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sword-is-bored · 1 year

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Remember me?

(Hello! I wrote this as a start of a sequel to my Fic A Breath of You

Link and (Y/n) are married <3)

"I'll be back before you know it." Link smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. I sighed and pulled him in for a hug. Finding it hard to feel any of him through the armor. He hugged back, holding me close. Our embrace was intimate and warm. I always got anxious when he left for the castle. I knew it was his duty, and it's been years. But... I still fear. I can't shake the anxious feeling within my heart. "I know." I murmured and looked up at him. He wore a gentle expression as I pulled myself off of him. He held out his hand, and I placed mine within it my ring glinting in the soft light. "As long as you wear this ring, I will always come back to you. Always." He promised. I nodded, a sad sigh escaping my lips

Link placed a finger under my chin, gently tilting my face up to look in his eyes. They were filled with love and kindness. He pulled me in, giving me a soft kiss. "Before you know it, (Y/n). Zelda wanted to see what's under the Castle. It shouldn't be anything but research, alright?" He whispered. I nodded, feeling his hands leave me. "Why don't you visit Impa? I heard she's giving the title of Chief to Paya. Go congratulate her. Support her, you know? Take Sky on a trip. So you don't have to be alone here. If I take longer than a day, I'll meet you back here. Alright, love?" He opened the door, tilting his head. I sighed and turned, looking at my traveling stuff hung up. "Yeah. I guess. I haven't seen Impa in a while." I mumbled.

Link gave a wink as he exited the door. "That's my girl. Go see them. I'll see you there, or here. Okay? Before you know it." He repeated and slowly shut the door. I sighed and listened to the sounds of him grabbing his horse, Malo, and taking him to ride away to the castle. I stood in our house, the sounds of emptiness filling me with dread. I sighed and walked up the stairs. I sat in our bed and laid back, already missing him. He was right. I should go see Impa. And Paya.

After another moment I pulled myself out of bed and gathered my traveling gear. I pulled on my things, taking Link's hood and wrapping it around myself. He wore it when tending to the animals so I could smell him on it. I smiled, grabbing my satchel and a weapon. And a bow, and I stole some arrows from Link's stash.

Technically since we were married now, it's my stash too.

I laughed at my own little joke. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. Wow. I haven't worn this stuff since... the events. Since Link and I first moved in. We built our house to be cozy, and warm. A couch, a table and chairs. Our bed upstairs, with a vanity and some more things scattered here and there. For our wedding gift Link had a print of him and I painted in our wedding outfits. Flowers and white and he looked dazzling in the royal guard uniform. I loved it. Our horses were even in the picture behind us.

I turned to the door, opening it and looking left. Sky was happily munching on grass in the field beside our house. "You." I called out, finding her looking up at me tiredly. "We're going on an adventure." I smiled, pulling the door shut and walking over. She seemed to stare at what I was wearing and slowly walked away from me. "That's... you asshole. Get back here. Lazy whore." I muttered, walking behind the house to the shed. I opened the door, finding her reigns and saddle. I pulled them off their place, finding the saddle especially dusty. I brushed it off, walking over to Sky. She eyed me suspiciously, I smiled holding up the supplies. "I hope you're not too fat to wear this. Hylia knows all you do is sit and eat. I thought you used to be wild."

Sky snorted, turning to walk away again. "Don't you dare." I muttered, pulling out the reigns. I reached out and gently tugged at her halter. "I understand you haven't walked more than a few steps a day," That was a lie I took her out on rides weekly. "But, today you are looking pretty. We're going to see Impa." I said, reaching up to pull off the halter. I took the bit of her bridle and coaxed it into her mouth. Sky watched me with a glare, stubbornly going along with this. I smiled and gave her a pat. "I will give you all the apples we find. As soon as you start behaving." I hummed, putting the rest of the bridle on.

I gently tugged, making sure everything was secure. Sky, however, swung her head a bit faster than I expected when I tugged. I grunted and pulled back, so she didn't head but me. "You will be meat if you don't stop acting up." I muttered, tying her reigns to the fence. She snorted at me, as I placed the saddle pad on. I threw her saddle on top, reaching under her and pulling the straps tight. I continued to make sure she was travel ready and gave her reassuring pats. After the uncomfortable stuff was done, I untied her reigns and tossed them over her head. "That's my pretty girl, look at you." I whispered, petting her happily. Sky was not impressed, but I don't think there was much for her to complain about. I placed my foot in the stirrups and pulled myself up on her back. I situated myself on the saddle, patting her softly. "Good girl. Thank you." I said softly, steering her reigns towards the gate. We pushed out, and began making our way to Kakariko.

"(Y/n)!" Paya cheered, as I stepped through the doors of Impa's house. I giggled feeling her squeeze me into a tight hug. I gently wrapped my arms around her and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Paya, I heard Impa was giving you title of chief. Congratulations dear! You're going to do amazing." She grinned and blushed embarrassed. "Oh, yeah. That's what she says." She mumbled and backed away. I turned to my old friend and smiled. "Impa!" She opened her arms and I gave her a hug. "(Y/n), it's so good to see you. How are you? How's Link?" She asked, taking my hands. "Oh, I'm well. Link is too. He's on his way to the castle to help Zelda and her research."

Impa's eyes searched mine for a moment before relaxing. "Alright. I see why you're here now. Come, my dear. Let's go out and wander the town. Paya, you're in charge." Impa called. Paya squeaked out, scrambling for something. I laughed softly as the old woman led me outside. "You've prepped her for being leader so soon?" I asked softly. "Oh, yes. I'm old. I'm tired, and I don't want to lead anymore. I wish to relax and do what I want. You've been able to, so why don't I?" I laughed softly, allowing her to lead me around town. We spoke to the other townsfolk, everyone greeting me with a smile and open arms. I've gotten more hugs in the past years than I ever did. It's nice.

We toured around some more, Impa making conversation with everyone we met. I watched and night drew near. We returned to her home and sat in the living room. I undressed from my armor, leaving only a shirt I stole from Link and some comfy pants to rest in. This was heaven. Life was great. "Have you two been planning for children?" Impa asked after a long night of conversation. "Honestly," I murmured, leaning back on my hands. "I don't know. I've brought it up to Link, and we've been... you know." I blushed. "I think he wants to make sure Hyrule is completely safe before he wants to bring children into the world. I respect that. I would like some children though. Hopefully once he's done examining the castle, everything will be perfect." I said. Impa laughed and shook her head. "Of course. I understand. A warrior simply wants his children to grow up with peace. How noble of him. You're still young." She said, using quotation marks around that word.

I hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I worry though." I said softly. "He has night terrors. Stress and trauma from everything he's been through. I've woken up to him screaming, and fighting the blankets. By the time I get him to calm down he's wide awake. Sometimes I'll wake up and find him standing in the living room with the master sword in hand. I know everything's still effected him, but I hope it begins to dwindle soon. I think he's coping with it better, though." I thought back to the first night I found him like that.

I woke up to his spot cold. I crawled out of bed, and he was marching downstairs. Like he was in a trance of some sort. "Link?" I had whispered, reaching out to tap his shoulder. His hand snapped up, grabbing my wrist. His eyes locked with mine and he seemed to break. Tears ran down his face and fear swirled in his eyes. I held him as he shook, crying into my shoulder.

"I worry if we have children, he'll be even more stressed. So I hope this will put him at ease." Impa nodded her head solemnly. "Yes. It's hard watching someone go through the after effects of a great ordeal. You're doing the best you can to support him. I know it." I smiled and nodded to myself. Link knows I've went through this as well. After reading my journal he took a long, long look at me. I was worried he'd be upset but instead he pulled me in to a hug and cried with me. Apologizing for everything I'd been through, and what I was put through.

"(Y/n), there's a huge herd of horses behind Kakariko. Would you like to go see them tomorrow? There's a beautiful stallion within them, and I think he'd really catch your eye." Impa suggested. I smiled, being pulled out of my sad thoughts. "Absolutely. I'd love to." With that, Impa helped me get my things together for bed and we slept. The silent house creaked in the night, but it seemed to lull me to sleep.

"Woah." I whispered, standing atop the hill of Kakariko. The city below me as I watched the herd of horses grazing. I smiled, standing tall and feeling the wind wrap around me. Suddenly, I heard soft whispers. I turned around, finding the Great Fairy fountain glittering. It seemed to beckon me. I wandered over, climbing up the petals and resting myself on the pad. Slowly, the fairy emerged. Cotera took a long look at me as she exited the fountain. "Why hello dear, why are you here?" She hummed, a sing song voice. I smiled and shrugged. "It's a beautiful place to relax, you've made it quite the home." I complimented. She let out a soft laugh, and it sounded almost sad. "Yes, well, I'm moving."

"Moving?" I asked abruptly, blinking quickly. She nodded slowly. "I sense a great evil. It's coming." She whispered fearfully. "Run child, save yourself." I shook my head, my eyes widening. "No." I cried out softly. "No, please you can't say that. Hyrule is at peace." He hands reached out and pushed me, suddenly I felt the ground rumble beneath me. Within a moment her bloom vanished, as did the rest of the fairies. I was falling, and the ground began to lift from beneath me. I screamed, tilting back with nothing to hold onto me. Suddenly I was caught between the sky and the ground. I watched as it lifted up, leaving me. Falling. One last scream escaped from my mouth.

"Link!"

Impa was close behind (Y/n), but not enough. She felt the rumbles and heard her scream. She climbed up the mountain as fast as she could. There, she found a darkness as the ground lifted. On the edge was (Y/n), laying crumbled on the ground. Unconscious. She ran over, pulling her away from the darkness. "Somebody help!" She screamed, her voice echoing through the hills. (Y/n)'s arm was the wrong way, obviously broken from trying to catch herself. She had blood oozing from the back of her head. "(Y/n), wake up." Impa whispered, shaking her body. Paya and a few other villagers had rushed to them. They saw (Y/n) and Impa, taking (Y/n) and helping Impa down the hill.

They laid her on a medical bed as they wrapped her arm and her head wound. She seemed to be breathing fine, but whatever happened knocked her out cold. "Grandma, what happened?" Paya asked softly. "(Y/n) was watching the horses, and then it looked like she went to visit the Great Fairy. I wasn't far behind, but then the ground began to rise and," Impa sucked in a breath. "I heard her scream. I've... never heard her scream like that." She whispered fearfully. "We have to find Link. We have to let him know (Y/n)'s been injured." Her arm was broken, and they thought some of her ribs might've as well. Her head... oh goddess her head. They worried. (Y/n) rested peacefully and Impa watched over her, with baited breath. A letter for Link was sent out to Purah, where Impa was informed Link and Zelda were missing.

"Link, your wife needs you." Impa whispered, holding (Y/n)'s good hand. (Y/n) woke up in the night, gasping for water. She was given it and immediately fell back into a slumber. Her eyes rolling back and her body slumping. After another day, she awoke. Confusion danced in her eyes, and she squinted around.

—

"Where am I?" I breathed out, my eyes fluttering as they adjusted to the sights around me. My chest hurt, my arm hurt and my head was hammering. I groaned, closing my eyes tightly. It felt like someone was taking a stick and slamming it into my skull. "(Y/n), you're awake." An old woman sitting beside my bed squeezed my shoulder. I looked at her, tilting my head. "You're in my house." The woman whispered. I looked at her with wide eyes, nodding slowly. "(Y/n)? You look pale." I leaned back, sucking in a breath. The urge to vomit was strong, but I knew I could hold it back. I was fine.

