part easily before him. Once you reached the bar, Ghost caught the attention of the bartender then gestured for you to order the drinks. You looked over at the masked man and then decided, smiling at the bartender, “Two strawberry daiquiris.” The bartender left to make your drinks, and you smiled up at Ghost, expecting to see at least a little bit of frustration from him, but he merely looked amused, his eyes crinkling in the corners, “What? You think I’ll be embarrassed? Please.” You pursed your lips at him, and he leaned down so you could hear him better over the chatter, “Love, I come here almost every other weekend. By all means, order me something sparkly in rainbow colours. Does not bother me.” Only one question popped out in your mind, but Ghost cut you off before you could verbalise it, “I’m not gay. I just feel more comfortable here.”

It took at least two drinks for you to get over the humiliation and another drink for you to finally feel at ease once again, and by that time, you and Ghost had found yourself a little booth in the corner, away from the loudest speakers. He’d pushed his tumbler of bourbon over to you and was trying to convince you to try it, “Come on, love, this is premium Kentucky bourbon. You ought to try it at least once.” “I know it’s going to be gross.” He’d pulled the edge of his mask up long ago in order to drink, so you could see when his lips quirked in a smile, “Come on, darlin’, do it for me.” You rolled your eyes, but you were still amused, “God, you use that charm on everyone?” That made him smile again, and he nudged the glass closer to you, insistent. Usually, you liked to be stubborn, but you were too tipsy to bother this time, so you acquiesced and took a sip of the bourbon, feeling it burn your throat as you’d expected it to, coughing a little as it went down. “Gross.” Ghost laughed, taking his drink back, and you wrinkled your nose at him, “Right, that’s it. You owe me. You’re coming with me to dance.”

You’d expected Ghost to put up some sort of resistance, but he seemed happy, allowing you to take his hand and lead him to where the music was strongest, his gloved hand gently wrapped around yours. Everywhere you looked, there were people, but then Ghost pulled you over to him, where there was a slight gap in the people, twirling you as you went. You wouldn’t have thought that a man like that could be so playful, but he seemed greatly elated to spin and dip you, at one point taking up your hand and leading you across the room, his other hand resting on your waist. It became clear to you that where you were pleasantly buzzed, Ghost was far more intoxicated, to the point of having set aside his usual formidable persona in favour of a far more relaxed and playful self. He gave you another little spin, turning you so your back was to his chest, and then he let go of your hand, his hands encircling your waist, his cheek resting on the top of your head.

Perhaps sober, your heart would have fallen out onto the floor, but in the pleasant haze of being tipsy, all you could focus on was how cosy and secure you were with his arms around you, his chest warm against your back. If you were able to fall asleep standing up, you might have drifted into a peaceful slumber, but as such, you could only let out a tired yawn, leaning back into Ghost, resting your arms on top of his. His fingers lazily stroked across your bare arm, his voice soft, “You tired?” “I don’t usually dance so energetically.” His arms shifted from around your waist, linking one with your arm, “Come on then.”

The tiredness seemed to have snuck up on you, and you nodded along to his suggestion, allowing him to take you by the arm and lead you out of the club into the cold night air. Goosebumps touched your bare arms as soon as you left the heat of the building, and Ghost paused, taking off his jumper and holding it out to you with one hand as he undid the jumper still tied around your shoulders with the other. His was perfectly warm as you pulled it over your head, and you got a delightful glimpse of his well-muscled arms and the intricate tattoo that snaked around his forearm before he covered it up with the spare jumper. Then, he offered his arm back out to you, and you took it, allowing him to lead you back down the dark streets that led to the base.

When you’d finally reached the barracks, Ghost seemed to have sobered up a little; his mask pulled back down into place, his arm held out almost stiffly for you to hold onto. He seemed to look at you searchingly as you turned to say goodnight to him, but he didn’t say anything more detailed than, “Drink some water before you head to sleep.” You weren’t about to let him leave with such curt farewells, so you reached out to touch his arm. “I had a really fun night with you tonight. We should do this again sometime.” He seemed to soften a little, his voice little more than a murmur as he looked down at you, “Yeah..” His hand reached out to gently brush across your cheek, and then he was gone, striding off across the base to wherever he lay his head.

