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tomjannaceroofinginc · 2 months ago

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Need a Roofing Contractor on Long Island, NY? Here’s How to Choose the Right One!

Are you on the hunt for a roofing contractor on Long Island, NY? Whether you’re dealing with a leaky roof, storm damage, or simply looking for routine maintenance, it’s crucial to find a contractor who is reliable, professional, and fits your needs. Your roof is one of the most critical parts of your home, protecting you from the elements and ensuring your family’s safety. That’s why choosing the right contractor for roof repair on Long Island, NY is so important. In this blog, we’ll walk you through some actionable tips and advice to help you make the best decision for your roofing needs.

1. Research Local Roofing Contractors Thoroughly

Finding the right roofing contractor on Long Island, NY starts with a bit of homework. While it might be tempting to pick the first name that pops up in a Google search, taking some extra time to research contractors can save you money and stress in the long run.

Start by looking up roofing contractors in your area and reading reviews on sites like Yelp, Google, and Angie’s List. Reviews from past customers can give you an idea of the quality of service, professionalism, and reliability you can expect. Pay attention to contractors who have consistent, positive feedback, and look for any common issues or complaints that may raise red flags.

Another great approach is to ask friends, family, or neighbors if they have any recommendations. Personal referrals often provide a trustworthy starting point, especially when you can see the results of the contractor’s work firsthand.

2. Check for Proper Licensing and Insurance

Before hiring a roofing contractor on Long Island, NY, make sure they are fully licensed and insured. This is crucial for your protection. A licensed contractor has met the required standards and training for roofing services in New York. Insurance, on the other hand, covers you in case of accidents or damage to your property during the project.

Ask any potential contractor to show you their license and proof of insurance. A reputable contractor will have no problem providing this information. If they hesitate or cannot provide these documents, it’s a good idea to move on to another company. Ensuring your contractor is licensed and insured not only gives you peace of mind but also demonstrates their professionalism and commitment to quality work.

3. Request Multiple Quotes and Compare

When it comes to roof repair on Long Island, NY, one of the smartest things you can do is get multiple quotes. Different contractors may offer different prices based on their expertise, the materials they use, and the scope of work. Aim to collect at least three quotes from various roofing contractors to compare their services and prices.

However, don’t just choose the cheapest option. While budget is an important factor, the quality of work should be your top priority. Sometimes, a low price might mean the contractor is cutting corners, using inferior materials, or lacks experience. Look for a contractor who offers a fair price with clear details about the scope of work, materials used, and timeline.

4. Ask About Warranties and Guarantees

A reputable roofing contractor on Long Island, NY should offer warranties for both their materials and workmanship. This shows that they are confident in the quality of their work and are willing to stand behind it. A typical warranty might cover the materials for 20-30 years and the labor for at least 5 years.

Be sure to get all the details about warranties and guarantees in writing before signing any contracts. This ensures that if something goes wrong after the project is complete, you have a written agreement that covers you. A contractor who provides clear, written warranties is one who values customer satisfaction and long-term relationships.

5. Understand the Signs That Your Roof Needs Repair or Replacement

Sometimes, knowing when to call a contractor for roof repair on Long Island, NY isn’t as simple as spotting a leak. Roof damage can often be subtle, and understanding the signs early can save you from more extensive (and expensive) repairs later.

Here are a few indicators that you might need roof repair:

Damaged or missing shingles: Shingles protect your roof from water damage and the elements. If they’re missing, cracked, or curling, it’s time to call a contractor.

Water stains or leaks: Any sign of water damage inside your home, like stains on your ceiling or walls, could indicate a roof problem that needs immediate attention.

Granules in gutters: If you notice granules from your shingles collecting in your gutters, it may be a sign that your roof is aging and losing its protective layer.

Sagging roof deck: A sagging or drooping roof could indicate structural issues that require professional intervention.

If you notice any of these signs, contact a roofing contractor as soon as possible to prevent further damage and costly repairs.

6. Prioritize Regular Roof Maintenance

Maintaining your roof doesn’t end after a repair or replacement. Regular maintenance is key to extending the life of your roof and protecting your home’s value. Simple actions like cleaning your gutters, trimming overhanging branches, and inspecting your roof for visible damage can make a big difference.

It’s also a good idea to have your roof inspected annually by a professional roofing contractor on Long Island, NY. Even if everything looks fine from the ground, a trained contractor can identify potential problems that may not be visible to the untrained eye. Annual inspections help catch issues early, which means smaller repairs and lower costs for you.

7. Choose a Local Roofing Contractor for the Best Service

When hiring a roofing contractor, choosing a local company offers several advantages. Local contractors understand the specific weather conditions and challenges that homes face on Long Island. They are familiar with the best materials and techniques suited for the area’s climate, which means you get a solution that works long-term.

Additionally, working with a local contractor provides a level of accountability and trust that you don’t get with larger, out-of-town companies. If you have any issues down the road, it’s easier to contact a nearby company for follow-up support. Plus, supporting local businesses helps boost the community’s economy, which is always a plus!

Conclusion

Finding the right roofing contractor on Long Island, NY doesn’t have to be overwhelming. By doing your research, checking for licenses and insurance, and getting multiple quotes, you’ll be well on your way to choosing a contractor you can trust. Remember, the key to a successful roofing project is communication, professionalism, and choosing a contractor who values quality work.

Whether you need roof repair on Long Island, NY, or are looking for routine maintenance, investing in the right professional will keep your home safe and your roof in top shape for years to come. Reach out to a local contractor today and take the first step toward protecting your home!

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kingsidingandroofing · 2 months ago

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Reliable Roof Maintenance Company in Long Island

Keep your roof from potential issues due to aging, storms, or wear and tear. As a leading roof maintenance company on Long Island, we offer outstanding roofing services at regular intervals and at reasonable costs. We aim to extend your roof’s lifespan and prevent costly damage. Contact us now to schedule your roof maintenance to protect your major property investment!

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kingsidingandgutters · 6 months ago

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Roof Repair Service Long Island

Are you searching for a renowned roof repair service in Long Island? If so, contact an experienced team of roofers at King Siding and Gutters. Our roofing specialists are committed to delivering the highest quality workmanship for all your home improvement needs, including roofing system inspection, repair, and installation, at a cost-effective price. Schedule an appointment with our experts at (631) 830-1100 for a quick consultation and a free estimation quote today!

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genempireroofing · 1 year ago

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Empire Gen Roofing - Your Trusted Roofing Contractor in Long Island

Looking for a reliable Roofing Contractor in Long Island? Empire Gen Roofing is your trusted choice for all your roofing needs. With years of experience, we offer top-quality roofing services, from repairs to installations. Our experts are committed to delivering exceptional craftsmanship and customer satisfaction. Whether it's residential or commercial roofing, we've got you covered. Contact Empire Gen Roofing today for a free consultation!

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roofingbronx · 1 year ago

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Tile Flooring Installation Long Island

Tiling is a popular choice for home renovations due to its durability, versatility, and attractive appearance. Whether used for floors, walls, or backsplashes, tile provides a long-lasting and easy-to-clean surface that can add value and beauty to any home.

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bunbunlovestowrite · 5 months ago

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Yandere!Tentacle Monster x Fem!Lighthouse keeper! Reader

Damn that title long

Cws: Tentacles are referred to as more than one, reader is a bit of a perv for wanting to bang monsters, consensual somnophilia, excessive cum, cumflation, penetration, the monster is buff ngl 💦, this is supposed to be freaky/kinky :p also reader is morally grey

SFW

You've always loved solitude. Even when you were a young girl in foster care.

Fog, mist, rain, thunder, dark clouds, all of those added to the feeling of being enclosed where no one else was.

You don't like sunny days. Not in an emo way but in a need for a calm, and the blistering sun couldn't bring you that.

