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godofdystopia · 2 years

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Sashannarcy Week Day 4: Crossover

Thanks again to @phrogfrommars for hosting this Sashannarcy week.

This entry was both easier and harder than I thought it would be. It was easier because I was already planning to write this but lacked the motivation to actually write it till now. It was harder because after writing it I realized two things.

1. This was entirely based off of a Jeep Ad for Jurassic World and I didn’t even know it till i was three paragraphs in.

2. I probably could have done more with this since I failed to remember that one of the villains of Jurassic World is named Henry Wu until I was three lines away from being done. Also, I need to watch Camp Cretaceous, it would help with writing this in the future.

Either way, I desperately wanted a story about the Calamity Trio trying to adopt a dinosaur and since no one else would probably write it I decided to do it myself.

Also some unsubtle criticisms of Jurassic World: Dominion so like, extremely minor spoilers for that movie but nothing that would spoil the general plot or ending, just the vibe and feel of the movie is all.

Please enjoy. And remember: the Carnotaurus is the greatest dinosaur.

words: 2.7

It was yet another quiet night at the Waybright-Boonchuy-Wu household.

Marcy was off getting groceries and so Sasha and Anne were left to hold down the fort. Currently, the two women were cuddled up on the couch wearing comfortable pajamas as they watched the tv. Some random channel was on in the background, Sasha thinks it was the news, but it was on an ad break and so they just talked about their days

Well, Sasha didn’t talk because Anne was too busy excitedly talking about the changes that the Aquarium was going under.

“Still can’t believe they actually found some, but I'm not going to complain! Actual Amphibians from the cretaceous period Sash! It’s amazing, I get to learn so much about them now!”

“I’m still mostly excited about the Mosasaur you guys are getting. I always liked that show at Jurassic World back when we went.” Sasha explained as she cuddled her wife.

She remembered that trip well: Her, Marcy, and Anne had saved up enough money to stay there for a week, and they lived it up at Jurassic World. Marcy had info-dumped endlessly about the various dinosaurs they saw about, Anne got to pet a triceratops, and Sasha herself had watched a T-rex hunt down a goat and eat it in front of her.

The girls hadn’t been too happy about that, but Sasha still thought of it as the second biggest highlight of her time there. The first being the many makeout sesh’s they’d all had about the place.

Anne looked up quizzically as Sasha began chuckling, a small blush lighting up her cheeks as she did so.

“Something funny?” She asked, looking at the blushing blonde with an eyebrow raised.

“Just remembering some things, don’t worry about it.” Sasha waved away the question, trying to fight down her blush and think of a way to change the subject. “Saw Humphrey today, you’ll never guess what he was doing!”

Anne Hmm’d while Sasha, giddy with excitement, went on “He was sitting on a park bench and, you know, I thought he was feeding ducks but no! He was sitting there, a giant bag of beef jerky in his hands, and he was feeding a bunch of Compy’s!”

Anne blinked, thought about the tiny old man feeding tinier carnivores and started laughing.

“He knows those things will strip him down to bones in like, two minutes tops right?”

“Who cares, it was hilarious!” Sasha was laughing harder now. “The funniest thing was when this big Pteranodon looking thing swooped down and just grabbed a strip right out of the air before any of the Compy’s could. I swear I've never seen lizards look so depressed.”

Anne and Sasha laughed a bit before the sound of the news coming back on turned their attention back to the tv.

“...The dinosaurs are still rampaging across the world. People are coming to deal with adapting to a world with them in many different ways though it’s a very hard transition. From ranchers complaining about velociraptors eating their herds to trains derailed from migrating stegosaurus, from airplanes taken down by Quetzalcoatl's to cruise liners swimming with mosasaurs, the world is certainly a lot rowdier than it was before the change.”

The news anchor looked down at her notes, frowned, and lifted them up to squint at them a bit. She sighed and looked annoyed.

“But enough about that, apparently. Because we have word of some rather large bugs in the Midwest and we’re going to divert the rest of our news cycle towards that. Yes, it’s not as interesting as Dinosaurs in Manhattan but apparently that’s what we’re going with.”

From behind the camera, Sasha and Anne could hear someone saying “That’s not what we wrote on the notes.”

“No it’s not.” The anchor admitted. “Because people want to hear about dinosaurs in our modern world. They don’t want to listen to someone talk about giant bugs for two hours when there are dinosaurs roaming the earth now!”

“Just talk about the bugs, Lauren!”

The anchor threw down her notes and shouted “A Triceratops tore through my car cause it thought it was challenging her and you want me to talk about some damn BUG-”

The feed cut off, the ‘Technical Difficulties’ sign going up on the screen as Sasha and Anne just stared at the static image.

“Soo… bugs, what do you think that was about?” Anne asked her wife.

Sasha just stared at her. “Anne, you were literally screaming about how you get to ‘Swim on the back of the Loch Ness Monster’ at work in a week and you want to talk about bugs?”

“Okay, fair.” Anne said with a pout. “Like, they promised they were going to go in deep about how Dinosaurs are playing havoc on the ecosystem. But now they want to talk about bugs?”

Sasha just rubbed her wife’s back. “Perhaps they’re very big bugs?”

Anne just stared.

Sasha sighed, defeated. “Yeah, okay. I know bugs aren’t as interesting as Dinosaurs in our modern world now. Was just trying to cut them some slack.”

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, just cuddling up and waiting for their wife to come home so they could hug her too.

The sound of the door being slammed open startled Anne and Sasha out of both their conversation and their cuddle.

“GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS, You will not BELIEVE what just happened! Come here, Come here, Come here!” Marcy’s overly excited shouting drew them off the couch.

“Marcy? Marcy, what’s going on?” Sasha asked as they both walked over towards the doorway.

“Yeah marbles, what’s-” Anne’s question died off with a strangled whimper as she saw exactly what her and Sasha’s wife wanted them to see.

Marcy was standing there, proud as can be, holding a massive Great Dane sized dinosaur in her arms which squirmed and thrashed about. Marcy was covered in scratches, with a few still bleeding as the massive thing in her arms roared and cried.

It was a deep red, with a light tan belly, and it looked like a t-rex but with horns. It had a blunter head, and even tinier arms than a newborn baby. Every time it roared they could see sharp little needle-like teeth that looked like, when fully grown, would be able to tear through a car.

“What the fuck is that!?” Sasha screamed out as she thrust an arm in front of Anne, who just looked shocked at the screaming dinosaur.

“It’s a Carnotaurus!” Marcy said cheerily, the reptilian beast in her arms screaming up a storm as it thrashed about like an eel. Its massive hind legs tore through the air over and over as its clawed toes went up and down. “I saved him and…” She looked at Sasha and Anne, took in their appearance, and frowned. “Did you guys start the cuddle sesh without me?”

“What is it doing in our house!?” Anne screeched, not liking the look of those teeth at all.

“I rescued him!” Marcy tried to hold up the Carnotaurus baby proudly, but it weighed half a ton and she wasn’t the strongest person. She ended up falling to her knees and bringing the carnivorous dinosaur with her. With his feet firmly on the ground, he stopped thrashing about, but kept roaring and screaming.

“A bunch of people from BioSyn came and took his parents away. The poor little guy was left behind and he just looked so lonely that I couldn't help but save him! You should’ve seen how he looked at me, he was so sad!”

“He was probably sizing you up for dinner, Marcy! That thing is a wild predator.” Sasha yelled, gesturing at the still screaming carnotaurus wildly.

“Wrong! He looked at me with such big ol’ eyes that I knew he wanted me to take him to safety. You know you can’t trust those BioSyn guys anyway.” Marcy said firmly, holding the carnotaurus to her chest and making cooing sounds to try and calm him down. Amazingly, it appeared to work.

“They have a giant reserve in the Alps or something, they can take care of him there.” Anne said, keeping at least one eye on the creature.

“It’s in the Italian mountains actually, but that’s not the point!” Marcy pouted. “We don’t even know if he’ll find his parents there and the other dinosaurs will be mean to him without parents. But here we can keep him safe and warm and fed and not eaten by a T-rex.”

All throughout, Anne slowly detangled herself from Sasha and reached into a pocket to take out her cell phone.

“I’m calling BioSyn, they’ll take him to Sanctuary and-”

“NOO!” Marcy curled herself around the dinosaur, looking at her wives with tears in her eyes. “You can’t take Chomper away!”

“He’s a wild animal Marcy! He’ll- wait, Chomper?” Sasha just looked bewildered, looking between Marcy and the Carnotaurus.

“From the Land Before Time.” Marcy said, holding the now named Chomper tightly. She looked at them pleadingly. “C'mon, can you really say no to this cutie?” She grabbed both sides of Chompers head and angled it towards Sasha and Anne, his yellow reptilian eyes sizing the two of them up before deciding they weren’t edible, or not worth the effort ot make them edible.

“Marcy, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” Anne tried to explain, still angling herself away from the carnivore who was starting to calm down at least.

“Well, I-” Sasha began, only to be cut off.

“Think of it like we’re adopting a kid! A big, scaly, carnivorous kid! Please, for me?”

Marcy then did something that Anne and Sasha thought was not fair at all: She looked at them with such big pleading eyes, her lip quivered, and it looked like she was close to tears.

Sasha and Anne stopped listening, in fact they could not hear anything else she was saying because the minute Marcy said ‘adopting a kid,’ their minds got stuck in a permanent loop of thinking about them and Marcy having kids. Seeing Marcy look at them with such an adorable expression just added to the torment.

It’d… if they kept the Carnivore for a bit, it would almost be like a practice run, right? They’d keep him, learn how to take care of something younger than them, and they’d have a better idea of how to take care of their own kids once they had them.

The justifications were flimsy as hell, but right now none of them cared enough to question. They tried, they really did, to stay strong. But against such adorableness what could one do?

Anne wrapped her arms around Marcy, hugging the girl to her chest. Sasha came and did the same, the three wives hugging each other in the doorway. Chomper the Carnotaurus looked at the scene, cocked his horned head to the side, and then leapt at them with a yelp.

The three women fell to the ground with the young Carnotaurus baby on top of them, he rested his head on their chests and looked at them, sticking his tongue out with a ‘blep’ as he did so.

Anne and Sasha refused to admit that they found the action cute.

“Alright Marcy, we won’t call BioSyn.” Anne said gently, though her voice was straining from what felt like half a ton of Carnotaurus baby on top of her.

“Yet.” Sasha said, glaring at the dinosaur. She did not like him.

“Yesss!” Marcy cheered, hugging all three of them to her and squealing happily. “ I promise, you won’t regret this at all!”

Anne figured that she would realize before the week was out that trying to keep a wild animal that could grow large enough to eat horses in a single bite wasn’t a good idea.

Chomper wouldn’t be staying with them long.

**********

Months Later…

Sasha always loved driving down the freeway, and now that she’s married she loves it even more. Anne next to her, Marcy leaning forward so she’s in the middle, it’s all perfect. Her red convertible cruising down the coastline, the girls heading out to go to a convention that Marcy had in a different city and they’d packed to turn it into a vacation as a family.

“RAAAWR!” Chomper, the great dane sized Carnotaurus calf roared out happily as he leaned his horned head off the side of the car. HIs tongue wagged in the wind as the massive juvenile carnivore enjoyed the car ride as much as his moms did. He had on a purple collar with his name tag attached, a bright white metal one shaped like a bone, to a harness around his body as just wearing the collar during walks caused him to ignore it entirely and run off towards whatever he happened to see.

