Grace Wing Tattoos But I Couldn't Decide On A Background Color ;-;

I like to think when Riju is in turmoil, Link knows how to help her, because he went through the exact same thing before, and it was Urbosa who helped him out

sebby 🏍️

look i finally drew something

Zelda passing the time 🌱📖

Your Gentle Touch - Dyn Jarren (The Mandalorian)

books-with-tea-with-a-record-on said:

Sorry if request aren’t open but if they are may I have one with The Mandalorian with a s/o whos not a fighter but a healer/nurse and she’s very sweet and motherly and one day he sees her with baby yoda and is like “crap I love her”. And one day they get ambushed and he tells her to go hide but she sees baby yoda in danger and risk her life for him and gets injured and after the fight, he runs over to her and helps her up and confess how he loves her and never been so scared before.

Dyn is forgetting his old ways but, with clear eyes, he finds something he didn’t know that he was missing out on.

Dyn Jarren was not a true-born Mandalorian despite living the earliest days of his young life within the Mandalore system. He had lived on the outskirts, on a planet tuck behind an atmosphere of Imperial pollution and asteroids. Once the Trade Federation brought the war to his home, Dyn fell into the Mandalorian’s arms. They took him in without hesitation. They raised him; they trained him; they even tried to teach him their native tongue, Mando’a. While most of the intricate sounds and words of the language were lost to him, Dyn was pleased to have been taught.

Above all, the Mandalorians gave Dyn a semblance of belonging to something greater when he had virtually nothing. 

As grateful as he was to the Mandalorians for giving him shelter, Dyn had found something better. He had found a family. Family was something he thought he had lost, something that he could never truly build for himself. The last time he had a family, they died. His mother and father had been cannon fodder towards the war. His parents, his innocence, had been an easy price to pay for cruelty; but, now, looking at the sight before him, Dyn Jarren was pleased he wasn’t a full-blooded Mandalorian.

If he had been born into their warrior culture, Dyn imagined that he would have never found this his new family. That thought alone was enough to make the bounty hunter shudder.

“Not all at once! Take little bites!”

Dyn cocked his head to the side as you instructed the Child. His small green hands were wrapped tightly around the hunk of ration bread you had given him. Part of the portion was already in his small mouth. Happily, the Child gurgled and bits of bread flew from its lips. Dyn heard your laugh, in all of its pure lightness, and smiled from beneath his helmet.

“You might choke,” you managed to get out through giggles. 

The Child, seemingly unaware at the possibility, proceeded to swallow the rest of the ration bread. The creature swallowed, a horribly loud sound, and let out a little belch. 

“Feel better?” Dyn felt his chest ache at the teasing in your voice and he wasn’t the one you were talking to. The Child gurgled and you, with more grace than Dyn had ever seen in his entire lifetime, scooped the creature up in your arms. “I bet you do!”

Dyn watched as you made your way towards him. There was a tender smile on your lips that made that ache in his chest return. The dull pain grew worse when you looked up from the Child and met Dyn’s gaze. In your eyes, the bounty hunter saw everything he ever wanted.

“I don’t think we need a trash compactor with this one around,” you joked. Your path had landed you standing right in front of Dyn. Even through the beskar, he could feel your warmth.

“Good to know,” Dyn said softly, almost as if the words were a passing thought. In reality, that was exactly what they were. He was so completely enraptured by you in that moment that everything, including his own body, ceased to exist. 

“We could save on some credits with him,” you continued, “but they might go into feeding costs.” The Child chirped and you smiled, turning your gaze back to the green being cradled in your arms. “He likes the sound of that.”

A stint of silence passed with Dyn watching you watch the Child. The tender slope of your cheeks pulled him in. He had to force his hand to be still; he kept his arm at his side despite wanting to reach out to you. It was then when you looked up at him. It was then when you both realized how close you were to each other. 

You cleared your throat and took a step back. “He seems healthy; no wounds or bruises. You did a good job getting him out of there.”