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Twenty Two: Magic/Shifting Lessons with the Kids @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist

~1k words, another day of poor editing

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Father and Son

The screams were what drew Rowan’s attention first.

He couldn’t scent any blood so he knew it wasn’t terribly urgent.  Nor could he scent any pain either.  But when his children were involved, it was best to put an end to screaming as soon as possible.  The last time he and Aelin had tried to let them scream it out the entire west wing of the palace had nearly been destroyed.

So, Rowan picked up his pace as he rounded the corner down to the practice yard where he knew his two oldest should have been working on their sword formations.  He came face to face with a young soldier instead, likely on his way to find him or Aelin.

“Ah, your highness,” the young fae said.  He bowed shortly, refusing to meet Rowan’s gaze. “The children--”

“Are causing problems again, aren’t they?” Rowan finished.  The soldier’s eyes only widened to a comical size. “I’ll see to them.”

Without saying anything else, he swept past the soldier and out to the yard.  It indeed was chaos.

Two of the practice dummies had been obliterated.  Hay streaked in every direction, barrels overturned, and Meiri stood center of it all.  Her blonde hair was, as always, in disarray, and her tunic mussed up.  She pointed her wooden practice sword at a crate where Rowan could just make out Finlay hiding behind.

Oh good.  They were getting along swimmingly.

“Come out, Finlay!” Meiri shouted. She was sixteen and well on her way to taking over the world. “You can’t hide behind that.”

“You’re cheating.”  Finlay, nearly fifteen, kept his position with his own practice sword clutched in his hands.  

Rowan could at least pride himself on the fact he insisted they not use real weapons on each other unless he, Lorcan, or Aedion were present.

“I’m not cheating!”

“Are too!”

“You can use magic too, if you actually tried!”

Meiri’s words were not meant to be cruel exactly, but she was young and confident and could be rather arrogant in her own abilities.  Exactly like her mother.  And Rowan knew how Finlay would take the words all the same.

He waited until Meiri finally noticed him.

“Da!” she exclaimed. “Would you please tell Fin this isn’t how you fight.  He’s embarrassing himself, really.”

“Stand down, Meir,” Rowan said.  He dipped his chin at his daughter who frowned, but lowered the wooden sword all the same.

Rowan nodded in approval before going to the crate where Fin was still hiding behind.  It wasn’t often that the lad acted like this.  He was indeed proud and hated displaying weakness of any sort.  But he was also still young and barely coming into maturity.  Rowan could only guess what was going on in his son’s head.  So he eased himself onto the ground right beside Fin, crossing his arms over his knees in a relaxed position.

Finlay groaned. “Oh, would you just leave me alone?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and banged his head against the crate.

“I’m the only one equipped to handle the two of you when you get like this,” Rowan reminded his son.

“Meiri’s insane,” Fin hissed.

“I heard that!” Meiri shouted from behind them.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Not now, Meiri.”

His words were followed by a huff and stomping feet.  Rowan waited a bit longer until he knew Meiri had fully retreated to the weapons room.  He looked at his son.

Finlay was a near replica of Rowan himself.  Silver hair, tan skin, and green eyes.  Though…Rowan would swear Fin’s eyes changed on occasion.  No matter.  It was still a bit disconcerting at times to remember the fact that he, Rowan Whitethorn, had a son.  Even if he’d had over a decade to get used to the fact.  

“What happened?” Rowan asked. “Couldn’t summon ice or couldn’t aim?”

Fin said nothing as she stretched his long legs out before him.

“By the looks of it, you got a bit out of control?” Rowan pressed.

Fin banged his head against the crate again.

“It’s hard to control early on,” Rowan said, he tried to channel the way his own father trained him and not what he had learned trapped in Maeve’s oath. “Even harder when you’re still growing into yourself, maturing--”

“Stop talking da,” Fin said, finally looking at him.  It was more like a glare but Rowan would take it.

He smothered a grin and knocked his shoulder with Fin’s. “It’s alright to struggle with your magic.  But you can’t let your temper control you.”

Fin scowled. “I don’t let it control me.”