"Can... can I have something to write with?" I asked softly. "Of course. Are you sure you're feeling okay?" I nodded slowly. "Yes. I am." I clenched my right hand, feeling tingling building it's way up my wrist. "Goddess, what did I do to this hand?" I asked. The woman was searching for something for me, and came back with a book and a pen. "Did you injure it during your fall as well? We couldn't find anything broken. Just your nerve damage." I blinked, staring at my hand. A ring sat on my finger. "I... I'm... married? I have nerve damage? I fell?" I whispered to myself.

Where was I?

Who was that?

When... when did I get married?

She placed the book and pen in my lap. I nodded a thanks, taking it and using my bad arm to hold open the page. "(Y/n)?" The woman whispered. I refused to look at her. Shame washed through me. "I'm sorry... I don't know who you are." I said quietly. The woman seemed to still. "I see." She squeaked. She watched me for a moment before patting my arm. "It's alright, dear. Rest. We'll talk later." I nodded and stared down at the pages of the book. Empty. Blank.

Dear Journal,

Who am I?

"Paya." Impa hissed, grabbing her granddaughter's arm. "We need to talk." Paya turned to Impa. "What is it?" She asked softly. "Go inside and introduce yourself to (Y/n). She'll be less scared with someone who she thinks is her age." Impa urged. Paya made a face. "What are you talking about?" She asked. Impa shook her head, her grip tightening on Paya's arm. "Do what I say, now. As your grandmother, listen to me." Paya swallowed before opening the door to Impa's home, finding (Y/n) staring at the book in her lap.

—

"Hello there. I heard your name is (Y/n). I'm Paya, the leader of this village you're in. Kakariko." I stared at the girl who wandered in. She may be a bit younger than me, but she was comforting. "Oh. Okay." I murmured. "It's nice to meet you." Paya smiled softly and looked at my journal. "What are you writing there?" I looked at it and sighed. "I need to get my feelings out somehow. I... don't know anyone who I can talk to about my feelings. Am... do you know me?" I whispered. Paya looked at me carefully. "Maybe." She murmured. "Why?" I sighed and looked down at my journal. "I wake up, shirtless and wrapped in bandages. A strange woman beside me holding my hand, and a ring on my finger. My head is pounding, it hurts to sit up and... I can't remember anything. My head hurts so bad." I whispered.

Paya sat beside me, looking into my eyes. "I know a friend who went through something similar. That woman is Impa. She's my grandmother. She's a very kind and gentle woman, who helps anyone in need. We found you and figure you'd fallen. Taken a big hit too. We have a friend who would be more than willing to help you with your memory loss. He's suffered through it as well, and he's the kindest and most genuine man I know. He'll take you around Hyrule with him. It'll be an adventure. Does that sound like something you'd want?" Paya asked softly. I thought for a moment, slowly nodding. "I think I'd like that. What's his name?" I asked. "Link. His name is Link."

—

"She doesn't remember anything. Or anyone." Paya said shakily, stepping out of the house. She slowly broke down into tears in front of Impa. "Grandma, what are we going to do? How are we going to tell Link?" Paya whispered. Impa held her granddaughter, pain flowed through her. She began to cry as well, holding Paya close. "My dear... I don't know." She whispered. "I don't... know."

—

"Linky!" Purah gasped, seeing the man again for the first time. Link stood in front of her, his arm was different and he looked disheveled. She helped him, and before she set him out on the task of the four villages. "Your wife..." She whispered softly. "(Y/n).. there's been an accident." Link snapped his head to Purah.

"What?"

#the legend of zelda #link legend of zelda #link is a softie and i stand by that #x reader #tloz #legend of zelda #link x reader #link x you #i love him #breath of the wild #tears of the kingdom

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ezdotjpg · 7 months

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ok but know I need you to Tell Me Things about the Zeldas. all of them. I am literally*bouncing*.

(I love how both your TP Link and Zelda have RBF. they have truly Had It)

HEHE sorry i held onto this ask until I had all the Zelda designs posted, and then I,,,forgot to do that lol.

some Bonus Zelda thoughts! some of this i've maybe said before idk:

ALTTP Zelda

her armor is more ceremonial than practical. While I didn't give this to every Queen Zelda, I liked the idea of the princess's pauldrons progressing to more plate armor in the queen's dress. That's also why I changed her color scheme to blue to differentiate from the princess' pink (exceptions for this being HW Zelda who wears red as queen, ST Zelda who still wears pink as queen and BOTW Zelda who wore blue as princess)

anyway. she's more of a scholar than a warrior but she still has killer aim with a bow

her pet project has been recovering, restoring, and filling in the gaps of the royal library and archive. Mage helps her out with this as he has a knack for stumbling upon forgotten ancient texts in his travels

A lot of ppl assume she's rather prim or austere but she's actually got a lot of whimsy and humor in her. It's why she and Mage get along so well :D

She lets Mage get away with a lot of shenanigans and keeps the royal guard from arresting his ass all the time

if mage is ur weird uncle she's like. ur cool aunt

Tetra

she's still sailing the seas with her crew!

she and Wake have had a bit of a falling out though, partially over disagreements about searching for New Hyrule, and have gone their separate ways for now. There's not any real animosity between them, just like,,,frustration. They'd still do anything for each other.

She's got 2 pistols and a cutlass and she knows how to use them

She could bench press Wake. easily.

She's brash and commands a lot of respect but she's also a lot of fun to be around. She's brutally honest and says what's on her mind.

I think she still feels a lot of confusion and frustration about the revelations about her lineage and the role King Daphnes seemed to force on her because of it. She doesn't want much to do with what the divine. She values the freedom sailing on the sea gives her.

TP Zelda

she's. so tired. a lot of the responsibility of rebuilding the kingdom has fallen squarely on her shoulders. She's holding shit together by a thread but by god is she holding it together.

Looks pretty cold and unapproachable but she has a kind heart. She cares deeply for the people of her kingdom. She would sacrifice a lot for them and already has.

Never relaxes. Works like 24/7. get this girl a hobby

Midzel canon. Midna also had a thing with Link but it wasn't a polycule more of a this is my girlfriend Midna and this is Midna's boyfriend Link kind of a situation. Anyway she misses Midna.

Wolf and Zelda are like. coworkers. They haven't really gotten any closer in the aftermath of everything. Wolf wants nothing to do with playing the role of the hero in a political sense like Zelda keeps asking him to. I don't think Zelda necessarily blames him for escaping that responsibility, but she Is frustrated she doesn't have that luxury.

MC Zelda

a little cutie!! very bubbly and extroverted and curious about the world. She spends a lot of time outside of the castle running around with Mini. The King is so glad she's safe after everything he still just lets her do whatever she wants lol

She used to be the one dragging Mini into shenanigans all the time but he's gained a lot of confidence over his quest and is less timid now. now they are equally engaging in shenanigans

Hangs out with Malon too!! The three of them are besties

I like to think she can also still see the minish even if she can't shrink down to their size. she thinks they're so cute. Maybe mini gives her a jabbernut so she can speak to them too :-)

She helps Mini build his fucked up little trash robots. She also pretties them up with paint

scolded by castle staff frequently for getting grass stains and dirt on her nice clothes lol. She probably isn't usually running around in her full princess garb though.

Like Mini, has mostly refused to process most of what happened to her and is just trying to enjoy life.

Prince Zel

I went back and forth about whether or not I wanted to go with naming him Sheik or not. I decided against it since this is the version of him that never had to become Sheik. He keeps Zelda as a legacy name and shortens it to Zel most of the time.

Pretty lonely in the castle without many friends his age. He desperately wants to be better friends with Mask but is mostly rebuffed.

Even though he doesn't have to become Sheik in this timeline, I think he has begun training with Impa. Just under a lot less duress

Still occasionally has prophetic visions but has become somewhat hesitant about sharing them. I think he understands a little more of what went on in other timelines than he lets on, but he doesn't know or put together all of it.

Often described as odd or intense or standoffish by ppl who meet him but he can be really chatty and lively under the right circumstances

HW Zelda

Her armor is also mostly ceremonial, even though she's definitely more of a warrior queen. She and War are both dressed to project 'peace time' and 'prosperity'. She has other sets of armor that are more suited for combat.

She and War are a lot alike, calculating and cunning, which is why they understand each other. It's also why they're often at each other's throats. They're not really above backstabbing each other, though has Queen she has a lot more leverage.

She's not exactly warm or particularly kind, but she does care about the safety of the Kingdom.

Also never relaxes and works like 24/7

Constantly dealing with a tense, power-hungry and antagonistic court looking to undermine her authority. She has her own private ambitions she's working towards.

ALBW Zelda

She's a really charming and fun person! very down to earth as Queen and a lot more willing to eschew tradition.

She comes across as carefree but she's been ruling Hyrule by herself since she was young and has been subject to a lot of pressure. She had to grow up pretty fast and is wiser than she seems at first glance. She has her court and the people's respect.

She and Mirror share an interest in fashion and the arts. They're,,, they're both theatre kids.

I don't have a lot of other headcanons abt her yet sorry but. i love her

ST Zelda

Has been crowned Queen at the ripe old age of 16 because the last time they appointed a chancellor he turned out to be a demon who stole her body. so

She does not feel ready to be Queen at all but she's doing her best. She's determined not to let anybody push her around again.

She's taken an interest in learning how to fight after the events of spirit tracks. She never wants to feel as helpless as she did then, trapped as a ghost outside her body. Also she really enjoyed hitting things with a giant sword in her big phantom armor. She's become a much better swordsman than Spirit ever was lol

She specifically requested her own suit of armor to mimic the phantom armor

she's pretty protective of Spirit

BOTW Zelda

I think she was conscious for all 103 of those years fighting ganon, even if it seems somewhat blurry and surreal to her now. She remembers it in fits and bursts. She often feels disconnected from her body.

She has no interest in reviving the monarchy or ruling over Hyrule again. However she does have an interest in rebuilding Hylian towns and helping all of Hyrule recover. She still feels like it's her responsibility, not because of her role as princess, but because of what she perceives as her own failure to avert tragedy.

she doesn't just blame herself though- she blames the gods and her father too.

Right now though she's mostly taking a break to get her bearings and recover from 103 years of endless fighting. She and Slate travelled around Hyrule for a while at first, and now she's settled in Hateno trying to figure out how to be normal again. Some rebuilding efforts have already started spearheaded by Hudson and she helps out with those.

SKSW Zelda

honestly not even she is sure what parts of her are herself and what parts are hylia. it's as disconcerting for her as it is for Loft. She's both frustrated that he looks at her differently now and understands completely why he does. She still wishes he wouldn't.

she remembers more about being the goddess than she necessarily lets on

she's really invested in the settlement on the surface and is basically its unofficial leader. she puts a lot of time and effort into making sure everything is going according to plan and that they have everything they need to keep living on the surface

she's protective of Loft and worries a lot for him. She blames herself for a lot of what he struggles with now and wants to make it better.

she's not the fun police though, she likes a death-defying loftwing stunt as much as the next person

she did become a knight after the events of skyward sword! They don't really wear the uniforms down on the surface much anymore though and it's become less of a formal order while everyone focuses on building and improving the village.