Dyn nodded silently, still too caught up in your presence to speak up. He watched you place the Child in the seat he had made while you were checking on the creature’s vitals. It was an ugly thing; the cradle was made of a few boxes and sheets of metal he had bent into shape. The structure would do for now and, for the most part, the Child was safe.

“There we go,” you pet the Child’s head soothingly. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

The Child, trying to speak in its own language of chitters and chirps, made a series of sounds. Dyn watched as you smiled down at the creature before turning away. The Child’s big, dark eyes followed you as you walked back over towards Dyn. 

“You too,” you said as you stood before the bounty hunter. Dyn shifted trying to not lean in close as he had before.

“What?”

“You’ve had a long day too.” Your hands lifted to Dyn’s shoulders and you pressed down on the plates of beskar fastened there. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m fine,” Dyn began to protest. It was a feeble, half-hearted attempt to stop you; and when you continued to push Dyn into the nearby chair, he didn’t fight back. You were right, after all. It had been a long day and there wasn’t enough strength left in him to combat his longing.

Once he was seated, you wandered back to the cot where you had checked on the Child’s life signatures. Dyn watched as you gathered your medical supplies. When you had all the bacta patches you could carry, you started to make your way back to him. Quietly, you set to work sorting your tools and preparing gauze. After you spread out a large section of heavy fabric, you turned back to Dyn.

A silent question, a question Dyn had heard you ask before, was balanced on your lips. Knowing well what it was, Dyn began to unfasten pieces of his armor. Even within the context of a medical check-up, removing the beskar was an intimate process. Carefully, you would take each portion of armor and set it on top of the heavy fabric you had laid out. The process continued as Dyn removed more and more hunks of metal from his body.

Dyn felt truly exposed. He was left in only his clothing and his helmet, the latter of which he never took off. At least, he never took his helmet off in front of you. No, that would be too much. That would be crossing a line carved in stone; a step that Dyn could not come back from.

To distract himself from the temptation, Dyn watched you as you pulled a seat up for yourself. You were now sitting at his side, careful hands already reaching for his arm. When you hands gripped loosely at his wrist and elbow, Dyn fought the urge to melt under your fingers.

“You fell on this side, right?”

“Y-Yeah.” Dyn had hoped his reply would come out steady. Instead, much like his heart, his voice faltered with you so close in proximity. 

“Your arm feels fine,” you gave Dyn’s arm a slight squeeze. “That hurt?”

“No.”

Dyn watched you carefully as you set his arm down to his lap. Each touch was tender, laced with a softness that he had never felt outside of your presence. Nothing had ever felt so comforting to him before. When he met you, when he offered you a spot on the Razor Crest, it was like a new world had been opened to him. A world outside of the Mandalorians training and cold shoulders of the bounty hunting realm.

“May I?” 

Your question broke Dyn from his thoughts. His eyes focused on your face than your hand which hovered above his abdomen. Heat emanated from your open palm, warming the flesh of his side even under the shirt. It was as if some unseen force was melding you both to each other; though that wasn’t rational and Dyn blamed his lack of sleep.

He nodded wordlessly and your fingers hooked under the hem of his shirt. Your gentle touch, the barely-there brushing of your fingertips stirred something up in Dyn’s chest. It wasn’t ache from before; no, this was something entirely different.

“It looks like,” you lifted Dyn’s shirt a little higher, “that when you fell…the beskar bruised your side.”

“So much for protection,” Dyn muttered. As he spoke, your hand splayed across his stomach and Dyn had to keep his breath from hitching. Your palm was warm against his skin, soothing in a way his brain failed to comprehend. 

“You’re not dead,” you said as you pulled away. “I would rather have you bruised than not have you at all.”

Dyn cocked his head as you lifted yours to meet his gaze. That feeling returned in his chest; that feeling he could not describe. There was not a word in the common language that could label the tickling in his chest and the twisting in his gut. Almost like an echo, a word in Mando’a resounded in his mind: chaab.

Chaab, fear.

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