#he is killed by the warrior of light and surely they don’t know much about him

[sunfyrisms]

wait some more info below because i’m insane about him!

his original lore was that he was revived by primus to act as cybertron’s future shield. what better candidate than a dead child whose creators are leaders of the opposing war that inevitably destroys the planet. i’m very attached to this idea but i’m not sure if it makes sense in canon. as i’ve mentioned in different a different post, i’m very obsessed with primus vs unicron via light vs darkness / creation vs destruction. i suppose this idea would make most sense if unicron did the same thing! sirius acts as the physical embodiment of primus’ will, so i imagine for a long time, these two mechs would just be fucking fighting because that’s exactly what primus and unicron literally did forever until the primes were created. i honestly got this general idea because i was really fascinated with megatron’s abilities in the movie after he was revived by unicron!

he is 29 feet tall. again, he was supposed to be taller (as tall as megatron), but that premature birth fucked with his frame.

his man is predaking. some canon divergence, obviously, but one of my biggest gripes with transformers: prime is that the cons are automatically evil and that the bots are automatically good. there isn’t all that much nuance from what i remember! all i know is that everyone mistreats the vehicons. so in this! sirius learns of megatron’s plans to essentially have the autobots do his dirty work and kill the predacons. he and predaking save them prior to wheeljack’s explosion and immediately dip. a handful of vehicons leave with sirius because! he is just so kind and caring and, again, is so, so sincere in his love and compassion. the predacons, sirius and the vehicons that join them basically act as a new faction. sirius gets the most powerful force just because he’s really nice LMFAOO.

though he’s a sensitive, compassionate and loving mech, he’s a warrior. he inherited his sire’s gladiator coding, he was trained the mech who raised him, a mech incredibly ancient and powerful and dangerous. i think because he inherited megatron’s coding, he loves the thrill of a fight. he gets lost in it sometimes, he wants to fight and win and conquer and it greatly shames him. he doesn’t like violence and war, he detests both, but he loves the physical aspects of battle nonetheless. part of his story is accepting the darker parts of himself and loving himself without letting those parts control him. physicality is a large aspect of his relationship with predaking (aside from their mutual respect, immense love and understanding in each other based on their loneliness). predaking can take what sirius gives and vice versa. there’s this innate trust they have in each other, this mutual ability to see the other beyond his physical prowess. basically, they spar a lot.

his weaponry is gold, just like the gold on his frame!! i actually had this idea a while back of basically… transformers lightsaber. the that that carries a physical piece of one’s spark, and it ignites into pure energy that can be wielded in battle. if this idea stays, sirius has two but he doesn’t use them often.

continuing from my first point, i’ve actually considered his optics being reflective like energon cubes. like they’re always subtly changing color, especially when the light hits them. i don’t know about keeping that idea though!

that’s all for now!! once i can draw robots it’s over for sirius.

i unfortunately tried to attempt to draw my transformers oc but i was repeatedly reminded i don’t know how to draw robots. so why does he look like that! unfortunately because i don’t know how to draw robots, this isn’t an official, consistent design for him. more like a ‘this seems kind of right’ vibe! any tips on how to draw these fucking giant alien robots is greatly appreciated!

anyway, some information about him! aligned is very loosely connected, obviously, so some things aren’t canon in this story.

his name is sirius pax. apparently the most unoriginal name for a megop oc but i came up with him years ago, so i literally would rather die than change it! son of megop, or more accurately, megatronous and orion pax.

born just before the war. neither of his creators knew he was conceived. he was born after their speeches to the council, and the stress of megatronous cutting all contact with orion forced a premature birth. a premature little baby. he was, however, otherwise healthy for being born just prior to the war. raised in secret and only a few closest to optimus knew of his existence. one being ratchet, who he was especially close to.

killed in the early stages of the war, by a bombing in iacon city. hardly anyone knew he lived, hardly anyone knew he died. was found by a mysterious mech and revived under even more mysterious circumstances. through his revival, he got a new white and gold paint job, but lost his memories. was smuggled off cybertron and raised by this mysterious mech, and everyone who knew him was unaware of his revival.

eventually ended up on earth once once he was a fully grown mech and went into stasis. found by megatron sometime after his return and joined the decepticons. he formed a deep friendship with the vehicons and predaking.

though he inherited megatron’s gladiator coding, he is shorter than both his creators due to his premature birth. never fully grew into his antennae, so they’re pretty big and are a tell-tale sign for reading his emotions. he’s very expressive and is never insincere with his love. trained by the mech who smuggled him off-world, he is an extremely proficient warrior and dons a sword and shield. he’d rather be picking flowers or something though. despite his kindness, he’s very lonely and has a deep desire for community. he years for a home he cannot recall and a family he does not know. god damn he needs to kiss someone.

unfortunately i cannot share more because i am embarrassed.

[impossible-rat-babies]

cape westwind really shouldn’t make me think this much but howdy ARR made me feel things with that one

[luimagines]

Steel Trap Mind (1600 Follower Raffle)

Our first place winner was @goopyartiste!

They asked for anything Warrior related so I was given total free reign. :D

Enjoy.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“Is he awake?”

“Is he alive?”

“Don’t speak so loudly. Everything’s going to be ok.”

“I need to see him!”

“He took a really bad hit-”

“Lost a lot of blood-”

“-amazing he even survived.”

He groans loudly and turns his head. It’s killing him- not that he wants to make a bad pun over the words he’s been overhearing. There’s voices all around him, he gathers that much. It’s bright on the other side so he keeps his eyelids closed but he can’t help the groan that escapes him as he enters into the waking world once again.

“He’s awake!”

“Oh thank the three!”

“Warrior, you’re ok!”

He huffs and figures that he should at least try to figure out where he is. At least they sound concerned over him. But who’s this Warrior they mentioned? Maybe he’s in the other bed next to him. He’s sure that there’s a lot of men in the infirmary right now. It couldn’t have only been him. He can’t seem to remember how he got here. Was the attack that bad?

What was his name? Link.

Does he have a family? No.

Is anyone waiting for him at home? No.

Where is he now? Well that's a question he has to figure out now, ain't it?

He groans again and forces his eyes open. The lights have dimmed. How considerate. 

There’s a bunch of people around his bed, teary eyed and all wearing expressions of varying degrees of relief. He frowns. Who are they?

“I’m so happy you’re alright.” You say. You reach down and take his hand, holding it gently. Your other hand comes up to caress his cheek, almost lovingly. 

Link can’t think much of anything right now. Only that his head hurts and he doesn’t think he’s home right now. He looks around the room and frowns a little bit. This isn’t the medical ward for the wounded soldiers. “Where am I?”

“We’re in a random town.” A boy with more scars on his face than Link has seen someone have. His hair is long and he has more scars on his arm that Link can see. “You were hit in the head so we brought you here to the local inn to recover.”

Link lets the information sink in. Strangers, then. Very kind strangers. He sighs and leans back on the bed. He was attempting to sit up but he must have been in worse shape than he thought if he could hardly lift his head off of the pillow. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well next time try not to die, alright?” Another boy sasses him. He has pink hair somehow but Link gets the idea that he’s familiar with him. Stranger still- Link has never seen this boy before in his life. “We’ve got enough heroes between us all that there’s no need to make unnecessary sacrifices.”

“You scared me.” You say, gripping his hand tighter. You’re smiling softly even as you start to tear up again. You bring his hand up and kiss the back of it. “Don’t ever do that again. Promise me.”

You know him. You know him. You have to, or else you wouldn’t be doing that.

Link gets the impression that he’s important to you. But- He grimaces slightly, already imagining what this is going to sound like. “...Who are you?”

Everyone in the room goes still.

You seem to freeze entirely and grip his hand impossibly tighter. Frantic panic increases in your eyes as you search his face for something- anything. “You’re kidding, right? Link, this isn’t funny.”

“You know my name.” He whispers softly. The look that crosses over your face is absolutely heartbreaking. 

Tears start streaming down your face before you can even speak. “It’s me! You love me! I love you!”

“I don’t know you.” He settles for. Link doesn’t think he can be gentle with another person like this. Cia was bad enough. Granted, she never said that she loved him. Let alone claimed that he loved her but there have been countless others that have tried to get him to see to reason with similar arguments. He really needs to talk to Zelda about this.

“Hey now.” An older man speaks. “Settle down.”

Link looks at him and changes that assumption. He’s older than him, sure, but enough to actually phrase it that way. He has similar markings on his face though. Link things that if he tries hard enough he can remember why they ring a bell in his head. 

The man puts a hand on your shoulder and very gently pulls you away before you can collect yourself and potentially strike him. “It was a bad hit. Remember that.”

Yeah, ok- the older gentleman isn’t not talking to him.

“Warrior, what’s the last thing you remember?’ Another young man- wait, how many people are here again?- steps closer and puts the back of his hand on his forehead as if he was checking for a fever.

Admittedly, Link might be a little warm. His head still hurts. “Who’s Warrior?”

The room feels as if he had just lit a short fuse on a bomb.

You choke on a sob and Link turns his attention back to you. It’s a heart wrenching sound. As if someone had just stabbed you, or worse, killed someone in front of you. You are quickly escorted out of the room by three of the young men around him. The boy with the scars, another with a fur pelt, and the older gentleman are quick to take you out of the room.

The remaining people (five, he’s counted this time) all stare at him with varying levels of shock and despair.

“...Do you remember us?” A small voice comes from his left. There’s a boy. He’s young. He’s wearing a blue shirt with a lobster on it- hold on.

“You.” Link says and he feels a smile grow on his face. It’s weak and it doesn’t erase the pain he’s feeling, but the familiar face is nice. “I remember you, pirate. You’ve gotten bigger since the last time I saw you.”

“Not really.” He smiles bashfully, stepping closer to the side of the bed. “Do you remember anyone else?”

Link feels the weight behind that question. Looking around the remaining faces, he can’t say that he knows who they are. “Who are they, kiddo?”

The young boy gulps and bites his lip. “It’s a long story.”

One of them sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He’s a rather built young man with a long white cape over his back. Link thinks that maybe he can find someone to fix his scarf to look that cool. “This… is unideal.”

“You don’t say.” Someone snaps. It’s the smallest one there, but the voice doesn’t match the height. He’s probably older than Link originally thought. Link likes his tunic though. Very colorful.

A heart wrenching sob makes its way through the doorway as the older gentleman walks in again. It’s you. 

Link knows he’s caused that. He hates to admit to himself but what else was he supposed to do?

The older gentleman (Link gets ice in his veins when he remembers what the markings are) steps into the room and sighs. He rubs his hand down his face as looks over to where Link is on the bed. “I’m sure… you have questions, Captain.”

A title. Yes. Link has a title. And Link definitely has questions. “Who was that?”

Vaguely, Link knows that shouldn’t have been the prominent question on his mind, but for some reason he can’t pinpoint, he hates that he made you cry.

No one answers his question at first so he tries a different tactic. Clearly, he’s missing some information. “Are they important?”

To the mission? To this group? To him? Link doesn’t register that as a too vague a question, only that he wishes for it to be answered.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Well shoot, Link sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The final young man to speak tilts his head, raising his hands as they glow. Fascinating. Link stares at it. He’s hardly met another Hylian that could use magic so casually. “You wouldn’t have had it any other way. Pushed them out of the way and took the hit and all that.”

“Oh.” Important to him, it is then. Faintly, he thinks he could still hear you cry. “I hurt them.”

“You did.” Pink haired boy grumbles. “But there’s not much we can do about it. It’s a miracle you even woke up again as it is.”

A miracle. Link takes a deep breath. He seems to be running on pure fumes powered by those alone. “I hurt them.”

Somehow, he feels the need to repeat himself. Link doesn’t like the inky feeling that curls around his heart at the thought of that. If he pushed you out of the way of an attack, surely that means he cared about you to not think something through.

It’s stranger still- that it came to that at all.

Link has always prided himself on thinking fast on his feet and having contingency plans for his contingency plans. He’s not one to miscalculate. Many battles have made sure of that. Close encounters on top of even closer encounters have made sure that his senses were sharp and steely as the blade he wielded. 

To be hurt the way he was meant that he had miscalculated dearly. Or rather, the attack would have surely killed you and he wasn’t thinking at all when he acted. If he wasn’t thinking when he acted at the thought of you in danger or being attacked, then you meant more to him than anyone here was telling him.

Aside from you.

You did say that he loved you. And that you loved him. 

His throat suddenly feels dry.

”Here.” A cup is placed by the side of his face in an instant. Link takes it and manages to take one gulp of water before he remembers to take sips. 

“I wouldn’t have wanted them to be hurt.” He says after giving the glass back. He barely finished half of it before he started feeling nauseous. How long was he unconscious? How badly was he injured, truly? “I wouldn’t have wanted them to-”

Link starts to cough.

“We know.” The pirate gently pats his shoulder, rubbing small circles. Another thing he remembers. Link used to do the same to him when the pirate wasn’t feeling too well after a battle. Something about the food and movement not agreeing with him. It’s strange to be on the other side of the act. “They know it too. They won’t be angry at you for it.”

