Hello and welcome to my small corner of the Internet! Food for all the LU/Link simps out there. Feel free to leave requests and asks, but please be mindful of my boundaries <3
I do not have any other associated social media outside of tumblr and Ao3.
Masterlist here!
Characters!:
Link (general, but specify if you want a certain game. Separate from LU)
Time
Twilight
Warriors
Wild
Hyrule
Legend
Four
Sky
Wind
Fierce Deity
First
Courage
Koridai
Cal (Calamity/AoC Link)
Dink
Mask (As a parent&child. Any romance and you are not getting a response and it’s going in the bin)
Rules:
I will not write any Smut.
I have the right to delete any request which makes me feel uncomfortable.
I will not be writing any content that includes infidelity or cheating on real life or fictional characters.
Please do not send links without disclosing what it is.
Please do not ask me for money and or donations.
If you’re blocked, you’re blocked for good reasons (probably) Do NOT make new accounts to keep reaching out to me. That will not convince me of your innocence.
(we can’t have good things apparently)
Our very own Anon list:
𐂂 anon
🌙 anon
🥣 anon
🐈⬛ anon
🧃 anon
🌌 anon
👻 anon
🍄 anon
💫✨ anon
🦪 anon
Please be polite and respectful!
Alternate for spam/art/vent: @ohmygodtherestrees
That’s all for now, folks! And in case I don’t see ya’ good afternoon, good evening and good night!
…ok so you probably forgot you sent this request (i think it’s an old one) but it was interesting!!
cw: alluding to self harm, religious trauma, possessive/yan elements, sky slightly ooc (?)
You awake from your mid-afternoon nap to the non-enjoyable sound of argument.
The voices are fuzzy, your brain wanting to believe that perhaps this isn’t your problem. That perhaps if you’re lucky enough, then they’ll just stop. But, as you’ve likely gathered, things do not go so swimmingly.
You sit up once one of the offending voices stumbles closer, spilling fine dirt all over your squinted face. Your eyes take focus as you lean back upon your palms, trying to figure who and what the problem is.
Predictably, Legend is only a stride or do from you, staring down his chosen enemy. You hadn’t been travelling with the group for very long, but the Vet’s inability to recognize when enough was enough and finally let things go had caused enough arguments.
Sky, on the other hand, throws you for some confusion. He stands, arms thrown out to the sides in exasperation. His brow holds tension as he wordlessly asks his companion for explanation.
The others try and pretend they aren’t listening. There’s various degrees of success. Wind and Wild are only missing some popcorn– considering they’re sat in silent observance of the standoff.
“Look,” Legend breaks their established silence, “I know you’re close with Hylia, or whatever-” Sky scoffs. ‘close’ was an understatement. “But you’ve gotta admit- it’s pretty fuckin’ twisted.” His voice tremors as he tries to keep his case.
“Things had to be done.” Sky’s voice, by contrast, is much more even. “It’s not like there’s many available wielders for the Master Sword. There’s one hero’s spirit.” He swallows, and Legend near-beside you tries to tamp down his anger.
“Besides,” Sky continues, “It’s not like she has much of an option either. Evil can’t just go unaddressed-”
“I was 10.” Legend barks. The tone alone is enough to make you flinch– let alone the volume. “Four and Time were, too.” He adds, gesturing to the offending members as they desperately try to ignore what’s happening. “Wild died, Sky.” He continues, his hands shaking proper now. “Hyrule has to run the rest of his life- and what?” He scoffs. “I’m just supposed to be happy I’m getting called upon again?” He mumbles something to himself.
“No go on,” Sky sits, as if convincing Legend of anything else is a lost cause. “Speak up.”
“I’m taking a walk.” No one moves to stop him.
𖦹
Two days later, you really began to wish you did.
It’d rained, a near constant drizzle from nearly an hour after he left. It was uncanny– thick, pillowy clouds rippled over the forest, while you could see the sunlight streaking down in the distance. It sure felt like punishment, cold and seeping into your packs the longer the groups had waited.
The tension hasn’t left the camp. Some try to ignore the idea they could’ve had another life. Some know that the idea they didn’t have to suffer would save them satisfaction later in their lives.
Wild tries to throw himself at anything possible to distract himself– all the while with uncanny neutrality.
Time, Four, and Wind continue the best they can together.
Sky, Twilight and Wars try their best to return things to normality, each passing hour of not-quite-right effecting them double of the last.
Hyrule glues himself to your side.
By time the evening settles, the cool air couldn’t feel any more suffocating. There's no sound in the forest that surrounds you. No wind to shake the trees. No animals to call to one another.Just the rain mattering against the already wet dirt, and your group, silent as if another conversation might break the fragile peace.
Your rice and meat is bland. The cook is too out of it, and the others are too afraid to mention it. There’s not even laughter to ignore it, and scarf it down anyway. You set down your bowl decisively. It’s the only sure thing of the last two days, immediately drawing the attention of your 8 other compatriots.
