Chapter Text
Your neighbors considered you oddly made. Talking to inanimate objects, fire alarms at 3 am once, and how could you forget about the army of lawn flamingos that decorate your flourishing front yard. So yeah, your neighbors considered you off.
You took it in stride. It’s only been two weeks of you living in this neighborhood and you’re sure your shenanigans will only become more infamous. Heck, you’re sure by week four that you’ll get an HOA complaint in your brightly painted mailbox.
“Exactly what I wanted!” You croon in joy as you plop down onto your sofa. “Once I get too many complaints, then Boss will absolutely have to take me off this stupid vacation.”
Ah, yes, your stoic and supposedly wise boss had decided that you needed a vacation after one too many eccentric moments. Not as if your friends hadn’t egged you on and had done worse at the same time.
Nonetheless, you were the only one banished. Or on leave as your boss would say. He’d probably also say that you being away would test the patience of your more rampant colleagues. In other words…
“I can’t believe I’m not allowed to talk to them. Honestly, sending them out on field work while I’m forced here sucks. It sucks a lot!” you grumble, glaring at your phone.
Of course, you could try forcing your brother to become a carrier pigeon, you had enough blackmail to do it. Only to frown seconds at your next thought. He had plenty of blackmail as well, and he often took one to two business weeks to answer a single text. What chance would you have when you can’t even pester him in person? Another dead end.
Your head dramatically rolls against the arm of the couch, cheek pressing against the soft fabric. It still has that fresh scent of being a new item. Well, if there’s no other choice, you might as well get cozy. Your eyes linger on the remote and blanket just inches away from one of your hands. All you’d have to do is drop your phone and take a cozy nap to pass some time.
A finger twitches, your phone wobbling in your hold. If you move again, it’ll be safely on your side as you prepare for a lazy day. You calculate the trajectory with the steadiness of a strategist just as the doorbell rings.
“What the!” You yell as you jerk. The sudden movement has your poor device catapulting straight to your face. The sting on your nose has you cursing every single being as the doorbell rings once more.
Throwing the blanket to the side and your phone a tad less carefully than usual into the pile, you march to the door. There’s a storm building behind your mouth. You’re pretty sure it’ll be Nancy behind that door. The dreaded HOA president that has been on your butt since day one. No matter her excuse, you are ready to fight back.
Only it’s not her and her bleached hair cut so straight you’d say she’s never met a woman. It’s actually a mailman. Not the usual one dressed in white and khaki, but in brown with hints of green. You can recognize him thanks to the envelope designed logo on his buttoned shirt that gives the hint. Along with the large, white box in his hands that helped too.
“Hello, are you Y/n L/n?” He asks with a smile, even if it was faker than a mannequin. Customer service at its finest. You could relate.
You give a weak facsimile of a nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Great. Now, please take this and wait just a second. I need your signature as well please.”
“Alrighty,” you say in some confusion as you take the package. Despite the size, it’s not that heavy.
With a simple flick of your wrist, your embellished name is on paper, and yet the mailman is still there. You blink lazily at him, package digging into your arms. He startles with a choked noise.
“Oh, sorry! It’s just, I could’ve sworn I’ve seen that blue shirt before.”
Your eyes flick to your shirt, and despite the package covering it, you can see what he meant. A hint of amusement settles in. “Oh? Maybe. It’s from a pretty popular brand, so it was probably from someone else. I just got to this area and all.”
“You’re right,” his head bobs, hat’s golden pin flashing in the light. “Sorry about that then. Have a good evening!”
“Yeah…you too,” you mumble, watching as the man scuttles back to his van. Pity that you didn’t catch his name. You’ve got a feeling he’s gonna be your main mailman in some time.
Carefully trying to close a door while holding an obnoxiously sized box wasn’t ideal. Especially with how your earlier crankiness seemed to be brought even higher when you heard the door lock refuse to catch. So you give up on that front for a little bit as you set the box on the floor, shove the door further all until your lock clicks. Finally.
