#he sacrifices himself to save his friends by flying into the sun. it is the only way to defeat three planet sized mechs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

Text

A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 51

Chapter title: This Is the Hardest part

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

It's here!! Thank you as always to @noirshadow for betaing this story despite my allergy to timely updates. I appreciate you so much!!

Read on AO3 ⟡ A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist

Wind whipped over the white-capped mountains, billowing frost off the rocky peaks like drifting white banners. The snow announced their location just as effectively as any banner would; the howling valleys beneath Feyre and Cassian belonged to the Winter Court.

Frozen wind rushed past them with every powerful stroke of Cassian’s wings, lashing Feyre’s cheeks as she braved a glance towards the barren landscape below. The cold leaked into her chest as she thought about the distance still separating them from the Night Court. And how perhaps the white banners hailed more than just their arrival to Kallias’s court—Feyre knew that Cassian would need to rest soon.

If he were by himself, he might have been able to make the full trip. But with her added weight? The waning sun glistened against his forehead, and this close to him she could just make out his labored breathing over the rushing wind.

“Maybe we can stop in Winter,” Feyre suggested, needing to shout so her voice wasn’t lost. “Kallias could winnow us the rest of the way.”

To the Hewn City, at least. They would have to get to Velaris on their own.

“I’m fine,” Cassian said. As if Feyre couldn’t see the tension he held in his jaw, or hear it in his voice. “We’ll be in range of Rhys soon.”

This was assuming Rhys would be in the Night Court. Feyre knew her mate. If it were her, she would have been sweeping over every inch of land and sea between Velaris and Hybern. He had even said as much to her, in another life.

I would have torn apart the world to get you back.

“I’ll fly all night if I have to,” Cassian added, as though sensing her train of thought.

Feyre recalled when Cassian had first started training her. When she had been so lost inside herself, and the only way her friend had known to draw her out was by giving her something to punch. Over and over again, until she’d ruined the sparring pads, and Cassian had offered her his own bare hands.

It should have been me.

She imagined this was his own way of doing that. Pushing his body because it would distract his mind. It was the one thing he could control, the one way he could help his brothers when Feyre knew that every fiber of his being was likely screaming for him to fly to Hybern and make things right. Feyre didn’t know what else to offer him, so she said nothing, letting him fly them across Winter. She only hoped her heavy heart didn’t add to the weight he carried.

The sunset eventually offered a new set of challenges.

Darkness crept, slowly and stealthily, over the skyline. And once the daylight had been fully eradicated, navigation became much more difficult. But what was worse, the temperature dropped.

Cassian continued flying without complaint. The exertion was keeping him warm, she was sure. The Illyrian leathers she wore, though rumpled and stiff from her tumble through the sea, were at least fur-lined. But they were hardly equipped for a night spent in Winter’s mountain range. A shiver was already working up her spine. She clenched her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter.

Feyre would try, for Cassian’s sake, to endure the cold.

It must not have been very convincing, because Cassian swore. “We’re almost to the Middle.”

The thought wasn’t very reassuring to Feyre. The Middle was filled with dangerous creatures that crawled out at night. There would be nowhere safe to stop, and then she would need to wait until Dawn to convince him to rest. What if he became too exhausted before then? Feyre imagined them plummeting into a bog, having to fight off the creatures of the middle through physical force alone.

It was time to make a decision as High Lady, even if Cassian wouldn’t like it.

Just as Feyre opened her mouth, Cassian stiffened. She gasped against a blast of air as they made a sudden dive toward the icy, snow-dusted plains below. They slammed into the frozen earth with such force that a cloud of frost burst upwards on the impact. She worried it was powerful enough to crack the ice, but it held strong as Cassian dropped her—carefully—to her feet.

“Cass, what—”

He was staring over her shoulder, and she cut herself off to turn in the direction of his gaze, where darkness was erupting from a vacant space in the air, unfurling night and star-swept smoke and, eventually, the sight of her mate’s rumpled hair and wide violet eyes. There was no smug half-smile waiting for her, just open distress that faded into soul-wrenching relief the moment their eyes met.

The sound that came out of her was choked, like some garbled thought had gotten stuck in her thickening throat. Maybe it was her body trying to purge every word she’d tried to send to him while the bond had been muted. I’m okay and are you safe and how are my sisters and I’m so sorry that they took Az.

But foremost, always foremost, was I love you. I’ve missed you so much.

It was all Feyre could do not to drop immediately to her knees in the snow. Somehow, she managed to scramble across the ice, slipping from the momentum as she barrelled into her mate’s waiting arms.

Rhys caught her easily, pulling her firmly against his warm chest. He was shaking, or maybe that was the winter frost still trembling in her bones, beginning to thaw as she buried her face in his neck and inhaled the scent of citrus-and-sea. A broad hand tangled in the back of her hair, cradling her against him as his other began roaming over her neck, her shoulders, her back. Searching for injury or simply convincing himself that she was real.

“Thank the fucking Cauldron,” he breathed. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

And that must have been all he was holding on to, because as soon as he finished speaking, Rhysand’s knees buckled, dropping them both to the ground. Ice stung Feyre through her leathers, but she didn’t care. She wove her numb fingers into his hair, lifting her head to look into his face.

Feyre was not used to looking at him without feeling the mating bond tethering their minds together, always providing her with an inkling of what her mate was thinking, feeling. She didn’t need it now to see the warring anguish and relief and love glistening beneath the layer of unshed tears that collected at his lashes. He was doing a better job keeping them contained than she was. Feyre was only aware that her tears had begun slipping freely past her cheeks once he cupped her face in his large hands and swept his thumb across to chase them away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. For failing the mission, for leaving Azriel behind, for making Rhys worry.

He continued stroking her cheek in a gentle rhythm, slow and steady, as he scanned his eyes over her face, her dirty clothes. A shadow passed over his features, more of that anguish he couldn’t hide from her. Even without the bond.

“Azriel did precisely what I asked him to,” he said, voice rough. Cassian must have told him, then, or maybe he had drawn the memory from her mind. “We all knew the risks. He decided to make a sacrifice for his court and we…” he took a deep, shuddering breath that dispersed into a cloud of winter air. Then another. Like the next words were painful to him. “We will recuperate and move when the time is right.”

“They won’t kill him,” Cassian said, standing a small distance behind to offer them privacy. Snow crunched under his boots as he walked closer. “They’ll probably make the bastard wish he was dead, but they’ll keep him alive. He’s too valuable.”

It was far from comforting to imagine Azriel being tortured for information. Just the thought of what they might inflict on him, if it were even a sliver of what she’d seen him do to others, to the Attor. Feyre felt suddenly like she’d be sick.

Rhysand nodded grimly. “We’ll get him back. And Hybern will pay for every ounce of blood.” Then her mate was scooping her into his arms, standing in one smooth movement. “For now, I’m grateful that you’re safe.” He turned to Cassian and offered his brother a small, sad smile. “That you’re both safe.”

Cassian didn’t smile in turn, but he did reach his arm out to clasp Rhys firmly, and affectionately, on the shoulder. “Let’s go home,” he said, more like a plea than any of them would acknowledge.

They disappeared into a cloud of smoke, and soon the blistering alpine air gave way to the scent of burning oak crackling in a hearth. Rhys set Feyre down on the carpet in the foyer, though he quickly caught her hand to thread her fingers through his own, unable to resist touching her. She eyed the rooms flanking the foyer, taking in the familiar sights and smells of their home. The brine of the Sidra drifting through the open window, spices wafting from the open door that led to the kitchen, and… the scents of their family. Of Rhys, mostly, and his brothers. But she could also detect the soft, floral hint of Elain, the unyielding fire and steel of Nesta.

Feyre hesitated, peering towards the door to the sitting room, uncertain what version of her sisters waited for her. An Elain that stared absently out the window, a Nesta who was angry with the world?

She turned to her mate. “My sisters,” she said, quietly. “Are they…”

Rhysand nodded toward the sitting room. “Why don’t you see for yourself.”

The distance between Feyre and that doorway felt suddenly like a gaping chasm. She stumbled before it, uncertain how to cross, but her sisters had already heard them come in. They rushed to wedge themselves into the doorframe—both of them, screeching to a halt on the other side of that great distance between them.

The seconds stretched into eternity as Feyre stared at her sisters and they stared back. Dressed in fae clothing, their eyes wide and ears upturned.

It was Elain who took the first step, as she always would in the unending push and pull of their sisterhood. The sea and the moon and the vast, all-seeing horizon that allowed them to meet in the middle. On occasion.

Elain ventured forward, stopping half way with her hand pressed to her lips to stifle a cry as she whispered, “We thought you were dead.”

Then it was Nesta, pushing onwards with Elain at her heel. Her lips were pressed together as she studied Feyre’s rumpled appearance. The braid that had faced battle then ocean then wind.

Feyre studied her back. Searching for any sense of that eerie power Nesta had taken from the Cauldron before.

“You look like Hell,” Nesta said.

Elain shot her a disapproving look. But Feyre understood what she meant: you look like you’ve been through a lot. And deeper under that, I was worried about you.

“You look…” Feyre swallowed. Her tears were already returning. “You look like yourselves.”

Not the sisters from before. Hollowed and aimless and angry at the world. They looked like the sisters she had known from this time, the ones who had been a bit more prepared for Prythian, who had thrown themselves into the Cauldron. For her.

“Thank you,” she said, before plummeting forward. Closing that final distance between them to throw her hands around both their shoulders. Nesta stiffened and Elain hugged her back fiercely and Feyre felt finally as if she’d accomplished something great in this timeline as she whispered, voice breaking, “I love you both.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she had said it to them. Had she ever?

They didn’t say it back, though Elain did hiccup softly, her fingers burying into Feyre’s shoulder. And that was okay. They didn’t need to say it, they had proved it. They had traded their humanity, overcame everything they’d once believed about the fae because she had turned up scared and honest at their doorstep.

Nesta gasped in her ear. Feyre pulled back, thinking that she was crying, but it wasn’t tears that swam in her eyes as she stared over Feyre’s shoulder.

It was something else.

“Nes…” Cassian said. The syllable eked out of him like weight shifting onto a creaky floorboard. There was no lightness to his voice. No humor.

The General of the Night Court staggered forward when his eyes met Nesta’s. Then he stopped, straightening as if remembering himself. Even with the soldier’s rigidity he forced into his spine, Feyre thought he still looked moments from dropping to his knees.

Nesta didn’t move to him. She stayed where she was, even after Feyre released her from the hug. Eyes so guarded, like distant fortresses of ice. She scraped them over Cassian, assessing him, tensing her body like she was preparing to defend, to attack. With her hair swept into an elegant braided crown, there was nothing to hide the delicate pointed tip of both her ears, nor the way Cassian’s eyes gravitated towards them.

He swallowed. Feyre had the sense that Nesta’s decision had been a sacrifice for more than just her sisters. And that Cassian’s reaction would define whether it had been worth it.

Finally he said, in that same strained voice, “Did you do something different with your hair?”

It wasn’t a complete transformation, but Nesta’s expression softened in response. She pushed past Feyre and Elain, moving with the same grace she had always possessed, though now it felt sharpened. All that lethal might and fluid grace that Nesta had been honing for years, finally contained in a body that could wield it properly. Growing into herself, the way a child grows into a pair of oversized gloves.

Cassian stood, a soldier at attention, as Nesta approached. Like he worried any sudden movement might ward her off. But the piercing look in her eyes, far from volatile or skittish, told Feyre that her sister would not be easily swayed from this path. She moved towards him with purpose, and Cassian met it unflinching—but more than that, awed. Overwhelmed. Feyre wondered if that was what she had looked like, the first time she’d seen the daylight after those months Under the Mountain. Or when she’d met Rhys, on Calanmai.

Like his world had ended and begun as Nesta raised a hand and placed it over his chest. Still, he didn’t move. Only watched, lips parted open, as Nesta pushed onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

That seemed to be his undoing.

Cassian’s posture crumpled, arms moving as if on impulse, finding Nesta’s waist to tug her closer. He bowed his head forward until it rested on her shoulder.

“Cass,” Nesta murmured. With a gentleness Feyre had only ever heard directed towards Elain.

“I just need a minute,” he said.

Rhys chose that moment to slip around them, looking harrowed himself as he herded Elain and Feyre quietly into the next room. Elain, who might usually have filled the silence with pleasantries, had an aimless look about her as she claimed an armchair by the window.

Feyre admired the way ribbons of moonlight poured over her sister’s features from the large window that overlooked the city, shining like a polish against her ivory skin. There was no denying that Elain’s ethereal beauty had only been heightened by the transformation. But for a moment all Feyre could see were brown eyes, once hollow, staring vacantly towards the city. In the back of her mind, she could hear Elain whispering, we were supposed to be married next week.

Feyre couldn’t resist asking. “Are you happy with it? Your choice.”

Elain turned, blinking rapidly like she’d been startled back into her body. Then those warm eyes focused on Feyre, and she offered a small smile.

“It feels…” Elain started thoughtfully, flickering her attention to the tips of her fingers as she stretched her arm outwards. “It feels familiar in a way I don’t know how to explain. It’s a little overwhelming, but even so… I feel settled. Like I am one step closer to knowing myself.”

Her eyes turned back toward the city, lips curling downwards.

“I can hear his heart,” Elain said. The admission was so quiet that Feyre wondered if she should be hearing it, until Elain turned back to her, eyes wide with concern. “Is that normal, for mates?”

“I…” Feyre looked towards Rhys for guidance. She could hear his heart often, but not once he was in another room, let alone a different Court. Did that mean the Cauldron had granted Elain Sight once more? Or was it simply a unique quality of her bond with Lucien?

Elain’s eyes turned glassy. She pressed her hand to her chest, like she could feel it now. “I’ve been listening for him, but that’s all I hear.”

“If you can hear his heartbeat, that means he’s safe,” Feyre said, sympathetic. “And if you hear or see anything else that might be helpful, let us know.”

Her sister nodded, before turning back towards the window. Feyre wondered if it had been difficult witnessing Nesta’s reunion with Cassian. Cauldron knew how long it would be until Elain could have that moment with Lucien.

“Go rest,” Elain said, drawing her legs up into her chest. “I take it you’ve had a long journey. Your mate has been worrying a hole into every inch of this carpet.”

Rhys, behind her, scraped out a laugh for Elain’s benefit, but it was weighed down. He had been so patient in letting her have this moment with her sisters, knowing Feyre needed the reassurance that they were okay. But Rhysand wasn’t—nor were his brothers. A cautious look over her shoulder showed her mate’s face, edged towards a devastation she knew he was trying very hard to contain. It had always been easier when it was his own life at stake, but now they had so many people to protect. So many to lose.

Was this their fate? That one trio of siblings would always be fractured? Feyre tried not to dwell on that as she took her mate by the hand, leaving Elain in the sitting room with an apologetic grimace. Elain looked like she appreciated the privacy, anyhow.

With Feyre’s magic still dormant and Rhysand passive beneath her guidance, they walked to their bedroom the human way. Step by step, with none of the urgency they normally possessed. Even without their bond, she could sense her mate retreating into his mind. Perhaps he was relishing in the absent bridge between their minds, so that this anguish could remain his own. She wondered what she would find. A howling void, if it were anything like what she felt watching her sisters go into the Cauldron. A raging, dark tempest.

She decided not to interrupt the silence, merely guiding her mate to the bed. He was pliant as she arranged them, coaxing his head to her chest, hoping that even in the dark recesses of his mind he would hear her heartbeat and know she was with him.

There was no magic to comfort, no darkness or starlight or wings she could wrap him in. Just her arms, her scent, her wordless love. It wouldn’t be enough to soothe the pain of what he lost, but it was all they had to hold onto. So Feyre stroked her fingers through his silken hair and Rhysand held her back, tightly. Holding each other in silence for minutes, or hours.

And eventually he murmured, “I know what I need to do, as a High Lord. But I feel lost on what to do, as a brother. It would make me a damned fool to try and break him out of Hybern. But all I want to do is go back there and bargain my own life for his, if that’s what it takes.”

“He would be furious if you did,” Feyre said.

“I know. And I know that this is how they felt, all those years I was Under the Mountain.”

“But you came back,” she whispered. “Against all hope, all odds. They got you back. And we’ll get Az back, too.”

Rhysand nodded absently. Feyre wondered if he’d heard her at all as his jaw worked, restraining all that black, vicious anger that lived behind his eyes. She could already see him calculating, trying to determine the best route forward. A glimpse of the boy from Windhaven, bloodied and bruised, pulling himself up to get back in the training ring.

For his brothers, she knew he would keep getting back in. Again and again and again. As many times as it took. And this time, he wouldn’t be going in alone.

Feyre woke to the sun breaking through the curtains, arriving steadily, just as it had every morning since the moment she woke up in the Spring Court. Even now, its warm rays broke through the frost crawling over the window pane, reaching towards Feyre and her slumbering mate to say, get up.

This was the hardest part—getting back up.

It wasn’t enough to face the wreckage once. To let it be done. They had to pull themselves together and face it again. And again. Every day, pulling them steadily towards that inevitable convergence.