Sasha hated that she found the big idiot to be cute, especially since he was still growing his teeth and so bit everything. And yet cute he was. He acted like a giant puppy, albeit one who needed to be fed whole roasted chickens and marked his territory by scratching his growing horns against anything till it left massive gouges. He slept at the end of their bed, went for walks at the park although the girls had to jog and sometimes sprint to keep up with him, he would rush over and knock them to the floor in excitement whenever they got home, and he sometimes woke up the neighborhood because he heard something outside and decided to roar loud enough to shatter the windows. He really was just a giant kid who could knock over a tree if he headbutted them.

PetSmart still wouldn’t let them ever return.

Marcy ran her hand down Chomper’s back, the big dinosaur rumbling with contentment while Anne filed his claws to try and make them less deadly. As much as they all loved him, he could do with less deadly weapons at the end of his limbs.

“We need to schedule a vet appointment for Chomper when we get back.” Anne said as she blunted the ends of his claws to an acceptably non fatal size.

“Again, I don't think there’s a vet around who knows how to treat dinosaurs and wont rat us out to the feds for keeping one in our house.” Sasha said as she felt the wind rush through her hair. It’d need to be cut before long but with trying to take care of Chomper, she hadn’t found the time.

“We could try and swing by Dr. Jan’s again, she and Terri love him.” Anne replied as she finished up grooming the big carnivore. Chomper flexed his clawed feet before snuggling back down on the car seat, his tail wagging back and forth and almost knocking Sasha and Marcy in the heads.

Anne giggled as she saw him do so. “Someone’s excited to see Auntie Jan again. Do you want to see Jan again, huh? Do ya?”

Chomper roared happily, his whole body shaking with excitement at the thought. Sasha had to swerve to keep the car under control but ended up laughing along with her wife.

Laughter that ended as they heard Marcy simply say “Told you you wouldn’t regret this.”

Anne and Sasha stopped laughing at their wife’s words, just staring at the dashboard as they both sat in silence. Chomper decided to break the awkward silence by panting happily as he stared across the coast at a pod of Plesiosaurs who’d just breached the water and were swimming merrily by a passing cruise ship.

Sasha and Anne could feel Marcy’s smug look, their wife looking like Christmas had come early.

“Alright, fine. I’m glad we didn't call BioSyn on the big idiot, okay?” Sasha said exasperatedly, groaning as Chomper leaned his head over Marcy to lick her face. Sasha refused to admit she found the action endearing.

Marcy continued to look smug as she chuckled, reaching up to pet the top of Chomper's scaled head. He nuzzled against her hand and Anne reached back to scratch underneath his chin.

He was indeed cute.

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #marcy wu #sashannarcy #sashannarcy week #sashannarcy week 2022 #carnotaurus #jurassic world #jurassic world: dominion #not as much Sashannarcy in this one i'm afraid #but i've had this idea in my head since forever #so darn it i'll write it

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dinner-djarin · 3 years

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dar'manda (Mando x f!reader)

Chapter 1: The Only Way Out is Through

Summary: Things have been quiet since The Mandalorian's disappearing act on Nevarro. However, things change quickly at his sudden return, and the changes are sure to impact your own life. That is, if you don't screw it up for yourself.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, yearning/awkward flirting/reader doesn’t know how to act around Mando, Cara Dune lol (I feel like she needs a warning)

Word Count: 3.8k

Prologue - Next

In the weeks that the Mandalorian had been gone, things on Nevarro had taken a turn for the worse. Ever since making his grand escape, remaining Imperial officers seemed to get word of a Mandalorian bounty hunter gone rogue. He took some sort of “package” right out of their hands, and they really didn’t like that. So, they sent out every bounty hunter idiotic enough to go after a Mandalorian. And to double their efforts, they effectively made Nevarro their new base.

Well, that probably wasn’t exactly accurate, but either way it seemed like every stormtrooper left was sent to keep watch in case their prize ever returned.

You could not imagine that anyone would be stupid enough to come back to the place where they so flagrantly disregarded every rule of the Guild, and yet – there he was. Walking into town at the side of his...former boss. As he approached however, you noticed he probably wasn't there by choice. His hands were bound in front of him, and a muscley looking woman, with a very large gun, was not too far behind them. Well then, you think to yourself, I guess no one crosses the Guild, not even Mando.

Just as they enter town you being to consider the precarity of your own situation. With the town being occupied by stormtroopers, times are tough. Curfews have been put in place and wandering through town is highly discouraged. The marketplace has turned into a ghost town as people have become less and less inclined to spend time outside of their homes. They might come by for the basics, but business is definitely not what it used to be. So, you often find yourself with “free time” – moments you should realistically be working – where you instead spy on the invaders who have ruined your already unpleasant life. Basically, the exact thing you were doing in that very moment.

It's a matter of fate that he showed up just as you made your way to the town entrance. Even more so when you overhear a conversation between the Guild leader and the Mandalorians captor.

“Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse” you hear the Guild leader say.

“Slip him his blaster” whispers the woman. These words bring you utter confusion. Did she mean slip Mando his blaster?

“Not yet,” he says under his breath.

And suddenly you are more confused than before. Why would she say something like that? How did any of this make sense? You’re thankful you were not seen as they pass by you, but you think you perceive a subtle change in the reflection from the shiny metal helmet that your eyes have been locked on to. His gaze fell to the metal orb that was trailing the trio through the city centre. When he looked back up however, he did not return his gaze to the direction he had been looking previously. Now you think, and you know it’s completely self-centred of you to do so, but you feel like he is staring straight at you. You don't think he would be able to see into the shadows that were providing your cover, but something about the angle of his visor as he walks by sends a shiver down your spine.

The three of them and the metal orb enter the cantina and you adjust your position in attempt for a better view. Only a few minutes later does a blaster shot eviscerate the long transparisteel window on the front wall of the building, allowing you a glimpse of the chaos inside. A plethora of various blaster bolts ricochet through the building, evidence that the situation was drastically more complicated than you initially observed. However, the next events prove that things could still get worse for the group inside.

From the safety of your hiding spot, you see the scene unfold. The entire courtyard of the village is filled with stormtroopers in seconds, and then you hear it. The unmistakable screech that has haunted you since you were young. A sound that would forever be branded into your head, as it signaled the end of your childhood. The last time you heard that sound was the last time you saw your father and brother.

The Tie Fighter lands right in front of the cantina, completely blocking your view of any further events. You take that as your sign to get the hell out of there, knowing the level of destruction that is sure to follow. Even with the high amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins, you manage to keep a level head and find your way back to the marketplace, where most other citizens are gathered.

You quickly alert everyone to the impending danger nearby, and although some are slow to react, they begin to gather their belongings and search for safety.

Luckily, you recall a nearby alley that would lead to the part of town furthest away from the calamity, and you tell them all to make their way there immediately. Once you were sure that no one was left behind you head towards the alley only for an explosion to go off somewhere near the cantina. And although the source of the blast is far enough away not to injure you, the shockwave ripples through a one of the buildings, whose integrity was already questionable, causing it to crumble and block your previously secure exit route. With your mind in panic mode, you glance over to a spot which had caught your eye a hundred times before, a spot you kept noticing the Mandalorian disappear to.

You quickly run for cover hoping no other buildings decide to fall apart in the meantime, and you find the passageway was actually concealing a staircase which led to the sewers. Unsure of where to go next, your adrenaline high mind keeps you moving fast, taking random turns, having no understanding of where the tunnels lead to and where the safest exit may be. It wasn't until you rapidly took a corner and ran straight into an armoured chest plate that your mind stopped running wild.

A few second too late you realize it wasn’t the armour you would have hoped to see. The Mandalorians captor stands in front of you, with a package wrapped in her arms. Beside her is the Guild leader. You stand there dumbstruck and panting, unsure of what move to make.

The Guild leader approaches you, but you recoil, stepping back.

“What did you do to him?” is all you can think to growl at them.

“He’s just sleeping.” She attempts to assure you, “Wait how do you know the kid?” the woman asks, evidently confused by your accusation.

“What kid? No, the Mandalorian. You captured him. I saw you two walk in to town with him handcuffed”

“Young lady, I think you are confused. Please allow me to explain our situation.” the leader states, taking another step closer to you. This time you stand your ground, making clear you want answers.

He explains his name is Greef Karga, and the woman is Cara Dune, an ex-rebel shock trooper. And despite walking into town with Mando handcuffed by their sides, they were actually all in on the plan together. However, it seems that once they got inside things went south, a habit Mando seemed to be making for himself. It turns out that this elaborate scheme was set in place in an attempt to save a tiny green baby from the Empire, which now rests in the woman’s – Cara’s – arms.

You have no idea what to think. There's no way any of this can be true. Although, you then recall the conversation you overheard as they entered the town, and everything else seems to line up with your own experiences of the past hour.

You also realize that the Child must be the reason Mando went rogue in the first place. And after sneaking a peak at his resting wrinkly face, you completely understand why. After only one look, you’d probably jump in front of speeder for that little guy.

But before you can make up your mind on whether to believe Karga or not, Mando rounds the corner being supported by a very tall, very thin droid that you recognize to be an IG unit. As they approach, Cara hands off the baby to the droid and attempts to support Mando, and for some maker-forsaken reason you decide to help too. As you slide your arm under Mando’s shoulder and rest your hand on his back you feel him tense – you know you’ve made a mistake. But it’s too late to turn back now, so you carry some of his weight and continue on down the ominous path. The only way out, is through.

Your mind is running at 100 parsecs per hour. This is the closest, physically, you’ve been to anyone in years, and if that weren't enough you seem to be in the middle of both your wildest dream and worst nightmare. You can’t remember the last time you were tucked under someone's arm, and pressed up against them so tightly, if you ever were. And in your panicked state you start to realize you’ve basically been holding your breath this whole time, making your heart beat erratically and your head throb. But just as you think you might pass out from your stupidity, the Mandalorians voice shakes you back to reality.

“Stop.” His word sends you into a new panic. Were you thinking out loud? Could he read your heartbeat through his helmet? Did he know what a complete mess you were at his touch? “I can stand,” he says, finishing his thought.

Oh thank the gods.

He lets go of you and switches something in his helmet to look for tracks, and you allow yourself to finally take a deep breath.

“We’re close,” he states. After a moment of stabilizing your heartbeat and focussing on your breath900, you quicken your pace, subtly placing yourself just behind Mando’s left shoulder as he leads the group through the tunnel. You’re close enough to catch when he mumbles, “I know you.”

“And I know you,” you respond playfully, disregarding the severity of the situation you’ve found yourself in. You’re not quite sure how Mando’s mere presence can affect you so brutally, to the point of forgetting how to act like a normal human being.

“From the market.” He doesn’t ask.

“That’s me, good to see you in one piece. I was worried when I heard about the stunt you pulled. Crossing the guild...not sure I've ever heard of anyone getting away with that.” Oh man why are you talking so much. You just need to shut up now. Literally no one wants to hear-

“Worried?” a hint of genuine curiosity hidden in his question. Well of course he found the one word in your entire sentence that incriminates you. There’s no way he doesn’t know about your crush now.

“Umm well of course, I think everyone was. It’s all anyone could talk about for weeks. Nothing that exciting has happened around here in a while,” you quickly blurt out. He turns his head for a moment and examines you.

He is silent, evidently noticing the way you awkwardly avoided his question. You stare at him trying with every muscle in your face to remain composed. You know he sees right through you – must be that bullshit reader – but you think if you maintain eye contact long enough, he’ll just move on from your stupidity. And he does.

“How did you get here?” He returns to his task of following footprints. The question and abrupt change in topic jars you, although if you had to guess, you think he must have picked up on your complete awkwardness, possibly confusing it for suspicious behaviour. You hope he doesn’t think you untrustworthy because if it.

“There were explosions, and I tried to help everyone out, but the path became blocked and the only way out was some curtain hiding a staircase.” Your explanation, you realize, now sounds completely ridiculous, especially in the flustered manner you are depicting it in. Even so, you continue, “I went to hide but it turns out it led straight down here. So, I tried to find an exit, but I bumped into them instead,” you finish, glancing behind you towards Cara and Karga.