“I’m gonna go find him.” You stand, stretching.
“You don’t-” Time starts, looking individually at everyone else, before returning to you. “It’s not your conflict to solve. You don’t have to feel responsible for fixing it.” His voice is expectedly gentle. The calmness that everyone had been so reliant on to not fall apart.
“I know,” You nod. “But someone has to. And it’s my bet he’d spend more effort trying to convince any of the rest of you into agreeing with him, than admitting he can move on.” You know you hit the nail on the head when everyone suddenly looks away. They can’t bring themselves to lie to you and themselves.
“Wild,” He looks at you like he didn’t know you knew he existed. It’s nearly amusing, his shock. “Can you make an extra portion for Legend, I’m sure he’ll be hungry.” He smiles, glad to be given a new purpose, it seems, and gets to work.
You grab a short sword, the last red potion of yours,and a change of clothes for safe measure, not sure what state he’ll be in when you find him. Dead, alive, or badly beaten, you were set at getting him home at the least.
You adjust your cloak on your shoulders, running the seam along your fingertips, as if the ritual might actually provide some security. You begin your march towards the deepening darkness.
And nearly trip as your cloak is pulled taught.
Hyrule scrambles from where he’d lunged to catch the very edge of your cloak (Read: spread out upon the rough dirt floor) To in front of you. He presses a single glowing bottle into your palm, jittering with energy. It feels just like you, right now.
“It’s a-” You gasp, forgetting the non-official rule against speaking too loudly.
“Fairy” He finishes for you, diminishing the volume back to a whisper. He grins, the first you’ve seen in what feels like forever, conspiratory for your mission.
𖦹
The further you stray from the fire and the camp, the more worry begins to well wir thin you. The near constant rain and lack of sunlight made the forest less hospitable than they already are. Rocks jut upwards, too slick now to be climbed on. A deep ravine cracks far down on your right. If he’d taken either path, you’d doubt there’s much you could do to help him immediately.
Moreover, a chill seeps into everything.
Every surface –trees, rocks, leaf litter, foliage, so on– they’re all covered in rain. The forest grows increasingly dense as you continue wandering. Once identifiable tracks now skewed by thorny vines and thick grasses you have to bargain not to trip over.
The longer the chill stays, the further the clouds dip into the valley. You laugh, partially for your shitty luck, as the already not-so-easy to find path is now just not-easy-to-see in general.
And you thought the rain was punishment.
Your shivering hands light a small amount of oil for your lamp. As much as the forest was shitty to travel through– it hasn’t been your home for the last two days. Regardless of how uncomfortable you are right now, you manage to push through it on the thought of getting the Vet out.
It’s nearly an hour of slow walking and stumbling blind before you find something considerable for the label of shelter– even then, it hardly earns that title.
It’s three stone slabs and a roof, enough to protect someone maybe from the rain if they coil curl up tight enough. And that’s how you find him, curled up as tight as he can manage to fit under the roof and beside the cracked statue. Even at a distance, it smells like mold. As soon as he hears you, he reflexively moves further into the crevice you suspect he’s stuck in.
“Legend?” You see his leg twitch like an animal stuck in a trap, bucking like he can’t tell if he needs to keep running or move further into the teeth he’s caught.
You sit, a meter away from the front of the small shrine, and settle there. You ignore the creeping smell of rot and the blooming black patches of slimy decay that encase the stone and its surroundings.
He wishes it wasn’t you who found him. He wasn’t fond of anyone seeing his weakness, but some part of him felt that maybe you could’ve gotten along. That you were someone he could see himself living beside.
Now, you weren’t even going to consider him as anyone worth talking to.
“Hey,” You recall his attention, trying your best to not treat him like an injured animal. “I brought you some fresh clothes” You set them down at his feet. He looks them down, a single side of his face scrunching in confusion. Slowly, he reaches for them, struggling against the wall to sit up and reach them. He holds them in his lap, staring at them like they’re foreign. On some level, his coldness being met with concern of any level is foreign. He wraps the blanket from his bedroll and wraps it around his shoulders.
“Are you injured?” He looks back at you like you’d just threatened to stab him– a mild amount of concern and confusion settling over him before he hardens again.
“Why do you even care?” He scoffs. “Look, just go back to camp-”
“Not an option.”
He sniffles, evidently not planning for the chance you just… didn’t engage. You roll the bottle of red potion to him, the orangey-red liquid swirling as it picks up motion, the glass’ momentum swaying unevenly. It clicks off the small plinth the shrine sits upon.
Successfully tempted, Legend unsqueezes himself from the wall and sits on the ground with you. His skin is such a stark contrast to his surroundings, you feel compelled to look. You’re immediately compelled to look away as quickly. His fingers are chewed raw in places, nails bitten and picked to stubs. There’s plenty of scars, naturally, from lightning and fire and sword clash; but the ladder of scars, perfect vertical lines trailing down the bone of his thumb confirms what you expected.