“No?” He looks at the boy, because he knows this boy. He can trust him. Link doesn’t know if he can trust the rest of the faces in this room.

The boy shakes his head. “You would never hurt them on purpose. You’re not that kind of person. They know that.”

Link strains his ear to hear you on the other side of the door. It’s gone quiet, but he’s almost positive that you’re still upset over this development. He wonders what he would have done to get this sort of reaction from everyone here. “Who are these people, kiddo?”

“We’re all Link.” He answers easily.

Link catches onto the way the others flinch slightly. 

He still can’t say that he knows them.

“We have to get his memory back.” The young man with the white cape says after a moment of silence. 

“It’s not that easy.” Magic Man shakes his head. “This wasn’t caused by a spell. At best, we should be asking The Champion how he deals with his memory loss. Amnesia caused by injury is a different challenge entirely.”

Link sighs and looks back to the door with his tongue between his teeth. 

Amnesia? He almost wants to laugh. Do they not know who he is?

Link doesn’t forget easily.

[gtgbabie0]

✧My precious boy✧

{Your son is an ugly reminder of the boy Aemond used to be}

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Aenys wasn’t like his brothers, he was more reserved preferring to sit by himself in the library reading about dragons and old Valyria, the boy was only seven yet he knew more about the histories of Westeros then than his siblings.

He had an impeccable talent with the brush, painting beautiful pictures of whatever was on his mind, he often spoke through them more than actual words you found.

Aenys however was dragon-less and often missed out on sword practice much to Aemond’s dismay, “He is seven and has yet even tried to acquaint himself with a dragon let alone even visited the dragon pit” your husband sighs in frustration his arms wrap around your waist bringing your back into his chest.

He stands behind you in contemplation taking in the warmth of your soft body, eye patch discarded somewhere within the room, “Perhaps you should talk to him” you smile taking one of his hands and pressing a meaningful kiss to his knuckles before he moves away from your warmth.

The horrible truth is that Aemond doesn’t know how to talk to Aenys, his youngest son, he doesn’t know to stop seeing his own reflection deep within his child how to stop the burning hate that seems the spread across his skin whenever he looks Aenys in the eyes, the remainder of himself almost taunts Aemond in ways he couldn’t describe, and he hates himself for it.

A horrifying reminder of all Aemond used to be, a fragile, scared little boy who was in desperate need of a gentle loving mother, clinging to her side whenever he felt less than others, and a father that he needed who could show him right from wrong teach him how to be strong so he needn’t clutch at his mother’s dress.

He hates the guilt that drowns his heart whenever he looks at his youngest son, how he wishes he didn’t feel such anguish towards his boy.

He doesn’t reply to your suggestion instead he hums quietly, “Mother!— Mother!” You smile at Aenys who comes running around the corner with a very tired knight following behind him, “Look! I painted this for grandsire” he beams with a huge smile splayed across his face small specs of paint staining his hands and cheeks.

He shows you a beautiful painting of Balerion flying amongst clouds during sunrise, “Oh my precious boy, this is wonderful” a sense of pride blooms in your chest as you look down at your son holding his artwork, “I’m sure Viserys would love this my dear” you smile pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

You glance back at Aemond who isn’t even looking, “My dear isn’t this amazing?” You tug on Aemond’s sleeve trying to catch his attention but you get nothing just a simple ‘hmm’ before he walks away leaving your son with a disappointed smile.

“Don’t worry sweetie, I’m sure your father is very impressed” you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “Let’s go take this to Viserys, Hmm?” You suggest as Aenys nods his head enthusiastically, you take his small hand in yours leading him to the king's bed-chambers.

“Aemond, would it kill you to at least try and talk to him? He is your son— he is your blood” you beg, the hour is late and you’re tired but you can’t let another day go by where Aenys is met with isolating silence from his own father, “Please Aemond” it’s a final desperate plea, looking at him as you thread your fingers through his soft hair.

He looks at you with a concern painted over his sharp face moving from your gentle touch, “My sons will learn how to wield sword and shield, my sons will ride dragons, they will become warriors”

Frustration creeps up on you lighting your skin on fire.

“Aenys is no son of mine” it’s a painful thing to say, and the words catch in Aemond’s throat leaving a horrid taste in his mouth.

You look at him with disgust in your eyes and it sends a cold shiver through Aemond's lean body, “How dare you.” You whisper through gritted teeth your nails digging crescent shapes into your palm, “He looks up to you Aemond, it would break his heart to hear you speak like this— talk to your son” you sigh in frustration and there’s an uncomfortable feeling that wedges itself between you and your husband.

“TELL ME HOW!” He screams desperation straining his voice as his eye well up with tears that carry a mean mixture of guilt and anger, “Tell me how— how can I talk to him without feeling hate coursing through my body” his voice trembles, and you’re left in shock.

“And what exactly do you mean by that Aemond?— I would be very careful with your next words if I were you” he looks at you hurt very evident on his face.

Aemond sighs heavily sitting by you on the bed you move away from him slightly, “When I look at him all I see is myself— I am reminded of the things they used to say about me, their laughter mocking me-“ he trails off hands running through his hair, “- I can not stop seeing myself within all, all the terrible memories” he doesn’t make eye contact with you far to scared of your reaction.

“Aemond, you fool— of course, you will see yourself in him, he is your son” you shift closer to him, “Aenys thinks that you hate him for no good reason, and you need to fix that Aemond because I will not stand by and watch anyone, especially his own father treat him with anything other than kindness and respect” You kiss his cheek before standing from the bed.

Aemond looks up at you with curiosity, “There is more to bond over your son with than swords and strength, talk to him about old Valyria, teach him high Valyrian take him to see the dragons, you have more in common than you allow yourself to believe. Talk to your son Aemond, do not take after your father" And with that, you walk out of the room leaving your husband confused and hurt with much to think about.

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☾⋆AN// another piece I found in the depths of my notes app that I’m currently trying to clean up, anyway I hope you enjoyed it!! <3

Requests are open btw! <3

[sku11s1asher]

hi! i loved what you wrote for my request 😭 it was so cute, i didn't really specify it bc i forgot but yeah u did it amazing <33

and yeah u can totally make a part 2! actually i was thinking about it bc i can imagine a meeting between furina and the natlan archon while neuvi and reader are just giving glances to eachother 😭 reader looking like a total meanace but in his mind like "damn he's handsome" almost burning his cheeks and the seat lmao

neuvillette x m! reader (part 1)

note: ngl i feel like i do good at posting then smth with school pops up and i don’t post for like a month.. sorry y’all. also please tell me im not the only one who’s been on and off sick for the past month, rn i have a runny nose and a sore throat AGAIN. i just got over that like, barely 2 weeks ago.

tw: y/n is a bit of a weirdo with his thoughts since he doesn’t understand anything w/ love, internal homophobia (not really but kinda?), y/n is all over the place

After centuries of fighting, killing, and not showing emotions to anyone, all that can end because of a guy with beautiful long hair. The more y/n thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. He’s known for being a fearless and intimidating warrior, just for that whole facade to disappear just over a man out of all things.

This whole scenario came into place because his nation archon just had to have a meeting with Fontaine's archon, Furina, at least y/n thinks that’s her name. The meeting consisted of figuring out how to make the justice system within Natlan better and a way to make transportation easier between the two nations. y/n didn’t pay attention to the little details, he was only there to ‘protect’ his archon and make sure things went smoothly.

However, he didn’t realize that the other archon would be bringing a guest with her until a day before the meeting. It did tick y/n off a little bit that he would get notified so late but does it really matter? All y/n is doing is protecting and making sure everything doesn’t go south.

Well, it did go a bit south, as soon as Furina's guest arrived, y/n's mouth went dry. That man did things to him that he didn’t even know could happen. Maybe it was the long hair on the other man that made y/n feel warm inside, it definitely couldn’t have been the slight scent he had. No, definitely not.

Okay, y/n takes that back, he feels like he’s getting intoxicated by the proximity of the other male. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the guest, was a dragon, all it took was a quick look and a secret deep breath to figure it out. He had it figured out, his body wasn’t used to being by another dragon, and he hadn’t seen one in what, centuries? This feeling would go away in maybe 20 minutes, hopefully.

20 minutes later and y/n feels like he’s going to light the whole place on fire. His whole body feels like it’s melting, and to no one’s surprise, it’s all due to the long-haired man in front of him. The stranger might genuinely be the hottest person y/n has ever seen in his entire life. That long hair makes y/n want to run his fingers through it, maybe brush it, but that might be a bit too much to think about.

Once y/n saw the man look at him, he quickly looked away, how embarrassing.. he got caught staring hardcore. He took a deep breath before listening back into the conversation, “Ah, yes, I suppose it would do both nations good to do something like that. Maybe combining a bit of power.” the lovey talk of archons, always talking about power; like it’s the only thing that matters to them.

Power is important though, y/n is in the position he’s in right now because of how powerful he is. In complete honesty, he’s probably too powerful for his own good, only knowing how to use it to protect his nation from people deemed as enemies; even if they aren’t in the public eye. Power rules everything at the end of the day, nothing can function without power.

The more he listens into the conversation, the more he realizes he was glad he was never born as an archon; he’s been around one most of his life and it’s always been boring. Listening in did provide small details though, like the mysterious man’s name.

While y/n was somewhat able to keep his focus off of the other dragon in the room, he managed to not burn anything. But, he had a feeling his archon caught on as they gave him a questionable look; it was a very subtle one that only he could catch onto but it was obvious they knew something. Nothing is going on though, right? The man can’t help it if he gets a bit flustered whenever he remembers Neuvillette is near him.

Gosh, y/n probably looks like a blushed teenager who just confessed to his crush. Well, he at least thought he did. To everyone else though, he looked like he was on guard and was going to fight anyone who even took a step too close to his and the Natlan archon's bubble. y/ns hand accidentally gazed at the chair near him, which caused the leather to burn where his touch was. Good thing no one was looking, right?

y/n couldn’t wait any longer for this meeting to be over, his brain was thinking too many things while he was focusing on every single move everyone else did. It would be overwhelming for anyone who wasn’t trained and as skilled as he was, but that tiny overwhelming feeling didn’t compare to how fast his heart was beating. y/n hoped the other male couldn’t pick up how he was feeling, thankfully Fontaine's archon seemed to be happy with the deal she and the other archon came up with.

In Neuvillette's mind, he could tell that the fire dragon was on edge. He could also tell how much the dragon was staring at him, it was a little nerve-racking. Once Neuvillette caught a glance at the chair that was touched, it made him a bit surprised but he didn’t show it. Maybe he would talk to the other male after the meeting, for work-related things of course!

[zombiecicada]

Ultimately, unless you choose a planet that has an insanely slow rotation or is tidally locked, sooner or later the day will end and night will fall.

Night time is when the monsters get more active. When it’s hard to see. When sunlight can’t be used to kill them. When he’s supposed to be asleep, but if he does sleep he won’t make it to see the sun rise again.

He hates this planet.

But this planet is where the problem lies.

The GSA will have to come here eventually, they have to.

He’s been discharged from the army. He dug somewhere he wasn’t supposed to dig, got too close to exposing some ugly truth. And now, he’s on his own.

But that doesn’t mean he’ll lay down and stop helping. His comrades are still his comrades, even if he isn’t part of the GSA anymore. He can still protect them, leave them information to find, and help them. Besides, lying down isn’t an option even if he ever decided to turn his back on the army entirely. He’s still a star warrior. Demonbeasts designed to hunt and kill star warriors do not care if he’s a part of the army or not.

And they know he’s here.

He starts preparing for the night well before dusk approaches. The first night is always the roughest after the initial night of running for his life, when he has to quickly establish his lines of defence, make a base camp that will protect him.

When he doesn’t know entirely what works yet and what doesn’t.

Sunlight kills these monsters. Great! But what about when it’s dark? What happens then? Can any light kill them or is it specifically just ultraviolet radiation that they cannot stand? They can phase through walls and take a crossbow arrow without so much as flinching. If you stare at them, they stop moving. All great stuff but that doesn’t teach him how to kill these horrid creatures.

He takes a moment to stop and consult his journal, staring at the sketch he did, the ink finally having dried. A round creature covered in bandages, only one eye slipping through the folds. Teeth. There were a lot of teeth hidden in there, and his bandaged up arm proved it. He shivered a bit remembering how the red light from its eye bathed over him when he had his back turned.

Right. Deep breath. In, out, freaking out now is how you don’t survive the night. He’s not freaking out.

He pulls out his warpstar, checks it over. No more cracked than yesterday….Still a little spent from relying on it to run all last night. He remembers well when that crack formed, he had heard it in his head, like some inner part of him was splitting apart. He had felt it in his chest, a pain that wasn’t sharp nor stabbing, but somehow worse and so, so incredibly cold as if a void that sucked up all light and heat had spawned in his body.

He reminds himself that the feeling passed weeks ago.

But it’s all too easy to remember, and he knows well that it’s going to happen again.

Alright, enough messing around contemplating his stability. He’ll be doing it lots he’s sure, but he’ll have to learn to do it when there’s actually moments to spare.

He finishes up with his shelter, it’s about as sturdy as it’s going to get, he estimates he has about two hours of daylight left. Time to make some kind of weapon.

