#nothing will compare to reading skyward for the first time. NOTHING

[itsnotmika]

it’s so cruel that i can’t read skyward for the first time again??? like what the fuck??

#nothing will compare to reading skyward for the first time. NOTHING #like mbot and spensa and jorgen and doomslug and just the vibes?? #can’t wait for defiant but also if something happens to any of my characters i’m going after brandon #skyward #starsight #cytonic #defiant #cytoverse #spensa nightshade #jorgen weight #spinface #mbot #brandon sanderson

[peachy-panic]

What Happened Upstairs (Pt. 2)

Fifty-Eight Days. Followup to this teaser from yesterday. 

WARNINGS: NONCON DRUGGING, talk of drug use in general, captivity, blood, violence, dual whumpees, sickness, vague allusions to noncon

It was bright upstairs. That was the first thing—and, lucidly, one of the last—he remembered about that day. More light than Grayson had seen in weeks blinded him as he stumbled up the last concrete steps. 

His hands had been bound tightly behind him before they even reached the staircase, and the only thing that stopped him from busting his lip on the landing was the rough hand jerking him up by the arm.

His heartbeat was a whip crack inside his chest. A passage he read once in a history book floated to the surface; about the days of guillotines and gallows erected in the streets, and prisoners marched to their deaths. He thought the dread they must have carried with each step, the heavy inevitability of what was coming in their final moments. Worse, perhaps, than the execution itself.

He wondered if Elijah was this afraid every time. He wondered if he still felt like he would shake into pieces every time he ascended those stairs. Grayson didn’t understand how he’d made it so long.

It was the great unspoken thing that plagued the rotten air inside the basement; the horrors Elijah was subjected to when he went above ground, the evidence he carried back with him in broken skin and hollow eyes. The things they never talked about. The things that Grayson would undoubtedly face tonight.

He wouldn’t put it to words, but some part of him, dark enough to make him recoil from his own twisted psyche, felt a strange sense of… no, not relief. Definitely not relief. But a sort of balance that you could only feel when the scales were leveled. Grayson’s guilt had amassed into a cancerous growth that pushed against him with every breath. One time would be nothing compared to what Elijah has taken. But maybe this could help him breathe again. Just a little.

He was led into a large room with four wing-backed chairs. The space reeked of the kind of excessive wealth that would allow someone the luxury of a second, third, and fourth den; one they could exclusively dress with eighteenth-century furniture, draped in maroons and velvets and golds. Above the fireplace was a gilded frame almost the length of Grayson’s body, and in it, a painting of a tiger with its jaw open and nose skyward, teeth dripping with the blood of its prey.

Someone kicked the back of his knee. The rug broke his fall—a mass of black fibers that he recognized as a bear-hide rug, complete with the shape of a head and a paw at each corner. The likelihood of its authenticity unnerved him, as if he could suddenly feel the muscle and sinew shifting beneath his knees.

At ease in one of the chairs, Myles had an ankle crossed over his knee, looking down at him. “I’ll admit,” he said, “I’m surprised.”

Grayson didn’t say anything at first, but when the silence stretched on, he caved. “He’s sick,” he whispered.

“So I’ve been told,” Voss said. “But you misunderstood. What surprises me is not that you’ve made the offer, but that it’s taken you so long.”

Grayson flinched, keeping his eyes anywhere but on his.

“I had been under the impression, in the beginning, that the two of you were protective of each other. Perhaps I took for granted that you felt the same as he does.”

It was a mind game. He knew it was. But he’d known exactly where to aim, and it landed like a dagger. Grayson was too stunned to formulate a response, but he was spared from having to do so when an armed guard Grayson had never seen before stepped into the room from behind him. He didn’t spare a glance at the half-naked and filthy prisoner on his knees, speaking directly to his boss in his native tongue.

Whatever he said drew a small, slow smile across Myles’s lips. “Perfect timing. Bring him in.”

Grayson’s first panicked thought was Elijah. He frantically twisted around, ready to beg and barter to uphold his protection. Instead, a tall man dressed almost as sharply as Myles himself was escorted in. This one took visible interest in Grayson’s presence. He tracked him with his eyes the whole way to the chair opposite Myles, which he sat in with a familiarity that suggested this was not his first time on the compound. That thought did not put Grayson at ease.

Myles regarded his visitor with a catlike grin, but did not rise to greet him. “Alexander,” he said.

“Voss.” The man nodded. “I wasn’t expecting our meeting until the end of the month.”

“Nor was I.”

There was a long, uneasy silence. The man—Alexander—seemed to be waiting for some elaboration that never came. Finally, he asked, “Why the unexpected call?”

Grayson watched the interaction from his spot on the floor as if he weren’t in the room at all, wishing he could slip silently into the fibers of the rug and disappear.

Myles’s smile turned, if possible, even more chilly. He turned briefly to his man stationed at the doorway and gave a wordless nod. The man procured a small, transparent bag from his pocket and tossed it to Myles, who caught it easily in one hand.

“I called you here to address a rumor I heard,” Myles said, dangling the package between pinched fingers. Alexander flicked his eyes between the substance and the man holding it.

“A… a rumor?”

“Normally,” Myles went on, “I wouldn’t lend it my time or energy. Especially when the subject is someone I have long trusted in my business affairs.”

The fear was evident in Alexander’s expression now; in the subtle shift in posture and the bead of sweat along his hairline. Grayson’s own sense of dread grew in tandem. Whatever was about to happen here, however Grayson was involved, was not going to be good.

“But here is the problem, Alexander—and perhaps part of the responsibility lies with me for allowing you to think you have reached a place in my life wherein my trust in you is infallible.” Myles peeled open the seal on the bag and shook it gently, the fine powder inside leveling out. “But you are not the only ear I have to the ground. In fact, you are never far from another. And someone else, someone who has yet to steer me wrong, has informed me of your tampering with my supply.”

To Alexander’s credit, or perhaps his detriment, he was bold enough to deny it. “You know I’ve never messed with the product.”

“No,” Myles agreed easily. “You haven’t. Until now.”

Grayson flinched when the dime bag landed on the coffee table. All eyes in the room zeroed in on it.

“This is from your last delivery,” Myles said. “If your product is still clean, you’ll have no problem proving it to me.”

Alexander stood, knocking the heavy chair back a few inches. “I’m not a fucking junkie,” he spat. “I supply. I don’t use.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

There was a long, tense silence. The realization sank over Grayson at the same time that it seemed to occur to Alexander. Their eyes met, and Grayson was sure he would be able to see the wild pulse beat against his throat.

To his credit, Alexander hesitated.

“Come on, one shot won’t kill him,” Myles goaded. “Unless it does. And then I guess we have our answer, don’t we?”

“Please.” Grayson didn’t realize he’d begged out loud until both sets of eyes snapped to him. He cowered back. “Please. Please, I don’t… don’t kill me.”

“I think he’s talking to you, Alex. I wonder if your conscience is as lax with someone’s life as it is with lying. You can fess up now and save the kid the trouble.”

Still, Alexander made no move toward him. Myles sighed, scooting to the edge of his seat. “Maybe I wasn’t clear,” he said. “It’s him, or it’s you. And I will not wait.”

There was only half a beat of silence before Alexander grabbed the bag from the table and stepped toward Grayson. Panic projected into his throat. He suddenly had no breath left in his lungs to plead, but he tried.

“Please,” he said. “Wait. What is it? What is that?” His wrists knocked uselessly together behind him, burning against the rope as he came closer.

In a childlike lurch of desperation, Grayson folded his body in half, burying his face against his knees, trying to hide as much of himself from their reach as he could. A rough hand in his hair yanked him up again. Even without the aid of the rope around his wrists, his weakened muscles were no match for even one of the men in the room.

He looked up at Alexander’s face in time to see him lick his thumb and dip it into the bag. The hand in his hair moved to his face, squeezing his cheeks hard enough to force his lips apart. Before he could process, let alone protest, he stuck the thumb into Grayson’s mouth and swiped it harshly across his gums.  

The moment he was released, panic took the wheel again. Despite the dryness in his mouth, Grayson spat over and over, jerking his head to the side in an attempt to wipe the substance onto his shoulder before it—whatever it was—could bleed into his system.

“Nice try, but I don’t think so.” Myles was closer to him now, crouched beside him. A rolled cylinder of cloth lay on the surface of the coffee table. “We’re going to do this my way.”

Being this close to him was like liquid paralysis in his veins. Grayson watched helplessly as Myles unrolled the cloth, revealing a line of tools: a spoon, a syringe, a rubber band. Slowly, his breathing grew more and more erratic until he was nearly hyperventilating.

Myles leaned in closer, so that only Grayson could hear him. “Fight me on this, and I will drag him up here by his hair, sick or not.”

Grayson’s throat pinched around a sob as the first tears warmed his face. He cried in earnest as a blade cut through the rope at his wrists, then looked away, refusing to watch as Myles expertly wrapped the rubber band around his bicep, pulling tight. Each breath became a conscious decision. In, then out. Repeat. Repeat. His fingers began to tingle with the first prickles of numbness. He curled them into a loose fist then released it, watching the blood bloat his hand to a sickly reddish-purple. His pulse was even more pronounced by the band, which seemed to be tightening and tightening and—

Two fingers slapped his inner elbow, making him flinch. Instinct made him try to close his arm on itself, but his resistance was anticipated, and a strong hand pinned his wrist before he could react.

“Good veins,” Myles noted. Grayson followed his gaze to the pronounced line of blue bulging in his inner arm, then quickly looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. The back of a fingernail trailed a line down his cheek. Grayson shivered.

“Not fond of needles, are you?”

He refused him the verbal response he was fishing for until the fingernail reached the edge of his jaw, digging in to turn his face toward his. Voss tilted his chin, an unspoken demand. Finally, Grayson conceded with a shake of his head.

“No,” Myles echoed softly, mirroring the gesture. “But you’ll be very still for me now. The pinch will only last a moment.”

Grayson ducked his head, something between an answering nod and an attempt to escape his captor’s gaze. He took a deep breath in. Let it out. The next inhale hitched in his throat as he felt the pinch of the needle passing through his skin.

“Push.”

The demand was so unexpected that it took him a moment to realize it was directed at him, then another few seconds for its meaning to sink in. Grayson met Myles’s eyes in a silent plea, but, of course, he was unmoved. He jabbed the needle down another fraction of an inch—a warning. “Last chance,” he said. Grayson knew he meant it.

His eyes fell to where Myles’s hand held the syringe steady against his arm, tapping the plunger with the tip of his finger.

It didn’t matter. He told himself over and over that it didn’t matter. It was going into him one way or another. The person pulling the trigger didn’t make a difference.

Detaching himself from every survival instinct in his body, Grayson pushed the plastic plunger down, forcing the unknown substance into his arm.

Things got hazy fast after that.

It would become its own torture, later on; the blurred line between reality and delusion. How the memories of what followed as the drugs infected his bloodstream would live in faded snapshots, and Grayson was left to piece together a string of events that he would never be able to confirm as real or not real.

Did the man really make that noise—high pitched and strangled like a slaughtered animal—when his throat was slit? Or had it come from Grayson himself?

Did he really look into Grayson’s eyes as the life left his own?

Had there really been so much blood? More than what seemed possible to store inside a human body?

Did it really stain the creases of his fingernails when he was forced to scrub the floor after, or was his mind playing tricks on him, seeing red, red, red in everything he looked at.

Had he been moved to another room? Or was his mind only filling in the blanks of what he imagined the rest of the compound to look like? The bathroom? A bedroom?

Had he really felt fingers tangle into his hair? Felt the stuffy heat of too-close skin? Or was it his worst fear stirred to life in vivid hallucination?

He didn’t know for sure. Maybe he never would.

Maybe that was for the best.

The next time he saw the world through clear eyes, he was back in the basement. His cheek was pressed to the hard ground, and his first thought was, there’s an earthquake. The world trembled around him, jarring the panic straight into his bones. But when he tried to sit up, pressing his hands against the floor, he realized: the shaking wasn’t coming from the earth. It was coming from him.

He blinked hard and the pounding in his head surged forward, ramming into him like a train. Elijah was awake beside him, sitting up straight for the first time in days. The crown of sweat-matted hair indicated that, maybe, finally, the fever had broken.

Elijah was looking right at him. “Hi.”

Half-memories from the day before—or had it been longer?—vibrated to life beneath his skin. Though he gave no indication of it, Grayson was suddenly struck by the fear that Elijah knew what he’d done. He cleared his throat, wincing against the unexpected ache. He started to reach for his throat but forced his hand back down.

“Was I asleep for long?”

Elijah tilted his head, studying him. “I don’t know. I only woke up a few minutes ago. I think… I think I’m better. Sorry if I… just. Sorry for making you take care of me. Again.”

He didn’t know. Elijah didn’t know.

“You know you don’t have to apologize for that,” Grayson whispered.

Grayson sat up the rest of the way, bracing his back against the wall beside his friend. A  thumb-sized smear of blood on his inner arm caught his eye. He pressed a hand over it.

It was the not knowing that would haunt him in the months, the years, that followed. The knowledge that everyone who knew the truth was now dead, and he would never know for sure what happened after the drugs muddied his memories. But at least that meant Elijah never had to know either.

***

TAG LIST: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @distinctlywhumpthing @diyalogue @finder-of-rings @dont-touch-my-soup @wicked-whump @scp-1296 @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @melancholy-in-the-morning @whumpcereal  @reflected-pain  @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @flowersarefreetherapy @there-will-always-be-blood

#fifty-eight days: grayson & elijah #captivity whump #whump #whump writing #dual whumpees #listen i was feeling insecure about this chapter #i wrestled with it for a long time #but i eventually just had to throw my hands up and post it #so here you go #i hope you like it

[yuzuparfait]

Journal #2

Good to see you again, Blog!

I wouldn't say this week has been the kindest to me, but I managed to survive it (against all odds) and witness yet another sunrise. Logically, I was fully aware that this week would be more chaotic and messy compared to the last one, but nothing prepared me for the 12 hours I spent in a semicomatose state on my bed after getting home from my last class of the week.

Despite the stress and my climbing blood pressure, I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll get out of next week's classes relatively unscathed.

In other news, I spent a majority of my free time this week daydreaming and coming up with theories of what might happen in the Breath of The Wild sequel that's coming out in a couple of months. The newest trailer dropped on the Nintendo Direct on Thursday and it's been in my head living rent free ever since. So please excuse my tinfoil hat and my rambling.

As noticed by many, the symbol right behind the title is of an Ouroboros, which depicts a serpant eating its own tail. Since the Ouroboros is often used to signify an eternal loop, the biggest theory I have so far is one where the entire Zelda timeline is actually in a loop. Which means that Tears of The Kingdom is not only a sequel to Breath of The Wild, but also a prequel to Skyward Sword, which is the first game within the timeline.

At the end of Skyward Sword, the villain, Demise, curses Link and Zelda to endure an endless cycle of death and destruction for all their future reincarnations before promising to return.

However, Demise never makes an appearance ever again within the timeline after this fight, and he's instead replaced by a villain named Ganondorf who appears in every other game.

Ganondorf was also known as "Calamity Ganon" in Breath of The Wild, which leads us to the next point.

According to the lore of the Zelda timeline, the floating islands in Skyward Sword were born from a great calamity that occured on the surface, causing most to abandon it in favour of living in the skies.

In the trailer, we see similar islands in the sky, and also learn they were formed after Link defeats Calamity Ganon and his Blights in the prequel.

Right before facing off Calamity Ganon's final form at the end of Breath of The Wild, Zelda warns Link about how Ganon had given up on reincarnation and had instead assumed his purest form.

Calamity Ganon giving up on reincarnation might just allow Demise to return in place of Ganondorf to continue the cycle yet again, leading the timeline right back to where it all began in Skyward Sword.

Considering the fact that all the games within the Zelda timeline eventually converge and lead to the events of Breath of The Wild, the probability of the theory being true becomes higher.

It's grim to realise how they're all stuck forever in an inevitable loop that not even the goddess Hylia can break, forced to play the eternal role of soldier and princess. Link and Zelda are forever doomed to a life of servitude, as the princess' loyal knight for the former, and the ruler of an entire kingdom for the latter. No matter who Link is reincarnated into, whether he be a farmboy, a pirate, or a literal eight year old raised by woodland creatures, his fate as Zelda's knight is inescapable, just as how Zelda's fate as the princess remains set in stone.

Their fates are destined to be, interwined and inevitable, just like pawns on the chessboard of a higher entity. Who knows? Maybe we'll finally learn more on why the cycle continues without an end in sight (besides the fact that it earns Nintendo tons of cash) when the game comes out in May.

But hey, it's just a theory. A GAME THEORY. Thanks for reading!

I hope you readers enjoyed this week's journal! I was a little burnt out this time around but I hope it was still a good read (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

#Spent an unhealthy amount of time making some of these gifs #I really channeled MatPat for this one #Just saw someone say if any variation of Ballad of the Goddess (Skyward Sword OST) plays at any point in Tears of the Kingdom #it's going to turn into Tears of the Me #I felt that #Zelink you will always be famous #JENTRY

[fandom-space-princess]

Lost Season

Rating: Gen Characters: Gabriel & Raphael Notes:

In the beginning, they ran.

A short story for @saint-raphael, for the Archangels' Winter Gift Exchange. Inspired by this beautiful comic, and the question 'what if Raphael had left with Gabriel after Lucifer's fall, rather than remaining in Heaven?'

Read below, or on AO3

In the beginning, they ran.

Descent from Heaven (voluntary or otherwise) was treacherous then, and all the more so for being a relatively untested experience. For the rest of Raphael’s long existence, what would stay most firmly in her memory was this: the winds at the border of the physical and ethereal planes, tearing through her wings, wrenching fragments of her Grace free to whip back and away and mingle with her brother’s own like feathers caught in a hurricane. Her hand clutched in his, as those winds bit and snarled around them. His grip a vise that would not be prised loose from hers, even as they came screaming out of the ether and down, down through the atmosphere of the Earth, their landing a psychic detonation that flattened trees for leagues in every direction in that uninhabited northern waste. Even as they clawed their way to physical certainty and pulled matter into form around themselves, scrabbling together bodies like shelters or prisons in this realm that was not built to hold them, that longed to spit them back into the void from whence they had come...

… even then, Gabriel held on. Her first experience of physicality may have been pain, but Raphael did not endure it alone.

When they were real enough, they collapsed into each other’s arms, and clutched and sobbed for the one brother who would not have had even that small comfort.

---

Time passed strangely at the boundaries of Heaven and Earth.

Their fall had felt like a minor eternity, and like it had taken no time at all. Raphael shuddered to think how it must have compared to that other Fall, the length of time for which Lucifer must have fought those dire winds, and the longer eternity still which stretched before them all.

“Better not to think about it,” Gabriel reminded her. Her brother sat at the mouth of the dwelling they’d constructed for themselves. In the short span of years they’d spent here, beyond the reach of Heaven, the humans had grown numerous beyond counting. Left without guidance as they all had been, Adam’s descendants had expanded, crafting a niche for themselves, assembling in groups beyond simple family units: the first cities. Gabriel and Raphael’s home overlooked one of these. On a high rocky cliff scraping the stars at the boundaries of the human settlement, Raphael had reached power into the Earth and drawn forth thick twisting tree trunks, looping vines and creeping ivy. Had poured her will through hands and feet into the craggy ground and forced it out again, yearning skyward, until the forest reshaped itself about their clearing into a vaulted emerald cathedral.

The humans did not approach, although Raphael had seen them wondering up at her from time to time. She did not know what they must have thought of their angelic presence, there at the edge of the place to which they had laid claim; did not know what she wanted them to think, if anything at all. They watched each other from a distance, in wary silence and contemplation. For now, it was enough.

“I can’t help it,” she responded, after long moments. Gabriel turned to her, firelight reflecting against his eyes. “What if I’d been able to... do something? Something more?” She studied her hands in the orange glow, slender fingers, shadows picking out muscle and bone. “What if there was something I missed, some perspective or knowledge that could have helped?”

Gabriel shook his head. “You know nothing we could have done would have changed the outcome.” His voice was gentle, neither scolding nor unkind.