You barely get to think on the new information as he uncorks the glass and downs half the contents before having to stomach a gag.
“Hurts like a bitch on an empty stomach” He laughs, trying to keep from coughing too hard.
“I figured,” You chuckle with him, “Wild’s makin’ you some food” He occupies himself with finishing the potion over confronting what it might mean– that people actually care for him.
“It’s-” You help him to his feet, taking one freshly healed hand to pull him up. “It’s the only thing he’s been excited to do since you’ve left.” You begin walking towards the camp, letting him inhabit any space he feels comfortable for.
In the beginning stretch of the walk back, he lingers behind you– like a soul walking out of hell. And you talk.
You talk.
It’s the most he thinks he’s ever heard you talk since you joined their band of merry men. You speak on everything and nothing– talking for the sake of it, because it lets the two of you settle in some form of genuine comfort.
He doesn’t say a word, content to bask in your presence like firelight, letting the company warm him from the two days in hallucinating isolation. He should’ve known better than to eat the mushrooms growing from the stone.
“It was odd, though,” Your tone changes, and it gives him enough pause to lean forward and quicken his pace. He matches your side, free hands brushing.
“Sky was beside himself.” You look over, but not in blame. Like you knew he wouldn’t believe you if you didn’t. “It was like no one knew how to function.” Golden firelight dances beyond the layer of trees in front of you. It’s the quietest he’s ever heard the camp. You turn to face him, extinguishing the oil from your lamp now you have light. He misses the distinct planes of your face now that they’re gone.
“I’m not going to pretend that I understand what you’re upset about.” You have one of his hands, fiddling with his palm, “I couldn’t. It’d be rude for me to.” And yet, he’s beginning to feel that you’re the only person he could accept pity from, “But I understand at least one thing. You’re loved. Whether you’re a mean, reckless, asshole, or just trying to make it through the shitty life you’ve been dealt. You’re missed.”
You squeeze his hand, and before he really can stop himself, his arms wrap around your neck.
Some part of him, stamped out by his life of constantly giving and giving– is finally being given back to him.
You slip from his arms, the cold air filling the space your buzzing warmth once was.
He’s never had a lot— empty hands and an empty stomach, nothing but the clothes on his back.
It’s why he hordes.
Why he clings so desperately to substance, to anything that adds value to his life. To little rings that give him the power to get out of tough situations and magic that might throw his enemy.
But you.
You.
You were far more valuable than any ring, now. You were power and joy and healing and comfort— and maybe you even thought of him for that too. He doesn’t know better than to stamp out the possessive feeling wrapping his heart. All he knows is he’d gladly be hunted down and hung before he lets you —and his heart by proxy— slip away.
Happy holidays to all! I come bearing gifts… The FINAL part to my bunny!reader fic series. I hope you enjoy
Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 (you’re here!)
cw: minor body horror (?)
The more feral part of you is thrown off.
Naturally, because rabbits aren’t exactly known for a vibrant pink coat. In fact, such a mutation screamed of sickness, of a poor ability to hide, of a bad diet. Clearly such an individual would only bring you the extra attention that leads to getting caught in-
Ohmygoddessesitsmovingtowardsyou
Tentatively, your company shuffles to your side. He’s smaller than you, reaching half your length and to your shoulder in height. He looks at you only tentatively, sparing side glances from his bowed head, declaring himself as not a threat.
You both stand in the cracked riverbed, pretending that he isn't shuffling closer. The night’s chill had now dissipated. The sun, its light, its heat, covered more now. And the latter it brought would soon prove problematic as well. Animals, predators, people, would seek the bank. Dry as it was, the dampened clay and crawling arms of water would provide enough respite to draw them from the treeline. And once they would, it's certain you could be their next pursuit.
Something presses against your hind legs.
You spring, before you can calm yourself to even look, dashing on the dry tiles along the river, for where the river once ate away at the dirt, now leaving an uneven wall you had to climb so that you might escape your pursuer
“Ohhkay, angel. Just calm down” A familiar disgruntled voice sighs from behind you. Familiarly bitter, but more of a comfort than any sweet cooing could ever be. You relent on your struggle to climb, scraping on your way back to the crackled bed. Just to be sure of your safety, you circle him a handful of times, for good measure. He makes no move to follow, content to let you observe as you please. Eventually, though, you stop.
Legend saddles up beside you again, content to flop against you.
“Better?” He nudges again, his own furred ruffling yours.
“What- how- I-” You try several questions. What he’s doing here. How he got here. Did he get attacked again from that wizzrobe? What are you even going to d-
“One thing at a time,” He eases, continuing to nuzzle his head against your side. The pressure is enough to distract you from the many spiraling questions. “The more you worry, the easier it’ll be to set you off. The less control you have” And you focus in on his voice. How it hums beside you, how it's the only familiar thing you have in this form. Your ears settle closer to your back, your arms spread out in front of you.