His main weapon is his crossbow, his arrows can be modified to deal with various demonbeasts. The first arrows didn’t work. So, he followed the typical star warrior motto: if your weapon isn’t whacking hard enough, you find out what makes your enemy weak, get yourself a stronger weapon and teach yourself to whack harder.

Supernatural ‘nonsense’ helps too. He remembers a time where he thought all of that was just fairytales and hysteria.

Nope. Ghosts are real. Zombies too (though zombies are actually a lot more social and intelligent than you might think!) Werewolves exist and he’s pretty sure there’s not one but multiple gods. Ironically, demonbeasts aren’t actual demons which is why salt doesn’t work on them, but actual demons are also very much a thing. And maybe this isn’t an actual vampire, it’s definitely a lot like one.

It’s grounds for start on.

He makes it to the following day to update his journal.

So wooden stakes are actual bullshit when it comes to these creatures. Maybe he’s not using the right kind of wood, but it’s about as effective as actual crossbow bolts and getting that close and personal almost ended up with his wing being ripped clean off his body. More tests will have to be conducted, not that he’s particularly interested in getting that close again.

Charms and crosses work about as well as salt, but interestingly enough smudging seems to have… some effect? Possibly repels a creature with evil intentions. Or maybe the demonbeasts just don’t like the smell, he knows that after a while the smell goes from comforting to headache inducing. A reminder that he’s doing this because something is actively trying to kill him.

He tried setting it on fire, following the logic that if sunlight burned it maybe fire would too. No, no by some backwards logic that isn’t how it works, it just makes this absolutely horrendous burning decay smell that he can’t get out of his feathers. Only sunlight kills these things, if only he could somehow trap them and keep them in the sunlight to-

Can he capture them? How did one capture a creature that can phase through walls? He thought about it as he set out into the surrounding area to explore and find rations, the sun burning overhead. His travels took him to an old abandoned settlement, one he recalled running past on his first night to this planet. It looks much less decrepit during the day, interestingly enough if you ignored the dust and the overgrown vegetation, and the complete and utter lack of people and the overhanging sense of stillness, you might not even know it was abandoned. It’s as if, in a trance, all the people got up and left silently, or were all simultaneously vaporized in an instant.

They must’ve left, when it was clear Nightmare had his eyes set on this planet. Evacuated. Here’s hoping, because all the alternatives are simply sad.

When the army comes, they’ll probably find this place and use it as a base camp. For a moment he closes his eyes and pictures tents set up around, the sounds of soldiers doing tasks and drills until the sun goes down and they sit together around fires sharing stories of their battles and home worlds.

They won’t be able to do that with these demonbeasts. If they arrive here unaware of the dangers their first night is going to be sleepless restless carnage. He needs to prevent that.

The star warrior finds himself next to one of the buildings, where a large pot is filled to the brim with rain water. Tiredly, he scoops some of the water and lifts it to his mouth to drink, brown gaze shifting to the symbols lining the vessel. It’s not a language he recognizes off the top of his head, but the symbols are pretty universal. The circle with lines surrounding it is clearly meant to be the sun, another is of energy and another protection.

He sits there for a moment, recalling the word he used to describe the urn like pot.

Vessel.

Cage.

Idea. He had an idea.

[layraket]

Day 14 - Left for Dead

Character(s): Time and Twilight (LU)

Words: 1059

Summary: Twilight always knew how this would end, but that didn’t stop it from hurting

Whump scale: 4 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Major Character Death and Injuries

Part 2 in Day 24, Part 3 in Day 31

-

Twilight hated to fight, hated how it was now a normal thing in his life. Even if he didn’t like it, he had to.

He hated it, but needed to protect everyone.

That was his main goal; make sure that nobody dies on his arms. If he was able to, he will prevent it.

They were in Four’s era, while traveling a bunch of monsters surrounded them and started attacking. They were infected with that black blood; it will be so much harder to kill them.

Getting rid of the bokoblins and keeses was easy, the problem were the lizalfos. From their look, they were Time’s, and they had the objective to go after their leader.

Twilight stayed close to him, defending his blind side as much as he could, the rest of the chain being able to take care of the other monsters.

“Wind got hit!” The captain called, Hyrule already running towards the sailor who had a cut on his shoulder that almost took his arm off. He will be fine. Twilight hoped.

There were three lizalfos attacking him and Time at the same time, trying to get a hit on the old man and avoiding the rancher. It seemed that they were so concentrated on taking him down. Why?

Maybe it was because he was the leader, he was the one that they needed to get if they wanted to complicate the things for them, and that was smart. He hated the compliment.

One of the lizalfos got a hit on him, his leg now bleeding from a deep cut. It was fine, he could still stand, that wasn’t nothing.

He killed the overgrown lizard, it tried to get away from him.

He regrets doing so.

Time’s scream came to his ears too late, the second lizalfos was already dead, but the third one had its blade through the old man’s chest.

It was someone scream or his own? Who knows, but he went running towards his predecessor. Before the lizalfos was aware he cut its head off, killing it and shoving its body aside to check on Time. The blade didn’t cut deep in the armor, but it sure made damage.

He had to stop the blood, he didn’t want to see him die, not yet “Oh spirits don’t–don’t move– “

“Pup,” Time spoke, coughing a little and grabbing the sword to slowly take it off “It wasn’t that bad, I’ll live”

“But you–“ It was true that the cut wasn’t that deep, but what if it became worse? What if Time was just pretending?

“I’m fine” He shoved the weapon aside and grabbed his biggoron sword to keep fighting “Now stop worrying and concentrate in the–“

His words were cut off by the sight of another lizalfos, this time dark colored and with a blade that glowed with a red light. It looked towards Time, then hissed.

Twilight was ready to defend Time, but he interrupted him “Go. Now. Take the rest away.” He didn’t break eye contact with the one that they knew was The Shadow.

“But–“ He wanted to protest, to say that it was a dumb idea and they would never let him here alone. But Twilight knew that not listening to his master came with consequences worse than the ones of the first option.

He nodded and ran towards the rest of the chain, helping to take down the monsters and gathering them in one place. Time had started a fight with The Shadow, now using all his strength even with an injury in his chest.

“We should help him” Wind spoke the thing that they all were thinking.

“I know, but he gave clear orders” If the vet murmured something about stupid orders, he didn’t hear.

A portal appeared behind them, and they all took it like their opportunity to escape. They all started going through in pairs; Warriors with Wind who was with one arm bandaged, Legend with Hyrule who seemed more tired than usual, Wild and Four who was to immerse in his head, and Sky together with Twilight.

The chosen hero went through first, Twilight turned to call for Time and try to come through the portal.

It wasn’t necessary, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“GO THROUGH! NOW!!” Blood came from his mouth, taking all his life force to scream with a blade going, this time, through his heart.

Twilight wanted to scream, cry, swear, refuse. He wanted more time, he wanted to enjoy at least another day.

The last time they visited Malon she gave them the great news of her pregnancy.

He knew the time was closer to end as ever. He wanted at least a week more.

The Shadow kicking Time’s—Link’s— lifeless body aside and running towards him snarling and ready to take another life made him go back and into the portal.

-

His body became solid again and his first though was to check behind him. The portal closed as soon as he came through. That relieved him.

Then he looked to his brothers.

“And Time?” Legend asked, hiding almost completely the worry on his voice “Where is he?”

Twilight felt his eyes wet, they itched and his vision was becoming blurry. He turned to see Warriors and Wind, from their faces he new they both had an idea what happened.

Then he looked where they were. A familiar sign was visible in front of them.

Twilight screamed.

-

Giving the news to Malon was one of the most difficult things that he had to say ever, explaining how it happened and having to revive the moment was horrible.

They stayed with her for the night, they all giving her company and not leaving her side for too long. The captain and the sailor sharing stories of him, then Malon having to comfort them altogether with grieving her husband.

Twilight didn’t know what to think, he knew this would happen. If he decided to not listen to him, would he be alive now?

He wasn’t sure, maybe he couldn’t really do nothing.

Wild was sleeping next to him, curled in a ball and so still that he had to check his pulse every now and then. Now that Time was gone, he had to take care of them. He wouldn’t let anyone die ever again.

[anystalker707]

Admiral, my Admiral (1/2)

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x [gender neutral] Admiral! Reader Words: ~ 2 500 Summary: An unusual relationship that starts with a deal. Tags: no talk to him (ace) he angy / he gets to be babied tho / um, there's angst if you don't mind

MASTERLIST

PART TWO

• Ace could remember passing out during a fight. His division wasn’t able to defeat the marine because they happened to run into a fucking strong division

• He tried his best to fight, but he just ended up getting weak when the spear of Sea-prism stone touched his chest and there was nothing else he could do, not even burn the ship so he would die uncaught, in the bottom of the sea; the last thing he could see was the fucking admiral walking towards him before he passed out. Where did the admiral come from, anyways?

• He woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, but could feel the familiar movement of the sea under him, so he was a little relieved he hadn’t been taken anywhere on land. Or maybe it was actually worse, if he thought well

• The whole place was too... patterned. Minimalist. It seems like a guest room and, when he leaves the room, the place keeps the same dark gray, white and blue colors. He keeps going until seeing a sign with the Marine symbol on it makes him shout and try to start lighting everything on fire until he notices the anklet on his leg and it is made out of that goddamned stone

• It is stupid, but he still jumps on you in an attempt to kill you with his bare fists at the moment he finds you at the desk only to be sent flying into the sea with a kick and rescued by your subordinates

• Ace is so full of anger, so small compared to you as he stands on the deck and stares at you—if only looks could kill...—while you don’t even bother to order him to be chained or anything. He feels like he will combust when you look at him and have the audacity to grin

• Your subordinates seem to know something that Ace doesn’t, but none of them pipe a word about it, all of them always talking the minimum possible with him and ignoring his comments whenever they get him food. He almost feels like when he was taken in by Whitebeard all over again, but this time, the feeling isn’t exactly welcoming because the only one being nice to him there is the fucking admiral, even if you can get on his nerves with your sarcasm and superiority complex. That is living hell

• At first, he thinks you will execute him—doesn’t happen. Then, you’re probably taking him to some headquarters to make him prisoner or something—also wrong. He tries to bribe one of your subordinates into telling him, but it never happens; not like he has anything that may interest them

• All he needs to stop fussing around so much is a letter from Garp telling him to trust you; not really the most convincing thing, but surely does leave a thought in the back of Ace’s head

• If you don’t kill him and have a goal, then the logic is simple; you need Ace alive, so you won’t kill him even if he’s the most insufferable fucker in the whole world

• Spending a few weeks on your ship does make Ace soften, though. He ends up finding himself in late night talks with you on the deck because, as much as he doesn’t want to chat, your sweet talk does keep him going. Not to mention the way he finds comfort in you, somehow

• Ace softening up doesn’t mean peace. His way of showing he is more comfortable around you resolves itself around Ace suddenly falling asleep in the most inconvenient spaces and following you around while making the most annoying comments. It doesn’t matter that you’re an Admiral and the power you have—he will get on your nerves because that’s just how he is, even more knowing he won’t get killed no matter how much he annoys one of the strongest, best known marines and warriors out there

• “What’re you doing?” “...Paperwork.” “Well, that I can see. What’s it about, though? Can I see the files about me? You better have everything right. I’m sure my bounty would be higher if you knew everything I’ve done!” “Why don’t you go take a nap or something? Leave me alone, fire boy.” “You’re so annoying! I can’t even—” You look up from your papers and he is... sleeping again. Okay.

• “You must be receiving a great amount to be taking care of me.” “Oh, I wish I were...”

• The relationship between you two turns into something like; Ace: Yo, I’ve broken about 20 important things, almost sank your ship again and made one of your subordinates almost give up on being a Marine You: I know this and I love you

• Ace is a little suspicious if you really have any real destiny—you’re sailing without stopping at any island for longer than a couple of days and never going to any of the headquarters. Are you going against the rules and acting in secret? Really??? For real??? Damn it, someone for once should tell Ace a word about what’s going on. Not only would half of his doubts go away, but also something interesting would happen in that godforsaken ship before he went crazy

• Although, watching the admiral is quite interesting. Well, the admiral is quite interesting...

• He grows quiet for a while, spending some days processing how you are always checking on him every morning and every night before he goes to sleep, sometimes bringing you food in person and spending some of your time with him

• Why do you want to know if he is emotionally okay and has everything he needs? It's almost like you care

• Then there are those long, uncomfortable silences in which he doesn't know what to do because, maybe unintentionally, those little comments of yours and light smirks have his face turning bright red and something stirring inside his chest

• How did he even allow the admiral to get into his head like that? He can't let it continue this way, though

          “(Y/n)!” Ace whined as he walked into your office and didn’t even care about what you were doing before he threw himself on your lap, holding onto your shoulders as he dramatically leaned back.

“Ace—”

“I am afraid I am about to die! Your ship is so, so boring and your subordinates never talk to me!” He closed his eyes, making a face as if he were under a lot of pain—or at least trying to—, with no regard for the documents he almost made you ruin. “Like, why can’t they give me the combination to the vault? Or let me mess with the sails? That’s no fun!”