“If you came in from the market you should have passed the covert,” Mando stated almost accusingly, increasing your worry over whether he thought trusted your story.

“I’m not sure I didn’t really see any-” but his question is immediately answered by the pile of discarded Mandalorian armour in front of you.

The Mandalorian stops, and you can see just how suddenly his body language changed. Even injured, he looked deadly as he led you through the tunnels, but at the sight of the remnants of his clan, he is weak. You can feel the sadness, remorse, and pain emanating from him all at once. And as you stand beside him you barely realize you’ve gently reached for his hand, gripping it tight and squeezing it to convey your condolence for his immense loss.

But after a moment, he moved forward and away from your grasp to kneel at the sight of his fallen brethren. Cara suggests the group leave, but he won’t. He will not leave the armour in its discarded state.

Suddenly, the mood shifts, and you see the Mandalorian transform before your eyes. He storms towards Karga, accusing that he and the Guild members must be responsible. Karga denies, but you think Mando might be on the verge of strangling him when suddenly another modulated voice fills the tunnel.

A golden warrior stands before you. Her presence shocks you. It reveals some element rooted deep, a feeling you can only describe as warm… or familiar? She explains, as she gathers the scattered armour, how revealing the covert brought the presence of Imperials. When Mando offers her to join him, she rejects, maintaining that her place is to gather the remains of her people.

You all follow her into a small room with a forge in the centre of it. “Show me the one who’s safety deemed such destruction,” she demands.

“This is the one,” Mando responds. Gesturing to the baby that was wrapped tight to the IG unit’s chest.

“This is the one that you hunted, then saved?” she asks.

“Yes. The one that saved me as well.” And with that statement you find both an answer, and more questions. That baby saved him? How the-

“From the mudhorn?” she asks.

“Yes.” he responds, making you even more confused than ever. The baby saved him from a mudhorn?

“It looks helpless” she states.

“It’s injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.” As if this conversation could get any weirder. Move objects...with its MIND.

The Armourer begins to detail battles between Mandalore the Great and some species of wizards; the species this child belongs to. She also tells Mando that he is now responsible for the baby – his foundling. And finally, she tasks him with finding these sorcerers and returning the baby to them. When Mando questions the outrageous turn of events the woman has only four words in response:

“This is the Way.” Suddenly that warm comfort you felt before resurges, but only for a moment, as Cara reminds the group of the urgency of their situation. You need to find a way out before Imperials catch your tracks. The Armourer then suggests the group find a river of lava that will lead all of you out of the tunnels. Right…

River of lava, or Imperial Troopers. What the heck did you get yourself into? Either way it seems you don’t have much of a choice. After receiving a mudhorn signet on his pauldron, the Armourer pronounces that he and the child are bound as father and son; a clan of two. Cute little family they’ll make. When the droid gets ready to defend the group from incoming Imps, it hands Cara the child who looks very uncomfortable with it, so she passes him to you.

Stunned and confused you look to the Mandalorian who shows no sign of discomfort with you holding his now adopted son, not that you’d probably be able to tell. Either way, it seems you’ve acquired a new responsibility.

Blaster fire rings just outside the room as the woman hands Mando some flying contraption, and your group decides you might need to get a move on.

You approach the lava river, only to notice the boat has melted to the docking point. Karga and Mando struggle to free it, but Cara just gives you a smug look. “You boys mind getting out of the way?” she warns only to blast the points where the boat was attached, successfully freeing it from its molten chains.

The boat quickly begins to drift from the dock, but just as you start to lift your foot over the edge to make your way inside, you feel a strong hand against your lower back, guiding you the rest of the way. Once you steady yourself on the boat you glance up at the visor which is pinned straight ahead, unwavering and unwilling to meet your gaze. His seemingly disinterested reaction makes you anxious to know the true intention of his touch. He must just realize your safety is attached to the bundle you are currently cradling against your chest. Obviously, he is only looking out for the child, you just happen to be the person responsible for his transportation. If Cara were the one holding his son, he’d probably be helping her instead. Right? Simple as that.

Even so, you can't help but notice the way his hand flexes after it returns to his side.

For just a moment your mind slips, and you let yourself think that there might be something there. That the short conversations and fleeting looks shared all those weeks ago might have held more weight than you believed. That when you were admiring his head-to-toe armor upgrade, he may have been examining you back. That he might have actually liked the fact that you worried about him in his absence. You allow yourself to think that underneath that metal, stands a man who might be gentle, and kind. A man who helps you into a boat when he himself is injured. One who is willing to leave behind everything he knows in order to ensure the security of a child.

You snap back to reality, however, when Karga notices the light at the end of the tunnel. But just when you think that your journey is almost over, Mando informs you otherwise. A battalion of stormtroopers line the edges of your only exit route. No one in your group can come up with any satisfactory solution, until the IG unit comes forward.

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate them, and you will escape.”

Mando is quick to point out that the droid would never make it past the troopers, but the droid insists. Apparently, his manufacturer's protocol dictates that he cannot be captured and must self-destruct. He asks that Mando look over the Child once he is gone, and you swear you can hear a hint of sadness through his filtered voice. Your hypothesis is confirmed by the IG unit, and your heart warms slightly for the metal man. The droid reaches over to say goodbye to the child for the last time, patting him gently on the head, then steps into the lava river and heads down towards the mouth of the cave. You all stare silently as you watch him approach the troopers when suddenly-

Fire consumes your vision, and it overwhelms your senses. Not having actually seen an explosion in your life you seem to be the only one on the boat who is at all fazed by the sudden wall of heat and deafening boom created by IG-11’s sacrifice. In the process you cover the child with your body and wince back into the hard wall behind you. Cradling the child and shielding yourself, you almost don’t notice when the wall grabs your hip and steadies you in front of it.

Suddenly, you’re flushed with embarrassment, realizing all at once the wall was the Mandalorian and both of his hands were still gripped onto you, holding you tight against his chest plate.

But your shock only lasts a moment before the unsettling screech of a Tie Fighter pierced your ears for the second time that day. And before you could process, the Mandalorian was using his body as a shield, protecting you and the child from the blasts, and simultaneously shooting at the new threat barreling towards your group.

Will this day ever end, is the only thought in your head before Mando is flying through the air using the jetpack given to him by the Armourer only minutes ago. However, you distinctly remember her saying he would need time to get used to it before it would ‘listen to his commands’. Nevertheless, he jerks through the sky in a desperate attempt to bring the Tie down.

You watch as one of the wings are ripped off by an explosion and the tie crashes to the ground. The Mandalorian lets go just in time and falls quickly towards the ground, igniting his jetpack at the last second to make a rough landing right in front of you.

The child squirms in your arms at the first sign of peace so you set him down gently. He awkwardly runs over to Mando and hugs his leg, creating possibly the cutest sight you had ever seen. Again, your heart can’t help but melt for the new little family, and you wonder how these two are going to get by. A child with magical powers, and a father who’s built to kill. Not a pairing you would bet on.

Cara and Karga then try to convince Mando to stay on Nevarro and help the both of them sort out the aftermath of today's events. But the Mandalorian insists on sticking to his mission. The child is now his first priority and finding a group of near-extinct ancient sorcerers does not sound like easy work.

“We have a long road ahead of us, but the journey is necessary. I must return him to his kind, no matter how long it takes.” You hear him reason with the pair, refusing their kind offers to remain on the planet with them.

If you know one thing about the Mandalorian it's that everything he does is completely intentional. No one could force Mando into something he doesn’t want to do. If he is sure of this path, he will follow it through till the end.

And from your short interactions, you know he spends time forming his thoughts in order to get his point across. Each sentence is carefully crafted so that they are clear and concise. You know he means every word.

Maybe that's why the next words out of his mouth come as a complete shock to you.

“Would you like to join us?” he asks directly to you.

What the kriffing heck did he just say? You're so taken aback that you embarrassingly bark out your response, your brain evidently getting no time to process the question, so instead if vomits out the first word it can think of: “No”.

You follow it with polite ‘thank you’s’, hoping to erase the awkward tension in the air, and the Mandalorian jetpacks off with the child leaving you to dwell on your utter stupidity.

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

Chapter 2

Notes: Honestly, I hate this chapter too wow. I really spent so long trying to edit this into something I could bare to publish, but I still really hate it. I did not want to write a chapter like this, but I also needed a way to put the reader into the story and the only way I could think to do that was by using an existing episode. So here we are. But I SWEAR, after this it gets good. Like not only does the story get good, but so does my own writing (relatively) so if you just bare through this, I think you’ll enjoy the rest.

Taglist: @peppywitch @tobealostwanderer @thecraftyartist

If you wanna be included in the tag list let me know! The next parts are gonna get great. I hope

#mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfiction #pedro pascal #mando #din #the mandalorian season 1 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you

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gleam-and-darken · 4 years

Text

Zelda AU #2: The Triplets

The sketch is rough at best, but Zelda is supposed to look like she does pre-calamity, Tetra looks like the girl from the BotW 2 trailer (because it is her, I might explain that later if anyone’s interested), and Sheik has his design from Smash Ultimate. This is really just my take on the twins AU which was originally created by someone else (rockingthegraveyard, I believe).

https://triforce-princess.tumblr.com/post/627266504652668928/this-is-awesome-your-brain-is-so-good

Anyways, I was thinking of what this might actually look like as a fleshed-out story, and I decided that Zelda’s twin could be named Tetra. And then I thought, “hey, we can’t leave Sheik out!” And so here we are. Basically, thanks to her siblings, Zelda is able to stop the calamity and (almost) everyone lives happily ever after. I don’t actually plan on writing this into a formal story so this is a long post where I just dump a lot of my ideas concerning the trio. I will not be writing this into a story, because I’ve never played BotW and I fear I would get everything wrong, but you’re welcome to! If someone ends up writing something based on this, I’d love to know so I can read it. I also have lots more ideas about this, so if you want more content (aside from this ridiculously long post), just ask!

Zelda is technically the oldest, although it hardly matters since they’re triplets. Thanks to this, she is arbitrarily the one who had all of the responsibilities heaped upon her. She’s pretty similar to how she appears in BotW, except Link isn’t even a potential love interest for her. He’s just her knight whom she’s gradually grown close to - as a friend.

Tetra is the middle child, and by far the most troublesome. She is outgoing, adventurous, brash, and basically everything you don’t want in a princess. King Rhoam tried to raise her to be proper, constantly reminding her that it was the hero’s (Link’s) duty to be the courageous one, not the princess. This often resulted in her running away and threatening to join the gerudo. She and Revali got along like a house on fire, often bonding over how overrated Link is. She absolutely hates Link, because to her, he represents not her failures, but the failures of her country and family. Why can’t a princess with no triforce be the hero as well? She makes no attempt to hide her distaste for him, although she might have changed her perspective a little if she realized that Link actually greatly admired her. It’s too bad that he was too scared of her to tell her himself. Speaking of being too scared to admit things, the one thing Tetra can’t bring herself to say aloud is that she has a huge crush on Princess Mipha.

Sheik is the little brother, known as the quiet one. Unlike his eldest sister, he knows how to fight, but hates doing so. He would much rather prefer to be exploring the lonely areas of the wild, or researching ancient tech with Zelda. He’s trans, and while his sisters support him and his father respects that, King Rhoam also saw that as an excuse to ignore him. After all, the legends never told of princes doing anything noteworthy. Thus, the king, and by extension almost everyone in Hyrule, more or less forgot about their quiet prince. The champions knew about him and were varying degrees of nice to him, especially Lady Urbosa, which was more than almost everyone he met could say. He didn’t mind it too much, and didn’t even realize that it was wrong until after his father was dead.