She's been working on her swordsmanship

I think she really loves music and singing

#long post #bonus lore #dusting off that tag #bonus alttp zelda #bonus tetra #bonus tp zelda #bonus oot zel #bonus albw zelda #bonus mc zelda #bonus botw zelda #bonus hw zelda #bonus skord zelda #bonus links #bonuslinks #bonuslinksdotjpg

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buggyswritingcorner · 3 months

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Could I request Rhaenyra x Velaryon!reader in a kinda soulmate au where their dragons become a mated pair, which is a sign from the (Valyrian) gods that their riders are meant to be together, and Nyra and reader’s bonds with their dragons end up transferring to include each other, so they can feel each other’s emotions and pain, just like with their dragons, and it draws them together? Maybe some smut?

Hand in hand, wing by wing

Heyy sorry this is late lol. I’ve had no motivation. Anyway you didnt specify gender so i did it as GN as i could but reader wears a dress one time. Hope you like it!

masterlist

Word of your dragons’ mating was brought to you no longer than a day ago. Some guards spotted Aegarax - your grown dragon soaring the skies alongside Syrax.

Your family has recently journeyed to King’s Landing. Your mother - the king’s cousin has offered your hand to the king and you had been proposed the match by the king himself in the royal gardens. You were not delighted with this revelation yet still performed as a flawless heir to Driftmark should.

Now it was days later and the proposal seemed to have been forgotten. Thankfully. These days you spent most of your time with the crown princess Rhaenyra. You had always been suitable for each other. Since you were just babes you played and shared toys. Sometimes even beds after playdates.

“Ehm ehm.” Your thoughts were interrupted by none other.

“Princess Rhaenyra.” You bowed your head in mock respect.

In turn she rolled her eyes and linked her arm around your elbow.

“Did you hear it?” She inquired cheerfully. “Our dragons are rumored to be mated.” She raised her eyebrows with mischief evident on her face.

“Really? I had no idea.” You pretended to not know. Playing with her emotions was far too much fun. The princess could never hide her true feelings. She frowned and then lit up.

“No matter, now you know.” You continued walking the halls of the red keep. Initially you were headed for the kitchens in hopes of stealing a lemon cake or two. But the princess was headed elsewhere, which meant you would follow her.

“Let us go for a ride no?” She smiled and quickened her pace. Once outside calling for a carriage.

You both stared out of the windows of the carriage looking at the common folk and whispering gossip about the royal court men and women. You never laughed with anyone as much as you did with the princess.

The carriage stopped as you arrived at the Dragonpit. You took the princess’s hand as you climbed out of the carriage and headed for your dragons. They were readied for flight in no time.

Your dragon was much bigger than Rhaenyra’s easily being able to carry up to three riders. But you had to admit that Syrax carried a queenly attitude. The two dragons snuggled their noses and sniffed around each other. Rhaenyra laughed at them and then directed her gaze to you. You smirked at the heart shaped piece of armor on Syrax’s chest and took to flight.

The weight of the wings cut through the stuffy air and soon you were above the city soaring torwards the clouds. Your white hair whipped in the currents of air. Soon Rhaenyra emerged beside you.

“Isn’t this far better?” She yelled so you could hear her.

“Undeniably princess!” You loved being free like this. Unchained, soaring far away from the problems of the little men beneath you.

Suddenly Rhaenyra led Syrax closer to you and bumped her wing across Aegarax’s.

“Hey!” You startled. “What was that for?”

“Because you didn’t tell me my father proposed a wedlock between you two!”

You sighed as you stared across her face, studying her expression. Was she angry? Or maybe she was hurt you didn’t tell her?

“I didn’t want to burden you with something that might not even happen! He hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“You still could’ve told me. Anyway I do not think this marriage agreeable. You two are not fit for each other! I would be a much better match don’t you think? “Her grin was now as wide as her face and you could not help laughing.

She watched as your laughter died out. Then she asked again. “Don’t you think so?”

You stared at her in confusion. Then you thought about it. It was true that an heir to Driftmark and the crown Princess of the realm would make a strong political match. But somehow you didn’t think this was entirely out of political reasons.

You’ve avoided your own feelings for the princess for too long to know what they were. Always blaming it on being young. But what were your feelings on this matter?

“I believe we would make a strong match Rhae!” You grinned at her. She looked regal and beautiful yet disheveled with her blonde hair pulled into a loose braid.

And you could never forget how she smiled that day.

Weeks later the king announced that he sould wed Alicent the hand’s daughter. And a rock fell from your chest.

Rhaenyra took this news dreadfully. She avoided Alicent and her father. Now you were her only ally in the world.

You became more intrigued by your Aegarax’s relationship with Syrax. He circled around her at most times and they were reported to rarely be seen apart. When attempted to separate the two would turn agressive and protective.

You yourself have started experiencing certain sudden changes in mood. These changes felt hazy like a dream. Like they were not your own.

You shook these thought off and focused.

You were adorned by a blue gown. Today was the official dinner to celebrate the proposal of the king. Your parents were a bit offended and kept muttering about their child being far more beautiful and wiser than Alicent. You just threw them sharp looks.

As you were headed to the royal hall for the banquet you noticed Rhaenyra standing in the shadows of the hall.

“What are you doing?” She just looked at you, grabbed your hand and started leading you the other way far from the royal hall.

“Come with me. I don’t want to spend tonight with those hypocrites.”

“Alright fine, you could’ve just asked me no need to sweep me away.”

She shot you a look and continued leading you to her chambers. Once inside she finally relaxed and locked the door.

She walked towards the balcony. And stood silently watching the city candle lights being lit one by one as the sun set over the horizon.

“Rhae?” You whispered.

“How could he do this?” She sniffled. “And then expect me to celebrate him?”

You walked closer and put your hands on her shoulders, placing your head upon one.

“People are strange. Your father needs a supportive wife. Or he will fail. Maybe he sees that in Alicent. I’m sorry either way but this doesn’t have to mean an end of your friendship.”

You spun her around to face you.

Her eyes glimmered with tears daring not to spill over. Then she spoke.

“You know what the people whisper?”

“I don’t concern myself with the opinions of sheep.” You smiled. “Neither should you.”

“In old Valyria it was believed that when two dragons mate, their riders are destined to each other. Syrax has laid eggs.” She stared into your eyes unwavering.

Your breath was stuck in your throat. Did she mean you and her were…?

Your faces closed in closer and closer. You could feel her breath on you lips as your eyes closed slowly. First she kissed the corner of your mouth. Then your left cheek.

Your hands snaked around her waist hugging her tightly. Her kisses trailed all over your face and neck. You could bear it no more. You grabbed her face and kissed her lips. Stumbling you pushed her onto the stone wall on the balcony.

A light breeze flowed through your clothes. She had worn a simple light dress and her body was now shivering with lust.

You took her with you onto the ground and kissed every inch of her. She flipped both of you and started running her hands around your body. Caressing the curves and sharp edges.

Her hands worked on your clothes. Until your top half was bare to her. And the you unclothed her. Both of you couldn’t speak. You were too lost in this little world of yours’. Harsh breaths echoed from the walls.

She pinched your nipples between your teeth and you gasped in fresh air. Your throat was dry and you loved her so much.

You loved her.

Like the wind. Like the sea. You loved her like a huriccane and you would not let her go.

So you told her. “I love you my princess.”

She sighed contently as your fingers reached her opening. All those years of longing and silent loving gushed out.

“I love you too.” She smiled feverishly. Her face was red and contrasted again her pale hair.

She took your hands and joined them with hers.

“The Gods have blessed us. Let us not waste time.” Then she leaned down and caught your lips once more.

#rhaenyra x reader #house of the dragon #oneshot #rhaenyra targaryen #fluff #smut #rhaenyra smut #velaryon reader

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syndxlla · 10 months

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On anon because I'm too shy to put my face to this. I really love "corruption" or "immoral" pre-calamity/aoc fics. It's one of my favorite concepts for these two. I have a preference for Zelda corrupting Link.

I'm just enamored by the idea that this young man is desperately trying to suppress or reign in his desire for his princess. He's pathetically in love with her, but he's trying to remain the upstanding pure knight everyone looks up to and follow the rules, but she eventually pushes him over the edge or breaks him and he gives in. I also just really like flustered, shy and submissive Link. It's an underrated concept, imo. The idea that this badass stoic knight is secretly turned into a blushing whining mess just from the touch of his princess and only she knows that side of him.

anon you got me BLUSHINGGGGG with this haha. but YES. Link definitely whimpers bahaha.

18+ content!!

Something about the other knights in the castle barracks always teasing him, asking him about his “alone time with the princess”, all of them thinking he’s too good, too worthy, too stoic, too shy to even speak to her. They give him a hard time, joking about her, and Link just has to keep his straight face and act like their assumptions are right when in reality he is doing everything in his power and summoning all of his courage to not absolutely fall apart in front of them.

I just love the idea of the two of them not being able to keep their hands to themselves at the worst times in the worst places. Like yessss give each other head at the feet of the goddess statue in the temple of time.

My personal favorite i just brewed up is Link being on duty back at the castle in the sanctum and Zelda sneaking up on him, yanking him behind a pillar in that holy room and pushing him back against it. She’s in her royal garb: hair down, long skirt, maybe even gloves and she’s hungrily pressing her lips to his, kissing him hard and fast and he can’t help but melt into her touch and pull her in at the waist. Maybe Link is in his royal guards uniform, or even better: his knights armor. (my OG followers know how i feel about knights and princesses).

Gahhhh i am also obsessed with their corruption haha i should probably talk to someone about that

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zeevoidlight · 6 months

Text

I wonder...

I don't know how people came to the headcanon that the Hero's Shade/The Hero of Time came back to Hyrule and died in this armor as part of the royal knights defending Zelda, probably in a great battle. Maybe it's a manga thing or a popular theory. But I have a different headcanon to why he might look like that.

His armor doesn't look at all like something from Hyrule. Is not Hylian, Goron, Zora or Gerudo, or anything similar. But I do feel like it makes sense with the type of shapes and decorations from Termina, from the Stone Tower temple and Ikana more closely. At least according to what I see. There's a lot more sand tones and reds, more round shapes and decorations that feel like painted that fill the blank spaces to make them pop up. I think his armor is so strange because it's supposed to make us understand that he died elsewhere, somewhere like Termina to connect the dots backwards to Majora's Link.

There is still of course all those things that theories point out to suggest that Link didn't stayed in Termina and actually came back to settle with Malon to eventually make Twilight Link a direct descendant of him, and I do believe that there's truth there too. But at the same time I don't see how that makes it impossible for him to not be able to go back and forth between the two realms like the Happy Mask Salesman does or Skullkid himself (unless you believe that Termina was a dream or illusion). Termina is like Wonderland but is not a dream, is just another dimension accessible through the Lost Woods portal.

So, if I may, what I think is that he stayed in Termina for a while when the Majora's mask ordeal ended. After all there's a huge gap we don't know anything about the hero of time, his entire young and adult life, and then we skip to many years after his death in the era of his descendant.

I have the headcanon that he had to stay to perform with the Indigo-go's at the festival after Majora was defeated, and also had to explain Lulu the situation of her being a single mother of six at least (where they six? I don't remember), finish some side quests that needed to be repeated but with a bit more time for it. Maybe even be with skullkid enough for him to later carve that image of both Link and himself playing together, like wanting to immortalize a good memory of both having a good time and not just it being in skullkid's imagination of what it might have been if Link stayed longer or just symbolism of their friendship. It makes for a better story to me.

Then, maybe a little grown up to say.. his appearance in his adult form (17 yo), Link returned to Hyrule and found himself being flooded with memories (I'm decorating the explanation a bit), and visiting places he and Malon crossed paths again. They become friends, fall in love (maybe encouraged by Talon between jokes and being serious), and they start to have a life in the ranch as a couple with some kids.

