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gerudospiriit · 9 months

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[It's me. Momo. Back at it again writing more Nabsgan one-shots instead of working on my New Year's Resolution of getting my book published. 👍

Anyway, I've just had a mighty need lately so this is happening. Small warning, it's a little spicy but nothing explicit or graphic. Got a little bit of angst if you know how to look at it ahaaaa. BUT I hope the three Nabsgan fans on this website enjoy this little sweet and fun thing I wrote for two dumbasses. :'3

Translation note: "miv ra'aq" literally means "my sun" but it is a term of high endearment for the Gerudo.]

While Nabooru welcomed the ache in her muscles from her final training session of the evening, the sweat glistening on her skin in the torchlight and the cooling sensation afforded to her whole body from the night’s air crawling in through the windows of the fortress, she did not care for the exhaustion weighing heavy on her limbs and eyelids as she trudged toward Ganondorf’s room. The final task and request of the night–one she was running later for than she meant to–and then she could catch a few winks of sleep before waking with the sun and starting over again. That thought in mind, she considered saving her some steps and energy after their meeting and staying in his room instead. If her tardiness didn’t sour his mood so much that he would refuse to let her.

Approaching the ornate doors, the gold embellishments gleaming too brightly in her tired eyes, she pushed the door open and entered, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to make sure the new beats for the guards covered the blind spots we previously had in surveillance.”

“I did not realize such a task would work up a sweat.” Ganondorf snapped his book shut and stood, dropping the tome on the cushions he abandoned. He stretched his arms over his head, drawing her gaze, purposefully or not, to the lengthening of his muscular arms and bare torso. His arms dropped back to his sides, thick brows low over his amber eyes and his disapproving frown tugging the corners of his lips downward. “Were you sprinting to do these rounds?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” she sniffed, folding her arms as she crossed the room. She paused in front of him. “And if you must know, I wanted to get a last training session in since the meeting you called cut my usual morning training short.”

“I suppose it makes the bath I prepared for us more worthwhile.”

An eyebrow rose in question, but she did not fight the calloused fingers tracing along the top of her pants to rest at the small of her back or the lips finding purchase against her neck. “A bath and feeling me up is hardly urgent business,” she responded, head tilting as her hands wandered along his sides, “especially not with that look you gave me when I walked in.”

“You know I don’t like to be kept waiting, Nabooru.” The growl in his voice sent a shiver pirouetting through her body, her response silenced by his lips attaching to her own. “And I don’t want the water to get cold.”

“I figured you would revel in the excuse to show off your magical prowess.”

A punishing nip to her lower lip elicited a soft giggle before she kissed him again, arms looping around his neck as he deepened the kiss. Hands on her hips, Ganondorf lifted her from the ground, feet leaving the rug beneath them. Legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the private washroom in the back of his room, the trip problem free despite their maintained lip lock thanks to his heightened awareness and familiarity with his space. One hand left her backside to push the curtain aside and, once they were in the room, the steam of his magically filled and heated tub swirling around them in a humid mist, he parted his lips from hers.

With a slight lift of her backside, he silently coaxed her to release her legs from his waist and lowered her to the mosaic-tiled floor. She dropped her arms from his shoulders in favor of pulling the ruby from her hair, her crimson tresses falling down her back and over her shoulders. She idly shook them out as she unabashedly watched her lover remove his pants and climb into the tub with a content sigh. The basin had been remodeled to give him ample space within it to stretch out and relax, despite his protests to avoid wasting time and resources when he could make due with what already existed in the chief’s or king’s quarters. However, Twinrova insisted the king deserved to bathe in privacy and comfort instead of being subjected to a tiny bathtub or the communal baths with the rest of the tribe. While the snobby demeanor of the sorceress’s request irked her, Nabooru couldn’t complain too loudly about it; private baths with Ganondorf were one of her favorite ways to spend time with him.

Plucking her rings off each finger, she set them and her gloves next to the wash basin, followed by her choker. “Is it still warm? Was all your attitude for nothing?” she asked, toeing off her shoes.

“Mm, indeed.” He draped his arms over the lip of the tub, cracking an eye open to watch her finish undressing. “It's the perfect temperature.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Kicking her pants over to where she discarded her top–still the typical white of an Elite; her mother still worked on her specially tailored outfit to better suit her rank of second in command–she padded over to the tub and climbed in. Immediate relief washed over her, a pleased sigh escaping her lips as she sank beneath the water across from Ganondorf, adjusting her legs to allow them both to share the space comfortably. She inhaled the soothing hint of cool safflina entangled with the rising steam and closed her eyes. The combination of the two soothed both her aching muscles and her tired mind.

“Well?” asked Ganondorf after a moment, his deep voice drawing her back from her near doze.

“Mm, eight out of ten on the heat level.” Nabooru smirked when she opened her eyes, and noted the flare of his nostrils. “But the cool safflina scent is a nice touch and makes up for it.”

“In retrospect, I should have chosen a different scent it seems,” he mused, “one with less of a chance of putting you to sleep.”

“Like feet?”

Before Ganondorf could process her ludicrous suggestion, Nabooru braced her hands on the lip of the tub and, stretching her leg toward him, lifted her foot from the water so it was level and an inch from his nose. She cackled as he grunted and turned his face away. “I think that would keep us awake, don’t you?”

“Childish,” he rumbled, but his smirk belied his annoyance with her antics. In half a blink, his calloused fingers snagged her ankle in a grip just tight enough that she couldn’t wriggle free from. “But I have a better solution.”

A firm, forward tug of her ankle yanked her beneath the water, her surprised gasp filling her mouth and lungs with water. Limbs flailed as she struggled to resurface, and her hands finally found purchase on the side of the tub again to tank herself back from the depths of the tub. She sputtered and coughed, her wheezing juxtaposed by Ganondorf’s hearty laughter. When she regained control, she slapped the surface of the water, splashing water in his face. However, his laughter was infectious enough to revive her smile.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if that killed me.”