At least her mate was with her. Strong arms, banded securely across her waist. They were tangled, Rhysand’s face pressed into her chest, his inky hair spilling over her shoulder, her collarbone. She had been worried he wouldn’t sleep through the night. Or worse, that he would have left, flown all the way back to Hybern to fight for Azriel.

But he was there, bathed lovingly in the sunlight. His chest rose as he took a slow breath, reminding her to do the same. She needed to be strong for him. For all of them. Inhale. Like Cassian had taught her. Exhale.

Feyre pushed her fingers through Rhysand’s hair, scraping her nails gently against his scalp to wake him. She felt guilty doing so, to force him back into this cruel reality when he looked so peaceful in his sleep.

Violet eyes peeled open. He blinked at her, then shut them, arms tightening around her. Resisting. Feyre took another deep breath, continued stroking her fingers through his hair until he relaxed, until he raised his head and murmured a hoarse, “Good morning, darling.”

It didn’t feel like a good morning.

Feyre didn’t realize she’d said it down the bond until she heard the soft caress of his laughter, more restrained than usual, though it still made her chest flutter. I suppose your magic is back.

Her magic, but more importantly, their bond. She knew he felt as relieved to have it back as she did, because Feyre kissed him and he sighed. Rhys kissed her back fiercely, reaching down the bond so he could hold her there, too. This at least made sense to their bodies. This, at least, felt good. Reminded them that they were alive, and that the glowing thread Feyre could feel shimmering between them once again was something that no one could take away. Not Amarantha, not Hybern, not even the Cauldron.

She opened her mind to him, letting their minds entwine in tandem with their bodies. They made love beneath the beaconing dawn, every touch aimed to comfort, to reassure, to lend the strength they needed to get back up together.

It was midmorning by the time they made it to the breakfast table, hand in hand, uncertain who was pulling who. The others had already assembled, gathered around the dining table, silent as they picked at a plate of fresh pastries that Feyre could guess Elain had gotten up early to make.

Mor was there, staring at her uneaten pastry. She raised her head as they came in, red-rimmed eyes meeting Feyre’s. She offered a tight smile that was much closer to a grimace. Miryam was on the bench beside her, looking in much better health than Feyre had last seen her. That, at least, was reassuring.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked.

“I could ask you the same,” Miryam said, suppressing a shiver. “I never want to feel magic like that again.”

That much, they could agree on. Though Feyre knew as she flitted her eyes to her sisters, sat together on the opposite side of the table, that they would need to feel that magic again. Very soon.

“We were all worried sick about you,” Mor added, surprising Feyre by reaching for her arm. She offered an affectionate squeeze—forgiveness, or perhaps an apology. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

She meant it, too. Even if the sorrow in Mor’s eyes made Feyre wish she were drowning again.

“Where’s Cass?” Rhysand asked, causing them all to stiffen at his tone.

“He wasn’t at the House of Wind this morning,” Mor said with a shrug. “I assumed he was—” with Nesta. Mor didn’t need to say it. The way she pressed her lips together, glancing towards Feyre’s eldest sister, said enough.

“I haven’t seen him since last night,” Nesta said, words razor sharp at the unspoken accusation. She grabbed a pastry, playing at indifference as she ripped a chunk of it away. “He said that he needed to leave. I thought he was going back to the war camp.”

Rhysand swore. Mor stood up, a hand over her mouth.

“He wouldn’t,” she said, face turning ashen.

Nesta’s eyes flickered between Mor and Rhysand, some of that anger curbing. Her brows pushed in, worrying at that small piece of pastry between her fingers until it was reduced to crumbs.

Rhys disappeared before anyone could discuss going with him—and that finally pulled Feyre out of her shock. She reached towards the space her mate had just occupied, lips parting open. Then closing. He was… gone.

“Oh, these stupid, impulsive Illryians!” Mor shouted, shaking the table as she slammed her hands against it. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“What happened?” Nesta asked with a viciousness that was more fae-like than she probably even realized.

Feyre rubbed her temples. She reached for Rhys, scrambling against his mental walls. They stood firmly in place, allowing nothing to slip through.

“Cassian went after Azriel,” Mor said. “And now Rhys has gone after them both.”

I’m not mad, Feyre said down the bond. How could she be, when both of his brothers were in danger? But please, please, be smart. Be safe. Come home to me.

“When did he leave?” Mor demanded.

“It was the middle of the night,” Nesta said, more retreated. She wrapped her arms around her chest, face burning as she added, “Two o’clock—maybe three.”

He would have needed to fly all night, to have gotten to Hybern. After having already done so much flying. What was he thinking? By the time he got to the island, he’d be too exhausted to fight.

Feyre debated going after them. The two of them alone, against Hybern’s men and his magic and the Cauldron. She started pacing, weighing the best strategy, trying to think like her mate—even if he, himself, wasn’t thinking practically. The troops were already stationed in Summer, maybe they could advance. No. The Cauldron at full force would wipe out too many of them.

She felt well and truly like she was on the verge of a breakdown by the time her mate reappeared with Cassian slumped over his shoulders. A rush of darkness brushed everything off the table, sending the plates crashing to the wooden floor. Rhys heaved Cassian onto his back atop the table, who groaned.

“You stupid prick!” Rhys snarled, grabbing him by the collar and shaking. “What were you thinking?”

Cassian’s wings splayed out, covering almost the entire width of the dining room. They were littered with arrows, dripping blood and salty water onto the floor.

“I needed to get him back,” Cassian said through gritted teeth. His face was pinched, dirt sticking to his cheek and brow. Feyre felt everything go quiet as she surveyed his labored, wet breathing and her eyes dipped to the split flesh arching up from his navel to the bottom of his sternum—too deep for Rhysand to heal, though Feyre could see he was trying.

“Get Madja,” Rhys said to Mor.

It was a stone cold, unfeeling command. Rage was seeping out of her mate in dark tendrils, coiling through the room until even the sunlight dimmed.

Feyre swayed. Unprepared for the sight of the gore and the fear it struck deep inside her. Somewhere far in the back of her mind, she was aware of Mor rushing out of the room, of Elain and Miryam following.

A hand closed tightly around her elbow. Nesta, watching with her lips pressed together as Rhys moved his hands over Cassian, trying to stave off the blood. Bile surged in Feyre’s throat at the sight of that raw flesh. Her bones creaked beneath Nesta’s grip.

“Do you think I didn’t want to go after him too?” Rhys was saying, teeth bared. His hands were covered in blood—so much blood. “Do you think I don’t know what they’re going to do to him?”

“You’re needed… here,” Cassian choked, the words mostly gargled. “I’m just—a soldier.”

“Just a soldier?” Rhys echoed, all that lethal anger sharpening. Even on the brink of consciousness, Feyre could see Cassian stiffen. “You are my brother. You are my general. I can’t…” Rhysand’s voice softened as he watched Cassian’s eyelids flutter shut. “I can’t do this without you. So you better not die, you fucking bastard. That’s an order.”

Cassian huffed, the only indication he was still conscious.

In the distance, Feyre could hear the door open. Then Madja rushed in, Mor at her heels. Rhys moved aside to let the healer take stock of the wounds. Madja was frowning, but her expression was not so grave that Feyre worried he wouldn’t make it.

She went to work quickly, brows bunching in concentration as her hands flared with glowing white light. They all fell into silence as they watched Madja work, their attention fixed on the healer’s every movement as her hands roamed over Cassian’s body. The lips of the wounds, mercifully, began to reach towards each other, knitting shut.

“Is…” Nesta bit her lip. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Madja said. Nesta’s shoulders sagged. “He’ll need a few days rest. No training. Or flying.” She scowled at the red line across his stomach. “Or throwing himself in front of swords.”

“What happened?” Feyre asked, turning to Rhys.

His anger hadn’t curbed. She could still see it simmering in his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. “He didn’t even make it to land before they shot him down.” Feyre’s eyes fell back to those arrows through his wings. “He landed on the Northernmost peak, who knows how long he’d been fighting before I got there. The bastard had that wound in his gut and was still taking men down. They pushed him off the cliff just as I got there.”

And indeed, looking at her mate she could see his wet hair hanging down his face. He trekked sand and seawater across the dining room as he came to stand in front of her. His eyes glowed, like lightning had struck an ocean. Nesta’s eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

Feyre asked, softly, Are you angry that Cassian got hurt? Or that you weren’t the one who went after Az?

Her mate stared. Jaw clenched. Say what you mean.

That tone. The cold rage, the sharpness. Feyre wasn’t used to hearing it directed towards her.

She brushed her mind against his, gentle. Are you angry at Cassian, or yourself?

Rhysand looked away, which was all the answer she needed.

Come, Feyre murmured, grabbing one of his blood-crusted hands. Rhys flinched. Let’s get you cleaned up, and leave Madja to her work.

It was all of a week before Cassian was well enough to join the morning training sessions. Feyre was grateful he was healed for a multitude of reasons, among them being that she finally had company on the training ring.

Convincing Rhys to join her in the last week had been… difficult. He and Cassian had quickly made up, but every day that passed weighed on him. It was another day that Azriel was in Hybern’s hands, subjected to the King’s will.

Her mate was restless—they all were.

“I’m surprised you were able to sneak past Nesta,” Feyre said in greeting.

Cassian grinned as he strolled into the ring, flexing his arms. “Who would've thought a flesh wound would be enough to earn this much attention?”

A flesh wound was a mild way of putting it, Feyre thought. And Nesta had certainly been attentive. Though her sister would deny it, Feyre didn’t think she’d seen Nesta leave his side for the duration of his bedrest.

“I assume it’s too soon to practice with swords,” she teased, reaching for a pair of fighting sticks.

“Depends on who will be swinging them,” Cassian said. “I trust you not to gut me.”

Feyre lobbed one of the sticks at him and he deftly reached out to catch it in midair.

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” she teased. “You did take the last pastry at breakfast.”

“Oh?” Cassian dropped into a fighting stance, spinning the stick expertly around his knuckles. “Come get even then, High Lady.”

Just as Feyre was about to charge, the center of the ring erupted into darkness, and out stepped Rhys. He was frowning, a letter crushed in his fist.

“What’s wrong?” Cassian asked, drawing up short.

Rhys passed the letter to him, saying, “Eris Vanserra has requested an immediate audience. He says that the Autumn Court has Azriel, and they’re willing to negotiate a trade.”

#A Court of Faded Dreams #ACoFD #Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre

39 notes · View notes

carnal-lnstinct · 2 years

Note

For the Halloween event, let's have Corrupt SS4!Goku X reader, where his s/o sees him transform, and freaks out.

Anonymous asked: I dunno if I already requested this, but can I have Corrupt SS4!Goku transforming and freaking out his s/o?

Anonymous asked: For the Halloween event...Super Oozaru Goku X reader, where he transforms, and he accidentally hurts his s/o during a fight. Please??

Super Oozaru Goku x Reader〖 requested by anonymous 〗 ✦✦Content: T Rating. corrupted!ss4 au. fluff. established romance. goku gone wild. ✦✦Warning: canon typical violence. referenced character death. light depiction of body horror. ✦✦A/N: Combining these two asks since they work well together ♥.

After all the trouble Baby caused a few months ago, it was assured that his defeat and destruction of the black star dragon balls should have returned things back to normal. But it only got worse, far scarier than anything you imagined.

Goku always made you believe that no matter how dangerous a situation looked, you could trust him to keep things under control and everyone safe at all costs. He's proved that time and time again, even going so far as to push his body to its limits in such a short period of time to obtain a new power, one strong enough to do away with the threat of Baby. The Earth was doomed on all accounts, but Goku still managed to save everyone with Piccolo's help. You would have never thought of such heroism becoming the catalyst for the next big threat to your world.

It wasn't a secret Goku had been acting strangely since taking care of Baby. But, like Gohan, you just assumed it was because of the impact Piccolo's sacrifice left still so fresh in all of your hearts. Goku wasn't one to let himself be kept down by such things and yet he had become so broody and secretive lately, resigning himself to train with Uub and Pan. When asked if this temperament of his was because of Piccolo, he would open up enough about it to say he misses his old friend very casually and as wholesome as expected of him. Even so, that still didn't exactly improve his unusual mood swings and you were starting to believe it had nothing to do with Piccolo at all.

You hoped that taking him away from fighting for a bit would help him feel better from his unspoken troubles, so you gathered Goten, Gohan and his family as well for a casual dinner party outside. Pan quickly spread the word to Trunks who showed up too with his family. You were confident that surrounding Goku with some fresh air, good food and his family would do him some good, and he was starting to seem like his old self again, evident by the perk in his long tail and relaxed smile.

It was more fun than you could wish for and it seemed everyone could have used a little break like this. Time just flew by without a care and you were all out until the sun went away letting the moon and stars fill the sky, each of you expressing how thankful you were to witness the beauty of the Earth despite its history of perils. It just made the view all the more worth it.

You took hold of Goku's arm and linked your fingers with his, leaning into his shoulder for comfort and staring out into the twinkling sky feeling completely at ease for once. You can feel him affectionately squeeze your hand in return and his eyes track up to the scenery above as well. Even flying out into space couldn't compare to a sight like this. His eyes caught the full moon with a cozy smile, tail rustling in the grass behind him. It really has been too long since he sat with nature and appreciated it for what it was. Longer still since he would neglect the circumstances of looking upon the moon with his tail, having lived without it for so long to recall the danger of it. His bright eyes fell into a trancelike state, unable to turn away from the glow of the moon.

You didn't notice immediately, feeling the slight jerk of his body and suddenly his hand squeezing yours tighter and tighter getting your attention. It was then you looked up at Goku to see how his eyes had changed to a pale red and involuntary jerks sent you into a panic. Those who could sense ki quickly picked up on the rising power in his body and broke away from the serene view to rush to Goku's aid. You, however, were trapped in his grasp and panicking trying to pry your hand free only for the grip to increase. Gohan tried to snap his father out of it by blocking his gaze from the moon and shaking him while calling out to him where Goten tried to help you free your hand from his grip.

Goku's muscles further expanded and spasmed, and you let out a painful yelp feeling the pressure on your hand compress into your bones, inevitably crushing your hand in his own and prompting Goten from trying to pull your hand free to prying at Goku's fingers to release you. Trunks quickly joined to help and carefully pulled on your wrist while Goten worked. To no avail, Vegeta then steps up in an attempt to sever Goku's tail with a bladed ki wave only for the energy to bounce off the appendage when a golden light outline Goku's body, hardening him against physical impacts. Then with no hesitation at all, The Saiyan Prince struck his fist across Goku's head with all his might in an attempt to knock him out. Another futile effort.

You let out another cry feeling your bones snap under his grip, Pan appearing at your side to help you and intervene with Goku's transformation as well but Gohan makes her stand down as Goku's power had exceeded beyond anything they could handle at this moment. His eyes were then consumed with red, his face stretching out to accommodate a wider, sharper maw and a beastly roar was unleashed expelling a force of his increased power and thrusting everyone around back. Including you, finally freed from his grasp. His form was engulfed by the golden light and he appeared as the expanding silhouette of a Great Ape. But then it changed red, ebbing his size to that of his super saiyan 4 form.

It was the last thing you saw before you blacked out from being blown back. Perhaps for the best, you would not be able to bear the sight of what he had become: A vicious beast of power and destruction who looked among the faces of his family and friends calling for a shred of reason from him, and he did not recognize a soul. Not a cry heeded. Goku's glowing red eyes narrowed as a frightening growl vibrated past his elongated fangs and energy formed in his hands.

What's become of your hero?

#♚ ;; [ requests ]#*SOTS #goku x reader #son goku x reader #goku imagine #goku #dbz imagine #dbz fics #My writing #♚ ;; [ asks ]

117 notes · View notes

jumpingjollyrancher · 2 years

Text

Hello, my old heart

(Endwalker spoilers for the final zone!)

They are together. It’s a constant, like the land, like the air.

Though this place has proven those things to be just as ephemeral. It’s a void that has consumed them one by one. One for the space to stand, one for the winds that fly. Another, another, another.

And then there were two.

He couldn’t even protect the twins. His gloves do little to absorb his tears, but Apollo hides his face in them regardless. Maybe it’s shame, for letting them do this, for not being strong enough anymore to save them all. Maybe it’s because he simply cannot stomach another minute of this, of looking at yet another shining, brilliant way forward bought with the sacrifices of his friends. Maybe it’s because he’s always hated crying in front of Sindri.

Sindri is always here, always beside him even when they’ve been physically apart. He doesn’t judge (not for this), but Apollo feels all the weaker for being the one to break.

Metal clinks as Sindri’s gauntleted hand touches his shoulder. “We have to-.”

“I know,” Apollo chokes out. “I know. This won’t be for nothing. We have to find her.” He swipes at his eyes, makes himself take a breath. It can’t be much further. Please, gods, let this be the end of it.

They always go together through the darkest of times and places. It will never change. Sindri the devoted, protector of the woods; a king even in name. Sindri…his greatest friend.

He should have known she would take it all.

One more roadblock. One more sacrifice.

They look at one more dark feathered girl and before Apollo can even begin to think of the next bridge, Sindri steps forward. His throat goes tight and the words that are said are Sindri’s alone.

And then he is alone with the howl of the wind in his ears. Truly, completely alone no matter the earth below his feet or the air in his lungs. Bought and bartered with their lives and yet he must keep going. He must keep going.