“I’m not so sure. I know what he did was wrong, to go against our Father. I know that, as surely as I know that we could never have stood with him in it.” She sighed. “But this—what our home has become, how can that be right, either? Look at them.” Her gaze strayed to the outline of the village in the distance, profiles of low dwellings cast in silhouette against the expanse of darkness by the humans’ own campfires. “They have no more direction than we do. Considerably less, in many matters. And yet they make their way.” A flash of memory: Lucifer gone, Father gone, and Michael’s face, shuttered, shattering, terrible in those first moments when they had learned that it was now—and would only ever again be—just them.  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Even leaderless, they’re the furthest thing from adrift. They are building their foundations on a peace not forged in force, but in something else. What is it, Gabriel? Could I have learned the trick of it? Could I still?”

She sighed. A rustle of fabric, and Raphael opened her eyes when she felt her brother’s hand slide into her own, the weight of him settling beside her.

“All we can do is give Michael space,” he replied. He slung his arm around her back, and she leaned into his side. “Maybe we’ll be able to help yet, and maybe we won’t, but staying there and falling apart with him, watching while he mistreated our brothers and called it leadership? That wasn’t helping anything. It was only hurting us.” He paused. “Hurting you.”

He was silent a beat, then, quietly: “I’m glad you came with me. You can’t imagine how much.”

Raphael allowed her cheek to drop onto his shoulder. “I am, as well.” A small smile curved her lips. “As much as I may dislike you for being right. What should we do?”

Though she did not raise her gaze to see it, she heard the grin in his voice.

"Dad wanted us to love humanity, right? We might as well go see what all the fuss is about.”

---

Thus, they descended into the village to walk amongst their Father’s mortal creatures. Though these visits were at first both brief and infrequent—the humans skirting past them (when they noticed them at all), this odd and uneasy brother-sister pair with no ties and no sense of belonging to anywhere in particular—as time passed, they found themselves mingling with the population with greater frequency. Gabriel took to the people of their little village with particular enthusiasm, and watching her twin wring joy from the most unexpected of sources time and again was a great pleasure, one of which Raphael never tired.

To her surprise, she found that she, too, was beginning to value them in unforeseen ways.

On a rare stroll through the outskirts of town without Gabriel (he having wandered into the market at midday, drawn by the bright colorful swathes of fabric displayed by one of the resident weavers), Raphael rounded a corner and found herself in an open, dusty clearing filled with children. They were embroiled in one of those most fascinating of childhood activities: kicking and chasing a large ball, bound of some thick and fraying animal hide, back and forth across the clearing.

There appeared to be no rhythm to the game, no set goal. Raphael settled back into the shadows to watch. Half a dozen older boys scuffled for control of the ball, stirring up dust, to the occasional accompaniment of jeers and sweet-natured laughter from a group of younger children seated nearby. Darting along behind was one smaller girl-child, fast and wiry, clearly a few years the junior of her companions. Despite lacking the size and strength of the older boys, she was quick of both eyes and feet, and more than once Raphael watched her claim control of the game by dint of these skills alone.

Raphael felt something stir in her, watching them. A family—if not by blood, in the way humans measured these things, then certainly by camaraderie. Choosing to do—what? Neither working nor obeying, though their elders must certainly have had uses to which they could be set. Doing nothing so structured. These children chose to spend their time glorying only in the passing of the day, in the presence of each other, in the dirt which ground into their skin when they fell and the sun that flashed in their eyes when they stood. Knocking each other down and pulling each other up again, nothing but joy in the motions of it.

As the afternoon wore on, clouds had begun to cluster at the horizon, threatening rain. Unexpectedly, the wind picked up, and the ball sailed out of the blur of bodies. It rolled to a stop at Raphael’s feet. The girl, brazen, came chasing after it, and she too skidded to a stop before her, raising her eyes to meet Raphael’s own. They were clear, river-rock grey, and they seemed somehow too large, too hungry, for her slender face.

“Can I have it back?” she asked, without prelude. Her voice was strong, no tremble in it that would have belied a fear of this almost-stranger. Raphael was unused to being addressed by a human so directly. Without looking away from the girl, she lifted her foot and toed the ball forward. The girl stopped it with the sole of her own foot, then stood rolling it slowly along the ground.

“What’s your name, child?” Raphael asked.

The girl sized her up, with the caution of children. She sniffed. “Rahima.”

Raphael smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Rahima. You’re very good at your game.”

The girl’s eyes gleamed with pride. “Better than my cousins. Someday I’ll be better than my brother, even.”

One of the larger boys loped away from the group, tired of waiting, and drew up behind her. He dropped a hand on her shoulder, then faced Raphael. A twinge in her heart; his eyes were as clear as Rahima’s, but far darker, slate-steel grey, storm grey. Those eyes, in this boy’s serious face, a protective hand on the shoulder of one he cared about—

She bit back a sudden homesickness.

“Thank you for our ball. I’m Amir,” the boy said. “We’re sorry to bother you.” There was a suspicion there, not unfriendly exactly; closer to adulthood, he seemed more unconsciously aware of the Otherness in Raphael, an aura of something distinct from his own humanity. Then, to Rahima: “Come on, Reema. We should get going.” He glanced up at the sky. Raphael felt it, too; the first drops of rain were touching her skin, misting her cheeks and sinking into her hair. Early in the season, for a storm like this, but the children were already scattering, seeming mostly concerned with getting home without getting drenched.

The older boy—he must have been her brother—tugged at her sleeve, but Rahima frowned. “What’s your name, anyway?” she said, remaining stubbornly in place.

“You may call me Rafa,” she replied. “Your brother is right. Run home, now, before you bring the rain in with you.”

Another instant, during which Rahima looked as though she wanted to say something more; but then her brother took her hand, pulling more insistently. “Let’s go, little gazelle. Race you home!”

The challenge was enough. A spark lit her face, and then they were gone.

Raphael stood long enough to watch the rain scrub the dust from the air and the afternoon turn to turbulent dusk before she felt the pull of Gabriel searching for her, and finally departed, flutter of wings hidden amid thunderclaps.

---

Angels are not men. Raphael knew this, although she often felt it would be more pleasant to forget, as her brother seemed eager to do. Not to leave their other lives behind, never completely; she was her Father’s devoted creature, and knew in her heart that she would be so until her return to the void of her creation. But as they walked with the humans, sharing in their joys, feeling their sorrows, she wished that she could understand them more completely. The distance between empathy and sympathy had never felt so vast as when she watched her children (as she had come to think of them) play, learn, and grow.

Then again, Raphael was not her brother, either. She watched her twin move through the people with something akin to awe. Gabriel saw them, knew them, in a way she wondered if she would ever truly be capable of doing.

Gabriel knew her doubts, and in these moments, he offered her only comfort. “Your way of loving them is quieter than mine,” he often told her, hand clasped in hers and a bright spark of tenderness in his eyes. “That doesn’t make it less. Look at them, Raphael. How different they are from one another, and still, they manage to cherish each other.” He’d smile at her, spin her in place as though to music only he could hear, until she gave in and laughed along with him. “It doesn’t matter how we love them. Only that we do.”

And there were so many opportunities to love them.

The years passed, and their small city continued to grow. A square grew up at the center, a courtyard surrounded on three sides by high stone walls, and the people began to congregate there regularly. Once, passing nearby, Gabriel and Raphael were drawn by the sounds of a crowd. Intrigued, they made themselves invisible, and flew up to perch atop the walls and gaze down into the assembly.

A tent had been erected at the fore of the yard. It sheltered an altar, stone carved low to the ground. The smell of sweet burning incense hung in the air, smoke on the breeze, and the atmosphere was one of muted joy, subdued but festive. The people appeared to be waiting for something. Raphael edged nearer Gabriel, craning her head to see.

Before long, the muttering of the crowd dimmed, and bodies parted as a stream around a stone. Four men stepped forward. The eldest, clothed in robes of clean and sturdy cloth, approached the altar and knelt before it. The younger men took up their places behind him, arms laden with bread and grain, jugs of water and wine, fruit from the orchards, vegetables from the fields. Raphael recognized Amir—almost a man, now—leading the trio. After a moment, their elder stood, turned, and together they laid the bounty of food along the stone.

When he was satisfied, the robed man addressed the crowd. Lifting his arms, he began to speak of gratitude; of plenty, of security, of the harvest to come and of their duty to give thanks. With some small measure of surprise, Raphael realized that the man was calling them to worship of her Father, and she turned her head, a question for Gabriel on the tip of her tongue.

“Wait,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving the man at the front of the crowd. “I want to hear this.”

A hush descended, then—

The man began to sing.

A single note, at first; a tone that reverberated through the air, inviting a response. One by one, the people around him added their voices to his. She thought she could pick out Amir’s voice, near the front, and a high soft thread from further in that might have been Rahima? Then the crowd was singing in unison, a human hymn, a call to glory and charity and the divinity of mercy, the mercy of the Divine.

Raphael listened, rapt. Something was there, she thought, that other thing for which she had so long been searching. In these people who together created such beauty, who could will such concordance from thin air. Perhaps she might learn the trick of it from them yet.

Her reverie was abruptly shaken by the realization of Gabriel’s voice beside her.

When she looked to Gabriel, it was to find his eyes clenched tightly shut. Light reflected along lines of moisture there. But when he opened them and looked back to her, his tears did not fall. The expression on his face was many things, she thought, but she knew what it was not: no part of this was sorrow.

She tilted her head back, exposing the long column of her throat, feeling the sun on her face. When she raised her own voice to join in the song, she felt it in every cell of her earthly body.

---

More years passed, and Raphael and Gabriel in turn passed the time in the way to which they had become accustomed: making their home among the humans they had claimed as charges, as companions. It was a small world, by comparison to what had come before, but it was theirs, and they loved it fiercely.

But the world has always been capable—would always be capable—of changing in a blink.

Raphael sat astride one of the crumbling stone walls of the village square. Two remained.

Yesterday, there had still been three.

Yesterday, there had been rain.

In truth it was not yesterday’s rain that was the problem. It was all the days before it. A wet season that started too early, that brought water like a deluge of Heavenly wrath onto a city already sodden to bursting. Gabriel and Raphael had watched from their cliff as the rains fell; had done all that they could to ease the weather here within the bounds of remaining hidden, of minimizing their interference in the natural world around them. It couldn’t be enough. In the night a vast stretch of mud on the hillside across the valley had broken loose. It had roared into the town and through it, indifferent natural rage made into a battering ram for houses and bodies unlucky enough to be caught in its path.

They had felt it as it came. And in those crucial minutes when the landslide began to crash toward the people (our people, Raphael had thought, wild-eyed; had seen it reflected back at her out of Gabriel’s face, too: these are our people), they had reached a decision, without needing to speak it.

They did not save the town—buildings fell, walls still crumbled under that onslaught. When the sun rose that morning, it did so to find more than half of those structures gone completely, buried under rubble and mud.

But the sun rose on something else, too. In the light of day, when the people congregated in the town square to take an accounting of their dead, of their injured, they found to their amazement that they were whole. Not a soul missing. Just stories, whispered in awe and fear, traded between them: stories of near misses, of miraculous escapes, of waking far from the homes they’d fallen asleep inside. Homes which would have fallen around them.

Staying hidden be damned.

Gabriel was down there now, moving among them unseen. Passing through, gifting them small touches: a shoulder here, a forehead there. Where he passed weeping abated, breath eased. Nothing showy, nothing gaudy; only miniscule, essential applications of Grace. Of love.

Looking down, Raphael saw a man on his knees. Elbows on the altar, head bent in prayer or anguish into his hands.

She appeared at his side in an instant. Laid a hand across the back of his neck.

“Amir. Are you well?”

Amir looked up, startled. He turned his tear-streaked face up at her. He had grown into a man over the years, broad of chest and long of bone, but his eyes were still the eyes of a boy cautiously watching over his sister. The boy she had first met so long ago.

She did not know what she looked like, to him. Whether she looked the same. Whether he remembered her at all.

“I...” She could see the faint confusion of partial recognition in him, but he shook it off with a blink. “Our home is gone.” He exhaled, long and low. Seemed to settle himself. “But I breathe air, and not mud. My sister and mother, all my cousins, they breathe with me. It is a blessing beyond words.” He looked at her again, then, his confusion returning. “I apologize. Do I know you?”

“I think I do,” came a voice from behind them. They turned as one. Rahima strode to her brother’s side, kneeling next to him. She had grown, too. A woman, now, still small and wiry and strong as her brother, in her way, and still with such hunger in her eyes. She looked up at Raphael steadily, something in her gaze which was neither a question nor an accusation, and also both of these. “You told me your name, once.”

“I told you a name, yes.”

Rahima stood, pulling Amir to his feet beside her. She threaded her arm through his, eyes never leaving Raphael. “It’s a miracle, I think. For all of us to have survived. The world and our Maker must love us dearly, to bring us through to see this dawn.”

Her feet shifted, stirring the mud, a little-girl challenge in her eyes.

“You are certainly held most dear,” Raphael replied. Her gaze swept over the people in the courtyard, filthy, weary, leaning on each other. All of them helping the others to stand, or to rest and recover. Showing their love in this, the truest way they knew: being present. Offering their steadiness, and the strength of their hands. “See that you remember that, as you rebuild. Care for each other as though you are worth cherishing. Because you are.”

She felt Gabriel approaching at her back. She nodded, one last time, at the children she had watched grow. Then she turned away.

“Will... will we see you again?” called Amir.

Raphael cast a faint smile over her shoulder, a small and melancholy thing.

“I’ll see you,” she said, and in the next instant she was gone.

---

Even in their lofty refuge, the singing of the people in the valley below was faintly audible, drifting up on the breeze.

Gabriel perched on the edge of the cliff outside their home. The sky was calm and cloudless, the rain having spent itself and gone, and the moon cast the village in ghostly blue. It felt unnatural, eerie, that any night could be so still after what had come before.

Raphael stood at his back. She looked over his shoulder, at the darkened skyline they had come to know so well. Odd and uncanny, to see it so reduced after all these years of growth. She grasped tightly at that feeling, at what it stirred in her, and tucked it away deep inside her heart.

This moment, this quiet determination and clarity... this, she would keep.

It would be necessary, in the days to come.

“I’m going back,” she breathed into the night. “I know where I’m needed, Gabriel. I know how I can help.”

“I know, Raph,” Gabriel sighed. He half-turned, looking back at her. “I know.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He chuckled. Reached out and grasped her hand. She allowed herself to be tugged down beside him, as they had done so many times before: sitting and watching their little vista, their own private sanctuary, this stolen, sparkling fragment of the universe.

Her head fell onto his shoulder. For a moment she allowed herself to pretend that they could go on as they had been. But it passed, floated away on the night air between strains of song.

“I couldn’t be angry with you if I tried,” he replied. “If this is your decision, you have my support.”

“They just...” she started. She spoke as though feeling her way, choosing her words with care. “This place is beautiful, Gabriel. These people? They are worthy of better than what is in store for them. This is our Father’s world. What is our purpose, if not to cherish it as we once cherished each other? What if I can help Michael see how to do both more clearly?”

She pulled away from Gabriel. He remained sitting, looking up at her. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered.

“As I’ll miss you.” She scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, once; he did not mention it, and neither did she. “Will you stay here? While they rebuild?”

He shook his head.

“I think I’ll go north,” he said, eyes tracing the horizon. Then he stood at last. He pulled her into a bruising hug. “If Michael gets to be too much again, you know you can always come find me.”

“I know,” Raphael replied. His eyes searched over her face, once, committing it to memory. And then, in a stir of wings, he was gone, and Raphael was left standing alone in what had been their home.

He never was one for long goodbyes.

Before the heat of his hands could fade from hers, she turned her face upward, toward the stars. Heart full to bursting with something she was hesitant to name—but which might have looked, from a certain angle, like the love of a brother or a challenge in storm-grey eyes—she, too, allowed her wings to carry her onward.

And all that remained were the fading strains of hymns on the wind.

#posting this here now that I'm finally awake ha ha #merry giftmas! #spn archangels #raphael #gabriel #spn #fanfic #my fanfic #archangelswintergiftlist

[aetherarf]

HELLO I SAW YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND UHM I DONT KNOW IF THIS IS ALLOWED BUT have you listened to Olivia Rodrigo's new album??? (If not its okay you can just ignore this) BUT IF YOU DID can you do an AU with Kaeya like remember the cheating prompt that you made a while ago? Like what if S/O became a great singer and kaeya secretly went to one of S/O's concert not knowing that all of their songs is about Kaeya and when S/O was singing "happier" she had spotted kaeya in the crowd and gave him a smile which led the 2 of them teary - eyed (TURNING S/O INTO OLIVIA RODRIGO AJSNWKSKQ) IM SORRY I WAS LISTENING TO THE SOUR ALBUM WHILE READING THE CHEATING PROMPT HUHUSHSJEIDJE

I actually avoid most media/news/celebrities just 'cause it tends to be stress inducing... But oh I did listen and I did get some ideas... :) Here you go~

[[ Celebrity!Reader Summary: Once, you and Kaeya were lovers. Once, you two fought. Once, you two broke up. Twice, you met him for the first time.

Word Count: 1'902 ]]

Humming to himself, Kaeya remembered a tune he had heard from some of the female Knights, dramatically singing this song in their own, slightly drunken amusement. He, admittedly, didn't care too much for... celebrities, for those who were known for their, usually recreational, work.

But the song was... He didn't quite know. It's not that he couldn't sing, but he just opted not to... Wasn't a big thing to him. Maybe this is what people meant when they said music was a powerful emotional thing, calling to him like a siren.

Or maybe he was just trying to fill the silence. Another partner, come and gone... He was a little ashamed of himself, only a month... only a month, he lasted, before realizing.. maybe he wasn't ready?

He rushed it, he rushed a lot of things. Maybe he was too eager to forget.

Oh well.

He had things to do, anyway. He looked back over the papers tossed about his desk, cringing at the mess he ended up making, and one stood out...

It was a poster, of sorts. Another... concert, like the ones Barbara hold, and apparently such a trend was spreading, for some girl in Liyue named 'Xinyan' was also trying to create new forms of music. He didn't think much of it, but suddenly he did...

A familiar name, a familiar face...

And the title of a familiar song.

Happier.

It was... You. An old partner, but old seemed far too generous a term, for it had been a month, two at most? Time wasn't easy to recall right now. He missed you, but he understood that it wasn't time. There were many tears, a lot of pain, and a break-up. He felt like he had gotten over it, but admittedly he was afraid... You disappeared from the world. He wasn't going to stalk you, but you took it hard...

Just a hint to know you were okay. Alive.

But here it was--a crumpled, slightly dirty poster that had a footprint on the back, that somehow found it's way onto his desk.

Three days. Your concert was in three days.

He left, taking a brief break, and bought a ticket, came back, working until he couldn't see straight anymore--he'd be seeing double if he could see from his second eye, went home.

Came back, got caught up, and his whirlwind of work managed to nearly get the Knights caught up on everything.

"Jean, I'm taking a few days off."

"I expected as much, you only work like this when you have something planned."

"You're a lifesaver~" he was already leaving, ignoring whatever Jean said.

Now, with one night to catch up on missed sleep, he was going to your concern.

Just to make sure it was you. One last goodbye he never got, even if you never heard it... It would be enough.

It would have to be enough.

...

He dressed up in his finest clothes, a little bit of make-up, his hair down and pooling over his shoulders... He didn't need to dress up, but... Well, it felt good to. It'd been awhile.

As soon as he headed out, he heard the familiar cat-calling... Actually, he distantly thought he heard Lisa, but he wasn't about to go talking about it.

He wasn't the Cavalry Captain tonight. He was just Kaeya.

The crowds were smothering, and hot, an area reasonably far from the city of Mondstadt, and it was already dark, but the bright lights had dwarfed the natural light of the stars.

More than once had others tried to garner his attention, but he knew better, respectfully declining most conversations, and he navigated himself to somewhat close to the crowd... Wondering if he should go away, further back, or further up.

Did he really want to see your face again? Did he want you to notice him?

In the end, he just saw you walk out from seemingly nowhere, standing upon the stage as you waved to the crowd, a bright, beautiful smile on your face.

His heart did not flutter, but it relaxed... Oh, you were so wonderful, and he felt so reassured. You were safe... And, clearly, thriving. That's all he really came to see, but...

"Hello everyone!" You cheered out, smiling to the crowd. You looked over the faces, most of which unnoticable, but you paused--

Dark blue hair, dark skin, black eyepatch...

And he looked at you like how a puppy looked at it's first owner after a long time in the rain.

He was here? He came? You thought about him a lot, but... You never let him say goodbye.

