#I hope those who passed in this tragedy can rest in peace

[greenyvertekins]

I feel so bad for the people of Morocco. I’ve been there twice (To Asilah, Tangier, Chefchaouen, Agadir and Taghazout.) and it’s a marvellous country with friendly, hospitable people.

[lamemaster]

A Dismembered Memory

Chapter 1

Pairing: Iluvatar x GN Reader (pls don't kill me)

Genre: Mystery, drama, and romance (angst obviously)

Summary: Do the Gods love? What is it like to love one? What is it like to be loved by one? Is it a love beyond the shackles of creation and destruction or is it a tragedy bound in the chains of duty and predestination.

AN: I know nobody asked for this but...listen good plot...maybe good plot and loads of drama if I can actually finish this. Let me know if you like this because...I want to know if it's just me.

Chapter 2| Chapter 3|

Iluvatar was gone. He had been gone for the past two decades. None knew of it other than Manwe, the lord of Arda. Another knew but he was no longer considered a part of the song of Arda. 

Manwe the closest to Iluvatar, and the wisest of the Valar, had heard nothing from the creator of his existence. However, such was not unheard of. It had happened once before. The music and path of Arda’s fate passed as planned. Its inhabitants played their parts but its creator was gone. 

The lord of Arda should have known. He had seen the signs that had presented themselves in the past. The faint presence beside himself, the name that lingered in his thoughts yet, evaded his lips. 

Ages ago, when the world was young and the Sun and the Moon were new to it, he had become aware of another. A being who remained unseen by all around him. It was a faint light as if a reflection carried by a gust of his own winds. 

Maybe it was a manifestation of Manwe’s grief, but he knew better. He remembered the subtle music it brought around with it. 

Right after the flight of the Noldor, grief-struck Manwe found himself in his unlit chambers. The dark carried a reminder of his errors, of his misjudgment and all that it wrought. He had failed…he failed to protect Arda. His brother, his subjects, his brethren, Manwe failed them all. “The sorrow of your fall shall not hinder the rise of your might little bird,” words rang in Manwe’s head. They carried the sweetness of such familiarity that for once Manwe thought them to be Iluvatar’s.

None had dared to comfort the King of Arda. Not even Iluvatar had presented himself in such a manner. A gentle wisp of air caressed Manwe’s head. A faint consolation from a form he did not recognize. 

At that time Manwe had leaned into the unknown source of his comfort. He rested his head against the blinding light that seemed to carry the wisp of the Timeless Halls but imitate the scent of Arda from it. 

Away from the rest…even Varda Manwe laid his burden bare to an unnamed stranger. He sobbed for his lost hope, his trust, and his faith in an unmarred Arda. “What if I fail every single creation on Arda? What if my inability is the fall for this world?” Manwe whispered into the air that surrounded him. He hadn’t dared to utter those words out loud till then.

“That will not happen,” like windchimes the voice replied. 

“How are you so sure? I see death, I see the pain and suffering of so many…I see destruction by my own hands. How do you know?” he questioned the source. His eyes remained closed still brimming with unstoppable tears.

Manwe did not expect an answer. And for a while the voice was quiet. And then it spoke, “The ones destined to bloom, bloom even through the cracks of barren lands. Arda is not easy, it is bound to its misery but there is beauty there,” flashing images of past, present and future plague Manwe’s mind as the voice continues, “there will obstacles and trails but I promise you that everyone playing a part in this melody shall find their peace. Even your brother.”

Manwe was taken aback by the certainty in the voice that spoke to him. The images that flashed in his mind brought a mixture of emotions—hope, doubt, and a spark of reassurance. Who was this being that could see the future and offer such promises? And how did it know about his brother, Melkor?

With curiosity and a sense of vulnerability, Manwe opened his eyes to face the light that had been his source of comfort. But what he saw was not what he expected. The mist that had once surrounded him and had almost felt akin to a solid form now dissipated into the air with every passing second.

"Who are you?" Manwe asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and wonder.

None answered. The voice never did answer that question. It was as if it had forgotten itself. As if everyone including itself were unaware of who it was.

He had found the voice around him on several occasions after that. Sometimes it twirled around in the blooming gardens of Kementari. While others stood overseeing nesting birds in Manwe’s castle. 

On an uneventful day surrounded by solitude and the lingering mysterious presence, Manwe initiated the subject of his curiosity.“I shall ask Iluvatar about your identity. Maybe he can give you the answers you seek,” Manwe did not let his excitement seep into his voice lest he aimed to scare away his companion that floated like an untethered kite in the sky. 

Maybe that was how Iluvatar became aware of their existence. It could have been the reason, why the great musician himself became a fleeting existence after that. Manwe did not know the entirety of Iluvatar’s plan. No one did. But his vanishing had something to do with the shadow that Manwe encountered.

The comforting presence that endearingly called the king of Arda, little bird.

The Void stretches beyond imagination. Even for a Vala, aware of the Timeless Halls it is an existence unfathomable. It is vicious in marking its presence on whoever dares to venture into it. Melkor can feel its precarious talons tapping on the edge of his conscience. 

He has been here forever. Stuck in the dark of the Void. For ages, he has pried off the grasping hands of the Void that threaten to rip him into the sea of oblivion. 

It is a deserving fate. Melkor, the tyrant of Arda, is very much deserving of the end that the Void promises. Yet, it is unfair. It is an irreversible fate. A punishment for a song that Melkor did not write. 

Destinies of the Good and the Evil were written by the great composer, Iluvatar. Both sides were given their roles to play for a magnificent song to come true. Melkor had played his part. He had become the bearer of all bad. He had done those deeds without an ounce of regret. 

So, why now does he feel so wronged? Why does the abandonment from his creator scare him more than the end promised by the Void? Iluvatar had forsaken Melkor. Even after following his fate, Melkor ended up alone. 

In the moments of his weakness, Melkor dared remember the outcome of his betrayal. It had indeed led to tales of valiant heroes and formidable heroines. But there was one, Melkor could not accept. It was the broken look in his own brother’s eyes. The hatred in Manwe’s eyes had been the hardest to accept. 

And maybe at that moment Melkor truly wanted to destroy the great music. Every design of the one who called himself the creator of the world.

It was the weakness of those moments when the grip of the Void snuck up on him. He wanted plead to with anyone who listened. His struggle remained a silent scream. The Void would allow even a word of Melkor’s to reach his brother. Not even a goodbye or an apology. 

“I promised him your return,” a voice speaks in Melkor’s mind. It is clear like the silvery beams of the Moon. It wasn’t the somber timbre of the Void’s existence. “Your brother Manwe awaits you,” your words still Melkor. 

Even the invading tendrils of the Void scurry away from your presence. “I implore that you do not detest your creator,” a moment of clarity fills Melkor as a cooling sensation rests upon his forehead. “Who?” Melkor asks but he lacks words from the unuse of his voice for so long.

“None know, but I shall fulfill my promise. Remember me when the Void lays heavy on your mind and I shall be there,” your voice is firm and for the first time in all the ages past, Melkor finds hope. 

That’s what you are to him. Hope, found in the darkest enclaves of existence. He does not know your name or your identity. All he knows is that there is someone out there, a faint light that comes to his rescue, someone who promises a reunion with his brother.

A presence that relieves him of his pain with a soothing touch to his forehead.

 Iluvatar witnessed the magnificence of his song. He celebrated the victories of his children and consoled them in their loss.

The chorus of his music rang loud in Arda’s fate, but he remained untouched by it. His halls were brimming with his second children, who sang merry songs of reunion after the trials of Arda. Iluvatar stayed by them, comforting them.

Yet, he remained alienated in his halls. Surrounded by the Ainur formed of his thoughts and his children, he still lacked the will to be with them. There was a separation between Iluvatar and the residents of his halls.

The God of Arda lived solitarily. His thoughts remained scattered in the realm of Arda and his halls. Maybe that was the reason he caught a fleeting glimpse of you.

Just a passing flicker of your presence from Manwe’s perspective was enough to leave the supreme creator encountering the gaping chasm in his chest. A dread of an eternity’s worth of emptiness strangled Iluvatar.

He searched for more. He looked for you in the memories of his thoughts that graced Arda as the Valar. There were faint images of your voice. He found more of those from Melkor. 

And Iluvatar mourned. The being greater than any sobbed for an unnamed being. He could not remember your name or your form. He knew nothing but the stolen snippets of your moments next to the beings shaped from his thoughts.

And it was the lack of this knowledge that dragged Iluvatar into yearning. In his lonely existence, filled with his great creation and his joy for his world, you were the only one who held a semblance to him.

He had created infinite kindred for Men, for Elves, for Ainur, but for Iluvatar…it was just you. The only one of his kind. The one he could not remember but could not let go.

In the depths of his halls, Iluvatar sat, surrounded by the symphony of creation, yet haunted by the absence of your presence. He longed to understand who you were, to recall the moments you shared, and to grasp the essence of your being. But all he had were fragments, like stars scattered across the heavens, leaving him yearning for the whole picture.

For a being as eternal as Iluvatar, the passing of ages was but a blink of an eye. Yet, in that blink, he sensed a void, a void that only you could fill. He wondered if you were a creation of his own mind, a figment of his imagination that somehow gained a life of its own, or if you were something more, a being from a realm beyond even his understanding.

[moni-harmonia]

Kaeya's Hangout - Other routes

For the Winery Routes click here

So, let's talk about the rest of the Hangout and some final thoughts!

First I did the Liyue route. This one is probably my least favorite, but it was fun nonetheless, just a bit long.

I liked Kaeya's story with Captain Wu. I mean, that part when he explained that Diluc almost killed him because he thought he was a pervert was so good lol

And then we got to see some of Kaeya's trickery. I love how he dislikes so much that people notice he wants to help, that he says we're the ones who want to help the guy lol

Also I loved how Kaeya's fake name was Albert Rich. Very sneaky 😂

Overall it was a fun excursion, and we got to see some of Kaeya's influence outside of Mond.

Next, I did the other one in Mond where we help Sister Grace. I love when we can see Kaeya and Venti talking to each other. It's so fun because it's so obvious that Kaeya knows he's Barbatos, like, he's basically saying it indirectly all the time lol

Also I liked the small reference to the first Windblume event. I loved the romantic poem plot that we got, it was so fun. I like when they make those references.

And I loved the part at the end where Kaeya's trying to come up with a very long excuse just because he doesn't want to sing 😂

Oh, how I feel that... I love singing but I'm embarrassed to do it in front of other people.

This one was also just a fun excursion, not much to talk about. Just another time where Kaeya says he's going to relax but ends up helping people, that's just how he is.

The picture is very cute though 🥰

Then we have the final one in Sumeru. This one was also a bit short but it had a very interesting moment.

Kaeya finds an excuse to put his new skin on, and I love that it was made to be a bandit, but it passes as a prince too. Even a lady there was like "Oh my god, is he a true prince??!". Yeah very smart of you Hoyo, I see what you did there!

Before this, Kaeya was pondering on the story of the play. He questions the importance of one's origin. He says that one cannot choose their origins, but their origins will limit their life decisions.

Of course, this is about his own life. His origins as a Khaenri'ahn, and how that's going to be always present in his life.

And then during the play, Kaeya, playing as a prince who has been living outside their homeland, and whose father wants to conquer other lands, decides to improvise.

He wants to challenge his fate. He doesn't want to follow his father. He wants to stay far from home. The play talks about how the prince stayed far from home as if it was a tragedy, but Kaeya phrased it as not being a tragedy, but as something that the prince chooses himself because that's how he wants to act, and that he's at peace with his decision.

It's very obvious how Kaeya was relating this tale to his own. He doesn't want conflict, he wants to live in peace.

Of course, we still don't have enough context of his Clan, what his father wanted and what will happen in the future. But this made us have a perspective on how Kaeya feels. He wants to choose his own destiny.

A brief but interesting path this was.

Overall, this hangout was fantastic. I think it could have been better. I wish there had been a story in Angel's Share because that's another important place in Kaeya's life. I wanted to see Rosaria too, and I wish the Knights had appeared a bit more.

But I was very satisfied with the content we got in the Winery, and the other paths had their own interesting and fun moments as well.

I'm very biased of course, but this was my favorite hangout. I liked Kaveh's too but there were some paths there that I didn't enjoy, here I enjoyed almost everything.

It was worth the wait, and I'm happy that our boy has gotten so much this update. He deserves the world and I can't wait to see him again.

I hope we get some Diluc love soon as well since he has been very absent lately and he didn't have a lot of content here. I wish we could have gotten a pic with the bros 😔 Some day...

[leftistfeminista]

While in Paris, Mary met in the house of T[homas] Paine where she had been welcomed as a friend, the vivacious, handsome, and elemental American, [Gilbert] Imlay. If not for Mary’s love for him the World might never have known of this Gentleman. Not that he was ordinary, Mary could not have loved him with that mad passion which nearly wrecked her life. He had distinguished himself in the American War and had written a thing or two, but on the whole he would never have set the World on fire. But he set Mary on fire and held her in a trance for a considerable time.

The very force of her infatuation for him excluded harmony, but is it a matter of blame as far as Imlay is concerned? He her all he could, but her insatiable hunger for love could never be content with little, hence the tragedy. Then too, he was a roamer, an adventurer, an explorer into the territory of female hearts. He was possessed by the Wanderlust, could not rest at peace long anywhere. Mary needed peace, she also needed what she had never had in her family, the quiet and warmth of a home. But more than anything else she needed love, unreserved, passionate love. Imlay could give her nothing and the struggle began shortly after the mad dream had passed.

Imlay was much away from Mary at first under the pretext of business. He would not be an American to neglect his love for business. His travels brought him, as the Germans say, to other cities and other loves. As a man that was his right, equally so was it his right to deceive Mary. What she must have endured only those can appreciate who have themselves known the tempest.

All through her pregnancy with Imlay’s child, Mary pined for the man, begged and called, but he was busy. The poor chap did not know that all the wealth in the world could not make up for the wealth of Mary’s love. The only consolation she found was in her work. She wrote The French Revolution right under the very influence of that tremendous drama. Keen as she was in her observation, she saw deeper than Burke, beneath all the terrible loss of life, she saw the still more terrible contrast between poverty and riches and [that] all the bloodshed was in vain so long as that contrast continued. Thus she wrote:

“If the aristocracy of birth is leveled with the ground only to make room for that of riches, I am afraid that the morale of the people will not be much improved by the change. Everything whispers to me that names not principles are changed.”

She realized while in Paris what she had predicted in her attack on Burke, that the demon of property has ever been at hand to encroach on the sacred rights of man.

With all her work Mary could not forget her love. It was after a vain and bitter struggle to bring Imlay to her that she attempted suicide. She failed, and to get back her strength she went to Norway on a mission for Imlay. She recuperated physically, but her soul was bruised and scarred. Mary and Imlay came together several times, but it was only dragging out the inevitable. Then came the final blow. Mary learned that Imlay had other affairs and that he had been deceiving her, not so much out of mischief as out of cowardice.

She then took the most terrible and desperate step, she threw herself into the Thames after walking for hours to get her clothing wet [so] that she may surely drown. Oh, the inconsistencies, cry the superficial critics. But was it?

In the struggle between her intellect and her passion Mary had suffered a defeat. She was too proud and too strong to survive such a terrible blow. What else was there for her but to die?

Fate that had played so many pranks with Mary Wollstonecraft willed it otherwise. It brought her back to life and hope, only to kill her at their very doors.