Fast forward 20 something years and you struggle to stay at a job because of people. Rude customers, loud kids, lazy coworkers. Hell you got fired from your local grocer because you threw a cabbage at some entitled asshole.

And by some luck, you weren't in cuffs yet. Fate? Prolly lol

You were reading the newspaper one day and saw an ad for a lighthouse keeper. It must have been urgent if it was in the paper 4 times.

The people you met for the job were shady as hell. But they offered to pay good for you to just take care of the lighthouse completely alone for 6 months.

They put you on a boat and shipped your ass out to an island hours away from the mainland.

It had the lighthouse (duh), a cabin for you, a very small forest, and beaches covered in driftwood and seaweed.

It was foggy, cold, and wet with no sun peeking through the clouds.

Perfect.

The people who hired you were eager to get off the island. So immediately after showing you the basics they ran off.

The cabin was old and rustic, with a few holes in the roof that were covered by aged duct tape.

There was an outdoor shower and the place used gas lamps for light.

But you enjoyed it. The solitude.

Now let's skip to two months later.

You got the hang of keeping the light on and keeping it fixed. The stairs definitely worked you out though.

You spent 80% of your time using the small workshop to repair the cabin. It eventually looked slightly livable.

Everything was completely normal

Until that day on the beach.

You were outside your cabin showering.

The outdoor shower didn't exactly have curtains so you were exposed to the beach it faced.

The hot water kept you comfortable in the cold weather and you were relaxed...until you heard a growl.

You assumed it was an animal and looked around when you saw something light purple disappear into the ocean waves.

Coral you thought just coral

You went on with your week like nothing happened but you always felt watched.

It wasn't until one night during a storm you felt it.

A storm had hit the island hard, it was freezing and your shitty blankets did little.

You barely managed to fall asleep when something warm engulfed you, arms and slimy embraces.

You screamed in shock and fear but your unwelcome bedmate held you harder and wouldn't let you move.

It was only after you calmed down that it relaxed.

Light purple skin was what you noticed when looking down. With scales in areas that were slightly darker.

The tentacles were wrapped around your legs tightly, writhing in certain areas.

You got a better look when your holder put you on your back and sat above you.

A humanoid creature with light purple skin and what seemed to be a jellyfish head sat on its actual head. It had no nose and completely white eyes, not to mention a gentle smile.

It cooed at you, dragging it's hands up your stomach and sliding up your bra.

Slimy and warm, that was it's skin.

You normally would have thrashed and kicked, but maybe it was the pheromones the creature left out, or how one tentacle pressed right against your cunt through your damp shorts.

But you moaned when it touched you. A soft, unashamed moan.

The tentacle at your shorts practically tore them off, panties included, and it slid up and down your slit and flicked against your clit.

You watch as it's hand fondled your tits and pinched your nipples, its eyes slightly lidded.

You let your body roam down it's chest and saw it didn't have a cock. It was kinda like a ken doll. But the tentacles must have the same effect as one when you saw white precum drip from the larger tentacles tip.

More tentacles held your arms and legs open while the tentacle squirmed into you, thick and struggling.

There wasn't a part of you it didn't fill. Your stomach bulged slightly as it didn't wait and immediately moved in you, wiggling before pulling out and slamming back in.

The cabin was full of lewd wet noises and your cries, along with the creature chirps and coos while it pet your head that night.

NSFW

There wasn't a second it didn't have a tentacle on or in you.

Despite its main body being in the water there was a tentacle wrapped around your legs that you never found the start of.

It had an iron grip and wouldn't come off unless the creature itself was nearby.

When the tentacle wasn't dormant it would rub against your clit through your pants or would be in you, gently drawing orgasms after orgasms until you begged it to let you breathe.

The creature was never gone for more than a few hours. And when it came back it came with gifts.

Shells, pearls, fish, jewelry it made or rusty jewelery it found on the bottom of the ocean.

You noticed it liked it when you wore the jewelry during sex, mainly due to how much rougher it was.

Then there was the slight fear of getting knocked up.

Every single time you had sex you would try and tell it to pull out but it would just smile and pet your head before cumming in you for the third time that hour. And you loved it.

Sometimes, when you were especially needy, you'd put on more of a show when showering.

Even touching yourself when you knew it was watching. The creature loved it.

You'd see it stand in the water and would beckon you closer, to which you happily obliged.

You'd meet in the water and it would kiss you roughly before lifting your legs around its waist and kept you above the water as it fucked its tentacles deep into you. The water mixing with the (possible) gallons of cum that spilled from you

One of your favorite things was waking up to its coos and growls.

You'd be held tight by its tentacles while it found shoved it's tounge in your cunt, hitting deep spots with its flexible prongs.

Other times it would wake up to you using one of its tentacles, whining when you couldn't get it to stay stiff by itself. It would act asleep and slowly stiffens the tentacle so you could have your fun.

What a perv you are

But then again the sun's gonna blow up one day so :p

It seemed to have infinite stamina and an infinite libido.

It could be the most inconvenient time ever and all you need to do is give it a look before your suspended in the air by your hands while it curls a smaller tentacle around your clit and fucks you with its thick one.

The creature was possessive before you knew it was there, especially when people dropped off your supplies.

But now that your it's? A whole new genre of possessive.

On time you had to keep a straight face while talking to someone cause the mini tentacle was rubbed right against your g-spot while somehow rubbing your clit under your skirt.

It even started biting you hard enough to leave marks.

Requests are open :)

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metcoremodeling · 2 years ago

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Roof Repair and Installation Services Long Island

Metco Remodeling offers roof repair and installation services for Long Island residents. Trust our experienced team to keep your home protected & looking great.

#Roof Repair Services Long Island #Roof Installation Services Long Island #Home Remodeling Services Long Island

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bestroofingcompanylongisland · 23 days ago

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Thanks for the 5 Stars! We’re Ready to Serve You with Excellence!

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sinnabarmoth · 21 days ago

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Worthy of Devotion (6/9)

Pairing: Sea God|Rafayel x Worshipper|Reader (fem)

Summary: Rafayel and Reader talk about why it was him that she had chosen to worship and what exactly happened to put her in his path.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Mentions of past child abuse. Attempted murder of a child.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (7) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

This wasn’t how you were supposed to feel. You knew that. There was a difference between loving your god and being in love with your god. You had heard many tales of other followers of other deities that had fallen in love with their god. It never worked out well. Most of them ended up dying in the end, and you knew none that actually ended up with the god they so adored.

You knew the responsible thing would have been to pull away, to put those walls up that divided you and Rafayel into your respective positions. He the god. You the follower. You reminded yourself that once the temple was repaired you would be constructing a boat to take you home. It was only a matter of time till you left this island and returned to the mainland to become a priestess. That was the goal. It was the whole reason you had spent countless hours penning the history Rafayel told you. You were going to be his priestess, maybe a high priestess. And that was all you were going to be. All you would allow yourself to want.

And you tried to be that. You tried to put up those walls. You tried to be proper and revere him just as your god and nothing more. But you couldn’t.

Every day when he came by you forgot about the future. You laughed and joked and talked as if you were old friends. At night before he would leave to return to Lemuria you would lay in bed together. He’d rest his head on your lap while you ran your hands through his soft hair. You’d say your prayer to him and fall asleep.

Some evenings he even stayed. You’d wake up with him next to you, holding you. You would feign still being asleep in those instances. Your whole body melting into his touch when you felt him stir. Because he probably thought you were still asleep he’d kiss you. Your forehead, your cheek, or if he was behind you he’d press one to the back of your neck.

The simple intimacy of it all made you want to weep.

You never spoke about any of it. How could you? If you said anything it would mean you’d have to confront everything you knew couldn’t happen. It would mean breaking your own heart.