But it doesn't take to long until that desire of being a hero creep again into his mind. Link just can't let go the feeling that he needs to make honor to that title by being a hero, and people need to know of his deeds, is his responsibility and the weight he has to carry. But the only place that could fulfill that desire is beyond Hyrule and probably beyond Termina. We are assuming Ganondorf's execution hasn't yet occured but will be in Link's time, just later. For now Hyrule was at peace. Is the job of the hero to never let his guard go down and wait for a disaster to occur.

So with that in mind, he started to go back to Termina. For longer periods each time trying to find the next threat that might find it's way into Hyrule (because that's the only thing he's learned from childhood if anything), promising Malon he'd come back, taking longer and longer trips each time. Leaving useful things for the next hero in case he didn't return. But why Termina? Because as Aonuma has said, Termina is named like that because it's a Terminal, like an airport, so it might be kind of like a Hub to get access to other worlds, or where other dimensions connect to.

He found nothing though.

But, if you believe in the Stone Tower temple theory by Monster Maze, which is very cool and interesting on its own but basically it says that the tower is not from Termina or Hyrule, is a portal to a realm beyond Gerudo desert, so if you subscribe to that theory like I do then we can create a narrative with it. Let's say that our Link here started to investigate this temple, and that he found the Realm that connects to the tower, he found the people that built it. Or maybe he just found something more in the kingdom of Ikana, a new conflict or a mystery to solve. He should be a full adult person by then. He found another adventure and another realm that needed his help. He donned the armor, he fought his battles, but he died there. And he couldn't go back to Hyrule and Malon again... At least not alive. I don't know what kind of magic or properties that realm might have had because it's all a supposition based on theories upon theories of something that's been left to each person's imagination, but Ikana itself is very much connected to the Dead and it's curse is such a powerful one that it can't be undone. I do want to believe that some time after his death he came back to "life" technically as a stalfos (because stalfos are cool, shut up), or a revenant (revenants have one or two eyes lit up with an unnatural light, so it might not even be that he lost an eye in battle, is just his revenant eye after death signifying his unfinished business), and he probably had more adventures in that new form until he managed to return to Hyrule.

But changing from realm to realm made him became a ghost of sorts (like the ones in Twilight's courtyard), maybe changing from realm to realm as an undead/stalfos/revenant made his body more intangible. And then his spirit just wandered around as his chosen form, a golden wolf. In part because he chose that form, in part because it was a sort of calling from the triforce to take that form.

Until he felt a familiar aura. The aura of the new hero, the Hero of Twilight. Finally he would be able to ease his regrets...

That's my headcanon at least.

Also... Why is he so tall as the Shade, you ask. Well, he's a shade, a shadow. Not in the literal sense but as his title says he is the Hero's shade as in regrets, the hero's regrets. The shadow of guilt that always followed him, himself. So, in a poetic way his shadow of regret is bigger than him, and it manifests physically bigger too... Or y'know, why are there stalfos, poes and ghouls as big as houses in the Zelda universe. I guess that's just something you can do after you die.

That all. No closing thoughs other than the hero's shade, ocarina of time Link, the hero of time, is one of my favorite characters of all time.

#loz #legend of zelda #hero's shade #link #ocarina of time #majoras mask #hero of time #loz theory #headcanon #supposition

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fancifulflora · 1 month

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(SFW) been wanting to cry for some angsty stuff for ATOC, can I request a hc list of how would X, D, R and A react when the Crown is fatally injured, possibly shot by an arrow or stabbed?

Maybe an extra rrq that the Crown is a gentle, cinnamon roll type, that overly kind soul you'd want the least to get hurt but yeah now they're dying

The editor for this tumblr ask literally crashed when i was almost done with X's entry and I've never felt more devastated in my entire life ksahkj. There is also something very similar to this prompt though, it's more about the Crown sacrificing themselves for the ROs. If you're interested in that I'll link it here

I apologize if this isn't the best but I'll try to redo what I can

Azad/Ashti

You were absolutely foolish to get yourself hurt. No matter how kind-hearted you may have been, the Imperial Guard was made to lay down their lives for you. Any injuries you sustained was a stain upon their honor, their own failure to complete their duties.

The Royal Protector fights the icy cold waves of guilt washing over them. They save the lectures and punishments for another time because all that matters in that moment is you.

Their first priority is to get you to safety, the only sign you may see of their inner turmoil not found in their words, but their actions.

The protector's hands shake ever so slightly as they apply pressure to your wounds, hoping to staunch that they can before the healers arrive. A cold sweat chills them down to their very core as they listen for your pulse- only to find it fading away by the second.

They try to reassure you, but it doesn't work. In desperation, they find themselves practically ordering you to keep your eyes open, to not leave them while they're trying to save your life- tightening your bandages up. The unspoken words of concern and love dying in their throat when they look up to see just why you haven't responded.

By the time the healers do arrive, it takes their combined effort to finally pry the Royal Protector from your side.

Dara/Delal

Having served in the military for so long, the General was used to the bloodshed and horror of it all. Gore, suffering, and pain were things they could stomach. Or a least, the ability to do so was required of them.

It's when they see the arrow impaled in your skin, smell the metallic scent of red staining their cloak that the General realizes they may have been wrong. A complex bundle of emotions stirs under those layers of armor, but they have the strength to push through and remain vigilant.

If not for you, then for their own sanity.

Without a second thought, they tear their cloak, torn strips used to either secure the arrow in place and prevent it from moving. If not that, then to help stop the bleeding of any wounds.

They hold their Crown close, all propriety forgotten as the only thing on their mind is you. You need them in this moment and the last thing they'd ever do is fail you. Even if it's killing them on the inside.

What you need in these moments is strength, a shoulder or person to lean on. Which is why they allow you to squeeze the life from their hands. They listen to your weakened voice, giving you the same, almost practiced, words of reassurance they've given countless others.

Yet something about the words this time shakes the General to their core. This time, it feels entirely too raw, like a hundred old wounds made fresh again. The feeling paralyzes them, the unadulterated fear deep in their hardened expression.

As the situation worsens and all seems lost, the General straightens themselves, remaining by your side and keeping a steadfast vigil by your side. Never once do they stray from you. Even as crowds of healers all frantically apply aid to no avail. They remain by your side even as the anguished cries from loyal allies and friends alike sound throughout the halls at news of the inevitable.

And there they remain, even when the last wisps of golden sunlight in those eyes of yours wither away.

Rozerîn/Rêzan

To say that you were everything to the Sorcerer would be an understatement. They had found themselves and their entire life turned upside down by your very being, your warmth and kindness endearing you to the Sorcerer.

You were their purpose, and their friend.

So it's surprise that when they rush to your side, panic and fear overtakes them. The tension is almost palpable in the air as they order, practically beg for others to secure your safety- to fetch the healers- to do something.

It's also in this very moment that they curse their own abilities, or lack thereof. Healing magic simply wasn't a big priority, especially when there were so many others who could look after your health and safety.

If only they had studied more - practiced more- perhaps paid more attention to their surroundings or kept a better eye over the many enemies of Arsur.

A gentle hand, your hand, frees them from the mental prison they were trapped in, lifting the weight of guilt and shame enough for them to focus on pouring every once of themselves to saving you.

You had saved them, been there by their side from the very start.

They had to return the favor, to repay you for all your trust.

Those sentiments ring through their head, repeated over and over again like a mantra as they feel a sharp pain in their skull. Hands trembling from the sheer amount of magic they were using.

The darkness, a very similar one you once saved them from sets its familiar claws into them, the Sorcerer collapsing besides you- their fists bunching up the fabric of your clothing. With what little strength they can muster, the Sorcerer pulls you to their chest, cradling their dying star to their chest.

Xelara/Xelef

The mercenary was a mess. Clever words had long left them by the time they reached your side. Instead there were only frantic, broken phrases of concern and orders to remain still less your wounds worsen.

It almost feels out of character for them, at least, for those who only knew the mercenary by reputation. Having lived the life they did and taking on a profession that exposes them to danger so very often; the Pale Sword had a relationship with death that bordered on being blasé. Even when other Crescent Blades fell in battle, their leader could keep a rational mind about it. For many, this helped to cement the band of mercenaries as relentless, a force to be reckoned with.

If only the gossip mongers and general public could see them now, form hunched over your own. The corner of their vision blurred from the stinging of tears threatening to spill.

They had expected an end like this for them, perhaps even desiring it over the withering they'd have to endure from aging, but for you? Nothing like this was supposed to happen to you. You were the Crown of Arsur. The leader of millions that all relied on you being safe and well. And, perhaps more importantly to the mercenary, you were also the keeper of their heart.

Were? No, you are the Crown of Arsur. And you will live through this. You have to. Otherwise...

The Pale Sword ends the notion right then and there, focusing on the present and being by your side. By now, they've done what they can for you, whether through what general first aid they know or through the healing magics of one of their Blades.

Moving you was out of the question, the very attempt to do so drawing a loud cry of pain from your lips. A wince of guilt burns in the mercenary as they pull back, trying to keep your focus on them instead of the carnage of battle.

The feeling of helplessness isn't an unfamiliar one to the mercenary, however, it's one that the Pale Sword despises to their very core. But what could they do for you that hasn't already been done? What could they do to ease your undeserved suffering?

What they do best.

Lie.

It only takes a moment for mercenary to pull their act together, a practiced, albeit softer smile, gracing their features. What would have been smoothed, honeyed lies of your condition fall flatter than they'd like. Your weak smile tells them as such, a weakened, forced laugh humoring the mercenary and giving them one last act of kindness they know deep down they do not deserve. Nevertheless, they embrace the comfort wholeheartedly, bringing the back of your chilled hands to their lips, their touch- their kiss, returning your gift with one last hug of warmth before the light in you fades away.

#a tale of crowns #sfw #atoc #angst #azad/ashti #dara/delal #rozerîn/rêzan #xelara/xelef #Trying a new format for my hcs to see what reads better- some feedback would be appreciated #My inbox has been empty for a long while so its nice to get my writing legs stretched since i have neg motivation to write without them #i cry inside every time i write atoc bc its the only fandom that gives me anxiety over whether or not characters are ooc #rewrite turned out better than expected though- so cheers to that!

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happi-tree · 6 months

Text

(i will) stay for you

“Fighting is - that’s my job, okay?”

“Okay,” Taylor grumbles, not sounding convinced in the slightest.

“Plus,” Lincoln adds before he can stop himself, “Most of my scars are just training wounds - from when I acted too slowly or imprecisely, or I got too distracted, or…”

Lincoln trails off as he notices the way Taylor’s eyes rove over his figure, like he is attempting to picture the map of pockmarks and scores that lie beneath his armor. He feels oddly exposed, uncomfortable in his prince’s burning sight.

“May I see them, then?” Taylor asks.

Or: Prince Taylor, his loyal knight, and their musings on scars and devotion.

ao3

Royal/knight dynamics are so, so very important to me, and as a Swiftli enthusiast, it was only a matter of time before I wrote something about it! Here's some Prince Taylor, knight Link, and a truly ungodly amount of mutual pining. Hope you enjoy!

“Link,” Taylor says quietly, contemplatively. Even with his voice hushed as it is within the haven of Lincoln’s humble quarters, it echoes off the stone, bouncing off the rough-hewn masonry to resound in his ears with inaudible overtones and harmonies.