She found in Godwin the first representative of Anarchist Communism, a sweet and tender camaraderie, not of the wild, primitive kind but the quiet, mature, warm sort, that soothes one like a cold hand upon a burning forehead. With him she lived consistently with her ideas in freedom, each apart from the other, sharing what they could of each other.

Again Mary was about to become a mother, not in stress and pain as the first time, but in peace and surrounded by kindness. Yet so strange is fate, that Mary had to pay with her life for the life of her little girl, Mary Godwin. She died on September tenth, 1797, barely thirty-eight years of age. Her confinement with the first child, though under the most trying of circumstances, was mere play, or as she wrote to her sister, “an excuse for staying in bed.” Yet that tragic time demanded its victim. Fannie Imlay died of the death her mother failed to find. She committed suicide by drowning, while Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin became the wife of the sweetest lark of liberty, Shelley.

Mary Wollstonecraft, the intellectual genius, the daring fighter of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth Centuries, Mary Wollstonecraft, the woman and lover, was doomed to pain because of the very wealth of her being. With all her affairs she yet was pretty much alone, as every great soul must be alone – no doubt, that is the penalty for greatness.

Her indomitable courage in behalf of the disinherited of the earth has alienated her from her own time and created the discord in her being which alone accounts for her terrible tragedy with Imlay. Mary Wollstonecraft aimed for the highest summit of human possibilities. She was too wise and too worldly not to see the discrepancy between her world of ideals and her world of love that caused the break of the string of her delicate, complicated soul.

Mary Wollstonecraft, Her Tragic Life and Her Passionate Struggle for Freedom

Emma Goldman 1911

[sister-marshmallow]

Life Eternal

Chapter one: Prequelle

Cardinal Copia x Original Female Character

A pestilence ravages its way through Europe, claiming lives indiscriminately. Avelina will learn that salvation comes at a cost and the mysterious priest who haunts her dreams has also paid the price.

Pestilentia delebit dimidium Europae. Satanas proteget eam. Et sic veniet dies cum mortui terram ambulant.

The harsh sun peaks through the curtains and onto my restful face, forcing my eyes to blink open. I struggle to focus on anything except the dust floating down in the light as I adjust to reality once more. Another cold morning, the summer warmth has now fully left my village, in its wake the windy chill of autumn. Lethargically, I wipe the sleep from my eyes, stretching and breathing deeply. Slap! I flinch instantly, grabbing at the object that has hit my face. Bread?

“The day won't wait for you to rise, young lady.”

I smirk, throwing off my covers, sitting up before taking a big bite of the bread. “The sun tells me when it is time for me to wake, mother. It peaked through the window at the perfect time.”

She grumbles, shaking her head. “Perhaps you need a better method, get dressed. Quickly.”

I roll my eyes. Grabbing my kirtle, I quickly slip it over my chemise. Quickly, I buckle up my shoes, my mother practically dragging me through the door as I attempt to fasten them. My mother grumbles once more as the church bell rings out. The chill of wind is quickly washed away from the warmth of the sun’s rays which dazzle against my fair skin. I breathe deeply, enjoying the sensation momentarily before I am dragged into the cold stone confines of the church. I place my hands into the water by the door, cleansing them. The narrow walls close me in, the carpet leading me forward and onto the harsh surface of the pews. Mother walks down to sit beside me, my father distant on the right side of the chapel.

Father Noll comes forth and stands behind the pulpit. Clearing his throat before addressing the crowd.

“Brothers and sisters, how wonderous it is to be in your presence on this holy day. Blessed art us amongst such tragedy which has befallen our island. We together stand strong, in our bodies and in our faith.”

The pestilence. It’s brought devastation all across Europe, at least from what I’ve heard. Last month we heard word of people across Bristol falling ill of this disease. Fever and chills are the early warning signs, buboes black and swollen bite through the victims skin. Bloody coughs ring like a funeral bell to all who hear them.

“Now let us join together in prayer. Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;” the congregation repeats, my mother pokes me in my side as I am lost in thought.

“Where hate rules, let me bring love. Where malice, forgiveness. Where disputes, reconciliation. Where error, truth. Where doubt, belief. Where despair, hope. Where darkness, Thy light. Where sorrow, joy!”

Is it wrong of me to feel no such joy? All I feel is worry, sorrow… if the pestilence can harm those in the most pious of places, is it wrong to consider we may befall to this plague?

“O Master, let me strive more to comfort others than to be comforted. To understand others than to be understood. To love others, more than to be loved!”

Perhaps I should speak up at the next confessional. These doubtful thoughts that taint my mind can be nothing but trouble. For is it not the seeds of doubt which the devil uses to take ahold of one's soul?

“For he who gives, receives. He who forgets himself, finds. He who forgives, receives forgiveness. And dying, we rise again to life eternal. Amen.”

Amen.

We pass out of the gates of the church, my father touching my arm to stop me from wandering away. As I turn my eyes are met with an unfamiliar brown pair.

“Avelina, before you run off I wanted to introduce you to Osric’s son.”

I eye him up, quite obviously really. He is seemingly more wealthy than our family, a fact that is not just evident from his clothes but from the look upon my fathers face. The man is sheepish, pale in complexion, meekly, clearly a boy of books rather than harsh labor. These points do not discourage me from my fathers obvious intentions, it is just I have no intention to be given away.

“Leoric, it is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He bows slowly, gaze barely drifting up to look at me.

I grit my teeth, I am not in the mood to turn down suitors. “Lovely to meet you too, Leoric. A name from the bravest of beasts, I suppose your father must regret that name choice.”

The boy splutters a cough, his back straightening instantly at the comment. I bite back a smirk, turning away before heady back to the house. I hear my fathers profusely apologies as I happily skip through the fence gate and back into my home.

“You do know you’ll have to marry one day, Avelina. You can’t stay with us forever.” My mother taunts as she comes to stand in the doorway, arms crossed.

I grumble, walking past her to flop down onto my bed. “If father actually found someone worthwhile, maybe I’d consider. At this point I’d rather be a nun.”

I feel the bed dip beside me, a soft hand coming to gently stroke my hair. “If you want to be a nun then go and do it, my love. But I know that's not what you really want.”

I sigh deeply, sitting up, head lowered. My mother always knew this was a sore subject for me, finding a husband. It’s been 5 years now since my father started introducing me to potential suitors. When I was a young girl, it was exciting, seeing boys from around the village be interested in having me forever. But now all I see is a life sentence of misery. “I… I don’t know what I want. I suppose I wish for what you and Father have.”

“And it is what you deserve,” she smiles, hand on mine, “though I agree that these suitors don’t quite live up to that wish.”

The door slams open, my father stomping in. He snarls about to speak before his eyes lay on the scene before him, the tender moment causes a falter in his rage. “Avelina…” he breathes the word with a mix of emotions- disappointment, regret, melancholy?

“There’s no use for it, Hugo. Your daughter is too smart for these boys.” She says, the hint of a smirk evident from her tone.

“I do hope one day she forgets that.” I smile at him, sadly.

“I’m sorry, Father. I just-”

“-No,” he shakes his head, “it was a foolish thing to introduce you to Leoric. He’s a mere slip of a boy, without the knowledge to compensate for his slight frame.”

“Avelina, would you go tend to the flock, I must speak to your father.” I nod my head, before making my way outside to feed the sheep. I never know what my parents speak about in private, but it cannot be good. For me at least.

——-

Another early morning and I find myself back in the chapel. Father Noll hurries himself to the pulpit, worry evident in his eyes. He clears his throat and wipes his brow of sweat. I give a cautious glance to my mother, her visage blank, devoid of emotion. It seems the congregation becomes tense as the Father opens his mouth to speak. The priest struggles to form a single word, his mouth opening and closing again and again until his face falls flat. Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply, his mouth opening once more.

“O God,” he begins, “whose nature and property is ever to have mercy and to forgive, receive our humble petitions; and though we be tied and bound with the chains of our sins, yet let the pitifulness of Thy great mercy loose us; for the honour of Jesus Christ, our Mediator, and Advocate. Amen.”

Oh…Oh no. A prayer for forgiveness, for our sins- our sins. The pestilence, it must have reached us. My eyes flash to my mother beside me, a single tear rolls its way down her cheek. She dare not look at me, for her to look into my eyes is to seal our fate.

“As many of you will know, yesterday the Fitton family was found to have contracted the pestilence.” The roaring sound of a hundred murmurs fills the room, echoing from the stone cold walls. “Quiet!” He screams, the whimper in his voice crawling out of his throat. “We are a pious people! Are we not!?”

“We are!” and “Yes!” overtakes the murmur.

“Our faith in the almighty is strong! Our Father in Heaven would not forsake the good brothers and sisters here with me today. Now join me in prayer. O God, the Protector of all that trust in Thee, without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy, increase and multiply upon us Thy mercy;” the crowd stands, hands together as we pray. Some cry, some beg, all pray. “that, Thou being our Ruler and Guide, we may so pass through things temporal that we finally lose not the things eternal. Grant this, O heavenly Father, for Jesus Christ’s sake our Lord. Amen.”

——

The Fitton house, once a place of joyful laughter was now a cursed land, the earth salted and air smoked. The door was boarded shut once the first cough was heard, the cries of the children being sealed in still haunts me. But perhaps the containment of the miasma will keep the rest safe.

Today I step into our small field to clip the wool from some of the sheep. Grasping the animal with my legs, I hold it in place as I bring the shears near its skin. Father has all but given up on trying to paint me as a ‘ladylike’ woman, and finally allowed me to continue life my own way. I enjoy spending time with the sheep, their soft fluffy bodies and skittish demeanour appeals to me, I often feel like a prey animal in this plague. As I clip away at the sheep before me, my vision blurs, almost like the time I stole some of father’s ale. I blink rapidly in an attempt to clear my eyes of the fog but when I do a horrendous sight assaults me. Blackened, necrotic skin, oozing sores and full swollen buboes were hidden under the wool. Leaking gangrenous puss seeps out of the sheep’s tender skin as I jump back in fear. But when I look back again, the sheep’s normal perfect skin is restored.

——

Death.

The church ceremony reminds us again to continue our devotion to our Lord as our mortal lives may soon come to an end. It's odd how quickly the pious give up in order to be accepted by the almighty. If this is our Lord’s plan, to kill us all in order to secure our place in Heaven then I simply do not understand it. Nor shall I sit and wait with baited breath for this disease to consume all that I love.

“Avelina?” My Father’s voice sounds muffled in my ears, yet I choose to break out of my descending thoughts.

“Hmm?” I turn to face him, my parents stood beside Father Noll who nods to me.

“We have spoken to Father Noll of your predicament?”

“Predicament?”

Father Noll nods at me. “I have known you for many years, Avelina. I always sensed a strong divinity in you, perhaps the reason you have struggled so, to find a suitable match is because your calling is to devote your life to our Father in Heaven?”

Is this my parent’s solution? Ask me to be a nun? “And Avelina, in a time of such horror and lack of faith would it not benefit the entire village to have another dedicated wholly to the lord?” I know we jested on this days prior but I didn’t think they were being genuine.

“Um…”

“Have a think about it, Avelina. Why don’t you come down to the library, you can have full exploration of any books there?” My parents nod eagerly at his suggestion. I know why they are doing this. They are scared. They fear for my eternal soul and theirs. I will follow along.

“Yes, Father, I will. Thank you for this opportunity.” I smile at him, heading to the underground library.

I take a lantern from the wall before descending the long winding staircase down to the basement. The air is cool, walls covered in webs and dust, clearly this place is not often visited. My fingers trial against the spines of books as I pass by the long sectional shelves. The worn leather is rough against my fingertips. I suddenly come to a stop, as if some higher force has demanded me to stick in place, fingers on the spine of a dark and large tome. I furrow my brows, putting down the lantern in order to remove the tome from the shelf. Latin, I suppose I need to learn more if I am to be a nun. I tuck the book under my arm, along with a few smaller ones and head back upstairs.

——

Reading has never been one of my passions but in the eternal boredom which is living with your parents on a small sheep farm, butchering Latin will do as fine entertainment. To be completely honest, I have no idea what the words that are coming out of my mouth mean. I catch a few words, ‘death’, ‘pestilence’, ‘life’ and so on but the main bulk of meaning is lost on me. Every so often my mother or father will enter the room and praise my efforts, commenting on how I will keep them safe with my faith. I know it is not true.

The book I read from all day give me a strange feeling. The pages are old and worn, words scratched onto the paper with a harsh velocity, a malice almost as if the writer was in pain. “vita aeterna”. Life eternal. Those words are echoed through my mind. They penetrate my thoughts completely. Could this book promise me salvation?

The room is lit by candlelight, my parents fallen fast into dreams. My tongue struggles with the strange pronunciations but still manages to choke out the last words on the wilting page. A cold wind whips into the room, extinguishing the flames in an instant. Engulfed in darkness, my head spins, body shuddering before falling to the floor.

I stand alone in the sea of dreams. Stars paint the sky, the only light coming from the moon above me. There is a sense of stillness, of calm and tranquillity. My feet slowly drag along the sandy darkness, robes drenched in the onyx waters.

“Avelina.”

The voice is hollow and deep. Almost as if a thousand whispers of my name hit my ears at the same time. I try to turn in the direction of the sound but it consumes me completely.

“H-Hello?” I stutter, meekly. Body thrashing in circles against the water, trying to find who speaks to me. I hear the water moving behind me, a tall, dark amorphous creature emerging. “W-Who are you?”

He reaches out his cloak covered arms towards me, my body moves uncontrollably towards him. “Fear not, child. I am not here to harm you. I only wish to save you.”

“Save me?”

“The pestilence is spreading in your village. Soon all you know will be gone.” His hand takes mine. “I can promise you Salvation.”

Salvation? The man is almost beautiful, a strange and non-human entity. He seems ethereal, perhaps God himself has sent him to me. I nod slowly as he wraps his fingers behind my head. I look off into the distance, another figure draped in red, his eyes sunken and black stares back at me as I am immersed into the murky depths.

——

The dream I had last night was odd. I awoke with a strange feeling within my gut. I head off to the church before my parents awake, not wanting to disturb them. Normally they wake up strictly at sunrise but today they seem especially tired- with the pestilence coming closer, I do not blame them.

I once again descend the stairs into the basement library of the church, brushing away the cobwebs on the bannister as I go. The light of my lantern illuminates the vast array of books, I walk over to where I found the large black tome, hoping there will be more of a similar nature. That book is special, I can feel it within the very vestiges of my soul, it speaks to me- perhaps it is the catalyst of my dreams? My hand reaches out to find the spines of the books when it is met with something furry. I squeal, quickly retracting my hand before holding the light up to the shelf. A rat. Small and dark, beady eyes staring at me in fear.

“Sorry, little one. I did not mean to be rude.” I sigh, reaching out my hand again to stroke the creature's soft fur. It inclines its head towards my hand, allowing me to pick it up. The rat squeaks quietly as my fingers scrape along its scalp. I smile softly at it.

“What are you doing here?” A voice speaks besides me, causing me to jump, yet I keep a hold of the rat. The man beside me has a shaky and uncertain voice, a strong accent from a land I know not. My eyes trail over him, long crimson robes, sunken and tired eyes, brown yet greying hair.

“Eh I uh…I could ask you the same thing.” His eyes widen as he looks at me, then to the creature in my hand.

“You are not scared of rats?” He asks cautiously, stepping closer though only an inch.