He looked so sincere as he watched, like how he looked at you when you woke up after him, an utter mess, but he looked at you with adoration.

You cleared your throat.

"Well, we all know what you came for... So, how about a song dedicated to a special man," your eyes darted back down, "... Who I wanted to be happy."

Cheering--oh, how deafening. You heard it would be insane, but... It was a little hard to bear.

You could, you knew you could, and knowing he was there...

He always supported you, something you only realized when many had scolded you for the songs you wrote, spoiled by his endless love for you and your work.

You knew it'd go well.

Kaeya could only watch, mesmerized and proud--did he deserve to be proud of you?--as you began to sing--

"We broke up a month ago--"

A little more than a month, but how recently had you written it, when it was so close?

"Your friends aren't you know, I know,"

How you disappeared, the friends you both shared had missed you, too. Did you really believe you would have to be alone?

"You've moved on, found someone new,"

Has he really moved on?

"One more girl who brings out the better in you?"

A girl with a spark, but that fizzled away? No, no, but he did not want fire. You two planted a seed, and when it did not sprout, you left, only for it to free itself from the earth,

"And I thought my heart was attached,"

The roots of the sprout sunk so deep, growing before being seen, he could not pry them from his heart,

"For all our sunlight of the past,"

But without your sunlight, of what it only now could see, how could it grow, it could only wither, either within your sunlight without water, or drowned by his hands.

"But she's so sweet, she's so pretty,"

Nothing compared to the blossom that this was meant to be,

"Does she mean you forgot about me?"

She was nothing but a spark to burn the withering sprout, but it survived the flame and overcame it, desperate to find it's day of blossom.

"Oh, I hope you're happy, but not like how you were with me,"

He had not been happy how he had been with you.

"I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go,"

He couldn't forget--he couldn't let go.

The rest of the words--they passed by him, and in the crowd, he was able to find himself crying, unable to look at you. He was unnoticed by those who cheered for you.

How could he be happy, when he was reminded of his own mistakes, his failures, what blossom he was blessed with, yet failed to protect, just as he failed to protect everything else he loved?

Finally, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, he looked back up at you, stunned as you looked right down at him,

"So find someone great, don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier."

He couldn't find someone better. He didn't want to.

He wanted you.

The rest of the music--was pleasant. But he was still reeling, and honestly, he didn't know why he stayed. Eventually, you walked off stage and he found himself standing alone against the waves of people who left.

Was he waiting for you?

Were you waiting for him?

He sighed. He did things too fast, and that's one of the many problems. It's not like he had to leave, looking at the now empty field... He ended up finding himself sitting by himself, the lights, one by one, turning off, and he was met back with the darkness again...

And the Stars showed themselves to him.

"... I didn't expect you'd come."

He jumped, jerking his head over to look at you--still dressed up, make-up on, and voice a little raspy.

"Well..." Kaeya said, buying time to think, "I guess I just... Wanted to see that you were okay. Didn't hear anything about you." That wasn't a total lie, and you sat down beside him, the both of you looking skywards... As you did many times before.

"That's... Sweet," you said, unsure, "I never thought that, in a million years, you'd want to see me again."

Kaeya looked over at you, frowning, "Is that why you disappeared?"

You shrugged, "I guess I thought I was doing you a favor. Was I?" You asked, genuine.

He looked back skywards.

"I don't know, honestly. But at least you're... Okay. That was a nasty break-up, after all."

You shrugged, "I needed to think. And... You were right. I didn't appreciate you. I didn't realize how much you were there for me, and..."

You stared at him, and he stared at you.

"You say that-" Kaeya sighed, laughing weakly to himself, "Like I wasn't always gone, and I made too many promises I couldn't keep."

"Maybe we just weren't ready at the time."

There was a long moment of silence... Neither of you willing to break it.

However, it wasn't even uncomfortable, a fitting time to think.

"... I want to start over," Kaeya said, finally, "If you're willing, of course... And you can say no, I get-"

"No, I, I mean yes, wait..." You fumbled over your words...

"Take your time." He said, sweetly... And you sighed.

"I want to start over, too. Will you... Go on a date with me?" You asked, smiling.

"We go to Good Hunter, to go..." He smiled, "And I insist on paying.

"And I tell you I invited you, so I should pay." You grinned.

"And we fight like an old married couple..." Kaeya leaned closer.

"Until we finally split it, and leave the city." You rested your hand on his knee.

"We go to Starsnatch Cliff," his hand atop yours.

"And I say your eyes are the prettiest stars I've ever seen." You twist your wrist, intertwining your fingers with his.

"And I say mine are nothing compared to yours," He rests his head on your shoulder.

"And I poke your tummy, and you giggle until you snort," you rest your head atop his.

"And we eat, it went cold, but it didn't really matter," He closed his eyes.

"We lie down in the grass, looking to the sky," you closed yours.

"I look at you like you're the moon," his hand tightened on your own.

"And I look at you like you're the entire world," You slump, slightly, relaxed.

"And it's quiet."

Both you and Kaeya lift your heads, looking at one another, smiling.

"and we kiss."

Kaeya is close, his mouth not even an inch from yours.

But you pull away.

"Tomorrow?" You ask, smiling.

"Six in the evening... I'll be waiting."

#genshin impact #kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #bark writes #anonymous #request #hurt and comfort #celebrity reader #// close nuff #// THIS HAS BEEN MY DEMON FOR SO LONG #// FUCKIN HELL #// GOD #// anyway it was a good step outta my comfort zone and i hope u liked it

[dappercritter]

Legend of Zelda for the ask meme!

(Based on this meme.)

The first character I first fell in love with: Zelda (any version). It might be cliché but considering the first Zelda game I ever played from start to finish was Skyward Sword, I was spoiled graced with quite possibly the most intimate, romantic, and overall enchanting introduction to the legendary princess of destiny. She may not be the strongest Zelda character-wise (that honour is a toss-up between TP and BOTW Zelda) but SS gave her the most time for character development and to establish a strong bond with Link (ie. YOU, the player). Thus, I got a pretty good reason care about the franchise namesake. The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Beedle. I kinda liked the one we were introduced to in Wind Waker. Just a humble shopkeeper and his boat who occasionally offers great deals and wears a neat little helmet. The Skyward Sword version (technically the first that I met) was a real charmer too with his flying shop, love of bugs, surprising secret vocabulary, and his method of dealing with window-shoppers. But I really fell in love with him was in Breath of the Wild. I liked his little scarf and his very big beetle (heh)-themed backpack, he’s got a great selection of items, deals in good prices, and has a wonderful little crush on Link. While that last one doesn’t go very far, I always looked forward to visiting his shop. The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Mipha. I don’t hate her or anything—nothing of the sort!—but I do think that she’s not as interesting as the fanbase, or at least in her debut game. (Note: I haven’t played or read/watched anything about the Champion’s Ballad or Age of Calamity yet, so I can’t comment on any developments made in those games.) As you may have already guessed, or soon will, while I love a good Zelink love story, I love it when Link gets to be close with someone besides the princess and even get to take a sweet little detour on the way to their destiny. The thing is that either way, I like it when the love interest has her own distinct personality, and their relationship gets a healthy amount of development. I don’t feel either of those things with Mipha. She’s a very shy, demure, and gentle who plays the “childhood friend with a hidden crush” role in the love triangle with Zelda and Link. Maybe it’s that she’s a very reserved character and Link is the most reserved character; maybe it’s that she’s already dead and you only learn about their past while nothing changes in the present; maybe it’s just how compared to her brother and her father’s big personalities and bigger builds, she and her more human-like feminine traits feel more boring… but to me she just doesn’t feel that interesting. I do like the bond between her and her (admittedly more appealing) brother, Sidon. The character I love that everyone else hates: Zant. Call me crazy but even his character is either inconsistent or has a rushed arc, I find Zant to be a pretty interesting villain with a lot of untapped potential. I love his design, even when he takes off his cool evil helmet of darkness, which I also love for it’s abstract appearance and retractable features. While I would have liked to explore an AU where Zant was the one true villain of Twilight Princess and old Ganondorf got to take a backseat, I do think that for the most part Zant is an effective villain with a disturbing aura, vendettas against all three of our heroes, and an interesting twist of an arc. Even after you realize that he’s just a pretender to the throne relying on a legacy villain for power, it’s fascinating to see how much his entitlement feeds into his character. When he finally breaks down like a spoiled brat, you still get the impression for just how dangerous his instability makes him. A letdown he might be, but there’s no denying just how dangerous someone with great power and no restraint can be. Heck, there’s something to be said about his fervent devotion to his dark god, Ganondorf as well—and the fatal turn it takes for them both when, in what is my opinion, what happens when the pawn realizes they’re

king is as a big a disappointment as they are. The character I used to love but don’t any longer: Fi. With Skyward Sword being my first game, I had a soft spot for all the characters, but Fi is the only one where the nostalgia was the only thing that made me like her for the longest time. Once I started looking at the game objectively, I realized just how truly annoying Fi was. Despite the feels the game attempts to invoke, you never grow close to Fi and she never comes to understand what it’s like to be human from travelling with Link. (Ironic given that SS Link is one of the most expressive versions of the character.) All Fi does is either point out the obvious or over-analyze the obvious as she tells you where to go in painstaking detail. Every time she popped up, it ground my subsequent playthroughs to a halt. That, along with the amount of backtracking in the game, is what keeps me from revisiting it. The only good thing I think I could say about her is that she helped inspire Toby Fox to give us the best goat mom in Undertale. The character I would totally smooch: Midna. Oh yeah. Are your surprised? But in all honesty, I do love Midna’s character …yes, and her design. (Now shut up.) Anyways, I love mischievous characters in general and, what else can I say really? Twilight Princesses’s story did a great job at making you care about Midna. She’s my favourite in the series beyond a shadow of a doubt and she deserves all the genuine, non-horny love she can. The character I’d want to be like: Kass. Being a travelling singer who brings his accordion everywhere who studies legends and aids the travelling hero of legend (even if I don’t recognize them at first) would be the coolest thing ever. Being a big ol’ parrot-man would be neat too. The character I’d slap: Tingle. It’s Tingle. If he’s not behaving inappropriately around… well, everyone, he’s charging ridiculous prices to decipher your maps. He might not be a total creep but he is a shifty little bugger. A pairing that I love: TP!Link X Midna. Oh yeah. You know how I said Midna was my favourite companion, thanks in part to all the time we got to spend with her? Well, that goes double for all the time she spends with Link throughout the game. The way Link slowly earns her trust and convinces her to change for the better, and how she opens herself up to him. They way they put their trust in each other… Golly gee whiz, it’s enough to make my heart melt no matter how many times I play through the game or how many time I’ve gotten stuck on the guardian puzzle seen the ending. A pairing that I despise: Can’t think of any, thankfully.

#zelda #the legend of zelda #tloz #twilight princess #skyward sword #beedle #princess zelda #mipha #zant #kass #midna #tingle #fi #link x midna #critter asks #critter questions #critter answers #afriendlyirin

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xxxi. Beauty and Her Beast - REWRITE

@the-pompous-potato  awww, so glad to hear that you love all of it! It’s like reading through the chapter with you, hearing all the moments that caught your eye. Yeah, I really wanted to bring Mitsuhide back into this arc - he hasn’t been mentioned lately, but he is missed.

@bubblesthemonsterartist  XD these are factors that were not taken into consideration but the advice is undeniably sound!

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || AO3 || Next>>

A/N: Dear readers, you’ve been both patient and supportive. Please consider this both an apology and a thank you: the wedding arc just wasn’t coming together. I had fought my way to the climax only to discover that the key moment fell flat. There was no way to recover - it had all started off on the wrong foot. So I scrapped everything starting with Ryuu’s chapter and started afresh. I will edit the AO3 chapters for the sake of preserving comments, etc, but may post the original version as an attached fic if you’re interested in seeing how it lurched to the finish.

The good news is, the entire arc is now written, so you can expect more regular updates for the next little while!

...

Ryuu had left the castle in spring, and now it was autumn.

The plants had changed seasons in his absence - some had gone to seed, others flowered, and still others were breaking the soil. He had the curious sensation of life going on without him, of decisions made and friends lost, all while he was away, out of sight.

...

Some things hadn’t changed: stone moves only slowly; it shrinks as the wind carries particles of it away once the sun has baked it hard and crumbly, layer and layer, altering its shape not with a hammer and chisel but fine trickles of dust.

Stone moves so slowly that it is invisible; in a human’s lifetime, he will see only one shape. Even though it alters, his eye alters with it; he perceives nothing. 

In that way, Ryuu had carried the walls of Wistal with him, in his mind’s eye, and erected them anew on his return.

The ceiling rested overhead; the walls held the room together; Garrack worked at her desk; Yatsufusa greeted them every morning.

Some things hadn’t changed.

...

Some changes he had expected: the leaves turning to gold, painting the trees’ faces a new color with their reflected light. 

Clustered around the outskirts of the castle and extending deep into the countryside, the trees hung over everything in their new agedness, come too soon for Ryuu. 

The trees in the port town, warmed by the nearby water, had not finished turning; their transformation was not yet complete but now that he was home, he found all the trees here different - wearing new faces, losing their green luster in preparation for winter, overnight and prematurely.

So it seemed to him, returned to find that mourning had set in like an early autumn in Wistal. 

No one spoke of it anymore, as they might have when the leaves first shed the color of life; now it went unacknowledged and yet omnipresent in the unfamiliar shadows the change had cast over them all.

...

These changes - known but unseen, or anticipated but unwelcome - would have been more than enough for Ryuu.

His acute sensitivity to the currents of nature, was matched only by his awareness of the energies of the people around him - except that nature he had learned to explain, to give a precise account of, while people continued to speak in languages largely foreign to his ear, and to behave in patterns that he could no more explain than he could wish them away.

He felt their fluctuations through an instinct too deep for words - which meant that he could seek no help for the confusion it caused him, any more than he could give voice to the questions he wished answered.

How could he receive answers when he could not articulate the questions?

Unable to decode, decipher, or analyze with the aid of his mind, Ryuu instead absorbed the turmoil he sensed, holding it inside himself like a human capacitor, until the charge diffused.

...

This took time - but time was what no one could give him, even if they had understood how badly he needed it.

Change - precipitous and shattering as a lightning bolt - had struck in his absence, permanently altered the sphere of his existence, and left him hopelessly behind in recognizing and tracking its movements.

It had come and gone before he knew anything of it. Now he was left to make sense of what remained in its wake.

...

It was not that Ryuu was unhappy that Shirayuki and Obi would marry. It would not cross his mind to approve or disapprove of their decisions. 

He did not wonder, why so soon? He did not ask, was it proper? He did not compare Obi to Zen or wonder at Shirayuki’s change of heart, at Obi’s sudden revelation of passion.

He did not think the worse of them for it.

He would have preferred not to think of it at all.

...

He didn’t have the tools to approach it; he withdrew in confusion and fear from what had once given him delight and fed his heart and his mind with warmth and curiosity.

Shirayuki had been a source of joy to him - as startling as the red of his favorite flower at first, then comforting in her quiet consistency. Day after day, she had worked beside him, gentle and understanding, keen and quick in her thinking, yet soft as petals in her presence.

She had been transplanted too soon, trading away her uniform out of season for another dress, and he had missed her -  but now she was something else entirely, inexplicable.

He had thought he knew her; now she felt further from him than ever, slipping away when he wasn’t looking, and he couldn’t bear to look.

...

Then there was Obi: like the too-tall branches of a tree, Obi had been out of sight, then out of reach - stretching overhead, impressive and other, to the point of intimidating Ryuu with his strength and presence. 

He and Obi belonged to different worlds, though they might occupy the same space: Ryuu grounded, Obi somewhere above - skyward, tending free and waving in the mind. Obi was challenging and supple yet also somehow vulnerable when bent to the point of breaking.

It wasn’t until Ryuu had risked enough to test his weight against Obi that he realized this laughing stranger could support him, bear him up, lift him to new heights unimagined, out of his comfortable places and into the clouds - not as blank and terrifying a place as Ryuu had imagined but full of wind and sun and new life.

...

He hadn’t looked for either of them to break the soil in his life, and now he didn’t want them to leave. 

Be perennials, he wanted to beg them, and come again after this season of death and destruction and dormancy.

He knew, nonetheless, that some flowers only bloom once in a lifetime. He knew, but at the same time could not know it, could only wish it untrue in the very admission of it.

The knowledge was too awful for words, especially now with the charge of change built up so high in Ryuu that language failed him and left only a mute unrest.

...

It was in this state that Obi found him.

Obi was a frothing mix of anticipation and impatience; he was on a mission to conscript witnesses for the ceremony.

Shirayuki said it ought properly to be his blood brother; Obi wouldn’t know where to find such a man even if he existed, so then he had thought of Little Ryuu.

...

He thought almost guiltily of Ryuu because Obi had felt his silence since the announcement and felt it impenetrable. 

No matter how much Obi filled that silence with his own voice, the words ran away, like drops of rain over a parched earth that would not drink. 

Then when Shirayuki spoke of brothers, Obi had thought of Ryuu.

...

Obi hoped this gesture, this invitation, would speak for him and say more than his words could when he said the miss would be very pleased if Ryuu would stand for them at the wedding.

Really he was saying, Would you be my brother?

Brothers, as far as Obi could understand them, were forever.

...

Obi hoped for a yes, or at least a smile, but then Ryuu wasn’t a talker.

He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no.

He had always been quiet, and so Obi had to content himself with silence.

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #PurePassion #Beauty and Her Beast #reboot #take two on Ryuu's inner world

[internalsealpanic]

Explosive Chemistry

Summary: Chemistry labs can be a bit tedious. Nothing laser vision can’t fix though. 

A/n: You can all blame @birdy-bat-writes​ for this fluff and @knightfall05x​ for the amazing mood board. This might feel a little rushed so apologies and Clark is kind of hard to write (ope). Anyway, here is your regularly scheduled comedy.  Thanks again to @knightfall05x​ for proof reading!

warning: swearing, reader’s terrible moral compass, and some injury

masterlist

You met Clark- Well, ‘met’ might be too formal a word for what happened. 

 You discovered Clark during a mundane Metropolis afternoon. Taking a break from your studies (read: a group project that had not been going smoothly), you hopped on to a trail car to go to your favorite sandwich shop right across from your favorite diner. 

 The sandwich shop itself was nothing too special, not in a good way at least. It was even what your delicately paletted father had politely described as ‘subpar’ which as far as you knew was the worst insult he could give. Frank- the owner- was, of course, inclined to disagree. You were, on the other hand, inclined to agree with the opinion especially after biting into a raw piece of chicken in one of their “famous” chicken sandwiches. But it was cheap and it offered the best view of the diner across the street. 

In truth, you liked the food at the diner better. Their blueberry pancakes were absolutely delightful, at least, on Mondays.  But more than anything you found more delight in watching its contained chaos. You’ve watched people propose, get divorced, have fights, and everything else in between. The sheer absurd theatrics of it all captivated you. It was people-watching at its finest. Frank just thought it was creepy to which you simply nodded and nibbled at your sandwich. 

As you watched the usual ensemble cast in the diner, you witness a tall, handsome guy with black hair and blue eyes get mugged. Ok, well, almost get mugged. He was a big boi so you weren’t entirely surprised when he was easily able to stop the scrawny knife-wielding assailant. What did surprise you were the proceeding events. To your utter disbelief (and amusement); instead of throwing the guy into the gutter as custom dictates, the buff guy just guided his assailant to the diner and had a chat with him. You chew your sandwich slowly as you watch them talk as if nothing strange had occurred minutes before, digesting the odd comedy unfolding before your eyes. 

 Moments later and a few tears shed, they parted ways. You frowned thinking that would be the end of it and you were about to whine to Frank about how anticlimactic that was. But then it just kept going. 

 He got mugged. 

 Again.

 And again. 

 And again.

 By the fourth time, Frank sat beside you to watch finally leaving the spot he was polishing alone. Repeated muggings were weird enough but the guy kept inviting them to talk. You choked every time but made no move to intervene, only nibbling at your sandwich and watching with near clinical interest.

 After the fifth mugging, Frank raised a challenging brow at you as you continued to chew on your sandwich. You shrug at him as if to say ‘I’m eating what do you want me to do?’. Frank’s eyes didn’t leave you even as another mugger approached the buff guy. You cut him a look and chew a little faster. For a guy running what is most likely a money-laundering scheme, he sure was noble. 