“Then why will we need to have the servants make new practice dummies?” Rowan asked.  He didn’t want to embarrass his son or make this situation worse than it could potentially be.  But sometimes you had to press and dig to get the answers you wanted. “Seems like something happened.”

Fin kept his eyes trained forward to an alcove across the practice yard.  It was left in afternoon shadows but was as innocuous a place as any to train your attention when avoiding confrontation.

For a moment, Rowan wondered if he should call Aelin here.  She’d struggled with controlling her magic and it hadn’t been centuries since that happened.  Unlike with Rowan.  He could still remember the vague sense of frustration, but it truly had been an age since he’d struggled so much.

“Finlay,” Rowan began as she stretched his legs out before him.  “Sometimes, getting better at something takes longer than we think it will, but that doesn’t mean we give up on it.”

Fin continued scowling. “Meiri teases me for losing control.  I’m trying, I’m trying really hard, da.”

It was true that Meiri’s magic had always come easily to her, that she didn’t struggle with it, that it was simply a natural extension of her being.  And even though Fin had displayed his magic early on--he’d always had a difficult time reigning it in.

“That’s just Meiri,” Rowan sighed.  “But she is your sister, and you do actually have to talk to her about things.  Or we can have one big family dinner and talk about what it’s like to grow up and change.”

“No!” Fin shouted, grabbing the front of Rowan’s shirt. “That’ll just make it worse.”

Rowan chuckled, unable to help it.  He stood and offered a hand to Fin.

“C’mon then,” he said. “I helped train your mother.  I can help train you too.”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

not ready to try tagging again... but as always, thanks for reading friends

[selfox]

Cy's live-ish reactions are coming back.

FINALLY! I pulled myself together and got to the end of Ungrateful (to this reaction will be later).

These are chapters from Make a Wish till the start of Ungrateful of Random Tales Of Drakgo by @gothicthundra

I had reaction ready for a while, but I really needed to restart it so it would keep me in momentum so it'll have practically 2 reactions - Initial and second one. So that's why I need more time to edit the Ungrateful ark reaction ^^"

Make a wish

Initial first read

Shegooooo omg. Xd nice save. Its so precious how you decided to cook for him Xd dr d you lil, I'll give you a noogie, your hints xd you are precious Guys your tension is palpable. OMG DRAKKEN YOU SMOOTH FUCKER, SMOOTH CRIMINAL. Ma'am... You 2 have been an epitome of UST Tvgggh itty bitty Drakken grow big and strong ...... Not like buffkken tho xD tho buffkken still deserves love Oh Shego, sweetheart...

Second reread

Shego, more like how much one person wants to keep their name out of press. I would have been surprised if it was mentioned. Overall it's all sus indeed.

Well considering what happened not just because of Botox, but you sharing with him very personal information AND whole your cat and mouse game with feelings

I love this subtlety. I can't call it anything else. Especially when it's others POV. After second read you immediately get what Drakken been keeping inside.

I need to understand how Drakken is even making money. Like.... I get stealing money or things to sell, but... Do they do that in enough quantity? Plus you need some steady income with henchmen, lairs and ... Stuff??

✨Realization✨

Ma'am, you've done the goof.

YES HE HAS BEEN.

This man is so traumatized over her disappearing on vacations.

And, Drak, I hate to bring it to you. You are just in love with her OTL Man... I want to hug him, poor blue man.

Shego, you would be surprised how many factors come into play regarding baking. So it's completely understandable. Cus you don't have enough practice.

And here I want to hug Shego, she is... I want to say tsundere, but it's just simple denial of everything. And this cupcake… when you make something yourself it hits different. And she knows it deep inside.

Smart ass Drakken xD

Every time I have the same reaction and it's audibly say: "Ough, about that"

Like I've said before those 2 are precious in their banter... It's so on edge of flirt, but much more meaningful. And the turn of events how that laser became her hoverboard. This warmth. I know they don't do that, but I envision them leaning to one another as if talking conspirationally. Have really soft almost whispering voices.

So close and yet so far. Once again smooth

What still gets me and practically hammers down is how it isn't said what his wish is, and yet you still get what he wants.