“No.” I reply, blankly. “Who are you?”

“I I’m…My name is Father Copia?”

“Are you sure, you don’t sound certain?” I chuckle.

“I am. Now what are you doing down here, this library is only for clergy.”

“I’m training to be a nun, actually. How come I’ve never seen you before, you are not from here?”

He fiddles with his fingers. “I am a transfer from the Vatican. To help deal with the spread of the pestilence.”

“The Vatican!?” I squeak, almost dropping the rat, which jumps from my hands into the arms of Father Copia. He catches the rat, it crawls up to rest on his shoulder.

“Yes, now I uh was looking for…” His eyes trail to the bookshelf, specifically to the gap from where I had taken the tome. His eyebrows furrow and he looks at me. “Hmm. It appears to be missing. It was a dangerous book, that one. Let me know if it ‘appears’.” And with that, the mysterious priest was gone.

——

Every single night I’ve had that dream of the mysterious figure and a man in the distance in long, crimson robes. I’ve been reading the book every second of my waking hours, translating what I can, speaking it all aloud. My mind is fixated on vita aeterna. Vita aeterna….vita aeterna…vita aeterna. You may wonder why…but the answer is one I try not to think of. Two days ago, I heard a sound, faint yet it made my heart drop. A cough. My father just came in from tending to the sheep, stood in the doorway and coughed. He never said a thing about it. Mother noticed though, I’m sure.

I’ve been going to the church a lot too, praying more than I ever have. All I want is for my family to be safe, for us to live. They have done nothing wrong in life, and I will do anything to keep them alive.

——

No- this really can’t be happening.

“Please stay away from us, Avelina.” My father croaks out, clutching at my mother beside him.

“No..no, no no!” I scream, my eyes barely able to scan over their sickly forms. Dear God why!? Why them!? I can do nothing but run, run to the church, to Father Noll, he will know what to do.

I pound against the door to the church, hecticly screaming for father. “Father please! Help them, they have it, they have the pestilence!”

“Avelina, go back home! You cannot be out here!” He shouts back through the tall wooden door, the shadow of the church looming over me as my hopes of help wither away.

“Please, Father! I’m begging you!”

“I am sorry, I can do nothing. Get back in your house, I will pray for you.”

That is it, my hope is lost. All I can do is return home to my parents, their pained faces staring back at me. Not a word is spoken. The only noise being the banging of a hammer as we are nailed into the confines of our home. Our once happy home.

——

I look after them for days. I cook for them. When they get weaker, I feed them, bathe them, wash their sores, and make any herbal remedy I know. Still, I pray and pray and they get weaker and weaker. God has abandoned us and I will not sit idly by.

I read the book for hours, my parents too weak to question the mutterings and incantations that flood from my mouth. My tongue grows dry, my once soft voice now hoarse and biting. I struggle to read the Latin, the words harsh on my lips, my body begins to numb, coldness seeping through me until my mind falls into darkness.

Here I am again in the sea of dreams. The dark, amorphous creature approaches instantly, taking my hands in his.

“You are persistent, young one. You fascinate me.” Though he has no mouth, his words curl as if he is smiling.

“This dream again…” I mutter to myself in thought. It’s a strange thing to have dreams reoccur, perhaps this is the way the divine speak to you.

“A dream? Oh of course.”

I look down at his dark hands on mine, his long fingernails curve to stab at my soft skin. These are no hands of the divine, I can feel the blood staining them. If this is a creature from below, it does not matter. They can still help me.

“You. You said you would help me.”

“I promised you salvation, you took it gladly. But it comes at a price.”

My brows furrow. “I don’t want for salvation. I- I want my parents to live!”

“That I cannot do, I’m afraid. That was not our agreement.”

“Agreement!? Who- who are you?”

A dark chuckle echoes from his being, I shiver as a cool wind whips over my skin. “I believe you already know. I am your saviour. In time I will come for you.”

——

During these times it is the priest’s responsibility to travel to the homes of the sick to listen to the confessions of the dying and proclaim their Last Rites. This leads us to the sound of nails being pulled from the door and the nervous scuttling of Father Copia into this miasma filled abode. I stand far away as they confess to him, it is not my place to listen or judge. They are in the hands of the almighty now, he will embrace them, envelope them in his paradisiacal kingdom. My weak parents struggle to talk to Father Copia, their words falling short. He declares their Last Rites and they seem to still, as if peace has washed over them, all their worries gone.

I stand by the door, Father Copia walking over to me with a sadness in his eyes. “I am so sorry this has happened.”

“We have been forsaken. Though my family, they have done nothing wrong. I will never understand the will of God.”

“I’m afraid I won't either…” he sighs, his hands fidgeting.

“He will save you. You are one of his holy men.”

“My faith…it's been tested to its extreme, as has yours.” He mutters before his eyes shoot up to stare into mine. “What drastic paths we will take now, none can blame us.” His eyes are darker now, almost dead, he’s done something. “Well…fair well, Avelina. I hope to meet you again, perhaps in a better life.”

“Goodbye, Father Copia.”

——

Laying beside two corpses is colder than one may think. They died last night, it was so peaceful I almost didn’t notice. I prefer it that way, their pain has finally come to an end, an abrupt and untimely end. I will stay with them now, whatever that dark creature promised me, I do not want. I wish to be with my family again, even in death. I wait for their pestilence to consume me, eventually it will take, I cannot live forever.

I have not moved. The sunlight has passed back and forth through the windows for many days now. My Mother and Father, what remains of them, has withered and decayed. Their blood pooling down, draining the colour from their faces. My Mother’s lips pale and cracked, my Father’s eyes clouding and unmoving. Yet here I remain, waiting for death to envelope me, to take me away from this misery.

“I have never seen a more pitiful human.” I jump at the voice, backing into a corner as my eyes spot the shadowy figure in the corner of the room. His body covered in a black shrowd, his face hidden by his cloak.

“Who-”

“Who am I? You ask that question a lot.” The figure comes closer yet my fear has gone, something is telling me I am safe. I do not need a fear for death anyway, though I know this creature will not grant me it.

“You know, it’s not considered typical to just lay with corpses.”

“They are not just corpses! These are my parents, my family! I’m- I’m going to save them.”

He tuts. “I’m sorry, sunshine, but that is not a possibility. The Olde One has told you. He promised you salvation. Not them.”

How could I do this? How could I make such a stupid, STUPID, STUPID, mistake!? I could’ve saved them! I shouldn’t have accepted a deal from Him so easily, so naive, so stupid…I am the one who sealed their fate, cut the string of their life prematurely, wished the pestilence upon them. My ignorance has cost us our souls.

“Everything will be fine, young one. You must come with me now.” He holds out his hand, long black fingers melding into a lighter tone of skin further down his arm.

“I still don’t even know who you are.”

“But what choice do you have? Lay here for eternity to rot, or come with me.”

I breathe deeply, accepting my lack of autonomy. I place a gentle kiss on my parent’s foreheads before wrapping a cloth on my shoulders and stepping outside.

The wind chill is biting, I struggle to keep the cloth wrapped tight enough as he leads me through the village. Behind me I hear voices, ones I recognise, shouting.

“It’s her! She’s out! The witch is out!”

“Get her!” I turn back but the figure is gone, now all I see are the people of the village chasing me, accusing me-

I quicken my pace, hiking up my dress and powering my legs to the ground. Running as fast as I can, twigs snapping under my feet as I race into the deep forest. They are not far behind, their voices stay close to me, closing in as I reach a fire in the dense wood. I stop, one man grabbing my ankles and forcing me to the ground. I can do nothing as they beat me, claw at my skin, scream witch as they descend the wrath of God.

Chanting begins to echo from the woods, the villagers undeterred from their crusade at the muttering. Legs kicking at my ribs and fingers scratching my exposed flesh. Something is happening in me, my racing heart stops, the blood I felt rushing through my veins stagnantes. Coldness seeps into me, my fingers like ice, my teeth sharpening to points. Dead, I could almost describe myself as dead, yet I have one overwhelming urge. Consume.

My teeth make harsh contact with a woman’s neck, causing a strangled scream to rip from her. Her blood squirts out in hot spirts. The flavour of her essence is delectable and addictive. I move on to my next victim, the others circled by hooded figures, preventing their escape as I massacre them. Ripping them limb from limb, their blood and viscera coating my tongue. My dress stained crimson. Their screams fall on deaf ears, muted by the pure pleasure of their pain. I grow woozy, my body falling into lethargy as the blood runs dry.

My eyes close as the coffin door is sealed.

[tarnishedhalo]

Confession: “I thought I’d learned to hide it when an unexpected sight or scent dredged up a memory I didn’t want to think about. I know you’d never ask though maybe sometimes you want to. I also know you’re way more perceptive than that but you’ve always given me the grace to keep it to myself. I’m more grateful for it than you’ll ever know.

I don’t even know where to begin. I'm not sure I can tell you how it was I let someone in a place of power over me take advantage of my fears that I’d gotten in over my head. I was so afraid to fail an elective course I’d taken despite the fact that my parents had forbidden it, I allowed someone to make me feel like I didn’t belong there, that I wasn’t good enough. I traded a piece of myself for that passing grade. To this day that young girl who was made to feel wholly inadequate and didn’t deserve a place in that classroom still keeps those sketch books and draws. Perhaps it was a bit of defiance that made me continue to master those skills despite everything that happened, to turn into something that brings me peace instead."

Reaching out with one finger, she starts just under his ear and traces a tender line along the edge of his jaw all the way to his chin. “Because I don’t know if I can bear to see this tighten in anger, nor see the fire burn in your eyes with thoughts of making someone suffer when I say it out loud. Though there’s fierce part of me that would love it, adores the depths you’d go to for those you care about. I just don’t think I could do that to you.

It’s enough for me that I know you would.”

He's not entirely sure where those couple of minutes vanish, except that they now exist in an aether very few are aware of. To trace them down would be to court paradox, however coincidental he could make it, a subtlety born of both talent and practice. Where he gets truly caught up is here he has the feeling that if she'd wanted him to know, to remember, he wouldn't have forgotten what she'd just said. He wouldn't have gotten tripped up over the beautiful tragedy in her eyes. The sweetly sad smile on her lips. The way she's tracing his jawline and looking at him the way she is. Beth always goes on about better angels; his are certainly looking the other way right now, if he's got any at all.

Now isn't really the time and place to be thinking about his younger sister, and unlike her, he can push the thoughts away with ease. It isn't so much re-centering himself as it is choosing to be in the moment even if he's not quite sure what the moment is. His hand lifts and he rests his fingers against her wrist, neither pulling her away or really hampering any movement she might make. "I'm uh...I'm a little embarrassed to be asking this a' thaisce, but uh. What were we talking about?" Soon as the words leave his mouth, he's providing his own back up. "I mean, I was listenin', really I was...but maybe I just got lost in you, ya know?" He almost jokes and says he'll chalk it up to a little residual head-trauma, but almost no one finds that as funny as he does. He hopes she isn't mad, or that she blames the whiskey he's been sipping.

[buckystevelove]

My Brightest Star

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2708

Warning: ANGST and fluff

A/N: This is my longest work. Please leave comments. Ask, submissions and requests are open.

A week, that’s how long has passed since Bucky’s world felt apart. He should have known, his whole life has been full of tragedy, one after the other. He had 7 years of happiness and peace, he will have to come to terms with the fact that maybe those years would be the only ones in his long and sad life that he would known what real and complete happiness really is.

He met you 7 years ago in a coffee shop, you accidentally tripped and spilled all your coffee in him. You apologized over and over again, Bucky couldn’t care less about the hot drink splatted all over his body, he was so enthralled over the beautiful woman standing in front of him, for years he thought that he would never get love, but you managed to prove him wrong. He claims that it was love at first sight, he simply knew that you were his soul mate.  

After the incident, you bought his coffee as a symbol of forgiveness, though he really didn’t care. You exchanged names and phone numbers. Just a few hours later you received a massage from Bucky, inviting you to go for dinner the next day. Soon, one date turn to seeing each other every time you could. You felt for him, and hard. Eventually you met all of his friends, you became a great friend with Wanda and Nat. They would invite you to all the girl nights they had. You got along with Sam, always joking around and making pranks, same with Tony. You also became best friend with Steve, you had a strong relationship with him besides yours with Bucky. You too were like siblings, he always claimed that you were his little sister, and warned Bucky never harm you, or he would have to face the consequences.

Nobody was surprise nor bother when you moved to the compound with Bucky. Everyone was super exited to have you closer, that made Bucky a bit jealous.

You and Bucky were attached to the hip. One year into your relationship, he knew that he was going to marry you, you were going to be the mother of his children. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You were the one, so he asked you to marry him.

It was so beautiful, he took you on a trip to the museum, your favorite place to spend the time. When you were in the sculptures room the kneeled and said; “YN, since the moment I saw you I knew that you were the one, I knew that I was going to marry you, and all you have done is prove me right. You are the love of my life, my partner, my best friend I can no longer imagine a future in which you are not in it, because YOU are my FUTURE. You have been the light at the end of the tunnel, you have brought me happiness, love I thought I no longer deserved after all the awful things I had done, you helped name realized who the real James Buchanan Barnes is, and who I want him to be. I want to be your husband because I love you so much. You are my entire world YN. So, would you marry me?”

At the end of his speech both of you had tears in your checks, you throw yourself over him and said yes over and over again, you were beaming.

6 months after that, many hours of planning and cake tasting, you and Bucky had the most beautiful fall wedding. It was perfect. Your family and the team was there, everyone was so happy for the two of you.

When the time to say the vowels came you couldn’t be more thrilled, you have been writing them for so long.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are the love of my life. You have been the one who has taught me what love really is, what it is like to love someone with every single atom in my body. You have taught me what is like to be completely and uoughterly happy, that is how I feel when ever I am with you. James, when we met you told me that you only saw yourself as a monster, as the vilan of many people’s lives, but baby, you are my knight in shining armor, you are absolutely everything to me. You are the brightest star in my universe, the one and only. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to tell you and show you how much I love you every day, I want you to feel how much I love you even after we are death. I want to keep loving you and choosing you a hundred of lives after this. Because Bucky, MY LOVE FOR YOU WILL NEVER END.”

At the end both of you were crying, among many other of your guests.

Your honeymoon was perfect. Tony paid the two of you a 3 weeks trip around Europe. Nine months later, you had your gorgeous daughter, Rebecca. She looked exactly like you, but her eyes, she had the most beautiful blue eyes just like her father. The three of you were the definition of a perfect family, you and Bucky did ocationaly fight like all healthy couples do, but your life was great. Your house was so full of love and happiness.

Bucky was so thankful to you, you had given him all he could ever dreamed for in life and more.

The three of you spent all the time you could together, you went to the park and had movie nights, went of family trips and spent lazy Sunday mornings in bed together. You wanted Becca to feel and understand what a loving home was, since you didn’t had one. You wanted her to feel the love you and Bucky had for her.

“Becca, Bucky, you two know you are the most important people in my life right. I love the two of you so so much. You are the ones that make me happy. You are my greatest treasures.” You said to your husband and 5 year old daughter one afternoon, while cuddling in the couch together.

“I love you too mommy, you too daddy. You are the best parents in the world, thank you.” She said kissing yours and Bucky’s face, making you giggle.

“You dolls are my everything. I love you.” He said before attacking the two of you with tickles, and whispering to your ear. “Thanks doll, for all this.”