“There we go” You’re nudged again in your side, and you can't help but let out a happy little chuff– the most akin to a laugh you can find in this form, built only for panic.
It’s as if suddenly, the big scary world was no longer so big, nor so scary. The world– all its sights and sounds and smells and tactiles, are no longer directly feeding into your senses. The sun was warming your fur, and that was enough comfort for you.
The world, and all its predators, and towns, and people, aren’t even a latent concern in your mind. Instead, you have your husband to keep talking so he could maintain a hold on your attention.
The world you were once nothing but bait for, suddenly didn't even concern you. Because your fur was getting groomed, and that was enough to occupy you for now.
The sun rolled over its highest point , the trees that once danced atop the skin of the water, now casting a shadow upon your lover and you. Voices follow upon your path.
“Just relax,”
They grow closer. Grow louder than the rustling of the leaves above.
“Just stay still, with me”
There’s three of them, heavy footed on the dirt.
“Angel”
You need to run.
“Just-”
Two large hands pick you up from your hind. No matter how much you squirm and how much you buck, they won’t relent for your escape. You care little for the voices you know, trying to ease you. You only care for the blood rushing within you, trying to pull you out from the inside.
Legend is held in front of you by one of them, his voice returning back to your attention.
“It’s just Twilight.” He says, though it leaves him more on one panicked breath.
“It’s just some of the others. They know how to get us back.” His voice returns calmer than before, a shaky ease about him. It’s not quite enough to bring you calm, but it’s enough to get you to stop bucking.
“What- How?” Now that– that seems to rock him some. He can’t stand to look at you while he plans what he says.
“I won’t lie to you.” Never reassuring to open with.
“It’s going to hurt” Never good to lead into.
“You just have to trust me. You can do that, right?” And for just a moment, you’re not sure you can.
They wait until you’re settled, until you relent to let them fix it.
The whole ordeal goes with far less fanfare than you’d’ve thought. A sword –the mastersword, you realise a moment too late– is pressed upon your forehead. And that’s it.
Well, aside from the pain.
Your bones crack and break open, growing and changing and moulding back to what they’re supposed to be. Your skin stretches and snaps, forced to grow into a much bigger body. The fur once covering you is forced from your skin, a searing, burning pain as it leaves you.
The hind consciousness is purged from your head.
𖦹
You awake covered by a now very human Legend, his hands running through your hair.
“Feeling any better?” Sky checks in once he hears you groan out the residual pain.
“Sure,” You sigh, not really sure if *this* qualifies as better, when it’s still so painful. Twilight and Legend mumble their understanding. Legend’s hands curl you closer, as if He might absorb some of the pain out of your bones
“Never again.” You swear, swallowing down the bile trying to force itself up a the reminding wave of pain flowing through you.
“Glad I got some photos while I could then!” Wild chirps happily, scrolling through the slate.
just in case: I do not have any other social media (outside of ao3 and TikTok) associated with this account. If you see an account under any other platform with my name, phone number, or username, that isn’t me.
apparently there is/was a snapchat account. Not me lmao
Anyway- the idea for this hit me in the face (hah-)
It’s not beta read and written in 40 minutes, so I apologize for any mistakes, hope you enjoy!
Part one Next part (wip)
Twilight was a large man, a secret to no one that’s seen him. He’s built enough to toss around goats built like your shed— it’s no wonder he’s able to hold his own against sumo wrestlers.
And, on top of all that? He’s incredibly cuddly.
Call it a side effect of wolfish instincts or from a childhood filled with love, there’s not a moment he’s near you where he’s not on you. It’s to the point you’ve grown accustomed to a weight trailing on you, or waking up being less-able to breathe thanks to his possessive nuzzling into you. You’ve grown accustomed to waking up delusional, gasping for water, and baking under your heater of a husband.
And yet you awake cold, and able to breathe.
Even if he has to leave early, even if it’s an emergency, he always wakes you up to say goodbye before he leaves. He’s a puppy, really. He can’t bear to leave you— even if one of the goats is giving birth right at this moment and he’s needed immediately.
You pat around, trying to feel your radiator, instead finding cold empty space. The nerve. The audacity. He comes into your life, conditions you to soft and sweet mornings, and leaves you on your own? How dare they call him a hero, when he’s truly so cruel.
You pull the top quilt around your shoulders, cursing as the cold begins to set in. It leeched into the walls and the floorboards, worming its way through any amount of clothes you’d wear- Din be damned, where is your husband when you need him?
Suddenly set, you slip your boots on from beside the door, grabbing your scarf and gloves for good measure. Ear next to the door, you can hear the squeaking and squawking of the Ordon kids as they no doubt make a mess of the snow. Their joy, still young and pure as the snow, melts some of the stiffness that’d settled into your heart. The heat of anger leaves like the warmth off your skin.
Unfortunately for Link, some doesn’t mean all.
You open the door, prepared to find and remove him from whatever traitorous activity he’d taken up in the last 24 hours.