The wind is so loud; this graveyard so silent beneath it.

The whispers come from nowhere in old, familiar voices.

Yours is the Fourteenth Seat: the seat of Azem. You have the power to call the very stars to your side.

Ours is the power of creation. Have you forgotten? To weave something from the very energy around us. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen that far.

Desperation has gotten him through more than one terrible moment. Light aether cracked open the pieces of his soul and he held them together out of the pure desperation to not see another world lost. The god of their old world, of the laws of nature, resurrected and they fought bloody tooth and claw just to live another day.

Live, live, live.

It pounds in his chest. He’s always wanted to live, selfishly. It makes him a terrible hero. It makes him a coward. Every risk he took, it was always with the thought in the back of his mind that he would live. That his powers would always save him at the last.

And now?

Apollo tips his head back, letting the tears roll back across his temples and into his hair. The weight of a thousand thousand worlds weighs heavy. The ghosts that hang always in the corners of his eyes move forward, a grim welcoming party to his final utter end.

Oh, don’t leave me here alone.

Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved for a little while.

He takes a breath. He exhales. He takes a step, and then another.

Apollo walks across a dead world, ghosts flickering in his eyes. He clings to the shards of something in his chest, the last thing in the box, flickering against the dark.

I don’t wanna be alone.

The sun climbs the back of the cliffs, eclipsed against a dead star, nearly subsumed by the dark.

Apollo breathes and he keeps taking another step. Until he finds her.

The hard, black, dead star hangs above them both. Her feathers are pitch and her skin like ash. Another ghost, another one lost in the dark. He feels like her match. Here at the end of the universe, he is as any other mortal: small, insignificant, and alone.

Apollo closes his eyes. She speaks, the little bird long lost, in a voice that almost sounds kind. “Come, let me relieve you of your burden. You have suffered enough.”

A stone that should never have been made, not after their parting, hangs above his heart. He lifts his hand to it, safely tucked away, and smiles. “I have never forsaken this world nor its people. I will not start now,” he says quietly.

His eyes open, the summer sky blazing in his face. The sun rises, gilding all in gold.

It’s as easy as breathing. The spell circle appears like daybreak over the mountains. A heartbeat and they’re there. Hades starts to scoff. Hythlodaeus starts to chuckle.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time, my friends.” Apollo walks forward to stand between them. “I simply wanted some certainty.”

“Such recklessness.” Hades crosses his arms with a sniff.

“As if you’ve never had a flair for the dramatic.” Hythlodaeus holds a hand out, their own dramatic flair for show.

Apollo takes another breath. It feels like two sets of lungs, like a ghost of himself sets his hands on his shoulders.

Hello, my old heart.

It’s been so long since I’ve given you away.

“Focus and envision,” Hades says like they’re all still in school. Light builds around the three of them, power humming through the air and rising like a song.

He takes it in, holds it, and then weaves the next verse.

With a flick of his wrist, the world explodes at their feet. Beautiful crystal blossoms break from the cold earth, racing to cover the emptiness and welcome her home.

It reaches further, sunlight breaking through the branches, warming the earth with a new dawn. It steadies the ground, brings new life to the air, and makes manifest all their dreams.

The sun rises steadily, drawing all back into its light.

And every day I add another stone to the walls I built around you to keep you safe.

It leaves him burned clean and raw. He’d collapse to the ground alongside her if it wasn’t for the hands on his arms. “Beautifully done,” Hythlodaeus says. “Your greatest composition yet, I’d say.”

Steadying him, Hades says nothing. But his touch lingers, fingers brushing at his back. They help him find his feet and then they step away.

Oh, don’t leave me here alone.

Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved a little while.

Apollo looks at them and feels a piece of himself walk away to join them. They will fade back into the Sea and one day…they’ll all give it another try. He smiles at them and then weaves Hydaelyn’s last light into his own.

They reappear in beautiful flashes of light, each and every one.

Oh, oh-oh. I don’t wanna be alone.

There is a presence at his back, a weighted gaze. Apollo turns to meet mismatched eyes and the ghosts all fade away. His face scrunches, the ugliest of expressions, and then he darts across the flowers, petals flying in his wake.

I wanna find a home. And I wanna share it with you.

Sindri’s arms are already up to catch him. His momentum carries them around in a half-circle and Apollo’s heart is in pieces, it’s ready to burst. He brushes Sindri’s bangs aside, meets his beautiful, steady mismatched eyes, and then kisses him.

It’s for the end of the world. It’s a promise. It’s a welcome home.

He kisses Sindri for every day that he hasn’t and every day yet to come. For every tavern night and every fight where they’ve been too reckless or too careless for each other. Every healing spell, every heavy sword, it always meant this: be safe, be well, I love you.

Hello, my old heart. How have you been?

Someone is whistling for them and Apollo pulls away, hands still cupped around Sindri’s face. He smiles as tears fall from his eyes. He wipes away those that land on Sindri’s cheeks before his feet find the ground again. Sindri’s throat works, but he says nothing. He puts his hand to the back of Apollo’s head and then hugs him tightly for a moment.

“Now that’s a step too far!” Thanced’s voice is light, teasing.

Apollo laughs as Sindri steps back and the others move in. He hugs them, each in turn, and then returns to Sindri. He takes his hand and holds it tight. The squeeze he gets in return is grounding.

Almost home.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fic #self-indulgence and sun imagery to the EXTREME #this is quite frankly just for me and Jade #Im only posting it for easy finding with the gpose lol #anyway I love them and they're living rent free :3 #Apollo #Sindri #THE OCS NOT THE CHARACTERS but like whatever you wanna do I guess #I wrote this in a haze of like two hours on pure emotion #aka the best inspired shit ever for me #endwalker spoilers #endwalker

3 notes · View notes

wintbad · 2 years

Text

Flying too close to the sun origin

#Flying too close to the sun origin movie

#Flying too close to the sun origin code

#Flying too close to the sun origin movie

The Eternals: Ikaris's last act in the movie is to fly off into space and throw himself into the sun.During the final battle with Bond, Graves is defeated when his plane flies through the beam of solar energy being projected by Icarus.

#Flying too close to the sun origin code

In Die Another Day, Icarus is the code name of Gustav Graves solar energy Kill Sat.He says his purpose is to make sure Light burns up and crashes. Death Note: During their first confrontation in person, L compares Light to Icarus through his use of the death note (he doesn't quite know yet how he killed hundreds of people all over the globe, just that it's obviously supernatural).When he discovers Jill Layton, a woman who looks identical to the dream girl, Sam wants to pursue her at all costs, while making his life a downward spiral. Brazil: The protagonist has recurring Dreams of Flying in which he dons an armor with crystalline wings and romances a floating Damsel in Distress that he wants to save from manifestations of the Crapsack World he lives in.Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice: Upon using Zod's corpse to create Doomsday in the genesis chamber of the Kryptonian ship, Lex Luthor tells him "You flew too close to the Sun".He survives only because his cousin leaps after him, and sacrifices her life to save him. The ensuing battle for the Tsukiyama Heir results in two helicopters going up in flames, and Shuu (Icarus) being thrown from the roof of the building. Mirumo Tsukiyama has sent his son, Shuu, to be evacuated from the building's heliport in order to escape extermination. Building, referring to it as "Daedalus's Tower". In Tokyo Ghoul:Re, Matsuri Washuu invokes the myth of Icarus while discussing the coming battle at the L.E.Parodied in One Piece when the giant squid Daidalos flew too close to the sun and turned into surume (dried squid), traumatizing his friend Ikaros.In the manga's final arc, she lives up to her namesake when Tomoki leads the Angeloids to an attack on Synapse Ikaros delivers Tomoki to Synapse, but it turns out she was installed with a 'safeguard' after trying to turn on Synapse, that her wings would burn up if she came too close. Heaven's Lost Property's Deurotagonist Ikaros is the titular 'lost property' an Angeloid that fell from the Floating Continent of Synapse.In Fullmetal Alchemist, a parallel is drawn between Icarus and the Elric brothers, who believed they could successfully perform human transmutation despite the fact that no one ever had before.Daedalus and one of his creations is given wings and dies from exposure to the sun (not because of wings melting, but because she was a Proxy and sunlight is their Achilles' Heel) In Ergo Proxy, one of the characters is a scientist named Dr.(Incidentally, Icarus was also warned not to fly too low, as the water would also damage his wings.) The moral of the story in this reading is to not act recklessly and to heed the warnings of others, especially those with more experience and knowledge. The reason behind their trouble may vary problems will range from extreme temperature changes to oxygen deficiency at high altitudes. (It's particularly common with characters who have only recently gained the ability to fly). This story has had an influence on modern media, with a number of stories about flying characters going too high and suffering the consequences. Eventually, the sun melted the wax off his wings and they disintegrated, causing Icarus to fall to his death. Icarus, however, overcome with the joy of flying, started soaring higher and higher toward the sun. Attaching the wings to their arms, he and his son Icarus managed to escape, flying over the ocean. The father, Daedalus, constructed two pairs of wings out of wax and feathers. In the Greek myth of Icarus and Daedalus, a father and son attempted to flee from an island where they were held prisoner. A specific Mythical Motif and Stock Shout-Out to the myth of Icarus meant to highlight a character's reckless negligence and dangerous ambition.

#Flying too close to the sun origin

0 notes

legendofzoodles · 2 years

Text

LOZ Character Analysis/...

Hero of the Sky part 1

Link was born for the expressed purpose of finishing off the evil entity Hylia and her Hero failed to defeat eons before his time. At first, neither knew the true scale of what they were getting roped into, but as the stakes rose, sacrifices had to be made. Link wasn’t at all interested in fighting someone else’s war, he just wanted to save his childhood friend.

Fate however, demanded more of him, and through the course of his adventure he came to realise that this was bigger than himself. There was a job to do and as the new hero he was the only one who could do it. Although there were many dangers and trials on the path he took, one person kept him going.

It was all for her.

A/n: This is a reupload of an oldish post which I’ve taken too long to edit. I do go pretty hard on Sky’s character and SS’s storytelling. I tried to just cover Sky’s character, but most problems I had with also related to Sun’s lack of development- since the two are meant to grow and change together- which is the fault of the story as a whole.

Any writing in italic will be my attempt to rewrite parts of SS, mostly just ideas though, not a fully formed script. Also, I have not proofread this, so expect edits.