So you slowed your work, just to have that extra day with Rafayel before having to return to the mainland. Days would go by when you didn’t do any work at all. You’d claim you were tired or needed to draw up a plan on how to repair something. Each excuse more flimsy than the last. You knew your time was running out.

Finally all there was left to fix was the roof. There was no way for you to restore it to what it was before but you could board it up to keep the elements from coming in. But that would take some time and an actual plan. You needed to figure out how to get to the roof and more importantly how to get supplies to the roof.

For a brief moment a hope swelled in your chest at the idea that it may very well be impossible. Which meant that you’d have to stay here forever. You couldn’t leave it destroyed like that. It would practically be sacrilege to return to the mainland with that giant hole in the roof. And you were not going to leave the temple in such a state.

Then your stupid conscience kicked in and reminded you that you could in fact not just leave it to further your own selfish agenda. Whether you liked it or not, you had to fix it. The temple didn’t do anything wrong. It deserved the respect and care you had been putting in for months. But you did indeed still need a plan so until you figured something out you could remain as long as you were needed.

Amidst all this work and excuses and personal crisis there was Rafayel. One evening he had informed you that a meteor shower was happening that night and sat with you on the beach to watch the stars streak across the clear night sky.

When you were child you had heard stories about how if you wished on a falling star your wish was sure to come true. As you grew you weren’t sure how much you believed in those tales. But considering that one of your childhood wishes was to meet the Sea God, you were starting to think it wasn’t all sparkle with no substance. Maybe there was some magic in it.

What would you wish for now if you knew it would come true? Your gaze flicked to Rafayel.

He caught you staring and you whipped your head back to look at the sky.

“I have a question for you that I don’t think I’ve asked before.” Rafayel said. “You said that you had traveled to this temple for your pilgrimage. That if all had gone as intended you would have come here, done your work, retrieved a pearl and left to become a priestess. Is that correct?”

“Yes. That was the plan. Still is the plan, although renovations are still slow going and I also still have no way to return to the mainland. It was always my intended goal and with your blessing and everything that we’ve recorded in the book I may even be raised to high priestess when I return.”

“What would you do if you were made high priestess?”

“Well, I’d set the records straight first. Make sure everyone knew the real history of the Sea Gods and what you desire from your followers. Next I would see followers return to this temple as they were supposed to. I could bring in so many others that would not only restore this place to its former glory but make it even better. With the influence as a high priestess I could do it.”

He brushed a bit of sand off your face. “You really do worship me, don’t you?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re one of my devoted followers when you’re not tossing pebbles at me or demolishing me at Jumping Shrimp. But you are a very good follower, best I’ve ever seen anyway. I’d be lucky to have you as a high priestess.”

Your heart swelled with the affection given. “Thank you.”

“My question then is, before you met me why did you want to become a priestess? Out of all the gods, why me?”

“Oh…” you hugged your arms to your sides. “It…it isn’t a very happy story I’m afraid.”

His eyebrows knit in concern. “What do you mean?”

“There are many superstitions regarding the sea, especially where I grew up. I didn’t take much heed of any of them when I was a kid. And I remember there was this one cave that could only be entered at low tide. Everyone on the island said it was cursed, haunted by the lives of those who disrespected the sea. Everyone who went into that cave never came out alive. Their bodies would be dragged back out with the pull of the tide mangled and bloody.

“I don’t remember what possessed me to go to the cave. Maybe I was trying to be brave. Maybe I was chasing a colorful fish I saw in the shallows. But I went in. It was dark and the waves were up to my waist. I got caught in some kind of riptide and it pushed me deeper and deeper into the cave. I got scared and started praying that I would make it out of there alive. Then that pull stopped and I was on land at the back of the cave. There was this bioluminescent algae that was growing along the walls, it cast everything in serene light. I stayed there until the tide went back down.

“When I left the cave someone saw me. Saw how I was covered in this glowing algae and not dead. People didn’t know how to react to my being alive despite entering the cave. My parents…” you took in a shaky breath, “My parents thought it was a bad omen. That I was cursed, that I would only bring misfortune. So they threw me into the sea. But I survived again. The priests saw my miraculous defiance of death not once but twice and saw it as a blessing. They said I had been marked with the favor of the Sea God. So they took me into the city temple.

“From that point on you were my reason for living. If not for the priests thinking me blessed I may have ended up abandoned on the streets or dead. My becoming a priestess was what they expected of me and what I strove for.”

You turned to Rafayel. There were tears in his eyes. “They threw you into the sea?” he said.

“Yes. They had sewn rocks into my pockets so I would sink and drown. I remember sinking further and further beneath the waves, unable to kick back to the surface with the added weight. The sunlight started to disappear and I couldn’t breathe. I sucked in a lungful of water, the world went dark but then I woke up on the shore. I don’t know how it happened but--”

“The pockets of your dress were ripped.” Rafayel said.

“Yes…how did you know that?” You were positive you had never told him this story before.

“So much trouble, even as a child.” he said, a disbelieving smile growing on his face.

“Raf?”

“Many years ago when I was still nothing more than a pup, I had been wandering by the land. I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near land. Especially not the continent. But I was young and curious and I had been able to ditch my tutors. I was swimming near a cliffside when I saw a girl drop into the water. She had stone stitched into her pockets.” he touched your face, cupping your cheek. “I cut the pockets open with my dagger and swam her back to shore.”

“You saved me?”

“Seems so.”

“You do that a lot.”

“I’m supposed to. God of the Seas and all. I protect my followers.”

“Me especially?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe the priests were right. Maybe I really do have your favor.”

“You have much more than just my favor, cor meum.”

There was that word again. He had said it numerous times but you didn’t know what it meant. Any time you tried to ask he brushed it off. Said it was just a Lemurian phrase.

He was close again, his forehead pressed to yours. “We’re missing the meteor shower.” you whispered, a last ditch effort to pull you back to something resembling propriety.

“I’ve already made my wishes.” he said, his nose bumping against yours.

“What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you, it may not come true.”

“Raf…”

“Cor meum…”

Your eyes began to drift closed. I wish…I wish…

Then were was air. Rafayel was no longer pressed against you and you tipped forward, trying to chase his presence. He stood up, hands on his hips, his back to you. Shit! You messed up. You had to have. He saw, he knew. Did you pray? You were wishing, that didn’t mean you were praying. You wanted him to come back.

“Rafayel?” you felt ridiculous with how pitiful you sounded. You wanted him back. You needed to get him back before he realized. You could fix this. You just needed to--to--you didn’t know! You just wanted him to face you.

Several long seconds that stretched like lifetimes passed. The space between you might as well have been a desert, vast and dry. Not a sign of water or hope of oasis anywhere.

He finally turned and held a hand out for you. You took it and he pulled you to your feet. “I want to show you something.” he started tugging you down the beach towards the water.

You followed, your head in a daze as you tried to figure out what was going on. What was he doing?

You began to wade into the water, his hand still tightly interlaced with yours. You were up to your chest in the waves. Rafayel turned you to him and pulled your arms around his neck. The water around the pair of you began to glow. You stared down at the light wandering what was going on.

When the light cleared away you saw the shadow of a tail where his legs had been. You looked back up and the scales on his face and his torso were back. Those webbed fins over his ears and that blue flaming glow in his eyes too. His Lemurian form was much like his god form but severely smaller.

“What are you doing?”

“I said I wanted to show you something.” he grabbed your legs and hooked them around his hips. “Now hold on tight and don’t worry about breathing. You’re with me, I won’t let you drown.”

With that he dove into the water with you clinging onto him for dear life. He was right about you not needing to breathe. Water passed in and out of your lungs as if you had gills. Outside of the pinpricks of light coming off of Rafayel there was no other light where you were going. It was nothing but surrounding darkness the deeper and deeper you went.