“You better be worth it,” you grumble to the inanimate box. “Like, you better be in perfect condition for what I ordered. I already forgot what I ordered but nonetheless!”
You trapaise through the hall, making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab some scissors, before you settle at your dining table. Now that you think about it, this box is probably the second thing you’ve ever set on this table besides a glass fruit bowl that you’ve only filled with junk so far. You make a note to fix that before your third week, maybe. But back to the mysterious box!
The scissors glide through all the heavy duty packing tape, leaving the dark abyss of treasure to be found. Well, you frown, you’d start if you didn’t see a hint of white taped to the inside of one box flap. An envelope with your name written in golden cursive shines at you. You should read that first.
“Do I have to?” You whine to yourself with a smidgen of reluctance. Your eyes mournfully stare at the unpacked box before the heavy feeling known as politeness sets in. “Fine! I’ll read the stinking letter.”
Was it normal to have letters in boxes meant to have goodies? That question pops into your head the second you rip the envelope open. Shrugging your shoulders, you decide that you’ll figure it out after reading the letter. Maybe one of those small businesses you ordered from was one of the extra creative types.
“Dear ms L/n,” you start, eyes desperately trying to keep up with the elaborate loops and swirls written down in golden ink. “We ask that you take care and watch over them with your expertise. While a tremendous task, please rest assured that your efforts are forever cherished. Ugh, and no signature too. What the heck is this?”
Your brows drop back down from the dramatic position they were in. This letter was not at all what you were expecting. A simple thanks would’ve been better than all that confusing and cryptic sentencing. Truly, you ought to be considered a saint with how tolerant you’re being right now.
“Wait, what if this is a prank!” Your teeth worry at your lip. “Like one of those prank shows where when someone opens a box, a whole bunch of glitter comes out and people suddenly start screaming?”
You reconsider. The box has technically already been opened, and there’s no sign of glitter or any noises akin to a prank machine. A small relief that only turns into more questions. Your fingers twitch against the letter, unease mixed with wariness nipping behind. Just what exactly could be in the box?
Swallowing the nerves, you purse your lips as your hands move to open the box even further. “Well, I guess there’s no time like the present.”
Just as slowly suspected, there’s no sign of glitter or even a hint of a camera glint. Instead, you’re greeted to the sight of bubble wrapped bundles. Once again, you’re left off kilter. Your hand carefully reaches for the largest bundle, a sense of curiosity urging you to explore further.
“Did I really order this?” You question the doll.
That’s right, there’s a doll resting in your hand with a face so stoic it could rival your boss’s. Yeah, you definitely don’t remember ordering this. Yet the small peek at the letter and the address label says this is meant for you. Huh.
Looking at the doll, you’re really not sure about this anymore. He, for you decided to assume after seeing hints of painted on stubble, glares back at you with a singular blue eye. The other being covered by a carefully stitched leather eye patch. With all the metal plating and terribly tiny chainmail, this medieval doll is quite detailed despite being the size of a Barbie. Even the ears look in good condition with his pointed ears undamaged, and the metal earrings leaving no scuffs,
Your thumb presses against one of the markings branded onto the metal on his chest plate. Two triangles supporting a third on top. A mark that rings something in your brain but you just can’t place. That seems to be a recurring theme the longer you stare at him.
“Well, maybe I’ll figure it out if I keep looking, huh?” You mumble to your new companion as you settle him on the table.
Including the doll you just found, there were nine bundles in total. Each one holding a singular doll. All ranging in various sizes yes, but none apparently as tall as the first one you found. Yet they all had the same kind of similarities. Male, dressed in medieval clothing, and having a theme with swords.
“If it wasn’t for a couple of y’all being different, I’d swear your creator had a type,” you snort at your lineup of dolls. Various expressions stare back, but you couldn’t deny how the majority were blond and shorter than the first unboxed doll. There was definitely a theme going on.