Link had a varied relationship with the triplets. Originally, both Zelda and Tetra despised him, because he reminded them of everything wrong in Hyrule - Zelda’s own self doubt, and Tetra’s failed attempts to become her own hero. Since his two sisters were always talking about how much they hated having this royal knight follow Zelda around, Sheik grew to dislike him as well, despite having never met in person. However, there was a time in the castle when Tetra practically kidnapped Zelda and whisked her away to an unknown location in Hyrule, sending everything into chaos. Sheik was pretty sure that they were both in on it and were simply trying to prove how well they could manage without Link, but they hadn’t informed him of their plan before they left, so he really had no idea. What he did know was that they left Link behind, and now the royal knight was panicking because he thought the king would blame him for letting his daughters vanish, and feared he’d be at the very least jailed.

Link, to his surprise, was not punished - the king was too busy cursing his own tomboyish daughter - but was sent to go find them alongside a team of Hyrulean soldiers. Not wanting to look useless, Sheik joined the quest. In their travels, Sheik discovered that Link was actually a lot like himself, just in completely different circumstances (and much more reckless, unfortunately), and the knight found that the prince was one of the few people who didn’t meet him with impossibly high expectations, for which he was thankful. They became fast friends, although since they both said an average of ten words a week combined, their friendship often looked more like them being present in the same room.

Much later, after both princesses had returned to the castle (“of our own accord,” Tetra had reminded everyone within earshot), the king doubled down on Zelda discovering her powers. She and her knight were rarely seen around the castle, always visiting springs and whatnot, while Zelda’s siblings were left at the castle doing... basically nothing. They were both training constantly for a battle that they were beginning to believe would never come.

Their seventeenth birthday started like any other day. They were at the castle while Zelda and her knight were off at another spring to pray, along with the champions. Then all hell broke loose. (Literally.) Something monstrous decided to rear its ugly head from under Hyrule Castle, and it took over the guardians to boot. Of course, both Tetra and Sheik became extremely concerned for their older sister, since she probably couldn’t fight a bokoblin, much less corrupted ancient technology. This, combined with the fact that the castle was probably the worst place to be right then, prompted the two to bolt into the field and find their sister. They had to fight guardians the entire way, and Sheik recieved a nasty injury, but kept denying how bad it really was.

Despite the storm, she wasn’t that hard to find, thanks to that explosion of what they guessed was her divine magic that had finally decided to say hello. They found her as opposed to the sheikah, but arrived on the scene a bit to late for the hero. He wasn’t dead (or was he?), or at the very least he could be saved/brought back, but he was clearly not about to help them fight. (Still, Sheik absolutely lost his mind when he saw the state Link was in, to the shock of his sisters. Neither of them knew he was close friends with the knight.)

Zelda quickly explained her plan to her siblings, where she would return the sword to the forest and face Ganon herself, to which Tetra said “hell no.” The Master Sword was right there! Hyrule needs saving, and the princess found herself to be a perfectly competent hero. The sword could be fixed. Somehow.

This part is where I’m a little on the fence about what happens. The sword’s health and power does seem to be tied to Link’s, as evidence by how it heals with him over 100 years and can only shoot sword beams when he’s at full health (I think), but since Tetra actually was worthy of wielding the sword, Fi could have been restored when she accepted the blade. Alternatively, Tetra and Sheik could have been the sages of earth and wind without realizing it, and we’re able to restore the sword on the fly. You get to decide how the sword repaired itself.

So now Tetra has roped herself into fighting Ganon with the Master Sword, Zelda by her side, while Sheik is losing his mind over what is basically the corpse of his closest friend. It’s at this time that Zelda realizes just how injured her brother is. She knows that he can’t fight the calamity like that, so she tasks him with taking Link to the Shrine of Resurrection, like Fi said. Initially, he refuses, but he soon decides that it’s all he can do and agrees.

The triplets go their separate ways. Somehow, the sisters are able to get to the castle very quickly, and start to challenge the Calamity. Zelda uses her new sealing powers to force him into a mortal form, while Tetra beats him up with her new weapon of choice. Ganon originally shrugs them off, more or less, but as they start to win he activates Panic Mode and summons all of his blights back to the sanctum to fight the sisters. Luckily, the blights were snatched right out of their battles with the champions, who were beaten and shaken but still alive.

However, thanks to his new allies, Ganon starts to win. Just when the princesses think they’re about to die, the divine beasts - which are under the control of the champions after the blights left - strike, finishing off the Calamity. Naturally Ganon has a few tricks up his sleeve and transforms into Dark Beast Ganon, moving to Hyrule Field. By Hylia’s (late) divine grace, Tetra and Zelda are teleported to the field as well, alongside Sheik, surprisingly. He’d just set Link up in the shrine before getting pulled here. Zelda is able to summon the Bow of Light, which becomes his weapon.

Together, the three of them are able to take out the dark beast. Zelda creates weak points, while Tetra and Sheik shoot them with Master Sword beams and light arrows, respectively. (Maybe Tetra DID die, but her health was restored by a fairy, or she’s at full health for some other reason.) So now Ganon is dead. Castle town is in shambles, and multiple people are dead, including the king. But don’t worry - Urbosa quickly makes herself the new parental figure of the triplets.

Hyrule is rebuilt. The people celebrate the defeat of the calamity, and the guardians are restored to their former abilities. Tetra becomes the new Champion of Hyrule Castle, wielding the Master Sword and the Sheikah Slate. For an extra happy ending, maybe she and Mipha formally become a couple. Sheik pioneers work on improving ancient and modern technology, showing a special interest in ways to reverse aging. After many years, Queen Zelda’s son, Daphnes Link Hyrule, becomes the ruler after her reign ends.

And so, the people of Hyrule live happily ever after.

... and 100 years later, Link wakes up.

#legend of zelda #link #zelda #zelda au #the triplets #featuring low effort doodles #breath of the wild #botw #botw 2

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nijohirjesyho · 5 years

Text

Warming Up to You

[AO3]

Lord Haurchefant's thoughts upon meeting Nijoh'ir Jesyho, Warrior of Light, Miqo'te, and kitten wrangler? He would simply like to convince the Warrior of Light to put his trust in him.

Second Person Haurchefant POV, Original Male Miqo’te character, please reblog this as Tumblr hides anything with links (such as links to AO3) from the tags

You spot the three stragglers immediately. They’re hard to miss, one a young Elezin before puberty has hit him, the other an older worn Hyur and rounding out the trio a young Miqo’te who is huddling against the cold as he speaks to the boy.

You only catch a glimpse of them for a moment between the door opening and closing step but you suspect you know who they are. Word spreads quickly in an outpost and the remnants of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have finally made their way to your camp.

You do not have long to wait though before the doors open again and the Miqo’te enters. He’s poorly dressed for the weather though you can see some attempt was made. He glances to the fire and a look of relief seems to come over his face, how long has the poor man been in the cold?

His red hair is streaked with blonde that looks more like gold or sunlight if you’re feeling poetic and gazing upon him who couldn’t feel inspired to verse? Even under the attempt at cover you can see the strength in his arms, strength needed to use that bow slung over his back. His thighs are a gift from Halone herself. The tail that flicks behind him catches your gaze and you admire the soft fur that matches his ears. One look at this man makes you wonder if the real reason other houses don’t like adventurers is the chance they’d seduce all the young folk.

“Lord Graystone?” He asks as he meets your gaze. You don’t flinch at the last name, you’re too used to it and too trained but it’s not a reminder you enjoy.

“Haurchefant,” you correct, you’d rather this beautiful Miqo’te use your first name.

“Lord Haurchefant.” Progress. He glances about and you see his eyes narrow as he takes in the soldiers milling in your office. Most are simply warming themselves as long as they can and only looking at him because he’s the most interesting thing in the room currently, not to mention a feast for the eyes. But he seems to stand straighter, eyes sharper.

He makes his way to your desk and you lean forward, “you have the unmistakable swagger of an adventurer.” His stride is confident and certain and nearly silently even on the stone. “If you’ve come to pay your respects, be at ease, friend. I am not one to stand on formality.” His ears prick up at that but the tension doesn’t seem to ease from him. “Truth be told I would gladly welcome many and more brave souls like yourself. But enough chatter- pray tell why you have come.”

He simply pulls out a letter, you don’t need him to tell you who it’s from; you recognize Francel’s handwriting immediately.

You have to read the letter twice just to be sure that yes, Francel is being accused of a heretic. The adventurer before you barely moves as you read other than his eyes roaming your face. You set the letter down and get to your feet, he jerks and his tail straightens as he seems to realize how tall you are before he relaxes to his previous tense state.

You keep your voice calm which seems to relax him as you declare Francel’s innocence. “But the letter made mention of a pressing matter in which you required assistance? What was it?”

He pauses and draws a breath, “Lord Haurchefant we’re looking for an airship, The Enterprise, that crashed during the calamity. We have traced its path to Ishgard but we don’t know where it went down and any help finding it would be great.”

You nod, you’ll help him of course. Not because you’re a lost cause for a pretty face (though you are and his is very pretty) but because it is clearly urgent. Though you have to admit and do.

“I feel it may prove difficult to find any eye witnesses to these events, for while Ishgard did not participate in the Battle of Cartenau, we were embroiled in our own internal conflicts at the time.”

His eyes darken (one blue, one dark purple; is such a trait common among Miqo’te, it makes him all the more fetching) and his ears drop but you’re not done.

“Nevertheless, I will make inquiries on your behalf and share with you my findings in the future.”

He blinks as though taken aback and before you can continue he asks, “you will?” He looks stunned, as though your helpfulness is foreign to him. He shakes his head, “sorry, I mean thank you Lord Haurchefant.”

Your mouth twitches slightly, “In the meantime, please enjoy the hospitality of Camp Dragonhead. As a guest of House Fortemps, I will see that you are afford every courtesy.”

How have your fellow countrymen treated him that he looks as wary as a kicked stray at your kindness? After a moment he nods and offers his thanks yet again. He slips to the fireplace to sit on the stone before it, not even pulling over a chair, simply warming his hands. All the while he watches you out of the corner of his eye.

You can’t say you aren’t doing the same, you hope to see some of the tension and wariness go out of him but if anything it gets worse. You’re grateful you didn’t give into your impulse to offer him your quarters as you think he might’ve sprinted straight back to the lowlands.

Yaelle walks past him and you watch his tail whisk to his side as though he’s afraid it will be stepped on. You know she, like most if not all of those who serve you, holds the same belief you do about adventurers. When she passes him again she makes sure to give him space.

You look away when Corentiaux clears his throat. You raise your eyebrow at him but it seems he’s actually just got a cough.

When you look back to the fire the adventurer is gone without even a last glimpse of his gold tipped tail.

You are in luck though as he returns a short time later, joined by the older Hyur man. The Miqo’te glances to you warily before he resumes speaking to his companion.

“Alphanaud is young and proud,” he shakes his head, “and if I continued that conversation I would’ve yelled at him.”

“Because you’re both stubborn,” Master Garlond, you cannot believe your eyes but it does seem to be him, says and the adventurer snorts.

“Yes,” he runs a hand through his mane of hair and over his ears which twitch in response. You wonder absently how soft they are to the touch.

Master Garlond claps him on the shoulder and shakes his head, “I’ll keep an eye on him if I can do nothing else for you.”

The miqo’te nods and watches him leave, you wonder at the bag he’s holding to himself as he makes his way over to the fire.

“My friend,” you greet him as he sits down and he startles with a look of what can only be called fear. You hold your hand up to soothe him, he’s done nothing wrong. The fur on his tail lies flat after a moment and he nods slowly.