You panicked for a moment as memories of drowning replayed in your mind. You nails dug into his back and he held you tighter. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. We’re almost there.”

Finally he stopped. It was so dark you couldn’t see anything. “Raf?” you tested out the word. It was strange to talk while water was flowing in and out your mouth. “What are we doing down here? I don’t like it.”

“Wait for it.” he rubbed your back. “Just give it a moment.”

You waited, you weren’t sure what for. Then a jet of bright orange light erupted next to you. You shrieked, clinging onto Rafayel tighter. “What--”

Another jet of light erupted, this time on your other side. It was a bright green. All around you more and more eruptions occurred in various colors. Jets of hot light and millions of bubbles lighting the dark sea in a rainbow of colors. The cold was banished as each column of heat and light cut through the darkness.

Geysers. Underwater geysers. You had heard about them but you had never seen one before.

“Wow…” a geyser of bright pink erupted next. “What is this place?”

“I call it the Kaleidoscope but the elders call it the Burning Rainbow. There are certain minerals in the geysers that cause them to light in all these different colors. This happens about once every month, I had been thinking about showing you for a while now. I thought you may like it.”

“I love it.” another column of light, this time purple, lit your faces. You turned to Rafayel, your smile wide. “And I like Kaleidoscope better than Burning Rainbow too. It sounds prettier.”

“That’s what I keep saying.” he held you a bit tighter. “I know that the temple is close to being fully repaired. So I don’t know how long we have left so I wanted to take you now…in case you aren’t around for next month.”

You were glad you were underwater so he couldn’t tell you were crying. “Rafayel,” you fought back the sob in your throat. “I want you to know in case I don’t have the strength to say it later. But these past couple of months, this time getting to know you, it has been the best time of my life. I will treasure every second I was here for the rest of my life.”

“So will I.” The geysers began to sputter and die, their eruptions dormant until next month and you were cast back into darkness. All you could make out again was the light in Rafayel’s eyes. “I will never forget you. Not a single moment. I promise, cor meum.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?”

“Another day, perhaps.” he hugged you tightly, “Let’s go home now.”

#i got a cute little divider finally!#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lads mc #rafayel x mc #rafayel x reader #lads sea god au #sea god rafayel

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harborrestoration · 3 months ago

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 4 months ago

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Hey, Frost! Congratulations on reaching 200 followers!!

This is Carol (@clonethirstingisreal), just asking on anon rather than my main account.

For my request, I was wondering about a fic focusing on Hunter & Omega with a father & daughter vibe (or just siblings is fine too.) I really don't have anything specific in mind. It could be after everyone (including Tech) is living safe on Pabu. Maybe Hunter comforting Omega about something...or vice versa. I don't know...sorry! If you need more to go on, let me know. I'm blanking...

Thanks!

New Night Routines [Hunter and Omega Family Fic]

Warnings and Information: Officially settling into island life after everything they’ve been through since the emergence of the Empire will take time, Hunter knows that. Patience is paramount in times like these, and the people of Pabu’s limitless generosity and neighborly nature make light work of helping all six members of Clone Force 99 lay down roots. Now, the biggest battle for him, his brothers, and Omega is getting a good night’s sleep. TBB AU where everyone gets to live happily ever after. Reference and allusion to canon-typical injury and violence. Mainly fluff and feel-good family moments. Minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Limited Mando’a. Fictional sea creatures. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.

Word count: 4,020

When the decision had been made to carve out a comfortable life for themselves at long last, Shep Hazard was all too happy to provide the Batch with a proper Pabuan house. He’d been insisting upon it for some time now, but the offer had always been turned down, saying the same thing each occasion.

“There’s still a lot to sort out. We need more time to come to a proper decision.”

They had the Empire to contend with. Brothers to help. Sowing the seeds of a growing rebellion.

So when the time finally came, Hunter was thrilled to take Shep up on the next offer. No more living on the run. No more sleeping and living out of the attack shuttle. They would have a safe roof to sleep under, and a steady supply of surf and sun to fill their days. The island community came together when news broke that they were here to stay, rolling up their sleeves to repay a multitude of favors from repairing Lower Pabu following the last sea surge.

Without the whip-smart fishermen, rewiring the house would have taken Tech many long weeks of steady work in order to bring everything up to his standards on his own.

Wrecker had the help of the community’s woodworkers in replacing anything suffering from wood rot and constructing newer, sturdier furniture.

Artists pooled themselves together and slung paint in every room of the house under Crosshair’s watchful eye; by lunch every room had been given a base coat, and by dinner, detail-work began once it was agreed who slept where, giving those spaces tailored touches.

Echo, though he would often be away assisting Captain Rex and the Clone rebellion, found ways to contribute to construction, incorporating hidden compartments and caches in their eventual living space for safekeeping their old armor and weaponry.

Omega had grand plans to decorate not just the room she had all to herself, but the whole of the house all on her own if Hunter didn’t insist upon helping between his own odd jobs. The prospect of having more than just the barest of bare essentials, but now the ‘basics’ was entirely thrilling to Omega, and perhaps more than a little overwhelming at times for Hunter.

There’s just so much… stuff.

Blankets and pillows had been small familiarities with the GAR, but patterned bedding and special linens? Decorative pillows? Was that all really necessary?

Maybe not to him, but making sure Omega felt like an equal contributor to putting together their home meant entertaining her enthusiasm in other ways when there were no tasks suitable for her to assist with. If there were heavy shelves to hang, Hunter helped her find the best baskets offered by the island’s artisans to use for storage. When the sturdier bed frames were carefully squeezed into the house, he went with Omega on a walk to collect the blankets that had been set aside for them by the many fibercraft artists.

And every evening after dinner, Hunter promised to do whatever she wanted for an hour to reward her for being so patient throughout all of this. Occasionally, one hour often bled into two, sometimes three before both would be thoroughly worn out and ready to turn in for the night.

Sometimes she wanted to sit under the weeping maya tree, gazing at the star-crusted indigo skies together. Other nights, Omega wanted to roam the Archium and proudly show off all she had learned from Phee, or Layana, or Tech about each of the valuable items stored here. They’ve crawled through several of the island’s coves in the growing twilight, collecting enough sea glass that Phee offered to find a jeweler who could turn the frosted fragments into beautiful sun-catchers for them.

Enjoying this nightly routine with her, Hunter considered making this a weekly thing once the house had been finished, which wouldn’t be much longer now. While he and his vode were accustomed to sleeping in the Havoc Marauder during the Clone Wars, he was growing tired of it long term.

Maker, he couldn’t wait to get into that house.

As hard as it could be to accept, her brothers knew Omega wouldn’t stay little forever. She was a growing girl who needed more room to grow, to decide what kind of life to make for herself, to simply live. And a gunner’s mount was no place for any of that.

Laying down roots on Pabu would be good for her.

For all of them.

After two weeks of continuous construction and regular after-dark adventures, the morning finally came that the Batch’s new house would be complete by lunch time. Perhaps even before, depending on how many members of this selfless community came together to help the vode furnish each room.

Omega woke shortly before dawn, too excited to sleep, or think about trying.

Hunter found himself roused from a comfortable slumber by a bright-eyed pre-teen, her pale, curly hair an adorably bedraggled mess as she gingerly shook his arm.

“Hunter. Hunter!”

Crosshair, ever the light sleeper, began to stir in the bunk across from Hunter’s just as the other began to sit up and work feeling into his limbs. They had all promised her long ago that if she ever needed anything, and they meant anything, from one of them for any reason, she never had a reason to hesitate waking her brothers.

“What’s wrong?”

Hunter tugged the blanket over the sniper’s head, chuckling warmly. “Go back to sleep, Cross. I’ve got it handled.” He didn’t even know what it was, but it didn’t matter. By nature of his engineering and training, Hunter had a life’s worth of experience in waking up suddenly and quickly. Alert in just a short time, he came up with something to do to let the others get as much sleep as they could while tugging on his boots.