 Having finally finished your sandwich, you wave your hand halfheartedly to Frank, your middle finger extended skyward. Kicking the shop door open and jamming your hands into your hoodie pockets, you made your way to the other side of the street ignoring the cars driving past you, blowing and whipping the skirt of your dress every which way. 

 Neither of them pays you any mind as you approach them, which was just as well. You shifted the strap of your backpack on your shoulder deciding whether to use it. Your laptop was in there so probably not. You decide to christen your new flattops by giving the man a good harsh kick in his nether regions. He goes down with a squeak. 

 “Scram!” You snarl, baring your teeth. In a surprisingly well-coordinated motion, he does, looking honestly scared for his life. You pivot to the guy who you assume is some kind of tourist. 

 Most people would say that Clark towered over you but the truth was that no matter how tall Clark was he couldn’t really measure up to the height of you. Nothing about you was inherently intimidating, especially as you stand before him in flat tops, hoodie, and short dress, except maybe for your shoulders. But that had less to do with their actual shape and more to do with how uncommonly broad they were compared to the rest of your body.  Some people say it made you look like an angry dorito to which you unfailingly replied with something Clark would rather not repeat. At least, not in polite company. 

 You regard him with a pinched brow which makes Clark straighten as you openly assess him. You memorize the angles of his features, all the sharpness and corners of it not noticeable due to the softness of the way he carries himself in a typical hometown boy kind of way.  You note your university’s logo on the edge of his sweatshirt.

 You reach your hand out. “Y/n L/n but just call me Y/n”

 “Clark Kent” He answers, shaking your hands. You note the distinct midwestern shape of his syllables which explained a lot.  

 “Yanno muggers aren’t exactly good speed dating partners, right?”

 Clark smiled at the, admittedly, terrible joke. By the way, your eyes flash with interest, he’ll be seeing a lot of you. 

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Your foot bounced erratically against the metal bar serving as your stool’s footrest. You watched the thermometer with a pinched face and a ticking brow as the mercury in it remains unmoving. Your mounting frustration amusing Clark making him cover his mouth. You fix him with a look and the door actually whistles “innocently” and looks away, pretending to be intently reading the procedure as if you two haven’t been reading it for the past half hour trying to figure out why your solution wasn’t boiling. His baby blues none-too-subtly flicking in your direction. You give him one last scathing look, which he easily glances off, before turning back to your solution. His eyes have been flickering at you as if he’s been meaning to ask you a question. That question likely being ‘could you possibly stop looking like you’re going to murder the molecules in our solution’. His eyes flicker again to watch you seethe and pout at the liquid and it takes everything in Clark not to tease you about being cute. 

 Bouncing your leg again, you gently turn the hot plate’s nob until the screen reads 1000 F. Clark makes a choked sound, finally tearing his attention away from what you assumed to be a particularly interesting semicolon. Clark reaches over and turns the damned thing back down to 300 F. You glare at him before, violently, turning it back up to 1000. Clark just as quickly turns it back down. 

 Click

 Click

 Click 

 You two continue on like this for a while ‘til your instructor, pinching his nose, strolls over to your lab bench to politely tell you to knock it off. With a shrug, you two settle on 650 F as your compromise. You, however, continue to glower at the solution while Clark peruses through the next lab distinctly reminding you of someone in the waiting room of a dentist’s office which makes you scrunch your nose and worsen the impatient ticking of your limbs. “Glaring at it won’t make it go faster,” Clark chuckled in his Midwestern sweater voice. You had the urge to pour the hot acid of the flask on to him but you suppressed the urge mainly because it wouldn’t actually hurt and pouring it on him meant starting over and that just sounded tragic.   

 You place your hands primly on your lap and spin your chair towards Clark. “Not all of us can watch grass grow, Paul Bunyan.” You snip. Clark shakes his head at you, whether it’s from your tone or the nickname you can’t tell. All you could discern was that it irritated him and some petty part of you was satiated the way old gods were when someone made an acceptable sacrifice. 

 “Is that what you think we do in Kansas?” Your first impulse is to say ‘yes’ even if it wasn’t the truth. You thought better of it though. Picking a fight with Clark Kent was a terrible idea, superstrength or not. You were, of course, familiar with Kansas as a concept the same way you were familiar with Mars. Both seemed equally distant, equally alien, and equally irrelevant as such you never dedicated too much thought to it. The last one might have changed a bit with your chance encounter with Clark. You remember him mentioning going home for Thanksgiving Break. You also distinctly remember wanting to ask if you could come along. After all, you didn’t have much in the way of killing time during holidays seeing as most of your relatives were overseas and the relatives you did have here were indisposed either due to work or due to other families. You felt silly thinking about it now and even sillier contemplating how you would explain the special brand of unpleasantness of being bored over the holidays. Maybe you should get a boyfriend- your eyes flicker to Clark but you shake your head- or a girlfriend or maybe friends who weren’t either foreign exchange students or farm boys from Kansas with laser vision. 

 You whip your head to Clark who was mumbling something about not staring at the grass. He frowns at you, not finishing his sentence.

 “You have that look.”

 “What look?”

 “The bad idea look.”

 “I do not”

 “Ok, let me rephrase. The let’s do something stupid for science look.”

 You huff indignantly. Clark looks unfazed and a little smug. You did not have that kind of look and sue, you’ve asked once or ten times to use his powers to do something ridiculous but this was a matter of importance. 

 “Use your heat vision”

 “Wha-”

 “Heat vision. Flask. Go faster.” You punctuate each word with a wild flick or gesticulation of your hands. 

 Clark moves his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his sharp nose.“We’re not going to use my heat vision-”

 “-Yes, we are.” 

 “No, we aren’t. Do you want me to list the ways this could go wrong?”

 “Relax, my human shield is invincible.”

 “You’re horrible.”

 “Yup.”

 “I really can’t convince you?”

 “Nope.”

 “What if I just don’t?”

 “Then I dip out and break into a different lab to get a bunsen burner.”

 Clark laughs, shaking his head fondness seeping into his smile. It made your heart melt and your face heat. You know you’ve won when Clark moves his seat closer to you. For some reason, Clark always insisted on sitting just a little farther from you no matter the circumstance. 

 You two lean in. Clark gives you a side glance. “For the record, I said this was a bad idea.”

 “Fine, I’ll quote you on that once I’ve won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry.”

 Clark snorts. He removes his glasses, the blue of his eyes shifting to an angry red. It makes your breath hitch every time being reminded just how dangerous your sweet, gentle best friend really is. 

 You watch the liquid in the flask begin to boil and you make a noise of triumph, throwing your arms up in the air in delight. Clark smiles at you and you feel a little embarrassed by your reaction but the smile on your face doesn’t disappear.   You both lean back and you toss him a smug smile. He huffs at you amused and rolls his eyes. 

 “Fine, not all of your ideas are-”

 Crack. 

 Shatter. 

 Shards of glass fly everywhere as the flask shatters. You yelp high and surprised. Clark pulls you into his arms shielding you from the glass and hot acid. You hiss when a shard cuts against the delicate skin of your forehead. You’re numb as you feel the blood trickling staining Clark’s shirt. Your senses were more focused on the way he wraps his arms around you and how safe you feel despite the graze on your forehead. 

 “Y/n, Clark, are you two ok?”

 You hear the frantic footsteps approach you but neither of you pulls away. You just focus on how tightly Clark holds you against himself.  You feel the flex of his large muscles as he pulls you closer. 

 “We’re fine sir but I think Y/n needs to go to the clinic.”

 Do you? 

 Your fingers rise up your forehead and your stomach drops a little when they come away red. You’re aware that you’re bleeding but it takes some time for the knowledge to fully sink in. Your professor is practically shoving you out of the room by the time you even make any move to react. 

 “Y/n, I-”

 “I swear to god if you say I told you so I’ll punch you in the face-” You look into his eyes, your voice amazingly calm. He opens his mouth again. “- and if you say I’m sorry I’ll punch you in the dick.” His mouth closes and you both fall silent even as you go down the hall towards the university’s health office which was just a glorified clinic with the addition of counselors and a waiting room with Rubix cubes instead of magazines. Clark doesn’t loosen his grip on your shoulder even as you wait for the nurse to come out and treat you. 

 Your mind feels far less frantic than it did a few moments ago. 

 “I told you it was a bad idea.” Clark jokes offhandedly.

 You snort at the remark and glare at him without any real venom. “You really aren’t as nice as people say you are.”

 “Nope.”

 “Jackass.”

 This draws a tired laugh from him. “Well, I’m sorry. Why don’t I make it up to you then?”

 “Unless you’ve got a Porsche in your back pocket”

 He winces. You snort again. 

 “How bout coffee?” You blink at him. “Or maybe dinner? This Friday?” He adds with a hopeful lilt. 

 “Just as long as you don’t invite a mugger to come along.”  

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THANKS FOR READING

taglist:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell

#superman #superman x y/n #superman x reader #my writing #clark kent #clark kent x reader #superfam #kind of #in the future if I continue with this reader

[votederpycausemufins]

Alright. another chapter. Last one had a lot of focus on Jrum, this time it’s Grum. and not only and I tagging @petrichormeraki, i’m also tagging @helleborusangel because i love their rambles and they deserve to be tagged.

When Jrum next fully woke up, Grum was nowhere to be seen. In his place, however, was someone currently doing their best to sit in a chair that was better fit for the bots. They were wearing a black cloak with white accents and a hood that hid most of their face. Based on Jrum’s readings, they were also nine and a half feet tall. There was also the fact that they were currently staring right at Jrum. “Uh… h-hello?”

“Hi! I’m glad to see you’re awake again!” Jrum instantly recognized the voice. Even though he had been low on battery most of the time, he could still recall it as the voice of the person who had helped him.

“Uh… hi. Thanks for helping me earlier… and stuff…”

“Oh it was no trouble! I was just surprised to find you and you didn’t look like you were doing so well so I of course was going to help!”

“Well thank you… I’m Jrum-” Jrum hesitated, almost saying the second half of his name, but decided against it. “-and uh… I guess you already met my brother Grum… What’s your name?”

“I’m BadBoyHalo, but most people just call me Bad. And wait, you said brother? Really? What was that about?”

Jrum looked away, finding the blanket of his bed and wrapping himself in it. “I don’t know. I guess he just hates me now. He just… he called me stupid because I’m only really good at redstone, and then he called what I like stupid and just said that I c-can’t do anything on m-my own a-and…”

“Hey, I’m sure whatever he was saying wasn’t true!”

“But part of it was… W-We’ve been here s-so long a-and our d-dads haven’t shown up. Dad should’ve f-found us already… but he hasn’t. G- My brother and I were… b-built… s-so maybe our dads just replaced us… and… th-they don’t… l-love us anymore.”

“Well, I haven’t known you very long and I think you’re okay. I’m sure if your dads think that, then they weren’t the best dads in the first place.”

Jrum nodded a little. Hearing someone say that about his dads sort of hurt, but he had sort of been thinking that way anyway. And now Grum acting like he was was just making everything feel worse. Obviously his brother didn’t like him, but also thought he couldn’t do anything by himself. So Jrum was just going to have to prove him wrong.

The younger bot lumped out of bed and went over to the chests where he had put all his resources. Trying to fit everything in his inventory was a little tricky, but if he left a few unnecessary items that he could get elsewhere or craft again later, he was able to grab everything. He then remembered the clay he had cooking earlier and ran over to the furnace, glad to see it full of bricks which he crafted into pots, leaving an extra brick that he hadn’t used in a chest.

Jrum had gotten so caught up in what he was doing, he had completely forgotten the guest until running into them. “Ah! I’m sorry! I forgot you were still here!”

“Aww, no. It’s alright. What are you doing?”

“My brother said he thinks I can’t do anything by myself, so I’m going to show him he’s wrong! I don’t need to build some fancy place like this! A box with windows works just as well! Who cares if he thinks it looks ugly! And… And I’ll fill it with redstone and plants! That’ll show him! He’ll come visit me and he’ll be sad he isn’t as cool as me!”

“Yeah! I’m sure that will show him.”

“In fact! I can move into the cave and live there!”

“Ye- wait, you mean where the Egg is?” Bad asked, confusing Jrum.

“Egg? You mean the big plant in the cave where you found me?”

“Yeah! That’s the egg! I’m guessing you like it?”

“Well, it is really pretty. And I dunno… it feels safe being near it.”

“Oh, I have got to show you to Ant. In fact, until you have a new place to stay, you can live with me for a bit!”

Jrum smiled. “You’d be okay with that?”

“Uh, yeah! I’m the one offering!”

“Then…” Jrum thought it over. Bad did seem really nice, and it could take a day to build his charger and home. And he really was offering. “I guess that sounds good!”

It was a little odd as they were leaving, Bad needing to hunch over to get through the doors and then continuing to walk that way as he took Jrum’s hand even though the little bot was perfectly fine with just holding onto his cloak. They didn’t get far before Jrum stopped them and instead held his arms up, something that was quickly interpreted and Jrum was lifted up into the air and into Bad’s arms, making the travel much quicker.

Grum watched as his brother was put back in bed by their guest. Even though he had built the place, the glares from the person were not fun to be around, especially because it seemed that whoever this was seemed to be slowly shifting into a more monstrous form from anger. So, not wanting to stay around, Grum stood up and grabbed some tools before leaving. Hopefully once he returned, they would be gone, possibly also with his brother.

He wanted to make sure he had supplies, so mining would be a good idea right now. The thing was, this place was obviously populated and likely devoid of resources. And if it was anything like [:)], then he would need to travel out a bit. It would be easy with elytra, but it wasn’t like there seemed to be a place to buy any, and if he was going to go get any, he would need at the very least some diamond gear.

With everyone being a bit of a mess, Grum walked down the main path, a sign labeling it the ‘Prime Path’. It seemed to lead all the way to a place with crafting tables making up the floor which Grum was trying his best to ignore. It wasn’t his build and he didn’t even have anything to replace it with on him at the moment. From there he went around a large castle and kept on going. And going. And going. He eventually ended up boating further until he found a pillager outpost. It didn’t look looted from what he could tell, so Grum made sure to get a bit of distance from it before making a small area of himself to start mining down at.

He wasn’t going to go that far, but then something caught Grum’s eye. A mountain. And not just any mountain. Grum tilted his back to look up at it, the land continuing skyward. This didn’t look natural. It wasn’t like he had much experience from places other than [:)], but this looked like it was from an exemplified world, not a regular one. And it piqued Grum’s interest. His mind was suddenly coming up with ideas for a mega base. He would need to make a path through the nether with how far out this was, but it wouldn’t be too terribly bad. Maybe it would be a city like how [:)] or [:)] made. Or possibly it could be reminiscent of his [:)]’s base. Perhaps something entirely new. 

Grum was curious just how far up it really went. That would help him plan how it would look. So he started climbing. A large waterfall adorned the place which Grum used to get most of the way up, but from there it was mainly mining into the cliffside and placing blocks. When Grum finally reached the top, he paused to look at the skyline, shadows slowly growing longer in the evening. This was perfect. Jrum could keep the house for all he cared, - he cared he really did - this was where he was going to live. Perhaps he would make another starter base right… where the lodestone was?

Grum was surprised. Why was there a lodestone here of all places? Was it just someone marking this place down because they found it cool like him? But then why make a lodestone and not a map. You would likely remember the general direction and follow the map from there. Why waste netherite on this? Maybe it was some sort of minigame like [:)] would make? But there wasn’t anything else up here. Unless it was underground? Grum looked at the various statistics. It did look like there was some cave system below if the C value was correct. Perhaps that was it.

Grum started to staircase down. He nearly fell when it opened to a curve in the mountain where there was nothing below, making Grum use a water bucket and jumping into the water that flowed down. He looked around at the opening, still finding no sign of anything remarkable, before going to one of the faces of the cliff to continue going down. 

Just before the stone broke, Grum paused. Stone, stone, more stone. It was like the entire cliff face was just stone. There wasn’t any granite or andesite or diorite. No coal ore patched on the wall. And it was pristine. There weren’t any pockets where those things would have been mined or cobble blocking those areas up. And the wall was perfectly flat. Compared to another cliff face a bit to Grum’s left which did have what was normally there, it was unnatural. And sure, the mountain in and of itself was unnatural, but this was even more so.

Grum realized it. This was what the lodestone was for. To guide someone here. Trick someone into looking above and not below. At a glance it would probably look natural enough, but Grum had noticed it. So he broke unto the wall. Right on the other side was a hollow area. Ahead was the natural land of the mountain with dirt, diorite and granite. The walls were lined with an almost unnecessary amount of torches. And right in the center of it all was a platform of blackstone and obsidian.

Grum stepped onto the platform and found there was a hole in the middle. The hole led down an obsidian tube that opened up to a cavern that went all the way down to bedrock based on the ground down there. Someone had filled in the gaps that would have been various types of stone and instead placed blackstone bricks and redstone lamps, giving an eerie vibe. And then, if Grum angled his head just right, he could see what looked to be giant posters featuring music discs.

The bot didn’t know what was down there, but based on the fact that it seemed to be some sort of redstone machine that was used to go up and down, someone was likely already down there. While he could use water, that would be extremely noticeable and by the time he reached the bottom, whoever was down there would be ready to attack or something. But there was one other way down. 

Grum stepped back, making sure he was nine blocks away from the center of the hole. He then placed down a small tower of four scaffolding pieces on the block in front of him, climbing on top of it. He then started extending the scaffolding, until it was six blocks ahead, then seven, and finally the eighth piece was put down and the rest of the structure couldn’t hold it, leaving the piece to fall all the way to the bottom. Grum let two more pieces fall before breaking the rest of his scaffolding and putting it back in his inventory. Then he jumped into the hole.

Grum braced himself as he aimed for the scaffolding. If he missed, he would definitely take too much fall damage. If he didn’t catch the scaffolding right, it would be the safe fate. But Grum managed to grab onto the bamboo structure and slow himself down just enough that he was left unharmed.

Mentally, Grum took a sigh of relief before carefully breaking the scaffolding. He could hear someone moving around as well as- was that a cow? It sounded like it. And there was also the sound of a sheep. Grum started sneaking, slowly moving towards the noises. While this seemed to be a main room with a nether portal at the end between the disc posters, there was also a hallway which is where the sounds were coming from.

Once Grum had gotten close enough, he peeked around the corner. There were a number of empty item frames as singular fence posts. At the far end were the cow and sheep he had heard, penned up in some other fences. Then, placing what seemed to be a bucket with a fish in it into an item frame, was the admin. 

Immediately Grum regretted breaking in. This was the admin’s base and he had broken in. He was definitely going to get in trouble for this. This guy wasn’t like [:)] and obviously it was supposed to be a secret, only available to those with a special compass. Grum thought about going back the way he came, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have enough scaffolding and the redstone elevator would be extremely loud. He could try booking it to the portal, but that risked going out in the open for the admin to see him. 

Grum shook his head. It was the only option. Building up or breaking out were unlikely options as he didn’t know how far this place really went. But in the nether, the admin wouldn’t be able to see him, and it would just be a second or two he was in view. Grum took a few steps back to give himself just a little more time to build up speed. He started running and was watching the admin who looked extremely busy. There was no way Dream would be able to even turn in time to look, even if he did hear Grum. He was perfectly-

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: Cubfan. Assigned roles: Hermittown member, Acknowledged associate family, Convex, Operator. Banned roles: Hermittown member. Acknowledged associate family. Continue blacklist.

Blacklist check activated. Increase displacement by 1%. Displacing. Displacement complete. Displacement at 42.5% total.

Grum was face first on the floor. Had he tripped? There wasn’t anything to trip on, the floor was perfectly flat. Grum started to look around to see if there had been any tripwires, but he didn’t see anything. Instead he saw the boots of someone’s armor. Slowly, Grum looked up and was face to face with the admin.

“How’d you manage to find this place?”

Grum was taken aback by the calm tone. The admin didn’t sound angry, just curious. “I… I was looking for a place to mine. I wanted to go far enough out that I knew I would find an unused area. I found a pillager outpost that hadn’t been looted, so I was going to start digging there. Then I noticed the large mountain. It looked like a cool place to build a base, so I was checking it out and found a lodestone. I started exploring more and found the entrance to this place. It wasn’t exactly hidden the best, but not the worst. If anyone was passing by, they wouldn’t have noticed it, but the moment you look closer it’s obvious.”

Dream nodded. “Obvious, how so?”