“Lord Haurchefant.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been remiss as a host.” he tilts his head, partially hiding his light blue eye. There’s bright paint under his eyes, the markings there are recently painted. You wonder absently if he did them himself, “I haven’t caught your name.”

He blinks and after a moment speaks, “Nijoh’ir Jesyho.” He sets the bag down, putting himself between it and you, or putting it closer to the fire, or both. You glance at it before focusing on him again. He’s wary, it would not do to upset him when it seems like you might be making progress.

“It may take some time before I receive any information regarding your missing airship,” you admit and he nods slowly. You see some realization hit him and he stands back up as though he knows you will ask a request of him.

“While you wait, mayhap you might indulge me a small favor?”

He accepts your request to practice with your soldiers with a nod, you see some kind of resignation in his eyes as he heads out the door. He leaves the bag near the fireplace and you take it as a sign of trust. You glance around to see that everyone has understood to not go through it before you head up the ramparts.

He is splendid, there is no other word for it. He leaps and fires arrows that cause your soldiers pause as they dodge and attempt to get close to him but he circles and avoids them, perhaps it was slightly unfair to ask an archer to fight three knights but he had not complained and now you almost wish he could train more of your men as you watch him lead them about. He handles the unfamiliar terrain well you must say. The flush to his cheeks, the bright gleam in his eye and the thought of the sweat rolling down his back stirs a longing in you, a warmth you press down despite the chill. He is wary enough without you openly lusting for him at the moment.

Nijoh'ir is declared the winner and you slip away as your soldiers congratulate and thank him. You just catch the look of bafflement on his face before you head down the stairs to meet him back at your office.

You meet him on the stairs leading to your office, he’s quick. His mismatched eyes clever too as he takes you in. You can see the sweat dampen his brow as he brushes his hair, a mane almost, out of his face. You compliment his form, you thank him for his time and you see him tilt his head just slightly. You don’t know if he knows what to make of you.

You will need to make a list for him, of those in the houses perhaps willing to help him. A call of his name pulls him from you, far too soon, as he bounds over to see what Cid and Alphinaud need of him.

Well that gives you time to make that list. Maybe write a missive or two encouraging them to help him.

You make your way back to your desk, you can contact House Dzemael, not that you expect help from them but you can try. You think you know who in house Fortemps, Hailenarte and Durendaire is liable to help him.

He returns just as you’ve made yourself comfortable at your desk. He heads for the fire, or perhaps his bag and you’d like to let him warm himself but he seems to notice your gaze and swerves to approach you.

“As you have doubtless realized by now, the High Houses of Ishgard – House Fortemps included – are either unable or unwilling to offer you formal assistance in your search.”

Nijoh’ir’s twitched and he nodded, “figures.” He starts to turn away, you rise slightly to grab his arm but the movement alone halts him. He looks at you curiously and with confusion.

“If you can’t help me-” It’s not an accusation but a bewildered question. Then why are you stopping me? Goes unsaid.

But you can help him and you will help him. Bastard or not, surely your name will mean something, not just to House Fortemps. You give him the list, you are surprised when he mentions that he’s already tried the chief astrologian and found the man only unhelpful.

“Perhaps he will be more accommodating once I inform him that you are a friend of House Fortemps.” His eyes grow wide at those words, it’s adorable how his ears and tail both rise in surprise. You smile gently at him, you promised him aid and you will not forgo that promise.

He gives a quick nod, glances at his bag before seeming to accept that he could leave it here and hurries away. You silently wish him only luck though you doubt he will need it. How could anyone not see how splendid the man was? How could they not attempt to help him? Ishgard hospitality be damn the man moved something in you.

It is sometime after Nijoh'ir has left that you first hear it. A soft mew. Yaelle turns her head towards the Warrior of Light's bag, which you can now see has begun to shift. She glances at you for permission, you nod, and she steps towards it to lift the flap. The pair of kittens that tumble out are wholly unexpected and bring everyone in the room to a halt as they stare at the pair. One is spotted, the other pure black, both with large eyes that take in the room. They recover from their surprise first and begin to explore, tottering around under the war table. Yaelle ducks after them and that pulls all of you out of your stupor to go chasing the kittens.

Dragons are easier to wrangle but eventually Yaelle grabs the black one and Corentiaux receives a scratch as he pulls the spotted one out from under a chair. You know they're all looking at you for what to do but you must admit this has lest you reeling. What does he even have them for? Surely they are not his? They cannot be. You know little about Miqo'te but surely...

"My lord?" Yaelle asks hesitantly, she's begun to pet the black one, while Courtiax holds his like it is a cherry bomb. You gesture at him and he gladly hands it over. You let it hiss as you set her on your desk, it arches its back and swipes at you.

"Mighty warrior indeed." You smile at it before turning to Yaelle. "I suppose for now we shall supervise them. Once Nijoh'ir returns he can... explain this development."

Yaelle seems content with that, she seats herself at the war table to gently stroke her kitten. It seems the milder one, accepting pets from anyone who ventures over. You are fond of the spotted one though and offer it a quill as a target for its ire. It gleefully accepts.

Word travels fast through camp Dragonhead and many soldiers drop by your office to 'get out of the cold'. You can hardly blame them. You may have to ask Nijoh'ir if you might borrow these kittens because you have seen more smiles now as people drag a string someone found over the war table for the black kitten to chase than you have in days. The boost to moral is truly something.

The spotted kitten has watched the other play for a bit before it jumped into your lap where it seemed content to stay, peering over your desk every time someone enters as though waiting. You suspect your waiting for the same person. The quill's sacrifice was not in vain as you have earned the ability to pet your kitten's soft ears. This makes it gently paw against your armor, pushing softly into you as though fluffing a pillow. Utterly adorable.

Some of your soldiers laugh as the black kitten bats a wooden dragon off the table. You smile and quip, "with such ferocity and deeds we may have to knight it."

One of your younger recruits salutes the kitten. "Hail the dragon slayer," they say and their fellows laugh.

The kitten has decimated Ishgard's defenses and working on knocking a tower off when the door opens.

Nijoh'ir steps in, his eyes on you, "Lord Haurchefant, I- Mischief!"

You duck your head to hide a smile at his shock as his kitten paws the last piece off the table.

He darts forward to lift the kitten off the table and looks at you with wild eyed fear, ears flat against his head, “I am so sor-”

“Please,” you cut him off gently, “Mischief you said? Has provided nothing but amusement. What they lack in battle strategy they certainly make up for in entertainment.”

Nijoh’ir looks to his kitten, “and where is your sister young man?”

“Mew!” The spotted kitten climbs out of your lap to race across the desk and jump down to run to Nijoh’ir. He crouches down to examine her.

“There you are Fi. Have you also been pestering Lord Haurchefant?”

He carries them over to your desk where he sets them with a glance at the now cleared war table. He’s absently trying to coral his kittens with his hands.

You reach out to catch Fi before she can chew on another quill, when your hand brushes his he jumps and his tail puffs out. You smile at him and his lips twitch in a faint attempt to smile back.

“Good news my friend?” you ask.

He shakes his head, “they are all distracted by…” his ears flatten again, “the thing with Lord Francel.”

You nod and let out a heavy sigh, “that cannot be helped I suppose. I do apologize for not being of more use to you.”

Once more he looks stunned and you’re worried you’re going to hurt him with how quickly you seem to drop surprises on him. It fades quicker this time though, the wariness and caution are slower to return.

“Why don’t you sit down and warm up, if you rush ahead blindly your health will pay the price. I am quite curious about these two as well.” You reach over to scratch under Mischief’s chin and you see something in him relax.

Maybe, finally you have earned some of his trust. His kittens swipe at his tail as he turns around to pull a chair over to sit across your desk from you.

“Fi seems to like you,” he nods to her as she curls up next to your hand. You scratch behind one large ear and smile back at him.

“I am quite taken with them as well.” Taken with you.

He starts and you think you might’ve spoken your true thoughts out loud but it seems he simply saw something in your face. There is a silent and tense moment between you two before he drops into the chair.

“Would you like some hot cocoa?” you offer him, “perhaps something to eat? You have been run about through the cold, it would not do for you to go unfed. Food that physicks makes the flesh proof against cold.”

He nods eagerly and Yaelle is off before you can even ask someone to fetch some. Instead you settle in the chair and watches as he strokes Mischief.

“You are welcome to leave them here if you are worried about the cold.” You would hate to see something happen to them, not only because they are clearly so precious to him.

The look of gratitude does your quickly developing infatuation no favors, “thank you Lord Haurchefant.”

With a bit of work you might convince him to drop your title. To address you as the friend you are offering yourself to him as.

“Of course, my friend.”

You’d like that a lot.

#Writing #FFXIV #Haurchefant/Nijoh'ir #Male Miqo'te #Miqo'te

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aridcanyonzone · 6 years

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( Boom ) Hey Sonic, who're those two with you?

A trio of uneasy eyes slid among eachother. The tallest hedgehog heaved a groaning sigh, tossing a box of hair chalk overshoulder and out the window with a comical crash.

“See? I told you fur chalk wasn’t gonna do it.” With a lean back, the snarkiest of the bunch leapt and tucked into a spindash, which blew off all of the goofy green hair chalk, exposing messy golden quills underneath. The rest was smoothed off of a bright red kerchief and dull hued bracelets. “You can’t just bury this kinda coolness, Big S.”

“Well, I’m outta ideas–”

“Hey hey hey, I’m not finished talkin’!” A finger was pressed to Sonic’s lips, which prompted his ears to flatten. “Since you caught a glimpse at my awesome self, lemme introduce myself– Name’s Super Sonic! Coolest thing this side of the island. And if this guy would ever pop these stupid bracelets off, we’d be DONE dealing with Eggman!”

“It’s not that easy! We just wanna stop him, not KILL him! Besides– The books say if you take those off, you’ll get weak and disappear, or whatever.” Sonic side-eyed a pile of books he so delicately borrowed from the library. He knew a certain pink purloiner would have a field day if she caught him reading anything other than a comic book, and dabbling with ancient technology.

“Sure sure sure, I’ll believe it when I see it, needlebutt.” Super rudely stuck his tongue out, blowing a raspberry directly in the other’s face. This was met with a glower, whereas the yellow hedgehog’s visage turned up in a grin. When the gesture was returned, the air was filled with various pooty sounds from various raspberries of various volumes.

From behind the trunk in the middle of the hedgehog abode, a snowy white little fellow popped their head out, a long scarf around their neck and a large collar hidden underneath it. They smiled, briefly scratching mussed-up quills before beginning to creep for the door.

“Hi. Call me Hyper.” On high alert, they started to zip into bushes to avoid being spotted, the ground faintly scorched wherever they went. Hyper poked their head up from the foliage. “We’re hiding from Eggman and a bunch of other villains, so they can’t use us for our super powers. We’re even hiding from all of Sonic’s friends.. But there was no rule that said I couldn’t introduce myself!”

A grin plastered on their face, when collective calamity arose from the house they’d snuck out of. As well as cries to find a net to catch them with.

#ic #asks #boom sonic #boom super #boom hyper #arid boom canyon zone

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ryukoishida · 7 years

Text

PARS 2017 | Day 6: Spring Festival | In which Alfreed and Layla become friends at a figure skating competition.

Title: Our Own Rhythmnals Day/Prompt: Day 6 – Spring Festival Author: ryukoishida Summary: Alfreed and Layla met and became friends at Coupe du Printemps after Layla comforted the heartbroken skater, who was at a very bad place in her life at the time. Three years later, they reunite in the same competition as senior skaters, but Layla is distancing herself, and Alfreed wants to know why. [Figure Skating AU] Rating: T Warning: N/A A/N: Title from Luke Lalonde’s “Grand”. Alfreed’s SP music is Eendo’s “Eshgh e Aasemaani”. Layla’s SP music is Ólafur Arnalds’ “33:26”. Links to music are embedded into the text of the fic for your convenience. Holy… okay, so this is my first time writing F/F and I hope I did them justice. If you have no idea who Layla is, there’s a bit of information about her here and here. Also, I took the theme a bit liberally; the name of the competition is Spring Cup, so… spring skating festival it is!