Working the Nerves

Initial first read

🤣🤣🤣 Daaaw roumd boi 🤣🤣🤣🤣 omg Shego Yep, I will be laughing all chapter OMG DREW YOU DIDN'T F SHEGO Ouch f hair .... Ok this is some unfortunate incidents, I'm sus Ok, this one on you Bonding :3 Dr d you are an addict DRAKKEN YOU MAD LAD STRONG LAD

Sugar rush and hyperfocus can do some things to a lad. Tho a silver lining to your love handles, Dr D, that it is comfier to cuddle.

I adore that back and forth banter, and to hear how they are at it for 3 days and, honestly, they can do it even longer given chance.

I am still curious what it is now.

You know, during the rewatch of the show, I hadn't realize how fricken much, Shego sits either unusually or plainly on a table/desk. She is just a feline.

She is a very black green tinted cat to herself. Is it Friday 13 of some sort? Did she break some mirror recently? Walked under the ladder??

Ok yeah I completely forgot this part that explains how they have money through stocks.

Gods, I get that funk that Drakken has. Low on inspo and on occasion motivation is hell.

Overall sometimes I think there should exist a skit with name "Adventures of Dr. Drakken and his ADHD brain"

Domestic

Shego, my lass, you do affect him, don't worry Daaaw XD Painting her nails, daaaww.... Wait is that a mirror of her and Pandora? I think I'm reading too much into it Jddjjdjdj KIM

I am still chuckling and those two are still children. Both of them. Rection above still stands XD

On painting toenails, I'm having a flashback to Shego and Pandora's past.

KIM OMG

Bad girl gone good

🤔🤔🤔 hmm I wondered how she was internally… “Shego, I need you” Hehe, someone in love~ and she finally understood it

What hits me how un-Shego these thoughts are, how the tone feels softer in a way.

"Dr. Drakken" - yeahhhh so very formal it feels weird thinking it's coming from Shego, but considering it's Miss Go.

Its the scrambled eggs of thoughts that gets me here with Miss Go laying in the guest bed. How they are going all over.

Heart is still the same, isn't it? And that concern that she has for him.

I love reading this moment of realization that she wants Drakken. Plain and simple. And wanted for a while. Where we are? chapter 83. Time runs fast.

Roller coaster

🤣 "villain royalty, how Disney" Ma'am Maaam You can't kill attraction by behaving like Helga Pataki Ough rough OYL Oh gods my heart ;-; partners Bdhdhdhd “I'm in trouble”, ma'am, you just fell in love

What in the hell happened there? (srsly, I am trying to place it at shows timeline and I'm in confusion, cus it feels like I should know what happened in this lair, I know that later moment will be Capt'n Drakken, but still )

Yep, being tsundere. And I give a point to Drakken for being perceptive.

heh, just the heat~

Famous last words

Shego, you need therapy.

I'm chuckling in my face palm, those 2 are perfect for one another. Ma'am, you are just the same.

Couples counselling, my guys. Those 2 are so stuck in that idea that their feelings are unrequired. And how their miscommunication keeps happening. My guys, you assume too much guah!

I have, had had and will have such an urge to shake her (and him) to get some sense into their heads.

The Chinese Food Of Peace.

*guttural groan of anguish cus of these 2 dumbasses*

Glad she finally finally realized and relaxed about it my GOD. All it took is one talk with your best friend/love and see how everything settled down???

Don't get me wrong I love this a lot, the warmth of their convo, the smiles and ALL OF THAT. Just they are dummies. I love them, but they are dummies. Squared even.

Thus see you all in Ungrateful.

[thesconesyard]

Don’t judge me harshly for my first ever Spock pov, please

Where the West Begins

18. Bandolier

“Spock,” Scotty called across the yard.

Spock stopped and turned, standing still as the Scotsman caught up to him.

“How’s Jim doing today?”

“Much better,” Spock replied, with a faint tightness around his mouth that could pass for a smile. “Though I do not understand why Dr. McCoy did not inform him he was being poisoned.”

Scotty appeared to sigh. “Aye, maybe we should have told ye, but we worried the lass may start to catch onto us or harm someone else.”

“I see.”

“And ye know the lad, he never wants to admit to being under the weather.”

“That is true, unfortunately.”

“But I’m sure if he’d gotten any worse Len would have stepped in. Ye know he was tearing himself up about it trying to fix it,” Scotty said.