You would’ve chuckled if Ace weren’t being so obnoxious, so you just leaned back on the chair and observed him; he pouted at the silence and sat up properly on your lap. He takes in a breath, but you never allow him to voice whatever it is.

“Look, I am throwing you in the sea if you continue like this!”

“As if!” Ace chuckles. “You can’t k...”

Oh, it can’t be. Still, the soft snoring that comes from Ace confirms your theory and you roll your eyes, bouncing your leg lightly.

“Oi! What do you think you are doing, Ace?” You finally let go of your pen and your papers, shaking Ace a little. “Get lost, fire boy! I already forbid you from interrupting me while I’m on my paperwork! Why don’t you go read the books I lent you, hm? Go sleep in your room, at least. In the kitchen. I don't care.”

“It’s no fun without you.” Ace groaned, and you couldn’t help but to smirk and raise an eyebrow; a red tone took over his cheeks. “I—I mean, you’re the one who—”

“The one who?” You nodded for him to continue, resting your cheek against your palm. “Go on.” Ace exhaled, pressing his lips together as he looked away, and the lack of answer made you chuckle while wrapping an arm around his torso. “Oh, you don’t know what to do now that you have my full attention? Just wasting my time? I gave you rules to stay on my ship, Ace.” Your fingers held onto his jaw so he would look at you. “And I—”

Lips pressed to yours interrupted your words. Ace’s lips. You couldn’t help but to kiss back because he kept pressing his lips to yours for a few seconds, dismissing your hesitance, and even daring to hum softly once you started to kiss him back.

None of you stop. It started a chain of kisses that was enough to make you forget about your paperwork, lost in kissing the lips of a filthy pirate that fell in your hands because of a deal. Both of you had this same feeling; the spark of knowing that this was wrong and forbidden was what ignited your feelings for each other. Ace’s lips tasted like the sea, like the sweets he was eating earlier, but also tasted like freedom. A little bit of power that you had over the Marine and the World Government because no matter what you did, you knew no one would agree to have you dismissed from the Marine and they couldn't control every single action of yours.

Your fingers hooked with the hair on the back of Ace’s head to pull him away from the kiss a little. “You are down bad,” you mumbled into his ear.

• Once, Ace hears you talking to Sengoku. He sees you in your office, back to the door and with a den den mushi in hand. Your voice is calm, but not the sort of calm like you are when you raise an eyebrow at Ace then shrug in dismissal before you tell him to do whatever he pleases, no; it is the type of calm when your subordinates do something you don’t like, so you suppress your annoyance to long glares and pursed lips

• “No...” You say to the snail, “I am busy. I won’t be there for the next meeting. You already know my position in this. It is the same as Garp’s. And you know I haven’t seen Fire First. I would’ve reported already. Has he disappeared or something? You haven’t heard a thing about him for weeks.”

• And he doesn’t listen anymore. He doesn’t want to. Either way, it is enough to change the context again, from “stop locking me here” to “thanks for keeping me safe”

• You don’t understand what’s up with Ace being softer around you, but it is well welcomed. There’s something sweet about how he places a chair next to your desk and folds his arms over the table with his head on them, quietly observing you work until he falls asleep

• Actually, one night, Ace knocks on your bedroom’s door. He just walks past you and collapses on the bed at the moment you open the door. And fuck. That boy’s audacity. Whatever. It’s nice to hold onto something while you sleep

• And the fact your subordinates will walk into you making out with Ace on your lap while you’re in your office and just ignore what is happening is just... Hell, you love it

• There’s a whole new routine with Ace by your side

• The moment Ace has to leave comes quicker than you expected. It’s already time for you to return to your usual admiral duties and also for Ace to go back to the sea because there’s no longer a threat

• He can’t believe that keeping him was a whole plan to keep him safe while you, Garp and a few others did your best to convince the Marine that Portgas D. Ace was not a threat, so he shouldn’t be executed

• Ace is at loss of words, unable to formulate a thanks that’s genuine enough and expresses all of his feelings because you only fucking let him know about it when you’re dropping him at an island where Whitebeard already awaits for him. He wants to cry, to hug you, to kiss you, to ramble about how thankful he is, all at the same time—but he can’t

• You chuckle at how lost he seems, grinning happily and telling him he can go because he is safe now

• Ace doesn’t leave without giving you a kiss, a deep one

• What seemed to be a short-term thing, ends up leaving your hearts aching for more once you’re away from each other, in the sea. It is risky, it is dangerous, difficult to manage, even, but you’re picking Ace up in a random island to spend the night with you whenever you are able to, with excuses to the marine that you ended up letting him escape because your priorities were others. Sometimes he will just show up randomly with that devilish smirk on his face

• As much as you’re an admiral, your little relationship does reach the Marine’s eyes and ears, and it doesn’t seem to help them in the slightest bit because you’re not only with one of their highest potential enemies; your behavior also encourages other pirates a little too much, as if it gives them some sort of excuse or extra freedom. You’d always been a little rebel considering the Marine and World Government’s rules, so maybe you’ll go a little too far soon—if you haven't already

• Getting rid of Ace wouldn’t mean just getting rid of a big threat—it also would have you under the Marine’s control once for all

• First of all, the Marine can’t get rid of an admiral so powerful like you, so it isn’t a choice to dismiss or execute you, so that leads to Ace. Given the way you are lovesick, getting rid of Ace will teach you a lesson—and a lesson to every other marine and pirate as well—, and your head will be focused on doing your job. You won’t rebel against the only people who know your weaknesses and help you be stronger

• The new census doesn’t need you and Garp to vote; it doesn’t matter what a small biased minority things about such a threat

• You already suspect what's going on when they send you across the ocean, and it gets worse when they start to guide you to a weird island you’ve never seen before

• Held. You’re being held across the ocean because they know you can save Ace if you have the opportunity, because you’re too precious to be wasted for such an insignificant matter. You’ll just be force– I mean, invited to a confidential meeting later to establish that your relationship with Ace will be forgiven and forgotten since they know it won’t happen again and you’re such a great admiral that they can’t risk losing you. You will have to sign a few documents and be under constant watch for a few months after it

• For now, you will just sit in this cold cell knowing your love is being executed

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

PART TWO

[sculptorofcrimson]

After the Palace

Synopsis: Ushotan survives the Palace Coup. 

Relations: Ushotan x gn character, Ushotan x Valdor(implied)

A/N: Here’s me writing Ushotan(because he’s the only Thunder Warrior I know).

It started as lewd, but it moved onto trauma, and then onto headcanon, and then angst and…well. You’ll see.

How is he alive? He shouldn’t be alive. The poison in his very veins, his own blood, his very corpse. It should have killed him already. Ushotan simply doesn’t understand. The Emperor never made him stupid(after all, no fool could’ve made it to the rank of Primarch), not even his relatively easygoing demeanor knows how to handle this unexpected trip from the grave.

(Why is he alive? Why? Why does he have to live? He no longer knows.)

Hm? Rescued, was he? Rescued, like some helpless kitten? Ushotan wouldn’t stop joking about it, sharp-tongued as always, even when being literally bedbound for the first three days. He’s not some damsel in distress, for the Emperor’s sake, he’s nearly 9ft of pure muscle and steroids and rage. 

Thunder Warriors did not have all feelings expunged from them. They did not lose desire. In some senses, they are human, adhering to a primal sense of emotion and affection lost to most Astartes. In some sense, they’re more human than Custodes or Astartes will ever be. Ushotan still retains his affection, his own loyalties, joy, some kind of fear, rage, full emotions and even desire. It’s messy and it’s torn and it’s ragged, especially with the weight of the years and mental deterioration coupled with Thunder Warriors. And desire burns. For all his decrepitude, for all his wounds, he’s still a furnace of light, still raging against the death of the sun. 

To be human comes at a price. The price is high. The bargain isn’t worth it. He saw his brothers, his soldiers, his men die atop Ararat, and then die again before the Palace. Beneath the cold steel of Valdor’s hands and his cold gaze, not once, but twice. Twice from betrayal, once from Valdor’s, and once from his. 

The guilt is enough to eat anyone alive. 

He doesn’t like the snow. It reminds him too much of Valdor. And what that bastard did. He remembers the hands collapsed limply on his throat, the blood pooling through sticky fingers already losing sensation, the scars braiding across his neck like lightning strikes. The pain of betrayal. And the scent of incense, curdling into ash.

He still insists, as stubborn as an old bull, to take those long walks on the mountains. To drown himself in the memories. 

Thunder Warriors always had higher metabolisms. Ushotan is unbelievably warm. He’s surprisingly comforting when snuggling, his temperature always perhaps a little too hot but undeniably pleasant.

That man sure has a tongue. Ushotan has his own insights, and absolutely no qualms upon voicing them. Sardonic, snappy and without even the hint of restraint. Don’t be taken aback if his language cuts deeper than even his sword. Of course, he could regulate himself, but why bother, when no one has challenged him for decades? (And the only man who could harm him refuses to kill him?)

That man can cuss in no fewer than 12 different languages. Even Valdor is impressed. He, surprisingly, reserves his swears for incidents that actually require them. 

His vivacity and energy is astounding, in more ways than one…For instance, have you ever seen a Thunder Warrior describe the inner mechanics of a tank with an enthusiasm not unlike an overgrown puppy?

(Of course, this also applies to…other factors…)

His neural ports are sensitive, and he guards their access points jealously. Try not to poke him there. Rubbing soothing circles, on the other hand…

As a Thunder Warrior ages, muscle aches become a common occurrence due to their genetic degradation. Ushotan, being much more heavyset than most, must be severely regretting the amount of muscularity he has. Massages are as close to heaven for him as it gets. Nothing precisely exciting about a massage, simply the fact it relieves the tension caused by his genetic instability. 

(It’s not even pleasure, only an absence of pain.)

Thunder Warriors were never meant to fight alone. He was never meant to be alone. Left alone without his brothers, in some deep, buried part of him, hidden under all that ash and false smiles and raucous laughter…somewhere, beneath that false bravado, there’s grief. Grief and isolation and the ache of betrayal so deep it could not be expunged. It could not even be cured, nor brought out to light, it could only be soothed occasionally, when that jagged grin slips off his features as for a moment the former Primarch almost seems like the broken beast he was. A soldier, without a country to fight for, a tool without a purpose. Knowing he’s nothing but a derelict ruin, eking out a miserable existence for a better death. 

(In those days, those times when even Valdor’s knife feels better than his mercy, hold him. Hold him kindly. Wrap an arm around those broad shoulders, poke gently but insistently beneath the scales of half-healed wounds, beneath the aches where memories of his dead brothers lay, and listen to him sob. Listen to him grieve when he finally breaks and lets down his guard. His brothers have been dead for decades, but their Primarch has never accepted their graves.)

His voice is a ragged ruin. A lifetime of stimms, drug abuse encouraged by the Cataegis legions, hasty surgeries, and finally, by Valdor’s hands, have wrecked his once-booming voice. It’s still sharp, and echoing and imposing, as he’s too stubborn to remain silent for long, but he still also rasps occasionally, his laugh a grating chuckle. Occasionally it’s painful for him to speak at all. When away from the company of others, when he can let that mask of sardonic flamboyance slip, Ushotan won’t speak at all. He might let himself cough then, hacking up goblets of oily blood, ignoring the crimson streaks the same way a soldier learns to ignore the stench of corpses.

(He can sing, but only a few warsongs. And a drinking song or two, for good measures. Don’t ask him to try. He’ll laugh at you.) 

(Don’t touch his neck. He hates strangulation. Well, not hate it precisely, but he hates being reminded of the scars on his neck. They’re sensitive. Dreadfully so. Aurite shackles, clipped to his neural ports, could harm him severely. Perhaps a kinder touch could bring him around?)

Sometimes, he can wake himself screaming. Screaming from the dreams. When Valdor slit his throat, and tore his vocal cords, he can still sometimes be heard whimpering. Gasping out wheezes that could have once been screams, awakened from memories of half-remembered war dreams. The dirt of trenches before his boots, the sound of cannons in the distance, every muscle strained and tense for some unknown ambush, battle-madness seeping through his veins before realization sinks in. The trauma will never leave him, not as long as he lives, but he’ll be damned if he lets them see what their Primarch has become.

For the Thunder Warriors that survived with him, he’s still their master, in a sense. He’s alive, isn’t he? He’s all they have left. They look up to him, the same way a broken ship may look towards a granite slab in the distance, weathered and eroded by sun and storm yet still standing strong. (And he’ll be damned if he’ll let them die the same way they died the first time.)

He laughs, he jests, he spars and fights and plays with them, it’s all the brutal, boisterous rituals of Thunder Warriors anyways, soldiers sharing one last smoke before the shells rain down upon them. He can be heard laughing, his booming voice uproarious and unrestrained, confident and unbreakable and as bold as brass before external company, as sharp and as savage as an old knife that still knows how to cut. 