The day had started like any other Tuesday would, you woke up after your alarm. Waking up Bucky with kisses and loving touches, after he woke up he heads to shower while you got Becca ready. Once the two of them were dressed, Bucky went to the kitchen to make breakfast wihle you got ready. The three of you ate together, you heard how Becca´s best friend was going to have a party next Saturday and you needed to buy her a present. You decided to go to the mall with her after classes and maybe have a girl’s day and do you nails. That made her smile so bright, which was what you loved the most about your life, that it was full of happiness.

After eating, you said goodbye to Bucky and Rebecca, he was going to take her to school and then go to the Avengers compound to train some new recruits, while you went to your office.

Bucky’s day went normal, as any other day would go, he did some training and hanged out with Sam and Steve. When 4pm came around the received a call from Becca´s school, her teacher told him that she was still there. You never came pick her up, he didn´t know why you were late. You always told him if your meeting was going to be longer so someone would pick your daughter from school.

“Sorry man.” He told Steve at the middle of the meeting. “Apparently YN never went to pick Rebecca from school she is there by herself, I really need to go. I also need to see what happened to YN. She is not picking up her phone.” Bucky said standing up from his chair.

“Sure pal, everything good with her?” Steve said a bit worry, he didn´t want his best friend to be in panic.

“I hope so.” He said walking to the door, but before he could reach it his phone rang again.

Steve just stood there, and watched how the color of his best friends face went completely white, then Bucky’s knees failed and he felt to the floor. Tears running down his cheeks, his face was shaking. He was wordless. Sentences couldn´t form in his mouth. Steve was next to him in second, he took the phone from his hand.

That when he heard him scream, he screamed as if he was dying, painful and horrible screams.

“Excuse me.” Steve said through the phone. “This is Steve Rogers. What happened?” He asked, though he already had an idea of what had happened.

“I am so sorry Sir, but I regret to inform you that Mrs. Barnes had a car accident today. She arrived to the New York Presbyterian Hospital at 2:36pm, she immediately went to surgery. She didn´t make it, she was called at 3:49pm. I am so sorry, but we need her husband to come.”

Steve hanged up the phone, he had tears in his eyes, he was about to cry. He had lost his best friend, but he needed to be strong for the man that was like a brother to him, to his nice.

Bucky was in the floor, sobbing and screaming. He went and called for Nat. She enter and saw the state in which Bucky was, then she saw the tears in Steve´s eyes.

“What happened?” She asked in panic.

“I… he…N-Nat” he mumbled between sobs. “Can you please look for Rebecca at school? Please.”

Nat realized, she immediately shook her head in disbelieve, “no, no, no,”

“Nat, please. Someone needs to be with her.” Steve managed to say. She wiped her tears and left the room.

Steve was in the floor hugging his best friend while he cried his eyes out, he was no longer screaming.

“I am sorry buddy, I am so sorry.” He said to his friend. “I know how you feel, just let it all out. But later you need to be strong for your daughter. She just lost her mother, she will need her dad. She needs you to be there for her, but now. I am here for you.”

“Not her, please not her. She is perfect Steve, I can’t, I love her, we can’t lose her.” He sobbed and screamed. “We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together, the two of us.”

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

When he calmed down, they went to the hospital. A drunk driver had crashed against your car in a traffic light. He died immediately.

Becca slept in Nat´s room. Bucky slept in his old room in the compound, he couldn’t go to your home. Too many memories. He couldn’t face his daughter, he would broke in front of her, he needed to be strong. He cried himself to sleep that day.

He next day was awful, he needed to explain to her 5 year old baby, that her mother would never hug her again. He couldn’t even began to comprehend that.

“Becca, baby. I need to talk to you.” He said the next morning the compounds living room, all  the other Avengers were in the hospital helping Bucky prepare every detail for the funeral, Steve was the only one there, next to Bucky and Becca. In case either of them needed him.

“Daddy, why did we slept here?” She asked frowning her eyebrows, just like her dad. “Where is mommy? We were supposed to have a girl´s day yesterday.”

That made Bucky tear a few tears which he rapidly cleaned.

“Babydoll, its because…” Bucky mad a pause and looked through the windows. “Mommy had an accident, and she will never come again.”

Becca made a confused face.

“Why? Can´t you just put her a bad-aid like you do to me when I have accident?” She asked in all her innocence, which made Bucky’s strength fall. He quickly enveloped her in his arms.

“That is the thing baby, she had a big accident, she is gone.” He started to sob again, so did Steve.

Becca began to stroke her father’s hair. “We will see her daddy, someday, but I am really going to miss her.” She started to cry and hug her dad.

“I want my mommy, dad.”

“So do I honey.”

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

The funeral was beautiful, full with YN´s family and friends. They all told beautiful stories and tried to remember the amazing person YN was. Bucky couldn’t talk, he had so many things to say, none of them were for this people to hear, they were for his love.

A week had passed since you awful dead, Bucky stayed at the compound, he couldn’t go home, he also needed help with Becca. He could barely managed to take care of himself.

He was in his bed, looking at the celling, numb. He know the needed to stand up and shower, he needed to get up and care of his baby, but she was the carbon copy of you. It was like looking at you, it hurt, it really hurt. Lying there he heard some knocking at his door. Then Steve came..

“Hey pal, the lawyer came today, he left the will and this letter. She wrote it you when you guys had Rebecca.”

“Thanks, just leave it there.” He said gesturing to his night stand.

When Steve left he got up and grabbed the letter, it had his name in your beautiful calligraphy.

Bucky,

My love, I hope that you never have to open this letter, but if you do, I want you to know that you made me the happiest woman alive. In all the galaxies we know that exist, in all the universe that may. I was the happiest, all thanks to you. You teached me what the meaning for being alive really meant, you showed me so many incredible and beautiful things, and you gave me our most amazing gift, our daughter Rebecca, she is the tangible evidence of our love.

If the time in which you have to open this letter comes, know that you did everything you could. Under any circumstances think that this was your fault, it wasn´t.

I love you so much Bucky, you have really no idea, and I know you loved me just as much, that is why I am asking you one last favor.

Please don´t close yourself, don´t let yourself return to the man you were before be met, not that he was any less amazing, but he was lonely. I want you to continue living your life to the fullest. I know I can´t ask you to not miss me or forget me, I don’t want that. I want you to remember my memory and cherish it. I want you to show all then wonders of the world to sweet Becca. Please never let her forget that she was the most important person in my life besides you.

I want the two of you to continue to love, and let yourselves be love. I love you with all my heart, and every single atom in my body.

          Don’t forget me my brightest star, YN.

After reading that Bucky cleaned his cheeks.

“I will always love you.” He kissed the letter and placed it in his nightstand. He got up and went to find his daughter.

“I love you baby, and so did you mother. You are our greatest creations.” He no longer had you here, so he was going to spend all his breathing moments showing her how much he loved her, he was the only part left in this world of YN, and she was that greatest gift she could have left him.

He would continue to love you long after you are gone. For ever, til the end of times.

——————————————————————————

A/N: I cried so hard writing this. I am so sorry, but I hope you like it. I really appreciate feedback.

[lixnininotnay]

Hey do u think you could just do some yan hank x reader :) thank u :)

Hello, and thank you for being the first one to send me a request! And sorry for making you wait for so long, first I thought doing a few headcanons, but soon my ideia became an one-shot, and then it turned out in a full story (sort of, lol). Let's start this tragedy! I hope you enjoy it.

Warning: this story contains a lot murder, description of death, blood, emotional, psychological and physical abuse, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships and behavior, yandere, obsession and others topics. It's not recommended to read it if you are uncomfortable with any of those.

P.s.: if I forgot to put some warning or if you spot any grammatical error, please tell me! I would be thankful.

All the mistakes you made (A Yandere!Hank x reader story)

Chapter I. - Your first mistake.

You kicked and squirmed against the man who held you in a grip that felt like steel, but even though you were giving it your all, your resistance was showing no result. In fact, it looked to him like you were just a rag doll that he was carrying on his shoulder, but it was also because you were weak and heavily injured.

"Let me go, your fucking bastard!" You hissed. No answer. He just continued walking stilly, like if it was the most ordinary thing that ever happened.

But to be truthful, that wasn't the most eccentric thing he'd ever done. Hank was famous for causing large-scale massacres, but you didn't believe in it before, after all, how could a single person destroy entire units by himself and without leaving any witnesses?

You thought it was all a farce, that in reality it was a group that was after all this killing, and they pretended to be only one person to strike fear so nobody would try to counter them. So you ended up accepting the mission to go after that guy called "Hank" in order to investigate further and see if your theory was correct, you were curious to see the truth. That was your first mistake. You were in an arsenal of the A.A.H.W. with other mercenaries and agency members, they apparently managed to locate approximately where his base is and planned to attack in a large number, and they also talked about the possiblity of having a pizza party that might happen after, but you didn't mind too much.

While everyone was getting ready and arming themselves to the teeth, you could hear an explosion noise, followed by gunfire and screams filled of agony. Everything happened so fast that you couldn't ratiocinate correctly.

You quickly obeyed your senses and threw yourself behind a pillar, thus protecting yourself from the barrage of gunfire that followed right after, that covered the entire room in red and yellow. After everyone realized that the enemy had finally run out of ammo, the ones who survived came out of their hiding places and started trying to fight back, but were quickly killed one by one. Picking up an AK-74, you tried to get as far away as possible, knowing that facing danger head-on would be futile.

Going up a staircase and reaching a higher landing, you got behind a container and peeked out to see who the enemies were. As a consequence, taking a fright when realizing that it was just one person, not a group, easily killing several with just a katana in hand. You tried to ignore this fact and focus on the battle, firing and managing to land two shots on him.

Hank rapidly became annoyed, and started to ignore the agents that were going at him and changed his direction to you and the other two snipers who were on your side. For a split second, as he lifted his head to see where the shots were coming from, you could see bloodlust in his eyes, similar to a malicious and hungry animal, it was terrifying.

And then he began to move in a fierce way, brutally slicing anyone on his path to you. You were trying to reload your gun and to back away even more, but he had already gone up the stairs, kicked the closest sniper in the face causing them to hit their head against the wall, instantly killing them. He tried to cut you in half with his katana right away, but you managed to hold the blow using the AK-74 and kicked him in the stomach, pushing him away.

The second sniper tried to shoot him, but Hank managed to ricochet two bullets, hitting them back and in the meantime you bolted behind a wall, he took the gun from the first one he killed, and you started exchanging shots. You got hit twice, once in the shoulder and once in the abdomen, and you ran out of bullets, when he realized that, he went straight towards you and tucked the gun behind his back. You tried to run away, but he had already reached and started to strangle you, he wanted to have the satisfaction of killing you with his bare hands.

You struggled for air, but his grip was stronger, you could see the sadistic urge to kill in him, without showing an ounce of pity.

Just when you thought it was your end, the second soldier shot Hank, before they took their last breath and died in their own blood trail made after they crawled close enough to aim. In the second he momentarily loosened his grip, even though you were still dizzy from the lack of air, you managed to grab the gun from Hank's back after the shot, struck him with it, taking him off you and getting up quickly with the help of the the wall, trying to hold the gun and aim it, shivering from the adrenaline, bruises and out of breath.

"It's over. Just give up already." You demanded.

"You're a really annoying bitch." Hank hissed, still on the floor and with one hand on the left side of his face, where you hit him and cracked the glass of his goggles.

And all of a sudden, just when you thought Hank was finished, he got up, you tried to react but your movements were still slow. He grabbed the gun from your hands, caught you around the neck with his other hand, making you bang your head against the wall and then knocking you to the ground. The impact was so bad that you felt blood seeping from your lips and a tremendous headache, making you whimper in pain. Hank just chuckled at your state.

"Goin' down that easily? You're pathetic." Hank mocked you as he approximated. You tried to creep away but he stepped on your back, stopping you once more. He bent down to look at you closely, your eyes still had the slendor of the desire to fight and survive, an expression on the face from someone that wouldn't give up yet, he loved it. He stopped for a second to think, then continued. "Y'know what? I liked you, just love your type." You tried to process what he told you, but nothing made sense. "I'm keepin' you with me. Stay here." He said as he got off from you, but before shooting one of your legs. What made you scream out loud in pain, the adrenaline of the moment passed causing all the pain to hit you at once, while Hank came down from the platform to kill the rest of the agents, and the A.T.P. soldiers and mags that just arrived.

Everything in you hurts, even breathing, it was hard to relax. You spent a few minutes lying on the floor listening to the gunshots and screams in the background that haunted your ears, sounds that were becoming more muffled as the time passed, and trying to somehow control the pain, however your efforts did not yield results, the burning sensation of your wounds remained and you were struggling to not faint. When your vision started to get blurry, you heard something:

"Hello? Anyone's listening? Hello?" You turned your head to the voice, it was coming from the room that had the radio. "I repeat, anyone's listening?"

Clinging to what you thought was a glimmer of hope, you rise up with difficulty from the ground and began to stumble to the station, almost slipping in your own puddle of blood. After arriving with difficulty in the chamber, you answered. "Yes, (Y/N) talking, it's an emergency." You battled to say, your throat felt like it was on fire.

"What happened?"

"Hank invaded the base, we need units, NOW!" You tried to demand, your voice was still weak.

"It will take some time, we don't have any available next to your location." That irritated you.

"For the fuck sakes, we don't have time--" They hung up, wich made you rage and question if all your efforts were in vain.

You tried to keep your composure, after stopping for a few seconds to calm down, you rummaged around and found some bandages and an adrenaline shot in one of the lockers, which you used to cover the wounds and applied to yourself, now managing to stand up and even walk. And digging a little further you found a knife bag with a knife inside, which you decided to hide in one of your boots, and a pistol that you kept in your hands.

When you left the room, you decided that you were going to run away without anyone noticing, to hell the reward money. Watching your surroundings and hiding behind the containers, you saw that Hank was no longer in sight which made you panic, but you also saw the body of the guy who saved you, you tried to check their pulse, but they were gone.

"Thank you. Rest in peace, my man." You said in respect, while closing their eyes, knowing that if they didn't help, you would be dead. Before getting up and leaving you saw that in their pocket there was a grenade, which you decided to take.

You rushed down the stairs and walked down one of the long corridors for what felt like hours, the place looked like a maze full of corpses, making it obvious that Hank has been through here. Entering and turning in several corridors, trying to remember where is the exit, made you regret to not paying attention and memorize the place, this base was gigantic.

Hearing heavy footsteps approaching you, you entered a room that looked like a dormitory and hid under a bunk bed, carrying the pistol. You heard the door open again.

"You really don't obey when someone says to, do you?" You can feel the irritation in his speech, sounded like Hank was searching for you for some time already.

He began looking around the room for you, kicking and knocking over some furniture in the process, you started crawling under the beds trying to make as much silence as possible and get next to the door. For a moment he stopped and was silent, a sudden movement that made you uneasy. He was trying to hear you. After what seemed an eternity of silence, he turned his head towards the bed you were hiding underneath.

Fuck it.

You abruptly ran to the door for your life, and before he could do anything, you took aim and started shooting towards him to keep your distance and threw the grenade at him, closing the entrance as you left. Even though, he protected himself with using the beds, leaving no major injuries on him, it really took him by surprise. Hank didn't expect that you could do all of this for your bruises, you sure were an interesting person. Now he really wants you.