Even if you don’t agree with what I say, I hope it’s fun to read :)

~~~

This Link had it easy compared to the rest of the chain, especially Time and Wild. Sky was low-key coddled by Fi, whereas the other two were completely screwed over by her judgement.

This boy spent his days sleeping on floating island, sleeping on a flying bird, and sleeping…everyday, all the time. He had a natural perfect bond with his incredibly amazingly rare crimson Loftwing, he was naturally the most gifted swordsman despite sleeping in class, sleeping in, frequently skipping class and whenever he was awake he’d mentally be somewhere else.

He seems to have no family and Zelda seems like his only friend (but those are just assumptions). Also he got bullied a bit, but that was because Groose was jealous of him and his relationship with Zelda (wouldn’t be surprised if the whole academy knew that tbh). So I’d argue that this guy had the most idyllic and carefree pre-adventure life of any hero.

Out of every incarnation of the hero, Sky should have been the one to get development. But instead he just sort of goes through the motions of the hero’s journey and doesn’t seem to be impacted by anything he goes through. Which worked for the other heroes who were either children with no responsibility in the first place (like Time, Wind and Hyrule) or proactive young adults with accomplishments (like Twi, Warrior and Wild), because their characters didn’t warrant an arc (they developed a bit though). However, it’s a detriment to Sky’s character because he starts out as a naturally gifted but lazy daydreaming individual and doesn’t go through any sort of development.

...Btw having his spirit ‘grow’ after those Silent Realm trials isn’t all that symbolic and definitely isn’t character development (not to say that they were bad, they were scarily fun to play through). I will stand by the notion that despite being one of the most characterised incarnations, Sky doesn’t have an arc. Nintendo were able to give Midna an incredible clear arc that was driven by her adapting and responding to the selfless acts of Twi and Dawn. Meaningless metaphors and fetch quests aren’t good enough.

The game went out of it’s way to characterize Link, giving him dialogue options, varied facial expressions and information from other characters. Which is all well and good, but it doesn’t communicate what Link thinks and feels about the quest he’s on. From memory the only things I remember is that he cares a lot about Zelda, enjoys playing his harp and watching Fi dance, doesn’t seem to like combat much and thinks Groose has ‘nice hair’:

Ok forgive the tangent but...if Groose always styled his hair that way then Link would have no reason to comment on it. Which means that it was a new style he was trying out. In that case, the line can either be read as Link complimenting Groose or sarcastically making fun of him. Given that the line wasn’t relevant to the conversation, Link probably wasn’t listening and just said it to get him to shut up and leave him alone. Then again, Groose was stroking his hair constantly, maybe Link noticed that and complimented him to assure him that the new style looked good. The former reason sounds more like Sky though.

What could motivate an idle sleepyhead with great untapped potential rise up to become a courageous hero? Is it love? Maybe the theme SS was going for was that love can motive great courageous acts and inspire people to change for the better. To the game’s credit it does a great job of exploring that theme...most notable in Groose’s arc as well as the gratitude crystal side quests.

With this idea in mind you’d expect Link to take charge, grab the reins of destiny and proactively go after Zelda- maybe even ignoring advice from Fi to chase after his friend, showing his unwavering resolve. He’d form a sort of rivalry with Impa, maybe even swinging the fact that he’s ‘the hero’ in her face to justify staying by Zelda’s side. He’s being selfish here, maybe he knows it but doesn’t understand what’s actually at stake here and so doesn’t care (I know he’s been told a bunch of exposition from everyone and their grandma- but getting too complacent/not taking his duty seriously and then messing up would be more effective at making Link shape up and improve. Especially when his life’s gone perfectly so far with little effort on). Then that mindset can blow up in his face, maybe endanger Zelda or a group of surface dwellers making him shape up as a hero, go out and kick ass. Changing for the better and selflessly dedicating himself to his role for the sake of those who can’t defend themselves from the evil he’s destined to face alone.

Except Link has little to no agency in the game. He’s either following Impa’s demands or Fi’s ‘advice’, which makes me wonder if he’s doing all the hero stuff because he wants to or only because he has to. There’s no real sense of saving the world from a devastating threat when the Skyloftians are safe from any danger high above the clouds, and the beings on the surface appear to be blissfully ignorant of what’s at stake.

Imagine how much more compelling it would’ve been to have the game open with beautiful watercolour storybook exposition about the Hylia and the war with Demise, before transitioning to Link and Zelda as children nestled in a sweet little blanket fort reading the story by lamplight (the old ‘show don’t tell’ us that they are childhood friends, and maybe they can remark on the fates of those left behind by Hylia as she formed Skyloft. Also, smol Sun and Sky). Then they make a promise to venture to the surface together when they graduate the academy, and it transitions then to them as young adults.

It can play out the same as in the game, but after Link wins he surprises Zelda with plans and packed bags ready to go to the surface, recalling their childhood dream. They then sneak off to break through the cloud barrier, maybe through some shady Ghirahim shenanigans or Zelda’s Goddess powers can unconsciously awaken and create a path for them (that would then alert Ghirahim of her presence).

Then there’s a cute montage of them exploring the surface world together. They would arrive in some part of the Faron woods, and would look at plants, marvell at the tiny birds and run after other strange wildlife. At some point they are attacked by Ghirahim, and after some fighting he overpowers Link, takes Zelda away and sends the teenager back to Skyloft. Via tornado, because that would be cool.

Link miserably tells her father what happened. Before their adventure, he had a fight with them beforehand about going to the surface, so here he really chews Link out for losing his daughter, throwing everything he said days ago back in his face. Everyone on Skyloft hears what happened and they are all now on edge because they think something bad is going to happen. Meanwhile Link is a mess, regretting what he did and wishing things played out differently. Then Fi joins the plot and the quest begins.

Now there are personal stakes, Link is more of an active character and he has a more personal vendetta against Ghirahim- who I think was meant to be like a rival type antagonist. There’s also more of a sense of urgency with this version, and some redemption and knight’s honour to be restored too. Plus it makes the surface world seem more dangerous, foreign and hostile from Link’s pov.

But back to reality, the nightmare itself in game was kind of pointless. After all Link freaking ignored it! He didn’t act on it at all, he wasn’t anxious about it in any meaningful way during the ceremony and he didn’t even mention it to Zelda. It was just business as usual for him, until destiny smacked him and his bird out of the firmament.

The night following Zelda’s disappearance, Fi appears in Link’s room and leads him to the Goddess Sword, thus starting his journey. And can I point out the ludonarrative dissonance going on in this beginning section. Link and the player are supposed to be laser focused on getting to Zelda, but since the game is all about exploration it also wants the player to slow down and look around. But that actively undermines Link’s drive to reach Zelda and makes it seem like he isn’t taking his role seriously. I would say that this reflects Link’s fascination with the surface...but Zelda was the one who wanted to explore the surface. That was her dream not his! It wasn’t established that Link felt about it just as strongly as her.

Also why are we never shown how Impa meets Zelda? Heck, why aren’t we given more scenes of Zelda’s journey in general when she’s the deuteragonist? It makes sense that she’d drop her want to explore the surface in order to focus on her new duties. She was characterised as more responsible and active than Link, so her taking it seriously from day one and encouraging Link to do the same also makes sense. But how did she initially react to learning that she was the ‘spirit maiden’? When Link finally gets to her, she’s already dolled up in her Goddess drip, harp in tow and ready to do whatever Impa tells her. But why?! And why is she going along with Impa and not insisting that she and Link work together?

The game doesn’t address it and I’m not going to bother coming up with reasons because there was no real reason in the first place why they had to be separated. Everything about her character told me that she would want to work with Link at her side, as childhood friends they would have unyielding faith in each other, yet this strong willed girl let a stranger control her every move.

That aside, can I also mention how manufactured the conflict is in the game? Every now and then the Imprisoned shows up to wreak havoc…but, that thing is never really a threat. To be honest, there’s no collateral damage and they fight it so many times it basically becomes a minor annoyance…almost routine. There’s Ghirahim sure, but Link is able to beat him three times, which begs the question: why does Link let Ghirahim live after each encounter? He is the one Zelda and Impa are running from and if he dies then Demise can’t be resurrected. It’s clear he hates him and knows he’s the biggest threat, so what’s stopping Link from killing him?

It makes sense with the evil legged avocado, I guess, because each time it’s defeated Link just puts a magical band aid on its seal. I can understand him escaping once, but three times? Although I’d forgive him if he didn’t take Ghirahim seriously as a threat (even though his facial expressions in game prove otherwise), after all it’s not like Zelda is ever in any real danger at any point in the game. She’s either being chaperoned by Impa or asleep encased in amber.

Hey, here’s another question: does Link actually want to be doing all this?

The obvious answer would be yes; with the other heroes this is something you don’t even think to question, at least a few dungeons in. But like I said earlier, Sky is different. Despite being almost an adult he’s still complacent and a daydreamer coasting through life on natural talent alone, (since he doesn’t go through any development I’ll assume he stays that way), and during his quest he has the servant of the Goddess dictating his every move. So it’s not like he could opt out, but he’s always told exactly where to go and what to do, with nothing going wrong.

Would someone like that willingly put themselves through all this because they genuinely want to or just go along with it because they’re given everything they need to succeed?

Does he even like adventuring? How invested is he in helping people? Does he disagree with Hylia’s decision to flee into the sky, having seen the precarious state of the surface (at least that should be the case, and following my lore it is. But, the in game npcs on the surface are straight vibing despite the fact that a primal evil is trying to resurrect itself and destroy them all) without the Goddess’ protection? Does he feel guilty perhaps? Does he feel a need to protect the surface? Does he value the tribes on the surface as much as the people on Skyloft? Does he maybe resent Zelda for his circumstance, as Hylia’s incarnation/replacement?

My interpretation is that he realises at some point that he actually doesn’t actually like adventuring and travelling (hence the frequent breaks headcanon and keeping everyone on Skyloft posted). He likes some aspects of it like seeing new sights, catching bugs, camping and gathering food/materials, but he finds long drawn out enemy camp battles exhausting, dungeons aren’t really his cup of tea (save for the Cistern and the pirate ship because they were amazing), he hates constantly needing to fight the evil avocado and more than anything despises Ghirahim’s numerous encounters- he doesn’t kill him...because he can’t, incompetence I guess.

He does disagree with Hylia’s decision to leave the surface and he does feel awful that the other races were left to fend for themselves, but he doesn’t resent Zelda for it at all. Because it has nothing to do with her, she ain’t Hylia.

Speaking of, Zelda immediately being ok and accepting of the whole Goddess thing with no push back is a waste of potentiel. It could have been a huge paradigm shift for her, but nothing comes of it. Unless it was an act so that Link wouldn’t worry about her...but they’re childhood friends! Even if that was the case Link would’ve seen through it immediately, leading me to believe that her reaction was genuine. When I first watched a playthrough of SS, I thought she was possessed by Hylia and that’s why she was so calm.

It’s a shame because there’s some really compelling stuff that SS’s story doesn’t want to delve into. The story is mainly focused on the relationship between Link and Zelda, but there’s no interesting conflict there, instead it’s just Zelda is in trouble and Link needs to save her and save the world. I’d love to have seen them grapple with Zelda’s identity as the Goddess reincarnated or lean more into Link’s reluctance to play the hero (does he maybe blame the hero before him for Demise’s return?) or talk about Hylia’s decision to abandon those on the surface.

‘Even though I am Hylia reborn, I am still my father's daughter, and your friend. I'm still your Zelda...’

That’s such a beautiful line of dialogue. It would have been nice to have seen cutscenes of Link and Zelda as children to really hammer the feels home. It would have been even more impactful if Zelda came to that realisation after some sort of internal struggle. It would have been great to see the two of them work through this together rather than constantly being separated by the plot.

I feel like Sky frequently took breaks from the quest in order to return to Skyloft, possibly justifies this with the excuse of keeping everyone posted- hence why everyone in game knows his business. He has low stamina and I’ve always seen it as just another result of his laziness. However, some in the fandom have headcanons that he has asthma (at least I think that’s the connection, please correct me if I’m wrong), which was an interpretation I hadn’t thought of before. I’m not going to go along assuming that in this post, because it undermines my gripes later on, but it is something I wanted to acknowledge.

Due to his low stamina, despite being the only one able to parkour (at least in human form, looking at you wolfie. In his case though wouldn’t it be...barkour?), he’s the least athletic. Being the worst at long distance running, swimming and climbing- long distance anything really. That being said, he can do some awesome parkour moves, such that during short term encounters he’s reliably fast and agile.

He is the book-smartest in all the chain, being the only one with a confirmed formal education (funny how the Link at the furthest point back in history is the most educated). I like to think he’s talented at math, with logic and numbers being easy for him to understand and use for problem solving. With geometry being his favourite topic.

However, he doesn’t pay much attention to his surroundings. The opposite of Time (veteran), Warrior (soldier boy), Twilight (nature boy), Legend (veteran) and Wild (survivalist) who are always 100% aware of their surroundings at all times.

It would be funny if he gets motion sick on boats, because it would’ve made the WW style small boating section in the Lanayru Desert a nightmare for him. And the rollercoaster section(s) too I’d imagine. I wonder what Fi would think seeing the legendary hero throw up breakfast while he sped around in the minecart.

...she’d probably just tell him to replace his batteries or something.

Where Twilight’s an elven Disney Princess, I think Sky wants to be as far away from cuddly animals as possible. Which is wonderfully illustrated whenever he holds Remlits. He always has them at arm’s-length and is even willing to yeet them off the island (it’s more of a gameplay thing, but the fact that the player even has the choice is quite interesting).

He has a cute habit of wildly gesturing when he explains stuff (which is relatable af because I do that), like in the cutscene he explained to Zelda’s father that a tornado kidnapped his daughter.

He a soft boi. He’s sweet, well mannered, polite and so you’d assume from the way he acts that’s he’s got just the biggest heart ever and is super caring and friendly. Although, I like to think that’s only partly true.

Yes he can be all those things, but that’s reserved for those closest to him. He values people as individuals sure, but doesn’t care too deeply about them. If he was having small talk with a stranger/acquaintance and they told him facts about themselves or stories, he’d mentally tune out of the conversation. This makes him forgetful of details people have told him. So, someone outside his orbit would have to keep repeating the same facts about themselves and their life to him. Which would make repeat encounters with him awkward and not very engaging.

Picture this: if he saw a stranger on the street crying, he’d either dither a bit before straight up ditching them or awkwardly offer them a hankie and a pat on the shoulder. If they tried to vent to him, he’d immediately retreat into his daydreams and just sit there not really listening. Even though he wasn’t paying attention, he’d still be sweet to them before leaving.

The idea of Sky having a lack of consideration for others, especially those who are unpleasant came from that side-quest where Link has the option to give Cawlin’s love letter to Karane or the creepy toilet hand. Given that the latter is arguably the more satisfying ending, I have to accept that as canon, therefore making Sky kind of an asshole....not that the rest of the chain are saints. Sky’s flaws are much more normal than say, Warrior’s fatal overconfidence that is powerful enough to manifest as an evil version of himself if he doesn’t keep it in check.

The two best conclusions to draw from this decision is either he really wanted the toilet hand to find love (although that’s still a dick move because it’s like saying that Cawlin would have no chance with Karane) or just preferred to help out his boy Pipit (tbh I don’t buy that they’re any more than acquaintances though).

Also yes, it is true that Link is exclusively kind and understanding with Groose his former bully. But (and just hear me out here) what that was only because he didn’t care about retaliating or getting even. He’s is on an epic quest, he doesn’t have time to settle the score with Groose, especially when he himself eventually makes himself useful. Being nice to him is just less mentally taxing. And don’t forget that Groose’s animosity stemmed from jealousy, and the player can enter Groose’s room and see a drawing of Link’s face on a punching back- plus the dude was never subtle. Link knew about all that which is why he doesn’t hold a grudge, plus I think he’s always liked him and wanted to be friends.

Sky can be very unforgiving and is capable of holding grudges that last a stupidly long time. That sort of hatred is reserved for the worst of the worst in his opinion, i.e Ghirahim and Demise (Bruh did you see some of the faces he pulled at them in game? There was 1000% malicious intent in those eyes).

Outside of being irredeemably evil, a couple of areas where you could incur his wrath include:

Mistreating the Master Sword: sure Fi was pushing him along the hero’s path, but she’s servant of Hylia and also just following orders, so there’s no need to hold a grudge. As shown in SS, they became good friends over the course of the adventure. Link genuinely likes her.

Badmouthing Hylia: he may not have agreed with everything she did or be too happy with finishing off her crusade... but as a citizen of Skyloft he’d have been a devoted worshipper like everyone else. Having it been drilled into him since he was little, because society be like that. Since he hardly suffered at all during his adventure and arguably did almost everything perfectly, he’d have no reason to stop worshipping her.

Over the course of SS Link does prove himself and becomes a true hero, growing his soul after the Silent Realm Trials (he’s had nightmares about those since and you can’t tell me otherwise) and tempering the Goddess Sword into the Master Sword. I feel like this act severed Hylia’s connection to the sword, giving true ownership over to her hero’s successors. Now the blade draws its strength from the hero’s spirit not the Goddess’ power.

At the end of the journey Link finally fights Demise, and after a hard fought battle (in which the lightning coming from the storm clouds scars his right arm and torso- love those lightning scar headcanons, super creative!) he prevails and ends the Demon King once and avenging the hero before him. Or so he wrongly believes. With his dying breath, Demise curses Link to reincarnate with him in an endless bloody cycle for the rest of eternity.

The fact that the game and Link both sweep the whole curse thing under the rug is jarring to say the least.

To be fair, Skyward Sword’s ending by itself is absolutely adorable...so long as you forget the rest of the franchise exits. Including that context makes this ending bafflingly lighthearted given that it’s the beginning of Hyrule’s cyclical history of suffering and conquest written in blood.

It really comes off as tone deaf to me. The characters, who are completely unaware of the hell that will plague their newly formed kingdom in the centuries to come, understandably feel at peace. But the player and therefore Link should not.

I feel like a bittersweet send off would have been better, a sort of ‘we’ve done what we can and can live in peace, but we need to protect those who come after us’ kind of vibe. Maybe have a post credit scene where Link is telling Zelda all about the epic battle with Demise (the oblivious adolescent dork acting out the whole fight in all his cute hand gesturing glory, with the Kikwis as backup actors), but when he offhandedly mentions the curse her smiling face suddenly hardens.

She tentatively asks him to explain exactly what Demise said and Link does to the best of his memory, but stops part way when he realises that Zelda is now frowning. Voice low and shaking she begins to put together the true meaning of those words, but a defensive Link assures her that it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe he’s so adamant to dismiss it because Fi assured him that it was indeed over (but now he can’t call on her anymore to verify what she meant), but a small part of him trusts Zelda’s judgement and starts to worry. This turns into a fight that neither side end up winning.

It could get really petty. Zelda chastises Link for not finishing the job and he says that her paranoia is the result of Hylia’s influence- which would really sting if they had spent the adventure working through Zelda’s identity together.

The issue is never properly resolved because both don’t have a clear-cut answer, and it starts to eat away at the back of both their minds. To ease her worries (and maybe his own regrets), he advices that they write down the possibility of Demise’s return as a prophecy for future generations. This prophecy is passed down what will become Royal Family in secret until Demise inevitably does show up further down the timeline. Now in his new and improved form: Ganon.

I don’t believe that Sky would be all that into rebuilding civilisation on the surface immediately after saving the world. He’d want life to return to normal and go back to being a regular Skyloftian knight. I can appreciate Sun wanting to take some time off to heal and recover, but soon she’d want to go about establishing relations with the surface tribes and moving the humans back down. Link would go along to protect her and because it would make her happy, but his heart wouldn’t be as in it as hers. And as shown at the beginning of the game I feel like she’d still have to nag him to get stuff done.

Groose would be the goat though, he’d be all for building new inventions for the settlement of humanity and exploring the surface. Man, what a fantastic character.

...

To conclude because I realise that this essay was kind of a mess, I tried to do what I could with Link’s character but the game simultaneously gives me too much and too little to work with. I see him as a soft and gentle spirit, but to the point of being idle. Since he’s crazy talented at a bunch of things, he’s spent his life coasting by on those talents without needing to try. Unlike the others his quest goes perfectly, or at least he doesn’t screw up in any meaningful way and Demise’s curse doesn’t impact him at all. How the fandom can paint him as this near perfect cinnamon roll, I have no idea. Like, he’s cute and a dork, but also kind of a jerk.

For the record, despite my criticisms I do like Skyward Sword and I think the story has a lot of potential. I also just really love Groose, maybe I’ll do an analysis of his arc in the future.

~~~

Thanks for reading!

This is all my opinion, feel free to disagree but pls don’t take what I say too seriously. It’s supposed to be a bit of fun for me.

Here’s part 2 Era of Hylia Lore 1 Demise’s curse theory

Masterlist

85 notes · View notes

duckmumbo · 2 years

Note

tell us about plant powers mumbo if you have any specific thoughts!! -mnd

I have so many thoughts you don’t even know

- I think Mumbo spent more time in the s8 world than the actual irl break was. There’s the almost 3 months that the actual break took place, but in my au I think Mumbo tried for the first month or so to contact them through his communicator, but he couldn’t reach them (bc void interference) so after a while he gave up and either lost it or broke it in a fit of rage. He spends the next two months trying to figure out a way off of the server, but he can’t leave because a part of him is still so reluctant to leave since as far as he knows, he’s the only hermit still alive, and he doesn’t want to know if that’s true or not, so the plants don’t let him leave.

Meanwhile, on the s9 server, boatem has arrived and they’re frantically trying to convince the hermits with admin powers to let them go back to the s8 world to see if mumbo’s still there, but they don’t let them go for at least another month because plot and safety concerns. Eventually, they get to go, and they bring Mumbo back and they all live mostly happily ever after <3

- When the moon crashed into s8 with Mumbo still on it, he panic grew a giant canopy of trees to protect him (think that scene in guardians of the galaxy when Groot sacrifices himself to save everyone else). It works, but he can’t figure out how to get them to go back, so this means he spends the next 3 months living with no lighting other than the torches and lanterns left behind by the hermits and some giant glowberry vines that he grew

This also means that when he gets to s9, he’s not at all used to the sun anymore, and he ends up taking refuge in Scar’s tree because it’s darker in there and he can’t relax if he’s not surrounded on all sides by the humming of plant life

- His vault. His main regret after s8 is spending so much time on the Mooners that he never thought to prepare for the worst, to have a safe place for his family friends to go if worse came to worst. So he builds a vault. He hides behind jokes of being the richest hermit, behind saying that nobody is allowed to enter the vault and it’s for his eyes only, but really he’s preparing a huge underground bunker for them to ride out anything he can possibly think of. It starts out as just for the members of boatem with his starter base, but then as he settles in more and spends more time with the other hermits he starts to draw up plans for a bigger one, one that all the hermits could fit in comfortably with room to spare

- I’ve been seeing a lot of aus recently where people invade hermitcraft and attack them (shoutout to test tube Zedaph au it’s a major source of brainrot right now), so I think Mumbo would also worry about that alongside the rest of his doomsday preparations. He sets up an elaborate network of modified plant seeds underground, including stuff like buffed wither roses, Venus fly traps, and other dangerous plants (shoutout to the Stepping Stones series on ao3 and how they wrote Tubbo with plant powers for the inspo for this) that are just lying dormant, waiting for him to activate it and let them grow in case of people coming to hermitcraft to hurt them.

- I’ve just realized there’s a bit of a plot hole with Bdubs and some other hermits canonically still being on the s8 world when the moon hit so I’m just gonna say the other hermits weren’t going to let this happen so they forced them to leave with everyone else. No hermit left behind (except mumbo but that’s not his fault) <3

#me making that last post: yeah I wanna talk about it but idk what I feel like I need a jumping off point or something #me getting this ask and it unlocking my brain somehow: haha words go brr #thanks for the ask hope this was what you wanted gksbkfbdjf #roy talks #peace love and even more plants au #answered #mnd my beloved #I’ve just decided you get a tag #mumbo #hermitcraft

16 notes · View notes

drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Veritaserum Prompt Part 2

(Alrighty, friends! Here's part two of the Veritaserum prompt ficlet! I hope you enjoy.)