“So dramatic,” he teased through the tail end of his chuckles. He held his arms out to her, beckoning her into them with a crook of his fingers. “I simply think you’re absolutely stunning when you’re soaking wet.”

Nabooru smoothed the curtains of damp hair back away from her face and heeded his invitation with a mild pout. It melted the instant she rested her back against his chest and his muscled arms curved around her frame. Her fingers danced idly along his forearms. “Well, there are much more pleasant ways you can do that.”

Another chuckle, and he lifted her hand to his lips. “Mm, perhaps,” he muttered, kissing along each of her knuckles. He turned it over and kissed her palm. “But I like to keep things interesting. I couldn’t bear to be predictable.” He nipped her palm, then, smirking. “I'll focus on that later.”

“I'll hold you to it.” Cupping his cheek, she twisted at the waist to steal a proper kiss. “I do still love you despite your attempt to drown me.”

He smiled as she resettled in his arms and nuzzled the top of her head. “I love you too, Nabooru.”

Silence once more fell between them, comfortable and easy. Ganondorf would occasionally toy with her fingers or kiss her temple, face lingering against her head. Finally, just when her eyelids closed and a dozing sleep overcame her, his voice, tender and velvet, tore her from sleep's grasp.

“I have something for you.”

“Mm, yeah?” she answered through a stifled yawn. “It's not bad news or something, is it?”

“I hope not.”

Carefully, Ganondorf readjusted her position in his lap so she sat sideways on his thigh. He held his hand out. Shadows swirled momentarily within his palm before a glint of gold replaced them. Nabooru's lips parted in awe, the appearance of the stunning and intricate piece of jewelry fully distracting her from her discomfort with the magic used to materialize it. The ruby shimmered in the light of the torches along the walls, the gold seemingly lit aflame.

“Did you make this? Like really make it?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from the armband to meet Ganondorf's amber gaze. “It's…stunning…”

“With a little guidance from Shini, yes. She probably could have done something more intricate but…I wanted–no, needed–this gift to bear more meaning than a craft commissioned from another. Or created through magic.”

Her heartbeat doubled in tempo, anticipation coiling in her core. “Oh?” she croaked out, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It took every ounce of her control not to squirm in his arms. To not assume the meaning of his words before he spoke them.

“Nabooru.” His free hand cupped her cheek then trailed down to the center of her left bicep. “I can no longer remember a time where I was not in love with you. Nor can I fathom going a single day without you by my side in the future. Someday, I hope to call you more than just my lover, my second in command. I hope to call you my queen.”

Queen. The word echoed through her mind and off the stone walls and tiled floor, eliciting equal parts gratuitous excitement and mild panic. Years ago, she would have sworn to the world, the gods, and anyone else that she would never marry. It was hardly important to the Gerudo, anyway, and her ambitions would frighten most prospective partners. However, as her relationship with Ganondorf evolved, each new day making it harder for her to deny the depth of her love for him, the idea, when it waltzed into her mind on those idle days where she couldn't focus on paperwork or as she laid in his arms halfway between waking and sleep, ceased to feel so uncomfortable. Outlandish and impossible. And now, with his proposal presented, the knee jerk panic that swept in dissipated. Lips curling into a grin, she crushed her lips to his and looped her arms around his neck. He returned her kiss with equal ferocity, arms tight around her.

“I would be more than honored to be your queen,” she answered, breathlessly against his lips. “Not just for the opportunity to continue to lead our people at your side but because there is no one else in this world I can imagine binding myself to like this.” She cupped his face in her hand, thumb tracing along his cheek bone as she kissed him again. “I will love you until the end of my days and beyond, Ganondorf. Nothing will change that.”

He smiled and recaptured her lips in another passionate kiss, tongue slipping past her parted lips as the arm draped around the small of her back pulled her flush against him. His free hand masterfully secured the band to her left bicep. The cool metal on her warm skin felt right, the weight perfect.

“I just have one request,” rumbled Ganondorf, giving her kiss-swollen lips a playful nip and lick.

Nabooru hummed, amused. “And what would that be?”

The Gerudo king tugged her close, hands trailing the length of her spine to her backside. He gave it a squeeze as he leaned forward, his hot breath tickling her ear as he said, “I want you to keep the armband on while I ravish you tonight.”

The simple request sent a blazing fire rushing through her, thighs squeezing together. A nod. “Anything for you, miv ra'aq.”

#writing tag tbd #[ ☀ ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿ ;; ⁱ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᶠⁱʳᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ᵇᵉˡˡʸ ˢᵒ ⁱ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ]#nabooru #ganondorf #nabsgan #nabooruxganondorf #ganondorfxnabooru #loz #legend of zelda #ocarina of time #oot

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sexualizing-that-old-man · 8 months

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Another lil writing~

Takes place not too long after Lawrence and Carylin meet.

“Mornin’, squid face.”

The verbal announcement of Carylin’s arrival came a fraction of a second after she knocked on the door and opened it as she always did - without waiting for a welcome, or any sort of permission. Lawrence turned from his desk just in time to see her sit down on his bed. As many times as it had happened already, he swore he'd never get used to his new assistant’s approach.

“It's near midnight,” the illithid said, neglecting to acknowledge the latter part of her greeting. He'd already reminded her of his name multiple times, and she stubbornly refused to use it.

“Well, that's like morning for you if you're nocturnal, right?” The woman shrugged. “It just feels weird saying hi to someone who just woke up with ‘good evening’, y'know?”

“I've been awake for hours.”

Lawrence turned back to his desk and the various books and journals covering it just as Carylin pouted at him. He attempted to collect his thoughts, and his writing tools, but it was a halfhearted attempt. He'd hardly gotten anything down on paper since the night before, and he knew the presence of his assistant wouldn't be particularly conducive to writing.

“What’ve you been up to? Doodling more lines in your book?” The sound of the bed frame creaking and footsteps approaching led straight to Lawrence’s side. “Can I see?”

“They’re Qualith, not ‘lines’. And your last question is the very reason I write in Qualith, not Common.”

Carylin huffed and crossed her arms, and the illithid turned to scan her face carefully. She stared intently at the lines of ink crossing the paper, but not, it seemed, with understanding. Excellent, thought Lawrence.