“In hindsight his distress was clear. Is there something you needed, Scotty?”

“Aye!” The Scotsman perked up. “I was having some wee trouble with some calculations for that new out building, and was hoping ye could help me.”

“I’d be happy too,” Spock said. He followed quietly behind the other man.

His mind was eased some at Scotty’s explanations of the doctor’s actions. Yes, Jim could be stubborn about some things, especially concerning himself, but Spock had seen McCoy go head to head with the ranch owner many times and come out the winner. If the doctor had been stubborn this time, Jim would not have suffered as long as he had.

Though in the end Jim was healing and that woman was gone. She would be a reminder to them to be vigilant of those who came to them.

In the evening, after dinner, the others were helping wash up or take care of the evening chores, but Spock wandered to his room. From under his bed he drew out a small chest. It was long but not very wide, nor very deep.

He took a very slow, deep breath as he sat on the bed and undid the latches. The relics of a previous life lay inside. Spock had not looked at them since he had come to the ranch and shoved the chest underneath the bed.

The past months had drawn forth thoughts he’d not had for a very long time. Of family, long gone separate ways.

A photograph sat on top, old and faded. Spock lifted it and looked. His parents. So different from each other and so fiercely devoted to each other. He set the photograph aside, and turned to the next item. His fingers ran gently over the smooth handle of a small knife. Gingerly he lifted it and slid it an inch from the hilt. The sharp blade gleamed, though he knew what deeds had been done with it.

Spock closed his eyes for a moment and breathed slowly. He slid the knife back in the sheath and set it down. Soft leather was next.

Spock startled at a knock on the door.

“Spock, you in there?”

Jim.

Spock stared at the door, then glanced at the open chest in front of him. No one had seen these things since he had packed them away.

“Yes,” he finally answered.

“You alright?” Jim sounded concerned. That was wrong; Spock should be the one still concerned for Jim. He was still healing.

“I am fine.”

“Alright if I come in?” Jim called through the door, sounding amused.

Spock looked again at the open chest, and his breath grew tight. He let it out and made himself relax.

“Yes.”

The door opened and Jim stepped in wearing a bright smile.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“The door please Jim.”

“Oh. Sure.” Jim turned back and closed the door before he crossed over to look at the items on the bed.

“Who’s this?” Jim asked, pointing at the photograph. “May I?” His hand reached halfway to it.

“My parents,” Spock said stiffly. “You may.”

Jim lifted the photo carefully and studied it. “You look like both of them,” he said with a smile.

“I wish that I didn’t.”

Jim looked over at him in confusion. Spock looked away towards the window.

“One parent from each side of the conflict does not make one very welcome afterwards in either place.”

“Oh. Spock—”

“They loved each other.” Spock gave his head a sad shake. “But I did not belong. I tried, on both sides. I fought.” Spock touched the knife again. “I killed. But neither side wanted me.”

From the chest he pulled a long leather belt, folded together.

“I was not enough for either, despite my skills.” He held the folded belt angled across his chest.

“What did you do?” Jim sat down on the bed with the chest between them.

“I left. I worked for who paid the most.”

“A mercenary?”

“Perhaps you would name what I did that.”

“What happened?”

“I received a letter saying my parents had been killed. They had tried to stop the next conflict. Each side blamed the other for their deaths.”

“I’m sorry.”

Spock shook his head. “I gave up that life. I wandered and I ended here.” He set the bandolier back in the chest, then laid the knife back on top. He reached over and took the photo from Jim. With it in the chest he closed the lid and did the latches again.

“Too many fight in this world. I choose not to anymore, but I will defend what is mine.” His dark eyes looked across at Jim with intensity.

Jim nodded slowly. “Thank you for telling me.”

Spock nodded in acknowledgment.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jim asked quietly.

“Keep being the good person you are in this terrible world.”

“It’s not all terrible Spock,” Jim grinned suddenly. “It brought you here to me didn’t it?”

Warmth crept up Spock’s face at Jim’s words and he fought to hide it.

“That is true,” he admitted softly.