“Alfreed Zottī, with a score of…”

Alfreed doesn’t need to hear the announcement to know that she has one of the lowest scores among the twenty-four junior female skaters present at the Coupe du Printemps.

She squeezes her eyes close, two hands crushing the fabric of her jacket that she hasn’t even bothered to put on after she gets off the ice; her knees still throbbing from the falls as she tries not to let frustrated tears fall. Colours run together and blur into a mirage of shapeless, meaningless images.

A few audience members applaud after the score has been announced, but with the arena only about one-thirds full — not surprising since junior events are never at the center of attention —the half-hearted applause sounds even worst, echoing pathetically and then fading until there’s not a trace of it left as if it was all in her imagination.

She pulls herself up from the bench, and accompanied by her coach, who hasn’t really said anything yet other than a few attempted words of comfort, the red-haired skater stalks down the aisle where staff, other skaters, and coaches are still idling about, and she doesn’t stop until she reaches the safe privacy of the changing room and locks herself inside a washroom stall.

Alfreed knocks her forehead against the metallic door, the cool sensation at least a nice relief for her heated skin after that disaster of a short program, and at the thought of that, her mind of course decides to focus on nothing but the toppled double axel that started the chain of calamity that followed: the triple Loop she stepped out prematurely, the under-rotated jump combo, and the less-than-perfect step sequence when she had lost all momentum and spun out of control.

A teardrop escapes and rolls down her cheek, and before she knows it, she’s sobbing uncontrollably, chest heaving like she can’t catch her breath and fists striking uselessly against the door as tears and snot run down her face in a mess.

She hates herself for being so weak — not just in terms of her physical elements in figure skating, because she’s always believed that she can improve through incessant practice and training, but her emotional state as well, that she had been so easily swayed by a single mistake that it’d led her down into an unending spiral of self-doubt, resulting in such a devastating and disappointing score in an ISU skating competition, even if it was one of the smaller-scale ones.

If only she can be as strong as her brother, she muses, a sense of self-deprecation settles over her like a heavy blanket that’s impossible to shake away. Despite the recent death of their father, Merlane continues to train ceaselessly back at their home rink — perhaps even more so than before, as if he has something to prove.

Alfreed wipes her tear-streaked face furiously — make-up and costume be damned, she can always wash up her face and have the clothes dry-cleaned later — and that’s when she hears the door to the changing room swings open with a squeak, followed by scattered footsteps and snippets of conversations, most likely other skaters who are looking for a refuge for some gossip.

She claps a hand over her mouth and tries to stay as quiet as possible.

“Who do you think will take gold this time?” someone with a nasally arrogant voice asks and adds, “That Kassem girl was really good, but I’ve never even heard of her until this season. Where did she pop out from?”

“I heard she’s just switched coaches; she’s apparently training under Ilterish Turan now.”

Another girl gasps, “No way! The devil incarnate — that Ilterish Turan?”

“Call him what you want, but most of the skaters trained under him ended up sweeping the medals at all the big competitions.”

“Speaking of, how old is she anyway? She looks like she could be in the senior division.”

“I think she’s just freakishly tall for her age,” the first girl replies with an amused snort, and everyone else laughs.

And that is the major reason why Alfreed always finds herself unable to befriend anyone around her own age range in the figure skating field. She isn’t the friendliest person to hang around with in the first place — with her unrefined, loud-mouthed nature that others never expect from a figure skater and a raw, straight-forward kind of honesty that always rubs people the wrong way — but she despises those who talk shit behind people’s backs even more.

Whoever they’re referring to — Alfreed racks her brain trying to remember a skater named Kassem but fails to come up with anything — she wishes she can stomp out of the washroom stall at that very moment and defend the stranger, even if said stranger isn’t around to witness it. That’s not the point, after all, and nobody deserves to be the target of someone’s joke like this, especially when it’s obviously so ill-intended and tasteless.

Her hand is already resting on the lock, ready to kick open the door and reveal her presence, but then someone else is talking again.

‘God, how long are they planning to stay here?’ Alfreed rolls her eyes, but freezes when she hears her own name.

“And from all the things I’ve heard about Alfreed Zottī, I would’ve thought she’d be a more impressive skater, but wow, was her SP a disaster or what? Those jumps and that posture were absolutely awful! How did she even manage to remain at the top twenty?”

“My coach told me that her father just passed away, so maybe we shouldn’t be too hard on her,” another girl mentions in a softer voice, but the first speaker only sniffs indignantly.

“And her father was her coach, if I remember correctly. That would explain why her performances have been so inconsistent lately.”

“All the more reason she shouldn’t slack off, then,” the first girl only says, her tone final, signifying the end of the discussion.

It’s at this point that Alfreed finds herself shuddering in fury, fingers curling into fists and nails digging into the tender skin of her palms as her eyes flare up in a dangerous crimson: it’s fine that they’re talking about all the flaws in her skating, and it’s true that she’d been letting her emotions get the better of her for the past few weeks since her father — a single-parent who brought her and her brother up and trained them since they were young, a harsh and unreasonable man at times, certainly, but everything he said and did was for the benefit of his children — has died from an unfortunate accident. Yet to discredit all the time and effort she’s poured into training in such an offhanded manner when this girl doesn’t even know her is crossing the line, and Alfreed is about to give these clueless girls a piece of her mind.

“Who did you say is slacking off?” a new voice — light and sweet like the first trace of spring — joins in the conversation, and for a few seconds, everyone in the changing room remains uncomfortably quiet, the air stiff and dense and no one dares to make the first move.

“W-what’s it to you?” one of the girls says, a little too loud, like an entrapped prey trying to make itself bigger and more menacing than it truly is.

“Nothing,” the newcomer pauses, and Alfreed presses her ear against the door as if it’d help her hear better, “But maybe you should consider being nicer human beings and stop talking crap behind people’s backs? The way you girls are behaving — it’s rather childish, don’t you think?”

“Just because you’re in first place after the SP doesn’t make you the boss of us, you freak,” one of them, presumably the leader of the trio, snaps.

The newcomer ignores the insult and responds with the kind of nonchalance that Alfreed can only dream to achieve, “Oh? I think the medal speaks otherwise.”

“There’s still the free skate tomorrow,” the girl reminds her, snide sneering obvious in her taunt, “I wouldn’t be so certain about that gold medal if I were you, Kassem. Come on, girls, let’s get out of here.”

The rushed footsteps fade, and the door swings back to place with the familiar squeak. Alfreed feels herself releasing a breath she hasn’t realized she’s been holding.

The hesitant rapping against the door of her stall comes unexpected, and causes Alfreed to jump back a little, a hand on her chest, her heart still beating a little too fast from the conversation she’s been accidentally eavesdropping.

“Hey, you okay in there? You’re not stuck in the toilet, are you? Should I get some help?”

It’s the girl who’s kicked the gossipers out of the changing room — ‘Kassem, wasn’t it?’ Alfreed recalls — her heroine, to be honest, though she’ll never admit such an embarrassing thing to a stranger she’s barely met.

“No! I-I’m fine, thanks.”

Without making it too obvious, she tries to wipe off as much of the dried tear marks and straighten up her costume as best as she can, and with a twist of the lock, she pulls the door open and steps out of the cramped stall, murmuring with a hint of blush on her cheeks that she’s hoping the make-up will at least partly cover, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I heard the whole thing… Thanks again for, well…”

She’s aware that she’s rambling a mile a minute, and the more nervous she feels, the worst her running mouth gets. It’s a bad habit Alfreed still hasn’t been able to get rid of.

“You’re Alfreed Zottī, aren’t you?” the sweet voice rings clear and silvery, and it’s filled with pleasant surprise that makes the other skater blink in confusion.

Alfreed finally has the sense to look up, and she internally scolds herself for not remembering the girl standing before her, a bright grin lighting up the soft green of her eyes and short, dark curls braided on one side of her head while stray locks frame her cheeks: Layla Kassem, a young skater with the strength and elegance of a lioness, skills that most skaters her age can only dream of, and a burning passion for the sport that simmers and explodes in her programs and in the way she moves on the ice.

She was in the group before Alfreed’s, but she must have been too busy worrying about her own performance and warm-up to pay attention to the other skaters at the time.

Later that evening, when she’s re-watching that day’s event on the laptop she’s brought along with her, Alfreed will realize that Layla — the thirteen-year-old girl with the bright, fervent eyes and the enthusiasm and skills to match — is one of the few junior female skaters who was crazy enough to attempt the triple Axel, and somehow managed to land it, even if she had to put a hand on the ice to stop herself from completely falling out of the jump.

“How did you know?” Alfreed asks, eyes widening comically.

“Your beautiful red hair is pretty unforgettable,” Layla replies as she glances admiringly at Alfreed with a small but genuine smile, which only makes the other girl blush even harder than before.

“Oh, you mean I didn’t leave enough of an impression when I flunked that double Axel?” Alfreed chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck, abashed at the attention she’s getting from the other skater.

“Come on, we all had our bad days. Your musical interpretation and transitions were nearly flawless, and I’m not just saying that to make you feel better, I promise,” Layla says.

“You really think so?” Alfreed looks up to meet Layla’s steady gaze with hesitant, cerise irises, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“Don’t judge too harshly of yourself,” she gives the red-headed skater a sympathetic smile — nothing demeaning, just a sincere gesture to express her concern and an invitation to talk more should Alfreed wishes to do so. The dark-haired skater offers her hand with a tilt of her head, “Layla Kassem. Want to be friends?”

“Absolutely!” she clasps Layla’s hand in hers in an enthusiastic handshake, “I’m Alfreed Zottī, but uh… I guess you already knew that.” Her cheeks are tinted pink again, and Alfreed suspects that this is going to become something of a recurrent theme, but Layla merely laughs, the sound gentle and earnest, and they let go of each other’s hand, fingertips tingling with warmth that seeps deeper than skin and into their bones.

“Want to get out of here and grab a coffee?” Layla asks as she turns around and heads to her locker.

Alfreed follows suit.

“Hot cocoa?” Alfreed wrinkles her nose in disgust at the unpleasant bitter drink and suggests instead.

“Sure! Anything to get away from my coach just for a little while,” Layla whispers conspiringly under her breath.

“The rumors are true then? You’re training under the devil incarnate?”

“Is that the nickname Coach Ilterish goes by around here?” Layla can’t help but laugh, though she definitely wouldn’t have dared if the man were actually present. “Sure, he’s tough and strict with his students, and his ballet classes are brutal; plus, I think he’s secretly a robot or something because I’ve never seen that man cracked a smile, ever.”

Layla pauses for a moment as she puts her sweater on and continues after contemplating her next words, “but he’d taught a lot of top skaters for the past decade and I think I can learn a lot more with him guiding me.”

“That’s amazing — you’re amazing, Layla,” Alfreed has already changed out of her costume and into a set of sweatpants and windbreaker with matching orange and white accents; the clothes are half a size too big on her slight frame, so the sleeves are covering most of her hands, revealing only the tips of her fingers. She pokes her head around the corner of a wall of lockers to check and see if Layla is done yet, and finds that the other girl is mostly dressed except for her shoes.

Similar to herself, Layla’s feet are covered in welts and bruises, and healing wounds protected by bandages. The dark-haired skater quickly pulls on her socks and slips on a pair of sneakers, head ducked to hide the faint blush on her cheeks after Alfreed has complimented her out of the blue.

“H-how do you mean?”