It was still in the calm level tone, making Grum wonder if maybe they were like [:)]. “The wall you built, I assume you’re the one who built it, to hide the entrance was entirely made of stone and too flat. I’m not a terraformer like bzzt, but even I could do better than that.”

“Like who?” The admin asked, and Grum answered again. Again the man asked for clarification and Grum assumed he wanted the full name.

“Like bzztbzzt. He’s bzzt bzzt with bzzt and bzzt bzzzzt.” Grum hoped that would be enough information.

“...I see. Well, I’m hoping you won’t tell anyone about this.”

“No. This seems to be a secret place of yours. While it’s not underneath anything, this still should fall under bzzt bzzt code.”

“Right…” The masked man replied slowly. He sounded confused, but Grum assumed that was because of the lack of context.

“Since I am here anyway, may I be allowed to know what this place is?”

“Yes. This is a bit of a vault. Everyone on this server has something they care about. I’m trying to gather the most important things and put them here.”

Grum nodded and looked at the walls. Empty item frames and fence posts were labeled with what was going to go there. Axe of Peace, shulker, bedrock, Enderchest, Squeeks - Grum paused at the iron bars labeled Skeppy, but seeing as how it was in the section of fence posts, that was likely for a creature that couldn’t be leaded.

“Maybe also a museum as well as a vault?” Grum asked. “Though I suppose if few people know about it, it would really just be a vault.”

“Correct. I don’t quite have one for everyone on the server yet, but it’s just a matter of time.”

Grum looked around. That was right. He and his brother were still rather new, so there was nothing labeled for them yet. Dream seemed to tell what he was thinking and spoke up. “You know, I’m sure you know yourself and your brother best. You probably know what should be put here, in case it ever needs protecting.”

Protecting. Of course. He was making a place no one would know about so that way if someone was worried about leaving something so special, they could take it to the admin who would hide it. It was a little strange since there was always the option of the enderchest, but then again, that likely wouldn’t apply for living creatures.

Grum watched as the admin shifted things around, making space right for either an item frame, or a post. He handed Grum some items, and then the bot felt like he was moving almost on autopilot. He wasn’t sure which to choose for his brother, so Grum placed two item frames right next to each other. Under one, he placed a sign with the label ‘Electric Razor’ and under the other was ‘Diamond Plush 1’. Then, Grum took a few steps to the side. He placed another item frame and sign combo and carefully wrote on the sigh before stepping back.

‘ᒲ⚍ᒲʖ𝙹 ⎓𝙹∷ ᒲᔑ||𝙹∷ ᓭ⍑╎∷ℸ ̣’ Wait. What? No, Grum knew he had written it down correctly. He broke the sign and tried again, but it was just the same. Was something broken? He broke one of the signs for Jrum’s items and tried there. No, it came out just fine. So Grum tried again. ‘ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷᓭᒷ ᔑ∷ᒷリ'ℸ ̣  ᓭᔑ⎓ᒷ. ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ||'∷ᒷ ᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹ꖎᒷリ.’ And again. ‘↸𝙹リℸ ̣ ' ꖎᒷℸ ̣  ⍑╎ᒲ ꖌリ𝙹∴.’ And again! ‘ℸ ̣ ⚍∷リ ||𝙹⚍∷ᓭᒷꖎ⎓ 𝙹⎓⎓.’

Finally, Grum backed away to see something legible on the sign. ‘M4M shirt’. He wasn’t sure why it had been so hard to write just a few short words, but at least it finally worked.

“What’s M four M?” Dream asked, and Grum winced at realizing the admin had seen all that.

“Oh, it’s bzzt bzzt bzzt. It’s what I bzzt bzzzzt. Since my bzzt was bzzzt bzzzzzzt.”

“I see. I’m guessing that’s back at your base.”

Grum had no reason to lie. It was currently still with him. He hadn’t built an ender chest for it yet and was worried that it could get damaged if it were just left in a random chest. But for whatever reason, he didn’t say that. “Yeah, I put it in one of the chests. Hopefully Jrum won’t mess with it.”

The admin nodded. “Good to know. We could go pick it up to bring it here. We wouldn’t want it to get damaged or anything, now would we?”

Grum nodded and then followed the admin into the nether portal. They started walking in the direction of spawn, not really saying much, just making sure neither of them got killed by skeletons, ghasts or piglins. They were doing rather well, though the admin was managing to take care of most of the monsters himself. They finally got to a bit of a safe clearing to pause and rest for a bit, Grum mining up some nearby quartz for a snack, when Dream seemed ready to strike up a conversation.

“Oh, hey Grumbot?”

“I’d prefer just Grum, but yes?”

“How many minutes do you think it’s been since we entered the nether?”

Grum paused, calculating their speed and their starting and current coordinated. He adjusted for the fact that there was no way to just go straight in the nether, and then he had his answer. “At this point it’s been around seven or eight minutes. Why do you ask?”

“Iskall.”

And Grum passed out.

When he next came to, the bot was back at home in bed and charging. He racked his brain to remember what happened and remembered meeting with Dream. They had just started into the nether when it all went dark. Based on his current situation, Dream must have-

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: GoodtimeswithScar. Assigned roles: Hermittown member, Acknowledged associate family, Convex. Banned roles: Hermittown member. Acknowledged associate family. Continue blacklist.

Blacklist check activated. Increase displacement by .5%. Displacing. Displacement complete. Displacement at 43% total.

-taken Grum back home after he powered off. Grum hadn’t been paying attention to his power level, but he must have gotten distracted by the odd place. He had probably used a lot of his charge getting out that far, and it wasn’t like he had filled his battery recently with Jrum having been using it. And now he was very much completely charged based on his full battery level and the fact he half felt like he was vibrating. Well, at the very least, now seemed like a good time to finish up the starter base. Grum put away his tools and pulled out his blocks, climbing into the roof and working on building it. Night wasn’t the best time to be working, but it wasn’t like Grum could really sleep through it, so he made sure to bow down any mobs giving him trouble.

Grum was glad when it was finally finished, and he was surprisingly down to 67% already. He supposed he lost track of time, but the moon in the sky told him otherwise. Grum climbed down from the roof and went inside to put his things away before sitting on his bed and opening his task manager. System of course was open. If it weren’t he would be off. Status was also on, allowing him to see his health and whatnot. Microphones speakers and cameras were also there of course, those letting him to hear and speak and look around. But then two programs he didn’t recognize caught his eye as well as one that normally was never open.

DSMP Console was a new one, obvious from its name. Grum wasn’t extremely surprised at that. It was probably just something from this world, that was all. There were however sub programs on it, which Grum looked into. Those were much more surprising. Time Displacement, Blacklist Check, Blacklist Roles, Lives Count, Player Coordinates, the list went on surprisingly long. There were so many sub programs, Grum was more surprised his battery wasn’t lower.

Grum attempted to close some of the sub programs, but they immediately turned themselves back on. He almost attempted to close the main program, but for a moment, he was scared. What if something on that huge list was extremely essential, and if he closed it, it would break or kill him. So reluctantly, Grum decided against it.

Grum stopped looking at the list of sub programs for the first main program to instead look at the third. That was the QHHBP combat program. That didn’t really make sense to have open at this time, but possibly it was from all the mobs outside, so he forced it closed, immediately finding himself relaxing a bit, not realizing how tense he had been moments ago.

Then, the last of the three files. The second one he hadn’t seen before. The third program vaguely made sense. The first was new, but again, the name made sense other than the sub programs, but this was almost entirely new. KGADOOHM. That was it. That was the name. KGADOOHM. He knew his [:)] had made the K[:)]OO[:)]R, but what was this supposed to stand for? Keep [:)] and… something… out of… something my? But that didn’t make any sense. The M would likely be something else, but there were so many other options for the letter M. Plus what was the letter D for? The A could even stand for something other than ‘and’ in the long run. 

Grum started to think of ideas, but then realized there were also sub programs for that. Password Check, HM Folder, and HJTHJ. Great, another jumble of letters he didn’t know the meaning to. Grum flopped onto his back, closing the task manager. What was all this? The DSMP program he could see showing up when they arrived, but how long had that other program been there. And what did it mean? 

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: CatType:9,Invulnerable:1,CustomName:"\"Jellie\"". Assigned roles: Hermittown member, Acknowledged associate family, Convex, Higher Being of Unknown Origin. Banned roles: Hermittown member. Acknowledged associate family. Continue blacklist.

Blacklist check activated. Increase displacement by 2%. Displacing. Displacement complete. Displacement at 45% total.

Grum paused. He had just zoned out, didn’t he? He quickly opened task manager back up, just in time to see the power and memory usage dropping for the DSMP Console program. He wasn’t quick enough to look into the sub programs and see what had been used, but it was still new information.

The bot quickly got back up from his bed and started looking around. It took a bit, but he was able to find some sugarcane and a piece of leather for a book. A feather was also easy to find, but Grum had to go out and find a squid for an ink sac. As soon as it was all put together, Grum started writing in the book. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but just to be safe, putting things in physical form could help. Especially if he needed to quickly share with anyone.

Once everything was written down for now, Grum fanned the ink with his hand to quickly dry it, then closed it up and put it in the special part of his inventory. There were five slots there for his [:)] program, though one needed to be kept open for a diamond. Currently though, there was only one other thing there. His [:)] shirt. 

For a moment, Grum’s mind was back in the vault, putting those signs up. Sure, the items could be there, but now he and Jrum knew that it was the safest place of all. It wasn’t an ender chest, which you couldn’t always access, and it wasn’t a regular inventory, so the items wouldn’t drop upon death. Grum was going to figure out what was going on. No matter how long it took.

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #jrumbot #badboyhalo #grumbot #dreamwastaken #still not a fan of how dream's persona eminates someone... problematic

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay- Chapter 1

Fury/ Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

Summary: Don "Wardaddy" Collier just wanted his crew to make it through the war. He carried no expectations for himself. But as each day passed, he worried he would be unable to keep his promise. When fate (or more accurately- Boyd Swan) places a woman in his path with a soft touch and softer heart...perhaps he has more of a motivation to see the end of the war after all.

Hey so I’m back with this series! I posted the first chapter awhile ago and then realized I did not have my plot and characters as “polished” as I wanted. So if you read the first chapter already, I would recommend rereading it. 

The first chapter is shorter compared to the others so to make up for it, I will also be posting the next chapter! Two in one! 

Our beloved Easy Company will come into play in a couple chapters. Patience, my friends. I have a plan...

Warnings: Swearing, some mentions of wounds/blood

Tag List: @happyveday​ @evelynshelby​ @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ 

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

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Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Dirt and grime covered his skin and clothing. The sound of the Sherman's tracks rolling over the muddy ground encompassed them. Patches of ice and snow still lined the feeble road. He stared ahead blindly, trusting Gordo to get them to the camp safely. The looks on those around him mirrored his own feelings. Everyone was exhausted. Everyone wanted real food. Everyone was tired of watching allies killed by fucking Tigers. 

 Everyone was sick of this shit. 

 They approached the camp. The cesspool that it looked like from far away became even more evident the closer they got. Half-demolished buildings with a dusting of snow were the only standing structures left of what used to be a quaint little town. Soldiers in grubby gear, rifle over their shoulders, ran around. From far away the sounds of artillery fire echoed. Don wondered who was dying now. 

"Boyd." He looked over at his gunner. "When we get parked, you go find an aid station. Get that hand looked at."

 "Yes, sir." The gunner held his injured hand against his chest, wrapped in a makeshift bandage. 

 After getting directions from a lieutenant, they found the tank squad on the other side of the town. Seeing the three other tanks gave the staff sergeant some hope. 

 "Boyd, medic. Gordo, fill 'er up. Grady, check that suspension. I don't like the way it sounds. Norman, find us some ammunition and where the hot chow is." Don barked out orders as everyone jumped off the tank. Replies of "yes, sir" made him nod, silently proud of his crew, before stalking towards where he assumed HQ was. 

 Soon enough he found the building, soldiers scurrying in and out, making the place look like an overturned ant hill. The glass on the store-front was still intact surprisingly, but the door was busted down leaving a gaping hole to walk through. Sliding past a private who looked barely eighteen coming out, he entered the HQ to see a table set out in the middle with maps laid out, paper weights and bullets strewn about. 

 "Who you?" 

 The gravelly voice made him turn to his right, eyeing up the man sitting on a wingback chair. "Staff Sergeant Don Collier, commander of Fury, 66th Armored Regiment, 2nd Armored Division."

 The man exhaled, smoke slipping between his thin lips, cigarette hanging precariously. "Ah, Wardaddy, eh? Right, come on." He stood up and waved Don over to the table. "Captain Evans. What's your status?"

 Don eyed the man, he seemed far too relaxed for being in a war zone. Then again, his greying hair and beard and those sharp eyes made him briefly wonder if this Captain Evans had been in the Great War. Maybe this was easier compared to trenches? Either way, it was nice to see someone in charge for once that looked like they were actually old enough to shave. Fuck knew too many kids were running around with rifles now, having just gotten out of bootcamp. Don wanted nothing to do with them. 

 "We secured the town here," he pointed at the map, "left 86th Infantry to hold. Then my guys and two other tanks were sent here."

 Captain Evans stared at the maps, mind clearly seeing how best to utilize them. "You and two tanks, eh?"

 "Yeah. Ran into a tiger though. Now it's just my guys."

 His bushy eyebrows shot up, even those around the table quieted down with the news. "Just you?" At Don's nod, the Captain tapped his fist on the table. "Damn those tigers. Alright, good to have you here, Don. We're waiting on some intel before sending you out. You and your guys get some chow and rest. Come back and see me in the morning."

 "Yes, sir." Don nodded and walked out of the building, relieved they were not being sent out right away. 

 As he walked down the filthy, cobbled street, he could feel the shakes beginning in his hands. Quickly, he stepped onto a side street, hoping no one would notice him. Leaning back against the brick wall of the building, he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets before anyone could see them shaking. Memories of the fight from yesterday replayed in his mind without permission. The tiger easily destroyed the rest of his platoon. In a matter of minutes, him and his crew were alone. Ten men. They had lost ten men. Good men...well mostly good. There was that one asshole in Edward's squad no one would miss.

 War took the best and worst; death it’s equally possessive lover.  

 Hands slightly fumbling, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The lighter took a few clicks before catching. With the inhale, the nicotine and smoke settled in his lungs beautifully. He closed his eyes, letting the cigarette help calm his nerves and try to erase the memories of his platoon. They were dead now. It did no good to dwell on it. 

 After several minutes his hands finally stilled. Running a hand through his hair, he pushed off the building and headed out to find his crew. He glanced around wondering the likelihood of finding a roof and real beds for his guys tonight. They deserved it. Especially after all this shit. His own back cried out for a reprieve from sleeping on the hard ground. 

 Yeah, he would figure out something. Even if he had to toss some goddamn young Privates out into the stained snow. 

 *****

 "Nurse Cooper! You can handle this!" 

 She pushed the flyaway strands of auburn hair out of her face as she walked past the injured, following the voice of Doctor Erickson. The cries, screams and whimpers of the injured and dying no longer affected her. Or at least that was what she told herself. At least this field hospital had separate areas based on severity and a roof over the top.

 She had worked in far worse conditions before. 

 She nodded to the tall, blond doctor who barely gave her a passing glance as he shoved past her, away from injuries he deemed lesser than what he should be focusing his attention on. 

 A man sat on the edge of a cot, cradling his hand in his lap, which was wrapped up like a mummy. He was not screaming or swearing, so she took that as a good sign. His eyes were closed, lips moving silently like he was praying, a thick mustache twitching with every movement. He looked like he could only be a couple years older than her own twenty-three years.

 "What's your name, soldier?" She stood in front of him, wiping her hands on the stained apron she wore over her equally stained dress. Once they had both been white; now, the apron and dress were a patchwork of stains from blood, dirt and other questionable fluids she chose not to think of. 

 He looked up, his brown eyes meeting her blue in surprise. "Boyd Swan, ma'am. Those in my crew call me Bible though. " 

 "Well, Boyd, mind if I take a look at your hand?" She perched on a stool as he offered up his hand. Quickly, she unwrapped it to see the damage with a gentle but methodical touch. A long laceration bled across the palm and past the wrist, thankfully not deep. Honestly, looking it over, it was kind of a miracle it was not worse. 

 "Well, you're lucky, Boyd. Any deeper and you might have lost use of your hand. You might have some nerve damage; I do not think immobility is a concern at this point. I think we can get away without stitches if you can promise me you'll keep your hand bandaged and try not to use it."

 "It's not luck, He's looking out for me and my crew." He pointed a finger on his other hand skyward. 

 "Yes, He certainly was. Let me grab some new bandages." She grabbed some cleaning solution and bandages for the man. The sooner she finished with him, the less likely there would be concern for infection. If she guessed, it would appear the injury happened at the earliest maybe yesterday. More than enough time for it to become infected. Though her training had taught her to ask and determine when the injury occurred, lately she found herself hating that question. It always led into a story and hearing even more of the horrors these men faced. Her mind had enough memories of blood and guts to fuel nightmares for a hundred years. If she could refrain from hearing others’ memories, she found herself choosing too.

 The other reason she wanted to finish with him soon was to open up the bed he currently sat on, in case a worse injury came in. Luckily there had not been a large-scale fight in a week so they only had trickles of men coming in instead of waves of dying men. 

 "You a religious woman?" 

 She looked up from cleaning his hand to meet his earnest eyes. "I guess. I don't pray like I used to."

 He hummed. "I can respect that. I suspect you've seen plenty of death."

 Not wanting to remember all the faces of young men she had slaved over, only for them to die under her care, she changed the subject. "Why do they call you Bible?"

 "I'm always reading the Bible... I reckon that's where it started. I stopped trying to convert those heathens in my tank. I pray for their souls though. Always will." His voice trailed off quietly, but the fondness in it was unmistakable. 

 "You're a good man, Boyd."

 He nervously chuckled, looking away for a moment with the sound of his foot tapping repeatedly on the ground. "No, I'm just doing the Lord's work. That's all."

 "Well, I'm done." Smiling at him, she pushed back slightly. It was nice to have a patient not screaming at her or leering. There were too many of those men as of late. "Do you know your orders yet?"

 "No, ma'am. We just rolled in an hour ago."

 "Alright, if you're still here tomorrow I'd like to take a look at your hand again in the morning."

 "I can do that." 

 "Good. Go rest up now, find some food. You earned it." She stood up, holding the soiled cloths, ready to move on to the next patient or task. 

 "I will.” He rose along with her, clearly understanding the dismissal. "Oh ma'am, what's your name?" 

 For a moment she hesitated to share her name. Normally she preferred the men to call her Nurse Cooper. From past experience, if she told them her name, they seemed to think she was interested in them. Yet with this man, she found herself wanting to share her name. He was kind and respectful. There were no gut feelings scaring her away from him. "Anna. I'm Anna Cooper."

 "Pleasure to meet you, Anna Cooper. You need anything, you let me know, right?"

 She was unsure how he could help her. Depending on his orders she might never see him again, but she nodded to humor him. "Sure. It was lovely to meet you too, Boyd."

 With a parting smile from both, she hurried to the back of the building where they kept the large tub for boiling cloths. She grimaced when she noticed how low the water was. That meant she would have to go to the river soon. A shiver shot through her at the anticipated cold awaiting her outside. Thankfully most of the snow had melted already but winter’s chill still clung possessively to the air. Plus, it did not help how easily cold sunk into her bones. Back home her family would tease her about that fact. Here, on the edge of the front lines, it only made her life more difficult.

 Before Doctor Erickson found a reason to yell at her, she headed back out to assist in whatever way possible. Her conversing with Boyd was her first positive interaction in a few days besides with the few others nurses stationed at the field hospital. She hoped he was not sent away too soon. 

#Fury movie #fury 2014 #fury fanfic #band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #Don Collier #Don Wardaddy Collier #don collier x OFC #boyd bible swan #boyd swan #mzwrites

[swaps55]

The Words That Change Us

Pairing: mShenko

Rating: M

Tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, first kiss, fluffy hurt/comfort, banter, lots of banter, pre-Normandy service history

Summary:  Shepard is more than the N7 emblem they're about to pin on his chest.

Have some happy Sam and Kaidan fluff for N7 Day! This wasn’t going to end in kissing, but @urrone yelled at me when I told her my idea for how it could end in kissing, so now it’s a Sam and Kaidan AU with kissing. 