“Think we can find something new in our favorite tide pools that Tech hasn’t seen before?”

It should be enough to keep them occupied for an hour or two before joining the others in putting the finishing touches on the house.

Omega nodded, enthusiastic and eager.

“Atta girl.”

Hunter ruffled her hair before sending her up to the cockpit to collect the beach bag Lyana had gifted her. This would give him more than enough time to shimmy out of the shirt he slept in and into something different. Once dressed, he rounded up a few more things around the Marauder he thought they might want - a drybag for when Omega inevitably wanted to splash her feet in the water, the datapad she used for her studies, and laid a change of clothing out for each of them at the foot of his bunk. Just in case.

They met at the gangplank, Hunter keying in the appropriate sequence to lower the ramp.

“All set, Havoc Five?”

Omega grinned, giddy and full of energy. “Ready, Havoc One!”

“Good,” Hunter returned the smile with one of his own. “Race you down to the water, then?”

Scuttling down the ramp together, Omega tore off in a burst of gleeful giggles, Hunter close behind.

Having been on the run for so long, living hand-to-mouth and facing peril after peril with the bravest of faces, Omega had begun laughing less and less. As their arrangement with Cid crawled to a boiling point, tempers flaring in the backroom of the Parlor, Bolo and Ketch found less and less success in making the adolescent laugh. After their treacherous ordeal on Ipsidon was met with complete apathy, it wasn’t much longer that the Batch parted ways with the Trandoshan without so much as a word.

Phee selflessly sharing her safe haven had given Omega back her laugh.

Pabu and the generosity of her people were giving Omega a chance at a normal life, with normal experiences. Making friends her own age exposed her to many new things. When Lyana and other girls their age invited her to her first sleepover, Tech helped her prepare for it the day before with research and reassurance.

“If, in the event you miss us, just remember that you have Lula. She’s been with the team for a long time. She’ll help you be brave, Omega.”

It wouldn’t be beloved tooka dolls alone that brought Omega her new-found bravery here in Pabu’s safe harbor. It would be her brothers, too.

Patiently learning to act less like a team, and more like a family, they were navigating this new life together. Hunter would certainly never take this for granted after everything the Batch had been through to get to this point.

Just as Omega claimed she was going to reach the beach first, Hunter would catch up in a burst of speed and swoop his sister into his arms. Both of them would reach the beach at the same time this way. The laughter shared between them felt good. Freeing. Racing down to the water without a care in the galaxy, still new and novel to each of them, would become a memory more valuable than any vault of credits he could ever imagine.

He had wanted that kind of life, once. As a cadet, likely younger than Omega had been when they first met, the prospect of living lavishly with his rowdy band of brothers after the war had been among the grandest dreams. A distraction, really, from the growing pains that plagued him and the endless hours of rigorous training, testing and tweaking of his enhancements.

Now, settling into an easy life from the Imperial forces that poisoned a predator with fear and slowly turned him into prey was his dream. A dream free of being faced with situations so dire and desperate he would be forced to gnaw off a part of himself to escape, or keep Omega safe.

Safe to create new routines of poking about the deeper tide pools for shells and strange, quad-eyed crustaceans with her brothers, her family.

“Look at this one!”

Omega carefully plucks a large crab out of the saltwater pool, keeping her hands behind its largest claw. She holds it out to Hunter, showing it off like a trophy with the proudest of smiles that she could catch one. They were often lightning-fast, scuttling down to the surf in a flash. Crosshair had figured out how to catch them to make it less challenging for Tech to study them, but not without several pinched fingers, first.

Once he’d mastered the technique, Cross taught it to Omega and encouraged her to show Hunter the next time he and Omega went down to the cove for their after-dark adventures. (Probably in hopes of scaring the hell out of Hunter, the little shit.) Crosshair had always been talented at finding ways to catch things that didn’t like being caught. It had been a useful pastime during the war.

“Looks very nice.” Hunter said, verbally applauding her accomplishment. “Can you tell what it is, Megs?”

“This is a false flotsam crab!” she declared, indicating the lack of splinter-like spikes lining the smallest claw.

Hunter had to stifle a chuckle over how much she sounded and acted like their bespectacled brother. After the sea surge, they had seen a lot of flotsam crabs and the pretenders in the wreckage of Lower Pabu. Upon identifying them, Tech declared both species were perfectly edible - though they would want more of the flotsam crabs than the false ones - and basketfuls of these crabs were collected. People may have lost their homes, but there would be enough food to prevent anyone from going hungry.

It was like the sea’s way of apologizing.

It was also the first time the Batch had seen the scale of Pabu’s generosity, and resilience. No wonder they had fled the Empire and come to Pabu; these were good people. Good people who were helping him give his sister a good life.

Omega brought the false flotsam closer to her brother, holding it out to him.

“Do you want to hold it?”

Hunter shook his head, smiling. “That’s okay. Maybe another time, Omega.” There would be plenty of chances to catch crabs in the future. Endless opportunities to splash in the cool coastal waters, and bask in the salt-laden breeze and island sun.

Placing the cranky creature back in the water, Omega returns to the task of finding something new to show Tech before they return to the others, where together, they’ll make their house a proper home.

When the sun has risen high enough, Omega leads the way to their new house, a large shell clutched tightly in her hands. Wearing her pack, Hunter follows behind, listening to her excited babbling of all the things she thinks her prize find could be.

Found further down the beach by his sister, it had recently washed ashore, glimmering in the young sunlight of dawn the way Hunter had heard rumors of the appearance of kyber. Opalescent, clearer than ice. Some surfaces were smooth to the touch. Others, jagged and unpleasant. It was unlike anything the siblings had seen before.

Omega called out their return the closer they were to the house.

“Tech! Look what we found!”

Hunter thought ‘we’ was being generous, but he did nothing to correct her. Tech, putting away his tools, takes the shell and examines it for all of ten seconds before announcing what they found. “Another glacial turban. That’s a rather remarkable specimen, Omega.” Omega pouts in disappointment to hear that they did not find something new, but it is soon forgotten as Tech spurs her youthful curiosity with a simple question.

“Would you like to know what makes it so remarkable?”

“Yes!”

He asks her to wait there while he ducks inside a moment, collecting his datapad, most likely. When Tech returns, he has a second shell in hand rather than his trusty technology. “This is also a glacial turban.” he explains, kneeling beside her. Comparing the two together, he shows her how the first shell has far more opalescence and clarity than the other, and the color is stronger.

Textbook perfect, he calls it.

The others have crowded around to see, only opting to hold it once Omega says it’s okay. “S’beautiful, kid,” Wrecker says, carefully turning the turban over in his hands, “A real keeper!” Once he’s had a good look, the turban is passed to Echo, and the ARC trooper says the shell’s a real stunner. Crosshair says nothing, but the way he smiles as he studies the way the light warps and shifts on the surface explains more than enough.

A teasing smile works its way free when Omega takes the shell back from him.

“So? Do you like it?”

“Can’t get any better than textbook perfect, I suppose.” he replies, smiling wryly around a toothpick.

Hunter lays a hand on one of Omega’s shoulders, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Sounds like we should find a special spot for you to show it off, then, Megs.” Now, looking up at his brothers, Hunter says the three words they had become very familiar with before all hell broke loose, once upon a time.

“You boys ready?”

Many hands make light work. Taking it room by room, they lay down rugs, make the beds and fluff up the pillows, and wrestle furniture into place. It would go a lot quicker if there was less fooling around, but making these new memories on what will soon be their first official day in a new house trumps efficiency.

Phee drops in around mid-morning to check on their progress, finding the six of them piled on the floor, taking a short break in Tech and Wrecker’s room. “Getting tired? Neighbors have said you guys sound like you’ve been having a great time for several hours now.” Arms folded loosely against her chest, their friend is all smiles as Phee gives her report.