The giddy cheering stops as the door slams against the exterior wall. The kids are frozen. Literally and metaphorically you suppose, fingers and cheeks reddened by the cold. One of them —Talo— is stuck where he was clearly pelting a snowball at Beth, who’s hit in her shoulder as she stops dead from trying to hide. The others stand from their makeshift shelters as they all look around, trying to gather from one another what the hell they’re supposed to do.
And all the while, your husband stands in the middle of it, suddenly very aware of where he’s supposed to be right now.
“Mornin’ sug-“ He starts, his hand immediately starting to rub at his neck. If you weren’t so miffed, you’d probably stop to appreciate the irony of such a comically built man so nervous. But alas, your mercy is not so easily granted.
“Don’t.” You counter, determined to not be sweet-talked out of reprimanding him for his crimes. He quiets —standing at a worried attention— sending looks to the children as if to warn them that if they don’t leave now, they’ll witness the death of their unofficial leader.
Perhaps out of non-understanding, and perhaps out of a hunger for blackmail, they stay rooted where they are.
“I know, I know- I’m sorry in advance” He looks at you with such tender love you feel that forgiveness just might be an option.
Well…
“Advance?” A snowball is thrown at you, splattering against the quilt and onto your neck and face.
Okay Hyrule has cursed my brain with almost TOO MANY thoughts!! Most recently a Thumbalina AU 👀 Fairy Prince Hyrule x reader!?! It would be adorable!! Will I write it? Who knows, but will it at least rot in my brain now for the rest of forever? ABSOLUTELY.
Synopsis: Poverty and crime grows worse in Labrynna, and it’s beginning to look like there isn’t much of a way out.
Warnings n’ such: N/A
Beginning 𖦹 Next Chapter 𖦹 Fic masterlist
It’s the 19th hour he’s been awake, only relieved of his duties an hour ago, at midnight.
The castle must run, you see. So 4:30 in the morning, the guard is expected to wake, if you hadn’t already worked through the night that is.
It’s for this exact reason the reports are typed. The people keeping a crumbling Labrynna on its feet are far too troubled to write legibly, and far too tired to force themselves to. A typewriter was a cheaper solution to relieving the castle staff of their strict and now growing responsibility, and was quickly adopted. It’s hard to find anything handwritten on castle grounds anymore. Anything that is found is confiscated and searched for links to conspiracy and treason.
This however, is not a report. The pen ink bleeds and pools where the nib shakes. Raven’s hands tremor, for a variety of reasons, only abetting the angry pressure he forces upon his writing. There’s several such mistakes across the lines, complimenting the ugly shakes and tremors in each letter. If this book were found, it’d be grounds for his imprisonment.
9th April, XXXX
The condition of The case (and yes, it is so infamous as to be “the” case) continues to haunt me. In every prisoner; in every interview record; in every name of every person we are sent to retrieve; in every din forsaken lamp; I see them. It is as if some part of them looms, sticking in places they know I will tread over, to haunt me. To laugh at my cluelessness.
The case is not cold. There are constantly new reports in small hamlets of sightings. No clear trail, no direct connecting paths, just farmers and common men reporting a small group of odd merrymen passing through; only to realise later that one (or all) of their faces were on a poster in the square. But the reports, their details, the dates… they begin to go askew the closer you look. Two places at once, travelling impossible distances in impossible times, descriptions that aren’t quite right. The case isn’t cold, but every piece of information muddies the water. The case isn’t cold, but each new entry takes a day to process. The case isn’t cold, but it might as well be.
The list of their accomplices, of convicted conspirators, grows. The baker on the corner, Puini’s ferrier, the farmer with the good grain, the cobbler I go to fix my boots, the list grows the second I look away from it. They’re people who house and feed and cloathe and transport this crook and company. People pushing water into the cracks of our kingdom’s foundation. People who I thought to be pillars of what Labrynna meant, that intangible spirit we were always reaching for.
The list is long. And it’s getting longer yet.
Outside of the case, it looks more to be that Labrynna is falling apart. It’s more and more people we are sent to fetch for petty crimes. Even more than that are people we drag off the street amid the act. Our hours have been increased to the maximum of our functioning. Any longer awake and we’d simply cease completion of our purpose— knights are only good so long as we’re conscious, after all. We’re placed outside every still running store and on the corners of streets, only allowed to leave our post if we’re hauling someone back to the jail.
There’s no walking on the sidewalks anymore; not with the amount of beggars sitting there. Only the worst of them can be admitted to housing or hospital, both so overwhelmed, they’d rather bury the body than care for the person still there.
There’s corruption lining every block. And it’s beginning to feel like there was never a time before it. The poor scramble over one another to live whilst those still affording business dangle goods over them.