This started as a friends-to-lovers prompt sent to me by @shadoedseptmbr requesting Sam knowing medical stuff about Kaidan, but it grew into more than that. So just have a whole ass one-shot with medical stuff and also kissing. 

~

The Words That Change Us

The griping starts before they even get to the Myeongnyang’s airlock.

“Why do they have to make a big deal out of it?” Shepard mutters, fussing with the cuff of his dress uniform. He’s been trying to button the sleeve for the last ten minutes. They’re about to pin an N7 emblem to his chest, and yet he can’t walk and manage a button at the same time.

“You’re kidding, right?” Kaidan asks.

“I mean, they had to throw me in a hyperbaric chamber when they hauled me off that rock. Seems a little weird to throw a party about it.”

Kaidan grabs Shepard’s wrist, pulling him to a halt and doing the last button himself. He doesn’t like the reminder about the hyperbaric chamber. Just once, it would be nice if the N program didn’t try to kill him and then turn around and call his survival “admirable and effective.”

“I think if I’d put myself through everything you have for the past few years I’d be royally pissed if someone didn’t throw a party over it.”

Shepard eyes him suspiciously. “You don’t like parties.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t run around on an asteroid for a week trying not to breathe.” He pats Shepard on the chest. “Not my party.”

A pained look crosses his face. “Which means you could just fuck off and play poker with the others and no one would give you shit for it.”

“I’m not gonna fuck off and play poker.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d give me shit for it.”

“Yeah,” Shepard says, as if the idea had just occurred to him and he’s now wholeheartedly behind it. “And it’s my damned party. If I have to suffer, so do you.”

Kaidan gestures expectantly towards the airlock. Shepard grumbles. But before he continues walking he pats at his pockets. “Damn. Forgot something. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

Kaidan waves a helpless arm and looks skyward as Shepard takes back off towards his cabin, then crosses his arms to wait. When Shepard returns there is nothing in his hands.

“What did you forget?” Kaidan asks with a frown.

“Nothing.”

“You’re killing me.”

Shepard gives him a wounded look. “It’s a…talisman, sort of, and I’m sensitive about it, so shut up and get in the airlock.”

Kaidan raises an eyebrow. “A talisman.”

“See, here we go.” Shepard walks into the airlock and smacks the haptic panel, barely giving Kaidan enough time to get in with him.  

“I’ve known you for over three years, why have you kept this from me?”

The airlock hisses as the pressure equalizes.

“Because you have a tone that I don’t appreciate.”  

“What tone? I don’t have a tone. Look, if all your luck is based on an inanimate object you stuff in a pocket I deserve to know about it, considering I’m usually getting shot at whenever you are. Your luck is my luck.”

Shepard jabs a triumphant finger at Kaidan’s chest. “There’s the tone.”

The airlock finishes cycling and opens up to the familiar clatter and bustle of the Arcturus docking ring. Kaidan grits his teeth against the noise. He’d forgotten how bright the damn docks are compared to the ‘Yang’s low lighting.

“How far to this place?” he asks.

“Somewhere in the hub. Don’t worry. I’ve got the lucky talisman, remember? We’ll get there safe and sound.”  

Kaidan rolls his eyes. Well, Shepard’s in rare form tonight. Hope whatever gathering of important brass is waiting for them is ready for it.

Read the rest on Ao3

#mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #n7 day #my fic

[ikesenhell]

Je Te Souviens

Elysium, Part Five. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine in my Masterlist. NOTES: WELL WELL WELL IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG. Yes, I’m still working on this. Yes, it’s been a minute. Yes, I’m helaciously busy. Yes, I hopefully will get the rest of this out in a relatively short amount of time. I’m back-ish babyeee

---

The idea of meeting a priest as a bandit’s contact was, put mildly, somewhat odd. Did it border on heresy? Jean wasn’t quite sure. It didn't feel right. If the clergy’s first responsibility was to God, what was a priest doing tangled in this web?

Still--August gave a very clear direction. If they wanted answers, they met the priest. 

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. 

Napoleon’s eyes stayed fixed at some unknowable point in the distance, but the corner of his mouth ticked slightly upwards. “No?”

“No.” Jean squeezed the pommel of his sword. It was still there. Overhead, the sky bled purple and gold, grey swirling clouds far off yet. Their boots clicked in tandem on the cobblestone streets. Why were the streets so ghostly still? It was like Penrith only flourished in its twisted corners. People shrank along the walls, pulled up hoods and skittered into waiting doors.   

“We’re a bit obvious, don’t you think?” Isaac narrowed his blush-pink eyes at them, scurrying to keep up. “You two, all kitted out, me alongside you, and headed to the central plaza--”

Jean silently agreed. Between Napoleon’s typical dramatic flair (a black velvet capelet with a black and gold uniform coat? Really?) and his own distinct features, they attracted attention. It would be easy for the Guild to track them. But their fearless leader just smiled as he always did, fine lines of fatigue hovering around his eyes (did he ever sleep enough outside of his own bed?), and elbowed Jean in the ribs. “We’re going to church.”

Jean rubbed his side. “What?”

“Church. It’s been a moment since we’ve all been, and you certainly needed to drop in for a quick prayer…”

He contemplated the lie (which was a plausible scenario, but still a lie, and still a sin). It worked for cover. And as much as he didn't want to be here, sticking out like a sore thumb in the nigh-deserted streets, it brought them that much closer to whatever answers August promised. 

Speaking of August! Unbidden, those bright eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. An arch of severe brow, the twist of lip, the toss of copper curls, the curve of a rolling shoulder--Jean swallowed. Why did the scent of the street rise up and not their lavender soap? God help him. What did those eyes hold that dragged him in? Why did he follow so willingly? Some said that eyes were the window to the soul. That couldn’t be true. There was no cathedral stained glass that compared to August.

What was wrong with him? 

Isaac flapped a hand in front of his face, and Jean started. 

“Earth to Jean.” The advisor scowled. “Why are we stopping? Is it Them?”

Oh. Jean collected himself enough to realize the Them in question was not, in fact, August. “No. No, They’re not bothering me any more than usual. I was… in thought.”

“Well, come on. We’re close.”

The central plaza was crowded. Civilians headed home, tired from work, arms laden with goods, children in tow. Napoleon visibly softened as a couple of tiny girls skipped by, skirts in hand and giggling (and what could he even say? Did he show his friend a kind word? Was it even the time for that, time to acknowledge what Napoleon had given up in exchange for--)

On a nearby bench, flipping a coin, sat a priest. He was a wizened old man with bushy brows and stooped shoulders. The trio exchanged glances. It felt almost too perfect. But--never the man to shy away from trouble--Napoleon swept his capelet behind him and settled in beside the elderly priest. 

“Evening.” 

The man glanced at them and smiled. "Good evening, my children. What brings you here?" 

Napoleon visibly paused. What did they say? August hadn't given them any clear directions. None of them were good at subtlety. Doing his best, Jean cleared his throat. 

"A… friend recommended we meet you. And I could use some prayer, Father, if you would allow me."

The man fixed the three of them with a wry, gap-tooth smile, dusting his knees and rising. "I'd heard some worshippers might visit late today. Very well. Follow me."

---

It was a strangely humble building. That was all good and well, but next to the Guild’s extravagance… well, Jean knew where priorities were. It wasn’t that he expected the city to set religion front and center--God knew Napoleon didn't feel that necessary for Elysium--it was more the unsettling realization that the Guild saw it more important to purchase silk chair covers and gilded spoons than front a single gold coin to anyone else. 

Maybe that was what August wanted them to see. Maybe they’d envisioned how the creaking wood floors would sound under well maintained leather boots. Maybe they’d known that, against Napoleon’s cape, the rough-hewn benches and tattered hymnals told a different tale. This was Penrith. Twilight glow filtered through faraway paper slits serving as windows. Instead of the raucous colors and vivid golds from Elysium’s church, a humble, lovingly-carved wooden altar reached skyward. 

God help him. Jean hesitated on the threshold, deja vu circling like storm clouds. Wasn’t his childhood church just like this one? Marae in the height of autumn, all the colors of fire that later tried to eat him alive, laughter in the beams and a dozen dirt-poor families who still found a thousand reasons to smile. He’d taken communion in a place like this. He’d tried (horribly, terribly) to flirt with Annaliese from the farm over behind a hymnal in a place like this. 

He’d almost died in a place like this. 

Napoleon’s hand wrapped around his. 

“Friend,” he said, his green eyes understanding. “You’re missing the conversation.”

Sometimes breathing proved difficult. Now was one of those times. Jean gulped in the timber-rich air, forcing his lungs to remember that they weren’t full of smoke, that he couldn’t (but could still, always could) taste ash on his tongue and a sinner’s agony in his stomach. “My apologies.”

“That’s alright. Our new friend was just showing us around the chapel. Do you need to step outside?”

“No, no. I’ll be fine.”

Oh, Napoleon. His mouth quirked in that disarming smile, the weight of his confidence bolstering Jean’s resolve. Thank God for Napoleon. 

Fortunately, they hadn’t missed much. The priest gave Isaac a cursory tour in their absence--the pulpit, the prized books, the church office--and then excused himself with a wink and a nudge to find some tome or another he’d ‘misplaced’. The invitation wasn’t lost on them. As soon as the doors to the priest’s chambers shut, Isaac swung open the church office. There wasn’t much. He spied a safe, a large desk, a number of record books, some miscellaneous odds and ends...

“Let’s go.”

Jean wavered in the door. “I don’t know if--”

“--this’ll go faster if you help me look--”

“--Isaac, I can’t read--”

“--I’ve been teaching you! You can at least manage some things--!”

Napoleon choked back a laugh and shunted himself into the tiny space. “At least stand in the doorway. We’ll look.”

Only the sound of flipping pages rustled in the eaves. Jean was a practiced hand at forced calm by now. It felt unlikely--so, so unlikely--that anything could appear in the ledgers of a neglected church. What secrets could the Guild and Penrith hide here? 

“Nothing,” Napoleon murmured. “Isaac?”

“Mmm. I’m checking another book.”

Another book creaked open. 

But then again, all sorts of places held secrets, didn't they? Marceche hadn’t descended on Marae for no reason. They hadn’t tracked him down through sheer dumb luck. You just had to know where to look. Usually, though, that was through people. 

Oh.

Jean spun on his heel. “Is there a guest book? A parishioner’s book?”

Both Napoleon and Isaac stared. Impatiently, Jean pushed into the office. “Sometimes local churches keep records on who attends.”

“What do you think that’ll show?” Isaac demanded. 

He didn't know. It was just the nagging sensation in the back of his mind, the faintest inkling that it was with people, not words, that their business lay. Jean pawed his way over the books until he pieced together enough letters on one to make a guess. “This one. Check this one.”

Napoleon flipped it open. Sure enough, neat columns marched down the page. Jean couldn’t read upside down to save his life, but he knew names when he saw them. 

“I’m still not following.” Isaac ran the thick pages between his fingers, turning each one. 

Look closer look closer look closer

The voices clawed around him. For once, Jean didn't fight them. He was part of that hivemind by nature; now, no doubt, They only reflected his own thoughts back at him. “August wasn’t looking to loot our caravan. If not money, or goods, what were they looking for? What would someone hide in a caravan?”

Silence. Isaac bent his face to the pages once more, rolling his fingers along the names until--at last--he stopped. “Some of them are marked with stars.”

“People.” Napoleon straightened. “Someone is taking people from Penrith.”

#ikevamp #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp jean #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp fic #ikevamp fantasy fic #elysium #je te souviens #my writing #nonbinary mc #nb mc #August

[tea-toast]

Echoylir Ch.2 - The Sinkhole

Summary: A trip to Jantoo. Some soup and stories.

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: references to canon-typical violence and to environment not suitable for living in, mention of food/food consumption.

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……………

There was no hot gold sand on Telseraal, nor the soft pillowy curve of dunes like on Tatooine. The land was dry and cracked, deep furrows opening grime filled gashes, sooty flakes of soil raising and swirling with every occasional gust of hot wind.

Din wondered if it had been burnt, ulcerated and reeking ash since the dawn of its existence. A whole planet that sought to keep potential settlers several klicks away, openly demonstrating its pitiless brutal proclivity. And yet a stream of life had mockingly found its way on it. A stream as polluted and vicious as Telseraal itself, blood-thirsty existences fighting tooth and nail to survive such an unforgiving land.

The warmth of the suns at their zenith caressed his beskar and snuck under the fabric of his neck seal, warming his back and shoulders. He had pulled up his cape across his cuirass and under his pauldron to not have it flapping around while he was driving, glad to feel even the faintest hint of air grazing his midriff and his sides as he skated through the desolate scorched landscape.

No life signs around other than himself, the plain stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. At first he had believed he would have expected sporadic mining encampments, a medium-sized conurbation or at least some sign of life. Instead the landscape carried out inexorably bare, dry and dusty under the bike, followed by a noisy silence that managed to make his own breath sound like bombs exploding into his ear pieces with every exhalation in the confines of his helmet.

He mused that only hyperspace was quieter that this, and while he was well used to it, Telseraal's eerie calm and stillness could have taken its place on the leaderboard. If only the old speeder’s muffler had or did not been grating on dust and drought, leaving a trail that lazily faded in the red-saturated air. The scrap metal clatter had been going on for a while and it was making him wonder if that piece of junk was going to fall apart before getting to his destination.

Jantoo, a name that did not ring any of his bells, like Telseraal had not when he got the job. Although his profession as a bounty hunter had led him to travel the length and breadth of the galaxy, it was itself so large that he could not remember all the planets, cities or megacities he had walked on and through.

Others were the lands to remind himself of, dens of bandits and crimes so extensive that they stank from several clicks away, infecting the air with a stench so fetid that even the most intrepid of the Republic pilots would have thought twice before investigating.

For what he knew, Jantoo was just a speck on the map of this flayed planet, a lonely town in the dust.

He had to give it to the mechanic, the city was indeed not that far from the hangar. Soon enough he could make out the sharp silvery profile in the distance, a blanket of ash and cinder rising immediately behind it.

Mines breath twirling itself skyward, long, mesmerising coils wafting above the tallest towers.

A sudden commotion beneath the speeder's fuselage caused it to skid. He flexed his torso and wrapped his thighs around the seat to avoid being thrown off as his arms made a sharp turn with the handlebars. A grunt teetering between surprise and annoyance huffed from under his helmet once he was sure he had regained control of the bike, his visor turning to where the disruption had occurred to find no sign that the speeder had hit anything. Or that something had hit it. The bike itself was still in one piece, despite the euphemism of the term.

And that was when he realized, felt the vibrations rising from the depths beneath him, making the ground rattle. Digging and drilling, occasional explosions to free tunnels or clusters, the ramification of greed stretching that far and Maker knew how deep.

Despite the constant heat still on his back, he rolled his broad shoulders to dissipate the swift shudder running through his nerves before his visor focused back on the white glimmer waiting for him.

His hand flexed and ignited the bike with a splutter, scurrying away with a ruckus of red.

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

One of the microvalves she had been working on was leaking again, right as she was busying herself with a rather nasty bundle of wires connected to the electromotive stabilisers. The persistent drumming of wet drops on the ship’s metal floor was testing her patience.

She has had several battered vessels in her hangar during the two years and a half she has been settled on Telseraal, but nothing compared to the excellent junkyard material the ship now in her hands provided. The misbehaving ramp had been a clear sign, but boy oh boy how wrong she was when she thought the main issue would have been the ramp alone. How such a vessel has been able to fly with all the hitches it presented was a mystery.

A flash of pity had skittered through her chest once she had completed her survey and noted down everything in desperate need of fixing. The handful of credits he had given her was weighing down her pocket like robbed wealth. Mind, she was no usual to fix a ship for a discount or even for free, she too had to somehow eat and survive like everyone else. But at the same time, she could not wrap her head around how anyone could have given him a ship in such need of repair. Or passed it off as a properly functioning model. Had he been conned, somehow? By some hustler posing as a mechanic or a ship vendor perhaps.

Were Mandalorians not the best fighters in the galaxy, smart, competent, able to take care of themselves amidst the thousand dangers and unforeseen challenges roaming the parsec? Maker, this one Mandalorian was hopping around the galaxy with a sputtering metallic trap!

Maybe he wasn’t the brighter bulb of the Mando bunch, Trisso carried on musing, pulling herself up with a grunt from the clump of wires she was dissecting and shuffling to take care of the damn microvalve, a wrench menacingly clutched in one hand as if the valve would stop leaking at that sight.

Her probing over her current guest had been going on for a while now. Namely, from the moment the Mandalorian had revved out with the speeder, leaving her facing a hell of a mechanical intervention and the buzzing excitement to have such a mysterious costumer under her roof.

Not the strangest or most cryptic one she had had, still her curiosity had been sent into hyperdrive by his arrival.

She had always been naturally inquisitive. Noticing and collecting details, reading people out of pure interest or to be ready to face uncomfortable situations. Her job put her in the risky position of not always knowing what kind of client she was going to stand in front of. Sometimes the whole deal would go smoothly, sometimes not. She got used to recognising preventive signs of a possible struggle, both physical and metaphorical in regards to paying for her services or concerning defaulting customers or smugglers. Her current client did not look like either.

Yes, he was tall and broad and his black T visor made him look perpetually stern and menacing, but he had been honouring his payment from the start and there had not been tensions, aside from his initial reaction to her droids. She had not found any latent signs that he could be real trouble, at least as far as the vessel-patching-up deal was concerned.

Trisso spun the microvalve with a final curt jerk, finally putting an end to its insistent leaking. She pushed her trusty wrench in one of the overalls pockets, picking up one of the many rags she had been littering around to clean herself with. As she started scrubbing grease away from her fingers, her mind was still wriggling over the Mandalorian and his business on a planet like Telseraal.

It must have been something shady, of course. No one in their right mind would select Telseraal to have legal trafficking and polite bargains. Maybe he had been hired by the Collective to take care of some dispute with the rest of the mining community, even though the Collective was feared enough by its own to not be messed with. Or, she pondered, he might be looking to refurbish his arsenal.

Despite her patchy knowledge of Mandalorians, she was aware they considered weapons a religion and were quite keen in the artillery department. Her Mandalorian did indeed looked like he was lacking assets. He would have made such a promising patron for Telseraal underground gunrunning.

She was about to finally leave the matter simmering and fading in the back of her mind, happy to have found a plausible meaning for a Mandalorian’s presence on Telseraal and in her hangar when a fleeting thought flickered around the shell of her conscience and whispered in her ear.

After the Purge, Mandos had been seen only when one had to collect a bounty.

As soon as that reasoning crossed her mind, she could feel the unmistakable pull of her gut settling in, muscles stretching under her skin in pinpricks. The rag in her hand stopped circling her knuckles.

That feeling. It had proved itself right throughout her whole life and she had grown to trust it when manifesting. Her eyes gave a cursory look around as if she thought she was going to find something wrong within this ship all of a sudden. And not something of the mechanical variety.

So this is what he was doing on Telseraal, she mused, tucking away the rag and turning on her heels to go back to those karking wires. She had to stop ruminating over this whole thing altogether since the repair job currently in her hands was going to be long and tedious. She didn't need petty distractions and conjectures to distract her. Crouching down, she picked up a couple of coils and started working on the copper strands.

He was after something. Or someone.

As small spark glinted from a faulty contact and burned Trisso’s fingertips.

Well. Shit.

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

Jantoo was vertigo-inducing. The silver bulwarks he had seen from afar turned out to be just an outer shell, the city jutting out from the cliff walls over a massive sinkhole chewing its way down in the bowels of the planet.

The rickety narrow paths leading to the abyss were only external irregular teeth decorating this gargantuan artificial maw, the only parts able to cope with the almost constant smoky castings of the mines. The real Jantoo was embedded within the walls of its sinkhole in a swirl of packed alleys, the rumble of drills and jackhammers at work constantly in the background far below, paired up with all the voices, yells and clatters reverberating through the stone vaults.

Shuffling of feet on the dusty ground, the most disparate languages ​​overlapping and cancelling each other in the cacophony of an attempted bargain that had been inching closer and closer to a brawl or even a murder by the shimmer of a hidden vibroblade. Miners coming up and down from their shifts, uniforms smeared with soot almost as much as their faces as lungs contracted in violent coughs and red-tinted spits. Wide-eyed children skulking around, waiting for someone’s attention to fail and allow their little long-fingered hands snatch pockets and purses. Others were eyeing the food stalls, ribs painfully shifting under flaky skin with every laboured breathe, drool thick as molasses in dried up mouths as the overflowing of food mocked them from sizzling cookpots.