You throw your hands up in a shrug. It was none of your business. After all, you’ll contact the seller, inform them of the mistake, and then go on with your boring vacation. If only there wasn’t a suspicion slowly tugging its way to the forefront of your senses.
“Then why was the letter addressed to me?” You mumble in thought. If only to shrug again in exasperation. You didn’t have the brain cells for this. “Welp! Might as well just call ‘em and see what happens.”
Without a business card, you resort to rechecking the box. There’s no return address unlike how yours is in bold on top. You pause at that. That wasn’t normal. Your gaze returns to the dolls and there’s a flicker of hope. A small white tag pokes out on a couple dolls’ ankles, a majority hidden by their pants or boots.
You eagerly take one in your hands, this one with the longest hair of the group along with the most scars as you carefully move to check the tag.
“Cook. From: Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild,” you slowly sound out. “Huh?”
Checking the back only shows the odd symbol of the triangles, but this time, you think you finally understand.
“Oh,” you mumble. You face the doll and chuckle, “You’re really different from your game counterpart.”
While you never directly played the game, your friends and brother seemed to have played at least one of the games in your presence. Rechecking the tags has you realizing that you’ve seen their games before. However, these dolls were significantly different compared to their game sprites.
“You got old indeed,” you say to the first doll, apparently from Majora’s Mask and Ocarina of Time. “And really? Why is your nickname ‘Old Man’? Whoever made you wasn’t all that enthusiastic with your names, huh?”
You carefully fix up the lineup after checking all the names and game titles one more time. Yeah, nine tiny dudes from a video game that was sprinkled in your past. How interesting. Not that you’ll ever forget how they got into your house.
Hands on your hips, you declare, “This is tomorrow me’s problem! It’s already dinner time and I’m hungry.”
Yep, you decide to abandon this problem. You’d have disappointed your boss with this choice but who cares? Not you, that’s for sure. Even if your eyes flicker occasionally to the toys from over the kitchen counter.
A toasted sandwich is plated and even furnished with a random toothpick you found and set before the dolls. It should be normal, like having a tea party or something. But you still hold back a shiver at the sight of those eyes following your movements. For inanimate objects, they sure hold the same stare as their in-game sprites. Well, you reconsider as you take a big bite of your dinner. At least this was interesting company.
“Bon appetit,” you mumble after taking a sip of water. Yeah, at least the lawn flamingos had a bit more class in watching you snack on random things. By that, they never seemed to judge your lazily made sandwich unlike these guys.
Dinner goes quickly especially as it's only one plate and glass to chuck into the dishwasher. With one last check to the toys still left laying on the table, you make an easy decision. Time for bed! Even if a thought has been squirming into your brain.
“I wonder if I can find some gameplays for some of those older Zeldas,” you wonder aloud as you walk upstairs. “Oh who am I kidding, it's the internet. I am so gonna have a good binge! Woo.”
And that's how you end up plopping into bed with an active computer.
+~+
You’re not sure how long you’ve been watching these gameplays. You started at the original game of the Legend of Zelda and you got to the start of the second game before you heard a noise. A small, squeaky noise akin to a mouse screeching. Odd.
Pausing the video, you wait and hear the noise. It sounds like people talking the more you tune in. You peek at the time on the clock and groan. It’s one am, far from the average time for noise in your neighborhood. In fact, you’re usually the person who makes all the noise at this time. This…wasn’t normal.
You should be afraid. Most people would’ve been reaching for their phones to call the police. Some other people would’ve considered jumping out the window and running for help. Good thing you weren’t considered normal. Instead, an intrigued smirk pulls at your mouth as you cock your head.
“Burglars on the night I got a mysterious package full of dolls,” you whisper to yourself in thought. “And here I thought this vacation would be boring.”
Phone left on the bed for any possible deniability, you hastily reach under the bed. A smooth handle meets your hand and you pull out a bat. There’s a sock set on it already. Perfect. Admittedly, you’d prefer something else, but beggars can’t be choosers.