I spend my hour for lunch doing the chores I used to have a day for. I leave from my post immediately to buy groceries, already knowing i’ll only have the time to return them to my quarters when my shift starts back up. The market was nearly empty. Only three stalls were set up where there was usually a fight to set up in whatever space available. It used to be that you’d be guaranteed to find someone you knew while there. Yet it seemed I were the only one there to shop. The guards at the entrance kept the place clean of beggars, letting me through without questioning my intention.
I didn’t have time to make them stop grilling the poor lady with a young boy on her hip.
Mattie wasn’t there. I’m assuming with his wife too sick, he had to tend to her. I cannot bear any more bad news. So I choose to take this instead. The man I do end up buying from is short and over pleasing, hunched over his goods obsessively and smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. 50 rupees I paid for Puini’s bunch of carrots. 275 for the rest of my groceries, which only consisted of a bag of apples, rock salt, bundles of herbs, some simple soap, and some sugar for my oats after the castle couldn't provide it anymore.
I am stared at the walk back. Not once lunged at. But watched. The way a stable dog watches someone with meat. Begging silently for some. It killed some part of me to just keep walking, eyes glued to the Castle as I just kept walking towards it. The thought that Puini would still be getting her good food was enough to keep my grip on my bags.
Just try to make the picrew look as close to ur irl self as possible :D
It is more feminine so if you don't want the more feminine body and clothes this might not be 4 u :(
(I also tried to make sure the picrew had okay skin color options, hair options, head covering options and the picrew also has wheel chair and hearing aid options!!)
look at the fucking loser
@trashiiisawsome, @pxppycorps3 @lilithdeathbed /not forced!!! and anyone else!!
A reminder due to some weird ass sentiments I keep seeing
You do not owe anyone your living location, your facee, your name, your voice, or anything else about you online.
In an era of increasing pushes to identify ourselves for the police state you don't have to prove to anyone you are who you say you are over the Internet, especially fucking tumblr.
My parents allowed me to be on Tumblr so far but since I'm going to high school next year they want me to focus on my studies (which I am already doing perfectly even on this platform).
I tried persuading them but they are strict :(
I did manage to make a deal. If I make 700 followers until this year, they should let me keep this blog. If not, I will delete his. (upon research I found out there is no way to revive the blog once deleted)
so basically long things short my blog will get exterminated if I don't get 10 times of followers I have currently until the end of this year :D
yes, I know I should have told you guys earlier
yes, you should probably get ready to say goodbye to this blog :')
I tried to do so but unfortunately they know that I know how to hack and find out what the password for a Tumblr account is (because I know the google account connected to this blog)
and I'd like to do this as honestly as I can without gimmicks since if I do so maybe Killian will be able to help me much easily.
No real plot to this but a loose baggy of ideas and sleep deprivation. Last fic before school starts, so I hope you enjoy :)
TP/Twilight Link x Gn! Wealthy! Reader
Synopsis: Break in (?) but y’all make out afterwards so it’s chill please read it, i promise it makes sense
Your peaceful sleep is abruptly ended in the middle of the night by a rock crashing in through your bedroom window.
The shards skip and scatter across uneven floorboards, a few managing to cling onto the sloped corner of your bed. The gravel of the walkways surrounding the manor crunches as someone moves.
The thickness of the summer air suffocated you alongside fear— the humidity sticking to, and dousing out, the cool sweat that’s now covered the back of your neck like the fire at the end of evening. The night stood still, it felt.
Like it knew one of its predators had found something to hunt.
Suddenly, years upon years of keeping you locked within the inner chambers of their manners felt warranted— Your family always wanted you hidden, lest some ghastly beast of Ganon sweep you away to be spoils of the war.
Suddenly, the knights and the chaperones and the spells and the year serving Hylia were no longer meaningless fads to keep you busy.
Suddenly, you were as vulnerable as you’d ever been.
You shuffle out from under the down bedding, poofy and heavy grin being so fine in its craft. The little glass beading on the duvet cover shone like your mother’s pearls in the moonlight.
You sank to the floor with a lacking amount of grace, landing with a thud that told whoever was out there that there was someone in the room. You cursed yourself in every way you knew how, and began the slow dragging crawl against the floor to get away from the windows.
Your skin, soft from baths in goats milk and oats, bled a striking muddy red as the heel of your palm landed on top of a shard. The cut was clean, and oh so painful. You drew in a long shaky breath to avoid groaning out, the sickly sweet of wisteria making you feel like throwing up.
Well— that and the knowledge someone’s here to kidnap you.
The short velvet of the carpet under your desk pressed into the gash, each bristle pressing against your nerves in a new way of pain you hadn’t been acquainted with before. You can feel as the soft muscle as your hand creases at the angle it's forced in from your stumble, disrupting the clotting and forcing the cut further open.
You see the rock that broke your window now, laid just under the foot of your bed by one of its legs. It’s flat, maybe the size of your palm, and with a white band wrapping around what you imagine is the whole body, maybe about a fifth from the edge.
It’s… unassuming.
And for something that shattered your sense of safety, both figuratively and literally, you feel underwhelmed for a moment.