But when that mask of arrogant strength fades, when his jests and his mirth and his sharp, sharp intuitions leave him, there’s nothing but cynicism inside. Nothing but pain in those far too old eyes when his grin finally fades, and his broad shoulders slump from the weight of his defeat. And for a moment he might appear truly beaten, looking upon his surviving Thunder Warriors not with his usual camaraderie but with sorrow, with apologetic suffering when the memories crowd in. A shard of brass, drowning against the unfeeling night. Kandawire had come very close to seeing what he appeared as, what he truly is, at the very edge of this charade, when all his boisterous confidence leaves and the man who had shouldered the entire weight of a broken legion that refused to yield. 

In those moments, Ushotan appears as he truly is. The last remnants of a once glorious legion, soldiers sloughing through the mud in a campaign that will never end, praying the next mortar shell might just strike a bit more accurately. 

In sieges, the key is patience. He knows that under unrelenting force, even the most stubborn of fortresses break. Even the most resolute of walls crumble beneath the relentless assault of batteries, and the screaming of guns. He knows what it feels like when the walls break, and the exhausted soldiers, life broken out of them by cannons and months, gazing back with dull acceptance as their enemies storm through gaping gates and broken walls, their fortresses seized brick by brick and stone by stone. Ushotan knows just how terrible, how painful, it can be…to simply endure.

Because, in truth, is that not what they are? Soldiers in a siege that will never end, holding the line against the stark horror of their very existence itself. No longer living, but simply…existing. Enduring. Sloughing on day after day, when their purpose is made obsolete. 

Former. Primarch. Emphasis on his rank. He was the master of the living storm once. He will not be again. Everything from his old wargear, to his current state, to his very own surviving brothers, seem to exemplify this. Ushotan has never enjoyed feeling quite so old, quite so derelict. 

He’s good with machinery, repairing, innovating, engineering, designing. He’s also good with beating random thugs to death with random bits of machinery. One happens more often than the other. 

Be prepared for occasional outbursts of violence. For a Thunder Warrior, his self-control is remarkably strict. He’s still just about sane, just about in control but there are…lapses. Chinks in his armor. When that smile slips and his memories take over, when he’s a young creature again(Hell, he’s always young, he hasn’t aged since the augments) and smelling the frost of Maulland Sen, Valdor standing at his shoulder. Those memories are never pleasant. He remembers few actually pleasant moments.

For a Thunder Warrior, he can be remarkably patient. Ushotan may have the temperment of a ragged, vengeful, surprisingly playful bear, but he’s still sane enough for self-control. 

Of course, the whiskey. How could one forget? That man could down countless bottles of it without even a single difference. Drowning his sorrows, perhaps, but in this case his sorrows are as cold as a mountain, and as elegant as a certain captain-general, still undoubtedly hunting Terra for his absence. 

Why is he alive? Ushotan doesn’t even know why himself. No need to worry, he’s not foolish enough to…attempt anything. Cowardice is the lowest form of treachery among Thunder Warriors. If he dies, he’ll do it fighting, claw and tooth and nail and fang.

Fighting. It’s what he loves, in a sense. They all love it. It was beaten into their genes. Nothing happier than when he’s grinning, fists covered in blood, wounds standing stark against his broad frame, and not even feeling a single twinge of pain. Hacking, bleeding, wounded and wounding, up to his knees in the heat of combat. That is when Ushotan and his brothers know joy. Wild, unadulterated joy. He knows his purpose. He knows his worth. It was, in a sense, all he is good for.

(Exhaustion can quickly set in, especially given the energy expenditure of a Thunder Warrior. Ushotan has collapsed before, out of sheer exhaustion. The Thunder Warriors can carry him back. That fool of a Primarch only laughs, runs a hand through his cropped hair and calls it “sleeping troubles” before walking off.)

They’ve replaced him already. Ushotan has always noted this with a form of ironic humor. They’ve replaced the Thunder Warriors. He had fought the Astartes in that failed coup, and he wasn’t even impressed. But it was real now. Evidence, in his bloodstained hands. The cycle was complete. The world had no use for him now, even though he had helped build it, brick by brick.

(In rare moments of introspection, the former Primarch sometimes concludes that it is truly better to be forgotten. After all, who would care for the savage soldiers of a bygone age, when victory - and not the struggles it took to achieve them - were already in their grasp?)

Valdor’s still looking for him. He knows it, Valdor knows it. They both know it. It’s a burning, broken thing. An obsession. Ushotan knows that when Valdor catches him, he will kill whomever was kind enough to take him in, he’ll kill his brothers, he’ll kill them and drag Ushotan home in golden chains. The captain will throw him in the Dungeons to rot out an immortality without life, where the sun eclipsed the stars and the nights are endless. 

Taxidermied like a living corpse on display, he’d never see Terra again. If Valdor catches him. If Valdor catches him. There would be no escape.

It is on days like this when he realizes the futility of trying to hide, that he takes another swig of whiskey, closes his blue-grey eyes, and tries to forget. 

(Perhaps…some certain actions can help him relax? He isn’t entirely deprived of desire after all, if one is willing to press him enough.)

His eyes are surprisingly beautiful. They aren’t dark, or black, as presumed. They’re an icy blue overcast with grey. Like stormclouds. Like a hanged sky. Like rain. Such a shame Ushotan doesn’t showcase them often.

Scars. Multitudes of them. They scrawl over his chest, his back, his hips, his thighs, nearly every inch of him. Each scar, a silent story unfolding over flesh, with words he has no interest in speaking. Ushotan doesn’t care for his body, in a sense. He knows it will fail him. He knows it will kill him. The poison in his veins will burn him alive, either way, why would he love what is essentially a glorified coffin?

(He really, really does need to take better care of himself…)

[captain-mj]

MJ!! HOLY!! That warrior AU is freaking amazing!!

I'm humbly begging for a part 2 🙏🙏🙏

I'm way to invested now haha

A ton of people sent me Requests and i appreciated all of them so much!! Here y’all go. Part 1 here

Also I am so willing to make a 3rd part (and possibly more I maybe have several planned already) so feel free to just ask!

Ghost was a great sinner. He had perfected the art of it. Had broken every command. Coveted, killed, used God’s name as a curse. Slept with many people and had never been married.

But right now. This might be his greatest one. 

Soap had fallen asleep. He had moved in the night, gently leaning into Ghost. This was the sin that would damn him. 

Soap’s gentle breaths. He could feel them through his shirt. Gentle and even. Ghost should get up. Should shove him off. He didn’t. He enjoyed the heat of Soap’s body, relished in the false vulnerability. 

The morning light fell over his features, illuminating him. He looked so relaxed. His strong features catching the light in a way that made him look ethereal. 

Soap began to stir and Ghost quickly sat up, trying to erase what he had been doing. He stood up easily and pulled his coat back on. The house was well insulated, but it had still gotten cold in the night with no fire. 

“Finally, you’re up.” Ghost glanced down at him, watching him slowly blink awake. He reached down and cut his binds. Soap rubbed his wrists and Ghost noticed with a wince how red they looked. He’d have to find something a little more permanent soon. 

Soap looked at him with soft hooded eyes. “Ah.”

“Hope it was a dream?”

“Aye. Was dreaming you were a pretty blond lass. Real disappointed to see you.” Soap huffed and sat up. He stretched, muscles rolling under his skin. “How long are we going to share a bed?”

“Until I can find a way to make sure you don’t escape. Thought this was slightly better than tying your ankles to your wrists and leaving you in the living room.”

“Sick bastard.” 

“Never said I’d enjoy it.”

“Don’t have to. Can hear it in your tone.” Soap rolled his shoulders before shivering. He looked... so tiny. So cute. 

Ghost looked away. “I’m going to be busy. A guard will be outside the door. They’re instructed to kill you if you try to escape.” 

Soap looked at him with a small glare but nodded. “Fine.” 

Ghost glared at him. “Soap. Don’t make me have to hurt you. Just stay put.” He really didn’t want to. Just needed him to stay there. Stay safe. 

Ghost was not honest with himself if he could help it. He tried to avoid it to the best of his ability. But he had already lied to Soap and Shepherd, no use also lying to himself. Shepherd believed he wanted Soap to torture him for all he did on the field. That wasn’t even close to true. Soap was told that Ghost did it so he wouldn’t boost Shepherd’s ego. That was slightly closer. 

Ghost thought of Shepherd talking with Price. Price had looked uncomfortable, but Shepherd was there leader so they had to bite their tongues. Shepherd detailed what he would do to Soap. Described how he’d break him. Make him a concubine by a different name. 

Ghost had felt a strong mix of feelings at what he had talked about. Disgust at how casually he discussed assaulting him. Nausea as he remembered his own time as a “Spoil” under a cruel man. A heavy amount of hate. 

But underneath it all was a current of seething jealousy at the thought. It had caught him off guard. Even now, something possessive curled in his organs. He honestly didn’t want to hurt Soap. Soap was defeated after all. No need to be a sore winner. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to do other things to him. But lust was a sin and sinning was something Ghost excelled at. 

He’d never let Soap, or anyone for that matter, know any of this. He barely admitted it to himself. 

Before he left, he gave Soap some water and told him to cook if he wanted. 

“Don’t burn my house down.”

“Or what?”

“We’ll be homeless.” Ghost had deadpanned and Soap had laughed, looking shocked before he quickly looked away to fix his expressions. 

“Aye. Suppose we will.” 

Ghost nodded and walked away. He pulled on his gear, feeling Soap staring at him. He tried to turn around to catch him in the act but Soap looked away just fast enough. His hands clenched hard, taking a deep breath. 

Ghost didn’t touch him. Not once that morning. 

Price waved him over and he went to sit next to him. “You knew Shepherd wanted him.”

“Yes. That’s why I asked for him. Knew he couldn’t say no to me in front of everyone.”

“Simon. Careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” Ghost reassured. “It was worth it.” 

Price didn’t looked convinced but he let it go. The two of them talked about any news in their town. Price kept him up to date on things since he avoided leaving his home unless to go fight. His sword felt heavy on his hip. 

Alejandro and Shepherd joined them after a while, letting them finally start the stupid meeting. Ghost hated these. It was full of useless strategizing based on information that was probably fake. They weren’t on the field and none of them would agree on how to handle it, they never did. Inevitably, whoever was out commanding people would make a call and they’d pretend they never had the meeting in the first place. 

It was cycle. A vicious one that Ghost hated. 

The nice servant brought Ghost tea though. It was good tea, strong with sugar. He sipped it as they talked. 

“So, about MacTavish.” Alejandro spoke up and Ghost tried not to look at him, feeling an intense feeling of betrayal. “He still kicking?”

“Yes. He’s still alive.” 

Price looked at him, seeming to have just now realized Ghost never said what was worth it. All three of them were staring at him.

“Wait. He’s still alive?” Price asked.

“What are you doing to him?” Alejandro sounded slightly scandalized.

“What is he not doing to him?” Shepherd sounded a lot more interested. 

Ghost thought over his options. “He’s... alive. He makes a good bedfellow.” Lies. He stole the goddamn blanket. But the double entendre was enough to throw them off. 

Shepherd hummed. “Details?”

“No.” Ghost continued to sip his tea. He could feel Price’s disappointed stare piercing through him. Part of him wanted to explain that it wasn’t like that, that he hadn’t actually done anything, but if they thought he was keeping Soap for that, they wouldn’t question him not killing him. Soap would stay safe. His reputation could take the hit. Hell, may even raise it among certain of his men. He made MacTavish his whore. 

The idea made his nausea return. 

“So that’s why you wanted him. Should’ve known.” Alejandro smiled, but Ghost could see the tension in his shoulders. He was a tiny bit insulted by how easily they believed this now. 

“Are we done?”

“Yes. We’re done. Go enjoy the gift, Ghost.” 

Ghost nodded and stood up, his gear hugging his skin comfortably. The others were using the rare opportunity to wear just a shirt and pants with their coats, but Ghost preferred the leather gear. The weight of it kept him grounded. 

He left with no more fanfare, hating fucking meetings. 

The guard outside his home was still there. Their blade by their feet.

Ghost waved him off and went inside, rolling his shoulders. The place had been cleaned. Not very well, but there was significantly less dust everywhere. 

Soap jumped on him, blade in hand and Ghost disarmed him easily. 

“I’m wearing armor. That knife wouldn’t even… stop struggling.” He held Soap, watching him wriggle like a fish on a hook from where Ghost had his wrists. Soap looked at him defiantly. Ghost felt his breath catch. 

Fucking pretty asshole.

“You done?”

Soap grumbled. “Fine. I’m done.” 

Ghost nodded and took the knife from him. He pinned him to the wall and ran his hands along his sides, checking for weapons. 

Soap flushed hard and went still as possible until Ghost pulled away. He turned around, back flush against the wall. His eyes found their way to Ghost’s and he didn’t move. 

Ghost stared, confused. Soap’s clothes were clinging to him like he had been sweating. It hit him then that he didn’t have anything else Soap could wear than his own things. Fuck, he’d have to let him borrow his clothes. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad yet.

Unbeknownst to him, Soap was waiting for him to hit him. He had just attacked Ghost. In his own home. Honestly, he was half expecting to be flogged. Maybe beaten with in an inch of his life. 

“Do you want a bath?” Ghost didn’t care that he had attacked him. He’d do the same thing.