He had put great effort into disguising his journal entries, more than she realized. Qualith was normally embedded into a surface with psionic power, not a pen. That magical energy gave the lines further meaning, which could be deciphered along with the lengths of the lines themselves.

But that raised a concern: if one was sufficiently skilled with magic, one could discern at least half of Qualith’s meaning. Lawrence didn't know much about his new assistant, but there was a chance, however small, that she could read his psionic signature. And he couldn't let that happen. So he wrote in ink, a long-form style of the script that couldn't be understood as easily. A coded version of a coded language - it would be impossible for anyone but him to read, or so he hoped.

“What’re you writing, then?” Carylin asked, turning away from the journal with a tilted head. “Is it about me?”

“It is, actually,” Lawrence said carefully, wondering if the woman had actually managed to read the script. But she couldn't have. It was just a guess, that was all. “I'm writing about your unusual immunity to my psionic abilities. Theorizing, trying to find out what makes you different.”

It wasn't quite a lie. That was what the journal had started as, a collection of hypotheses about his assistant's strange power. But that was back when Lawrence still wrote the Qualith with his mind, and not ink. Before he had something he needed to hide.

“Well, what've you got so far?” Carylin asked.

“Not much of any use, unfortunately.” The illithid reflexively moved to a more thoughtful pose, stroking a tentacle. “I've considered that your skull, and perhaps your entire skeletal structure, contains some sort of magic nullifying material, or that your brain itself contains the answer, if only I could get to it. But testing either of those would require doing you at least some harm, if not killing you outright. And I'm no murderer.”

“Right, you just defile corpses to get your food, like a respectable person.”

“...As I was saying, there are precious few hypotheses I can test without invasive procedures. If you can think of any suggestions, you're welcome to help. You are supposed to be working as my assistant, after all.”

Carylin pursed her lips and assumed her own thoughtful pose, with a finger on her chin and a furrowed brow. The room was silent for a moment as she worried at her lips with her teeth, in what Lawrence assumed was an expression of great intellectual focus. What ‘great intellectual focus’ would result in from a human, especially his assistant, was unknown.

“...Are you sure there's nothing you can test out?” she finally said. “Something that doesn't involve poking around in my skull?”

Great focus didn't count for much, as Lawrence expected. But he supposed he could run through his thoughts for her, just to organize them, if nothing else.

“There are a small handful of ways that I know of to resist psionic power,” he explained. “Certain races have an inherent resistance to it, but that of course does not include humans. Some magical items may grant psychic resistance, but those are quite rare, and I highly doubt that you have any. And lastly, the undead are entirely immune, but-”

“Wait!” Her eyes lit up, making him immediately wish he could take back his words. “Entirely immune! That's me, right?”

“Yes, but you're not undead,” Lawrence said slowly.

“You don't know that.”

“I don't-” Lawrence stared at her, his theory of something being off with her brain quickly gaining credence. “...You're clearly not undead. I don't see any bones sticking out of you, and your skin isn't dessicated and peeling off.”

“Well…” She put a finger back on her chin and paused for a moment. “What if I’m a vampire?”

“Then you'd have burned to death by now, with all the time you spend under the sun.”

“What if I'm a special vampire that doesn't burn in the sun? You can't prove that I'm not.”

Lawrence’s tentacles writhed in frustration. Judging by her smile, his ‘assistant’ was playing with him. He could’ve easily brushed her off, told her to get out of his room, and gotten back to work. He should’ve. But he couldn't let himself lose an argument, even one as foolish as this.

“I can easily prove you wrong,” he said. “You have a heartbeat and body heat, therefore you're alive. It's simple.”

“Hmm…” Carylin rubbed her cheek. “I think ‘heat’ is a bit of a stretch. My hands are always chilly. Vampirically chilly, maybe.”

Perhaps it was his irritation with her finally boiling over, or his need to win every argument, or something else entirely. But for whatever reason, Lawrence grabbed her hand.

“I know that you're alive,” he snapped. “Now, admit that you're wrong, or leave this place.”

Carylin's eyes widened and her other hand fell from her face, as she was seemingly stunned into silence. But Lawrence was quickly stunned as well, as the gravity of what he'd just done sank in along with her warmth.

She felt alive. And warm, and soft, and in the state of paralyzing shock Lawrence was in, he could even feel her heartbeat. It was faint, and faster than his, even as he thought his own heart might burst from sheer anxiety. Maybe that was just how humans were.

It certainly wasn't the only difference between them. Her skin was dry, but as smooth as his. And her fingers, outnumbering his by one, perfectly interlocked with his own.

He froze. Their hands weren't in the same position as before. When did they move? Did he shift to hold her closer? Did she? No, it must've been him. His already rattled nerves were barely holding together.

But he couldn't let go.

“Yes, as I was saying,” he managed to get out, “you're clearly not undead. And your hands aren't nearly as cold as you claim.”

Tearing his gaze from Carylin’s hand to her face, he saw a smile. It relieved him, to some extent. At least she wasn't mad. But seeing her smiling down at him made something else boil up within his soul.

“Took you a while to figure that out, huh? Guess you've gotta be thorough with these things, though.”

“Indeed. Now, since you've done your job of assisting me, you're dismissed.”

He finally loosened his grasp on her hand and began to pull back, eager to get her out of his room as quickly as possible. But his hand barely traveled halfway to his desk before it was seized.

“Ah, ah! Not so fast!” Carylin pulled his hand back up toward her, grinning. “If you get to examine me, I need to take my own turn.”

She bent down and stared at his hand carefully, using both of her own to tilt it back and forth while she put on her thoughtful face. She hummed and bit at her lips, and traced her fingers along his skin.

“...Mmm. Well, in my professional opinion, I believe this hand belongs to a mind flayer,” she declared. “You can tell by the sliminess, you see. And, hold on-”

She held tight to his hand, and used another to feel his wrist. His heartbeat thumped against her fingers, slowly for a human, but as rapid as possible for an illithid.