You creep down the stairs, ears perked for the loud arguing echoing from the dining area. It seems these burglars are amateurs with how loudly they are yelling and disagreeing.You raise a brow before crouching at the edge of the steps. Just one peek and you’ll be able to see exactly what is going on. But first, some of the arguments are becoming clear.
“Oh yes, you just had to say you’ve had a good feeling about this!” One yells out, sounding like the one that originally alerted you. A little less mouse-like than you first thought, but still screechy nonetheless.
“Now, now, Vet, you know we don’t control this. You should consider using that energy to help scout out the area,” another voice teases with an angry squawk as an answer.
You take the chance to look out and immediately duck back to your corner. There’s a gasp bubbling in the back of your chest that has you pinching your lips to be quiet. There is no way in the name of chaos that you say what you just did.
Taking another quick peek doesn’t disrupt the illusion. Ok, cool, so the dolls you just got turned out to be sentient. Who would’ve thought, huh? Not you for sure with the way you’re acting in your bemused thoughts.
‘Think, Y/n! How are you supposed to say hello to obviously confused toys that just came to life?’ You pressure yourself, before letting your head gently tap against the wall. ‘Man, somebody would’ve given a good Toy Story reference by now.’
In your bemused thinking, you didn’t realize the noise had quieted. Your brow raised and you took another look to see what made them so. This time, various pairs of eyes stare back at you. A soft noise makes your eyes twitch as you see your bat roll even further away, the traitor. And then the chaos starts.
A good majority yell and shout while a few step back and grab at weapons before yelling at one another. One starts pointing at you, shouting what sounds more gibberish than any form of speech. All while you frown at your now still bat.
It’s been a good second before you slowly raise your arms and calmly say, “Ba weep granna weep ninny bong.” Ah yep, the universal greeting, thanks Transformers for the idea.
“What did it say?” One of them, Captain if you remember the tag correctly, gasps. The old man with his unforgettable Biggron sword dryly mutters, “Why don’t you ask it?”
“I’ve never seen something so big before!” Cook shouts, precariously tilting on the corner of the table nearest to you. “What kind of loot does it-oh!”
He tilts too far and falls much to the shouts of his comrades. Despite the suddenness, he lands into your fast acting palm. You blink at him just as he lifts a rectangular object at you as you murmur, “The only loot you’d get from me is probably my bones, but I don’t think you’d be able to use them.”
“So it does speak!” One screams, sounding like the first voice you heard. “What did you do to us, you bastard!”
“I did nothing,” you gently argue as you place the cook back at the table. Instead of getting off, he remains seated and poking at your calluses. You leave him be, merely sighing, “Besides, I doubt the government has the ability to shrink people, let alone send them to me.”
“The government?” A new voice pipes up, Windwaker Link with his childish features edged in wariness slowly asks, “Is that like the royal family?”
Oh boy, looks like you’ve made a mess for yourself once again. It’s with a big sigh and a controlled fall onto a pulled out chair, you face your audience of nine. With one hand busy holding a living toy, you use your other to rub at your face.
“Alright, let’s work this out then,” you groan as you pinch at your nose. “I’m gonna ignore that question until I’m certain of some things, first. Let’s see, what’s the last thing you remember?”
A few frown at you before the one that you recognized as Ranch Hand speaks up in a southern drawl, “Last thing we were doing was walking through a portal.”
“Portal, huh? That’s…”
“Weird, we know, moving on,” the snarky voice with the higher pitched tone huffs. You can finally see it’s Veteran with his blue cap and narrowed eyes. “Why are we here?”
“Good question, no idea.” You shrug. “I got the package with y’all earlier today with a note, and then found you all like this.” Then dropping your tone, you mumble, “Besides, now that I’m looking at you, you don’t have the ball joints anymore.”
“A note?” One asks while you’re thinking. Guess you’ll have to explain that later then. Yippee.