“What?” Soap stared at him, hopelessly confused by his jailer. 

“A bath. Your clothes look gross. I’ll have a tailor make you some but for now you can just borrow mine.” Ghost tilted his head. 

They stared at each other for a long while before Soap nodded. “Alright. That… sounds nice.” 

Ghost nodded back and pulled away. He luckily had the money and time to have a bathtub set up, but he had to get the water from nearby. He set some to boil so the water wouldn’t be cold. 

The entire time, he considered which clothes he’d let Soap borrow. He couldn’t give him any of his nicer ones. Those were his. 

If he looked hard enough, there might be some of his old clothes somewhere. They’d be a little smaller so they might fit Soap just a little better. 

He finished setting the bath and told Soap so, still very clearly in the bathroom. 

Soap started to undress, seemingly bothered at all about getting naked in front of Ghost. Ghost looked away, not sure if he was ready to commit such a sin yet. He made sure he didn’t see Soap’s body, not sure he wanted that to haunt his dreams. 

“You can leave you know. If you’re going to be such a prude.” 

Ghost took a deep breath. “What if you escape?”

“You know, if you want to see me undressed, you could’ve just ordered me to undress. Not lured me in like this.”

“You would’ve fought me.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Soap sounded amused. “Are you going to avoid bathing with me here as well? You won’t eat in front of me.”

“I’ll tie you up in the other room.” Ghost was pretty hungry. He’d wait until Soap fell asleep to eat. It wasn’t the longest he went without food, but probably best not to get faint while holding someone captive. “Get in before it gets cold.”

“You warmed it up?” Soap sounded genuinely surprised. “Thank you.’ 

Oh. Ghost felt a flicker of something intensely warm in his chest. He didn’t respond. He could hear Soap sink into the water. 

Soap moaned softly at the feeling of the warm water on his muscle and Ghost tensed, hands clenching. The atmosphere in the room changed. He could feel tension like a goddamn storm. 

Soap let out a small sound under his breath, a shuddering shaky thing. Like he was scared. 

Only then did Ghost notice how this probably looked. Ghost’s hand on his weapon, his other hand clenched tight. His posture had tightened, making him look even taller. He was also looking at Soap, though he couldn’t remember turning his head. 

Soap looked afraid. Ghost was only available to see above his chest, but he could see the soft curly hair though. 

The last thing he wanted to do was scare him. 

Ghost was out of the room, door clicking behind him. 

Fucking hell. 

He went in the kitchen, finding that Soap had cooked. Nice. He pulled up his mask long enough to scarf down some food, not wanting to waste too much time. 

Unfortunately, none of the clothes he wanted could be found, so he pulled a random shirt and pair of pants and set them in front of the door. “Clothes are right outside when you’re ready to get out.” 

Ghost perched on the bed, thinking hard. 

This was sustainable, but he couldn’t let him go. He’d have to figure this out. Somehow. 

[undertheopensky]

Feather Dreams

Whumptober Day 2: Delirium

Characters: Wind, Sky, Warriors

Read on Ao3!

Wars insists he doesn’t snore. Wind knows better. He’s worse than the old man, and Time once snort-snored so loudly it scared a small flock of birds out of a nearby tree. Time, of course, slept right through it, and so did Warriors, because he’s not as light a sleeper as he thinks he is for anything short of metal-on-metal chiming.

Point is, if there are any monsters around, they’re not going to go undetected, but Wind’s not too concerned about that. Anything that hears Wars snoring is going to assume it’s a hinox and steer clear. Wind being on watch is more to make sure the fire doesn’t go out. It’s cold up here.

Time doesn’t like having the younger members of the team on watch, but they’re low on options. Hyrule had to use way too much magic helping Legend take down that lynel, and everyone is exhausted after days of marching through a snowy wasteland. It’s not even fun snow, as Wind discovered when trying to make snowballs. They need as many functional people as possible, and sometimes that means Wind takes a watch shift, much to his delight.

There’s just something exciting about being up so late, when all the adults try their damndest to keep him going to bed on time. He’s a pirate. He spent weeks alone on a one-man sailboat, and sometimes that meant staying up all night using the stars to navigate or fighting a storm. Like, he gets it. He’s small and cute and sets off big brother instincts. He is a big brother, he gets where they’re coming from. But when trying to protect him means they’re hurting themselves, well, then Wind has Opinions about it.

Aside from Certain Snoring Persons, tonight’s been quiet. There’s no insects here; too cold, Wild said. The crackling fire is the loudest noise, underlaid by the soft sounds of sleeping people. Steady breathing, when it’s not drowning out by the snores. Cloth rustling as someone rolls over. A faint whistle that might have been Legend and might have been a nearby owl.

Wind frowns. And a soft, steady whine, like someone close by is in pain.

Quietly, Wind picks his way around the campsite, tracking the whine back to its source, and finds Sky with his face tight in hurt or fear.

He kneels by Sky’s shoulder. Don’t want to get smacked in the face, so no leaning over; just a light shake should do it. “Sky. Wake up, Sky.”

Sky doesn’t stir. And sure, they like to tease him about how he can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, but he’s not — he doesn’t sleep deep, not like Wars does. He should have jolted awake as soon as Wind touched him.

He shakes harder. “Sky, c’mon. It’s just a nightmare.”

The whine cuts off and for a second Wind thinks he’s awake, but Sky just — makes a gulping sound, an odd stutter-step in his breathing, and then just stops.

Ten seconds. Twenty.

Wind starts shaking him again. “C’mon Sky don’t do this to me —”

Sky sucks in air, strained and rattling, and whines again.

He’s — he’s not awake. His eyes aren’t open, and are half-rolled back when Wind checks. Every now and then he whimpers on an exhale, like it hurts. He also won’t wake up no matter what Wind tries.

Sky’s breathing hitches again.

“No no no don’t do that again — Sky please you’re scaring me —”

“Kill them, bring them back,” Sky says, strangely clear, “Blind them, maybe.”

Wind freezes.

Sky’s breathing goes back to being short and shallow, almost panting. He’s shaking, Wind realises distantly, little bursts of full-body trembling. He’s clearly — asleep, or unconscious, or sick, but he’d spoken so clearly —

This was officially beyond Wind’s ability to deal. He needed an adult.

Okay, something going wrong on watch. It wasn’t monsters, so he didn’t need to wake the whole camp. It wasn’t rain, so he didn’t need to wake the whole camp. It wasn’t fire, so he didn’t need to wake Time to put it out.

Okay, focus.

Problem: can’t wake Sky.

Does Sky need to be woken?

Sky whines again, wispy and cracking like he’s in terrible pain.

Spooked, Wind’s shoulders inch towards his ears. That was an unequivocal yes.

Someone not waking up… was a medical problem, right? That was why they kept waking people when they had concussions, to make sure they could wake up.

Warriors it was!

Wars is, as always, a nightmare to wake up. Wind doesn’t actually want to wake the whole camp, so he’s restricted from anything that involves shouting (either him or Wars), which pretty much only leaves shaking him as hard as he can.

“Wars wars wars wars wars wars wars —” he chants, quietly, trying to listen to make sure Sky is still breathing behind him.

“Mgh. You fucking gremlin.” Wars doesn’t even have his eyes open but Wind is still relieved beyond bearing at his voice. “Whadyou want?”

“It’s Sky,” Wind hisses, “I can’t wake him and he’s breathing funny and he keeps saying stuff!”

Wars cracks one eye to glare at him. “Mrrrgh. You woke me up because Sky talks in his sleep?”

“Wars I’m serious —”

“Pour me into a dead sheep and toss me to the moors,” says Sky, still in that eerie, too-clear voice.

They trade horrified looks and scurry over.

Wars immediately sets about looking Sky over. “No fever,” he mutters, “increased heart rate, increased breathing —”

Right on cue, Sky stops breathing.

Wars makes a strangled noise of horror and dives for Sky’s pulse. Wind starts roughly shaking his shoulder. It had worked last time, right? “Sky, wake up, please!” Sky’s head lolls back and forth with the force of it, limp and unresponsive, until finally —

Sky gasps.

Wind slumps back in relief.

“That is not normal.” Wars checks Sky’s temperature again. His frown deepens. “How long would you say this has been happening?”

“About, uh —” Wind cringes as Sky starts to make that horrible pained noise again, then tries to remember the question. “Maybe, um, ten minutes total? I tried to, to wake him before I tried to wake you, and — and I would’ve noticed him doing the gasping thing or talking before that.”

“Okay, good.” Wind bites his lip. Wars’ expression is too grim for ‘good’.

Wind watches him pick up Sky’s hand, and dig a nail into the space between thumb and forefinger. Then, when that doesn’t get a response, he pulls back the bedroll so he can scrub the hard side of his knuckles up and down Sky’s sternum through his sleep shirt.

Sky’s eyelids flutter. But he doesn’t stir, and he doesn’t wake.

“Whisper, whisper,” he murmurs. “Whisper soft or the mermaids will hear.”

Warriors swears quietly and covers him back up.

“Wars? What’s wrong with him? He’ll be okay, right?”

Wars’ face goes tight in the way that means he’s trying not to have an expression. “The delirium without fever, the lack of response — those aren’t good signs. If we’re lucky, he’s been poisoned.”

“But… what do we do for poison?” Wind’s experience boils down to ‘don’t eat things you don’t recognise’ and ‘if you get acid on your skin wash it off immediately’.

Wars stands to get something from his pack, and Wind notices for the first time that he’s in socked feet. He hadn’t so much as paused to grab his boots.

Somehow, that’s when it hits him just how serious this is. Sky could die.

“Wars?” he says in a small voice as he comes back holding a bottle of potion and the Chain’s last fairy, “he is going to be okay, right?”

“We’re not losing Sky to this, sailor,” Wars swears. “Not if I can help it. Now, help me hold him.” Wars hauls Sky into a sit and unstoppers the potion bottle.

Wind reaches to steady him. “But potions can’t fix poison.”

“No, they can’t cure poison, but they can fix the damage poison causes. Sky’s lasted this long. If we can keep him alive long enough for his body to clear it out, we’re in with a chance.”

But whenever he’s not muttering strings of dark nonsense Sky’s jaw is clenched tight. He mumbles something about blood and locks up again before Wars can get more than a few drops onto his tongue. And getting him to swallow is an exercise in frustration. “Sky, work with me here,” Wars pleads.

Sky hums and rolls his head into Wars’ shoulder. “If you’re going to run, you better do it fast.”

“Why? What are we running from, Sky,” Wars tries to prompt.

“Death walks in his wake,” Sky says, and there’s an odd, lilting sigh in his voice that makes Wind sit up anxiously.

This time when Sky gasps, he chokes on it. His whole chest heaves and his hands scrabble in his blankets, and Wind stifles a terrified sob.

“Hhnngwars? Wind? Wassgoinon?”

That’s — that’s not at all the clear voice he was using before. He’s breathing, breathing properly now, deep and hard like he’s been running, and blinking bleary eyes at the two people crowding his bedroll. Wars’ face brightens with hope. “Sky, drink this.”

Dazed, Sky takes a sip, only to splutter and shove the bottle away from his face. “Wha — Wars! Why’re you — we’re low on, we don’t have, why are you giving me this?”

“Just drink the potion Sky. We don’t know when you were poisoned so I’m not taking chances — do you know when you were exposed, did you get an injury fighting that lynel you didn’t tell us about?”

“Can I have more than like five seconds to wake up before you start peppering me with questions?” Sky begs, head in hands. “Please?”

Wind bursts into tears and flings himself at Sky.

“I was so scared!” he wails. “You wouldn’t wake up and you stopped breathing and you kept saying scary stuff!”

Sky pats his head clumsily. “Sorry, Wind. I promise I’m okay. Wars — Wars put that away, I know what it was. I’m not poisoned.”

“Poisoned? Who’s poisoned?” asks Wild. The commotion has finally dragged him to groggy wakefulness, and he’s not the only one stirring at Wind’s hysterical sobs.

“No one’s poisoned. C’mon, Wind, calm down for me.” Sky wraps a clumsy arm around him so he can rock him a bit. “Deep breaths. You’re gonna scare the shit out of everyone.”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Legend jerks upright with a snort. “Wha? Why’s Wind cryin’?”

“Golden Goddesses,” Sky mutters.

Wild squints across the stirring campsite. Notes the unused healing items, Wind sobbing on a bleary-eyed Sky, and visibly decides not to panic. “Y’know what, I’m gonna make some tea.”

Some minutes later, the whole camp is awake under the stars, mugs of tea in hand and sporting various expressions of confusion.

“Why am I awake?” says Twilight.

“We had a medical emergency,” says Wars. He still hasn’t put his boots on. “Hoping Sky can shed some light on it, because that was damn scary. Sky?”

“In my defense,” Sky says into his hands, I’ve slept in dormitories more than half my life and never had a complaint, so. I didn’t think to warn you.”

“Warn us about what?” Time says.