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 10 - Dead Man's Hand

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: As she rises towards the top, she catches someone's attention -- the wrong kind. warnings: minor violence

note: two updates in one day, y'all are getting SPOILED (tbf, so am I. this fic is such an indulgence for me) thank you THANK YOU for all the likes, reblogs, and comments. I read each and every one and they fill me with such joy <3

And then there were three. She managed to bluff out the Hutt into blowing the rest of his pot. He cursed and spat at her in Huttese before slithering off (Din was this close to blasting him for the things he said). The old gentleman drew the Mon Calamari into a trap of overconfidence and the latter decided to walk away, still pleased with his profit.

Between learning tells, catching up on the lingo, getting comfortable working with such exorbitant amounts of money, she’s feeling good. So good that when they call a temporary recess, she orders a drink from the bar before sitting back down.

“Good evening.” Taking a seat next to her is the old gentleman, a small drink in hand and a welcoming smile on his lips. “You’re the girl from Tatooine, is that right?”

“That’s right. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

He bows his head. “Bras Luum. I am delighted to finally speak with you. You know, I simply must thank you for taking out that Besporos lad. He has no respect for the game and I think his true hobby is spending his father’s credits.”

She laughs, nodding in agreement. “You’ve seen him around these parts?”

“Too often, I’m afraid,” he replies in his posh accent. Bras is a good player. He is subtle, but humble, and takes his losses the same as he does his winnings. Between her final two competitors, he is definitely the one to beat. “But that was a marvelous play. The Dead Man’s Hand.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You know why they call it that?” She shakes her head. “Many cultures use sabacc cards to divine the future, yes? Now, your hand, the Dead Man’s Hand, consists of The Evil One and The Endurance. Evil enduring is quite the omen, yes? Very bad luck.”

She chuckles. “Yes, but you know as good as I that luck means little in this game.”

There is a pregnant pause as he ponders it. “Indeed. People like ourselves… we don’t need luck.” He takes a sip of his drink. “So. Tatooine. Now if I recall correctly, Luke Skywalker himself was born on that planet.”

She lifts her brows. “Skywalker… the pilot that destroyed the Death Star? I… I didn’t know that.” Huh! She suddenly feels a swell of pride for her garbage desert planet.

“Yes, yes.” He nods. “So you see, great talent comes from anywhere.” The way he speaks is so charming to her, so nostalgic. “The rumor is that the Mandalorian hired you to win the beskar grand prize. Is that right?”

“Yes.” She nods, eyes fluttering to Din and Grogu for a moment.

“And the winning pot?”

“All mine.” Well… a good chunk of it, at least.

“How generous of him.” Bras laughs behind his lips, finishing his drink. “What has he told you about beskar? I’m curious.”

She shrugs. “It’s the metal of his people. It belongs to them… that’s what he’s said about it.”

Bras nods slowly, listening to her words. “Hm. So all beskar belongs to the Mandalorians. Is that right?”

“It makes sense. It was found in their mines, wasn’t it?”

Bras sighs wistfully. “Indeed. It's a beautiful metal. Blasters do virtually nothing against it. It can even stop a lightsaber.” A what? “Only beskar can pierce beskar. It's... exquisite."

"I... didn't know that. No wonder D... The Mandalorian is so keen on retrieving it. It belongs with him."

The old man nods once. "I know you are young, so I will not fault you. Especially one that is new to the expanses of the galaxy. The Mandalorian believes that the beskar belongs to him. But that simply is not true.”

Her smile drops. “What… what are you talking about?”

“I see the way you play cards. You have a keen mind, good memory, yes? Remember the image of the beskar. That perfect rectangle ingot. What was there in the corner?”

She gets goosebumps on her arms, a loud heartbeat in her ears. “The… the symbol of the Empire.” She has to turn away. “But the Empire’s gone. Wiped out.”

Bras laughs, but it doesn’t sound friendly. “The same can be said of Mandalore.” As she stares at Din, worry knitting her brows, Bras leans in and whispers, sending cold chills down her back. “Surely, child, you can see that even though something doesn’t exist, its spirit can live on. And so... do I not have equal claim to that beskar as the Mandalorians do?” She trembles in her chair, her sight darting to the identical bodyguards that stand at attention not far from Din. Her throat dries and her skin crawls as the realization sinks in.