“You must be around the same age as me, right?” She plops down beside the other girl and drops her sports bag by her feet. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Layla zips her windbreaker all the way up in a weak attempt to hide the heat on her face. “I’m thirteen, actually.” She curls in on herself as if she wants to make herself appear smaller, and Alfreed has to wonder why, though she does find the gesture rather endearing.

“What? Seriously? Wow, you’re two years younger than me and you’ve already got your future all planned out,” Alfreed sighs in awe as she stretches her arms upward and leans back against her hands braced against the bench.

“I mean… I just know that I’ll always want figure skating to be a big part of my life,” Layla replies sheepishly. “Don’t you?”

“That’d be ideal, yeah, but when you get to a certain age, you just realize that there are some things that, no matter how much you want it, no matter how much time and effort you spend trying to attain it, it’s simply… impossible,” Alfreed turns and looks over at her new friend, cerise eyes bright but it’s in the way she shrugs her shoulders a bit helplessly and the crooked grin on her lips that doesn’t quite touch the entirety of her face that make Layla want to shuffle closer to offer some sort of consolation, a hug, maybe.

She isn’t sure how to go about this — isn’t sure if the gesture is perhaps too forward of her — so she remains unmoving.

“Look at you, talking like a grandma already,” Layla playfully punches the other girl’s arm instead, before her tone turns somber once more, “it won’t always be like this — what happened on the ice today.”

“I know,” Alfreed smiles faintly at her friend’s words, her head lowered as she stares at her hands. The gratitude is unspoken, but Layla understands as soon as the red-haired skater nudges her shoulder gently against hers, and the serious topic is dropped for the moment.

The day after the Coupe du Printemps, under the lush, green foliage of the woods that surround the Patinoire de Kockelscheuer, Alfreed and Layla stand side-by-side as they look at the venue one last time before they have to board the bus and leave. In the end, Alfreed managed to climb back up to ninth place after completing a near-perfect rendition of her free skate, and Layla proudly took silver, losing only a mere 0.5 points to the gold medalist.

“This April’s Worlds’ will be my last competition as a junior skater,” Alfreed tells her as she leans heavily against the trunk of an alder tree. The thick layers of leaves provide some cover from the rain for them, but Alfreed pulls her hood tighter around her head as the breeze begins to pick up. It’s rare to see the usually boisterous girl conveying such a grim expression, but as soon as the thought of her senior debut enters her thoughts, it’s difficult for her mind to think of anything else.

“Are you excited about your senior debut next season?” Layla asks, her back touching the same tree, their arms almost touching, and even though it’s already March, the climate of southern Luxembourg is still bitingly cold, especially when the chilling wind brings with it occasional precipitation that’s more like viscous mist than actual rainfall.

“Not going to lie, but I’m actually really nervous about this whole thing. The ladies’ singles field is pretty deep and there are so many talented skaters from all over the world. I feel overwhelmed just thinking about it,” her voice softens at the next statement, “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“You’ll wait for me, right?” Layla pushes herself off from the trunk with a determined grunt and stands before the other skater. She’s almost a head taller than Alfreed, so when she’s standing this close to her, with one hand braced against the tree a few inches away from Alfreed’s ear, her towering stature seems even more alarming and noticeable.

“W-what?” Alfreed is slightly taken aback by their sudden proximity, but she’s tilting her head to meet Layla’s gaze, albeit a bit bashfully.

“I’ll be keeping in touch, obviously,” and Alfreed really likes how confident and matter-of-fact Layla sounds when she announces this, “but we won’t be competing against each other in the same discipline anymore, so until I debut in the senior division, you have to promise to keep skating your best, and in turn, I’ll promise to train hard over the next two years so that when we’re finally competing in the same field, I’ll be able to stand on the podium with you.”

The pale green of her eyes is blazing, and Layla is focusing on nothing else but the girl standing before her. Her goal has been clear from the moment she’s decided to abandon everything, sacrifice and cut off the frivolous ties that threaten to hold her back, to pursue figure skating as her career: she will go down in history to become one of the most notable female skaters of her era and bring pride to her family and country. Now that she’s befriended Alfreed — an older, more experienced skater who shares some of those insecurities that she has never brought up or admitted to anyone else — Layla wishes nothing more than to have Alfreed be part of this journey, this transformation, her life.

Caught up in her own thoughts, Layla hasn’t even noticed that Alfreed, standing on her tiptoe, is cradling her flushed, wind-chaffed face between her palms, and she says with a teasing grin, “You don’t sound like a thirteen-year-old at all when you talk like that, you know?”

A small, displeased pout begins to form on the younger skater’s chapped lips, but Alfreed interrupts with a pat on Layla’s head as she ruffles her hair, “Hey, I meant that as a compliment. Now stop frowning before you start getting premature wrinkles and sprouting grey hairs.”

Layla’s cheeks are still uncomfortably warm after Alfreed retrieves her hands, and it definitely doesn’t help that a second later, the red-headed skater has taken her hand into hers without a forethought and starts dragging her towards the bus station across from the arena.

“C’mon, we should head back before our coaches decide to ditch us here.”

In the unknowing mist of spring among the green woods in Luxembourg, they make a promise to meet again on the world stage as equals after two years; however, during that period of time, their exchanges over texts and Skype become fewer and farther in between, mostly with Alfreed being the one to initiate conversations, and even then, she’ll only receive the occasional dissatisfying short replies. This awkward, one-sided game of hide-and-seek continues until about a month right before Layla’s supposedly senior debut at the Finlandia Trophy that season, and that’s about the time when Alfreed completely loses track of her friend.

There have been no messages, no calls — no attempt at any kind of contact at all — and Alfreed is worried, her heart becoming heavier as days of silence turn into weeks, except she has no time to worry about a girl who may not be her friend anymore, but she remembers their promise still, intending to keep it in her heart until the end.

Nothing much about the Patinoire de Kockelscheuer has changed over the three years since she last skated in the venue, except the crowd in the stands seem more enthusiastic, and she even spots a few supportive banners bearing her name.

“Alfreed, are you listening to me?” her coach is saying, his head ducked down to scan the content of his clipboard, “remember to watch your posture during the triple axel.”

She hums to show that she’s listening, and then asks out of nowhere with a straight face, “So, have you reconsidered my marriage proposal?”

It all started out as a joke when someone back in her home rink discovered Alfreed’s childhood crush had been none other than the current favourite star choreographer for many prodigious skaters, Narsus Shahidi. Since the older skaters wouldn’t stop teasing her about it even after she’d clarified that that childish infatuation had long been forgotten ever since she grew out of that phase, Alfreed has learned to just swim with the tide with a smile instead of fighting against it.

These days, only Narsus himself is still embarrassed about the entire fanfare, and Alfreed enjoys making the older man fluster every once in a while.

Alfreed tucks a stray lock of her red hair behind the curve of her ear, batting her eyelashes in an overly-exaggerated keenness that, if the man hasn’t already known her for a long time, he’d have assumed she’s making a horrid attempt at flirting with him.

“Excuse me?” he cocks a well-shaped eyebrow at his student’s question, though his concentration is still fully focused on the clipboard in his hand, the other one scrawling down notes that Alfreed is unable to make out because she’s standing on the other side of the rink board. Also, because his handwriting — even if she’s not viewing it upside-down — is terrible.

“Remember what I said about marrying you when I win five golds this season?” she continues with a wide grin, unperturbed by the dark glower her coach sends her.

“No,” he snaps.

“’No’ as in you don’t remember, or ‘no’ as in you don’t think I can win gold here?” Alfreed remains in good humor, her lips, shimmering with pink gloss that matches the sea-blue gauze and silver trimming of her costume, tucked in a self-assured smirk.

“’No’ as in I refuse to answer this obviously loaded question.”

“You’ll give the poor man an aneurism, Alfreed,” a tall woman with an elegant posture even when she’s just standing, ink-black hair that cascades down her back, and exquisite jade-green eyes that can either convey heartbreak or downright murder appears beside the blond-haired coach who’s still fuming over Alfreed’s teasing.

“Farangis!” Alfreed chirps excitedly, “What are you doing here? Didn’t you say you were going to stay behind and train for Worlds’?”

“I thought it’d be fun to come cheer you on,” Farangis replies with a soft smile.

“Aghriras is stalking you again, isn’t he?” Narsus turns to her with a knowing glance. “Have you considered getting a restraining order? I heard those things are rather effective against stubborn and shameless men who just don’t know when to give up.”

“That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?” Farangis sounds remarkably calm, as if having her old pair skating partner following her on every social media platform she’s on and obsessively trying to get back in touch with her despite Farangis’ outright refusal to have any more connection to the man who gave up on their partnership after a few consecutive disappointing results is nothing to be afraid of. It amazes Alfreed how the skater, who’s only three years older than her, can deal with all this with such a mature and composed demeanor.

In most people’s opinion — fellow professional figure skaters and audiences alike — Farangis Avesta is better off skating in the singles discipline anyway; her techniques have always been at the top in the pair skating field and her performances and public persona are popular with the judges and fans. To be rid of the weight of a troublesome partner is a blessing, and Farangis bursts into the ladies’ singles scene burning brighter and more dazzling than ever before.

“You’re too nice,” Alfreed pipes up as she balances her chin on her palm.

“And you should be out there doing your warm-up before time runs out,” Narsus scolds.

“Alright already,” Alfreed makes a face and skates away to join the other skaters in her flight.

“How’s she doing?” Farangis asks as she watches the red-haired skater speeds past the other young women in the rink, eyes focusing straight ahead and nothing else.

“Everything should be fine if she can concentrate and not let any unnecessary things distract her from her goal,” Narsus answers, a finger tapping against his bottom lip as he finally drops the clipboard down on one of the available chairs nearby.

“I saw her — the girl that Alfreed mentioned before,” Farangis comments, “she’s in the flight after hers, and it looks like Ilterish is keeping quite a tight leash on his prized skater.”

“Yeah? I wish you wouldn’t bring it up to her because Layla Kassem is trouble and is considered to be one of the aforementioned unnecessary things that Alfreed doesn’t need to bother herself with right now,” Narsus replies coolly.

“She probably already knows,” Farangis speaks again after someone announces the end of the warm-up segment, and they move aside to allow the stunningly-dressed skaters go by, a few who recognize Farangis are waving at her and the woman nods her greeting with a pleasant, polite smile. “She must have seen the entries list, at least. And her skating feels different during the last few days, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, too.”

Narsus remains silent but his pursed lips and the unease in those usually confident, violet eyes tell Farangis all she needs to know.

“Wish Alfreed good luck for me,” Farangis turns around, “I’ll be watching from the audience stands.”

Like so many times before, like the moment before that disastrous short program that had led to the most unlikely encounter three years prior, Alfreed is once again standing in the center of the rink where the Coupe du Printemps takes place, her body poised gracefully in her starting position as all eyes dwell on her.

Her mind is blank except for the one name that refuses to be wiped off, and that’s all right because she is the one person Alfreed wants to skate for.

She’s known since the entries list was published on the event’s official website about a month ago; she’s known that Layla will be here, and she will see her at some point over the course of the competition, surely. But somehow, over the past two days during the sanctioned practice times or even at the drawing for the starting order last evening, she couldn’t find a chance to approach her or even wander close enough to garner her attention.

Ilterish is always with her, it appears, as if he’s her personal bodyguard; Alfreed has to admit he’s doing a damn fine job at keeping everyone else at bay from bothering his protégé.

If she can’t talk to her friend, then the only way Alfreed can get through to her is to skate her heart out, lay it bare for all to witness.

Will Layla be watching?

She doesn’t have time to ponder about that for too long because the staccato notes of the folksy accordion to her short program music have started playing; she unfolds from her frozen pose, the semi-transparent gauze of her sleeves flowing in the air like blue wings spreading out in the wind, and she transforms into a lover lamenting for a kind of heavenly love she’ll never find.