“It’s, um.” Sky scratches an itch at his collar. “So. Bear with me. I was dreaming. We were walking along a long, long bridge, very tall, made of grey stone, over deep water that was a long way down. In front of us there was an old fountain, covered in moss and lichen, and when we got close, a pair of lizalfos jumped out. Wild was expecting them and took them both out with arrows.” He pauses, briefly, eyes flitting to check their reactions. No one interrupts. “Then… there was a roaring sound, and the air got really hot. And then this — it was so big it broke the fountain when it landed, this massive black dragon landed in front of us. But the proportions were wrong. It had a huge, heavy body with a long thin tail, and three heads crowned with fire each on a long neck —”

“Gleeok,” Hyrule and Legend both say at once. Hyrule waves Legend to continue. “Giant dragon with multiple heads that spits fire,” the veteran says. “Not common.”

“Well it was definitely huge. All it had to do was spin around once and I think everyone was thrown from the bridge by its tail. But it was so hot that hitting the water was almost a relief, except… we weren’t safe there either. There was something in the water with us, and we had to swim quietly, but we had to get out as fast as we could. So we made it to an island in the middle of the lake, and we were safe from the lake, but there was still something — wrong. Something hunting us.”

“Did the gleeok come down after us?” asks Wind from where he’s still curled into Sky’s side.

“No, the dragon didn’t follow us. It was just this little island of sand and rock, and… there was something bad there. Something empty.”

“What happened then?” Time prompts.

Sky shakes his head and looks up from the fire. “I don’t know. It ended there.”

Wild is frowning, more curious than anything. “That’s a near-perfect description of my Lake Hylia, bridge and fountain and island and all. But — we haven’t been there yet. Have we?”

Sky shakes his head. “No.”

“Then, how did you…?”

Wrapping the edges of his sailcloth a little more firmly around his shoulders, Sky tries for a smile. “Um. Sometimes… when I dream… I see things that haven’t happened yet. And they do happen. I dreamed it before the portals started, and when Zelda — my Zelda — right before my adventure I dreamed of the storm that made her vanish.”

“Hm,” says Time, with an air of dawning comprehension. “Prophetic dreams.”

“Yeah.”

“So why did Wind and Wars freak out about it?” asks Twilight, still grumpy.

“Well, when I’m having one of those dreams, I can’t be woken, not until it’s over. And, um. I swear I didn’t know about the rest, Pipit’s never said anything —”

“He stopped breathing a few times,” says Wars. “And said some pretty dark stuff. At one point it was ‘pour me into a dead sheep’ or something. I was convinced you were delirious.”

Sky gets a peculiar look on his face. “What’s a sheep?”

“Ooh I know this one,” says Wild, digging for his slate. “I have a photo, hang on — it’s these things.”

“Hm,” says Sky, looking at the fluffy cloud with horns and a face. “I definitely saw those in a dream once, but had no idea what they were.”

“You didn’t know what the gleeok was either,” says Legend. “So it’s all just… contextless?”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t seem very useful.”

Sky laughs, and relaxes for the first time since waking up to terrified faces and the bitter taste of red potion. “It’s really not.”

“Yeah, what was that about poison before?” Wild asks.

“There’s not a lot of things that will make someone drop into a sleep they can’t be roused from, combined with — delirium, with a fever,” Wars explains. “Poison was the most likely, considering we’re constantly coming across new and terrifying monster variants.”

“Well.” Legend throws back the last of his tea like a shot. “Sky’s fine, and I’m tired. Unless there’s something else, I’m going the fuck back to bed. Everything else can wait til morning.”

“He’s got a point,” says Wild. “We still have a long way to go to Snowfield Stable tomorrow. Wind, you should go to bed too — it’s nearly time for my watch anyway.”

Wind opens his mouth to complain — he can take the full watch, for Din’s sake! — before glancing at the moon. It really is close, and honestly, as the last of the adrenaline fades and Wild’s sleepy-tea kicks in, he wants nothing more than his blankets. Except, that would require getting up, and Sky is warm, and —

He squeaks indignantly as Sky flops down and deliberately drags Wind with him. “Sky! Lemme go!”

“Nope. You woke me up. Mine now.”

Sky snuggles into his hair and flips up the edges of the bedroll to block out the chill. And Wind wants to complain, he’s not a little kid, he can sleep in his own damn bed —

Sky is warm, and solid, and breathing. He’s okay. He’s safe.

Wind deliberately ignores the loose grip that he could escape from if he really tried, and closes his eyes to the sound of Wild humming.

[jessequinones]

Writing Advice: Resurrection Trope

I was reading a story where the main character dies but gets brought back to life and this is such a common trope I shouldn’t be surprised when I see it but yet I still am. I’m not sure if this is a good trope, but I guess many people like it enough that it gets included in everything.

Here’s why I don’t really care for this trope if you can bring a character back to life, then death has no weight. The moment you do this, you’ll have to explain to the reader “No, seriously, they won’t come back again, trust me.” But how can we trust you after the first time?

I’m not talking about fake-out deaths where we think a character is dead but they’re just off-screen preparing to emerge from under the rubble of a fallen building. Gandalf is a great example of what I'm talking about where we only see him fall but never the body until after he comes back. The kind of resurrection trope I’m talking about is where the heart stops beating their soul is gone just for them to come back for round two a few pages later.

I understand these scenes are very emotional for the characters, but this trope is so common that if I see the main character die halfway through a book, I don’t feel anything because I know they’ll come back on the next page. Honestly, I’m more shocked to see someone not come back. I’m like, “Damn...they dead, dead...wasn’t expecting that.”

You might be asking yourself “How can I write a scene where a character dies, but later comes back to life without losing any of the emotional weight? Also when I do kill off the same character, how can I convince the reader they won’t come back?”

And honestly...that’s a pretty big question because it’ll depend on your setting, lore, and world.

In most cases, if the hero gets murdered and comes back to life, that’s to be expected. However, if the hero sacrifices themselves, then they stay dead. I’m not entirely sure why most of these death scenes are written this way but that’s typically how it plays out and if you’re creating that, you’ll need to convince the reader that a sacrificial death is different than getting murdered. Most of the time these sacrificial deaths have to deal with the hero turning into balls of light, but that also doesn’t mean they won’t come back because I’ve seen balls of light bring characters back. (Pokémon Mystery Dungeon)

You can inform your reader that a higher being said the next time the hero dies, they won’t come back, however, I’ve also seen the same higher beings go back on their word. There’s nothing you can say that’ll convince me, yup the hero won’t come back this time, because I’ve seen it so much that like I said before, I’m more shocked when the hero stays dead.

I’m not saying you can’t do this trope, but I will say it’s very hard to do right. Dragonball, God of War, Sailor Moon, Pokémon, Any superhero comic, Tangled, Warriors, Mass Effect 2, Bio Shock 2, Teen Titans, Avatar The Last Airbender.

I don’t think any of these are bad stories...for the most part, but I also don’t feel anything when a character dies just because I’ve already seen them come back to life so death no longer holds any weight.

I’m not saying you can’t write the resurrection trope, just understand having a character come back to life, might lessen the impact of when another character fully dies in the future. I would suggest, before you bring someone back, just create a version where they don’t and see how your story continues after the characters stay dead? What’s the tone after said death? Just an idea to think about if you’re thinking about bringing someone back to life.

[crazylittlejester]

I return with a short list of headcannons

Twilight has anemia. He is so pale despite being a farm boy and the only farm boy I knew who was as pale as him also had anemia. Give this boy some iron supplements pls.

You may think Wild and Hyrule are the problem children when together, but if you added Four it's as if you sent three overly hyper children into a candy store. Zero brain cells are to be found.

Every bird loves Sky. Every. Single. One. He has Disney princess vibes.

Warriors cannot sing for the life of him. You know Scuttle from the Little Mermaid? Thats what he sounds like.

Fairies love Hyrule and Time so much that it isn't uncommon to see the small balls of light attempt to "kidnap" them. (Which in reality is just them repeatedly hitting themselves against the two since they can't push them, and it's adorable.)

Time, in his youth, would starve himself since he was so used to eating very little. Malon threatened to throw a cow at him if he didn't start eating. Time hasn't starved himself since.

Wind believes babies come from storks and I will die on that hill.

Legend, despite what many others headcannon for him, is religious. I like to think that he doesn't worship Hylia, but Farore.

Twilight is also religious, but for the light spirits. I like to think that Ordon's religion is simular to our paganism.

All the Links (minus Legend and Wind) experienced horrible sea sickness when they first got on Tetra's boat.

Twilight has a prosthetic arm after his arm was cut off during his adventure. You know the "need a hand" joke? That's how he revealed his prosthetic to the chain. He threw his arm to Sky, causing the man to pass out out of shock and horror (since Skyloft hasn't made the medical advancements for prosthetics!)

Cats love the Links, even if Four is deathly afraid of them. It's because the remlets loved Sky back when they existed.

Thanks for sharing these I had fun reading them!! I’m sorry it took me so long to respond to ur ask, I wanted to make sure I had enough time to read through all of them and respond :)

- Oooh Twilight with anemia is interesting. I personally headcanon that Twilight has one of the darkest skin tones of the bunch, along with Sky and Hyrule, while Legend and Time are the two palest

- Four to me gives off incredibly responsible energy, but when you pair him with someone else, he goes nuts and gets real silly real quick

- SKY DISNEY PRINCESS REAL. That boy has sung and held out his hand and a bird has landed in it, I just know it.

- I actually have a fic series I wrote where Wars was just completely tone deaf but did not let that stop him from screaming along to the radio. I think normal Wars would secretly be a decent singer but be bad on purpose because its a skill he’s anxious about

- I headcanon that fairies will just it in Time’s hair and let him walk around and carry them, and that they also do this to Hyrule and Wild as well

- I have a similar headcanon that Time used to only live off of nuts and fruits and cried the first time he saw Malon kill a cow for food. He’s over it now, but he’s still upset if he has to see it happen and will not kill an animal himself

- WIND ABSOLUTELY BELIEVES THAT AND I THINK HE’D CRY IF SOMEONE TOLD HIM OTHERWISE

- As far as the Links and religion go, I don’t think any of the hate Hylia, I think some are a bit bitter but I think at the end of the day they all know its not her fault. And yes to Legend worshipping Farore and Twilight the light spirits!

- I would like to add that I don’t think Wild would get sea sick. But all the others? Dead. Gone actually. One boat ride and they’re on the floor. Sky’s been in boats before but he hates them

- Twilight with a prosthetic arm would be an absolute menace to society oh good god 😭😭😭 (I’m obsessed with this headcanon btw, i love it)

- CATS LOVING LINKS BECAUSE REMLITS LOVED SKY IS SO CUTE. TEARS IN MY EYES RN THAT’S ADORABLE.

[dreamwritersworld]

The ghost of you. Part 3. (Sully family x reader)

I have no words to describe the hidden feelings I feel all the time…I mean when I left Tuk and turned around I was so sure that me leaving and not taking her was good for her, I was even more convinced when I barley made it out of the journey on my way here. Awa'atlu is my new home…

Y/n wasn’t as social to the people in the village, she missed her home…she missed her sunshine. There was so many days that passed where she dreamt of her little girl. The only real relationship Y/n had was with her family, it took more than half her stay here for her to genuinely open up…tell them about her past, or at least what she wants to show…

*flashback*

Ronal and Tonowari tried to get the girl to open up, it had been 3 months since she came.

“that’s fine..if you don’t want to tell us yet we’ll wait..”

Y/n stood at her food, glad that Ao’nung and Tsireya left…and then she spoke right before they walked away.

“…there was a man that took care of me…when my parents didn’t. He was a one of the best warriors amongst his group and they all tried to make it out for the great or good but….it didn’t work. His name was Rey’akana, He taught me how to survive. He taught me how to shoot a gun.”

Ronal was far too intrigued to keep on going with the conversation so Tonowari spoke gently to the young girl who finally was telling a story..

“…what happened to him?”

“…he died. I was too young and too stupid to do anything right. He died because of me. I got him killed, it was my fault.”

“What? Oh darling don’t say that..”

“I’m…sorry, I’m just tired.”

Y/n got up slowly while the two adults watched by heartbroken. The poor child blamed herself all those years, she believed it was her who caused Rey’akana’s death. Y/n called herself a distraction to him…she killed him.

*

There are those night where I dream of both of them, together…

*Y/n’s dream*

We were sitting in a forest, letting the sunrise pass us as we watched Tuk play with the toys I got her.

I took him by the hand with tears in my eyes begging him to stay

“…you’re the only one who understands..”

“oh sunshine…she misses you…look at her.”

Both of us turned to Tuk, she stumbled to us happily giggling her entire way here….then it went black.

*

I still whistle out for her, I miss her so much. I never told anyone about her…I’ve only told Ao’nung. If I told them that I had abandoned a child…they would’ve figured they should’ve abandoned me to.

“What is that y/n,…why do you whistle?” I look away from the shore to look at Ao’nung, tears beginning to fall from guilt and sadness, frustrated at the fact that right now I was hoping it was Tuk In front of me..

“I always used to whistle out for Tuk when I needed to know where she was, if she was ok, just to hear her whistle back to me and now…I can’t hear her. I left her. I wasn’t strong enough to just- I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok Y/n, you are ok. Don’t be sorry. Y/n you must remember that you were just a kid raising your sister.”