I know what you are.

“There’s no need to be frightened, child.” The sweetness in his voice does little to convince her of its sincerity. “You, after all, are not in this for the beskar.” He rests a gentle hand on her shoulder, and yet she somehow feels more violated than when that prick felt up her leg. “Take your winnings home now and bow out gracefully. With the amount that you’ve made so far, why, it’s beneath you to do favors for the Mandalorian. You owe him nothing.”

Din turns and sees them talking. That look on her face…

She bites down on the tip of her tongue, weighing his words carefully. It’s a generous offer, she assumes, because she knows that if she refuses, this man has other ways of getting what he wants. His fingers curl into the skin of her shoulder, nails making indents. “Have you been enjoying your taste of luxury? You can make it last longer. All you need to do is step aside. This isn’t your conflict, sweet one. So don’t get in the middle of it.”

The dealer announces that it is time to resume and Bras’s hand slips off her shoulder as he readjusts himself in his seat. She, however, is deathly still. Her heart races faster than ever and her stomach churns, threatening to burst. Before Din can approach her, a casino hostess tells him that the game is about to resume.

This isn’t your conflict, sweet one. So don’t get in the middle of it.

Two cards fall in front of her and she’s still spacing out. It takes the dealer calling her name out twice before she’s responsive. Quickly, she looks at her cards and surveys the table. The Twi’lek is as stoic as ever, but Bras’s smile haunts her. “It’s your turn to call,” he tells her. “What shall it be?”

What shall it be, girl? Are you going to make me happy… or disappointed? Is what he seems to ask.

Could she do it? Could she just bow out now, take her winnings, and flee? She could go anywhere, anywhere, with that amount of money. Could is the key word. She turns her head, looking for Din and Grogu in the crowd. Her eyes close with her slow inhale. Her hand remembers being held by Grogu, her skin remembers Din’s touches, and her eyes remember that beautiful sunrise. All this money at her fingertips, but no amount of credits can compare to those wonderful feelings.

With her exhale, she opens her eyes, cold focus setting in. The numbers fly in her head and she realigns herself. She knows exactly what she wants to say to Bras and where exactly he can shove his intimidation tactics.

That beskar belongs to Din.

“I call.” She shoves a pile of chips towards the pot, her unerring glare staring right at Bras as she does. Her brazen defiance makes his eye twitch, but he quickly covers it with a smile.

His mistake costs him nearly half of his earnings. If he was angry before, he must be livid now. So hard to tell with sabacc players.

The dealer calls the final adjourning for the tournament, much earlier than last night. Tomorrow night, a winner will be crowned. She stands up quickly and picks up her skirts, fleeing from the table the best she can in those shoes. Just before she can reach Din and Grogu, someone steps in her path. “The girl from Tatooine!” says Dastiv. “My, my, don’t you clean up nicely.”

“Oh? Th-thanks. I’m sorry, I’m trying to--”

“I know you’re exhausted, but I was hoping to have a little chat.” He smiles. “Have you given any thought to your future as a gambler? You’ve certainly got the skills for it.”

“Ah… well, I haven’t had much time to think about it--”

“Splendid! One drink in my office is all I ask for. Then I’ll let you catch up on sleep. How’s that?”

She tucks some hair behind her ear, looking over her shoulder. Surrounded by his posse of guards, Bras makes his way out of the gambling hall, all the while peering at her through the cracks of his security. Perhaps this could be a key time to tell Dastiv what kind of people are gambling here. “Sure,” she says. “One drink.”

Dastiv wraps an arm around her shoulder, leading her towards the exit.

“Hey.” Din notices immediately, catching up to them. “Where are you going?”

“To his office for a drink. Then I’ll be right back.” She puts on a smile so he doesn’t worry. “Go back to the room. I’ll be there soon.”

Dastiv wheels her away before Din can object to it, yapping on how Canto Bight is the perfect place to make a living as gambler. The Mandalorian watches her go and something sits in the pit in his stomach. He can’t put his finger on it, but he doesn’t like this.

---

She finds herself in Dastiv’s office once more, albeit in completely different attire. Now, she looks like she belongs here. He rants on about how he would be willing to give her a penthouse if she decides to stay, what sort of money she would have to win on a yearly basis. Truthfully, she’s only half paying attention as he pours their drinks. “We like to keep the money circulating here, you can understand.”