“Yes, it's a living mind flayer too,” Carylin nodded sagely. “And with that, you're dismissed.”

She released him and straightened back up, and judging by the sound of her footfalls, headed toward the exit. Then, the door shut, and Lawrence was alone.

He stared at his hand. Slowly, his pulse was returning to normal. But the memory stained his mind and his vision, and as he looked down he could nearly see her hand there, could nearly feel her body heat.

He wondered, when his thoughts were clear enough to wonder, if his assistant would ever come back after his embarrassing behavior. But she hadn't taken her wages for the day, so she'd surely come back for that, at least.

But Lawrence had work to attend to, and couldn't waste his time, especially when he had gained such inspiration to write. He turned his attention from his body to his desk, and picked up his tools. His latest journal entry could take hours to compose, with all the material he had.

He carefully marked down the first line, spacing out each segment of ink to form an idea. The second, third, and fourth lines of his first sentence followed, taking far more time to compose than they would have if imprinted by mind. But secrecy was vital in recording these entries, so ink would have to do.

Lawrence hadn't lied when he said his journal recorded theories about what made his assistant different. The nature of this difference had changed over time, though. At first, he wondered why he couldn't use psionic power on her, why he couldn't detect her with his mind. Now he had other concerns.

He read over his writing. Even though it was only one sentence, it took up a large portion of the page, with each line segment possessing great meaning. Ideas, thoughts, feelings, all recorded in ink. The sentiment could hardly be expressed in Common without greatly diminishing its soul, but if one tried, it would read as follows:

She held my hand.

#writing tag tbd

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enden-k · 8 months

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"truly a haithnyan main" hes a haravatat scholar and akademiya scribe. i cant even SPELL. WDYM BESTIE WDYMMM

#SOMETIMES when i write fast i stumble over letters OKAY #sevy tag ♡#own #tbd

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usyrps · 1 month

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let me send you memes.

#tbd.#i can't write it's fine. i can harass instead <3 #going crazy with these. i'll send a few. either from your tag or not we'll see.

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wetcatspellcaster · 5 months

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there's so little left of Pieces to write that it's actually getting a little scary honestly

#my writing #personal tag #this is from the drafting side of things.. not the reading side.#but the fact i skipped forward any time the angst got too much is really starting to show #i have a lot left to edit but not very much left to write #and it means that regardless of my final chapter count i basically have 2 chapters left and then i'm done #which feels very strange #tbd (but only if people are weird about it. the story is the story the ending is the ending.)

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pencap · 7 months

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people still occasionally tag my poems as stucky / stucky-coded / etc and that amuses and delights me. i have been Seen and Identified accurately and i cannot deny my roots. even though i am no longer intentionally writing for or about them i still love the same kinds of archetypes and narratives and dynamics that drew me to them in the first place

#sylvie speaks #tbd #i will always have a soft spot for stucky i think #especially when it comes to my poetry #they are what started it all #like that one post about stucky fan poetry #i'm not so vain as to count myself among the Great Stucky Era of fan writing #but i was caught up in that wave too and i still look back at it fondly #anyway someone tagged my most recent poem as stucky coded #and it made me nostalgic so here i am

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snickerdoodlles · 11 months

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📔

:D! to absolutely no one's surprise, i worked myself into a howl's moving castle AU for kimchay:

Chay is the wizard (Chay is always magic). he gives his heart to a falling star.

Kim is the star (Kim is always a star). Kim never had a heart until he had Chay's. Kim, who had just been running from his father no matter the cost, who now can't bear to burn his human up.

their rule of three is the three times Kim tries to give back Chay's heart. Chay denies him, obviously, but when Kim does finally get Chay's heart back in his chest, he's downright gobsmacked he doesn't flicker and fade away.

Chay, smiling fondly, tells him Kim can't give back what he gave him freely long ago and seals the promise with a kiss.

[[ ask me about fics im not writing ]]

#kinnporsche #kimchay #this one's short BUT i might actually write this one #tbd!!!!! it might be a short lil gift to myself in december 👀#depending on how *waves hand wearily* life #ask game: fics im not writing #au: heart burdened #<- find that tag on my blog if youre interested because like a fool im now writing this one #*dons my clown nose*

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erstwhles · 1 month

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hi hi i hope you're having a good weekend!

so, what if we (hear me out) started new things because work has predictably taken over my life and i don't feel like rereading drafts, which have piled up and are old, to reply when i could be writing

#i have to be up early tomorrow and i have family in town #but i want to write #and i have many thoughts that no one has asked for regarding liam wright #(and potentially aidric and also new unnamed athlete)#might peek in the open tag for new threads with them #tbd.

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sml8180 · 2 months

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Phoenix has a new mission following their recovery after Operation: KBOOM; Zor has yet another plan to take over the world, and it's their job -as usual- to stop it. Along the way, they encounter a number of familiar faces from two very different times in their life.

==========

Friendly reminder that comments and reblogs fuel me to continue writing!

#ieytd fanfic #writing tag tbd #ieytd #agent phoenix #oc: Megan “Ghost” Kendall #oc: Elliot Kendall #john juniper #the handler #Adrian “Agent Phoenix” Kendall #fanfiction

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gerudospiriit · 9 months

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Promises, Promises...

[Happy holidays, ya'll! I'd say this is a present to all of you, but if I'm honest, it was just me wanting to feed the incredible lack of Nabsgan in my life (and yours if we're honest xD) and...cure some of the holiday blues, I suppose. Ish. So enjoy!

For a little context, this is based in the child timeline and on the headcanons I have for the Gerudo and what happened to them in that particular timeline.]

How long had it been since she traipsed along these halls? The labyrinthine corridors of sandstone that she called home for the greater portion of her life? Halls that once housed her proud people, that teemed with guards on their beats, children darting between their legs to hurry off to lessons or to play games, artisans and architects worked in their shops or outside, blacksmiths hammered weapons, priestesses prayed, and the healers mended wounds and tended to the sick in the healing ward. Where the finest warriors in all the land trained and horse trainers and stable hands worked with the mighty steeds of the Gerudo.