You sprinted as fast as you could, your movements becoming more clumsy as the pain returned, but it didn't stop you. Finally finding the exit, you spotted a vehicle that could easily get in and hot-wire it, but wasn't able to, despair making it even harder. In this short meantime, you felt a pair of hands pulling you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you out of the vehicle.

"You really know how to get under my skin." he admitted, both out of admiration and irritation in a threatening way, looking directly in your eyes. And he threw you over his shoulder, hurting you and making you drop your pistol in the process. He couldn't be gentle even if his life depended on it. "I'd have drive us both to the base, but you are such a fucking annoyance that makes it impossible." And then he started walking with you on his shoulder.

What he said made you shiver, what was he planning to do with you? You started to struggle, waiting for him to let go of you, but he just held you tighter. You soon ran out of strength and gave up, getting more tired and weaker by every minute, all this agitation was too much for you, so eventually, you end up passing out from exhaustion.

Hank still couldn't figure out what he found so fascinating about you, maybe because you, a nobody, managed to survive him for so long, few did, or because of your determination and how you surprised him, or even the way you looked at him, he loved to see that mixture of fear, hate and will to live in your face, it was so intriguing.

Whatever it was, he wouldn't be worrying and questioning himself nonstop right now, he didn't need to. Because he would have all the time he wanted to discover now.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life Goes On

This if for @buckybarnesplumwhore​

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; grieving, funeral, breeding, handcuffs, warnings are not exhaustive so read at your own discretion.

This is dark! Andy Barber x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You volunteer at the local youth center but when one of the kids meets an unfortunate end, you cross paths with his father. No stranger to grief, you try to help him cope but find it a bigger than task that you expected.

Note: When I started writing, I had no plan. When I kept writing, there was still no plan. And then it just all kinda happened.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

It was too sunny for a funeral. A funeral come too soon.

The service was held out in the sun, rows of wooden chairs and a sombre old priest. You never knew if the Barbers were religious but it was easy to find a holy man in Massachusetts, as easy as those early years of settlement found in textbooks. 

There were no flowers, only two oblong caskets shrouded in black cloth, the name of each of the dead on silver placards, no pictures, no souvenir of who they were.

It was like Andy was already trying to forget them. He was at the front, the grieving widower and father. You were lost somewhere in the middle with his co-workers, there out of propriety more than empathy, and distant relatives who attended out of courtesy, some passing acquaintances who followed the story in the papers more than out of compassion. It was a spectacle and Andy had done his best from feeding the leering onlookers.

You knew Jacob more than his parents. He was younger than you, almost ten years apart. You knew him from the youth group you volunteered for, the same one you'd been in at his age. He was out of place there, he was from a better neighbourhood than the other kids, they called him the rich brat, and he resented himself more for it than he did them.

His attendance kept his mother happy. He didn't like the individual counseling, he didn't talk, so she put him in the group and he talked there. Sometimes. The kids never went on philosophical monologues but they understood each other and shared what they needed to.

Laurie was always late to pick him up. So he stayed to help stack the chairs and you ended up waiting with him, making sure he wasn't alone in the dark. He hated that at first too, until he realised you weren't on the stoop to council or judge. You were just two people, chatting to pass the time.

Sometimes Andy picked him up. He was friendlier than Laurie. Jacob's mother was always in a rush, even on her way home where there was no deadline. She said thanks, maybe, and drove off as she began to lecture Jacob about how he wore his hat. Andy offered you a ride, every time, as if he had some compulsion to be the good guy, the saviour. You always said no, the bus was a five minute ride to your building, fifteen minutes if you walked.

Now Jacob was dead, his mother too. Another tragedy inflicted upon those least likely. Even death didn't stop the whispers, even that venue, the priest's collar, the Biblical dirges, the grim family man in black did not silence them. It sickened you as the service ended and the people rose in a hushed murmur.

Andy left without talking to anyone. The procession of cars would drive through the streets with flags to mark the grieving on their way to the interment. It was as if Andy was doing what was expected more than what he felt he owed the deceased. He was ever the lawyer, formal and curt.

You followed the grey parade. Not out of obligation but out of genuine regret. Jacob seemed like a lost kid, even in death. The rumours, the accusations, the suspicion, followed him. The people didn't watch the dirt fall from the shovel to see him at peace, they watched it as some grand finale to the great show of the Barbers.

When the metal no longer cut and scattered the soil, the crowd thinned out. You stayed as the diggers packed up. You were sad for Jacob, for Laurie. Andy hadn't been there to see the burial. You couldn't blame him but you were surprised. He just disappeared after the service, apparently done with his part in the play. 

You went closer and stared at the new stone that stretched above both plots. Laurie Barber… and her son, Jacob Barber. May they rest. It was as short, as minimal as anything else about the affair. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. You didn't know if Jacob was a bad seed, it wasn't your job to make that call, but he had just been a kid and all that potential was now six feet down.

"Didn't think anyone would stick around," the dark figure stepped up beside you, his steps muted by the grass, "least of all, you."

"I'm sorry, I…" you looked at Andy and then the dirt, "I'll go."

"Wait," he said before you could move, "I thought-- I thought I wanted to be alone for this…" he shoved his hand in his pocket, "but I've been alone since it happened and I'm realising, I'm gonna be alone from here on out."

You didn't say a word. You didn't know what you could say. He'd heard a hundred apologies, a hundred condolences.

"I'm happy someone stayed, that someone cared," he cleared his throat, "thank you."

You nodded and played with the buttons on your cardigan.

"He was too. Happy, you know, that someone cared. I think back now and I realise that you probably saw him more than me. He was always excited to go to the centre but he got in that car and he just… deflated." He shook his head, "maybe this is better. One way or the other, he wanted to get away from me but he never could get away from Laurie. She wouldn't let him go."

He chuckled sardonically but it quickly fizzled in his throat.

"Sorry, I'm rambling…"

"You're processing," you said, "a lot of the kids down at the centre, they lost parents, one way or the other, orphans, fosters… I always told them that they didn't have to make sense because grief never really does."

"Now that makes a lot of sense," he said, "but you shouldn't have to listen to me."

"I shouldn't or you don't think you should say any of it?"

"Hmmm," he hummed, "yeah, maybe."

"I don't get paid to listen to those kids, I just get a time and a place to do so. This isn't different. It's just talking and a lot of that is just figuring things out. Listening is easy, you're doing the hard part."

"Jeez, you come up with this stuff on your own or is there some sort of how-to book?"

You lifted your chin and sucked in your lip. You could tell where Jacob got the bite from.

"Sorry, that was… mean," he said after the silence settled with the dirt, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you said.

"You got somewhere to be?"

"No…" you answered cautiously.

"Do you think you might wanna listen to me a little more? I'll buy you a coffee for the trouble."

"You wanna talk? To me?"

"Better than anyone I do know," he snorted, "they all just give me that dumb look. They pity me, judge me. You don't have to say yes but I started now, if I stop, I'll...stop."

"Coffee?" You glanced over at him, "I'd rather tea."

"I'm sure they got that too," he fiddled with the trim of his pocket, "anytime you wanna bail, let me know."

"If I can handle teen angst, I think I can handle you."

🖤

That afternoon wasted away in the corner of a café. It felt like any other day but for Andy, you knew, it was likely the worst day of his life. Likely a day he wouldn’t forget. You sat patiently until the last of your tea was cold. He didn’t finish his coffee, he hardly even touched it. When you checked the time, he looked down embarrassed.

“It’s late,” he said, “I… I’m sorry for keeping you so long.”

“I didn’t have anything to do. I doubt you did either,” you swept up the paper cup and your purse.

“No, really, I mean, you don’t know me. You knew Jacob and I just sat here and talked your ear off for hours. I--” he looked out the window, “I know that when I go home, the house will still be empty. That’s why I’m here.”

You looked past him as he turned back. You chewed your lip, “Andy, have you looked into counseling yet?”

“It feels… too early for that.”

“Too early?”

“I don’t want to let it go. Don’t want to let them go,” he sucked his hands in his pockets, “if I go, that’s what they’ll tell me to do.”

“No, they’d help you live with it, not forget it,” you said, “but I know, it’s scary. Have you done anything? Read anything?”

“Read?”

“Self-help isn’t for everyone and those dummy books aren’t great I admit, but sometimes a start is better than nothing. What about… a routine? Do you have one?”

“I work, I come home, I sleep, and try not to notice they’re gone,” he shrugged, “and repeat. Lot of overtime.”

“You’re still working?” you went to the door and he followed.

“Well, I talked to you. That’s what I’m going to do about it.”

You stepped out into the evening din and spun to look at him. You crossed your arms and stood across from him on the pavement.

“Well, unfortunately there’s an age limit down at the centre,” you said, “but I could give you a number for an adult group.”

“No, I don’t wanna talk to a group of sad parents and widowers. Just remind me how pathetic I really am,” he scoffed.

“Do you think that what you’re doing right now is better?”

“Do you have a degree in this?” he wondered, “what are you doing down at that youth centre talking to degenerates?”

“I have a certificate that says I’m good at listening, but no, I couldn’t afford a degree,” you dropped your arms, “but, will you come down? Sit in on a session. Just listen… for Jacob? It helped him, I think, after a while?”

“With the kids?”

“Yeah, with the kids,” you said, “maybe it will help you decide.”

“Decide what?”

“If you’re going to keep doing what you're doing; nothing, or if you’re going to try. Trust me, after a while, just sitting there, ignoring it, it gets old and it won’t get better.”

He looked down and stared at his leather shoe as he ground his toe into the pavement, “is that allowed? Am I allowed to do that?”

“I don’t see why not. I have parents sit in all the time.”

“But I’m not-- not anymore,” he gulped.

“You are,” you patted his arm gently, “you always will be.”

“What time?” he raised his head.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays at four-thirty. We do accept late arrivals. Kids come in and out. Usually hang out til seven before I let them go.”

“I think I can make that work,” he exhaled deeply, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For putting up with me.”

You nodded and gave a bittersweet smile, “I miss Jacob too. I might be little more than a glorified babysitter but it means something to me. The kids… they feel like they’re mine sometimes. At least on those two nights a week.”

“Well…” he peered down the street, “you need a ride?”

You chuckled quietly, “you now, I think this time, I do.”

🖤

Andy was early. He took a chair near the wall as the kids flopped on the low sofas and into the colourful armchairs. A government grant had seen an upgrade in the lounge, although the kitchen needed some work as the cooking classes were still short on supplies. Dark circles darkened his eyes and the hairline wrinkles around them added to the hollow effect. He wasn’t sleeping.

You waited for the room to quiet. You greeted the kids and went through the usual ice breaker; one bad thing, one good thing, and one way they could improve the bad. Many of them were reluctant at first, they resisted what they thought were cheesy and inane exercises but they all came around. They were able to voice things that otherwise would be kept to themselves and they were afforded a respectful and often rapt audience.

When you finished, you kept from naming your own three. You looked at Andy.

“I’m sorry, everyone, I’m so forgetful. This is Andy,” you gestured to him, “he’s sitting in with us today. Andy, why don’t you tell us your bad thing, your good thing, and one thing you can do to improve the bad.”

He looked startled but he stood and cleared his throat. He glanced around at the kids and the shadow left his face. “Well, I lost a file, there were free bagels at work, and… I guess I could try to look again tomorrow.”

“Very good,” you smiled, “alright, my turn at last. My bad thing is I spilled tea on my shirt, my good thing is it’s a dark shirt, and my thing to improve is… wear a bib.” You laughed as you audience stay stone faced, “alright, alright, I’ll just be more careful and not run with hot liquids.”

You sat and started with Danica. She was always the most talkative, that encouraged the other kids. Today was no exception and you had to remind her to save some time for everyone else. Erik was next, then Andre, and Shamea. You almost didn’t notice Andy as he stood and sidled against the wall. Not until he was at the door, he looked back darkly and you saw his chest fall heavily. His nostrils flared and he was gone.

You tried not to show your disappointment, tried not to let the kids notice. They were all caught up in the circle and breaking it was never good. Shamea passed the stuffed bunny to Naima and you focused on her. Maybe it was too soon for Andy, you understood that, but you hoped too that he might have found a piece of Jacob there.

Before the kids left, you handed out the coloured markers and they each scribbled down a few words before a high-five. They passed through the open door in pairs and singles, and you bent to add your own note. You tucked the card into your bag and locked up. Jacob was usually the only one to hang around. Not anymore.

You headed out the front door with a wave to Martha at the front desk and took a gulp of the fresh evening air. There was someone sat on the flat stone at the bottom of the broad rail of the stairs. You recognised Andy as you neared, much too big to be a teen.

“I’m sorry,” he dabbed his nose with his sleeve, “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay in that room.”

“But you’re still here,” you said.

“I didn’t wanna just leave you hanging but… they all remind me of him,” he stood, “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies,” you opened your purse and searched, “I had the kids put this together. Actually, it was Milo’s idea. He didn’t know it was you but he wanted to send it in the mail--”

“What?” he took the card and opened it. He turned so he could read it in the yellow light of the street lamp, “oh my god.”

“Is it too much?”

“No, no,” he ran his thumb over the ink, “it’s…” he closed it and tucked it into his jacket, “the only other thing I’ve got is the bill for the caskets. It’s… amazing. Thank you.”

“Not at all. They always surprise me,” you said, “most of the time, in good ways.”

“You need a ride?” he checked his watch.

“I don’t live far,” you waved him off, “but I always appreciate the offer.”

He nodded and frowned, “and if… if I didn’t want to be alone? Would you grab a burger with me? Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch, I, uh… I guess it couldn’t hurt,” you said.

“You gotta be up early?”

“Nah, not too early.”

“What do you do? I mean, outside of this?” he turned and directed you to his car.

“Data entry,” you sighed, “it’s not very exciting but I work remotely and the pay is decent and I still have time for the kids.”

“It’s a living,” he said as the door locks clicked and you grabbed the handle, “no judgment. Trust me, being a lawyer, it’s really not as glamourous as it seems.”

🖤

Andy’s routine changed. He came around every Thursday and listened. After a few weeks, the kids figured out who he was. They didn’t treat him any differently and even invited him to join in on the teambuilding games you arranged. He wasn’t bad help as you welcomed a few new members from the group home.

That night, you weren’t feeling great. Even the kids hadn’t helped much. You were exhausted and nauseous. You blamed it on the late night shawarma. You said goodbye to the kids and packed up. Andy stacked the chairs without you asking, even when you told him not to.

You leaned heavily on the table and checked your phone before slipping it into your bag. You wiped your forehead and shivered. Some gravol, ginger ale, and sleep would be your indulgence that night.

“You okay?” Andy asked.

“Stomach thing,” you rubbed your middle, “nothing major.”

“You don’t look great,” he said, “well, I don’t mean it like-- are you sure--”

“Oh, gee,” you slid past him and out the door.

You ran to the restroom across the hall and into a stall. You wretched and the acid seared your throat. The bile bubbled in the toilet water and you shuddered. You heaved a few more times and rinsed your mouth in the sink.

Andy was waiting for you in the hall, “let me drive you tonight,” he insisted, “even if it’s just a block away.”

“I can’t even say no,” you grumbled as he handed you your purse.

“What’s wrong? You eat something?”

“I think,” you groaned as he held the door open and the cool air outside chilled the sweat on your neck, “urgh, I hope it’s only that.”

You got to his car and fell heavily into the seat. You slumped against the console as he started the car. He paused as the engine idled and felt your forehead. He nudged you back against the seat and turned his hand to press the back of his fingers to your cheek.