Tech adjusts his goggles before he replies. “Decorating a domicile has been more fun than I anticipated.”

Omega’s room is left for last out of the bedrooms, and every item within is a testament of love the people in her life had for her.

They started with the gifts from Phee and Lyana first. The sea glass sun-catcher was hung in a corner of the window, and a soft moon-yo toy was added beside Lula and her trooper doll on the bed. Next, each brother helped Omega fit his contribution to the room in only the most perfect places.

The traditional telescope Crosshair had found and restored was tucked by the window, alongside other tools for stargazing. The bed frame that Wrecker had worked on longest of all was well worth the splinters when Omega lovingly awed over each embellishment that had been added by hand. The beaded curtains hung around her bed had been fashioned by Echo, worked on each night after she had gone to sleep. Tech gifted her a small set of shelves to display the special specimens she had collected in their travels. And adorning the bed laid the quilt Hunter had commissioned from one of Pabu’s reclusive-yet-crafty artisans, combining the common gray and red tones of Clone Force 99’s armor with the brighter hues found in Omega’s favorite colors.

In spite of her excitement over her first proper bed since Kamino, Omega avoided climbing on it for fear of getting sand in the freshly-laundered sheets. Besides, they still had parts of the house to finish, chiefly the kitchen and living area, and Omega didn’t want them to lose the current momentum. If they wanted to have things finished by lunch, then they had less than an hour to do it.

She would have the chance to find out just how comfortable the sleeping arrangements would prove at bedtime.

Since the two of them had gone down to the beach before dawn, Hunter and Omega opted not to do a part of their nightly routine in favor of making their first night in a proper house an early one. Instead, they stayed with the rest of the Batch, playing a few short rounds of Sabbac or doing other things while waiting on their turn to shower.

Wrecker would kindly offer to help Omega finish getting ready for bed while Hunter had his turn, but she declined. Her answer was less surprising than she might have expected; Hunter was already halfway to the refresher to get the water going before she had the chance to finish.

“I wanted to ask Tech to help me organize my specimens while waiting for Hunter…”

In good humor, Wrecker chuckles warmly before offering his sister’s hair a careful ruffle.

“Alrigh’, ad’ika.”

Ordinarily, Hunter never took long to wash up, but tonight he dawdled a bit more than usual to give Omega and Tech the opportunity to make decent progress. By the time he had dried, dressed, and detangled most of his hair from itself, he found the two of them sitting in the middle of Omega’s room.

She had changed into a fresh pair of brushed-cotton sleepwear at some point, and was now allowing Tech to finish her haircare for the night. Joining this rather sweet scene, Hunter waits by Omega’s bed, quietly listening as they talk over her collection. Tech, kneeling behind her, is mostly focused on the instructions he is reading over her shoulder on how to start taking better care of the hair-type they have inherited from Jango Fett, the Clone template.

“This appears to be mostly in chronological order, now. But a few items appear to be… missing.”

“I think some of them are still in your footlockers.” Omega replies, patiently enduring an unpleasant tug from the brush as Tech finds a rather stubborn knot.

Promising to help her take care of getting the missing items in the morning, Tech asks Hunter to carefully set everything aside on the desk for the time being while he finishes up. He obliges his brother’s request, working quickly as both of them can see how drowsy she’s becoming. Being up before dawn will do that. Once he’s finished, Hunter lifts Omega from the floor, carrying her to bed.

“C’mere, Megs. Bedtime.”

He tucks her in, pulling the quilt up to her shoulder after making sure Lula is secure in Omega’s arms. It shouldn’t be long before she’s asleep, so Hunter and Tech don’t linger longer than it takes to say goodnight and shut off the light.

“Jate ca, Omega.”

There’s little more than a sleepy hum in response. She is well and truly tuckered out.

Omega sleeps soundly for about an hour before being stirred awake by something outside her window. It’s nothing more than playful moon-yo chatter outside, thankfully. Once they scamper off, she settles back down, but something feels… off. Not necessarily the room itself, but how quiet it is. After living on the run for so long, little more than a curtain between her and her brothers, the utter silence of the room is uncomfortable. Unsure what else to do about failing to fall asleep, Omega climbs carefully out of bed, and slips down to her brothers’ room.

Hunter stirs before she’s gotten farther than the foot of his bed, waking easily with his keen sense of hearing. “What’s the matter, Megs?” His voice, low and sleepy, is partially muffled by his pillow before sitting up to address the situation.

“It’s… it’s too quiet to fall back asleep. It’s making me feel uneasy.” she admits in a whisper, squeezing one of Lula’s paws to try to soothe herself.

“... too quiet?”

Hunter furrows his brow, wondering why a room being too quiet would make it hard to sleep when you’re sharing a room with someone. Then he remembers that she’s not sharing a room with anyone. She’s been given her own room, and she’s likely not used to being by herself anymore. Of course. All of them, for one reason or another, had forgotten to consider what might happen when she would be sleeping on her own for these new night routines…

That was their fault, his fault, more than her’s.

“C’mere, ad’ika. I have an idea.”

Pillow under one arm and Omega in the other, he carries her back to her bedroom, giving her a choice. “Until we can find a sound machine to help you sleep, I’ll stay with you to help you get used to your room. Now, where do you want me to sleep?” Unsurprisingly, Omega quickly makes space so he can share both her bed and new quilt.

As she pulled it over them, she noticed the backing wasn’t just any old material. Her brothers had taken portions of their old bodysuits, carefully washing the material before donating these pieces to the blanket. Designs dear to them had been stitched in contrasting thread so she would know who particular patches came from.

In the dark, fingers traced out the words “We’ll always have your back” at the very top of the blanket. The artisan’s neat work made her brothers’ collective loyalty and a promise all the more tangible.

As Hunter lay next to her, it wasn’t long before she was able to settle down again. Holding her close, he listened as her breathing evened out, eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Omega would be asleep before long, but not before she had one last thing to say.

“Thank you, Hunter…”

“You’re welcome, Omega. Sweet dreams.”

Once she had drifted off, tucking her head under her brother’s chin, Hunter would carefully lay a kiss in the crown of her hair, bidding her to sleep well for the rest of the night. He listened to her for a while longer, quietly grateful that this instance of being unable to sleep was so easy to remedy. Grateful too, in a sense, that that was now among their biggest battles.

Until their roots were firmer, settling down on Pabu would have a few growing pains. Adapting to change could be hard. Adjusting to new routines could be hard, too.

But they didn’t have to be, so long as the Batch had each other’s backs.

Thank you for making such a sweet request for this little event Carol. I tried to include most of your ideas without rambling too too much, haha. I hope you enjoyed it! 🩷 (And apologies if the pacing feels a bit "off" in places as things were cut for brevity!)

Fic taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

[Masterlist] [TBB Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]

#frostfics #New Night Routines #frosts 200 terrific follower event #request fic #clonethristingisreal #star wars #tbb #the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb omega #cameos of #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb fanfiction #family fic

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ladamedusoif · 1 year ago

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Tempered in the Fire - Part One

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: Mature (chapter); Explicit 18+ (series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; references to violence; references to spousal abandonment; strong language; almost certainly inaccurate depictions of blacksmithing; slightly wonky history; likely slightly wonky renderings of Irish language (technically my third language!).