Now, Nabooru trudged through rubble of walls blasted by cannons, tatters of flags and banners and art ripped from the walls and shredded, moonlight filtering in as she passed under damaged portions of the ceiling. A broken shell of its former glory.

Forced to abandon their home to protect themselves, Hyrule’s army took it upon themselves to ransack the fortress in hopes of arresting their most wanted criminal: Ganondorf, king of the Gerudo. Seemingly overnight, Ganondorf shifted from a loyal favorite of the king to public enemy number one. And, when news of his attempts to steal their sacred treasure, details and knowledge of events and plans that had yet to come to pass as if some clairvoyant whispered a future in their ear. Certainly, even she knew he had already begun making moves to achieve this dangerous scheme of his despite her protests and best efforts to persuade him, but the new charges whipped all of Hyrule–Hylian, laymen and women and soldiers alike, Goron, and Zora–into a panicked frenzy that placed the Gerudo in the crosshairs. Gerudo women were arrested on sight and taken in for questioning, many to never see their home again. Groups of mercenaries, soldiers, and even assassins marched over their borders to harass them, sometimes violently, and demand they release Ganondorf to them for execution. It led to skirmishes where the Gerudo were forced to defend themselves and, thus, only made the perception of them worse in the eyes of the rest of the country.

In the end, despite their differences, even Ganondorf could not deny the need to flee. To regroup and reform a new plan to deal with the new hostility. The radical changes in Hyrule’s attitudes finally placed Nabooru and her king on the same page: they were left with no choice but to find a way to fight back.

All the change and devastation wrought on the fortress could never make her forget how to navigate its halls, and she found herself in front of the familiar red door embellished with intricate, gold patterns scrawling along the wood. Its splendor tarnished, time and the attack shown in the damage it sustained, she still recognized the door she pushed open alone or with the room’s main occupant so many times before. The same one she pushed open now–more carefully than she used to–to enter into the king’s bedchamber. Like the rest of the fortress, the room had been ransacked, everything they didn’t take with them stolen or in some state of damage. The beauty and comfort of the space nearly obliterated, but habit died hard; for as little time as they would spend there, Ganondorf, and by extension Nabooru, decided his old chambers would serve as their room for the single night they would spend there.

“Any trouble?”

Nabooru leaned her weight on the door to close it behind her, noting how his gaze remained fixed to the map tacked up on the wall in front of him. “Everything is in order,” she responded, stepping away from the door and striding over to his side. “The guards are in place and the warriors are resting for the night. Or as much as they can knowing what’s coming.”

Gold eyes scanned over the map and her hand instinctively shifted his forearm, the lines and landmarks etched across it memorized through weeks of planning and ensuring every woman understood their assignments. “Which is what you’re supposed to be doing, if I remember correctly.”

The king’s gaze finally shifted to his second in command. “I wanted to be sure our strategy was sound, and that your final inspection didn’t turn up any surprises.” He turned, a corner of his lips twitching upward. “And if this is to be our last night together for a time, I wanted to wait until you joined me.”

“You won’t be saying that if you’re falling asleep atop your horse.” Despite her mood, the uncertainty and worry gripping her heart ever tighter with every passing moment, a smile curled her lips. If Ganondorf shared her apprehension, he had yet to show an ounce of it. From the moment they settled on a plan, risky and high stakes as it was, he radiated confidence. Eager to finish what he started.

Resting a hand on his cheek, fingers brushing along the edge of his beard, she pulled him down for a soft kiss. “Mm, when we left here, you were clean-shaven.” Her other hand slid over his shoulder and into his hair. “And your hair was a whole lot shorter. Which made putting your crown on much less complex.”

“I can always use magic or ask one of the others to do it if you wish.”

Nabooru scrunched her nose, playfully tugging a lock of his hair. “I never said I wouldn’t do it. And the others don’t have as much practice as I do with it.”

A calloused hand rose to grasp her chin and his lips curled into a smirk, and her heart skipped a beat in response. “My, my Nabooru. You’re not feeling possessive of your king, now, are you?”

“No,” she insisted with a sniff, “but I do think I’m entitled to spending as much time with you as possible since you won’t let me fight with you and the others.”

“You know I want nothing more than to have you fight alongside me and our sisters.” Ganondorf released her chin in favor of grasping her hand, lips grazing over her knuckles. “There is no more thrilling sight than seeing you in the throes of battle, the picture of grace and power. But I need to know our people are in good hands in my absence. That they’ll be protected by my most capable and intelligent warrior.”

Nabooru huffed but leaned against him, draping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. She inhaled his scent--a mix of spice and earthiness combined with his natural scent--listened to the steady, firm beating of his heart. Traced the valleys and peaks of his firm musculature she could reach. Committing it all to memory. She wanted to have faith in him, in all of them. And she did. But…she knew what they faced. How high the odds of success were stacked against them. Save for her and a few others who would return with her, the ones who guarded the fortress so the others could sleep, Ganondorf would be accompanied by the finest warriors the Gerudo offered. Plus, he had his magic and, over the last few years, she came to truly understand how powerful he truly was. Terrifying as it was reassuring.

“Promise you’ll come home. To me. The others.” She tilted her head back, brow furrowed in determination. “Maybe I truly was naive to think it would never come to this, but perhaps it was only a matter of time no matter what we did. But…do what you must and don’t forget why you fight. Okay?”

One arm wrapped around her frame in an embrace as the other cupped her cheek. “You have my word, Nabooru. I will return to you and our people with the king’s head on a pike. This world will soon be ours.”

A nod, and she turned her head to press a tender kiss to his palm. “I’m holding you to that.” She took his hand and kissed it again, eyes shifting back to his face and a wry smile curling her lips. “I want to be the sort of queen who makes love to her king every night. I can’t do that without a king.”

“Every night, hm?” Ganondorf’s free hand rested on her upper arm, upon the band she wore. His thumb traced along the flesh between the gold. “That’s quite the promise. And the incentive.”