“Yeah, you wanna see?”
The Majora’s Mask one nods as he says, “If it isn’t all that much trouble.”
“None at all,” you hum as you reach for the box left on the table. The note is still there which you flatten on the table for all to see. “There’s no signature at all, but do any of you have a clue who sent this?”
“I…can not read this.” the old man squints. He looks at his comrades as he attempts to quietly ask, “Can any of you recognize this?”
That’s a negative from all of them, even if you swear the Skyward Sword Link stares at it for a bit longer than the others. Majora’s Mask Link coughs into his fist as he then looks at you. “I’m sorry…”
“Y/n. Y/n L/n, it’s nice to officially meet you all too,” you greet lazily at his silent prompting. “So, you want me to read out the letter?”
He gives a brief nod and you slowly sound out the letter for the whole group. It’s almost like a verbal presentation with how the silence that follows is almost embarrassing.
“While that is indeed a baffling letter, I hold another question,” Captain says as he then points to you. At your raising brow, he then asks, “To what do you mean officially meet? Have you heard of us all from your history books? Or are you withholding information? And why would we be entrusted to…you?”
You lazily blink, the late hour messing with your head. Mouth opening and closing, you try to think of a response. All too aware how the small group of men are staring warily at you. Even the cook has moved from your hand with a distrusting tilt of his eyes.
“Ok, listen,” you mutter as you plop your head on your head. “And I want no interruptions as I’m tired and want to pretend this whole thing was a fever dream once I’m done. Ok, alright?”
A good chunk looks to the oldest there and your eyes focus as he rolls his shoulders back and curtly nods.
Taking a deep breath, you start, “First things first. Hi, welcome to Earth. No, don’t open your mouths, I’m explaining. Before anyone asks, there is no Hyrule or Hyrulian monarchy here. Hyrule isn’t considered real here.”
“That’s not possible!” The Veteran cuts in, his face in a disbelieving snarl. “Then how would we be here?!”
You give him a frown. “Like I said, I don’t know how you got here. Especially with the next thing I’m about to explain. The reason I could technically say I know you all is because you're all from video games.”
“What’s a vid-ee-oh game?” The shortest of the group speaks up, his tone calculating. Smithy, judging by his delicately designed armor, then mutters, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”
That makes you pause. How do you explain this? “Uhh, think of it akin to a game, y'all do know what games are, right? Cool, ok, think of this game on a piece of technology. Now, someone outside the tech can control the game and it usually tells a story for better interaction. Like your games told the adventures of saving Zelda or a specific place, I guess. Does that explain it? Please don’t make me explain further.”
“It told of our adventures? Like how we defeated Ganon or such?” The Traveler in his roughed up green tunic murmurs. You point at him in exhausted glee and smirk, “Right on the money! That’s how I more or less recognized you. Well, the tags on your legs also helped too.”
“Tags?” Someone yelps before they all bend to check. You get to watch nine men shout and hold the tags that hold their names and game titles.
“What does this say,” Sailor asks you as he holds up his tag. It looks almost like a large poster in his hands as you squint at it. You reply, “It says: Sailor. From: Legend of Zelda, Windwaker and Phantom Hourglass.”
“Woah! So you do know about our adventures,” he puffs. “But what’s with the weird name?”
“Beats me, I didn’t make your games. I just watched people play ‘em.”
That stumps the group for a bit. Not that you couldn’t agree. If some giant person told you your reality wasn’t real and was actually a piece of media, you’d probably just nod and go back to bed. Where then you could put some random podcast on, get cozy, and…Ah, your thoughts are derailing again.
“Ya know what?” You mutter. “If I’m staying up any longer for this madness, then I’m getting a snack. Anyone want one too?”
You get an eager hand from Sailor with him shouting something about giant food and a couple others join as well. For the more reserved, they either watch in concern or warily glare at your standing form.
Oh well. You’ll figure this out at one point. Maybe.