Harry had no idea what he was doing.

And to be fair, this was not an uncommon occurrence in his life. After everything that he'd done, everything that he'd been through, you'd think that he would be used to flying by the seat of his pants by now.

But this, Harry thought to himself as he stared at Draco Malfoy devouring a salad with chicken and fresh strawberries across from him at the island in the kitchen, was really not the plan.

The plan had been to find out where they were keeping Malfoy. The plan had been to find out how he was being treated and document it. The plan had been to put together a report demanding his release, demanding that Draco Malfoy be pardoned.

One look at him in that blasted cage and Harry's resolve to go through the correct channels was obliterated.

Hermione was going to kill him.

"I'm having trouble believing this is real," Malfoy confessed and frankly, Harry could sympathize. "I'm not sure if the way you're staring at me like you can't believe this is real either is helping or making it worse."

"This was not the plan," Harry finally said.

"Sorry?"

"I think I've made things worse," Harry confessed.

(Read more below the cut)

"Trust me, Potter, this is definitely not worse."

Harry winced, "In the short term, I agree with you," he said. "I agree completely. In the long term," he rubbed his hands over his face, "There was a plan. With lawyers and trials, with an actual fair trial, with you being tried as a minor because you were. A plan with a demand for your pardon and release."

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Malfoy said, glancing longingly at the salad bowl.

"Please have more if you're hungry," Harry said, nudging the bowl toward him and wasn't this all a bit surreal. "What do you mean it wouldn't have made a difference?"

Malfoy huffed as he scooped more salad onto his plate. "They never would have let me go."

"But Hermione says-"

"Yes," he interrupted, "Granger is brilliant, the brightest witch of our generation, but she also is on the side that won. You lot can have hope because what you wanted happened."

"So what you wanted didn't?"

Malfoy shook his head, "I mean obviously I wanted you to defeat Voldemort. What kind of idiot would I have to be to want him to stay in power? Even the people who followed him were miserable. But I was never under any delusions that my life would turn out fine."

"But we won," Harry said, "You shouldn't be punished unjustly."

"What do you think a just punishment would be?" Malfoy asked, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

"Community service," Harry replied readily, he'd thought this through already. "Maybe a few years of probation with wand monitoring."

"People died because of me, Potter," Malfoy said incredulously.

"You didn't kill them," he said.

"Semantics," Malfoy said, waving his hand.

"You didn't want anyone to get hurt. Dumbledore said-"

"Dumbledore was a fool!" he exploded. "Of course I didn't want to hurt anyone! Of course I didn't want to get the bloody dark mark! But I had to or he would have killed me and my mother. And I know you think the right choice would have been to sacrifice myself, to sacrifice my mother-"

"I didn't say that!" Harry protested.

Malfoy shook his head, "You don't have to because you lived it. You literally died, Potter."

"I mean, fine," Harry conceded. "If you're asking me to die myself, fine. It's literally what I was raised to do, it's literally the point of me. But if you'd asked me to sacrifice a single person I love," he shook his head. "I don't know what I would have done to save myself the pain of loss, to save my friends and family from the pain of that loss."

The other man stared at him for a long moment, "There is so much to unpack in that statement that I honestly don't know where to start." He shook his head, "Look, I'm grateful. Really. I didn't think I'd ever see the sun again, or taste fresh fruit, or drink clean water-"

Something clenched in Harry's stomach, "It's not fair."

Malfoy laughed, it wasn't mean or judgmental, but it was sad, "Potter, when has life ever been fair to you?"

Harry was a bit taken aback by that statement.

Before he could find the words to reply, "I'm just trying to say thank you for bringing me here. And to say I'll understand when you tell me I have to go back."

"It's not happening," Harry said fiercely.

"You've made yourself a criminal, Potter. You can't go back until you give me back to them."

"We'll clear your name," he said stubbornly.

Malfoy gave him a pitying glance, then seemingly decided to give it up. "Can I go outside?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, "Of course. There's a ward set up around the property, but it's about half a mile in any direction. It won't let anyone in or out," he added.

"I won't go far," Malfoy promised.

"Oh, one more thing," Harry said, "One second." He ran back to his bedroom and fetched Malfoy's wand. "Here," he said, thrusting it out to the other man.

Malfoy stared at him, "You're giving me my wand?" he asked as though Harry was doing something inconceivable.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, of course I am."

"I could kill you in your sleep."

Harry cocked his head at him, "But why would you?"

"You're not very good at having enemies," Malfoy responded.

"You're not very good at being my enemy," Harry replied. "And honestly? I'm tired of having enemies, so if you want to off me just," he shrugged, "Do it."

Malfoy cautiously reached out and accepted his wand, tension draining from his shoulders the moment he touched it, "Circe, that feels good," he murmured. "I won't," he added, looking up at Harry then. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," Harry replied as he stepped back and headed over to start cleaning up the table.

"You're stranger than I remember."

Harry snorted, "Having an extra soul removed from your body will do that to you."

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment, probably trying to process that weird little tidbit that Harry didn't even always understand. "Do you want help cleaning up?" he finally asked.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head and glancing up at the other man, "Go outside. Enjoy the sun."

Malfoy stared at him for another moment like he couldn't believe this was actually happening before turning and heading out into the sand. Harry watched through the window as Malfoy spread his arms and tilted his head back to the sunlight, a smile on his face. It made him want to cry.

After another moment, he turned and made his way to the writing desk to pen a letter to send to Hermione that she could deliver to Kingsley.

Dear Kingsley, The conditions in which I found Draco Malfoy were so appallingly unacceptable that I deemed it necessary to remove him immediately. I'm sending along my findings on his living conditions in an official report with this letter along with any of the records that I managed to obtain from the unspeakables regarding the illegal activities, bordering on torture, that were performed. I will not be returning him to the unspeakables under any circumstances. Draco Malfoy will remain in my custody until he is granted an official Ministry Pardon. His time served in inhumane living conditions ought to make up for any lack of official punishment. I will also be remaining off the grid until Draco Malfoy has been granted the Ministry's Pardon. We both know that fundraiser season is approaching, so I hope you are able to sort this out as soon as possible so I can return to my work. Helping charitable organizations to function and serve those still suffering is important to me. You may send any correspondence to me via Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Sincerely, Harry Potter

Harry read through the letter once more, making sure he'd been clear enough. Then he attached the letter to the official reports he'd written up and attached it to Mel's leg. She was a lovely parrot and they assured him that she would do just as well as any owl could. "Off you go," he murmured. "Take these to Hermione but be sure to rest on the way, yes?"

She nibbled his finger and he gave her a treat before she flew off.

He glanced out the window at Malfoy who was laying in the sand, soaking up the sun, and hoped that Kingsley would get back to him with a pardon before Malfoy realized that he was just as much a prisoner here as he was in the Department of Mysteries.

---------

Veritaserum Part 1 | Veritaserum Part 3 | Veritaserum Part 4 | Veritaserum Part 5 |

Are you guys interested in reading another part of this fic? Drop me a comment or send me an ask, if you'd like to read more. (or if you'd like to be tagged in the next part.)

I'm tagging anyone who said they wanted to read a part two below!

@gaygirldrarryblog, @londonthunderr, @tardis-221b, @nv-md, @chinike, @somevelvetmorniing, @drarrywritar, @rheya1864

@ellietheslytherin, @wistfulwonders, @textrovert-01, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @april-thelightfury115, @ottersmallpaws, @kittycargo @wheezykat, @missdrarrydawn, @dewitty1, @flightytemptress27, @wunderseltsam, @malicioussheep, @curlyy-hair-dont-care, @moonstruckwitch, @buttered-baguette

#drarry #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #sort of part of the 100 drabbles #drarry ficlet #veritaserum part 2 #drarry drabble #Are you interested in reading another part of this fic?#developing friendship #Veritaserum prompt fic

323 notes · View notes

phantaloon-books · 4 years

Text

Things about Tower of Nero that I want to highlight to remember them forever:

Lu being an absolute badass woman, I just love her too much

Piper McClean being canon wlw, she was actually kissing another girl, we really fell in love in october

Chaos being canonically female (just chaos being mentioned as a deity rather than what's below tartarus)

nobody DIED, like no one on the good side at least?? yes plenty of beings have died throughout TOA, but nobody died in TON?? so many died in TLO and BOO, I expected to mourn someone and I didn't have too??! it made me so happy

solangelo. that's it. solangelo makes me happy.

will being incredibly supportive of nico, and instead of stopping him, going with him on dangerous adventures because he doesn't want to leave him alone. also them treating Nico's PTSD for what it is

WILL SOLACE CANONICALLY GLOWS IN THE DARK. HE'S A GLOWSTICK BABY.

also will just appearing at the gates of the throne room, glowing in rage because someone touched his boyfriend (and tried to kill his dad), and him just marching through everyone (everyone else letting him), just to pick up his hurt precious boyfriend and take care of him.

meg McCaffrey got her happy ending. she's baby, she deserves her family and her happy ending. also Lu being the mother and the 12 children being siblings?? that's one hell of a way to tell nero to fuck off and right his mistakes. we love meg.

dionysus being the best olympian after apollo. the duo content we needed, and now will never get

nico mentioning bob and how he wants to go look for him, because he can still be in tartarus

rachel still being a Total badass and hitting people in the eye with her blue hairbrush thus being iconic

meg acting as lester's anchor and only reason why he didn't let go of the ledge, not falling into chaos, is top tier 'reasons why I cried reading', because if you think about it, Meg is the first ever friend apollo ever had, and them being best friends is everything to me

also apollo choosing to go looking as lester rather than apollo because lester feels like home is on top tier 'reasons why I cried reading' too

again, the only thing apollo did in the end (once he was god again) that could be described as 'godly' was be in several places at once, fly his chariot, and get meg her unicorn

but apollo shooting fucking fire out of his hands is crazy asf, it was so cool. he really got amazing godly powers this book.

rick being bold enough to showcase abusive parenting knowing that a huge porcentage of his readers are minors, helping many realize that they could be in abusive households, and giving them a tool to reach out for help

apollo defeating nero was so satisfactory, because you realize in the end, that nero wasn't really a monster, he was monstrous, but still very much human (if only with some godly power), and pretty useless once he couldn't hide behind props and weapons, his being wasn't powerful, he was just under layers of protection

the jackson/blofis scene was so warm and loving, they really are willing to put their family in danger, baby estelle in danger, to help 'percy's friends' even tho she knew percy didn't like apollo, but she still takes in everyone who needs help, and paul being a loving and accepting husband

sally working on her SECOND novel, she really is having her best life

none of the big heroes from other series having protagonism, besides nico and will, instead giving the other kids from camp halfblood their chance to show they're just as worthy as the "heroes of olympus"

(still I would have loved to see a scene with everyone else, like the heroes of olympus guys, fighting together one last time, just for nostalgia's sake - I legit hoped to see percy and annabeth arriving with chiron in triumvirate tower, but yeah)

the arrow of dodona may have been a dumb, cringey, and slightly ridiculous thing at first, and I personally rolled my eyes everytime it said anything, but it knew what would happen from the start, and without its sacrifice, apollo would have achieved nothing. we stan one arrow

nico wearing a white cowboy hat. idky but it makes my heart swell with joy. he a gay cowboy

y'all know I love Apollo's arch, and I just gotta point this out. his trials, his time as lester, started with him falling to earth, and ended with him getting up after purposely throwing himself off the earth, towards tartarus, almost falling to chaos. that's really clever writing.

the olympians watching over him, and some actually being concerned for him rather than his progress.

poseidon not really giving a fuck about the world or council meetings anymore because percy's not there anymore

athena being the only one apart from artemis who trusted apollo could do it makes me warm fsr

lester deciding that the best way to retell his adventures is by singing is hilarious to me, he really thinks it'll solve everything

Grover not telling percy and annabeth jason died seems so funny to me, he really said "nah it doesn't matter much, field trip, yes"

"hey man" my heart broke in twenty million pieces. like I don't know where I expected to see jason. but that wasn't it. and it hurt me as much as it hurt apollo man.

(also I kinda hoped we would see nico summon his spirit or smth, but I'm actually happy nico realized that jason went by his own choice, and he was in peace, so he decided not to summon him, because it was alright. that hurt too)

kinda love how lester passes out after literally every battle. it reminds you that even tho he's apollo, his body isn't. I'm sure we all would pass out too if we did a quarter of what lester did in the span of 4 days. his body isn't made to endure that, it doesn't even have a halfblood endurance, it's a weak mortal body

the trogs were fucking hilarious. their screeches and grrs, idk there's something ridiculous and so childish about them, it's so fun

really happy that apollo never had a /real/ love interest (reyna doesn't count), cause that wasn't what his story was about. instead he got to make so many friends, and have quality time with them and his children, it's amazing

apollo being thankful people were telling him he'd grown, and was more human, because he realized that was the best thing he could have learned from his time as a mortal

also him saying fuck you man to zeus and his speech, like "no asshole dad, I did learn, I'm not going to see this as punishment, it was a great time in which bad things happened but I enjoyed it." yes, we love apollo not letting zeus win

getting to see what everyone will do now. nico and will figuring out rachel's prophecy, probs saving bob. rachel living her best life away from her parents. leo doing what leo does, always helping those who have no one else. the hunters' open storyline about this fox, possibly hinting at content? piper settling down in a quiet life is what she deserves tbh, she's earned quiet life with a cute gf, wish her the best. Frank and hazel being the best praetors, and I bet they will continue to be so. And annabeth and percy, who chose their happiness over all, at last

kinda wish we got to see someone still really miss jason after apollo becomes god again tho lmao like apollo missed jason more than the others, nico and piper being the exception. I mean, leo is fine and dandy, hazel and frank are okay, percy and annabeth are done mourning... I just we got to see any of them really mourning, rather than reading they mourned. it would have made it feel more emotional

the last conversation and the last words in general. "the sun always comes back" and "we're friends now. call on me. I'll be there for you" that shit got me sobbing my heart out. rick really managed to do right by the books and end it like he should have, unlike BOO. he took what made TLO good and used a similar formula. it's very different from "and for once I didn't look back", but it still fills you with warmth and the feeling that even though it's over, it's okay.

I'm just really emotional, this is all I can think about, but you bet I'm gonna add more when I remember

1K notes · View notes

mattymattymerduck · 3 years

Text

More to Give

Summary: Obi-Wan reflects on all the times you’ve asked him questions he couldn’t answer, and all the sacrifices he made before he knew what they meant.

Warnings: Angst, no resolution (sorry), excessive descriptors (oops)

Word count: 1.4K

A/N: Hi friends! I wrote this little thing to try and practice since I haven’t written in a while, hope you enjoy it!! Doesn’t have much of a plot but hey, who needs it? Would love to get some feedback on it, so please comment!

This wasn't the first time he had seen you, face glowing in the daybreak.

Years before, when he was still young, he liked to watch the sun reflect off the stray strands of your hair. The shine would bounce off the curves of your nose, highlight the arch in your brow. Obi-Wan wasn't much of a romantic, but the sunrise on your face could make him believe in anything.

Back then he would fumble just to have a moment of your attention. Stumbling on words like one of the younglings over their practice sabers. He was so young, watching the world revolve around you and that easy smile on your lips. What he would give to see that smile again.

Love was a word torn from his vernacular. Not in the way most outsiders of the order thought it would be, he loved his masters and his friends and his parents easily, loudly, but the word to explain the weight of his heart when your eyes gleamed escaped him. Maybe it was just that love wasn't a large enough word for him. Maybe he yearned, maybe he hadn't yet known the warmth your attention afforded him. Maybe, he would humour himself, you were two halves of the same whole.

The world played cruel jokes like that though, especially on him. One day he was braiding your hair in the grass, laying on an itchy blanket while your hands traced his jaw, feeling like the rising sun was the greatest of his worries. The next he was on a cool metal bunk, flying off with Qui-Gon to a series of uninterrupted missions. The next time he was in Coruscant long enough to visit the field etched into his brain, the grass had been long dehydrated and overrun with the local fauna. You, of course, were left burnt into his memories like the afterimage of the sun on his retinas.

He could sunbathe all he liked, under the twin suns of Tatooine even, but he would stay cold.

This also wasn't the first time he had heard you, with that voice like a drug channeling through his veins, ask for something more.

More than he was allowed to give.

"How come you only have this one braid?" You'd asked, young and sweet and brash as you'd always been with him. Obi had twisted on the ugly blanket under him to look at the adoration in your eyes while you twirled the section of hair. "Did it look weird when it was growing out?"

"Yes," He snickered, the way he could when he was too young to forget how to, "it's tradition, I guess." and you both shrugged because there were more important things in life - like how that ladybug had yellow wings instead of red.

"Why do you devote yourself to so much violence?" The angles of your face were sharper here, defined with the years between the questions. Your fingers were outlining the bruises and scuffs of his knuckles. Obi thought that your touch was a better medicine than anything Qui-Gon could have given him.

"It's not the violence we're devoted to, we're peacekeepers." But he knew this ignored your point. He just hoped it acknowledged it enough to keep your hand on his.

"Which you keep through violence." You scoff, but there's a softness in it that you save for Obi, and he can see it clear as day.