You’d never thought it’d be this way.
That it’d instead be beasts that ripped down houses and crushed bodies with a bite. That you’d fade amongst fire while your lover called your name in despair, swearing on everything good in the world for revenge.
But no. It’s just a rock. And maybe a few bandits– you’re not even sure how many of them are out there.
Laying there on the floor, dizzy from panic and pain, you almost forgot amidst your dwelling to take notice of the small pebble that whizzed past your head and thumped on the floor. You paused, trying to keep quiet and figure out whatever the person (people?) out there was planning.
Then, another.
Near the same to the one from before, except this one caught the windowsill. Its flight caught short, it lands in front of you, between your two shaking hands its from the path below, the gray rock slightly jagged but otherwise unable to cause any-
You take a pebble directly to the center of your forehead.
All said, it hurts more than you expected it to, a soft sort of pain blossoming out from where it impacted and into the bone beneath.
Now thoroughly confused and just about done– you decide you need to get a good look at the absolute child taunting you by throwing rocks at you, rather than just getting their job over with.
If the rest of your however shortened life were to be spent suffering, you could at least inflict a little upon them back.
You picked up the two pebbles near you, not bothering to turn back for the first, and began your hobbly crawl for the window.
It's a patchwork minefield between the glass and the increasing amount of pebbles, and you nearly bump your head on the wall when you reach it from keeping too much attention on what you were putting your hands on.
Finally, you're sitting with your back to the wall, and the window over your left shoulder. The curtains are still, and the clouds part at just the right time to aim at the single man below, and pelt a rock back at him as hard as you could physically manage while he’s crouched to grab another.
You’re satisfied with the sharp smack it makes as it collides with his head, a groan and a hand coming up to cover the spot where you’d aimed– just below the line of his hat.
…Wait a minute-
The man turns around and squints as if lost up at you through the window. The warmth of his skin and kindness of his face soured by the sour expression of distaste. You’d seen happier people after eating an entire lemon. He stands up to fully face you, piece of gravel slipping through his fingers and back upon the ground as he gestures a helpless sort of “why” motion.
Half of you was mortified.
The other half? Well, you were trying to stop yourself from doubling over into a fit of breathless laughter.
“Link?” Humor bleeds into the question as you lean on your windowsill, mindful of the glass, to try and get closer to him.
“…Ow” His petulant response cut through the calm quiet of the night. The eerie silence of before lifted, crickets and cicadas buzzing their laughter at such a tough man so disarmed.
He looked up at you like a pouty puppy dog, disregarding the fact he threw around hut-sized adult goats like they were nothing and defeated the very culmination of evil.
Link, your lover, your dear, was one lovable oaf. Or- Well, perhaps Himbo was the better word.
Beefy? Obviously.
Kind? Oh please, as if that’s a question.
Dumb? Well that’s a bit harsh, but you’ve also watched him knock over a vase after chasing his own tail, so.
“Oh-“ You try your best to hide the shuddered laughter of your breaths, you do, “Honey i’m so sorry-“
“Sorry? Goddesses that hurt- Ah mean I know you got n’ arm on yew but damn” He mutters, half under his breath, gently massaging his scalp.
“Well…you were throwing rocks at me?” You argue back, the gash on your hand and the mess in your room are quite damning evidence.
“I was tryna be ro-man-tic, thank yew very much” No one told you cowboys could be so sassy. He has his hands on his hips and everything.
“Yeah? You broke my window” You lean past the threshold of the glass as a case and point to your lighthearted rebuttal.
“…I misjudged?” Dumb? Check. He’s a himbo.
You stand there, staring at each other, waiting for something to happen. Summer nights like these were loud and yet so quiet. The forests and its citizens were always awake for these summer nights. You sigh, basking in the comfortable warmth that surrounds you.
“Why’d you come here anyway?” You lean your chin upon your hand, elbow perched at the windowsill to hold you up. “It’s not like you to come all this way and not have an excuse”
“Wh- Hey!” He huffs, hand on his chest in offense, “I come down here just to see you all the time” That’s true, he does.
“Oh my good sir-” You match to his melodrama, moving to swoon and cling to the wall, taking handfuls of curtain to throw over your shoulder in a mockery of the fantastic gowns you’ve seen at too many galas. “How dare I do rudely imply-“ You’re cut short by deep rueful laughter from you both, his head pitched to the sky to laugh with the moon.
“But seriously-“ You sigh, trying to recover from your laughter, “If you truly came down here to be so ro-man-tic, that leads me to believe you had a plan”
You watch– you physically see his face freeze in this clueless moment of remembrance that he didn’t, in fact, have anything planned.
And just like that, you’re laughing so hard again you nearly tip out of the broken window. The pain throbbing from your hand is forgotten and traded in for pain stitching at your sides. You haven’t laughed this hard since the last time you’ve seen him– and you won’t again until the next time you meet.