Sour bile rose from his stomach and irritated his throat to the point he had to cough at that sight. However, he weaved through with practised steps, because he had witnessed other landscapes, other atmospheres tormented by famine and ferocity over the years, he had seen wraiths walking the ground in battered shrouds, mangled offsprings of such an environment.

Most avoided getting in his path by the look of his beskar alone, but their eyes were already filmy and unfocused, thoughts more pressing than a Mandalorian on Telseeral worrying their dust-clogged minds.

The only ones who would have been worried about his presence in their territory would have been the representatives of the Mining Collective. Oddly, he had not found any checkpoints at Jantoo’s entrance, no one had asked for identification or his business. Maker, he could not see uniforms wandering through the ravines, as if the city was left to its own violent and criminal fate by its own lords.

Lords he did not care about. He did not dwell on them further, despite the fact he had wondered if they already knew about his arrival.

He knew very well that all city walls had well-functioning eyes and ears when a beskar armor was around hunting.

His T visor began assessing his surroundings, took in as many details as possible, hiding spots and escape routes. He absentmindedly whipped out his tracking fob from his bandolier and clicked it, waiting to see if it would start beeping straight away.

It did not, the light stayed off and the fob did not make a sound. Not that he thought to pick up a signal but it was worth a try. He resolved to just look around, acclimatising himself to this bloody city.

He was trying to find the logic behind the whole system of curves and alleys and nooks, trying to come up with a strategy to avoid wasting time and thus ensure that his bounty could regroup to escape him. If she was still on the planet.

Soon enough, as he cruised through crowded curtain-draped alleys, he noticed a group of Sullustans chilling outside of a cantina. The sight made him realise there might have been at least an active Sullustan clan or colony on the planet and his bounty might have requested protection from them. Asking them for information might not be the best idea. He would not allow someone to go alerting her about a hunter’s presence in Jantoo. That would have made her even more elusive to find.

Despite a primal eagerness purring in the back of his mind suggesting to be bold and probe the Sullustans anyway, he perished the thought, at least for now, and silently slithered away in the crowd to explore more.

After hours wandering around, ducking a couple of blaster volleys, and sporadically asking general information as if he was a tourist of the sort, he had to admit to himself Jantoo did not seem to have trade-specialised districts like other cities, but rather an indistinct jumble of shops and establishments that had nothing in common but still somehow found themselves attached at the hip.

This gave his bounty yet another advantage.

Even though he knew from her data she was a chemist, he would have had to map and sift through all the chemistry businesses on the city’s different levels, at the same time maintaining a low profile that was nearly impossible to achieve with beskar shining on his body.

A sigh hissed from his mouth as the sunset curfew siren started blaring within the maw, earning itself some head turnings and feet scurrying away in a rumble of sand. He hurried to leave the alleys as well. No way he was staying the night in that nightmarish sinkhole.

He had to change the route back a few times due to crowds clogging the majority of the exit points, very careful not to head too close to the jagged external paths. Eventually, he managed to extricate himself from the ramble and headed back to the speeder with a nimble stride.

As he hurtled through the silver gates and quickly left Jantoo behind, he realized that maybe he would have to venture to the bottom of the mines to find his quarry.

He fervently hoped both for him and her that was not going to be the case.

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

Night had fallen over Telseraal, its suns and their heat had given place to a moonless black sky, the temperature had dropped into a cold that would grind within one's bones and marrow.

Despite her quarters being a little dated, they were still insulated enough to keep the chill out. Especially after someone had been cooking and steaming for a few hours.

She had just scooped up a bite with her chopsticks, flat bottom spoon right underneath to catch the broth when she heard the grating and sputtering of the speeder right outside. Hastily finishing chewing her morsel, she got up from her stool and looked at the hangar plain area through the still slightly misted transperisteel.

Trisso could see the Mandalorian dismounting from the bike. He left it in the same corner he found it. He even went looking for the tarp and carefully covered it for the nighttime. A smile tugged at her lip watching such a looming looking warrior performing a trivial action like covering an old dusty speeder. She followed his beskar as he turned around and marched toward her door.

When he noticed her, he gave a curt nod to which she replied with a similar head movement, then moved away from the transperisteel and angled her body towards the threshold. It opened with a low hiss, the Mandalorian taking up most of its frame before he thudded inside. A shudder ran under the beskar, a very faint sigh of relief tugged at the rim of his helmet as the quarters' warmth enveloped him.

“Well,” Trisso peeped, her legs bringing her back to her stool and sitting down, “welcome back.” Her chopsticks and flat bottom spoon glimmered under the light when she picked them up.

The Mandalorian stared her down as if her dining was such an outstanding display, his T visor trained on the bowl in front of her and the piping hot cookpot on the small stove right behind the table.

Before she could invite him to sit down, his voice grated through the static of the vocoder, “I’m here to give your key back.” and he pointedly produced said key from his pocket, his arm outstretched toward her.

She looked back and forth from the key to his helmet, before she shrugged and replied, “You can keep it as long as you need. I’m not planning to venture to the city soon.”

His arm and shoulder twitched lightly, but eventually, his fingers closed on the key and got it back in his pocket while he gave yet another nod as a thank you.

Trisso smiled, hoping that matter had been settled for good. “Now,” she prompted, “please take a seat and have some.”

Another twitch, before his whole body got tense. “‘M fine.” was his clipped answer, feet planted on the ground.

She let a beat pass, blinked once then replied, “I wasn't suggesting, Mandalorian.” she could see his orange-gloved fingers getting into fists, but she did not relent. “Have some.”

He tried to rebuke, to push her and her invite away. He was not there to make friends or to bask into a stranger’s kindness, even if he was hungry and feeling alone. A hint of annoyance tinged his voice as he gruffed again he was fine and in no need of food, shifting his weight from one leg to the other in a nervous wave and his shoulders stiff like a board.

A good-natured huff heaved from Trisso’s chest at that display. This Mando was such a piece of work, and awkward and possibly not that great with social cues.

“You've been outside under the suns all day,” she calmly reasoned with no intention of giving up, “I bet you didn't have the chance to eat or drink anything in Jantoo because there are not enough secluded areas where you'd have removed your bucket in peace.”

The tilting of his head at those words did not go unnoticed, cuing her to carry on, “Now you're back at night, with frigid temperatures, on an empty stomach.”

Her dark eyes were trained on him, they were holding his staring, not in a challenging manner, rather a genuine offer. “At least have some soup,” her thumb pointing behind her over the cookpot she was saving the rest of the meal in. “You need fluids.”

He ground his teeth in a sigh at her persistence, silently complaining at whatever kismet had appointed him with such an encounter on a planet like this. However, she was pointedly eyeing him and he eventually choose to yield, his shoulders sagging both due to fatigue and exasperation, and forfeiting whatever bounty hunter aura he was still trying to sport.

She knew then she had won him over and a small grin creeped onto the corners of her mouth. Stool scraping against the floor tiles, she pushed herself up and went getting a cup from one of the cupboards. A mitten was retrieved and the cookpot lid was lifted to be able to dunk a ladle in.

The cup filled to the brim with steaming fragrant soup, she turned around and inched closer to the Mandalorian. “Here,” she offered, not missing his hiss when his fingers closed around the rather hot cup, “you can eat in one of the bunk compartments if you wish.” And she pointed toward the chipped automatic door leading to the dormitory area, “Can seal the door for the time being.”

He followed her finger, head turning back on her after few seconds to breath out a “thanks” while his hands got around the cup without a real thought over it.

Trisso tilted her head in a nod, allowing him to go eat in peace. As the door clicked shut behind him, she exhaled a puff of air and sit back down to carry on her dinner.

She had had to partake in several trips to some of the overpriced stalls in Jantoo, even illegally purchasing from the underground food smuggling circle, but eventually she had managed to find part of the ingredients to cook herself a decent enough meal for once. It was no way near the dish she used to eat in her childhood, but she still appreciated being able to dine on something other than the food rations she had gotten used to.

That recipe never failed to distract her from the harsh reality she was living in, whenever she could cook it and then enjoy it, it gave her a sense of calm that would stay with her long after she had finished it. The heat of the soup warmed her, unlocking memories she was always happy to think back to from time to time.

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

She did not know how long it had been since the Mandalorian had holed up in one of the bunks, but at some point she could hear the heavy sound of his boots. The door opened with a beep and the light made his chest plate shimmer faintly. He was still holding onto the cup with both hands, possibly to feed on the remaining heat of it as he was waiting for the soup in his stomach to warm him up properly.

As she was busy finishing her dinner, he earned himself just a cursory look and he took it as permission to move around in her living space freely. Not that there was much to inspect. So, he made a beeline toward the cooking area where he placed the cup with a light click.

Trisso was ready to hear him curtly thanking her once again and then retreat for the night, but against her expectations and after some awkward shuffling of feet, he grabbed one of the vacant stools and sat down with her.

She hid the curl of her lips with a spoonful of soup, finishing what remained in her bowl before giving out a content sigh.

It was then that the Mandalorian decided to grace her with more than a monosyllabic reaction. “It was good,” he rasped in a mumble, “the soup. Was nice.” He cleared his throat and crossed his beskar-covered arms across his chest as if to protect himself from the glance Trisso was giving him.

“Not as nice as my papa’s, but it's something,” she replied while she gathered her cutlery and whatnot and carried it all over to the sink. Her fingers got his cup as well and she let some water run from her stash to soak everything in for washing later.

No way she was going to forfeit the Mandalorian’s chatty moment.

He waited for her to sit back down before inquiring, “Was he a cook?” and he sounded genuinely curious underneath the grouchy hedge of his voice.

Trisso’s eyebrows rose at his unexpected interest. “Not really,” she tittered, “but he was good at it. Cooking and shooting.”

The muscles of his forearms on his chest flexed lightly when she mentioned shooting.

Yep, Mandos were big on weapons and shooting.

“A soldier?” he tried again and the interest in his tone did not falter. His visor watched her shake her head, before she specified, “More like a monk with firearms and a lightbow.” a pearl of laughter behind her smile as she watched the Mandalorian tilting his head in disbelief, “Him and dad used to be part of a religious order. Here, let me show you.”

She left the sink with a sprint and walked toward the lonely shelf right beside the main door to retrieve a pad. She tapped in something and soon enough a holo switched on.

“People always said I look and sound more like dad,” and she pointed at the shorter of the two men. Dressed simple and neat, a seraphic smile contrasting the fatigue infecting the age lines on his face. He was leaning against a staff and his gaze was milky and unfocused.

Then Trisso’s finger moved over the second man, carried on talking, “Though, I can tell you I swear like my papa for sure.” A hulk of a man, with wild hair, a worn civilian flight suit and battered red plastoid armour. He stood near his partner with a stoic scowl on his bearded face. “Wish I could cook like him too.”

Something tugged in his chest. That unrequited glimpse of knowledge she had just shared with him enough to make him wish he could ask more, despite the fact that he had promised himself not to get too friendly with whoever he met during this job.

But when he turned the visor towards Trisso, he realized that there was a searing sadness flickering in her eyes while observing that holo. He felt a sting of guilt for inadvertently bringing back painful memories and he awkwardly shifted in his seat. His shoulder moved and the singlet on his right pauldron shone, diverting her attention.

“What’s that?” her chin jutted out to point at it, gaze morphing into her characteristic glimmer of curiosity.

He pondered if it was wise to narrate about his singlet to a stranger, but at the same time he reasoned she had been nothing but hospitable and kind to him and she had just shared personal information with him. He no longer felt the urgent need to withdraw from casual conversation. His shoulders rolled and his pauldron sparked yet again, “It’s my singlet.”

“Oh, so you’re part of a clan.”

He decided not to specify that ‘the clan’ was more like ‘his clan’ as in ‘him being the clan leader’.

Trisso’s eyebrows knitted together and she squinted, trying to get the shape of the singlet. “What kind of animal is that?” she inquired.

“A Mudhorn.”

Her face scrunched up and he took it as her not having a clue about what that was. So, he proceeded to explain it to her, to tell the story of how he got the right to use a Mudhorn as his singlet, minus a small green child-sized detail.

Trisso did not believe him straight away. At first, she looked at him like he was taking the piss of her, light-heartedly mocking him and just not believing it. It took him some good convincing to have her hanging over his words, eyes wide and a half-incredulous expression on her face.

“And you took down that big furry beast solo?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, but I hardly believe it,” she frowned, trying to recall the whole story and reasoning on how he would have been able to do that, “Big bad beskar armoured Mandalorian, yes. But no way you killed that thing all alone.”

“Had too. Jawas stole some ship parts and bargained them for the Mudhorn’s egg.”

Her head lulled into a shake, “Who bargains parts for an egg?”

“Jawas do,” he shrugged matter of factly, “cracked that egg at light speed and got sticky with it right under my eyes.” His fingers flexed and mimicked claws scratching inside an hypothetical egg.

“Yuck. I’m sticking to my unsavoury ratios, thank you very much.”

“I second that,” and he lowered his forearms on his legs rather than wrapping them up against his chest again.

“Still, I think you’re a liar,” but there was no real harm in her voicing.

“Your loss not believing a Mandalorian’s word,” she could feel his grin behind the black plain of his visor.

After a while spent telling each other stories, a yawn rounded out Trisso’s lips and she excused herself to retreat for the night.

He stood up from his stool with a grunt, the extension of the day settling down on him and his joints like a boulder. He was about to leave as well when she stopped him yet again and suggested him sleeping in one of the bunk compartments rather than on that ‘nightmare of a ship’.

A huff close to an actual chuckle rose from his chest as he listened to her swearing over his vessel.

“We need to have a conversation over it first thing tomorrow morning,” she was blabbering about as she made him follow her to the bunks, “that thing goes against every fibre of my body and it’s testing my patience.”

“How so?” he indulged her, a not so well disguised teasing in the rattle of his voice.

She caught that and angled her torso around towards him, eyes narrowing in a ‘I dare you’ while she stopped in her tacks and raised a hand to his visor.

“Landing gear’s missing rivets, wires are either fried to a crisp or so tangled up they look like space rat nests,” she unfold two fingers, “fusion hose’s seen better days and that would be fine if them spacers would not tinkled constantly, making me wonder if the whole thing is gonna unhinge all of a sudden,” another finger up, “microvalves are leaking worst than a snotty brat, issued springs and plugs are rusty or nearly corroded and the navigation deflector system’s cable entry frame is missing pointer lights,” both her hands shook in a fit of frustration, fingers opening and closing in fists.

“Maker, I wonder how that thing hasn't exploded under your metal ass yet.”

“I’m piloting it,” he replied with a shrug.

She looked at him like he had grown a second or third head, the gears in her head whirling to catch up to his joke or actually believing his words. In the end she lowered her outstretched hands and regard him with an unimpressed glare before turning around and pointing at the several doors lining up head of them.

“Choose whichever suits you the best, there’s nobody else around using them.”

He settled for the one he had occupied to eat his soup, the cot mattress still crumpled from his sitting on it. Despite the space being quite small and cramped, he had to admit it was going to be better than sleeping in his pilot seat. He sighed, his aching muscles mollified at the prospect of resting in a bed for once.

Absentmindedly, his fingers travelled to his pocket and fished out the small durasteel ball, turned it around in his hands, a gesture that had become a ritual at the end and beginning of each day, a way to wish good rest and good morning to the one who no longer was by his side with his blabbering.

The ball had so much of his focus that he did not notice Trisso strolling back with some blankets until she was at the entrance of the bunk. As soon as he realised her presence, he shielded the ball by closing his fist over it in a hurry and focused on the woman.

She tossed him the blankets, as well as a bundle which turned out to be a warm poncho when he stiffly unfolded it. “Keep that on,” she advised him, “for good measure. Cold still creeps in from drafts and you don’t want to wake up with wet joints.”

He eyed the poncho, hoping she would not read the sceptical expression despite his helmet. Either way, he promised he would consider putting it on and make good use of the blankets, before thanking her again.

She bade him goodnight from the hallway, a hand leaning on one of her hips after she instructed him on the fresher location. As a reply, he nodded again and then sealed the door for good.

She decided to suppress her rampaging curiosity over the small durasteel ball she saw him carrying in his gloved hand. She did not need to see his face to know what grief looked like.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #star wars fic #star wars rogue one #rogue one: a star wars story #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic #ace!din #ace!Din Djarin

[muffintonic]

Alright, I think i’m done BOTW 2 spamming for today. Anywho, time for some thoughts in general!