“You got a fever,” he said, “I don’t think it’s food poisoning.”

“Oh, those kids carry bugs like rats,” you muttered, “just take me home, I’ll get over it.”

He pulled out of his spot and you closed your eyes. You leaned against the window, frigid against your forehead and hugged yourself. You dozed off before he even turned out of the lot, the belt keeping you from folding over entirely.

🖤

You woke up between fresh linen. The sunlight was soft in its early hues. It wasn't your bed. You rolled onto your side and your stomach ached from how empty it was. You pushed back the thick duvet, you were sweating. You didn't remember more than the car ride and a few fuzzy glimpses of the bottom of a bucket. 

You were cold again and pulled the blanket back. The door was open and Andy filled it as if he'd heard your grumbles. He stood at the bottom of the bed in a pair of plaid pants and a blue tee.

"Why am I here?" You asked. 

"You fell asleep. You're sick. I couldn't just leave you outside your building," he said, "how are you feeling?"

"Bad," you replied curtly, "I can go," you sat up, "stop by the pharmacy, go hide in my own bed."

"You should stay here," he insisted, "just until the fever breaks."

"Really… ugh," you moaned as your belly clenched, "Andy, I should--"

"Lay down?" He came around and caught your shoulder, "I used to call in sometimes when Jacob was home sick. When he was a lot younger and… I stir up a man cup of noodles."

"You don't have to--"

"It's completely selfish," he interrupted, "it's been a long time since I had someone to take care of or at least it feels like it."

You were light-headed as you tried to stand but he kept you from getting to your feet, "I guess I can stay a little longer."

"Don't act like I don't owe you," he tutted, "now relax. I'll get you some soup. You need something in your system. I got some anti-nausea pills in the cupboard, too."

"Thanks but you don't owe me anything. I'm gonna owe you big."

"Why don't we just call it even then," he backed up, "seeing as that's my bed and my couch, it's really not made for sleeping." He stretched his arms and his shoulders cracked, "especially at my age."

🖤

You stayed another night. You tried to convince Andy to let you take the couch instead but he was a lawyer and rarely lost an argument. It was easier to eat by the evening but you were still dizzy and you couldn't stop yawning. You'd never been so tired.

Despite your uneasiness at overstaying your welcome, you slept more heavily than before. Your guilt didn't keep you awake for long as you sank into a deep sleep and you woke slowly, a murmur escaping your lips as grogginess weighed you down. You were still so very tired but it was already morning.

You stretched and your wrist caught. You winced and tugged at your arm. You sat up in horror as you stared at the metal cuff attached to the hoop drilled into the headboard. You tugged until your arm hurt and your hand throbbed. What the fuck.

"Andy! Andy! What--"

"Shhhhh," Andy hushed you as he entered, "it's okay, you're okay."

"No, I'm not. What did you do?" You pulled again and the metal pinched your skin.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he said calmly.

"Unlock it. Let me go," you struggled as you kicked off the blankets, "Andy, what the fuck?"

"Hey, don't talk like that. It's...nasty."

"I don't understand," you began to pant, "why are you doing this?"

The panic crawled like tendrils up your neck and back. You twisted and pulled but the metal cuff didn't budge. You felt the bed shift and Andy grabbed your shoulder. He forced you down, pinning your other hand beside your head.

"I'm taking care of you," he said, "don't be so ungrateful."

"I can take care of myself. Let me go, please."

"No, you need me," he snarled, "like I need you."

"Andy, you're wrong--"

"Stop!" He covered your mouth, "stop! You don't know what you need. Now be still. Be quiet." He squeezed until your jaw hurt, "don't make this difficult."

He slowly lifted his hand and you didn’t move. You stared at his hand then looked at his face. There was a desperate anger in the depths of his oceanic eyes. He sat back and his jaw clenched as he watched you.

"I'm going to make breakfast. Be good. You need to eat." He backed off the bed and went to the door, "I mean it."

He left you and you listened until pans clinked and clanged in the kitchen below. You folded your thumb against your palm and tried to wiggle free of the cuff. It was too tight. There was only one other way out and you couldn't do it alone.

"HELP! HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE!" You screamed, "someone help me!"

The footsteps hammered up the stairs and Andy stormed in. He grabbed you and clamped his hand over your mouth again.

"Listen, no one can hear you, you got that? Windows are soundproof, but I really don't want to hear it so it's up to you if I gag you."

You blinked and your lip trembled against his hand. Your eyes rounded and you nodded stiffly. He tore his hand away and sighed as he clapped his hands on his legs in frustration.

"Good," he said quietly, "now, let's just hope," he stood and strode to the door, "that the bacon didn't burn."

🖤

You fell asleep again shortly after eating, even with the adrenaline and panic surging through your veins. You woke again in the afternoon. Your limbs were heavy but the fever was gone and your stomach felt better but you were still terribly tired. 

Andy was there. He had a leather file in his lap as he looked over papers and scratched his beard. He sensed your movement and looked over at you.

"Hungry?" He asked, "you slept through lunch."

"No," you smelled your sweat on the duvet, "but… can I have a shower? I haven't...since I got here."

"A shower?" He closed the folder and stood. He set it down and pursed his lips as he thought. "Fifteen minutes," he said as he dug around in his pocket, "I'll be here."

He unlocked the cuff and you rubbed your wrist as you sat up. He stayed close as you rose and stayed between you and the bedroom door as he pointed you to the bathroom.

"I don't have much for you to wear yet but you can take another one of my shirts," he said.

You nodded and closed the door between you. You closed your eyes and pressed yourself to the wind. How was this the same man that you spoke to that day at the cemetery?

🖤

He slept beside you that night. You were on your side, your arm bound again by the cuff with the pillow between it and your head. You were uncomfortable, more so with him against your back. He wore only a pair of boxers. You shied away when he undressed and never looked at him again.

You dozed despite your nerves. You couldn't shake the drowsiness. You just felt more and more tired. When you opened your eyes, his arm was around you. He ran his fingers over your stomach, fingers crawling beneath the baggy tee shirt. You shivered and he nuzzled the back of your neck.

"I was thinking… well, I've been thinking for a while now, how happy we could be," he said, "I'm still young enough to try again, do it right and you… you're young, ready." His hand brushed up to your chest and he cupped your tit, "you're kind, you're caring, you're...beautiful. You’re my second chance."

“Andy,” your voice was brittle as your pulse beat furiously, “what you’re doing, it’s not right. You need to let me go.”

He went rigid and his hand stopped. He unsnaked his arm from around you and the springs coiled as he fell heavily onto his back. In the silence, you could only hear his steady breaths and a low growl.

“No, I’m helping you,” he said, “like you’ve helped me.”

“Andy, please,” you eased onto your back and looked over at him, “this isn’t how you fix this.”

“How do I?” he snarled, “huh? How? You don’t know!” he sat up and glared down at you, “you can’t know.”

“You think hurting me is helping me? That’s what you’re doing.”

“No, no, no,” he bent his legs as he grasped his head and gripped it as if it would crack, “No! I haven’t hurt you. I feed you, I keep you clean, I… I take care of you!”

“Andy,” you reached over shakily and touched his bare shoulder, “this isn’t what I want and I know you don’t want it either. You want someone who really loves you--”

“You love me!” he turned so quickly you yelped. He gripped your jaw tightly as he held himself against you, “you love me,” he pressed his lips to yours and you murmured in surprise, “you love me,” it was a maddened chant as he pulled back, “...love me.”

“And--”

His hand flew up to smother you and he lifted himself over you. His knees pressed to your legs until they parted and his other hand explored your curves through the rumpled cotton. You squeaked and tensed against his touch, your wrist chafing from the cuff.

“Shhh,” he hushed as he pushed the shirt up.

He kept his hand on your mouth as he slid down your body and left a trail of kisses along your torso as he unveiled it. He bunched the tee above your chest and bent to dote on your tits. You shuddered and pushed on his head as you mumbled into his palm.

His fingers tickled along your side and hooked into the side of the drawstring shorts he gave you. He tugged until the string snapped and edged them down as he continued to tend to your chest. You kicked around him and felt his bulge as he leaned into you.

He ripped his hand away and sat up. He grabbed the waist of the shorts and wrenched them down your legs, quickly taking his between them again. You wriggled and batted out at his chest as his thumbs pressed against your hip bones and his hands crept down to knead your thighs.

“I can start again,” he brushed his fingers down your vee and you trembled as they danced along your cunt.

“No, Andy, please, you can still stop--”

“Shhhh, honey,” he pushed between your folds and you gasped, “it’s okay. I’ll still take care of you,” he glided over your cunt and made you twitch, “and the baby.”

He poked along your entrance and you whined helplessly as you reached to the cuff and pulled with both arms. Every muscles in your strained as you tried to break free of the headboard. He pushed a finger inside of you and you cried out.

“Andy, stop, please, no--”

He added another finger and slipped them in and out of you as he purred. You looked at his face and it sent a chill through you. His eyes were dark and clung to the movement of his hand, his brow set and his jaw squared with his intent. He wasn’t the grieving widower, he wasn’t the man lost and lonely, he was a monster.

“That’s it,” he turned his hand and flicked your clit with his thumb, “you want me. I feel it.”

You looked away as your wetness spread to his knuckles and along your folds. He kept his thumb moved as he curled his fingers inside of you and the pressure built as the tip of his touch. You gritted your teeth and shook your head helplessly.

“No,” you whispered, “no, no, no…”

He took his hand away suddenly and you felt empty. He lifted himself on his knees and rolled down his boxers. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t, you only saw the silhouette of his nudity.

He pushed your thighs apart and spread himself over you, his elbow just beside you as he felt around between your bodies. His hot breath grazed your cheek and he kissed it firmly as he angled his tip between your folds. Your thighs clenched around him in a futile act of resistance as he found your entrance.

He pushed inside slowly and brought his other arm up beside you. He forced your head straight and you squeezed your eyes shut. He cradled your head between his hands and his lips brushed yours as he spoke, “open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Andy,” you murmured as he slowly got deeper, “please--”

“Look at me,” he demanded, “look at me!”

Your eyes snapped open and met his stormy blue ones. He bucked his hips and impaled you completely. You exclaimed and grasped his thick bicep in shock, your other hand balled above the cuff. Your legs bent around his thick thighs as you tried to stop him.

“God, you feel so good,” he purred as he began to rock, “don’t I feel good too?”

Your lashes fluttered away the rising tears and you sucked your lip in to keep from making a sound. You could look away as he held your head straight, his hand clamping around your jaw as he other arm bent beneath yours.

The room echoed with the noise of his flesh slapping yours as he sped up, his grunts and groans interlaced with the sickening symphony. You quivered as his pelvis rubbed against yours and stoked the heat in your core. You could not hold back the illicit response of your body as he ravaged it.

Your breath grew heavier and he gulped it down as he kissed you again, forcing his tongue between your lips as he devoured you. The whole bed moved in time with your body and the headboard knocked against the wall as his thrusts came closer and closer together and he buried himself as deep as he could with each tilt of his hips.

He drew his mouth away and pressed his cheek to yours as his muscles tensed and he puffed into the pillow, “this is it, honey. It all starts here.”

“Ah, please…” your voice fizzled and smothered your moan against his shoulder as your body spasmed. Your legs bent around him firmly as you orgasmed and your body arched beneath his desperately.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “that’s it. You take me so well. See… it was meant to… be.”

His breaths grew more rampant with his rhythm. His hand slipped down to cradle your cheek and his thumb stroked your flesh tenderly as he dipped into you over and over. His deep groans grew louder around you. He jerked into you sharply and his motion stuttered. He gripped your hip and held you down as he sheathed himself in your walls. 

He quaked as his hips slowed and he flooded you. He exhaled and as his lungs emptied, the strength left him entirely and he lowered himself over you weakly. His body pressed yours into the mattress, your sweat and his turned sticky as the air settled over you.

He stayed like that for what felt like forever. He moved slowly to lift himself up and he sat back, watching his dick slide out of you. Your thighs shook as your legs splayed around him. You felt his cum leak from you and he dragged his fingers along your cunt and scooped it back into you, coating his fingers in as he pushed them past your entrance once more. He smiled at the wet sounds of your cunt.

“That felt like the one,” he said, “but we can try again...”

He pulled his fingers out of you and admired the slickness that glistened over them. He reached down and gripped his dick, half-soft and spent. He winced as he began to stroke himself and let out stifled moans between his teeth.

“Maybe this time,” he purred as he angled himself inside of you again and lifted your legs against his torso. He bit his lips as he trembled, his cock oversensitive and overworked, “as many times as it takes, honey.”

[paperdonatello]

It feels so weird posting about it, but it deserves to be said.

If you guys haven't watched Technoblade's latest video, you guys need to watch that then come back.

You did that? Good. Then you know what I'm going to be talking about.

Alex "Technoblade" has passed away from stage 4 cancer. His father read out his final video to us and I'm in shock.

For those who aren't aware, Technoblade was a Minecraft Youtuber who's content touched the lives of millions.

I decovered his content mid-2020, early 2021. I was in a such a rough patch with my anxiety and mental health that I wasn't entirely sure I was going to get better.

But, watching Technoblade's content put a smile on my face when I didn't think I could smile. Made me laugh when I couldn't laugh. He made me feel so happy, and was my biggest inspiration.

When I felt bad about myself, I would talk about myself the way Techno talked about himself. Loud and unshakeable praise about how I was the greatest person to ever live and that nothing could take me down. It was silly, but it worked. Even through the anxeity and gender disphoriya and self-hatred, emulating that pride made me feel stronger.

He was my biggest hero. I wanted to grow up and be just like him. Loud, proud, on top of the world. I wanted to hold myself the way he held himself. Talk the way he talked. Be as kind and loved and adored as he was. Look myself in the mirror and tell my younger self I did it, I was just like him.

I wanted to meet him someday. When I was famous and the "talk of the town", I wanted to shake his hand (virtual or otherwise) and tell him how much he meant. Tell him that I achieved my biggest dreams because of him.

But that can't happen anymore. Because he's gone.

I hate myself for that small part of me that wanted it to be fake. A weird fever dream I could wake up from that I could tell my friends about and laugh it off. I guess a part of me still wants that dream to hold true.

But this is actually happening. And it feels so weird to greive over a man I never met, and realistically could never meet, but I can't help it. He was such a big part of my life, and I don't think I'll ever truely move on.

I'm not a religious man. But, I pray for Techno's family. I pray that they'll be okay and will be able to live the rest of their lives stress free and happy. Because after everything they've had to deal with, they deserve that more than anything in the world.

I pray for Techno's friends. I know how much they cared about him, and how much he cared about them. And I pray that they'll be okay and greive. That they'll be able to be as happy as they can be, despite everything.

And I pray for Techno's fans, for the community. Drink some water. Have a snack. Take a nap. Cry to your hearts content. We lost a great man, and it's okay to greive for someone you've never met.

Rest in peace Technoblade. You will continue to touch and inspire lives, even in death. You were the strongest and funniest man to ever exist. Your legacy will never die in the hearts and minds of the millions of people you've inspired. And even though you're a godless man, I hope you rest easy in Heaven, and kick God's ass on the way in.

And if I see ANY of you fuckers trying to pry into Techno's family's privacy or make jokes about his death or even place a BIT of disrespect on his name, it's on SIGHT. Because we're NOT talking about his character or his persona, this is an actual tragedy and it's the LEAST he deserves.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Allurement: Waves

Yandere Namjoon x Reader

The scantily-leaved trees held on to the last of their dying offspring. But the west-winds seemed to be unbothered, trying to tear away those leaves from the branches as the rest, hued in dull to bright shades of nature danced along on the ground.