Shifting onto her tiptoes, she stole another kiss, turning her hand over to lace her fingers with his. “Good,” she breathed against his lips. “Whatever helps motivate you.”

Ganondorf’s arm dropped to her waist and he forced her closer, nearly lifting her off her feet and bringing her body flush against his. He captured her lips in another kiss, deeper and more passionate than those that preceded it. She returned it with equal fervor, adding his taste to the memory. A hope that it would linger on her lips until he returned. Her arm looped around his shoulders and she lifted herself up, legs wrapping around his waist.

A pleased growl rumbled in the king’s chest, his hand sinking to cradle her backside. He nipped her bottom lip then trailed his lips to her ear. “Do I get a sample of that promise beginning tonight?”

His hot breath against her ear, the husky tone of his voice, sent a shudder racing through her body. Eyes hooded and lips curled in a smirk, she nodded. “Of course,” she purred back. Another kiss, her fingers tangling into his hair and resting on the back of his head. “I want to make sure this night is forever burned in our memories. No matter what happens.”

#writing tag tbd #nabooru #ganondorf #nabsgan #ganab #oot #ocarina of time #legend of zelda #loz #twilight princess #I almost went into the uh...obvious next bit but wasn't feeling writing the down n dirty.#so i hope this is sufficient :'3

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goxjo · 19 days

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I went on a,,,, divider editing spree today and yeah I am obsessed 🥹

+ FLASH WARNING / DO NOT SAVE uwu

#!thots #!edits #but whether or not these’ll show up in the tags I’m not sure yet 🫣#flash warning #cw eye strain #I also made a transparent ghostface gif tho I have no plans on writing one lol I just thought it suited kinktober well !!!#does anyone want a copy LOL I still have the normal non pink transparent version #kinktober for me is a biiiig TBD but I went ahead and made dividers n stuff for it anyway

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sexualizing-that-old-man · 8 months

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This was gonna be a <2000 word thing

And then I wrote more and now it's like 3500 whoops

Lawrence had studied his fair share of etiquette books since he met Carylin. Books on manners and polite conversation, on how to walk and talk and eat, all nearly memorized in an effort to succeed in his newfound relationship. But he soon realized that his assistant didn't tend to follow the rules laid out in those books, nor did she expect him to. The volumes he read were less definitive guides to human interaction, and more a collection of suggestions, with some being far better than others.

But at the very least, they had taught the illithid some vocabulary that was new to him. And he was fairly sure from his studying that he was currently on a ‘date’.

Lawrence and Carylin traveled up the long road leading from the temple to the castle, under the comfortably dim light of the moon and stars. She walked along in her nicest dress and sandals, while he hovered an inch above the ground in his usual brown robe. Side by side, they might have seemed an odd pair, if not for Lawrence’s psionic power. With that, they changed from human and illithid to an ordinary couple undeserving of a second glance - or even a first, if he so wished.

None of the nobles or foreign envoys heading in the same direction looked too hard at either Lawrence or Carylin. But the reverse could not be said. As every purple robe and black tie passed them by, the human woman's gaze shifted. Her eyes bored into the other guests’ backs and wouldn't leave until they were far in the distance, or another target appeared.

“...Remind me what kind of party this is?” she finally said.

“A gala,” Lawrence replied.

“Mhm,” Carylin nodded, though her actual level of understanding was dubious. “I just feel a bit underdressed, seeing all this fancy silk and stuff.”

She tugged at her dress, crafted of burgundy linen with a floral pattern. It could be considered fancy, perhaps, but only by a commoner. For the sort who were given invitations to the gala, it was woefully inadequate.

“I can assure you that no one will regard your dress as out of place, so long as they're within my psionic range,” Lawrence said, and recalling a suggestion from his etiquette studies, appended his statement. “I think you look rather captivating, for what it's worth.”

“Why, thank you,” his assistant said with a smile. “And you look as good as you always do.”

The illithid's tentacles twisted, unsure if he was being complimented or insulted. But the castle was looming high above, and their topic of conversation would soon be changed, from clothing to whatever lay within the sturdy stone walls.

The guards at the gate busied themselves with checking invitations and bodies, making sure that no people or items entered that would do the royals any harm. Thankfully, their methods only searched for weaponry of the conventional sort. Lawrence’s brain, despite being more powerful than any blade or enchantment, was let through with a polite nod.

The pair walked into the entrance hall, and soon realized where the party was. If the noise and the paths of the other guests weren't good enough clues, the presence of barricades and guards blocking off every hallway but one would corral the bodies without fail. Lawrence and Carylin followed the crowd into the heart of the gala.

“...Wow.”

The illithid's hearing wasn't spectacular. Especially not in a room filled with footsteps and music and chatter, that was far too well-lit for his liking. But amid the distractions and overwhelming sensations, he thought he picked up what his assistant had said in a tone of hushed awe.

It was fitting. The ballroom they entered was massive, with a ceiling nearly as high as his temple's roof and a floor even wider. To one side, dark windows loomed over them, that during the day must've let in an abhorrent amount of light for an illithid. To the other side of the ballroom sat a raised platform, where the royal family sat and observed the event. And between the two, there was a scene that Carylin had aptly reacted to.

From above, magically created orbs floated and bobbed, casting light in a variety of hues down onto the guests. And they, in all their finery, danced. Their movements couldn't have been more synchronized if they were being puppeteered by an Elder Brain, Lawrence considered. Each body, whether native-born or foreigner, human or elf or something else entirely, moved along with music that filled the room. They swayed and stepped like men possessed, and the hypnotic swishing of silk and flashing of jewelry were nearly as distracting as the bright lights.

“So, is it too late to tell you I can't dance?” Carylin asked, turning to him. “I mean, I probably should have, knowing this was a party and all. I guess I just didn't think it would be such a…dance heavy party, y'know?”

“...I suppose I should've predicted such a thing as well.” Lawrence finally managed to tear his eyes from the scenery and looked to his assistant. “But that's as unimportant as our clothing, in the end. To these guests, nothing is unusual about our presence. To them, we're dancing along to the music just like everyone else.”