“Yes?” Lincoln brings his gaze up to look upon his charge, hands stilling from where they smooth over the cloth bandages around the prince’s forearm. He has been uncharacteristically quiet ever since Lincoln brought him here, pliant as he led him through the maze of servants’ passages, patient as Lincoln rummaged about for his poultices and ointments and wrappings, obedient as Lincoln asked him to submit to the disinfecting.

Though the young prince is a good deal shorter than him, he looks down at him, a focal point amid the drab spartan keep of his cot. The way he looks upon Lincoln now, flint-dark gaze appraising as he takes in the way Lincoln’s dark, calloused hands rest in stark contrast with the ivory cotton bandages, makes Lincoln feel like a small, delicate thing rather than the armored knight that he is.

Those eyes, burning like heated coals, travel the lines of his body, slowly, carefully, and for once, Taylor lets the silence hang in the air for several moments.

Lincoln briefly wonders if perhaps his charge has been bewitched or hexed, though, of course, that could not be, because Lincoln does not leave his side apart from sleeping.

“How often have you gotten hurt?” Taylor asks, just as softly.

“What?”

“You know,” He says (Lincoln really doesn’t), gesturing vaguely with the arm Lincoln isn’t holding. “Cuts, scrapes, bruises, the like. It just seems like you’re used to this,” He nods at Lincoln’s handiwork. The bandages are neatly wrapped about Taylor’s arm, by some miracle - thank goodness for muscle memory, or else Lincoln knows he would have been a fumbling, sloppy mess tending to him under his discerning watch.

“You really don’t need to know about that,” Lincoln says, feeling rather shameful. As his fathers have often said, Lincoln had shot upward like a weed in his youth, and his sudden height had made him a clumsy, bumbling fool more often than not. And with swordplay and squiredom being thrown into the mix, well - Lincoln has his fair share of cuts and scrapes, even if most of them had been earned long before his tenure as prince-guard.

“Yes, I do!” Taylor exclaims, and Lincoln jolts at the sudden return to his regular volume. “Of course I do.” This is softer, gentler, as if his charge is attempting to comfort him with the sound of his voice alone (and it works splendidly, for Lincoln would love nothing more than to wrap himself in the dulcet tones of his timbre and never re-emerge).

“You’re my favorite person,” Taylor says (sending an arrow of fondness-melancholy through Lincoln’s chest in the process), “And if you’re getting a bunch of badass scars behind my back, or whatever - I need to know!”

Link chortles apprehensively at his prince’s fervent enthusiasm. “They’re not really that, uh, badass,” He attempts to explain, ghosting his hands along the pale cotton absentmindedly. “They’re actually kind of... awful-looking.”

“Ha!” Taylor exclaims, “So you do have scars!”

Lincoln feels ill. Is it drafty in here? Or perhaps not drafty enough?

“Anyway,” Taylor says imperiously, nodding once to himself. “As your Prince, I order you to tell me who so permanently injured my right-hand man so that I may have them executed swiftly. Or fight them myself!”

“Woah, no no no no no,” Lincoln says, stomach dropping and veins filling with icy dread. “Absolutely not. You are not fighting anyone unless you have to, okay? Or executing them.”

“But - but I must slay them for your honor!” Taylor says, aghast.

“My prince,” Lincoln reminds him gently, “I am common-born. There is no honor for which you need to fight. My sword is your weapon, my shield is for you. Besides, I’ve only just started to teach you to defend yourself.”

And that has not been going well , Link finishes in the privacy of his own mind, glancing down briefly to the cloth-obscured cut on Taylor’s arm as his abdomen roils with guilt.

“Fighting is - that’s my job, okay?”

“Okay,” Taylor grumbles, not sounding convinced in the slightest.

“Plus,” Lincoln adds before he can stop himself, “Most of my scars are just training wounds - from when I acted too slowly or imprecisely, or I got too distracted, or…”

“May I see them, then?” Taylor asks, looking up at Lincoln through his short, dark lashes, and Lincoln feels heat lick up his throat and warm his cheeks at the shameless question.

Lincoln’s mind is a swirling maelstrom of fragmented thoughts because this is his prince, the young man he would lay down his life for, asking him to bare the shameful parts of himself to him, and he must refuse, he must, but there is a traitorous, treasonous (or perhaps a most loyal?) part of Lincoln that wants to do exactly as he asks, that quivers in delight at the thought of laying down his heavy armor and mail until he rests before Taylor in his softer garments in the quiet of his cramped room, and -

And what? Lincoln thinks, even as his mind conjures up images of the two of them entwined together against his meager bedsheets, warmer than he has ever been, even as another part of his mind shouts Answer him!

“No!” Lincoln exclaims, and his voice sounds rough-edged and raspy and dangerously desperate to his own ears.

He clears his throat. “No,” He tries again, “That’s… improper for a prince to see, and. Well, you wouldn’t like what you would find, anyway. They’re not impressive, and they’re kind of ugly, and-”

“Sir Lincoln Li-Wilson, you listen to me ,” Taylor says, voice every bit as regal and commanding as his station.

Lincoln’s gaze snaps up to meet his face again (when had it strayed to look at the cobbled floor?) and finds Taylor’s expression open, soft, vulnerable before him, all the things Lincoln has been told he must not be (all the things his heart yearns to be, when he is at his side - which is always).

“No part of you could ever be ugly,” Taylor says, resting his free hand atop Link’s own. “Not in my eyes.”

And oh , how the hushed night of Taylor’s midnight-dark gaze, the furrow of his regal brows, the upturned corners of his lips send a fluttering feeling in Lincoln’s chest, feather-soft and warm and all things good and lovely.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Taylor continues, “And that’s with you almost completely covered in armor!”

Taylor’s voice is so full of sincerity and conviction that Lincoln has a hard time remembering his prince’s upbringing. From his birth, Taylor has been paraded among the most handsome lords and winsome ladies, an endless barrage of pretty and polished nobility, so surely he’s exaggerating. There is no chance that Lincoln, with his ungainly height and unruly curls and calloused hands and uneven dirt-spattering of freckles and work-worn scarred-bruised-bandaged body, could ever reasonably catch the eye of his future king.

(Lincoln knows, of course, that Prince Taylor’s heart is every bit as unreasonable as his own, though he cannot fathom why or how.)

“I’m sure every part of you is just as pretty, even if you don’t believe it,” Taylor plows onward, unaware of just how thoroughly his words have unwoven the fabric of his brain. “Even if they’re parts of you that I haven’t seen. Could -” Here, his charge fumbles, grasping for Lincoln’s hand in a distinctly un-princelike manner as he struggles to find his words.

Lincoln, as always, takes hold (even as he feels unmoored himself) and listens for him (even as he dreads the words that will leave his lips next).

“Can you show me,” Taylor finally asks, carefully, “One of your scars?”

Lincoln cringes, and Taylor notices.

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable, of course! Just… please? I want to show my gratitude to you, for bearing injuries in order to be at my side.”

Gratitude is the last thing Taylor should offer him, Lincoln thinks, especially after today’s sparring session ended so poorly - due entirely to Lincoln’s own negligence.

Taylor’s thumb brushes against Lincoln’s, and without the coverings of their respective gloves, the touch feels far too intimate, sends sparks alight beneath Lincoln’s skin, and Lincoln can scarcely tear his eyes away from the sight of their hands conjoined, palm to palm, brilliant gold to deep bronze.

“And,” Taylor adds, “You said so yourself - nobody will find us here. It’s just you and me, here, and I - I don’t mean to pressure you, of course, but this is important to me, please…”

Taylor looks at Lincoln pleadingly, and, gods, Lincoln knew what he would do as soon as the first request left Taylor’s mouth, even though his heart is thudding louder than a war-drum against his ears and attempting to crawl up into his throat.

Lincoln sighs, a breathy, shaking noise as he leans back against the wall, allowing the cool stonework to soothe his heated thoughts as his eyes slide closed.

Lincoln hears the sad, aborted noise Taylor makes as he slips his hand from his prince’s grasp, followed by the sound of his sharp inhale as Lincoln’s hands find the clasps of his cuirass and begin to unlatch the plated metal from his torso.

Lincoln opens his eyes to find Taylor watching with intense curiosity, a rosy blush sweeping across his cheekbones as he stares. Lincoln cannot bear to see how he looks at him, so he instead focuses on the fastenings, undoing first his shoulder pauldrons, then his cuirass, then his gauntlets with practiced ease.

They fall heavily onto the cot, clanking against each other, and Lincoln distracts himself further from meeting Taylor’s searing gaze by fidgeting with the sleeves of his blouse.

It’s a simple garment, off-white and sweat-stained from their sparring and wrinkled from its metal-bound confinement, but the fabric is soft and breathable and doesn’t scratch at his skin like a thousand insects the way that some other shirts do, and the sleeves are pleasantly flowy, and the neckline of it is high enough to keep the metal of his armor from chafing against his collarbones.

Lincoln spares a brief glance at Taylor and forces himself to look back down immediately, for if he lets himself fully take in the look of unabashed awe painting his prince’s expression, he will surely lose his nerve.

Instead, he silently hikes up the shirtsleeve of his right arm as far as he is able, letting Taylor see the discolored river of scarring that wraps around it.

Lincoln keeps his gaze trained on the mortar in the cobbled floor at his feet, hyper-aware of the way his heart rattles against the confines of his ribs and stops up his lungs, desperate and small and animalistic. Lincoln knows what Taylor sees - though he hasn’t ever been one for vanity, Lincoln has glimpsed at the scar, knows the gnarled, ragged path it has etched into his shoulder, twisting like an angry vine around his bicep to end in the vulnerable hollow of his elbow. As old and faded as it is, the lighter color contrasts starkly against his skin, a lightning bolt amid a tempestuous sky, awful and horrible and damaging.

“Does…” Taylor swallows - out of regret, clearly, his voice wrung-out and raspy. “Does it hurt?”

Lincoln chuckles mirthlessly. “No. Not one bit.” As much as he wants to look upon his prince, he knows that he would only read pity-disgust-horror there, so he keeps his head down, eyes sliding shut as hot shame festers in his stomach.

Then, something warm wraps about his wrist, holding it aloft, palm-up, gentle and soft and uncalloused, and Lincoln opens his eyes in surprise, turning to look at his charge.

“Then… could I…” Taylor breathes out a fragment of a request - one that doesn’t need clarifying, not when his thumb strokes against the side of Lincoln’s wrist, not when his other hand hovers over his scarred flesh.

Taylor has never, ever been patient, never been one to ask for permission, headstrong and confident and downright reckless, but his hesitance now speaks volumes - especially when combined with how his onyx eyes fixate upon Lincoln, cataloging his every tell, deep and dark with wanting.

Gods above, this breathtaking boy will be the death of him, his salvation and his undoing.

“Yes,” Lincoln replies almost inaudibly, because not one cell in his body could refuse him anything at this moment.

His prince touches the discolored flesh on his arm, mapping out its path slowly and steadily as he trails the pad of his forefinger upward with great care. His every touch sends tremors down Lincoln’s spine, fills him with a buzzing, thrumming, restless sort of energy.

Touch is… rather hard to come by, in the palace - friendly touch even more so. Sure, Lincoln will be nudged and cuffed around playfully by his fellow knights, and there are times when Taylor will brush up against his side in a purposeful attempt to get accidentally-too-close, but even then, such affections cannot permeate through the glimmering metal of his armor, the tough leather of his gloves.