"Not if I can help it." He nearly grumbles, fighting against his impulse to tell you he's the most diplomatic Jedi you're likely to meet, that the way his lightsaber cuts through training dummies makes his fingers tingle at night. That he can hardly bare to imagine using it against anyone real once he's given the order.

Your hand wraps around his and softly squeezes, and he's back to the itchy blanket and the grass that holds your outlines a bit too well.

He thinks it must count for something, all the times he's lain in this grass, watching clouds graze overhead, closing his eyes and dreaming of the wind as your breath on his skin. He knows it doesn't.

"Don't you think you know yourself better by now?" Your tone is incredulous, not far from what it was when he knew you last. But your eyes have a life in them that he never knew before, something that came since his unannounced absence. It had taken you a handful of spare touches to realize you were still in love with him; it only took Obi one glance to say the same.

"It doesn't matter how well I know myself, the Order will refuse it. They have these rules in place for a reason." He's stern, but not unrelenting. Where his tongue is sharp his eyes are soft, and his brows are curved in a battle between sympathy and austerity. Even he doesn't know what way he wants the scale to lean.

"They have the rules so that your taste of power won't corrupt your morals, you understand how the world changes, how everything is fleeting." You know better than anyone that death will come, he hears it echo but it's never spoken. He draws himself back to the day he left you, to every night afterwards when he chased the dreams of your laughter and wondered if he'd ever really make it back to you. Eventually, he convinced himself he wouldn't. He still wasn't sure if he had, if his body was here but the boy you had once traced every curve of had long been given up to the force.

He was afraid of the words about to spill from his lips. He didn't think the heartbeat in his throat was enough to stop them.

"If I let myself have you I don't know if I could-" He didn't have to finish the sentence, it hung in the air like dense humidity, weighing you both down. You twisted away from him, staring at the reappearing sun, grounding yourself in the cool marble railing supporting you. There was a warm breeze that hardly seemed to touch you, but Obi felt disheveled in the way his hair was being whisked to the side. He hardly entertained the thought that it wasn't the wind's fault.

"It's not supposed to be this hard." It sounds like it should be spiteful, the way it tumbles out of you, but it sounds the way honey does when it drips into tea; dissolving into the space between you, trying to keep its shape but falling apart at the last second. "It's been years Obi, if we aren't allowed to feel this then why won't it go away?"

He can't look at you when your voice cracks, because he feels it in his own throat too. He has no answers. He watches the skyline pull itself away from the silhouette of city buildings as your eyes concentrate on a ladybug climbing up your sleeve.

"We're both doomed to our own destinies, aren't we? How cruel." You say this to the ladybug, interrupting its path with your finger and inspecting it wistfully once it climbs on.

"Perhaps-" His eyes follow the insect along your finger until it flies away. "we haven't reached the end yet. Perhaps there's more for us." It feels like an empty promise before he can finish saying it. He knows nothing will change unless he does, and he knows that the catalyst for that would have to be world-shattering.

"Obi," The sound of it is more heart-wrenching than anything else you've said tonight, meeting your eyes takes all of his energy. Your palm rests against his cheek with so much care he's winded. "the truth hurts, but it's better than your sweet lies."

When he sighs, the heaviness weighing down his lungs doesn't leave with the air. He's careful pulling you in, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

It felt like a goodbye, it might have been. Every touch from Obi-Wan felt like it would be the last.

"I wish that I had more of myself to give to you." He can imagine the sad smile on your lips and fear bites at him, he knows this will haunt him for the rest of his life.

"That makes two of us."

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #obi wan fanfiction #reader insert #second person pov #sw fanfic #kenobi x reader #ewan mcgregor x reader #Ewan McGregor

88 notes · View notes

albaedhoe · 4 years

Text

promise

pairing : venti x gn!reader

summary : many people say promises are meant to be broken, but this one? It has been nurtured and cared for for millennia.

contains venti’s story quest spoilers

Unlike Barbatos, who was only a wisp among the thousand winds at the time, you were a young, lesser-known god. For plot sake, let’s say you’re the god of health. Having similar views and wanting to allow humans to have atleast some form of hope, the two of you became fast friends and stuck together within the confinements of old mondstat.

“Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I promise that I will never even think of leaving you, Barbatos. I, Y/n, God of Health, swear my power and life that I will keep this promise until the day I fall from Celestia.”

“W-Wait- you didn’t have to go that far!”

You were there during the events of the rebellion and fought along side those who were trapped under the rule of Decarabian. You were by the side of Barbatos the moment he had become one of the seven, the god of anemo and later changed his name to Venti.

“You took the form of your friend?”

“I...I don’t want to forget what he looks like.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save him on time, I can tell he meant a lot to you.”

“It’s fine! His sacrifice will never be in vain. Just don’t leave me too, as you promised.”

“As I promised.”

A few hundred years pass and growing tired of responsibilities, it didn’t take long for Venti to garner a need to escape, so he did, but not without taking you with him to the human world. While he took on the role of being a bard who played the lyre for others, you preferred a more stable subtle occupation that actually brings home money, such as being a teacher. This way, you can keep tabs on the younger generations of the people of mondstat without suspicion and to make sure that the city won’t fall into ruin because of the lack of education. After all, if that were to happen, everything the rebellion had fought for would be for nothing.

The grass grows green, leaves wilt off the trees, snow falls from the sky, the flowers start to sprout from the ground. The cycle repeating who knows how many times now. But one thing is for sure, Venti is lost. Mondstat does not need nor has needed of the god of winds for a long time. He comes back late to your shared cottage out in the open plains filled with dewy grass and blooming cecillias. On that night, he asks you a question. “Would... Would you allow me to rest for a few years..?”

Don’t get him wrong, Venti would never think of leaving you purposely. He’s just so tired. Your silence and furrowed eyebrows made his heart sink. He didn’t and couldn’t blame you if you had said no. After all of these millennia, you had kept his promise with undying loyalty and sincerity, and here he is, feeling as though he is selfishly taking advantage of your kindness. You even swore on your life and power!

Hanging his head low in shame, he didn’t notice you walk up to him and wrap his head with your arms, burying his face to one of your shoulders.

“I’m not mad at you, rather, I’m upset to think you see me so highly that you need to ask my permission for something, despite being an Archon.” Lifting his head so you could face him, you cup his cheeks and wipe the tears threatening to spill from his eyes with your thumbs. “I only ask that you allow me to spend these last days with you,” you whisper. “Of course,” he responds.

True to his word, he had spent every waking moment with you. Frolicking in the fields, listening to his singing while you read, braiding his hair, cooking dinner.

“V-Venti! You’re not supposed to add that much sugar!”

“Ehe!”

Until the final day came. The sun was bright and the breeze was gentle. Sat in the middle of a field that stretched out for miles, you were fiddling with a flower crown while venti stares up at your beauty with his head atop your lap. He thought about the years spent with you and treasuring every single memory. He thought about how much he appreciates and loves you. He thought about how much you will miss him, if at all and hopes that you won’t find someone to replace him so soon.

“When I’m gone, don’t go off running to find someone to replace me!”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re dying-”

“Done!” You hold up the finished crown of daffodils and cecillias. Venti chuckles at your antics. Gently placing the flower crown to fit his head, you look proud of your work. Comfortable silence fills the air as the two of you enjoy the atmosphere. Taking your hands to cup his face once again, he leans against your touch. “I will be dreaming of you,” Venti says. Leaning down so that the both of your foreheads were touching, you close your eyes. “I don’t doubt it. I hope you rest well, zephyr.” And with that, Venti dissipates into the breeze, only to be awoken when he is ready. Staring at the clouds above you, you smile gently as the winds made your hair dance and birds fly past your vision. An ache in your chest starts to form, “Oh dear...,” you laugh while your left hand rests above your heart.

The clock struck 12, the latest time Venti had ever been out drinking. He had told you earlier on that day that he had earned quite the tip for his entertainment and since he hadn’t drank in so long, he had asked you if it would be alright to splurge it on Master Diluc’s dandelion wine. Who were you to say no? You’re rather proud of him doing something he enjoyed and being rewarded for it, however, despite being an archon, you couldn’t help but worry that in his delusioned state, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he were to bump into the wrong crowd.

Slipping on a thick coat, you discreetly transport to an alleyway near Angel Share. Since it was a Friday night, opening hours are much later than other days of the week so no wonder the lights were still on and playful banter could be heard inside. Opening the door, the shouting only got louder. First thing you saw was the owner of the bar, Diluc, looking quite amazed and curious at something, or rather, someone.

“Good Evening, Master Diluc. Would you happen to know if a certain bard is here?”

“Good Evening. He’s actually right infront of you.”

Confused, you looked down at your feet. And low and behold, Venti was sprawled on the floor, cheeks flushed, hat crooked and he was muttering nonsense, you deadpan. Looking back up at Diluc, you reach to grab mora from your pocket.

“How much did he drink this time?”

“Around 37 glasses.”

You honestly weren’t surprised at this point. As you were about to hand over the money, Diluc stops you. “It’s fine, honestly. Watching you have to drag him back to your home builds enough pity in me to spare him the bill.” Waving goodbye and a quick thank you at the young bachelor, you silently think to yourself, ‘Your descendants have the same heart as you, don’t they, Vanessa?’ Slinging Venti’s arm around your other shoulder, you hoist him to his feet.

“For a guy that took form of a young boy that was practically skin and bones, you sure are heavy.” Teleporting to your shared abode, you shuffle to the bedroom. Forcing him to sit on the bed so you could at least change him into more comfortable clothing. “I kneeewww *hic* you’d come for meee *hic* Y/n!” Venti bellows out, arms wiggling as if to set himself free from your touch.

“I’ll drop you.” You threaten, but your hold on him so that he sits up only tightened more. Loosening his corset and unbuttoning his top, you make him put on a casual tunic. “You looooove me too much!*hic*” Not bothering with the bottom half of him, you tuck Venti underneath the covers. Slipping under the blankets with him, you interlock fingers and have eachother. Although his breath stank with alcohol, you couldn’t really care less.

“Thank you for not leaving me after all of these millennia and despite the things you go through just to be with me...” Venti whispers, eyes closed as sleep nearly takes him. Smiling softly, you joined foreheads with him. “I promised to never leave you, Zephyr, remember?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #venti #venti x reader #x reader

334 notes · View notes

greatworldwar2 · 3 years

Text

• Arthur Chin (CNAF U.S Ace)

Arthur Tien Chin; Cantonese: Chan Sui-Tin; was a pilot from the United States who participated in the Second Sino-Japanese War. Chin was compelled to defend his father's homeland when Japan invaded China. Chin is recognized as the United States' first flying ace in World War II.

Chin was born in Portland, Oregon on October 23rd, 1913 to Fon Chin, who was from Taishan, China, and Eva Wong, who may have been of Peruvian background. Motivated by the Japanese invasion of China, Chin enrolled in flight school (at the Chinese Flying Club of Portland) in 1932, and along with 13 other Chinese Americans including John "Buffalo" Huang Xinrui and Hazel Ying Lee. He left for China and joined the Canton Provincial Air Force under General Chen Jitang as the first and original group of American volunteer combat aviators, and from there was sent to additional aerial-gunnery training with the Luftwaffe at Lagerlechfeld, Germany; returning to China to see the Guangdong Provincial Air Force integrated into the central government's air force under the KMT.

The Japanese Empire was on the march in Asia, and its annexation of Manchuria in 1932 simply confirmed the suspicions of many about Japan’s designs on China. Determined to save their ancestral homeland and buoyed by the best wishes of their neighbors and friends, Chin and eleven other young Chinese-Americans set forth in 1933 to volunteer to fly for the Chinese Air Force. They ran into a brick wall, figuratively speaking. Unfortunately, the central government was not interested in their services. Although details aren’t available, it seems likely that this was a case of the bureaucracy facing a situation without precedent or instructions and being unwilling to make a decision. Although China was seeking help from abroad it hadn’t solicited this particular assistance from these particular people. Added to this was their status as Overseas Chinese, which, to many, implied suspicious links to foreign powers. Japan was just one of several forces vying for power in China at that time. The 1911 Revolution that signaled the end of the Qing Dynasty had not led to the firm establishment of a successor regime and, despite high hopes for Sun Yat-sen’s Republic, China had fragmented into a patchwork of chiefdoms headed by warlords. By 1930, Sun’s party, the Kuomintang (KMT by then under Chiang Kai-shek) had suppressed most of these warlords and established a central government widely recognized internationally, but many provinces offered only token allegiance and groups such as Mao Tse-tung’s Communists still remained to be dealt with. Oddly, this situation gave Chin and most of his colleagues a “back door” into the air force. By the early ’30s there had been something on the order of sixteen separate air forces in China, ranging in size from one or two airplanes to a nominal strength of several hundred.

Perhaps because of their Cantonese ancestry, most of the Americans who were finally accepted started out flying for the Canton Air Corps of Guangdong. This was the largest and best-equipped of the provincial air arms, serving as “top cover” for Chen Chidang, the de-facto warlord of Guangdong. Art was one of these, being accepted as a Warrant Probationary Pilot on December 1st, 1933. In stark contrast to the pilots of the later American Volunteer Group (that was formed eight years later and existed for less than one year), who were paid $500 a month, their pay was equivalent to $25 US per month. Chin “enlisted” in the national air force during the summer of 1936. In a bid for power, Chen Chidang revolted against Chiang Kai-shek that May. Perhaps motivated by the sense that China needed unity in order to face the threat from Japan, in June and July of 1936 the Canton Air Corps defected as a group to the central (KMT) air force (the role in this of American pilots such as Chin is not clear, but they don’t appear to have been the instigators). This was more than simply a shuffle of allegiances: Cantonese pilots actually flew all of their planes to KMT airfields. At a stroke the national air force was substantially augmented, and, as might be expected, the revolt fizzled. After being sent to Germany for advanced training, Chin flew as a flight leader with the 6th Squadron and then from February until June, 1937, as an instructor. That month he was assigned to the 28th Pursuit Squadron, 5th Pursuit Group, as Vice Squadron Commander under another American, Captain Chan Kee-Wong.

Life in China wasn’t all preparation for war. Handsome and outgoing, Art sported a classically pencil-thin mustache and smoked a pipe. Reputedly one of his few social impediments was speaking Cantonese with a pronounced American accent, but he had enough charm to overcome that. He developed a reputation as something of a ladies’ man, one that would follow him the rest of his life. Nevertheless, about this time he met and married a Sumatra-born ethnic Chinese named Eva Wu (Ng Yue-ying in Cantonese). Meanwhile, friction with Japan’s Kwantung Army escalated into open war on July 7th, 1937. On August 10th the 17th and 28th Pursuit Squadrons were stationed at Chuyung Airfield near Nanking, capital of the central government. The 17th was commanded by still another American, John Wong, and was equipped with the export version of the Boeing P-26 “Peashooter,” the Boeing 281. Although it was an all-metal monoplane, the P-26/Model 281 was a transitional design and retained many old-fashioned features. On August 13th Japanese forces attacked Shanghai and began their drive inland to the capital. Chin made his first kill, a Mitsubishi G3M2 twin-engine bomber, on August 16. It was a difficult combat for him for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that his fighter wasn’t much faster than the bomber. Chin recalled that once he was in firing position he was virtually a stationary target for the bomber’s gunners. This combat highlights the rapid pace of aeronautical development during the 1930s. The 28th PS detached a flight to defend the Shaokwan Aircraft Factory in Canton Province, and Chin was selected to command it. On September 27th, 1937 his flight and one from the 29th (they being mounted on retractable-gear Hawk III’s) intercepted three G3M2s. Chin didn’t claim a kill, but Japanese records show that one bomber was forced to ditch on the way back to its base and evidence suggests that he was responsible for the major part of its damage. The following month China obtained 36 Gladiator Mk. I’s from Britain. The 17th, 28th, and 29th Pursuit Squadrons were re-equipped with this type and worked up on it during January and February, 1938. Chin went on to score most of his kills while flying this type of aircraft, but on the flip side crashed three of them. The only loss that can be chalked up as an accident occurred on February 9th, 1938. While leading a flight to Nanchang he ran into a snowstorm. In June Chin was appointed to command the 28th squadron and promoted to Captain.