“It wasn’t only me, I used to have Rey’akana.”

Ao’nung turned to me surprised and confused..

“You never mentioned him.”

“He took care of me for awhile. Every time I would look at Tuk, I could hear him in my head..helping me, guiding me.”

“He’s still with you. From the first time we met, right here..when your world was destroyed, you were a light in the darkness! Hope for a better world…hope for my world. I’m sure Tuk was the exact same if not more.”

The wiping of my tears went away when we heard sirens…a signal for new comers.

Curiosity flowed through my body, walking through the crowd catching a familiar shade of blue…and then I saw her.

I was lost in the crowd staring at her…she was so serious, distant. She was disconnected with anyone else…I lost my breath and started panicking, running back home.

It was only about 10 minutes when mother returned..

“Hey! Hey! Hey!…it’s ok, what’s wrong? What’s going on? You need to talk to me and you need to talk to me now. Now!”

It was a mixture of sternness and comfort, it still felt so…unfamiliar.

“I did something wrong and I couldn’t tell you.”

“Ok…what? Why?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? Afraid you were going to get mad? Afraid you were going to get in trouble what?”

“Both i guess?..I-…I was afraid because I lied again, and because I didn’t come to you again. And because I messed up again…I thought that maybe that would mean that you didn’t want me anymore? Like you would just finally give up on me.”

“..i-is that family that just arrived are they..?…are they your parents and siblings?…what did you do Y/n? What happened when you left..something is missing.”

Ronal’s blood ran cold, terrified of her child’s next words.

“The little girl Tuk…she was..my sister but I raised her like my own child and I- I left her. I just thought that if I left on my own, it wouldn’t hurt as much as if she told me to go but it does..it hurts so much!”

It was so clear to Ronal…the child…her child was left with a burning open wound. She was still too young and closed up to understand…that it wasn’t her fault.

“Look at me! Nothing that you can do it is going to make us not want you! You hear me? Nothing. I am sure that Tuk will understand. You raised her like a mother…like your own, she will always want you and need you.”

The weight on my shoulders felt lifted, sobbing into my mother arms.

“..tomorrow. You can talk to her..maybe she’ll listen ok?…it’s ok. For now, you rest. I have seen the work you done for the village…listen to me when I tell you to rest, just this once.”

That was the night I finally did listen to her words, the fear was towering over me but I was ecstatic to finally see my sunshine, I dreamt of all the things I wish to tell her…

!💛!

Tag list: @noodlesfics @eywas-heir @itshype @zatarias-pandora @yeosxxx @arminsgfloll @abbersreads @tsireyak @neteyamforlife @aimsro @elegantkidfansoul @goodiesinthecloset21 @nikotokitaswife @bucky1235 @detectivesparrow @kikosaurscave @octavias-next-meat-bite @midnightliacr @waitingforanotherpart @marybrown234 @ssc7514 @destinylb @simp-erformarvelwomen @eirianna @ambria @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @lv9su @luciddasher @dakotali @manohari @httpjiikook @snowywhiterose @tainted-artist4161 @fanboyluvr @bat1212 @deleted-1-800

[alasse-earfalas]

The Chain as a Werewolf Pack

* Specifically, as a Mercy Thompson werewolf pack. Italics are the colors of their wolf forms.

Disclaimer: I’ve taken some creative liberties here with the Mercy Thompson universe because A) I don’t know if male omegas are even a thing, and B) I’m pretty sure there’s no way, normally, for an omega wolf to also be dominant enough to be an alpha. I’m using the Hero’s Spirit to hand-wave this. The Links are essentially hero walkers in the same way that Mercy is a coyote walker. They can, at will, “step into” their Hero selves, or call upon the Hero's Spirit, transforming from ordinary Hylians into protective forces of nature powerful enough to take down gods. Just like Mercy, magic affects this band of heroes differently. As powerful as an alpha werewolf's instinct is to protect his pack, a hero walker's instinct (and capacity) to protect everyone is even stronger. Like, it's not even close. This is why dominance is such a huge issue for the new pack of werewolf Links: they all have an unflinching drive to protect that is more potent than any alpha's. This means that their wolves would fight viciously over who gets the responsibility to protect the rest of their pack.

Alpha: Sky. White & light sable. He’s not happy about being in charge (he’s not the leader type, after all), but his protective instincts are the strongest in the Chain, so the role and responsibility and magic of alpha go to him. His wolf instinctively knows that he’s the progenitor of the Hero’s Spirit, too, so it views the other Links as his “pups”. Sky is keenly aware that he’s leading a group of what would otherwise be alphas of their own packs; that combined with his own discomfort with his rank leads to him delegating often. 

Second: Twilight. Black & white; more rough & “natural” versions of the markings he had in his game. Just as dominant as Sky’s wolf; would’ve either killed him or been killed by him in their dominance fight, had Wild not stepped in. Can transform faster than the other Links (but not as fast as Charles). Constantly watches for weakness in Sky; partly to see where he can help out, but also because his wolf is raring for a rematch. 

Third: Warriors. Matte silver with slightly darker points & two white dorsal stripes. Surprised and more than a bit ticked that he’s not alpha, especially since he’s lead armies before. Readily steps up to any leadership task Sky gives him, and executes those tasks with military honor and precision. His wolf very often takes it upon himself to keep the other Links in line.

Ruley: Clay brown, with a black half-mask & dorsal stripe. Everyone is shocked by this. They all expected him to place lower, but the guy’s prophesied to be king of Hyrule someday, and he’s tougher in a fight than he looks (especially since his wolf still has access to his magic). His wolf challenges Warriors at nearly every turn, much to Ruley’s own frustration. 

Four: Red merle. Everyone’s stunned by this, too, except Four himself. His wolf likes to poke at Ruley’s to test for a challenge, but he backs off as soon as he’s reminded why ‘Rule ranks higher. He can’t divide as a wolf, but he can shrink. 

Time: Golden. He is furious about his place in the pack order. His wolf constantly starts dominance fights with anyone above him until he learns to control it better, which is difficult for him. His fury and protectiveness stem from fear of losing them rather than confidence that he can protect them, which is why he ranks so low. 

Legend: Red tri-color. He’s not happy about his rank but he deals. Could be more dominant if he cared, but his dark world form is a bunny for a reason. The pack running smoothly is more important to him than complaining about where he sits. His wolf will often try to ease tension and prevent serious fights by poking whoever’s snarling at each other to divert their attention to him instead. 

Wind: Scruffy juvenile, normal timber wolf colors. Mad as hell. His youth is the only reason he ranks so low and he makes sure everyone knows it (even though they already do). Has probably the worst temper out of all of them until things settle and he learns better control. Sometimes a more dominant wolf will cave to him the way a wild wolf would cave to a pup. 

Omega: Wild. Dark sable. Like the other Links, on his own, Wild’s wolf is dominant enough to be alpha of any pack. But because he was changed alongside the other Links, and because their existing bond and connection via the Hero’s Spirit caused the werewolf magic to forge them into a pack immediately upon changing, Wild’s wolf instead becomes a rare omega. The others are very surprised when Wild’s wolf stays out of the dominance fighting, and even more surprised when he’s not compelled by Sky’s orders the way the rest of them are. Wild’s wolf is incredibly docile with the other Links and nobly offers himself as a way for his brothers to unload their emotional burdens. He is as adamant in this role as Wild was to staying by Zelda’s side before the calamity. Wild himself doesn’t really know what to make of his unique role and pack magic. He's glad to be out of the pack hierarchy, sure, but he's never really seen himself as a support or a healer (even though he cooks for everyone). It makes him think of Mipha.

---

Idk if this is going to develop into a full fic or not. I'm not very far into the Mercy Thompson series, so I'm bound to get lore wrong if I do end up writing more than this. I'd love to explore the Chain's infighting, though, and at least a confrontation with Adam's pack (& maybe even Bran). But we'll see what happens.

[better-call-mau1]

Congratulations! You’re being smothered with a completely random headcanon about Mandalorian marriage customs rescued! Please do not resist.

The Rite of Riduurok Akaanir, aka “Lover’s Quarrel”

Alright…so I gotta be honest and say that even though I can’t remember how exactly this headcanon came to me, I’ve been carrying it around for years, ever since first watching Rebels and shipping Sabezra 😅 …and at this point, I feel like it’s burning a hole in my head, trying desperately to get out, so I’m gonna save myself the expense of reconstructive cranial surgery and just share it:

Mandalorians like to fight. Actually, they don’t just like to fight, “weapons are a part of [their] religion,” or at least their culture—and for many, their entire lives are built around that. In the case of the Children of the Watch, strict adherence to a No-Living-Being-Can-See-You-With-Your-Helmet-Off orthodoxy even gets in the way of basic interpersonal behavior, like eating a meal together. The implications of that are…interesting…and not in a “wow that’s cool!” way…more like a “kark, that’s depressing” way.

Basically, I started to wonder how the “BAM! BOOM! BAM! BOOM! BLOW STUFF UP AND KILL THOSE FORCE-WIELDING MANIACS!” portion of Mandalorian culture (so…most of it?) intersects with intrinsic parts of human…wait, nope, sorry Grogu sentient life—namely romantic intimacy. (Paz Vizsla has, presumably, not taken his helmet off in decades…and he has a son who’s probably 12ish years old, tops…so do you think he ever stares at his kid and tries parsing out his own features to get an idea of what his wife looks like?) It’s an extreme example from an extreme sect, but there’s application to Mandalorian society as a whole. Where does love fit into a worldview or galaxy-view, I guess where conflict is a core tenet? When do individuals stop existing as warriors and start existing as people? Do they ever?

Anyway, the point is that on its face, the cultural dogma doesn’t seem to leave much room for authentic social and romantic intimacy, especially the latter since, ya know, the beskar has to come off both literally and figuratively in order to procreate. It’s difficult for me to see how the necessity of physical and emotional vulnerability can coexist with the rest of Mando culture—so let’s just leave it at that.

But for a civilization to survive as long as Mandalore has without totally disintegrating, those intimate relationships have to exist, and there’s plain evidence that they do. For all their problems, the Wren family clearly loves each other, and we even get a glimpse of some soft Alrich/Ursa PDA in “Heroes of Mandalore.” Then there’s Bo-Katan, who still cares deeply for her sister despite…well…joining a terrorist faction to help overthrow her. That says something, right?

Wrapping my mind around how authentic love can exist in a fictional warrior society really got me thinking—so much so that I headcanoned a ritual (Riduurok Akaanir, “Lover’s Quarrel”) to help myself work it all out.

The general idea? On Mandalorian wedding nights, the bride and groom have a private duel. A duel to the death? Maybe if it’s an arranged marriage and one party really wants out and I’m gonna speculate that Bo-Katan widowed herself at least four times before running off to join Death Watch.

More commonly, though, it’s just a playful act to embody love transcending conflict. Alrich Wren, for example, isn’t a traditional warrior, but Ursa didn’t assert her superior combat prowess on their wedding night by firing a wrist rocket at his face something Bo-Katan probably did to a few of the short-lived husbands Satine picked out for her. (“Parry this, you kriffing casual.”) Instead, I’d like to think Alrich and Ursa went through the basic motions of a hand-to-hand duel, not necessarily to prove who’s the better warrior, but as an intimate prelude to the actual consummation of their marriage—almost like a mutually disarming dance. (Could it be light-heartedly competitive? Sure! As the first Mando to perform the Riduurok Akaanir with a Jedi, Sabine would go all-out to make sure she doesn’t lose to Ezra! 😆) When the dance-duel ends, they set aside their warrior identities to become something more: husband and wife. It’s like a way of saying, “As Mandalorians, what we do is fight, but we’re more than mere weapons. We fight so we can love. We wear armor to protect ourselves, our homes, and our families. It’s an important part of who we are, but we’re ultimately made of flesh and blood, not cold beskar.”

So that’s the point of Riduurok Akaanir, a term I came up with using this nifty English to Mando’a online translator (before I just called it “Wedding Night Fight” in my head). It’s not supposed to be a blanket explanation—but intimacy and vulnerability don’t have clear utility in a warrior culture, and this is my best attempt at bridging that perceived gap.

If you made it down this far without dozing off, enjoy this Sabezra incorrect quote! 😁

Fenn Rau: I trust that Sabine briefed you on Mandalorian wedding customs?

Ezra: Yep! I know exactly how not to get myself killed before officially becoming a married man.

Rau: The trick is not getting yourself killed *after* becoming a married man. Did she explain what happens on the wedding night?

Ezra: Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Rau:

Ezra:...yeahthatsnotreallysomethingIneedorwantSabinetoexplaintomeandKanankindofgavemethelowdownbackduringmyJeditrainingdayssoIthinkIknowwhattodobutthanksanyway.

Rau: Kanan taught you about the Mandalorian ‘lover’s quarrel,’ then? His instruction was even more thorough that I imagined. Or maybe he always knew you and Sabine would end up together.

Ezra: Sorry, did you say...?

Rau: The Rite of Riduurok Akaanir is usually non-fatal. Sabine seems to be genuinely fond of you, so I’m sure you’ll survive to see the sunrise.

Ezra:

Ezra:

Ezra: Oh kriff.