But you’re both laughing and together here and now, and that’s enough to stave you over, you think.
“Say-” He manages through the laughter, his hand combing the hair off his forehead, bearing the marks of just how different he is to the world, “ I actually got an idea” He grins like trouble– familiar, tempting trouble. It’s enough to have you hiking a leg over the windowsill, avoiding the shards, and finding the familiar footing of bricks you’ve used to sneak out so many times before.
It was ironic in some sense. You were kept here in this glamorous cage of sorts to keep you out of the very affairs he brought with him. He was good, that much was undeniable, but he always returned with one more scar and danger on his tail– literally. And still you ran to him. This whole fort, the constant watch, and still you ran towards him and all the danger he brought.
In your momentary lapse of attention, your foot slips on the step down. Your weakened, pained hand can’t get the grip you need to stay attached to the wall. The feeling of falling is nauseating, your shoulders falling towards the earth and feet towards the night sky, when you know it should be the other way around. The second your brain catches up to your falling body, you flinch and curl into a ball, trying your hardest to prevent the worst happening to your head and neck.
Beyond the wooshing, you catch a string of colorful curses you couldn’t even utter under your breath.
Your motion stops with a sharp jolt.
Arms wrapped around you as best as they can manage keep you from slamming into the ground. You both stay there for a moment, breathless and trying to calm down. You recover quickly, processing your new-found safety and ready to walk again. But you get the sense Link isn’t quite ready to let go of you yet. He squeezes you again, assuring himself that you were fine.
You’d catch him, every now and again, mumbling to you when he thought you were asleep. Promises to keep you safe, knowing what a life with him would mean. Vows that above all, you were the most important thing to him day in and day out. Swears to the universe and Hylia herself of what he’d do if something ever did happen to you.
You already knew he’d be tearing himself to bits over your hand— but you couldn’t imagine the fallout if you’d taken the worst outcome of that fall.
“Damn darlin’-” He laughs,a shaky and unsure sound while he places you safely back down. “I already knew you loved me, ya’ didn’ need t’ fall again” You both laugh, despite the fact his joke wasn’t really funny, too shaken to really care about humor.
His grip is loose, but you think for a moment that this might be the new plan for the evening, quietly basking in the fact you were both alive and mostly uninjured.
“Ah-hem,” He steps away to make room for his offered arm, standing ridiculously postured for someone who’d just spat language so foul Hylia might have to remove his title of hero.
“Right this way, for his evening.” The words are prim and proper, so wrong coming out of him that you have to stifle another fit of giggles if you hoped on going anywhere this evening.
You could taste the stolen peaches on his tongue. Sweet and ripe with the mid-summer and damn near intoxicating, though you’d argue he was anyway. Between the tackiness of both your lips and your combined hunger for more, it felt like neither of you could pull away.
You couldn’t tangle your hands in his hair as you might’ve liked, fingers sticky from the sugary juice. Instead, you instead wrap your arms around him as best you can, trusting he won’t pull away.
Link doesn’t care so much about the juice on his hands, compared to you. He knew the clothes you wore probably cost months of his wages, and would never purposely ruin them, but between juice on your night clothes and his hands holding you; he much preferred to hold you. His grip was never greedy.
Sure, he was raised in a barn, but he knew better than to grope someone. His hand rested heavy at the small of your back, pleading with you to be just a little closer.
The leaves, not far above your heads, reflect the moonlight in their waxy coating, not that it mattered much right now with your eyes closed. Your mind was too busy being steeped in the sensations of your lover, nevermind the rest of the world.
Somehow, it always ends up like this. Boating across a still lake? Sneaking away from galas and festivals? Smuggling him in? It never mattered the occasion, Link had an obsession of just being as close to you as he could be.
From where you sat beside him, he pulled you up and into his lap, letting you rest on his chest as you’d often do whenever you had the time. His hands shoved away the quarter of his peach he hadn’t gotten to eating before he decided he was hungry for something else, before burrowing his face into where your neck met your shoulders.
The sticky kisses he left covering your shoulders would be scrubbed off by fine soap the following morning, but it was as much of a mark he could leave on you.
Hopefully the smell of ripe peaches will stick to your skin longer.
You knew there was no getting up, not that you wanted to, but that this aloof and unfindable man to Hyrule’s elite would do anything you asked to spend just a little while longer with you.
He dragged his feet to any meeting or gala you couldn’t attend, but was at your beck and call any other moment of the day. It was inevitable that second the
he laid down, always one hand strewn out for you, that you’d be sleeping wherever you were.
You knew, also, that he’d be gone by early morning, no matter how long he wished he could stay.
His work on the ranch demanded him before sunrise, and your small world would implode if you were “missing” by the time the house staff came for you.
But even though you were running out of time to come up with an explanation for the blood and broken window, it was so far away. Worry didn’t graze your skin when his hands did.
Nights like these were warmer than your life of luxury ever was, and you couldn’t wait for the next time Link would crash into your life.