On August 3rd, Chin is reported to have engaged three Japanese Mitsubishi A5M fighters by himself. Chin “deliberately rammed the Jap leader as he came in for the kill. Both planes burst into flame but Art hit the silk safely. He was wounded and slightly burned, yet when we found him he was directing the salvage of the precious machine guns from his wrecked plane.” Although exaggerated somewhat, the basic outline of this story appears to be accurate. In October, 1938, the surviving Gladiators were withdrawn for overhaul and the 28th Pursuit re-equipped with still another biplane, the Russian Polikarpov I-15Bis (or I-152). Decimated by accidents and enemy action, the Chinese air force had declined to a fraction of its former strength despite an infusion of Russian aircraft and reinforcement by Russian “volunteers” that had begun as early as the autumn of 1937. On December 20th, 1938, Chin was appointed Deputy Commander of the 3rd Pursuit Group.xxvii It appears that, like the rest of his comrades in the 28th, Chin qualified in the Russian fighters but he didn’t claim any victories while flying them. On November 2nd, 1939, Chin and a wingman attacked a Mitsubishi Ki-15 reconnaissance aircraft because of its speed considered by the Japanese to be virtually immune to interception by Chinese fighters but didn’t down it. Chin combat career ended in a suitably climactic fashion on December 27th, 1939. On this date he led a mixed formation consisting of an I-15Bis and another Gladiator escorting three Russian-flown SB bombers on a raid against the Japanese Army in the vicinity of the Kunlun Pass. After a savage fight during which Chin's flight fell one by one but appear to have shot down two Japanese fighters and damaged a third in return (personal credit for the kills is not certain), Chin’s Gladiator was hit in the fuel tank and caught fire. He nursed his flying inferno back over Chinese lines and bailed out, but was terribly burned. The sacrifice was not in vain; all three bombers got through. After the bloody fight, KMT forces regained Kunlun Pass. While recovering from his burns Chin stayed with his family in a small house on Liuchow Airfield and was nursed by Eva. Unfortunately, only two days after Art’s return, the airfield came under attack by Japanese bombers. Eva took the children to the air-raid shelter first and went back for Chin, who was virtually immobilized by the bandages. Too late to run, Eva threw herself on top of Chin and was killed by shrapnel when the next explosion destroyed the house. During an interview many years later Chin said simply “I held her dead body to mine until help came.”

Hong Kong, then a British colony, was neutral at that time. Chin and his children were evacuated there where, in seven operations over two years, doctors at the Hong Kong Sanitarium in Happy Valley tried to repair the damage to his face and hands. In the chaos following the Japanese attack on December 8th, 1941, (still swathed in bandages) Chin got out of his hospital bed, tracked down his boys whose caregivers had either abandoned them or been killed – and managed to escape back across enemy lines to friendly territory. Finally, friends such as Chennault and Madame Chiang Kai-Shek (Soong Mei-Ling, wife of the Nationalist Chinese Generalissimo) persuaded Chin to return to the States for treatment. As commanding officer of the “1st American Volunteer Group,” Chennault drafted a letter dated June 10th, 1942, requesting US air transportation for Chin. At a hospital in New York, Chin suffered a series of twenty operations over a period of twenty months to rebuild his face and hands, leaving him heavily scarred but reasonably whole. Clearly, Chin had “done his bit” and no one could blame him if he had decided to rest on his laurels, retire to a quieter line of work, and hide his scarred face from the world, but that wasn’t Chin's desire. He spoke at war bond rallies and on radio broadcasts with such celebrities as movie star George Raft. A particularly notable event was the “Gung Ho” War Bond rally in New York, which was sponsored by Chinese-American community and attended by dignitaries including Mayor LaGuardia. Finally in 1945, Chin returned to duty as a transport pilot with the China National Aviation Corporation (CNAC). He qualified for a Second class medical on March 28th, 1945.

During the final stage of China-Japanese war, he flew supplies over the “Hump” route through the Himalayas from India into China. This was not soft duty. A former commander of USAAF portion of the airlift, Lt. Gen. William Tunner, later wrote that “flying the Hump was considered as hazardous as flying a combat mission over Germany.” At the end of the war Art stayed on in China to fly with CNAC, by then as a fully qualified airline captain. Captain Chin was certified as an Authorized Check Pilot for the airline on October 15th, 1947. In 1949 Art returned to Oregon. He seems to have sought work as a pilot, as suggested by his getting a second-class commercial medical on September 20th, 1950, but was apparently unsuccessful. He did land a job with the postal service, and worked there until retirement. Not long before his death Chin was asked by a newspaper reporter why he had gone. His response was “China called me.” Chin is recognized as America's first ace in World War II. A half-century after the war ended, the U.S. government recognized Chin as an American veteran by awarding him the Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal. About a month after Chin died, on October 4th, 1997, he was inducted into the Hall of Fame of the American Airpower Heritage Museum in Midland, Texas as the first American ace of World War II. Chin died on September 3rd in 1997, he was 83 years old.

#second world war #world war ii #world war 2 #biography #military history #history #aviation #u.s history #chinese history #asian heritage month #Chinese air force #wwii #long post #u.s aces #airforce history

91 notes · View notes

lambourngb · 3 years

Text

day 1 who do you think you are - character recs

Creator’s Week 2021 for @roswellnewmexicocreate - Day 1 : Character Recs

This is my favorite fandom event, and my third year doing it. The last year was really difficult, and fanfic more than ever was my escape from it. Shout out to all the writers, commenters, and lurkers who kept fandom going during it.

Rosa Ortecho:

heal it or break it all apart by @adiwriting : (7,600) All Rosa’s ever done is break things. Her entire life she’s destroyed everything she’s ever touched. So it’s really no surprise when she comes back that her powers do the same. Alternatively- 4 times somebody tries to get Rosa to seek help with her powers and one time she decides to help herself. GEN

why i like it: I pretty much love whatever Britt writes, but in the light of how season 3 is going, I found myself returning to this fic more than a few times. She really captures the fierce but vulnerable Rosa in this beautifully.

Kyle Valenti:

at every occasion i’ll be ready for a funeral by @bydayornight (1,330) Kyle goes on a vacation after the events of 3x04 and meets an unlikely beach companion. GEN

why i like it: Christine has become one of my new favorite writers, and has been a season 3 coda writing machine. Here is where we all would like Kyle to be - lounging on a beach without a care in the world (with that RNM twist! lol) She also does a brilliant job with the Kyle and Michael vibes here.

Maria Deluca:

Butter(bar)flies by @andrea-lyn (4,447) When all of Maria’s people fly away for new opportunities, she needs to find new ones. The lost decade and what should have been. MILUCA

why i like it: Manda has written some of my favorite stories, and even has dragged me into Ted Lasso, but this little lost decade AU is one of my favorites. She captures the flirty vibe of season 1 Michael/Maria, and inserts it into a time when it really makes sense to me for that a friends-with-benefits-relationship should have begun, to give weight to a choice for Michael. Maria is wonderfully characterized here, and it really makes it clear how a real love triangle should have been structured.

Liz Ortecho:

heart of lightning (a roswellian tale) by @bitch-ass-aliens (20,095) When Ser Elizabeth Ortecho of the Roswellian Court is sent by Queen Isobel to retrieve the heart of the missing King Maxwell from a fearsome lightning dragon guarding it, she knows success could bring her one step closer to completing a quest of her own. Ten years ago, a mage named Ophiuchus curse her sister with eternal slumber, and Liz has been searching for him ever since. Saving the king could be the key to learning Ophiuchus's true identity and saving Rosa. But the dragon is not what it appears to be. Soon Liz finds herself needing to guard her heart from feelings forgotten long ago as she and her friends journey back to Roswell, King Max by their side, with more than just the fate of Rosa hanging in the balance. For Ophiuchus's plans are bigger and more dangerous than any of them realize. ECHO

why i like it: This was part of the RNM Big Bang last year and as a fellow participant, I did my best to read and feedback the other submissions, which meant reading something that wasn’t Malex 😂🤯 - suz made it easy, writing a beautifully detailed medieval AU that retold the story of Rosa, Noah, and Max’s S1 sacrifice, through the amazing POV of Ser Liz. This story had everything I love about Liz- her devotion to her family, her bravery in doing hard things, and her love for Max.

Max Evans:

highway to the sun by @angsty-nerd (22,236) Noah’s heart is failing, and Max is on the verge of death. His final wish is to see Liz one last time, so he and Michael road trip to Los Angeles so that Max can say his goodbyes. ECHO

why i like it: Another part of the 2020 RNM Big Bang - Instead of a focus on Liz in this Echo story, we’re deep in the psyche of Max Evans, who is trying to tie up loose ends before he dies. I love the atmosphere of the road trip, the sadness of the clock that Max is trying to run out, and the whole Michael/Max brotherly bond in this story. It’s got all the sweet elements of some of my favorite romantic dramas - like “Beaches” or “Dying Young”, but mixed with the sci fi of RNM. Even though it was written pre-season 3, I really love how it ties up season 2 here.

Alex Manes:

i’m just like my mother, we both love to run @meneatyoghurt (5,211) After what his dad does, he runs and runs and runs. A look at Alex's relationship with running, from track and field to leaving Roswell. MALEX IMPLIED

why i like it: Alex is one of my favorite characters on RNM, mostly because of how hard he tries in spite of his flaws. I love a good story that focuses on why it’s a struggle for Alex to be present, and doesn’t shy away from the fallout of his actions. This is a gorgeous look into Alex and his tendency to run to feel safe, and how that affects his relationships, and why he wants to stop. I just have a lot of feelings about Alex, especially after reading this.

Michael Guerin :

looking for yourself out there by @haloud (6,670) It’s early; it’s a weeknight. Michael can only be here to get blasted or for Marco himself, and both of them know it.It’s been a while since this was a game, for Michael. The flirting he did with Maria was something else, a class all her own. Sex, and the lead up to sex, for the longest time was either life-or-death or it was a helpless, hopeless lashing out for any human contact. (It was either Alex, or it was Maria, or it wasn’t.)So this is nice. MICHAEL/OTHER

why i like it: I privately think hal understands Michael Guerin like no other, and their fic is just a delight for anyone who wants to look under that macho cowboy exterior to see him. One of the things we both agree on as Michael Guerin fans, is that Alex is not the male exception for Michael. And while the show will probably never deliver a Michael/OMC storyline like they have with Max/Jenna, Isobel/Blair, Liz/Heath, Alex/Forrest - that’s what fanfic is for and this story is so satisfiying. If you don’t come away from this story loving Marco and wishing he was real... I don’t know what to tell you. I was so inspired by it, I wrote my own Michael/OMC story.

Isobel Evans:

future starts slow by @foramomentonly (4,799) The bartop is sticky, but Maria's skin is clean and soft.This is how it starts. Brushes of fingers as Maria passes over a glass of wine; her cool, dry hand cupping Isobel's wrist as she reads her palm; Isobel's fingertips pressed to Maria's temples, wisps of curls caught around her knuckles as they practice combining their powers. MARIBEL

why i like it: It’s just facts that Maria and Isobel have incredible chemistry, their banter is off the charts, and I love this sexy story of Isobel approaching Maria for more after they’ve been circling each other for a while. It’s a gorgeous look at two strong women who very rarely let down their guards, but for each other, they do. The sex is really hot, but I think what lingers most with me is how this story rewards the swan dive of hope, Isobel after a lifetime of “being who she should be” becomes who she wants to be, a woman who loves fiercely but not destructively. Of course, Maria is no wilting flower here, which makes it all the sweeter.

If you like any of these recs, please leave a comment on the story- a ‘this was awesome’ is enough to propell an author into the stratosphere with happiness, so don’t worry about coming up with a unique, never before shared insight- sometimes a keyboard smash and emogi makes all the difference!

#rnmcreate21 #character recs day 1 #maribel #rnm-echo #gen recs #fanfic recs #roswell new mexico #RNM

41 notes · View notes

windup-dragoon · 3 years

Text

Prelude

|| FFXIV Write - 2021 || Prompt #2 - Aberrant - departing from an accepted standard || Stormblood | Dragoon Quest || Word Count -1069 || Estinien & Kiri

How do you change yourself after war?

She is a dragoon but no longer the kind Ishgard cultivated. When she looks upon the face of a dragon, so ferocious and lined with teeth, she sees a friend. An ally. A mentor. She sees the intelligence gleaming in their eyes and the soul that fills their booming voice as they laugh and sing. No longer would her spear be used to gut and maim them, but to stand beside them. To protect those that she loved.

Kiri found herself scrubbing away exhaustion from her eyes that evening, listening to the gentle fire chewing at it’s given tinder. They had spent the better half of an afternoon finding a place to settle down for the night, arguing as they collected armfuls of firewood for their makeshift camp. Only after fishing for their dinner and grilling it in the flames did their lances clatter noisily against one another. And now, as the heavens sparkled with an array of diamonds, she felt her weariness kick in.

“You should sleep.” The low rumble of a voice made her perk, casting a single look to the man beside her.

Estinien, using a leftover skewer as a toothpick, stared aimlessly at the rising flames.

The woman stifled a yawn and shook her head. “Why does everythin’ out of yer mouth sound so barbed?”

“It was a suggestion.”

“Say it nicely.”

“Tch.”

Together they sat, shoulder to shoulder on the beaches of the Ruby Sea. After a jaunt through the Azim Steppe, followed closely by Orn Khai to reunite family, the two dragoons found with much to discuss. The Dragon Song war had ended. A prelude had now begun in Ishgard; the start of a new lifetime. But what of the dragoons made for war? She and Estinien, now obsolete tools of an era past.

Crickets filled the rising silence, the far off waves lapping at shore nearly a lullaby.

“You spoke earlier of ending your career as a Dragoon,” Estinien began in a soft voice, “But have since decided against it. Why?”

Kiri tilted her head, curiously reading the somber expression forever imprinted on the mans face. For a second his stony eyes met her mismatched gaze.

It was true that there was a time not so long ago that she had nearly quit the lance entirely. She found herself trying new concepts; taking up chakrams and twirling about the battlefield was by far the strangest experience to date. But little else compared to the extension that a polearm gives you. The body learns to counterbalance the weight with every movement, the muscles in her legs a loaded spring ready to lunge forward.

“I nearly died.”

Estinien spat out his makeshift toothpick, startled by the nonchalant tone in which she spoke of such things. “You what?”

On any other given day she would scold him, tease him for having wax in his ears or simply deciding to ignore her. But tonight wasn’t made for that. Estinien had posed a daunting question to her, one that he may have been battling with himself even after the war had ended. The idea of living with yourself after the atrocities you’ve committed with false belief. Where she had come in as an outsider to a war that was not her own, Estinien had been born into it. Every day he had to endure, had to change himself to survive. Lest the hatred in the depths of his mind cannibalize him.

Patient hands began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She could feel his eyes on her just the same as the sea breeze against her exposed flesh. When angry crimson markings became visible just above her right breast she stopped. The injury was still in a state of healing, raw and open. It dropped low, descending down out of sight.

Estinien extended a hand but faltered.

“My indecision almost cost me the very air in my lungs.”

The fight with Zenos at Rhalgars Reach had left her ego broken and her body scarred. Would she had faced the Garlean prince in her trained and respected Dragoon form, she may have saved herself some bandages and cracked ribs. But the weight the name carried now, it left a bitter taste.

“Every time I looked at my lance or armor, I thought of them. How many dragons had been silenced by this instrument of war? I saw the Heavensward believing in their just cause; how all of Ishgard simply accepted the sacrifices of their children, sending them off to a war no one could understand. And I thought of Orn Khai, a child no different than any of us.”

The frustration she felt, even now, swelled in her chest and burned at her cheeks. The rage of Nidhogg… Was it truly so hard to understand? The emptiness Hraevelgr must have endured. The thought of Ysayle, smiling with a glimmer in her eyes akin to sun on ice.

“I couldn’t even hold my lance without shakin’.”

Beside her Estinien adjusted himself, leaning ever a whisper closer. She began to redress herself.

“But after this, and even traveling across the world to end up here, I kept thinkin’ about somethin’.” Her mismatched eyes looked up to the man now, meeting his curious eyes with a light smile. “Dragoon armor is designed ta’ look like a dragon, yea? Scales, claws, helms that have a dragon snout. Some even have tails. So I thought ta’ myself… Why relate all that to killing dragons when it’s more like wanting to be a dragon? We want to be strong like them, to be seen as fierce and cunning. A dragoon admires their strengths and adapts them into our own techniques.”

Far away crickets began to chirp.

Estinien, blowing out a gusty sigh, combed a hand through his silver hair. “You’ve decided to idolize them then?”

“I’ll be their number one fan if they’ll let me.” Kiri winked with a lopsided grin. “Think of the possibilities, mate! The things they could teach us! Maybe someday we’ll even design wings on our armor and fly ‘round like them.”

Soon the Elezen had his head in his hands, stifling an urge to laugh. “Orn Khai would be amused.”

“We could race!”

While Kiri bubbled with chuckles, Estinien reached a hand over and pulled her close. A half hearted embrace that left her speechless when his lips brushed a kiss into her own moonlight silver hair.

“Idiot.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv writing #ffxivwrite 2021 #ffxiv #kirishimi #kiri x estinien ??#estinien wyrmblood #hahahahaha this is bad #lmao #but I've been meaning to write this scene for a while

29 notes · View notes

sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

sacrifice | din djarin x reader

stranded in the tatooine desert, din and his crewmember (lover? girlfriend?) must make the long, impossible journey back to mos espa on foot.

---

4.2k words

mentions: near-death experiences, severe sunburn, sever dehydration, emotional conversations with a loved one, reader and din are not doing well at all, lots of talking about sand and the desert, minor medical procedures (kind of??)

this is part 4 of my valentine’s week special! you can see all the other parts here!

---

The deserts of Tatooine are legendary, the sandy dunes and rocky canyons teeming with tales and myths. The Tuskens are a spectacle all their own, with their banthas and covered bodies, and there’s not one person on this planet that hasn’t had the displeasure of doing business with a Jawa. Countless greats have passed through this planet’s cities, negotiating deals and perpetrating plots that will have an affect on the galaxy for years to come.