The female singer’s smoky vocals melt seamlessly into the jazzy tang of the melody, and Alfreed lets the harmony of the song and the movements of her body fuse together as one. After the triple flip, which she lands solidly to the applause and cheering from the audience, the music — suffused with playful guitar chords and trombone slides — picks up the pace, and she prepares for the spread-eagle entry, leading to an impressive double axel-triple toe loop jump combination with incredible height and speed.

The colours blur into ribbons and the music drowns out everything else; Alfreed can feel her blood singing, her body soaring in a delirious rush of desperate passion as she seeks the answer she longs for, chases after the shadow of her friend who, like a spirit, continues to slip and escape through her fingers every time she gets too near.

Slightly out of breath, she topples precariously doing the triple axel in the second half of the program, so deductions are unavoidable in that account, and Alfreed can already imagine Narsus’ unimpressed ‘what were you thinking?’ scowl. She vaguely wonders if Layla has perfected the jump that she’d dared to try three years ago.

The melody is becoming light and sparse once more, and she concludes with a beautiful layback spin that shows off the elegant arch of her back as her skirt flares out in waves from the momentum, skating to a stop in her final pose when the tinkling notes float and dissipate into the roaring ovation from the crowds.

Everything aches: muscles, feet, bones, the raw, clawed out emptiness in her heart, and she’ll have to do it again tomorrow at the free skate event. She pushes the stray locks of her hair back and away from sticking onto her sweaty cheeks as she joins Narsus at the kiss and cry area and awaits her score.

“I would yell at you for that terrible posture during the triple axel…” Narsus murmurs as he smiles brilliantly for the camera pointing at him.

“I know you would,” Alfreed interrupts without a hitch, her eyes trained on the scoreboard.

“But I’m not going to,” he concludes, a little smug.

“Oh? This is new,” Alfreed looks over at him, and then she immediately narrows her eyes with suspicion, “Wait, am I in a different kind of trouble?”

Narsus’ answer is halted by the announcement of Alfreed’s score: her season’s best SP score yet, which lands her in the first place with six more skaters to go.

“You knew she’s here — your… friend,” Narsus only hesitates a little at the end of his statement.

Alfreed has only told him in the briefest manner about her friendship with Layla when they first met, but what she’d said to him three years ago — right after World Championships had ended, and Alfreed had come running to him asking for the choreographer, who has been a decorated figure skater himself at the height of his achievement but has never expressed any desire to take in students, to become her coach — it was enough to convince Narsus.

The resolve in her eyes and the determined set of her mouth when she announced that she wanted to become better so that she could skate as her best friend’s equal, sharing the joy and victory together on the world stage, revealed to Narsus the potential of a young, fervent skater who so desperately wanted to improve her artistry and techniques for the sake of friendship.

He’ll never admit this, but at the time, Narsus thought Alfreed really reminded him of his younger self: awfully reckless and full of the kind of ideals and tenacity to the sport and art of figure skating. It’s a part of him that gradually fizzles out as he grows older and becomes too docile, too complacent.

Alfreed nods without a word as they walk around the side of the ice rink, out through the passageway, and into the hallway beneath the audience stands. She plops down on one of the benches by the wall and begins to unlace her skates with quick, practiced fingers.

“What will you do?” Narsus sits down beside her and gingerly places a pair of sneakers by her skates, which she promptly slips on along with her team jacket.

She pulls herself to her feet and zips her jacket all the way up, the movement echoing a hint of ferocious flare.

“Alfreed?” Narsus picks up his students’ skates and stands up tentatively.

“I’m going to talk to Layla,” she simply says, her tone low and brittle. “I need to know what happened.”

“How? Ilterish follows her like a guard dog.”

They make for the section of the stands reserved for competitors and staff.

“He can’t possibly follow her everywhere she goes,” she snorts insolently, climbing up the stairs two at a time. Layla is the first to start in her group and she wants to find a good seat.

Glancing over at the red-haired skater and realizing that there’s nothing he can do to dissuade her from doing whatever she’s planning in her head, Narsus can only sigh in defeat.

Her left leg jiggles up and down impatiently as her thumb scrolls on her phone while they’re waiting for the ice to be resurfaced for the last six skaters; she can’t understand a word she’s seeing on the screen, but it doesn’t matter because she isn’t even sure what she’s reading in the first place.

When the six skaters finally step out onto the ice for their warm-up, Alfreed leans her entire torso over the railing and narrows her eyes in search of the familiar figure of her friend. The dark hair and towering frame is easy to spot amongst the slighter-built skaters: donned in an asymmetrical dress with one long sleeve covering her right arm and showing bare, olive-toned skin of her left, the fabric a subdued gradient of black from her neckline to bright red along the edge of her skirt with delicate silver jewels sewn into an intricate pattern, and short hair combed back with a single purple pansy flower hairpin, Layla Kassem stands out with her presence.

It’s difficult to tell from this distance, but Alfreed is sure that Layla has grown quite a lot taller over the years they haven’t seen each other; her limbs develop elegant, powerful lines of lean muscles, and she exudes cool confidence as she perfectly does a triple axel with the ease and grace of a veteran skater.

At last, the announcer is introducing the first skater, and Layla glides one lap on the ice before she locks into her starting position at the left end of the rink.

Alfreed’s attention is solely focused on the lone figure on the ice — the excitement of finally seeing Layla perform live for the first time in three years overwhelms the dawning fear of having to confront her after the event. For now, she just wants to watch her friend skate.

And skate she did: beautifully, perfectly, not a chink in her armour strengthened by the impeccable execution of all the required technical elements.

The program begins with the isolated, winding melody of a violin, the swift contrast from absolute low to rough high notes bringing Layla to stretch out into a graceful layback Ina Bauer, back arched and gliding sideways, that leads into a double axel-double toe-double loop combination.

One element after another, Layla executes each to the praise of the audience, yet it makes no difference for her.

Despite the melancholic nature of the song that seems to paint a character walking alone in the dark — restless and with nowhere to go, no place to belong — nothing on Layla’s facial expressions convey that sentiment. Her eyes, glazed green and too fierce for the piece she’s performing, only depicts hungry, roaring flames; to the skater, there is only one purpose to this program, and that is to flawlessly complete the list of challenging technical elements that will garner her the most amount of points.

With her fingers curled around the railing and her knuckles turning white, Alfreed feels a sense of unease toiling inside her chest. Even though Layla is skating without any mistakes and every movement, every tilt of her head, spread of her arms, is calculated and exact — the Kerrigan spiral that transitions into a triple loop, the various spins — her performance can only be described as cold, distant, and unfeeling.

It’s nothing like the kind of skating Alfreed remembered from when they first met.

As the song progresses, the violin melody becomes more urgent, the notes slashing through the air like caged snarls, the rhythm chaotic and vicious — violent, almost — and her step sequence and final combination spin completely mirror that.

To nobody’s surprise, Layla receives a very high score, a good eight points ahead of the person currently in second place. The other five skaters who perform after Layla don’t even come close to her standards in terms of technical skills, but Alfreed hasn’t remained in her seat long enough to find out until much later because as soon as she observes Layla leaving the kiss and cry area with her coach, she shoots off for the direction of the changing room downstairs.

With her arms crossed in front of her chest and one leg resting before the other while leaning against the stark white wall of the female changing room, Alfreed ignores the confused stares that some of the passerby staff have sent her way and replies to the brief greetings from her fellow competitors when they choose to acknowledge her on their way in or out of the room.

It’s nearly deserted when Alfreed finally spots a tall figure with a head of dark, messy curls. She waits until the last person in the room leaves, and then steadily makes her way to where Layla is sitting on a bench facing the row of lockers. She sits down beside her, with a few inches of space between them; Alfreed can’t find the strength in her to reduce that distance yet, not until she gets the answers she’s wanted for the past year.

“What the hell was that out there?” Alfreed decides to break the silence with the first question that comes to her mind. She could’ve phrased it better, but she thinks they’re beyond polite words and courteous pretense now.

“What do you mean?” Her voice is just as sweet as Alfreed remembers it, yet something is amiss in that tone — that touch of blooming spring that reminds Alfreed of revival, a new beginning, a hopeful future.

“That style of skating — that was not you at all!” She tries to control the contempt and disappointment in her voice, but it’s leaking into her words like sticky tar, a dark, disgusting coat that clings to every word that comes out of her mouth.

“And how would you know what skating style best defines me?” Layla wraps her jacket tighter around herself as she looks away.

“Maybe if you haven’t suddenly disappeared off of the face of the earth and replied to my messages once in a while, I would’ve known the answer to that and we wouldn’t even be having this ridiculous conversation right now,” Alfreed’s voice simmers between exasperation and helplessness, and it’s tearing her apart.

“Maybe there are circumstances that you don’t understand,” Layla mutters.

“Damn it,” she kicks the door of the closest locker and its slam echoes like a clap of thunder in the room, and then she whirls around to face the other girl, “then make me understand, Layla.”

“I can’t!” She sounds resolute, and she sharply turns to the red-haired skater with an agonized expression, lips pursed and eyes despondent. “I need to do everything I can to achieve my goals, and that includes… this.”

“This?” Alfreed repeats, uncomprehending.

“You,” she tries to put her sentiment into words, but with the way Alfreed is staring at her, confused and pained, it’s becoming difficult to think clearly.

“Me?” Alfreed is feeling foolish for repeating again, but there are issues that need to be clarified, and this one is currently on the top of the list.

“I had to leave you behind,” she says quietly, her fingers fiddling agitatedly in her lap.

“By ignoring me without a single, logical explanation? The Layla I thought I knew would have at least tried to talk it out first.”

“Coach Ilterish was right…” she murmurs. Everything becomes so much more complicated when Alfreed Zottī is involved, Layla has thought. Coach Ilterish was able to foresee it and was probably just being logical back then, suggesting that the earlier she cut ties with unnecessary baggage that might ruin her future, the faster and smoother her path to the top of the figure skating world would be.

“Ilterish…?” Alfreed spits out the name in distaste, “Since when did you start caring about what he said?”

“Since I started winning at competitions,” Layla’s reply has no wavering hesitation, just absolute belief, “since I started truly understanding his philosophy.”

“Oh yeah, the philosophy of treating your friends like shit in order to win,” Alfreed sneers, and even as the words slide out of her mouth, viscous and full of venom, some part of her hopes that it will infuriate Layla enough to make her stay just a bit longer.

“You can think whatever you want of me, but I’m done with this conversation,” Layla pulls herself up from the bench and begins to turn away.

“Whatever happened to keeping in touch, huh?” Alfreed has wrapped her fingers tightly around the taller girl’s bicep in a flash to stop her from moving further, and she’s pleading now, wide-eyed and crestfallen. “Whatever happened to waiting for you so we can compete in the same field? Whatever happened to standing on the podium together?”

“We aren’t kids anymore, Alfreed,” she makes no movement to retrieve her arm from the other girl’s grasp, her stance fixed as an ice sculpture, her voice just as stiff and cold, “when all of us compete in the same discipline, there can only be one person standing at the top of the podium, and I will be the one with the gold medal around my neck.”

The trace of warmth in her pale green eyes is lost to the winter frost, and Alfreed feels her friend slipping away from the tip of her fingers again as her arm drops to her side listlessly.

‘Whatever happened to us?’ Alfreed wants to ask Layla, but she’s alone in the room now, and there’s nowhere else for her to go but back to the world constructed of ice.

A/N: Err I did mention this piece will not have a happy ending, didn’t I? [sweats nervously]

Some notes about this AU here.

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #pars2017 #alfreed/layla #alfreed #layla #bowie's crappy writing

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