“R-Right.” She nods along. “It’s been wonderful here. Beyond my wildest dreams.”

“That’s what we do.”

“Mm. Listen, um, I wanted to ask you about one of the players. Bras Luum?” He presents her a shot and holds the other.

“Yes, lovely fellow. Go ahead, take it.” He lifts his shot. “To you, my dear.”

“Th-thank you.”She takes the shot glass. Just one drink, then she can go. She tips it back, drinking all of it in one go. When she swallows and faces forward, Dastiv has done the same. “Now, about Bras.”

He sighs loudly. “What a shame,” he says.

“H...huh?” Suddenly, dizziness flushes through her body. Her head grows hot and she cannot make words.

“You were talking about Bras Luum, weren’t you? Yes, he’s an old friend.” Dastiv sits on the edge of his desk with a proud grin. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Neither of us expected you to be doing so well! I suppose that’s a compliment for someone like you.”

She drops the glass, hearing it shatter as she wobbles, her feet losing coordination. What’s happening to me?! The doors slide open.

“Ah, there you are. She’s all yours.”

A pair of gloved hands catch her before she falls. Din? They hoist her up, carrying her. Her vision focuses for a second, showing that it is not the Mandalorian, but Bras’s guards. No… The sight of their helmets is the last thing she remembers before it all fades to black.

Din…

---

Grogu’s eyes fly open, his heart pounding. He looks up at Din, attempting to convey worry in his words. Thankfully, his father understands that much easily. “What is it?” He can’t quite say her name yet (or any name, for that matter) but he tries anyway, stressing the syllables. Din’s voice darkens. “...Is she in trouble?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation.

The elevator doors open and instead of returning to their room, he turns on his heel and strides straight towards the ones that can take him to Dastiv’s office. He shoves past people waiting in line and orders the attendant to take them straight to the top floor, his voice deep enough to scare him into doing it. It feels like an eternity waiting for the elevator to reach the top, but as soon as the doors open, his hand is near his blaster and he charges forward.

The door open and the Mandalorian draws his blaster, knowing Dastiv’s guards are ready for him. He knows he can dispose them quickly if it comes down to it. “Where is she?”

“Mando!” Dastiv claps his hands together. “Quite the entrance. I have to ask you to put your weapon away, however.” His smug, unassuming smile just makes him fume even more.

“Where. Is she?”

“Are you looking for your friend? We had a drink. I’m sure she went straight to your room.”

He doesn’t believe that for a second. “Grogu. Don’t look.” The child presses a button on his pram and hides. Once he’s shielded, Din swings his blaster towards the guard on the left, opening fire. Blaster shots bounce off his beskar armor as he slides behind the guard, striking him on the back of the neck. Once that one falls to the ground, he shoots the other in the leg, bringing him to his knees with a yelp. Din kicks him straight in the head to knock him out, then he swoops towards Dastiv and seizes him by the collar.

The casino owner looks ready to talk now.

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

“No, no! I heard you! L-Listen, Mando, you better take the kid and high tail it out of here. You don’t wanna get entangled in this business.”

“If she’s in harm’s way, then it is my business. Who has her?”

“I-It’s Bras! The old man. I’m warning you, Mando. You won’t get her back.”

He tilts his head, a slight growl tinging his words. “What can I say? It’s a casino and I feel lucky. Now. Where is he?”

“F...Freight elevator. Bottom floor.” With that, he shoves him back into his seat and whips around, not bothering to ask anything else. It doesn’t matter who this man thinks he is, only that he’s a fool for thinking he wouldn’t come after her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Mando!” Din immediately turns and fires, the shot whizzing past Dastiv and shattering a vase over his shoulder, eliciting a scream.

“That’s my warning shot.”

Din leads the way back to the elevator. “Grogu,” he says. “Go back to the room.” Grogu grumbles, his mouth frowning and making wrinkles in his cheeks. He makes a noise of defiance and Din knows that it’s futile to stop him. Where did he pick up that stubbornness? Din shakes his head. “Fine.” Let’s go get her back.”