Lincoln can scarcely remember the last time someone has successfully done so.

And never in all his years has Lincoln been touched with such attention, with such awe and care and reverence - it feels almost worshipful, the way that Taylor traces along every twisted snarl of years-old damage, the way he focuses solely on dutifully following every slight deviation.

For someone to treat him so delicately, so lovingly - and for that person to be his prince, who he reveres and guards above all else -

Taylor stills his ministrations, looking to him, worry furrowing his brow.

“Are you alright, Link?” he asks, so softly, so considerately, and his finger has stilled against the pale bramble of his scarring, and everywhere he touches singes with a mirage-shimmer, and -

Lincoln makes an ungodly sort of choked whine in the back of his throat, face heating for lack of a proper response.

“I’m no physician, but there might be some damaged nerves here?”

Lincoln looks silently at him, and Taylor must read the confusion in his face, for his expression melts into something impossibly softer as he says “You’re trembling, darling.”

Ah , Lincoln thinks intelligibly, attempting to wrangle his writhing nerves into stillness. Ah, so I am. He fails miserably. Ah, he called me darling.

“I can stop, if it hurts,” Taylor offers, looking rather crestfallen even as he says it.

“No,” Lincoln hears himself reply, voice thickened like honey trapped in the back of his throat . “No, I’m fine, I promise.”

Dramatic though it is, Lincoln thinks he might die if Taylor stops now. He might die if he continues.

Taylor arches a royal brow, considering, and Lincoln thinks for the briefest of instances of leaning forward to kiss it before stomping on said thought with the force of a thousand foot-soldiers.

“Very well,” he intones. “I trust that you know your own limits.”

His prince has never been so woefully, wonderfully wrong, Lincoln thinks as Taylor continues lavishing the most careful of touches upon him, trying his very best not to feel as if his soul is about to shudder out of his body at the tenderness.

The relative quiet of the moment is punctuated by Taylor’s murmured questioning, asking Lincoln how old the injury is, how long it took to scar, how it had hurt, when and where he had gotten it. The inquiries distract Lincoln enough from fully losing himself to his touch, and though he tries his very best to answer, he cannot remember the slightest bit of his responses.

Taylor’s hands upon his bare skin are like nothing he’s ever felt, ever encountered, ever dared to dream. His hands are far warmer than Lincoln had been able to feel through the thick hide of soldier’s gloves, and they are slightly smaller than his, and they are impossibly soft, devoid of the calluses that roughen his own palms. Most importantly, they are the hands of his prince, the person he lives to serve, to protect, to defend, and they are treating Lincoln like he is precious and beautiful and worthy of adoration rather than the other way around.

Lincoln scarcely realizes that Taylor has leaned closer to him in the midst of all his musings until he feels a rush of warm breath against the base of his scar.

He barely has the wherewithal to gasp before his prince’s lips brush against the mangled line of paler skin, then press surely in the smallest of kisses before drawing back with a soft sound, mouth turned up at the corners in a fond grin.

Lincoln thanks everything that he is sitting down, for otherwise, he may well have collapsed.

Even now, he feels rather faint as Taylor fixes him with that gorgeous close-lipped smile of his, secretive and sly and earth-shatteringly adoring.

“You’re beautiful,” Taylor tells him, simple as truth and appearing horribly, wholly smitten. “Gods, you’re so beautiful. You know that, don’t you?”

Lincoln makes a choked-off, high-pitched noise that is far more audible than he is comfortable with.

His charge smiles wider, a self-satisfied thing, and before Lincoln can relive the feeling of that smile against his blemished skin, Taylor is upon him again, trailing small, soft kisses along the winding path of his scar, seeming intent on mapping it just as thoroughly with his mouth as with his hands.

“Thank you,” his prince breathes between featherlight kisses, “For serving me. For being at my side.” Here, he places a kiss in the crook of his elbow. “For protecting me.” Another upon the edge of his bicep. “For putting yourself in harm’s way to ensure my safety.” Yet another atop it. “I know no-one as kind, or as brave, or as selfless, or as pretty.” A trail of kisses from the muscle of his upper arm rising onward to reach his shoulder.

“You are… stunningly gorgeous, every bit of you,” Taylor murmurs, practically in Lincoln’s lap from how far he has leant into him. Instinctually, he places a hand upon his prince’s clothed waist for support, quickly distracted by the heat that emanates from his core.

That distraction is short-lived, however, as Taylor bends downward once more to press a firm kiss atop his scarred shoulder, and the feeling of his pillow-soft lips against his skin renders his mind to nothing but detritus.

Taylor hums appreciatively, and the sound reverberates in his brain, in his chest. “Gorgeous,” his prince repeats, low and syrup-sweet next to his ear. “Even the parts you dislike, because they’re parts of you, and you are the most handsome person I know.”

He pulls away (but not so much that it would allow Lincoln to relinquish his hold on him), looking thoroughly pleased with the mess he has made of his knight.

“But-” Lincoln tries, and it sounds like a wheeze. He feels faint under the weight of Taylor’s praise.

“No buts,” Taylor cuts him off, pinning him against the cot with his gaze alone.

Lincoln swallows.

“Good boy,” Taylor says, and the phrase coupled with his gentle hold and night-dark eyes and curling, kiss-mussed lips draws another whine from Lincoln’s throat.

“I am so lucky that fate brought you to me,” Taylor murmurs, leaning forward into his chest, and all Lincoln knows is burning, burning, burning. “So lucky that you are mine.”

Yours, his mind echoes, lovestruck and loyal and possessive, yours, yours, yours, always yours .

And though Prince Taylor cannot be his - not in the way that his heart truly desires - in the stale air turned warm by Taylor’s hot breaths, in the tucked-away corner of Queen Cassandra’s palace, Lincoln allows himself to be held and tries to convince himself that, just this once, what they have can be enough.

#um. when the. when the prince and the knight...#it's about the devotion. the service. the violence that one will endure in the other's name. yk yk yk #also i simply think link deserves to be held gentle. and kissed even.#taylor is also just so incredibly smitten with him.#thanking your guard for his service is out. kissing him is in #and link ofc is very very gone for taylor <3 #okokok that's enough rambling methinks #dndads #fic #happi scribbles #swiftli #shield and scepter

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raaorqtpbpdy · 1 year

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Her Knight in Shining Armor

Written for the Phic Phight Prompt: Fright Knight asks to court Princess Dorathea. (from @pennerjones)

AO3 Link

[No applicable warnings]

There were a lot of things Danny was unprepared for when he was crowned king of the Infinite Realms, but this had to be way at the top of the list. Fright Knight, the Ghost King's strongest and scariest general was knelt before him, head bowed, sword on the floor between them asking for a date.

"Your majesty," Fright Knight had said. "I humbly request your blessing to court Princess Dorathea of your royal court."

Not a date with Danny, thank the Ancients, but he had absolutely no idea why he had to get involved in the first place. He balked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to think of an answer, any answer, but even 'no' was eluding him.

"Uh—I—um—you want—why—" Danny spluttered, while Fright Knight waited patiently for him to compose himself. "I mean... That's between you and Dora," he said finally, figuring that to be the most respectful answer.

Dora had spent 1600 years with someone else making all of her decisions for her, so she deserved the chance to decide for herself if she wanted to be courted or not. Danny nodded, satisfied with that conclusion.

"Yeah," he reaffirmed. "You and Dora are grown adults... I think... and you can make your own decisions. It's none of my business who you date, honestly, royal court or not. So, if you want to court Dora, ask her permission, not mine."

"Yes, my king."

"But if she says 'no', you'll respect her decision, right?"

"Of course, my king."

"Good, now... I don't know, go do whatever it is you do when we're not at war," Danny commanded, waving a hand for Fright Knight to leave the room. They were never at war, since Danny refused to let things come to that, so Fright Knight had little to do most of the time, and ended up helping with diplomatic endeavors more often than not. Perhaps that was how the knight had gotten close to Dora in the first place, since that was more her area.

Soul Shredder was slipped into its sheath with a soft shink, and the knight stood, bowed, and left. As soon as the knight was gone, Danny breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad that awkward encounter was finally over. When he'd finally relented to take the crown, he hadn't realized he was signing up to determined the personal affairs of his whole court.

He'd pretty much just appointed ghosts to his court at random. Any ghost he was on friendly terms with was a member. If he'd known he would be fielding proposals from Fright Knight, he would've appointed fewer ghosts. Even though the Spirit of Halloween worked for him now, he was still pretty scared of the ghost. And who wouldn't be? That was Fright Knight's whole deal, striking fear into the hearts of all, or whatever.

Dora would be okay, right? Yeah. She could take care of herself. Even Fright Knight would have trouble taking on a dragon if she got pissed by the courting proposal. She'd be fine. That knowledge wouldn't stop Danny from being a little nervous for her anyway.

—

Fright Knight mounted Nightmare and rode the steed toward the Medieval Realm, the realm presided over by the lovely Princess Dorathea who had the knight utterly smitten with her charm and her grace. Nightmare's wings beat steadily as she carried her master through the vast ectoplasmic skies of the Ghost Zone. When they arrived, her hooves clopped a rhythm on the cobblestone streets of the castle town.

Quite against nature, Fright Knight's chest buzzed with nerves, as if a swarm of hornets had made a home right by the core within and been agitated by the aura of menace it produced. Nightmare came to a stop before the castle gates. Fright Knight hailed the guards, head held high, and asked to see the princess.

The guards stepped aside, allowing passage without argument. They weren't about to tell the head general of the Ghost King's army that the princess was busy. Fright Knight dismounted and allowed them to call someone to escort Nightmare to the stable for the duration of the visit. She didn't seem to like the stable boy much, but he knew she was the Fright Knight's horse, so he would surely be on his best behavior. A lowly stable boy could mistreat Nightmare at his peril.

"The princess is in the Great Hall, making preparations for her deathday party," a guard said.

"The princess' deathday approaches?" asked Fright Knight, surprised, having no idea that it was so soon. "When?"

"A fortnight of tomorrow," responded the guard. "It promises to be quite the merry celebration. She desires to one-up her brother's old deathday banquets every year hence, since she's been able to throw so few in her afterlife. Last year she threw a rave."

"I see. Thank you, good fellow." Fright Knight walked past the gate into the inner courtyard and then the castle proper. Princess Dorathea's castle had become familiar as the knight spent time with her, working together to solve disputes and dissatisfaction in the realms as members of the Ghost King's inner circle. It was pleasant to think that the two had grown close, but facing the doors of the Great Hall with the princess just on the other side brought back the agitated hornets two-fold.

Surely the princess valued Fright Knight's company as the knight did hers. What was there to be nervous about? How could Fright Knight, Harbinger of Fear, Spirit of Halloween, and high general of the Ghost King's army, be afraid of a girl?

The knock echoed all the way down the halls, ringing around in the knight's black helmet as the heavy doors swung open on their own, the way doors only did in the Ghost Zone. The human realm was rife with inconveniences, like manual doors that utterly hobbled dramatic entrances.

"Hail and well met, Princess Dorathea," Fright Knight greeted.

"Frighty!" the princess squealed, flitting over excitedly. "I am so glad you're here! Help me pick out flavors for the punch! I simply cannot decide whether I like pomegranite or lime better." She handed over two paper cups and urged the knight to taste-test.

"I believe the pomegranite is more to my taste," Fright Knight obliged her. "Although I see no reason why you should not be able to serve both."

"Oh! You are absolutely right!" she said. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"I am honored to be of assistance."