And a few crushed beneath (Y/N)'s shoes, it would have been a fun activity: crushing dried leaves under her shoes. But she was rushing towards the car waiting for her.

"So quick!" Park Jimin, as sweet and polite as the man could be, was no less a sassy hellion if he required to be. And of all, he loved to sass around her the best. But most of the time, he did have a good reason to.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I woke up late." (Y/N) was quick to apologise, as she passed him a sheepish smile while taking a seat beside him.

"You are lucky that I like you, besides, we can always drive a bit faster, or take the shortcut? So do put on your seatbelt." he smiled at her before the car roared to life and the wheels came to life and the car went off.

It had not been too long since she had begun working under Mr Kim as his secretary, temporary secretary. About three months or so. But the previous autumn, when he had put forth the proposal of giving her the job, it did not feel long ago, while in reality. it had been a year, a whole, complete revolution of the earth around the Sun and there she was, riding with Jimin to her workplace- the Kim Group of Companies' headquarters, where the respected young CEO sat and operated from.

And within a year, nothing seemed to have changed, the water of life seemed to be stagnant. But she could feel the change, deep, greater changes like upheaval in the ocean, the waves, gigantic, monstrous, terrifying. Threatening to drown her. There was so much that had changed.

Park Jimin was a great company and an excellent friend. She had found out soon after the bond of friendship had been established between the two.

Kim Namjoon was an excellent boss and that, her job as his secretary, as reasonably draining, had so much to learn from. She admired Miss Choi for her efficiency, (Y/N) had so much more to learn, both from her job as well as her employer.

And she also discovered, gradually of course, that behind the all too sophisticated, groomed gentleman laid a clumsy gentle giant who would often burn his fingers trying to make himself a cup of coffee, or even trying to pass on hot food and drinks to her. And it was devastatingly endearing.

But most of all, (Y/N) had learnt that her mother was dying. The illness was eating her mother away, chipping away her health and endurance and there was nothing (Y/N) could do about it, nothing could prevent the inevitable. So she made peace with the fact, even though she knew that deep within, she was dreading the day her mother's sunken eyes would close for eternity. But she came to accept the fact that her mother could not be saved. All she could do was to make peace with the tragedy of life, that lied within the shortness of it.

So on the surface, (Y/N)'s life was calm and stable as a lake, yet the giant waves of changing wind terrified her under the same surface.

----

"You have a meeting with the lead investors this morning, the files and reports have been arranged at your desk." she listed off from her phone gifted by the company. It was not the day's schedule, a day in Kim Namjoon's life was nothing if it could not be defined as 'busy', it was the first half of a typical Monday morning in the company.

As soon as she was done, which was rather quickly, she placed a cup of steaming brew in front of her employer- double expresso with two cubes of sugar- just the way he liked it. Mr Kim smiled at her appreciatively. It was one of the many things she liked about him and admired. He never took his employees for granted, he had never failed to let her know that he appreciated her efforts to keep his day running smoothly and sorting things out for him.

"Thank you (Y/N), I hope you had your share of morning booster as well?" she nodded with a faint smile playing on her lips before handing off the files to him as she began to brief him regarding the topics and issues he and the company had been working on.

The projects and the required consumptions and stock- price data. It was not every day that the investors would gather at the conference room, but since a new project at hand was to begin, a meeting with the investors was required.

"Well, the reports look good (Y/N), did Mr Min mail you the required files?"

"Yes, the deal was explained there. He would be presenting along with you, it is regarding the profit margin and how the chances of loss and risk are low this time," she explained, to which he nodded

"Yes, and I require you to be with me in this meeting."

"Of course I will be with you, Sir, I am your secretary."

"No, I mean sit beside me, you won't be standing behind as you have been. And I expect all your focus on the presentation, okay? There is so much you would be learning from this." she gave him an obedient nod with a small smile.

She did not intend to disappoint him at any cost. Mr Kim was her role model, she looked up to him. Given, that she despised the spotlight and the position of CEO was not for her, but she was found herself to be a perfect fit for the position of secretary.  Despite how demanding her job could get, Mr Kim was an excellent boss and mentor. He was at ease, most of the time. At most, she had seen his eyes grow cold and jaws clenched, perhaps only twice, that too if something went seriously downhill. It was a sliver of what might be laying under the controlled and calm persona. He was a human too after all.

She made her way towards her desk as soon as the briefing was over. Mr Kim's office was massive, and he did not wish to waste time on having to ring her to come to his office, thus he had a desk for her arranged in his office itself. It was kind of a mini-open office, her boss and her working under the same roof, no barriers between them, she could approach him anytime she wanted to and he did not need a phone anymore to summon her.

They had settled into a routine like that. She would begin her day by bringing him his much-needed cup of coffee and listing the first half of his morning schedule, then she could begin with her works of arranging files, stacking reports, sending emails, scanning through and replying to the mails, researching on the potential business partners, making and answering phone calls, deciding and listing appointment and other project-related materials those were deemed necessary by Mr Kim.

And all the months of working under him had been able to provide her with a unique perspective of him. There were so many things she would have never been able to discover otherwise, for instance, the fact that he loved crabs- not on his plate- but on his palms as he would gently cradle those tiny creatures whenever he would come across them. He even owned a crab, a pet crab. She would not have known had he not rambled off regarding his love for crabs while he had ordered gourmet food for them when she was required to stay some extra hours, which was a frequent occurrence. The workload could be a bit too much for him to handle, besides, those extra hours consisted far less of work one would expect and more of them talking, she had finally been able to let him enter her comfort zone, she would be damned if she had not. He had been exceptionally generous to her, he was kind and approachable, time and again he had proved it, both as a superior as well as a person.

He was warm, gentle and funny, unintentionally funny. Especially when he would break his glasses more than once a month, it would be a miracle if his AirPods would not be lost within the first week of purchase. And while his constant misplacement of files and other such important documents had managed to make her purse her lips in annoyance more than once. The warm, dimpled sheepish smile had did not allow the annoyance to remain. Because even if he would be exhausted after a day's of overwhelming work, he would not forget to wish her good night before they left the office, because even if she would be a bit late with her coffee, he never threw a fit like one would expect the boss to do. And because despite his busy schedule, he would manage to inquire about her mother's health.

Mr Kim was different. He was everything any woman would crave for and desire. And despite not being the one with shallow indulgence, she had found herself falling for her employer. It did not happen overnight. It was a gradual process, like sleep.

(L/N)(Y/N) was in love with Kim Namjoon, her boss, the heir of the legendary Kim Group of Companies.

And it had been so easy to fall in love with that man. Despite her previous reservations. And she was well-aware that the love would go tragically unreciprocated. They were worlds apart in more than one ways, the social gap, the economic gap, the professional. Everything laid in front of her to see, understand and accept the fact that her love for Kim Namjoon could not bridge the distance between the moon and a mere earthly admirer. To him, she would be many of the faceless women waiting for his attention and thronging around him if he came to know about her newfound feelings. And she did not want that to happen. She did not wish to ruin the sweet, friendly professional bond she had established with him.

And yet, she could not help the bittersweet blooms in her heart every time she would see him smile. Because she knew that sooner or later, he would be having a much warmer smile, eyes shining with love and adoration for a woman who would own his heart. It was impossible for a man like Kim Namjoon to remain single for long, he was the country's most eligible bachelor after all. Or perhaps he already had someone special in his heart, a secret lover perhaps. The mere thought dimmed her mood and often made her shoulders slump.

Of all the massive, daunting waves threatening to crash upon her, her newfound romantic attachment to her employer was the most terrifying one. Because she knew that wave would come crashing down and drown her. And that single wave against all others frightened her the most because it threatened to cause upheaval on the calm surface of her life and become the cause of her ultimate demise.

****

Taglist(Kindly remind me later if I missed anyone)- @whatpageisthis @amoc94 @theresa-nam-nam-me @dearbambideer @casualminiaturetimemachine @njrwifey @kpopisnicee @illnevertrustmyselfagain @potterbrooke @luvaffaire @bighitfics @mochimochipie @vixenwerr

[yniswaifu]

1. Suna

You exit the booming nightclub through the emergency exit, wanting to escape the loud music. Nothing about it was YOU. And yet, here you are.

You see a tall shadow already occupying the other side of the wall, their shoulders hunched as if they were hiding their activity from the outside world. But well, what did you know. Everyone has stories – just like you did when you decided to take up your friend's advice for a 'good distraction'.

What's so good about it? You think as you close the door behind you, the music fading in the background.

After you're out in the open you see the person. It was a man. A very, very pretty man.

His eyes were downcast on the phone in his hand. The hair reflected the neon lights above his head, and the outfit – a hoodie and some sweats from what you could see in the dark alley if you squint made him look broad. From what you could make out in that split second checkout session, he had a great side profile.

He could have been a good eye candy were you not in a sour mood.

But not today handsome.

Sighing, you turn away. You were regretting everything. And the nightclub trip wasn't at the top of the list. You shuffle inside your jacket pocket, to reveal a pack of cigarettes. Again nothing about it was you. Then why were you doing it? Because it's a 'good distraction'.

"smoking is bad." you were in the middle of lighting the white tobacco stick when the voice spoke to you.

You stop midway, slowly lifting your eyes to see the possible eye candy looking at you with a blank face. His eyes were slanted, almost fox like. Heck, he almost resembled a fox. But boy was he attractive. And popular.

You weren't unfamiliar with sports. In fact, you quite enjoyed watching sports as a pass time. So this man, who was telling about smoking, Suna Rintaro himself, was no stranger to you.

But you weren't in a mood to either ask for an autograph or talk to anyone. If you were, you wouldn't have left your friend behind in the club to come here. So you certainly weren't going to talk to him.

Suna kept looking at you, expecting a reply perhaps. But what you did even shook you to the core.

You looked right in his eyes and took a smoke.

Of course, the plan backfired.

A rough round of cough threatened to leave your lips and you immediately turn to the other side, trying to be discreet about the failed mission. You were expecting him to laugh, or scoff, something remotely snarky, but there was no sound. Curious, you slowly turn back, peeping at Suna from under your lashes to see him look at you with...confusion?

"what is it?" you ask him, your voice barely audible.

Shaking his head, the six feet something fully turned towards your direction and stood straight, with his hands crossed.

"do you seriously have so much tragedy in your life that you'll resort to" he directs his head towards to the cigarette, "this?"

You looked at him baffled. Was this guy always this nice? As far as you remembered him, he always has a poker face. He didn't talk much during interviews either. But he was a great player, and the crowd cheered like crazy whenever he would block those super strong spikes. So what's with this extempore counselling session?

Laughter bubbled out of you, looking at the situation. Here you are, standing in the back alley of some nightclub, talking about life with a famous sportsman.

Suna waited for you to finish laughing. If anything, he kinda felt glad you laughed. Because the moment he saw you, and your eyes, he couldn't grasp the fact that someone could have such sorrow in them. He didn't even have to go under proper lighting to know that you were here to distract yourself. Including the pack of cigarettes you took out of your pocket. Suna was a sportsman, and health was something he always had to take care of. So he couldn't stand seeing someone else try to ruin their health just for some temporary relief. It was so not worth it.

You slump against the wall, your laughter dying down. He was right. You couldn't deny that. These things will only give you temporary satisfaction.

"I'm sorry." you say, smiling because you're suddenly high on adrenaline and pumped for this heart-to-heart. You don't know why, but you felt you could just go bare in front of this man. And he wouldn't say a thing. Moreover, you didn't have anything better to do. And it seemed like Suna didn't either because he too leaned against the wall, making himself comfortable.

"that's fine. I'm sorry too. Didn't mean to be so rude and abrupt." he says.

And he's polite, you think.

"nah. It's fine. By the way, I don't smoke."

"that I can see. So? Why did you do it?"

You look at Suna for a minute before looking to the front. "boy problems."

Before he could even say anything, you start laughing again. Adrenaline or not, you definitely seemed high on something.

"can you imagine? I'm resorting to these methods because some stupid person decided to dump me." you continue, your voice bitter.

Suna was silent. You turn to see him looking at you with an emotion you couldn't quite understand. He was frowning, but he didn't look mad or anything.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you ask him, a little flustered because come on, it was Suna Rintaro and he is staring at you so intensely.

"I don't understand..."

You tilt your head at this statement, confused. You expected him to roll his eyes and leave, which you didn't want, but he had better things to do than listen to you talk about this.

At least that's what you thought before his reaction.

"was it your fault that he broke up with you?" he asks after some time.

Was it? You don't remember. You always did everything, even went out of your way to make your partner happy. You sacrificed so much. Then why? Why did he break up with you and didn't even say the reason? What were you missing? Why couldn't you make him happy?

So many questions, and to think the break up happened over text. You hadn't even gotten a chance to resolve this because all you can think about is — distracting yourself from the issue will somehow make everything better.

Suddenly the vibe surrounding you both dropped certain degrees. The question that Suna hit you with brought the memories and words back like a big wave, and suddenly you felt like you were drowning. It was suffocating, overwhelming, and your hands shook beside you. But you didn't move. The therapist you consulted, in other words Google, had advised you to take deep breaths when you are hyperventilating. So you did just that.

You hadn't realized that during your moment, Suna had already come by your side, rubbing your back in a soothing motion, whispering words that you didn't quite catch. But it was something between 'breathe' and 'it's fine'. It's like your ears were blocking his voice and everything else.

Slowly, you return to your senses. It was so embarrassing, but you were grateful Suna caught you before you fell deeper.

"thank you" you tell him, moving his hand away.

Suna backs up the moment you stand straight, his hands beside him. "no problem. I'm sorry for asking it."

You sigh. "it's not your fault. I just...I'm sorry for this. You shouldn't see me like this."

"you couldn't help it. It's okay. We don't have to talk about it."

You don't reply immediately. After a few deep breaths, you calm down, then look at Suna. His expression neutral, with hints of worry. "it's not something I did. Or...maybe I did." you decide to answer his question. "I...I don't know. It's just, I thought I could forget it. But you know what they say, first love isn't easy to forget."

Suna just nods in understanding. "I guess it isn't."

Both of you fall into silence. Suna observes that you need to calm down, and he felt he shouldn't pry more. First of all, the words he had spoken were something no one tells a stranger. And Suna wasn't the type to do it at all. In fact, this whole encounter was surreal to him. All he wanted was to call home but the restaurant across the street was filled with Bokuto's loud ass and he wanted some peace and quiet to talk. So he came here, in the quite place and then you exited the club. The rest is history.

"so..." he starts off, unsure what to say.

"so, I hope you have a goodnight Suna." you reply, smiling at him. This was enough for the prompt therapy session.

Suna's eyes widen for a moment before they go back to normal. He had almost forgotten he was a national player and that people will recognize him. He returns your smile and you were dazed by that smile. Well I'll be darned, is what went in your head.

Shaking off the thoughts, you wave at him before turning to return to the club and inform your friend that you want to go home. You were never a party person and you certainly ain't gonna change now.

That's when Suna interrupts you and goes, "do you...maybe wanna exchange numbers?"

What compelled him to do that? Even he himself didn't know. He asked for your number before even asking your name. He asked for your number when all he did was help you from passing out because he triggered bad memories.