1) I hated how the shrines in BOTW were so cold and dark compared to the bright and lively nature outside (I wish they had all looked like the Master Trials challenge where there were trees and stuff incorporated inside), so I hope if we’re forced to have dungeons they’ll be more like the Wind Waker ones. 2) I hope they don’t make us use the grappling hook or anything like in Wind Waker to move around the sky islands (I hated that mechanic). 3) I’m probably one of the few people who wanted less Zelda and more of the Champions in HWAOC since i’m only really attached to BOTW (and we saw a fair amount of Tetra in Wind Waker)/apparently Zelda’s been sidelined in all the other games, so i’m hoping in vain that we get more Champions material in BOTW 2. Also, Link could stand to have some more cutscenes centered around him as well (the few we got in some of the sidequests in BOTW were great). 4) I only really somewhat care about Riju and Sidon, so I won’t mind if the new gang gets sidelined in BOTW 2 (I still think Nintendo wasted the found family/band of brothers aspect on the dead characters--I love them so much and they’re all I want!! The problem is, they’re dead and I don’t really care all that much about their replacements!!! I dunno, maybe i’m hampered by the fact that I can replay the original champions’ memories whenever I want/read their diaries, but I can’t rewatch the new gang’s cutscenes AKA i’ve forgotten their characterization since they don’t talk to me much now that the game’s over). It’d be great if they have some weaving storylines in BOTW 2 that will get me more invested in them, but currently i’m not that interested. 5) Speaking of which, I know it’s 100% not going to happen, but goddang if I don’t want the Champions to have been returned to life. Nintendo totally squandered HWAOC by not making it a true prequel/canon to BOTW (the Champions Ballad confirmed that the Divine Beasts had trials in order to be synced to the champs, so the new gen use of them wouldn’t have happened without that + Mipha thought Link had changed in BOTW yet says in HWAOC that he hasn’t changed + some scenes like “Champion Revali’s Song” never happened at all/got replaced with alternative scenes that really changed some dynamics + basically all of Revali’s time-relative characterization from his diary/pre-100 years of solitude got thrown out + I feel like Daruk got totally sidelined), so i’m still craving that Champions content. Also, I feel like it’s totally unfair that Zelda came out of 100 years totally unaged while everyone else died. Life seems to really suck for people in the LoZ universe who aren’t chosen by divine powers. 6) They’d better keep it open world and non-linear. I can’t go back to being forced to backtrack/trudge through things, I just can’t. BOTW was everything i’ve ever dreamed about in a game (truly open world + non-linear + interactive + meaningful story + lots of outfits + beautiful landscapes) with Skyrim previously being the only thing that came close to what I wanted, so I really hope BOTW 2 doesn’t deviate too much from that. 7) I really liked Kass in BOTW, but i’m not sure what direction they’d go with him in BOTW 2/i’d be fine if he sat BOTW 2 out. I worked so hard to complete all his quests in BOTW so he’d go back home to his family, GODDANGIT, KASS. 8) Someone mentioned that since the first trailer had underground aspects, we’re probably going to be playing as Zelda with the Slate there, and I agree. They didn’t make a playable model for her in HWAOC for nothing. 9) I want to be able to stable the deer and bears and stuff, but I know that won’t happen. Being able to ride the moose and rhino things from the Hebra area probably won’t happen either, but I want to ride them!!! 10) I hope there’ll be at least a few new buildings and stuff in the towns/they’ve started construction on some areas in Central Hyrule, but I guess that’ll depend on how long it’s been in-universe since BOTW. Or maybe not, considering how there’s still Karson and Hudson even though Bolson retired from Bolson Construction--insta-towns like Tarrey Town could totally be feasible if they wanted! 11) I have one foot in the camp that believes there’ll be time shenanigans in BOTW 2. HWAOC totally threw me off with it being an alternate timeline, so i’m not sure whether we’re going to be experiencing that again or time travel itself, but I definitely won’t be surprised this time around if Nintendo goes that route again (and it would be super interesting to see the Link from 10,000 years ago). I’m not entirely convinced that the Link we see exploring the sky in the second trailer isn’t our Link, mainly because he seems to still have on the blue boxers from BOTW. 12) I also heard that maybe this will be the last LoZ game ever since something something Demise something Skyward Sword something something lore from games i’ve only vaguely looked into (i’ve only ever played BOTW --> Wind Waker --> HWAOC)??? If so, it kind of sucks that I came in just when they started making games with playstyles palatable to me (I had to look up every single thing when playing Wind Waker, but BOTW let me solve things according to MY logic/I missed being able to explore in HWAOC), but at least it’ll end on a super high note/I won’t experience later disappointment, I guess. If BOTW 2 involves breaking the reincarnation cycle for the Triforcers, I would be really surprised. (On a related note, Nintendo making Ganondorf good would also be a 100% shock to me, but it would be great to end on that as a subversion. Yes, I want them to bring back the semi-complicated Ganondorf from Wind Waker.) 13) I hope they don’t rush releasing it. I heard they pushed back BOTW originally (I got it in 2019), but it came out fantastic for it! I know COVID’s been affecting things, so I really hope they’re treating their staff right and are mindful of crunch. 14) I want even more outfits (there seem to be at least two new ones, if the variant of the Hylian Tunic crossed with Link’s Champion’s Tunic counts). Give me all the outfits!!! Also, I hope we get even more hair variations in addition to the hair down option (which is all i’ve ever wanted since I saw the mod that altered the Ancient Helmet). 15) I wonder if we’re going to get a bonus for having both BOTW and HWAOC save data. 16) I wonder if we’re going to be keeping the Champions’ skills. I’m going to miss being super overpowered, if not. 17) I hope Nintendo doesn’t cave in and make surfaces climbable in the rain. Having that limiter is more realistic and Link would otherwise be too overpowered with a super climbing ability. 18) I liked BOTW’s scattered music that got more noticeable in populated areas because it was fitting for the post-apocalyptical/nature aspect. Hearing your footsteps in an open field and the buzzing of insects was super nice and prevented me from getting music fatigue (which i’d probably experience since whenever I play BOTW it’s for 5-10 hours at a time). I hope Nintendo either keeps that or makes audio options. 19) I heard that BOTW 2 is going to be super dark or something, and i’m okay with dark, but not GRIMdark, so I hope it doesn’t go that far. From what we’ve seen in the second trailer it still looks beautiful, but I hope it doesn’t do that thing that some games do where after the midpoint/a certain story point all the scenery permanently changes to be dark and scary (that’ll seriously hamper post-game playability for me if so). 20) If they expand on the Zonai, that would be super cool! Doubly cool if the time travel shenanigans involve them/ancient Link being one! 21) I kind of want windstorms to be a weather feature. We had lightning, heat, and cold, but no wind! No, I don’t count the wind geysers and the occasional breeze in Tabantha. 22) I want a chest in my house to hold more weapons than just the gear mounts. BOTW only had enough mounts for the champions’ gear, but it also had rare items like the Kite Shield and Forest Dweller’s Sword that you can’t get anymore once you use them up! 23) I want to be able to stable my horses at my house. What’s the point of that little area if you can’t stable your horse there! 24) Speaking of Link’s house: where is Zelda going to live? If the castle’s not reconstructed, it’d be neat if Link adds an extension to his house for her. 25) I hope they open up part-time jobs (think Mabinogi) as an option to earn rupees. Having to hunt for Luminous Stone deposits or feed Trott to make money can be such a chore. I think some of BOTW’s minigames/sidequests might count as those, but those minigames were either frustrating if your goal is to earn money (since most of them cost money to play in the first place and the mechanics weren’t always easy), or didn’t earn that much in general. 26) I wonder if Kilton is going to have updated items since the monsters seem to have changed. 27) I want to be able to dive underwater (mainly so I can explore the beautiful reefs over at Lurelin). A dive meter like the one from Super Mario Sunshine would be cool. Also, it’d doubly be neat if you had a separate stamina wheel for swimming and could permanently upgrade your swim/diving stamina (the speed+ swimming items just consumed your stamina faster, which was a pain)! 28) It’s definitely too late for this, but it’s a shame that the Hylians have so many face/body/hair and outfit variations, but the Zora, Rito, and Gorons don’t. The Gerudo were kind of okay with the hair and body variations, but the other races seemed to have a serious copy-paste problem. I guess technically some of the more important NPCs (ones with quests/cutscene triggers) had different coloring, but they were severely lacking in clothing variation. Also, the only old Rito was the elder??? At least the Gorons and Zora had some old folks besides their leader walking around. Very weird, but I don’t think BOTW 2 can fix any of this. 29) I wonder how they’re going to do the final boss battle, considering how epic/cinematic the BOTW 2x battle was. What can top fighting (on horseback, no less) a giant, flaming boar made out of malice? 30) I wonder what the Yiga are going to be up to, considering how Ganondorf seems to be somewhat kicking in BOTW 2.

#in other words: BOTW 2 HYPE REAL #i'm still going to queue things so there'll probably another BOTW 2 glut from me in a few days bwaha #(and probably some general BOTW stuff because MAN am i hyped) #i'm so glad i got into BOTW in 2019 because there's been content for me every year since and i am Living #botw 2

[ganymedesclock]

Ghirahim and gendered expectations of sensuality

So, as people who’ve seen my previous Zelda posts might gather, I have a mixed relationship with Skyward Sword. On the one hand, I think many of its characters have tremendous potential. On the other, I feel like the game largely did not live up to that potential, and in some areas, it feels rather deliberate. But suffice to say, elements of Skyward Sword have meant that certain characters- Batreaux, Groose, Fi, and Ghirahim are not far from my mind.

A brief primer, for those who might be unfamiliar: Ghirahim is the main antagonist of Skyward Sword, and a bit of an aberration in the common Zelda formula, which tends to introduce a ‘decoy’ or “lieutenant” antagonist who dominates for most of the game and then bows out towards the end as the prelude to the true final boss- usually Ganondorf, in Skyward Sword’s case, it’s the demon god and a figure we are clearly supposed to scan as Ganondorf’s divine progenitor, Demise.

Ghirahim is quite openly a harbinger of, and servant to, Demise- where he breaks script is by being extremely proactive. We run into Ghirahim in most dungeons in the game, where he is not waiting idly for us, but doing actions that veteran Zelda players might recognize as comparable to Link’s: he breaks into dungeons either chasing Zelda, or chasing information that will allow him to proceed. We also have not one but three different fights with him, personally, and several other times he concedes that he doesn’t have time to play with Link and instead sics a boss monster on him.

The other thing about Ghirahim is, I will outright say it: He is written as a caricature of a predatory queer man.

He’s shown to be literally bloodthirsty, and presented by the narrative ostensibly as someone who has a sinister, perverse interest in both Link and Zelda, a contrast to their saintly, chaste union (which is supposed to read as a union; pursue a romantic sideplot with Peatrice, another girl in the game, and Fi will pretty much openly admonish you for cheating on Zelda, saying that Zelda wouldn’t be happy to know Link’s seeing someone and that Link should know that)

This is, really, a bit jarring, when Ghirahim’s actual dialogue suggests that he has very little interest in Link and views him much like a butler tending the master’s house while the latter is away might view a feral golden retriever that’s running loose in the place and getting mud on everything. His emotional range runs from warmly patronizing to exasperated to a truly dangerous degree (since, in this metaphor, the butler has also been tending the master’s house in near-total isolation for something like several centuries not having real conversations with the other servants and nobody’s at their psychological best in those situations even if they weren’t implicitly born and raised to murder).

Basically: that Ghirahim has no real interest in Link- not his body or appearance or anything. In his own dialogue, he seems confused by the idea that he’s at all interested, is apologetic that he’s wasting his time or dawdling and in his final scene, offers a genuinely flummoxed “you... who are you?” He offers colorful, violent threats, but when Link obstinately faces him again, he’s shown to be almost embarrassed and disgusted by them, and tries something else that almost no Zelda antagonist does: on multiple occasions, he tells Link to just walk away from the situation with what appears to be every intent of letting him go.

Ghirahim does not want Link for himself. He seems to, begrudgingly, against his own intentions, value Link as someone to fight against, but this connection does not actualize within the story- they are not really rivals. He isn’t even that deeply fond of the idea of Link’s blood, though he’s a proponent of blood as a vague concept.

Now, I like Ghirahim. I don’t think that even the read of Ghirahim as a queer man is a terrible one. But it definitely is interesting the lens in which Ghirahim’s implicit sensuality is cast. Basically, he is depicted as creeping on Link, without any real sense that he wants Link. Because it isn’t about what he wants- it’s about that implicitly he has a sexuality, and the idea of a man who might be attracted to other men is threatening, evil, and scary. Ghirahim wasn’t made queer-coded for representation’s sake. He was queer-coded to suggest he was depraved and motivated by a sinister lust. And the cruelty of this depiction is I think made immediately clear by- Ghirahim’s actual interests, passion, or preferences do not factor in here. That Scene Where Ghirahim Does The Tongue Thing is about how it is expected to make the player feel, and how implicitly Link feels.

What is Ghirahim’s type? Does he consider Demise beautiful? He makes it pretty clear he considers Link a brat. These are questions that aren’t asked, because it’s wrong that Ghirahim seems to have any sexuality at all- and, since Link is our lens and our guidepost for how we’re supposed to feel about characters, if Ghirahim behaves in a sensual manner it happens to Link, and to Zelda, invasively. Even though it is shown he feels no desire for any of these people, so that sensuality basically comes across like the game is firmly expecting us to find the idea of even an e-rated sensual male antagonist repulsive.

This led me down a very odd sort of rabbit trail.

Because Ghirahim- a bit indirectly- is inspired off a figure skater.

Specifically, Fi’s design was stated to evoke a figure skater, and we even see her ‘skating’ in several of the cutscenes. Ghirahim’s design matches Fi’s quite strongly; they were designed to be two of a kind.

I am not, myself, a figure skating buff, but a while ago, I happened across youtube videos of a skater named Johnny Weir. 

Quickly, you can see the sword spirits’ inspirations; the close-fitting leotards, the lithe, acrobatic capabilities.

But here’s the thing about Johnny Weir: this is a guy putting on a sensual performance that is not a gross-out, a joke, or a threat. It’s basically impossible to find nothing suggestive in his choice of backup movement or the movements he makes running his hands along his body- his costume even asserts these more with the mirrored details on his gloves. This is a dude, acting in a way you could say is objectively sensual even if it may or may not stir every viewer given the individual nature of preference.

But there’s a world of difference to Weir’s performance. Not just that this is a voluntary choice made by a real person, while Ghirahim’s choices, even if they have in-game logic, are largely about Link and about the player- but Johnny Weir is having fun. He has a charming energy to him and is performing to a song he loves.

Watching Johnny Weir, it occurred to me, that regardless of Weir’s own orientation- that I do not know and will not speculate on- there’s a preconception around “being sexy”. Women are seen as supposed to be sexy (but, in many circles, not too sexy. Can’t insinuate they know what they’re doing, or have opinions and tastes...), or, more, “sexy is seen as a job that women do for men specifically.”

So, to homophobic audiences... a man deliberately enacting a sensual performance- a sense of what sensual looks like from a dude- is seen as weird, wild, and out there. If you’re not shocked by the implications that Ghirahim may be attracted to men, may be into Link, may be into the idea of torturing Link- then a certain amount of his writing kind of falls apart. 

And comparing the way Ghirahim is animated and shot to Johnny Weir’s performance, it’s kind of... weak? Like, at one point in Weir’s routine, he lifts one leg and slides his fingertips down it in a smooth stroke from knee to thigh. It’s a steamy looking move, and this coming from someone who is so prodigiously ace I thought sexual attraction was made up for the first seventeen years of my life.

Ghirahim does not do that. He’s got thigh cutouts in his very close-fitting outfit, and has lines in his second fight about his body and how beautiful it is, but he does not make these movements that deliberately catch and draw the eye along the planes of him.

To me, I feel like besides this being a general affront against real queer people- the Zelda games have a concerning habit of depicting “eccentric, effeminate” men as either neutral characters or open villains and virtually always with this air of being the brunt of a joke (it’s very hard to imagine ALBW’s Yuga was designed by someone who earnestly loved this character)- it is also a bit rude to the character of Ghirahim himself.

Because Ghirahim, at the end of the day, is someone who ends the story heartbroken literally and figuratively. The entire game, he is driven by loyalty to Demise. He does not care who he hurts or threatens- and this comes back to the seeming implication that he is somewhat bloodthirsty, but vastly plays up his appetite for torture. When he thinks his goal is out of reach, he continues slogging away at it anyway, but listlessly. Everything he does, is for Demise. He is devoted enough to, late in the game, throw himself on Link’s sword for the third boss fight purely to stall for time until Demise revives.

Demise does not speak to Ghirahim, or acknowledge him, or even seemingly notice or care that by the time he comes back, Ghirahim’s metal heart has been torn open by being repeatedly stabbed by Link. (third boss fight is not kind.) Instead, he rips Ghirahim’s sword form out of his chest.

Ghirahim is a danger to Link, Impa, and Zelda, because he attacks them, and his own subordinates, because he threatens them. But to his master, he’s just a disposable pawn. This is a character driven by passion such that many of his poses and scenes show him nearly breaking into an actor’s soliloquy as he explains something to Link- and this is one way he does seem to like having Link around: he craves an audience.

And his passion is, in two ways, depicted as completely futile. First, in the dubious amount of oo scary gay man, watch out Link, he’s doing something weird with his tongue- and second and far more seriously, that everything he works for leaves him with nothing because his life never mattered for a second in the eyes of the person he lives and dies for.

Ghirahim is made a sensual character, but in a manner that feels bad faith- that feels like it has not thought about male sensuality in any direction besides “that’s wrong and icky, so we’ll attach it to our villain, who we want to be wrong and icky, and absolutely not suggest there’s anything particularly sad about what happens to him. His fault for being wrong and icky.”

#Legend of Zelda #Ghirahim #homophobia discussion #readmore

[phairfantooooom]

Origins

In which you discover the truth in the strangest of ways. 

Alt Summary: In which I say fuck canon and fuck the Lilith reveal

“What would you do?”

Satan had been the one to ask that. Yet the person that stood before you was not him.

You remembered leaving the camp behind, curious about the forest and wanting to just take a stroll to look around. From the way Lucifer made it sound not many demons were allowed to roam around so it was largely uncharted territory, and other than the rumors and legends that surrounded the woods there wasn’t much else that you were told about it.

With your D.D.D. in hand you made your way along the dirt pathways, occasionally snapping a photo here and there while staying mindful of your battery. The last thing you wanted was for it to die on you while you were out adventuring. Just the thought of how much trouble you would get in almost had you turning around to return to camp.

Almost.

Onward you marched, with small glowing mushrooms lighting the forest floor. They were in different shapes, sizes, and hues. Compared to the solid wall of brown and green during the day the woods became a colorful spectacle at night. You had been crouched down distracted by a small heart-shaped one when you had noticed something floating out near your peripherals. When you looked toward the source you saw the faint outline of a transparent white mass moving away from you. 

It was fear you felt first churning in your stomach. What the hell was that? Furrowing your brows you stood back up and started to turn around, with the intent of getting the fuck outta there, when you noticed that the mushrooms were beginning to dim. You were moving to turn the flashlight on in your D.D.D when you saw that the mushrooms were only dimming where you were, and that they were still bright where that transparent mass was.

Maybe it's friendly…?

Cautiously you moved toward it, curious as to why it seemed to light the forest up. You had heard nothing of tales that involved something like this from any of the brothers. It intrigued you in the strangest way, and once you had gotten close enough you felt your chest tighten in realization.

Clasped in the hands of the now more visible transparent spirit was a shimmering flower of teal and cyan hues. It looked like the Mirage Flower, save for the difference in color. Was this person the thief that you and the brothers were supposed to be hunting?

As you crept closer you shifted your D.D.D. in your hands and pulled the camera up. Focusing the camera on the entity you watched in horror as they turned around and looked directly at you. Feeling your breath catch in your throat your fight or flight instincts kicked in and your body lurched forward.

“Wait!”

You felt something warm wrap around your wrist and you jumped slightly as you realized that the spirit had somehow reached you before you could even take a step back. Taking in the sight before you you felt your nerves bunch up in your stomach. Long dark brown tendrils of hair that seemed to float in the stagnant air and pools of green reflecting the colors of the forest gazed into your eyes. A feeling of deja vu was filling you to the brim.

“Lilith?”

You had barely breathed the name out and the response was instantaneous. She shook her head slowly and you felt your heart beat faster. If she wasn’t Lilith then…who? It was strange, you felt like you knew her, and yet you knew for a fact that you had never seen her before.

“I… Do you not feel it?”

You tilted your head at her question and she shifted her hold on your wrist so that she was holding your hand instead, her transparent fingers interlocking with yours. Raising up your joined hands her eyes fluttered shut for a moment and just as you opened your mouth to ask what she was doing you felt a swirl of something familiar inside yourself. It was what you had felt when you had summoned Asmo for the first time. 

Power.

Around your body, you felt a shift in the breeze and the mushrooms around the two of you began to glow in an array of colors. You felt a sensation of your body floating upwards for a moment and you noticed that spirit seemed more ethereal when she once more opened her eyes. A small smile graced her face and you couldn’t help but smile with her. Something about this, whatever it was, felt right.

It felt real.

She began to move backward guiding you along gently while the lights and sounds of the forest followed. The chirping of the crickets and rustle of the leaves were the symphony that accompanied your dance with this entity, it was music in nature and something truly otherworldly. Was this the true capabilities of magic? To go beyond fighting or summoning and to create something like this...

The spirit softly laughed and you looked at her inquisitively.

“Have you realized it yet...?”

You shook your head and she exhaled in a way a mother would when a child didn’t understand a simple concept. With a kind and gentle expression with admiration for the child’s naivety. 

“I’m your true ancestor…. It was never Lilith...”

Some part of you had known the moment you had felt that swell of power, another part recognized it when you had quickly become at ease in her presence, but a different part of you still felt surprised at her words. As if reading your mind she placed your hand over where her heart would be, had she been alive in that moment.

“You are kind… and you trust the words of others far too easy…”

Your face drew together in confusion as to what she was getting at. Rather than respond you remained silent, unsure of how you could reply to that. Was she calling Diavolo a liar? Why would he lie? Why would-

Your thoughts halted as you noticed the expression that had come over her face. It wasn’t the same light-hearted and free one she had worn earlier but instead something somber and regretful.

“You remind me of… someone I once knew… She hadn’t known not to listen to the devil’s dark promises and found herself on the wrong side of a war she had never wanted to be a part of…”

A small bittersweet smile graced her face and she looked at you once more.

“But you… you still have time… please if nothing else… don’t let him lead you astray. You don’t deserve to share the same fate as her…”  

The wind picked up and you felt your stomach flip as she let go of you. Instinctively you reached out toward her but your hand simply fazed through her body. Around you, the light of the forest seemed to flicker, as if someone was purposely trying to snuff it. Panic raced up your spine as the world around you began to fade to darkness and the spirit in front of you began to move away before running off deeper into the forest, taking the last of the dying light with her.

What would you do?

If something was pretending to be you, pretending to be the truth when it was a lie in actuality, what would you do? When you were faced with a lie from someone you thought you could trust, what would you do? When faced with a harsh reality, what would you do?

Your vision turned skyward as the answer settled in your heart.

Your fate was yours to determine alone. It was not something to be decided for you. It was a path for you to carve, to traverse as you wish. There was a clarity in your thoughts where there had not been before, and while this development raised more questions than answers, it provided you with the knowledge that you had power. Power to protect and fight for your own future and for those you cared about.

Unfortunately from where you stood, you hadn’t seen the figure clad in red watching your self-discovery with careful focus and a sly smile dancing on his lips. His mind churned with ideas as one thought raced through his head.

‘What an interesting development.’

-

A/N: Believe it or not this started off as a drabble for the current garden event we have going on but then i just kinda. went off. dkfjghjkdfs 

I wanted to leave the “Ancestor” kinda vague so that readers can come up with their own thoughts and ideas as to who she is (Of course I have my own interpretation of who she is but that’s a secret shhh) and I’d love to hear what you guys think, I have more ideas that go down this twist of story if y’all are interested ;)

#Obey Me #Obey Me Imagine #Obey Me Drabble #Origins #Falling down the Rabbit Hole #I wonder what awaits us at the bottom