"You are invited to the party of course," Princess Dorathea assured. "You will come, won't you?"

"If you desire me to be there, I could not possibly refuse."

She happily clapped her hands together. "Excellent! It will be ever so much fun!" Fright Knight could have spent an eon basking in her smile but it morphed into a mildly alarmed and apologetic expression far too quickly to oblige that desire. "Oh, but I haven't yet asked why you're here! Surely you did not come to advise me on which punch to serve. Did you have something you wished to speak to me about?"

"Indeed I did." Fright Knight drew the Soul Shredder and knelt before the princess who could take the knight's very soul if she so desired, and would be asked for nothing in return. Sword laid at her feet, and head bowed to ask her blessing, Fright Knight made the request. "You see I have grown very fond of you in our time spent together under King Phantom, the Great Protector. And so, my most radiant Princess Dorathea, I have come to ask your permission to court you, if you will have me?"

The princess gasped and Fright Knight had to resist the urge to look up at her, knowing that would be rude. Those moments, however brief, of not knowing whether it was a good gasp or a bad gasp were agonizing, nerve-wracking. If there had been breath in Fright Knight's body it would not have escaped through the tight knot of anxiety.

"Oh Frighty!" Her tone was fond, promising. Still, the knight's head did not lift. "I... I would be pleased beyond words, but... should you not ask his majesty?"

"Of course, my sweet princess," Fright Knight assured her. "His majesty made it clear that he believed it should be your decision whether you allow me to court you, and not his. Will you allow me?"

"Rise, Fright Knight." The knight followed her command, sheathing sword and standing. Even were she not a princess, her words would have as much power. Finally, the two of them were eye to eye, and relief flooded the knight upon seeing her beaming smile, brimming with soft-hearted affection. "I would be most honored and appreciative if you would see fit to court me. If my permission is all you require, I freely give it."

"My gratitude is boundless as the love I have for you. I'll put my best foot forward in endeavoring to woo. I hope you'll find, that e'en in death, one heart cannot compare to two. And someday soon, I'll prove to you that I am your love true."

"Oh, Frighty!" Princess Dorathea trembled, attempting to hold herself back, but in the end, she gave in to her temptations and threw her arms around Fright Knight's middle, heedless of the armor's hard edges. Though shocked by the flagrant physical affection, the knight's hands hesitantly found their way to her back, accepting the embrace. "You always speak the most beautiful poetry."

#phic phight #phic phight 2023 #fic #things i wrote #dp fright knight #dp princess dora #dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #fright knight/princess dora #i don't know their ship name

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zellink · 9 months

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hey, i’m nat! i write (and sometimes doodle) and go feral for botw link/zelda.

i’m flowerpower on AO3.

this is a sideblog.

inbox is always open :)

find my fics + tags below!

2024 all the bells say IN PROGRESS | 28 chapters | mature | pre-botw | #bells tag

Link and Zelda, the Calamity, and their tale of inevitability and doom, and most of all, of love. | What will you do with what you've been given when the story forever tolls the same way?

2023 nearer, my god, to thee one-shot | 11k words | explicit | post-botw

On the way to Zora's Domain, Link takes Zelda to a hidden place in the wild. | Link finally understands that it isn’t him who has absorbed this kingdom into his bloodstream—it is the kingdom, it is her, and she is surrounding him, swallowing him whole.

to caress a thunderstorm one-shot | 13k words | explicit | post-botw

After the Calamity, Zelda ponders upon Link, her duty, and her desires. | Zelda realizes that it doesn’t matter if they’re underneath the roof of the house, at a clothing boutique, in the secluded Sheikah village, or by the bay. It is the air that he carries around him that is warm and electric, emanating from the skin that wraps around his life force, his soul. So long as she stays by his side, it will always be that way.

liege man of life and limb 4 chapters | 25k words | explicit | post-totk

Zelda as queen and Link’s ascension from knight to prince consort. | A tale of oaths exchanged by two beings intertwined by the threads of fate, of a love that breathed life to the world.

tears through a white lace veil one-shot | 9k words | explicit | post-totk

Zelda’s homecoming in Akkala. | “I’m real,” she says, regardless of whether she truly believes it or not. “I’m scared I’d disappear, too.” She confesses. “But when you touch me, I feel real.”

TAGS: #️⃣ my fic = my fics lol but you can also find them on this post. #️⃣ my art = mostly just doodles because i'm not that good of an artist lol. #️⃣ nat says = shit i say. mostly zelink ramblings. #️⃣ royal guard armor my beloved = royal guard armor art LMAO because i’m obsessed with it. #️⃣ blatchery plain posting = feeling like poking yourself with a hot iron thinking about zelda and link in blatchery plain? look at some blatchery plain art. #️⃣ thunder made man = link art that makes me feral that makes me think of how he’s a thunderstorm contained in a body.

#intro post #long post

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louwhose · 1 year

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Congrats on 100 followers, Louwhose! 🤩 If it sounds fun to you, how about a prompt for either zelink art or fic (you pick!): Messy hair is the best hair.

Thanks for the prompt! This was really fun to do, so I hope you enjoy it! Some post-calamity established relationship zelink for the soul.

That hat.

Zelda enjoyed seeing Link wearing an assortment of different outfits that he had gotten during his journeys throughout Hyrule. It was nice to see that he clearly loved to dress up when before the Calamity he was only ever caught wearing that Champion's tunic or occasionally some other kind of armor for purely practical reasons.

She had positively no clue where Link had gotten a Royal Guard's uniform, let alone how it was actually in decent condition after a century, but she could certainly appreciate it. The way it fit his figure so well (again— how?) and was pressed and crisp and gave him a well cleaned up look.

Except for one thing: that accursed hat.

Well, Zelda would give it one concession. It really did add to him looking cleaned up, neater. He even liked to brush his hair and tie his hair neater before putting it on.

And therein lay the problem.

She liked seeing his hair messy. Even when she hated him she had always appreciated how his hair could never quite be completely tamed. Not that he often tried, but when he brushed his hair and wore that hat, it effectively hid the tufts of hair that stuck up.

Link was a silly, earnest, wild man, now more than ever, and that was what she loved about him. His hair was one of the ways she could see it, and she hated anything that hid it.

But he looked pleased and happy about it, so she couldn't say anything. It would be soon enough that he would take it off and she got to see the wildness of his hair again.

But that didn't stop Zelda from glaring accusingly at that hat.

Of course, as sharp as he was, it didn’t take long for Link to notice. “Did I do something wrong?”

He thought she was glaring at him, mad at him. It made sense, it was a little… ridiculous to be glaring at the hat itself.

“No, no, that’s not it!” she quickly corrected, refusing to let him think that when it very much was not true. “I just… well, it’s a little silly.”

He tilted his questioningly. “What is it? I don’t mind.”

She felt her cheeks warm up. Link might not think much of it, but Zelda did. It was a little embarrassing to admit that she had a grudge against his hat of all things.

Then again… if she could get him to stop wearing it…

She took a deep breath. “I… don’t like your hat.”

He frowned, taking the offending hat off his head and looking questioningly at it. “My hat? What’s wrong with it?”

She smiled, looking at that little cowlick that was sticking up off his head, now free. “Nothing. It’s how it tames your hair.”

Link raised an eyebrow, looking at her knowingly. “Oh? You don’t like it when I look tame? Even when you’re the one who tamed me?”

Oh, he knew what was going on. He knew it, and he still said that. “You know I didn’t tame you. You’re still as wild as always.”

He gave her that crooked smile of his. It sent a thrill through her.

“Then, care to show me how you do like my hair?”

It was a challenge. And she certainly wasn’t going to back down.

Mustering up her own best smirk, Zelda leaned in and reached her hands around to the back of his head and took out his hair tie. She languidly began to run her hands through his soft, long hair, bunching it up unevenly until it stuck out every which way.

“There,” she said with a smile, pulling back to appreciate her handiwork, and the extra benefit of Link’s flushed face. “I think your hair looks much better when it’s messy like that.”

He smiled. “You know, I’m not the only one who looks better with messy hair.”

“Oh?” she asked. “Really?”

“Yes,” he replied, leaning in for a kiss. “Really.”

And he proved it by showing her just how much he liked it by messing it up quite a bit.

#legend of zelda #breath of the wild #zelink #loz #botw #lou writes #lou hundred requests #I hope this made sense and that you like it. mainly that it made sense #anyhow I'll probably post the things I write for these requests on AO3 eventually #mmm we'll see but that's the hope

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silvermistanimelover · 10 months

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Hi I can tell you aren’t super active here so no worries, take your time, but do you have a description for Yatir? I’d love to draw him but I haven’t shown my face in the LU server since literally like, this time last year, so I’m a little nervous. I’ve been reading ‘A Hero’s Spirit’ since the early days (and have reread it more than a few times in the space between updates) and he’s so cool, my favourite little guy.

I also really hope you’re the right guy but how many other silvermistanimelovers can there be lol

Ah! yes, I'd love it if you drew Yatir! :D Fun fact, his basic appearance is based off a character named Galliard from a manwha called Second Life Ranker.

Anyways, here's Yatir's description.

Name: Yatir

Species: Sheikah

Appearance: Somewhat tan skin, about matching with Wild (maybe a little darker), with bright blue eyes. They're icy in coloration, one of his most striking features. He has white hair that's just a bit shorter than Wild's (though roughly the same length), usually kept tied back in a bun or a high ponytail depending on the situation.

General of the Hyrulian Royal Forces Uniform (Yatir): "He was still in his own royal guard uniform—a white shirt with royal blue accents and aged golden chains that hung from his breast pocket. His small cloak bore the symbol of the Hyrulean Royal Guard—the Sword that Seals the Darkness overtop the Sheikah Eye. From his left ear hung a little golden Triforce with a Sheikah Blue gem in the middle—something that was uniquely Yatir’s and showed his position as the Captain of the Royal Guard. " –A Hero's Spirit: Echoes in Time

Normal Clothes/Travel Clothes: Blue outfit that looks like a cross between Link's Champion's Tunic outfit (obviously with more sheikah-like designs on the tunic than the sword) and the more traditional Sheikah armor set. It has accents of a very light blue (so light it almost looks white), and aged gold (for these specific colors, check the flag). Dark blue, off-white blue and aged gold are the colors of the kingdom. Note that Yatir still wears the golden Triforce earring from his Official Uniform.

◊ Extra info: His tunic is the same shade as the Champions' fabrics. In an 'off-screen' moment in the story, Arcadius gave Yatir a Champion's Tunic of his own (with permission of the other Champions). Since the Sheikah themselves never had an official Champion, Arc has designated Yatir. Though it's not 'official' as the meaning of Champion has changed, the sentiment is still there. Yatir adores his tunic, and is proud to be considered an honorary Champion.

Weapons: Twin short-swords (of the Sheikah Weapon variety. The glowy-blue ones). They were made by Robbie specifically for Yatir.

I hope this is enough info! :) I'd love to see whatever you create!

#Yatir #Linked Universe #A Hero's Spirit #fanfiction #worldbuilding #Zelda #Sheikah

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somer-writes · 4 months

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Okay you can’t ask me what my top 5 favorite sets are without giving me yours 😡

yes i can >:/ dont tell me what to do /j

Hylian set - true classic. looks v nice and also max upgraded so its one of my best sets.