A/N: Translations for any dialogue in Irish are provided at the end of the chapter. The Irish language was one of the casualties of the colonisation of the island, as it became associated with a lack of education (though the tide turned somewhat in the late nineteenth/early twentieth centuries) and has never recovered. (Go and listen to ‘Butchered Tongue’ on Hozier’s latest album for a musical reflection on this, it even includes references to 1798)

Tagging interested parties and my usual taglist people - sign up via my taglist if you want to be added (or let me know if you’d rather not be tagged!): @gracie7209, @yourcoolauntie, @tessa-quayle, @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @trulybetty, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @katareyoudrilling, @perennialdoll247, @joeldjarin, @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @javierisms, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @rhoorl, @red-red-rogue, @survivingandenduring, @khindahra, @love-the-abyss, @fictionismyreality, @imaswellkid

This is a quiet place, a landscape rendered in greens, greys, and whites, the simple rural dwellings peppering the good agricultural land that stretches across the county.

Appearances can be deceiving, though. What seems to the outsider as a long-established peace is the result of a more recent and more violent pacification. The fields where young men lost their lives in the pursuit of a dream of freedom give nothing away today, almost a decade after the rebellion was brutally crushed. They didn’t stand a chance against the arrayed ranks of muskets, being armed only with tall, sharp pikes, hammered for them on the anvils of sympathetic blacksmiths around the country.

The people who live and work here bear the scars - some literal, some psychological, but all livid, fresh, and painful.

In this idyll where trauma and anger simmers beneath the surface, his forge is a long, low, whitewashed stone building roofed in thatch. It’s a little outside the nearest village, sitting just off the main road on the way to the next big town. Like most of those who ply this trade, the blacksmith here lives alongside his place of work: one half of the building is the forge, the other is the neat, simple home he shares with the little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

He’s an essential figure: he makes all manner of metal goods and repairs them, too, in a world where nothing is disposable. He shoes horses, too, and his gentle care for the elegant beasts is well-known around the county.

Still, he’s not the most obvious candidate for a ‘pillar of the community’. Unlike other smiths in the area he’s not known for holding court while he works, regaling his customers with yarns and stories. He keeps himself to himself, mostly, though he comes into the village with the boy to buy supplies, collect items for repair, and return what he’s mended to their owners.

He’s been at his anvil for twenty years, or thereabouts. As is the way of a small community, all manner of stories circulate about where he came from and why there was no obvious family of origin. Most assume he comes from travelling people, who are known for their skill with metalworking.

Such is his reputation for consistently good work, fairness, and decency, though, that no one would ever dream of pushing him to say more about himself. This man of few words, who wears his apron like his armour and sometimes wraps a band of grey cloth around his mouth and nose when he works, to protect his lungs from the soot and smoke, is both insider and outsider in a place where such binaries are normally strictly enforced.

“You’ll be living high on the hog soon enough, then, Din? What with all the work that’s coming your way now.”

He looks up from the horseshoe he’s hammering into shape, dark eyes staring at the silhouette of the local priest, framed by the light of the forge’s small front window. Father Carthy has come to have his horse shod - and, it seems, to discuss the blacksmith’s fortunes.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The priest steps closer to the anvil, a look of surprise on his face when he realises the blacksmith hasn’t heard. “Bad accident over in the forge at Donapatrick. He’ll be alright, but their smith is out for the next few months, at least. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Din dips the shoe into a tub of cold water, sending a hiss and a plume of steam into the air.

“So they’re coming to me?”

“Most of them. Your reputation precedes you.”

He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not sure I can take on all that extra work.”

Father Carthy scoffs. “Don’t turn it down, Din. Lean times are always waiting round the corner, just when you least expect them.” He peers around the stone forge at the centre of the room, trying to spot the little figure who’s been hiding in the shadows.

“Sure you have an apprentice to help you, don’t you?”

The little boy stares silently, intently with his huge, dark eyes at the man clad in clerical black.

“Well, he’s inherited your gift of the gab, Din, anyway. Look, you’ll be glad of the few extra shillings. I know it’s not always easy making ends meet, between looking after yourself and the lad.”

Din pulls himself up to his full height, cutting an imposing, broad figure in his soot-marked shirt, leather apron, simple brown woollen breeches, and boots.

“We manage. Gró?” The boy appears at the blacksmith’s side. “Tabhair dom na tairní, maith an bhuachaill.”

He swiftly locates a box of horseshoe nails, each made by hand at Din’s anvil. The priest raises an eyebrow.

“He’ll need English, Din, or he’ll get nowhere. I’d be glad to teach him if-“

Din cuts him off with a pointed sigh. “He understands every word. But this is how we talk to each other.”

Behind him, the sandy-haired boy narrows his eyes and scowls at Father Carthy.

You know it’s not usual for a woman of your age and station to ride alone, but then you’re not usual for a woman of your age and station. And your washtub is leaking, and your horse needs to be shod. Needs must.

You saddle up the horse, strapping the tub on one side, and wrap yourself up in your shawl, securing it at the waist with a well-worn leather belt. You mount the little brown horse and turn her in the direction of Donapatrick and the local forge.

“How did you not hear?” Seán, the blacksmith’s apprentice, stares up at you in astonishment. “Everyone heard!”

You feel like kicking him in the ribs for talking to you like that. He’s no more than thirteen, and yet here he is talking to a woman who could comfortably be his mother (and then some) like she came down in the last shower.

“I didn’t hear because I wasn’t told, and because I have better things to be doing than gossiping around the village.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, regardless. You’ll have to go over to the other forge - the fella over the bridge, about twenty minutes away. You know it?”

You do know it, though you’ve never had reason to go inside. Why would you, when Peter’s forge is so much closer? You don’t even know the other blacksmith’s name, and in this part of the world that’s a strange situation indeed.

“Right, so.” You gently dig your heels into the horse’s sides, she starts to walk, and you make your way to the road that leads down to the river, the stone bridge, and, eventually, the whitewashed forge beyond.

Just as Father Carthy had predicted, Din was snowed under with extra work since Peter’s accident a week or so before. He is exceptionally well-organised by nature, managing his own accounts and records with great attention to detail, and he has extended the system to help him cope with the new demand. With Gró’s help, he organises the items for repair into separate sections, labelled according to whether they belong to existing or temporary customers. He sets up a new ledger to take account of custom orders from people who normally go to the other smith, and takes note of new faces who come to have their horse shod.

Din is cross-checking his records at the table in the main room of his home when he hears the sound of hooves approaching. He asks Gró to peek out, to see if it’s a familiar face or another new customer.

The boy climbs up on the deep windowsill to look out through one of the small cottage windows.

“Is bean ar chapall í - ’s stráinséir í.”

Din stands up and goes to the door, reaching for his apron as he does so.

He cuts an unusual figure, this blacksmith. There aren’t many people around here who look like him. You notice the penetrating dark eyes first, taking you in as you slow and pull up the horse. His dark hair is wavy, curling in places, and you are surprised to see that he’s bearded - if you can call the patchy scruff around his mouth and jaw a beard.

He’s younger than you’d expected, maybe forty, and well-built - broad shoulders, strong, muscular forearms marked with scars from his work, his shirt loose and open to expose a stretch of his tanned chest. He ties on a leather apron as you dismount, and walks out to greet you.

“Good day. I was hoping you could help with a repair? And my horse needs to be shod, too. I’m sorry, I usually go to Peter up in Donap -“

He cuts you off with a nod. “I know. Yes. That’s fine. The tub, is that the repair?”

You raise your eyebrows at how direct he is. Curt, almost. Rude, some would say.

“It is. It’s leaking at the side, here.” You undo the strap and he takes the washtub down. It looks strangely tiny against his substantial form.

He turns and gesticulates with his head in the direction of the open door. From the dark interior, a striking boy emerges, clutching a piece of paper, some string, and a stubby pencil.

The blacksmith gives him instructions and he diligently scrawls a number on the paper, before attaching it to the tub with the string and carrying it into the forge.

“Do you only speak in Irish to him?”

The smith has turned his attention to your horse, examining each of her hooves in turn. He looks at you quizzically.

“It’s what he prefers. What we prefer. He understands English perfectly.”