To you, though, Tatooine is not some great, propped up location from a fairytale. No, this place is your home, or was your home until you made the decision to leave. You were born here, and now you will die here, sucking in the same hot, dry air you breathed on your first day of life as you take your final breath.

Din had promised that it would be a quick mission, in and out. Mando lets you call him that now, lets you call him by his first name. He whispered it to you just a few days ago, revealing this piece of his identity in the darkness of the Crest’s hull. What you wouldn’t give to be there now, cool and fed and sprawled out naked beside him…

Din had said it would be a quick mission, that’s what he said. Just you and him on a pair of speeders out in the desserts, in and out and easy. He needed you to watch his back, wanted you to do surveillance from up high— that’s why you came in the first place. Peli said she’d keep the baby, she was thrilled to have him for a day or two, and so it wasn’t a problem—

The baby, oh Maker… Who’s going to take care of the baby?

Things didn’t go to plan once you left the city, not at all. One speeder went dead halfway to Din’s coordinates, and so you the two of you were left with one vehicle. You made it alright, though your time was worse with both of you weighing down the machine.

It was hot out there, so hot, but you knew it would be that way. You had water in your pack, and some food, and you’d be fine. It was only supposed to be a day or two, right? And the suns would set eventually, and then you might even be cold...

Din made you perch high up on some rock, and you watched for hours through the binocs looking for the quarries. Two spice smugglers, that’s who Din’d been tasked with finding, and they were supposed to be stupid, too— that’s what Greef had said. “These two clowns are idiots.”

The two smugglers did come, and they were idiots as promised, but their friend was not. The third man found your lookout spot somehow, and he snuck up on you. Din was down in the sand, and before he had time to fly up and stop him, the man had already cut your side. It was meant to be a stab, but you avoided that, thank the stars. Even still, the wound was no minor scrape, and you panicked when you saw just how much blood was coming out of you.

Being who he is, it didn’t take Din long to subdue your attacker and the two quarries. He propped their bodies in a cave and said he’d come back for them with the ship later on, and you thought that was a fine idea at the time.

A bad feeling set in when you saw what had been done to you and Din’s singular speeder. One of the smugglers had disabled it while Din was busy murdering the man that hurt you, and now it lay useless in the sand. The crew of criminals had been riding on some kind of pack animals when the violence broke out, and all the commotion sent the three of them off in all directions. Din’s jetpack seemed like a viable option, but the instant he tried to pick you up, you screamed in pain. There was no way for him to hold you that didn’t hurt you terribly, and it’s not like you could latch onto his back. After that conversation, it took you and Din about five seconds to realize that you were fucked. And then… And then it was time to start walking.

The first day wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t good either. The rationing of water began almost immediately, and you worried every time Din declined his share.

“You need it more,” he had said to you, “you’re hurt.”

And you were hurt. Your side smarted all the time, and the heat of the sun caked your own fluids to your skin. The bleeding did eventually stop, but the pain never subsided, and it wasn’t long before you were trailing behind.

When the suns set, it was time to stop walking and start shivering. Din made a small fire, and you did have an extra shirt, but none of it was enough with the damage you’d sustained earlier in the day. Sleep did come, but it was fitful, and you’re not sure Din so much as closed his eyes that night.

The heat came back with the dawn, and after several hours, it was all you could do to keep moving. Thirst burned your throat, and the dull ache of hunger twisted your insides. Din acted like he was fine, but you saw it. You saw the change in his gait, saw how his head drooped from time to time under the weight of exhaustion.

That second night, you insisted Din sleep while you took watch. It as hard to stay awake, and even harder to focus on looking for threats, but you did it anyway. You’d known many people who got lost in the dunes, heard more stories than you could count of what happens when you perish out in the sand. And as you sat there staring into the distance, you marveled at the idea that you yourself would soon come to experience these things yourself.

This will be your third day of walking, walking and walking and walking… You and Din have been making your way across the desert for hours now, and you’re growing more tired than you’ve ever been in your life. Gone is the ache in your stomach, gone is the burn in your throat— all you want now is rest, rest and reprieve from the sun’s relentless rays. Yesterday, you took to imagining yourself anywhere but here— tropical locations, the icy surface of Hoth, a planet where fresh, drinkable water fills every pond and lake and river— now, though, all you picture is rest. Oh, if you could just rest…

It takes you a long time to realize that you’ve fallen, longer than it should. You’re face down on the ground, sand filling your mouth, your nose… The granules aggravate the sunburn you’ve developed after days and days exposed to the elements, though you hardly even feel the sting as you lie there. It’s so good to stop walking, so good to close your eyes…

“Stay awake, cyar’ika. You can’t go to sleep, not right now.”

Din’s voice rouses you, it makes you pay attention again. He’s picking you up, he’s holding you in his arms—

“I don’t want to walk anymore, Din,” you say, voice cracked and broken. Once again, you think of water, but the thought is fleeting at best.

“You don’t have to,” he says at once. “I’ll carry you. We just have to get back, mesh’la, and then we’ll be okay.”

In some deep recess of your mind, you decide that Din’s saying this to comfort himself as well as you.

“You’ll get back to Mos Espa,” you croak, shaking your head. “This is— I’m not going to make it.”

“Yes, you are, cyar’ika, don’t talk like that.” Din spits the words out as if you’ve insulted him, half offended and half terrified and entirely unlike himself. Some small part of you wants to laugh— you’ve always wanted him to be freer with his emotions, and all it took was being marooned in the desert to get him to do it.

“You have to leave me, Din,” you insist, wriggling in his arms, trying to make him drop you. But Din holds fast, clamping down on your body like you’re all that tethers him to this world. And maybe you are, at this point. “I’m slowing you down. If neither of us gets back, we’ll— The baby, Din, the baby. You have to go back for the baby. You’re all he has, he’ll… he’ll…”

You want to cry, but your body has no tears to offer you. Through the fog in your mind, you picture the Child playing with Peli and her droids, waiting patiently for you and his father to return. The thought of how he’ll feel when the both of you never do is almost too much to bear, and you redouble your efforts, pleading.

“Leave me, Din, leave me here so you can go on. I’ve been slowing you down since the start, and now— The Child needs you. I’m not important, Din, but you’re his father. Just put me down and let me—”

“Stop talking,” Din cuts, exhaustion and frustration warping his broken voice. “Save you energy, mesh’la, we’re almost there.”

Except you aren’t, and you know that. But even still, you do as Din says, too tired to argue with him any further.

There is more walking, and more feeling the sun on your face, and then your eyes are slipping closed. Far off in the distance, Din is telling you to look at him, to stay awake but you just can’t anymore. It’s so hot, and you just want to sleep…

The last thing you see before you fall unconscious is the sun, bright and blinding and all-consuming above you.

---

No one is more surprised than you when you open your eyes again.

Beige is all you see in front of you, beige like the color of the dunes. For one fleeting moment, you think you’ve died, that this is all there is for someone who’s succumb to the desert— the sand has swallowed you whole, and now you’ll lie here under it for all of eternity. But then everything comes into focus, and the fog lifts from your mind. Sand dunes aren’t held up by supports, and they certainly don’t billow in the breeze.

A tent, you say to yourself, dizzy as you try to sit up, I’m in a tent.

Someone’s attended to your wound, bandages and dressings where dirt and blood should be on your side. It still smarts when you try to stand, but you find yourself stronger overall. Somehow, someway, you’ve been revived, and even your sunburn doesn’t seem as bad as you know that it should be when you reach up to touch your face.

Carpets keep the sand off, three or four strewn on the ground in a patchwork. You’ve been laid out to rest on some sort of makeshift bed as well, nothing more than couple of pads and a blanket under your back, and not for the first time do you wonder where you are. Not for the first time do you wonder where Din is…

Heat envelopes you the second you pull back the flaps of the tent, but the temperature isn’t as high as it was when you collapsed. Sure enough, one look at the horizon tells you that it’s sunset, the sky purple-orange-pink as Tatoonie’s twin suns sink down further and further.

All around you are tents just like the one you emerged from, simple, beige structures made of coarse, thick fabric. You begin weaving your way through the complex, too afraid to cry out and ask for help. In any case, you’re not sure it would help, for you feel eerily alone, almost like everything around you is empty. That’s why it’s such a shock when someone jerks on your arm, the action catching you so off-guard that you cry out.

Cold fear is all you feel when you come to face the man that grabbed you, the dark eyes of his mask almost boring into you as he shouts and kicks up a fuss. You wait to be hurt, wait to be struck down and murdered, for you know how the Tuskens feel about outsiders, but the violence never comes. No, the man is actually leading you further into the camp, pulling on your arm, gesturing to more tents and beyond. The sounds he makes mean nothing to you, but if you could understand, you’re sure you’d hear, “Come with me, come on!”

And what else can you do except follow the Raider? What other choice do you have? He leads you past three or four more dwellings, and then the two of you stand before a larger, grander tent, one that makes the others look almost tiny. The Tusken calls out to whoever’s inside before you can so much as catch your breath, and then you’re being jerked through the flaps without a word of warning.

The first thing you see is fire, the smoke from the little blaze escaping out of an opening in the top of a tent. Small lanterns light the space inside, everything bathed in a warm, orange glow. There are carpets on the ground just like in your tent, layers and layers of them keeping the sand off everyone inside. Several Tuskens sit around the fire, but you barely see them after you notice the way the light glints off someone else.

When you told Din to leave you, you meant it. The baby couldn’t be orphaned a second time, and the idea of both of you dying under the sun didn’t bear thinking about. But to know that he didn’t abandon you, that he really was going to carry you back to the city…

All conversation ceases the second Din gets up from the ground, and then it’s like the two of you are the only people in the whole fucking desert. He asks you if you’re alright, one hand on the side of your head as he murmurs through the modulator. You say yes and ask him the same thing, worried something happened after you went out of commission. He’s all armored and covered, face concealed like it has been since the moment you met him, and yet still you worry. You worry he fell down like you did, worry that he’s been sick from not eating and drinking. But if Din did collapse or become incapacitated for a period of time, none of it’s had any lasting effects. He tells you that he’s eaten and drunk plenty since the Tuskens saved both of you, urging you to stop fussing and come sit with him beside the fire.

Only when Din turns around do you remember that you have an audience, and you feel all eyes on you walk around the pit in the center of the room. You feel vulnerable before your hosts, keenly aware of the fact that you stand before them with your face and hair and hands bare. Thankfully, you’re not the only woman present, several veiled Tusken women dotting the circle of people. They’re beautiful in their own way, draped in beads, some of their masks ornately decorated with embroidery and mental embellishments. You know little of Tusken culture, but you think that this is a tent reserved for important members of this clan, for even most of the men have on small bits of finery.

Din keeps you close, uncharacteristically affectionate in front of these strangers. He holds your hand as he leads you to your place in the group, urges you to tuck up against his side by the fire, and you wonder why he’s showing you off so openly. He either trusts these Tuskens, which would be a bold move, or this whole ordeal’s shaken him badly. Either way, you’re not about to complain, relieved to be here with him at all. You really could have died out there in the sand, and the fact that you didn’t is still sort of blowing your mind.

The first thing you do when you get settled is express your gratitude to the Tuskens around you, thanking them sincerely for saving your life and treating your injuries. Din translates for you and the man who speaks next, and then you’re told one of the most incredible stories you’ve ever heard.

For the better part of half an hour, Din and the Tuskens tell you about how they slayed the great krayt dragon, working in tandem with a small group of villagers from the middle of nowhere. Din downplays his role in it all, but you know that he was the one who really took the beast down. That’s why the Tuskens consider him a friend in the first place, and it’s the only reason they saved the both of you— otherwise, they would have let you die, a fact they admit openly.

You reprimand Din for not telling you sooner because seriously, he slayed a krayt dragon and made an alliance with the fucking Tusken Raiders, but all he offers is a humble, almost embarrassed, “It never came up, mesh’la.”

All you can do is huff at that, amazed not for the first time by how casual Din is about everything he does.

After the story’s done, a woman comes into the tent with a tray of thing for you. Because of their customs, the Tuskens won’t eat in front of you, and it’s not like Din’s about to take of his helmet for a meal, but you’re served food regardless. Neither the meat nor the hubba gourds taste very good, but you couldn’t care less— after days without food or water, even the bitter juice tastes like fine wine.

Din and the Tuskens talk as you eat, everything they say completely lost on you as you sit before the fire. Outside, the suns continue to set until it’s dark, and you feel yourself growing tired. You’re not sure if it would be rude to fall asleep in front of the Tuskens, the fear of offending your saviors forcing you to keep your eyes open every time they droop shut. Eventually, though, they take pity on you, and you and Din are given the Tuskens’ blessing to leave.

Back in your own tent, you and Din kneel on the carpets before one another, a single lantern lighting the space above your heads. He looks almost ominous like this, the dim, warm light casting him into shadow while simultaneously glinting off all the angles of his armor. Once again, you find yourself astounded by the fact that the two of you made it, that you’re here in Tusken encampment instead of dead out there in the sand somewhere. More and more often these days so you wish you could see Din’s face, but once again, you just can’t bring yourself to ask for what you want.

“I know you’re tired,” he says, fishing around in your pack until he produces a small jar, “but you have to put more of this on your hands and your face before you go to sleep. That’s what the women told me.”

“Do it for me?” you ask, knowing just how childish you sound without caring one bit about it.

Miracle of miracles, you make the Mandalorian laugh. “You just want me to touch you,” he huffs, but he’s taking his gloves off anyway.

Everything is quiet for those first few minutes, Din bending to his work diligently. The salve in the jar isn’t bacta, but it soothes the burning and the itching almost like magic. And maybe it is some kind of Tusken sorcery. You should be covered in blisters and sores after so much time in but Din says your face is merely peeling when you ask how bad it is. You haven’t actually seen yourself yet, but the backs of your hands don’t lie, and anyway, why would he? The fact that you’re not in debilitating pain alone is enough to convince you that this stuff is a miracle cure, and you’d be content to put it on eight times a day for the next month if it means you won’t be disfigured by your sunburn.

“There,” Din declares softly, putting the lid back on the jar, and then the two of you are lying down on the little pallet bed together.

“Are you going to sleep?” you ask him, knowing how Din feels about resting when he’s not on the Crest.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, reaching out across the padding to hold your hand. “But you definitely should. The Tuskens are going to drop us off near the city tomorrow, and I still have to go back and collect the bodies.”

You’d nearly forgotten about that, about the quarries and how Din left their corpses sitting in the cave.

“We get the baby first, though. We said we’d be back days ago.”

You’re not one to make demands, but after all that’s happened, you need to hold the Child in your arms. You know for a fact that he misses Din, and you worry that he feels abandoned by the both of you after all this time apart.

“We get the baby first,” Din affirms, and only then do you feel like you can close your eyes.

---

Everything is hectic after you and Din finally make it back to Mos Espa. Peli wanted to know what happened, the baby wouldn’t stop clinging to either one of you, and then you still had to fly back out on the Crest and pick up the quarries…

All of that took hours, but now you’re finally back in the safety of hyperspace, your little family whole once again. The Child, after hours of holding fast to you and his father has decided that he’s tired now, dozing in his pram contentedly. You think it would be alright to leave him in the hull for a while, clicking the lid of the little bed shut before you climb up to the cockpit. Din, in his usual Din fashion, has been up here since takeoff, no doubt picking at the inner workings of his vambrace or studying one of those maps he loves so much.

You’re surprised to find Din unusually unoccupied when you make it up there, though, the dark T of his visor staring off in the blue streaks of light before him. For a moment, you think he might be sleeping, but that option’s crossed off the list the minute he turns to look at you.

“Everything alright?” you ask softly, coming around the pilot’s chair to sit beside him.

Din hums. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

A long moment of silence follows your question, everything so definitively quiet around you. It’s always like this in hyperspace, like the physics of sound don’t apply. You always feel like you need to whisper, half-expecting no noise to come out of your mouth whenever you do decide to talk. After all these months of living on the Crest, it’s the only thing you haven’t gotten used to.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

Din’s words catch you completely off-guard, the sentence striking you across the face as hard as any slap. He’s never spoken to you like that before, never told you not to question him or whatever the fuck he means by that. You don’t—

“I mean—” Din blurts, huffing through the modulator like he’s frustrated. “I mean, just— the way you spoke to me in the desert. The things you said. Don’t ever talk about yourself like that, not in front of me or anybody else.”

Everything clicks, but words fail you. All you can do is sit there before Din and stare at him, trying to find the words over and over again.

“When we were out there,” Din begins, filling the void when you cannot, “when you fell down and I picked you up, you told me to leave you, cyare. You wanted me to abandon you. You told me that you didn’t matter.”

“I wanted you to live,” you clarify. “Someone had to go back for the baby, and you’re his father. He needs you—”

“And he needs you too, mesh’la.” Din pauses, voice breaking when he goes to speak again. “I need you. So don’t ever ask me to do something like that again. You’re very important, more important than you know, and I don’t think I could handle hearing you talk to me like that again. Do you understand?”

You stand up to hug him, suddenly hit with the realization that you’re crying.

“I understand, Din.”

And then you’re holding each other like it’s all you know how to do— holding each other like you’re the only two people in the whole fucking galaxy.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #tw: near-death experience #cw: near-death experience #my writing #valentine's week 2021

142 notes · View notes