Carylin looked around, seemingly stunned to realize that nobody was paying them any attention, despite them being one of the only pairs not moving. The room simply danced around them as if they weren't there at all. No, not quite like they weren't there; more as though they were an unexpected, but not unusual, feature of the ballroom. The guests flowed around the two as a river would around a rock, and thought about them the exact same amount.

It was a simple task for Lawrence. During his time spent in the city, he'd mastered becoming invisible. Not physically invisible, but practically. If he wanted to disappear, he could with ease, from minds and memories.

“Gotta wonder how a guy who can't dance managed to get a couple invitations, though,” Carylin mused with a smile. “Bribes? Threats? Theft?”

“As head of the city’s Temple of Kelemvor, I'm a key figure of the community. It's only natural that I, and a guest of my choice, would be invited.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“...I had to push for it,” Lawrence admitted. “But not much.”

‘Convincing’ a human to change their mind with his power wasn't particularly difficult either. It depended on the particular person's level of disagreement, of course. Making a man lend him a silver piece wouldn't be much of a challenge. Making him hand over his life savings would be far harder. Between those two, asking for invites to the gala was closer to the first. Being a high ranking priest did help, though the priest in charge of burials was never going to be first on the list to bring to a party.

But even if getting the invitations had been a significant challenge, he'd have done it anyway. No amount of effort was too much for this: a date unlike any that his assistant had ever experienced. His only regret was not reading a book on ballroom dancing.

“It feels like we should give it a try, doesn't it?” Carylin asked, looking at the couples surrounding them. “Even if we can't be seen. Especially if we can't be seen. That's the best time to practice.”

Lawrence paused, taking a moment to realize what she meant and another to consider it. Then he nodded, and tried to study how the other guests were moving.

“I think it starts with stepping forward, like this- oop,” Carylin mumbled as she started the dance without Lawrence and promptly bumped into him.

“Let me lead,” he said, lowering himself to the floor and hoping his feet wouldn't leave a noticeable residue of mucus behind. “Just move along with me. I'll start out slow, and we can pick up the pace when we’ve mastered the basics.”

His assistant nodded, and the two began, with Lawrence taking the step that she had already attempted. It seemed to work - he went forward, and she moved back to give him room. In time, he supposed the rest of the dance would reveal its mysteries to them.

But it didn't work out so smoothly in reality. Lawrence, unused to human music and behavior and apparently dance, mixed up his steps and accidentally trod on Carylin's sandals multiple times, each with an apology. For the human woman's part, it was as though she had as little experience with her own civilization’s dance as an illithid, and she bumped into Lawrence even more often with a grunt of frustration.

Since going slowly didn't seem to work, they briefly attempted dancing at the same speed as the guests, which was even more disastrous. Rather than easily showing them which steps to perform next, this only sped up the rate of stumbling and awkward apologies. Finally, both human and illithid stepped back, and agreed to give it a rest.

“I think I've got an idea,” Carylin said with a grin. “You’re using your powers to make people think we're dancing just like them, right? What if you made them think we're actually good? That we're the best dancers in the whole city!”

“There’s a reason I tend to use my psionic power to hide rather than stand out, you know. What if the guests are so impressed that they come to the temple and ask me for lessons?”

“Oh, just tell them to ask your girlfriend.” Carylin reached out and took his hand, placing her other on his shoulder and drawing close to him. “You can tell them she's a very agile and elegant lady who definitely doesn't dance like she has two left feet. Please?”

Lawrence abhorred making himself seen. To use his power to show off, to impress, it wasn't in his nature. But as powerful as his own mind-controlling psionics were, there was nothing that could convince him to do something quite like Carylin asking politely.

And referring to herself as his girlfriend, for the first time.

He placed a hand on her waist, and reached out into the minds around them. Already, there was an idea implanted into every one: The pair beside you is dancing. Normally. Nothing to see here. Lawrence simply had to take that idea and tweak it. One by one, from the closest and most alert, to the most distracted and distant. Make it seem natural, like the crowd was slowly noticing something they had all somehow missed. The pair beside you is dancing. Elegantly, Beautifully. You can't tear your eyes away.

He pushed. And gradually, the two turned from a practically inanimate feature of the room to the main attraction, with eyes drifting from their dance partners to Lawrence and Carylin. Even the tone of their indistinct chatter had changed, though he couldn't make out anything specific.

Evidently his assistant could, as she giggled and looked around at the whisperers, then leaned in with a conspiratorial murmur of her own. “According to the elf behind you, we're the best dancers he's seen in his life. And he looks pretty old, so I bet that's a big compliment.”

Judging from that comment, Lawrence may have pushed too hard. But that realization came late, as the noise around them quieted - not from the cessation of whispers, but from the halt of dozens of footsteps. Pair by pair, the dancers stopped dancing, directing their entire beings toward watching the two they encircled. And as that inner circle stopped moving, an outer circle stopped to see what had caused the disturbance. More and more minds were crowding into Lawrence’s psionic range, almost more than he could handle. He knew the inevitable conclusion of such a cascade: eventually the entire room would be staring, even the royals. And eventually, he wouldn't be strong enough to keep up his facade.

The pair you're looking at is dancing. Normally. Nothing to see here. Nothing to see. Look away.

Carylin snickered at the surrounding guests, entirely unaware of the gravity of their situation. “You can tone it down a bit, I think,” she said. “I feel a bit guilty getting this much attention.”

“...Trying,” Lawrence managed.

Slowly, one by one, the guests returned to themselves, and to each other. The dance resumed before it could fully end, and after an agonizing couple of minutes, the ballroom was back to normal. Lawrence nearly collapsed onto his assistant, and this finally managed to impress upon the woman how much effort he had gone through.

There was always some effort spent, to do nearly anything in his town. To talk to someone, to exist within a human’s sight. But for his date, he had gone much further than his mind could manage. And he spent the last dregs of his psionic power just to make it out of the castle, as Carylin held him up and led him along.

“Are you alright?” she whispered to him, sounding nearly frantic. “Oh gods, I should never have asked you to-”

“Just…get home. Quickly.”