“Unusual that he’s fair and you’re dark. Is his mother fair? I suppose she must be.”

He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

You can’t stop yourself from letting out a little gasp. He looks up at you, dark eyes frustrated at your constant chatter. But he knows this needs explanation.

“He’s my apprentice. He’s a foundling. I’ve taken him as my own.”

You feel your face heat, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

He strokes the horse’s muzzle, not looking directly at you. “You didn’t know. I can shoe the horse now, though you’ll need to wait. The tub will take a day or two.”

You nod in agreement.

“What’s her name?”

His voice is softer. He’s still looking at your little horse, who’s loving the attention from this new person.

“Réaltín.” She has a perfect little splash of white between her eyes, in the shape of a little star. You couldn’t have named her anything else.

He repeats the animal’s name, and you see the tiniest hint of a smile cross his lips before his serious expression returns.

It turns cold, and you wait it out on a stool just inside the door of the forge, glad of the warmth.

You watch as the blacksmith heats up and works the metal shoes at his anvil, so they’ll fit Réaltín’s smaller hooves perfectly. The light from the fire illuminates his features as he works, highlighting the beads of sweat on his brow and picking out the various shades of brown in his eyes. He has pulled a band of grey cloth over his nose and mouth, which draws your attention all the more to his dark gaze.

The little boy stares at you while the man works, occasionally helping him by fetching an implement or helping work the bellows. You give him a little wave and a smile, hoping he’ll respond. He doesn’t come any closer, but you see him grin for a moment before he disappears behind the broad figure of his master - well, his adoptive father, if what the blacksmith said is correct.

Peter’s forge is always full of chat and song and gossip, a kind of social hub as much as a vital service. In contrast, the only music here is the singing of the anvil as the silent, stoic smith works, interspersed with the whoosh of the bellows and the hiss of the cooling tub. He doesn’t look at you, eyes always trained on the task at hand or at his little apprentice. He doesn’t speak, except to the little boy.

After a few exchanges, you realise something. “Is he called Gró?”

The smith keeps working. “That is what I call him, yes.”

“Funny to call a little thing like that after a poker.”

He turns his attention to the fire for a moment before he answers you. “He kept trying to stoke the fire on his own when I first took him in. I said the word so much it became his name. He likes it.”

Silence. Singing metal. Hissing steam.

He makes sure Gró watches him at every step as he removes the old horseshoes, cleans Réaltín’s hooves, files them carefully, and attaches the new shoes. Throughout, he quietly explains to the boy what he’s doing, and why.

Your stomach is rumbling, and you remember the supplies you brought with you (and had forgotten about).

When they’ve finished the last hoof, you speak up. “I - I brought a cake of fresh bread with me, in case it took longer. And I have butter, too, and a little crab apple jam. I’d be glad to share it with the little lad.”

Gró’s enormous eyes widen with excitement and he grins. (He really does understand English perfectly, you think.)

“We have enough food for ourselves, thank you.”

The boy’s face falls.

“I just meant as a little treat. A thank you, for taking the job when you’ve so much to be doing.”

He sighs, again. “Well… ach. Yes. Come in.”

Their home is neat and simply furnished, and he evidently knows how to look after a household as well as a business. You sit at the wooden table in the main room, which serves as kitchen, living area, and office for the blacksmith’s records. Out of the corner of your eye you spy a ladder going up to the attic, which you presume must be used as a sleeping space. A door leads off the main part of the house to what looks to be a smaller room.

Gró is already on his third piece of bread, butter, and apple jam, a shiny orange smear on the tip of his little nose.

“I hope this tastes okay. It’s always so hard to know when you churn butter, isn’t it?” You sip some of the cool water he’d poured into an earthenware mug for you.

“I don’t know. I’ve never churned butter.”

His reply is so deadpan that you wonder for a moment if he’s joking. You decide he isn’t.

“It’s not that hard,” you continue. “And I have the cow and the milk so why not?” You chew on a bit of bread, appraising your handiwork. “Actually, not bad at all, this time.”

He grunts in agreement. “You have a farm?”

“A very small smallholding. Tenant to the lord, like most of us.”

“Your husband works the land, then.”

You stare at the crust of bread in front of you, and clear your throat.

“He doesn’t. He’s…not here. He’s gone.”

The blacksmith’s eyes soften. “I’m very sorry for your troubles. Sickness, or was it in the fighting -”

You look at him directly. “That bastard wouldn’t fight for anything, not even his wife. He’s not dead. Or at least, I don’t think he’s dead. But I wish he was, because then I’d really be free.”

For a moment it looks like the stoic blacksmith is going to choke. He reaches for his own mug and drinks deeply.

“Well, now, I -“

“He upped and went. A few years back. God knows where he is now. He’s not around here, anyway. I’d say he’s skipped to Belfast or London.” You finish your bread. “Lucky the smallholding had come through my father, so I wasn’t out on the road.”

He’s flushed, and evidently a little uncomfortable. Well, he started it, you think.

“How do you survive - do you have children, too?”

You shake your head. “No, a blessing not to have them. And I do what I did before I married - I sew. Mostly alterations and refashioning and repairing, now, but at least I have a trade.”

The smith nods to himself. “A useful one.”

“Not as useful as yours.”

He gives you a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.

You stand up and start to clear the dishes. “Keep the rest of the bread and the butter and jam. I’ll collect the jars when I come back for the tub.”

He starts as if to speak, standing up from his chair, and seems nervous.

“Could I - we - ask you to do something for us?”

“It depends, but…”

“Clothes. Gró’s clothes are in need of mending. Badly. Would you be able to help?”

You smile and nod. “I’d be delighted to. Lord, has the poor lad been going without mending for this long?”

The smith opens a wooden chest and takes out a small bundle of tiny items of clothing. “Not quite. Peigí normally does it, but she’s been so busy with the work in her yard lately that I didn’t want to ask.”

Peigí is something of a legend in the area, a fiery woman who stubbornly insisted on taking over her father’s trade in repairing carts and wagons - and succeeded. You smile wryly to yourself at the vision of her wielding a needle and thread.

He hands you the clothes, wrapped in a faded piece of red and white cloth. “Oh, hold on.” He reaches back into the chest and retrieves a dark grey knitted sweater that has seen better days. “I don’t know if you darn, too, but he’ll need this in the colder weather, and -“

You take the sweater, handling it with care, and clutch the little bundle to your chest. “It’s no bother at all.”

He smiles, genuinely smiles, at you for the first time. You marvel at how such a stern, hardy man can reveal himself to be quite so soft - eyes crinkling, expression warm and friendly, teeth white in that tanned face streaked with grime from the forge.

“Thank you…?” He pauses, waiting for you to introduce yourself. You tell him your name.

“And you’re…”

“Din.”

“Din. And Gró.” The little boy swivels in his seat at the sound of his name, and sends the sneaky spoonful of apple jam that he’s been enjoying flying to the flagstone floor.

Din accompanies you as you strap the bundle of clothes to the saddle, and mount Réaltín for the journey home.

“I’ll be back in two days for the tub. I’ll bring his things then.”

Din gives the horse an affectionate pat, and nods as you turn and head back up the narrow road.

Gró has come to the door of the house.

“’s bean deas í, a dhaid.”

Translations:

Tabhair dom na tairní, maith an bhuachaill.

Give me the nails, there’s a good boy.

Is bean ar chapall í - ’s stráinséir í

It’s a woman on a horse, she’s a stranger.

’s bean deas í, a dhaid

She’s a nice lady, daddy. (Can also mean ‘pretty lady’).

And yes, ‘gró’ in Irish can mean crow-bar - or, in older dialect, a poker.

#tempered in the fire fic #din djarin au #blacksmith!din djarin #blacksmith!din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #historical AU #the mandalorian AU #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories

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