Snowquill - love the way it looks and its super useful

TotK ancient set - hair down link in the toga is amazing and i love it. wish it was better defensively

Depths armor - v twilight coded need i say more

Royal guard - pretty boy

dishonorable mentions:

froggy armor - ugly as hell and doesnt work worth a shit

radiant armor - useful but so ugly i refuse to use it

flamebreaker - its serving dumpster fire (literally)

armor of awakening - nightmare fuel

#somer answers #i also like the slutty armor #frostbite and voe and vai #i think the devs really wanted to put link in a dress #imagine if link could wear zeldas princess dress

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gust-jar-simulator · 9 months

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I need to exorcise some thoughts from my head, so! These are thoughts pertaining to my personal take on BOTW Link, listed under the AU (and eventual fic) Rewilding. I can and will write the general more closely canon Wild, but this alternate is my boy and I cherish him.

⚔️

He was raised to be a weapon.

It doesn’t matter where he came from, who he was born to, what they wanted for him- knight’s blood will out in a knight’s bones. Where village mothers looked at their daughters and called them future heartbreakers, where hunters looked at their puppies and saw them already grown with ducks in their jaws, Link was pudgy hands and wide eyes and perfect for molding around the grip of a sword.

He could kill a man at an age when most children were learning how to card wool.

He didn’t have much of a childhood, and doesn’t remember the people who tried to give him one.

><><><

The Master Sword didn’t kill him because she couldn’t.

He wasn’t stronger, smarter, better, or more qualified. He was a child, and his name was Link, and he didn’t know what death was yet.

She knew. She knew in a way she couldn’t convey, the intimacy of shoving a pillow over a god’s face for millennia until he finally stopped twitching. She knew there were multiple ways to die- seven years caught out of time, timelines fracturing into what-ifs. It was children. It was always, always children, and they were always ready to die because they didn’t know what it meant. They were ready to kill, because surely a man wasn’t much different from a rabbit caught for dinner.

Children were always ready.

Fi, ancient, breathing reedy breaths of starfire divinity… was not.

She was so, so sorry. But sometimes the only way to protect the ones you love is to let them walk their road.

The guards found Link at the outskirts of child-eating woods with Hylia’s own execution blade, and called him a hero.

><><><

It genuinely didn’t matter how the princess treated him. It didn’t… fully register. Not a lot registered in the way others expected, but that makes sense when you’re a weapon and not a person. People think, feel, flinch.

Swords move to draw blood, and stay sheathed when there is none. It simplifies things.

Other people saw it too, when they looked at him. Swords stitched into his formalwear, small functional studs in his ears bearing the Triforce like a maker’s mark. He was forged by the order of the royal family, all silk and starmetal steel. Food, sleep, breath, blood- were they really his? Did he need those things? Theoretically. There might be a way to do without, but time spent researching elixirs was time spent away from his orders, and that could not happen.

It was… hard to remember who made a fuss about his elixirs. Surely nobody cared about a few lynels, but… sandalwood. Feather oil. Brimstone. Salt and scales. Somebody made a fuss when he sat at the edge of camp, still like the suits of armor in the castle halls, nothing but a sword on the wall in waiting.

He wasn’t a person, and it was hard to remember the people who treated him like one. That’s why he couldn’t forget Zelda. For one, she was his purpose. For two, she was loud, but she didn’t treat him like a person. He was her obstacle, her opponent, her inconvenience, in whatever way she chose to frame it. His orders came from higher up, but her dodging… he’d been good at everything in his life, she was right. He was a sword forged, he couldn’t be anything less. But he couldn’t explain that, because it wasn’t his job to explain it. His mouth wouldn’t, couldn’t move to answer. He was a tool, not a teacher.

But she was his obstacle, his challenge, and this was a fight more complicated than starmetal and fangs. This was a person, difficult and irrational and inescapable, tied to him tighter than any betrothal. Until prophesied apocalypse do they part.

His mouth wouldn’t move, and for once in his life it burned.

><><><

You see a lot, when you don’t speak. Not that Link made a habit of listening, but there wasn’t much else to do. A sword is responsive, attentive to the need to strike.

As it happens, you suddenly want to say a lot, when your vision is fading black.

He choked on words and blood, and something finally broke through the starmetal steel around his mind. Link understood what it meant to kill, because he understood what dying was, and he did not want to do it. Nobody gets a choice in these things, of course. Certainly not weapons.

The Master Sword scraped together what little starry breath she had, and screamed.

><><><

Link scrambled up the steps of the research facility with an armful of bits, bolts, and wild half-signed stories muffled by the Guardian parts falling out of his arms, with eyes as blue as the ancient Sheikah forge.

He’d fallen in love with the world in a dozen little ways- apples at the mountain shrines, pictures of things trying to kill him, laughter on the roof. It didn’t matter if he sat a little too still, if he didn’t blink as much as he should. He’d picked up a wolf somewhere that seemed willing to mother him on behalf of all of Hyrule, and that would have to be enough.

The thing about Sheikah tech that Robbie knew and most people didn’t, though, was that Ancient Weapons weren’t designed in a vacuum. The prototype had always been the blue starmetal steel of Hylia’s own blade, mimicked and refined and mass produced for a war on epic scale. It was imperfect, of course. Nothing could perfectly replicate divinity, but what was science if not the attempt at it anyway?

Link’s eyes flashed starmetal blue in the dark, like deep water underlit by chemical fire, and Robbie tried not to think about what happened when men tried creating their own gods.

#rewilding au #loz botw #loz au #my writing

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golvio · 1 year

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Revisiting the early quests hyping up the Yiga Clan reminded me of one of the really noticeable problems I had with BotW’s writing: the inconsistent and wildly fluctuating tone for the “serious” parts.

The introduction to the Clan most people get is from the guards outside of Impa’s house describing them as “sad souls” who went off the path Hylia laid out for them with pity. Then, Paya’s heirloom quest has them built up as remorseless killers in an organized crime ring, murdering Dorian’s wife in cold blood and being perfectly happy to orphan his daughters now that Dorian himself is no longer a useful informant. If you take on that quest early, odds are the Yiga Blademaster who shows up is going to kick your ass.

And then you actually enter the Yiga hideout and the same Blademasters that beat your ass when you were a lower level now have animations like this:

youtube

This isn’t an “uuuuuuuu y aren’t villains cool n edgy anymore like my beloved ‘90s comic books 😭” post. I’m okay with Kohga being silly. I love the concept of a character who’s at once funny and entertaining but also a really dangerous and skilled combatant who uses his clownish first impression to get people to let their guard down. The main problem I have with it is just that the tone is not consistent at all. The clan feels less like the complex, multifaceted organization that arose from a complicated and traumatic historical situation it deserves to be and more like all the scenario writers had great ideas but somehow forgot to get together and talk to each other about how to weave them into a coherent whole. It swings wildly back and forth between them being this scary force of assassins capable of infiltrating even the Sheikah secret service undetected to “Haha, look at these dork-ass losers! They were dumb enough to serve Ganon! Only a total dweeb would be scared of these banana-obsessed clowns!” Which is, y’know, kind of insulting to the Sheikah who actually did have legitimate reasons to be scared of these people based on what we saw with Dorian.

It’s like what bugged me about the main conflict within the Zora. It wanted to tell a story about generational trauma and bigotry, but was so terrified of presenting anything unflattering to the player and the lost kingdom of Hyrule that it turned everyone into goofy, exaggerated caricatures performing for our amusement. The Zora elders weren’t a bunch of extremely traumatized people who needed to heal, they were just a bunch of curmudgeonly old fuddy duddies who were out of touch and needed to get over themselves (Which they instantly did, because of how cool and awesome the player is for putting up with their stubborn old people nonsense. You’re so cool that the hot Zora princess everyone’s mourning was throwing herself at your avatar! Isn’t that awesome?). And Sidon wasn’t allowed to be a character in his own right, doing what he thought could help heal his people while risking a revolt or a forced abdication for breaking the ban against outsiders behind the elders’ backs! He’s just Your Funny Friend Who Encourages You, because he exists solely to get you to your objective at Vah Ruta, and the game never lets you forget it. And the younger generation of Zora, some of whom remember Link before his death, aren’t symbols of the younger generation trying to move forward at the risk of starting a major generational conflict with their parents/grandparents who’re still traumatized from the Calamity because it was practically yesterday in Zoran terms. They’re just funny clowns who put on a show for you and point you towards the bridge where Sidon’s waiting.

It’s like…they wanted the royal advisor seeing the armor Mipha made for Link to be this big, emotional moment, but the writers spent so much time assuring us that we didn’t need to respect the Zora that it felt…like something was missing, emotionally. Like, “Oh, you don’t need to take those old coots seriously! Sure, they’re all mad at Link for something he had no control over, but they’re just stubborn and old! You don’t need to take their cold silence so personally! Just keep your chin up and eventually they’ll realize how stupid they were being for ever doubting you, the great hero who’s come to save them!” And when Muzu’s looking up at the statue of Mipha, there’s not a sense of this broken community coming back together to heal, or a man in deep denial of his own grief coming out of the dark place his heart had been lost in to the point where he treated the little boy he once knew as a scapegoat, and more just him being, “Oh, right! How could I have been so stupid?”

It’s like…these people are traumatized. The Zora are grieving because the apocalypse practically happened yesterday. The Yiga were traumatized by the royal family, who their religion told them they were born to serve, attempted a genocide against them. Both of them are understandably lashing out against a world that they think forgot them, that blithely moves on, unburdened by the grief they caused them, not a care in the world. The game doesn’t want to sit with these emotions because it might make the player uncomfortable, interrupt the hero fantasy, spoil their fun. But in exchange for trying to maintain a lighthearted tone throughout, it just feels like the writers aren’t really respecting their NPCs as much as they should, and deliver a somewhat jarring experience where the emotional pendulum wildly swings back and forth depending on the whims of whichever writer was at the helm when they wrote that quest/sidequest that day.

The whole game is a story about trauma, or at least, it wants to be. The main character himself lost his identity after a near-death experience, either because of brain damage he suffered after the physical trauma he endured, or as traumatic amnesia caused by his mind desperately trying to protect him from the memory of something no one should have to endure. But the game just can’t sit with trauma. It doesn’t want to tie the concepts it introduces into a coherent, consistent theme that spans every inch of the world, every character. It just wants to introduce its cool new UI and have fun. Which…there’s nothing necessarily wrong with that, but can you at least make up your minds about what kind of overall story you want to tell as opposed to spitballing interesting pieces of story ad infinitum?

I’m a little worried about dropping this take, particularly because we all now know that BotW was designed to be the first part of a series, and so suffered a case of what I like to call “To Be Continued Syndrome.” It was built to introduce the world of Hyrule and its new mechanics & concepts to its audience first and foremost, with far less time being spent on the story. For all I know, TotK could resolve a lot of my complaints with what appears to be a stronger focus on story than BotW with more actively present characters, as opposed to Ganon and Zelda kinda hanging out at the castle and not really affecting anything until it’s time to beat the game.

But, it’s like…I’ve seen games at least try to treat their NPCs with more respect and put more thought into their storytelling without having to sacrifice gameplay or exploration, both in big budget and smaller indie titles. I’d like the Zelda series to finally catch up, too. I love the series, and I know they’ve got the potential to tell really compelling stories that don’t treat the characters who aren’t destined to be great heroes like nobodies you can just breeze past. I saw that in Majora’s Mask. I know they can do it again. I hope that’s what they meant when they said they wanted TotK to feel more like Majora in tone.

#long post #loz thoughts #video #botw #totk #the yiga clan #the zora #Youtube

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