Even telepathic communication felt too draining. But fortunately, he didn't have to say another word as the pair rushed toward the temple. With the party in full swing, no more guests were heading up the road, and they made it to safety under the cover of darkness. First into the temple, then through the halls leading to Lawrence’s private chambers. And when the illithid was almost entirely exhausted, he gestured to his bathroom door.

For the last hundred feet, Carylin had been mumbling apologies over and over, like a magical incantation that would restore Lawrence’s energy. But they were close to an actual solution, which he pointed to with a single claw as he slumped against the bathtub. A glass bottle he kept on a shelf, just in case.

In case of many potential disasters - if the entire city was miraculously healthy, and there weren't any burials for months, or if he was finally found out as an illithid, and needed just a little boost to make his escape. Or if he foolishly overexerted himself, and could barely move.

Through hazy eyes, he saw his assistant grab the bottle and briefly examine it. She hesitated, evidently able to recognize, or at least guess, what was in it. But she brought it to him anyway, and tilted his head back, gently parting his tentacles and putting the bottle up to his mouth.

She carefully poured the solution of cerebrospinal fluid and liquefied brain matter down Lawrence’s throat. Slowly, he felt his energy being restored, and for the first time in years, he actually enjoyed the taste of a long-dead brain. Every other meal brought back painful memories of his first, but at that moment he only felt glad to be alive.

The bottle clinked against the floor, and Carylin knelt down beside him. Her legs were still tense, though, and when Lawrence looked up to her face, he saw her worry clearly. Neither an inability to read her mind nor an inability to recognize the finer points of human expressions could disguise that. Her skin had reddened, her eyes were bloodshot, her lips trembled.

He'd seen humans in such a state before. During funerals, and before them, when he came to give loved ones terrible news. He saw it from the dying, when they begged him on their deathbeds for some grace. Especially from the ones who had never spent much of their time thinking about the gods, and wondered where they'd be when the sun rose the next day.

Lawrence didn't have all the answers they wanted. He knew that bodies went into the ground, after he'd carefully removed their brains. But he had no idea where the important part of a person went. And it wasn't his business. He served Kelemvor - claimed to, tried to, at least - but he wasn't the god himself. His job was to comfort the soul before death, and he did. By reaching into a sorrowful mind, and implanting an idea.

Death is a part of life. But memories live on eternally. Remember the happy ones.

With a push, he'd turn a flood of tears into one of words. Stories about relatives, and friends, and loved ones. His psionic power, never meant for anything but subjugation, made the dead’s final moments peaceful, and the living’s bearable.

But for the sobbing figure beside him, he couldn't simply push away the sorrow. All he had were his words, tools he wasn't nearly as adept with.

“I hope you know that none of this was your fault.” Lawrence moved his hand an inch toward her before hesitating, and pulling back. “I was the one who brought you to a place I wasn't equipped to handle. I should never have even requested invitations. I only did so-”

“No!” she snapped, her voice rising and quickly returning to a shaky mumble. “You didn't do anything wrong. The night would've gone fine if I…if I just dressed right, and danced right.”

And then, in a volume so low he could hardly make it out, she whispered what Lawrence was thinking, and nearly said himself.

“I just…wanted to impress you. And I ruined it.”

Lawrence reached out and lay his hand on hers. She sank down to the floor and leaned her head on his shoulder, seemingly just as drained as he had been. The two sat together in a silence Lawrence didn't immediately know how to fill.

According to his etiquette studies, he had planned the perfect date. A beautiful castle, the ideal setting. The noble and powerful, ideal company. All it lacked was an ideal man, who knew how to act and talk and dance. One who didn't have to hide from the sun, or use psionic power to convince citizens not to murder him.

But it wasn't in an illithid's nature to admit fault, and he had already apologized more than enough. Therefore, it was the date, and the books, that were imperfect. All he had to do was find something that fit him.

“I will make amends for this night, I assure you. I'll find a quieter place, where we can-” he paused, realizing he may have thought too far ahead. “Of course, that assumes you'd even wish to try again. I understand if you're hesitant.”

“No, I…I'd love to.” Carylin looked up, her voice steady and her face slightly restored. “We can just stay in your room, next time.”

“Are you certain? It's not much of a-” Lawrence hesitated for a moment, hastily replacing a word he found himself unprepared to say, “-an outing, to remain at home. I'd imagine you'd rather be taken somewhere, to a tavern for a meal at least, if not someplace fancier.”

“Well, that does sound nice.” She smiled. “But I want us both to have a good time, and I don't want you to have to worry about hiding who you are. It's only a good date if everyone likes it, y'know?”

As Lawrence considered what she said, and resolved to make some notes of his own in his etiquette books, Carylin sat up a little straighter. Then she leaned close and pressed her lips against his skin, on the bony ridge just below his eye. A kiss on the cheek, if he were human.

She pulled back and wiped her mouth. “Er, sorry, probably should've asked first,” she mumbled with a newly reddened face.

“No, that's quite alright. You've provided me with one good memory of this night,” Lawrence said, and thinking back to the beginning of the night, appended his statement. “At least one, possibly more.”

Carylin grinned and stood from the bathroom floor. “Well, I've had a memorable night too. See you tomorrow, for work?”

“Yes. Perhaps an hour later than normal, if you'd like. I may need to rest awhile.”

“Gotcha.” She headed toward the door and out into his chambers, vanishing into footsteps that slowly faded away.

But before all was quiet, Lawrence thought he heard her voice. It was distant, and soft, so much so that he could hardly make it out. She didn't return to make sure he heard the message, though, and he suspected that was for a reason. His assistant had estimated the range of his ears, and didn't want him to hear her.

She didn't know, however, that an illithid’s hearing was mostly impaired by multiple sounds mixing together. When her voice was all there was, it was much clearer. And while Lawrence wasn't absolutely certain, he thought he heard the word ‘love’.

#writing tag tbd #i keep feeling like i should do more editing on this one #mostly because im not as good at editing longer pieces #but i gotta just throw it out into the world someday #or i wont write anything else lol

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