But he wouldn't want to take back this moment. In this moment, your vulnerability resonated through him. It's not he's had first love or any serious relationship, but seeing you like this, made him curious and cautious. Do people really spiral down when they lose what they hold on to tightly? Do expectations hurt this much? Because he wouldn't know. He never expects much from anyone.

Perhaps it was some repressed saviour complex inside him, or the fact that you looked beautiful even when you were breathless. Or that when he held you up, he didn't feel like letting you go and was disappointed when you moved him away. He just felt a certain attraction towards you. It didn't hurt to act upon that feeling right?

You stop in your tracks. The gears in your brain turn, and you went into a deep thought. Finally, you look at the hopeful guy in front of you.

"sorry Suna. I really appreciate you talking to me, but I can't do this. I'm still not over him." you say, your voice solemn.

A flicker of disappointment passes his eyes, you notice. You felt bad for doing this. But you had to. Because from what you saw tonight, Suna didn't deserve someone like you. He was a great guy, who should go for a great girl.

That's why you had to do this. But you also wanted to be clear about how you reciprocated the attraction. The timing is wrong. So you walk up to him, and place your hands on his cheeks. "I need to get over him before I come to you. Because you are more than just a random stranger at this point. I mean, you saw me at my worst and it's not even been an hour since I met you. And if we start this, we do it the right way. So I can't just brush you off just like that. That's why I'm asking you – will you wait for me?"

Your words were sincere, but does Suna believe that? Not really. For him, it was a clear no. In a nice way.

Nodding, he looks away, probably regretting this with every bone in his body. But your words still held onto him like an anchor. How long did he have to wait for you? His whole life? Surely you didn't expect him to do that. So you thought of a better way to reject him. And guess what, it worked.

"right. Have a goodnight then." he says and walks off hurriedly. You watch his figure disappear off the corner, and you close your eyes shut to assure yourself.

This was for the best.

***

Suna waited.

He said he wouldn't, he said he will do everything in order to forget about you. But he waited. Somewhere in him he hoped you actually asked him to wait, and that you were going to come to him, with a smile reserved only for him. That you would go lengths for him and that he will replace the first love you had.

So he waited. He was glad he did.

Because there you were, standing in front of him. Your face looked better, healthier, and you were smiling. Your eyes that once held sorrow and pain was looking content in this very moment.

He walked up to you, his breath visible in the cold winter evening. It had been almost six months when he last saw you. He never expected to see you standing outside his apartment complex when he was going to the convenient store to get groceries. And you had changed so much in that time. Beautiful nonetheless.

As soon as he was close enough to see your orbs soaking in his figure, Suna slowly exhales. "how did you know where I live?"

You laugh at his question. Well, he ain't wrong. You did pop out of nowhere.

"I have my ways." you say, a sly smirk forming on your lips.

Gosh, how much you had changed. You're even making jokes now.

"I asked my friend. She works for the paparazzi." you answer truthfully after some time.

Suna's eyes widen. "dang. Then I better stay away. Who knows where you are hiding your friend now." he jokes, looking around.

You giggle at his words when you see him looking at you with a soft expression. You know what he was thinking, but chose not to say anything. You stepped closer to him, your fingertips almost brushing with his. Your breaths mixed together as you continued to stare at each other.

Suddenly Suna's eyes flash with worry. "are you sure you're over him?"

You knew he'd be worried. You wanted to make sure you finish everything you held onto before moving forward. So you went back, and talked it out with your ex. Truth was, both of you had fallen out of love. But you realize that much later. And when you did, you felt terrible to push away the only guy you saw a potential future with. So you got to work. You fixed your life, fixed your relationships, and fixed your head space. When you felt yes this is it, you asked your friend for Suna's address. Of course, she was curious at first. But when you answered that you like him, without any explanation to be exact, the friend didn't even bother asking for details. She knew how much the previous relationship hurt you, and seeing you moving on was enough reason to give you Suna's address.

"yes. I have no lingering feelings left. I never did actually. But I knew I had to fix myself before I move forward. So that's what I did. And here I am." You shrug.

The man in front of sighs in relief. Suddenly, he rests his forehead on your shoulders, fingers intertwined with yours. "took you long enough." his voice but a loving whisper.

You tighten the grip on his fingers, his cold hands in your warm ones. "but you waited."

A smile forms on his lips. "but I waited."

I'm going through an Inarizaki phase guys. Please bear with me. Also, can you tell I have a special place for Suna in my heart? Because I do. I felt Suna needed a serious scenario, one where he's actually mature and don't just look bored with life. I mean, grown up Suna would definitely be more in touch with his emotions. Yeah. So I did that. It's a bit on the sad side, but the ending is happy enough I guess? I'm sorry if you didn't feel like it. I tried.

[littlemisspascal]

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 3

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,320

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: I don’t know much about starship mechanics so probably nothing in this is accurate but it’s fanfiction people so cut me some slack please, reader gets a nickname 🥳, plot plot plot, discussion of loss of loved ones, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, this is a slow burn but it’s also ridiculously self-indulgent so I’m including as many cute getting-to-know-you scenes as I can, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: Thank you anyone and everyone who has read even a sentence of this story! Special thanks and love to @dindja for creating this stunning, fantastic, amazing piece of fanart for me 💖💖💖 I still can’t believe how perfect it is. I mean, I’m such a sucker for pinky promises it’s not even funny and this is just beautiful 😍😍😍

Part 2

Cross-posted on AO3

For as grand and wide-reaching as the Galactic Empire has become in its ten years of existence, it had relatively small beginnings. A group of radical Force-wielders banded together under the leadership of an old, beady-eyed man named Sheev Palpatine who believed it was his divine destiny to seize control of the entire galaxy, rewriting the ancient laws to match his own beliefs. His cult, the Sith Order, gained attention by attacking Jedi temples, capital cities, places with large populations until every corner of the galaxy had heard of them. Most regarded them with fear, but over time they began garnering a startling amount of followers who were discontent with the status quo and willingly drafted themselves as soldiers in Palpatine’s fight for control.

At first everyone in your village thought Palpatine and his cult of followers weren’t worth worrying about—after all, Shili was a peaceful planet that never drew much attention to itself. But within the first year of its inception, the Sith Order captured Ryloth and the similar peaceful characteristics between the Twi’lek planet and Shili were too glaring to overlook. A seed of anxiety took root in every Togruta’s mind after that, and continued to grow with every planet seized as the years progressed.

The Decimation of Alderaan didn’t start as a tragedy, believe it or not. The Mandalorians, Jedi, and Alderaanians combined their numbers in an all-out fight against the Sith Order. It was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the galaxy, thousands of souls willing to die to defeat Palpatine’s followers. For the first three days of warfare, the fight seemed to be in favor of the allies with many noteworthy Sith members reportedly killed in the fray, such as Palpatine’s second-in-command Dooku and lethal Zabrak assassin Maul. You remember there was a sense of hope felt within your village as everyone listened to the news reports blaring across the Holonet. A belief that things were finally, finally going to return to normal after so much chaos.

But on the fourth day, the Sith Order brought their own ally onto the battlefield.

At the time there wasn’t a name for the droids that slaughtered every opponent they faced. They were described as indestructible, unharmed by blasters and the intense heat of Mandalorian flamethrowers. Not even lightsabers could damage them. The allies didn’t stand a chance, brutally murdered one by one, their dying screams echoing across the Holonet, forever haunting listeners far and wide.

The Dark Troopers were unleashed upon Mandalore afterwards and out of the ashes rose the Galactic Empire, except, in a twist nobody—not even the Sith Order—saw coming: Palpatine died before taking on the title of emperor, passing away in his sleep. A mediocre ending for the monster who permanently altered the foundations of the universe. One of his loyal followers from the cult’s early beginnings took control in his place, a vile man with a penchant for spilling blood and a deceptively bland name: Gideon.

Only seven years-old then, you didn’t understand the unbalance in the Force your aunt kept referencing. You didn’t understand the meaning of the word genocide either. But you did understand the galaxy would never be the same ever again, and the lesson was only further established as truth when the Imperials seized your village. 

There is no normalcy to return to anymore.

And as long as Emperor Gideon remains in control, there is no future to hope for either.

__

Silence reigns in the aftermath of Maar’s explanation as the long list of tragedies hangs heavy over the four occupants. There is tension in the air as you await the Mandalorian’s response to the extinction of his people, whether that be an outburst of anger or tears, and each passing minute only intensifies the nervous energy thrumming through your veins. Your leg starts to bounce restlessly, a bad habit you have had since childhood.

The Mandalorian stands eerily motionless. Your eyes keep flicking from your lap to his visor though you know it is rude to stare. His helmet hides his expression, but you don’t need to see it to know he is floundering right now, mind scrambling to piece together all the details thrown at him. From personal experience, you know the loss of a loved one hits like a tidal wave, hitting you over and over again until you must decide if you are going to stand up or surrender to drowning. Grieving the loss of your parents is the hardest experience of your lifetime to date.

But this...this is vastly different. The Mandalorian didn’t just lose his loved ones. He has lost his friends, neighbors, comrades, acquaintances, everyone all at once. This loss isn’t a tidal wave. It is a kriffing avalanche, burying him ten feet under in total darkness, and there is no one he can count on to save him. 

Finally, after the longest five minutes of your life, he shifts, resting his hands upon his belt with an unexpected air of seriousness. “I need to go.”

You frown, head tilting. That is his reaction?

“Go?” Ahsoka echoes, sounding as incredulous as you feel. “Go where?”

“To look for survivors,” he answers, blunt and harsh, the words forced through clenched teeth. 

Ahsoka is struck silent, and you feel your heart break on his behalf. Your mother’s stories about the Mandalorians had always included, one way or another, their lifelong bonds with each other. You had felt those ties when you had connected with the Mandalorian, believed for a moment as strongly as he did that his fellow warriors would come search for him, that his absence would be noticed and missed amongst them. And here he is now, still desperately clutching to them, unable—or, perhaps unwilling is more apt—to believe a stranger telling him those bonds have been cruelly severed. 

“What you need is to rest,” Maar says, gentle yet firm, letting her authority as the eldest in the room seep into her tone.

He shakes his head, not backing down. “I’ve been asleep for ten years. I don’t need any more rest.”

“Your ship, it, uh,” your shoulders hike up defensively when his visor snaps in your direction, pinning you with its blank stare. Clearing your throat, you continue with a slight grimace, “It’s going to need some repairs before it can take off. I can help you fix it.”

Ahsoka looks over at you in surprise, and then in worry. You don’t blame her, especially since the offer had slipped out without you consciously meaning it to. Once again, the Force is calling the shots and you are just along for the ride, a passenger in your own body.

He considers you for a long moment, then asks, “What do you know about the mechanics of a gunship?” 

If anyone else had asked you that same exact question, you would have bristled at their condescension and retracted your offer in the next breath. But with the Mandalorian, there isn’t even the slightest hint of patronizing courtesy. It is a serious question prompted from genuine curiosity.

You sit up straighter, smiling at him now. “Enough to confidently say I’m your best shot at getting off the ground.”

__

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Ahsoka asks you, braced against the wall with one eye on you and one on the Mandalorian across the garage, patiently waiting for you to finish assembling your tool kit. 

“Huh?” You reply distractedly, trying to decide if you should bring your carbon chisel or not. 

“You don’t have one, do you?”

Not. There are bigger concerns than a bit of carbon scoring. You move to grab your favorite screwdriver with a tapered socket, only for Ahsoka to snatch it away, holding the tool hostage.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about what you’re doing?” Ahsoka asks slowly, staring you directly in the eyes. “Once you fix his ship, he’s gone. And he’s taking our best chance at escaping Shili with him.”

A quick glance over your shoulder shows the Mandalorian studying the scattered BB unit parts on your workbench. You are missing a few vital components needed in order to bring the little droid back to life after a stormtrooper shot a plasma bolt through it for accidentally bumping into his leg, and haven’t had any luck convincing the village traders to track them down for you when they went to the capital. 

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” you manage at last, turning back to your sister. “Otherwise we’re no better than the Imps.”

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, you shrug a shoulder, adding, “Besides, I think I’m supposed to fix it for him. The Force seems pretty insistent about it.”

She makes a face at that. “I liked you better when you ignored your Force instincts. You didn’t make me worry as much.”

A laugh escapes you, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet space, and your cheeks immediately start burning. Ahsoka’s lip twitches like she wants to smile, but instead she schools her features into a blank expression when the Mandalorian’s head turns at the sound. Only once he diverts his attention elsewhere again does her stare lose some of its intensity, looking less like she wants to dissect him beneath a microscope. You can practically see her protective-older-sister-instincts buzzing, reacting to the warrior’s presence. 

As much as he is a chance at providing an escape, he is also first and foremost a complete and total stranger. Even worse, he is a complete and total stranger who knows how to handle weapons. 

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You squeeze her arm reassuringly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. You’ll be so busy smoothing the Elders’ ruffled feathers you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ahsoka finally relinquishes the tool, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.”

__

Walking side by side with the Mandalorian in silence isn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely isn’t comfortable either. He is close enough your arm keeps accidentally grazing against his, the cold brush of metal against your skin startling you each time. You would have considered his nearness strange if you hadn’t heard Ahsoka threaten to castrate him if you wound up hurt before she sent him flying at the juni tree branch outside your window with an unnecessarily strong push of Force. 

To his credit, the warrior handled her rough treatment with the same ease he has handled everything else thrown at him. You are beginning to think Mandalorians don’t just wear beskar—they are made of it too. Other than the few glimpses of frustration earlier in Maar’s office, he keeps his cards close to his chest, impossible to read. 

He watches everything though, reacting to the slightest of movements and sounds. Constantly alert. You are certain he is watching you right now, despite the fact his helmet is facing forward, your nerves prickling in response to the sensation of eyes upon you.

To your surprise, he is the one to break the silence first. “You sneak out often.”

It is a statement, not a question. 

You suppose the dots are easy enough to connect to reach that conclusion. Still, the certainty in his voice has your heart skipping a nervous beat. He hasn’t even known you a day and yet he is privy to secrets no one outside your community is aware of. “Yeah,” you nod your head after a brief lapse of silence, “Ahsoka can’t train in the village. Not with the stormtroopers around.”

“Has your village tried to run them out? Fight back?”

It is only because you know he is just trying to understand your village’s predicament with the little bits of information he has that you don’t snap at him for being so insensitive. He has no idea what these past five years have been like for you all. No idea the amount of losses and sacrifices the community has suffered. 

Your grip on your tool kit tightens. “I was twelve when they came. The community is mostly traders and hunters, not trained fighters. The few weapons we had were nothing compared to their blaster rifles, but some of the adults tried to defend the village, including our parents. They...” You swallow, or try to, at least, your throat suddenly dry as sand. “Our aunt looked after us until last year we woke up one morning to find a note she’d left to join the rebellion. We haven’t had any contact with her since.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand brushes against your knuckles. This time you think it might have been on purpose.

“I lost my parents as a child, too. There was a riot and they died protecting me,” he offers his own private details with the same reluctance as one volunteering to have their teeth pulled out. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me as one of their own.”

You say nothing about the way his breath slightly hitches when he says Mandalorians, appreciating his openness as it puts you both on somewhat equal footing with each other. 

“I owe it to them to look for survivors,” he tells you, and your montrals detect the quietest hint of a plea in his voice. 

“I understand,” you answer, keeping your tone light to preserve the fragility of this moment. This kind of situation doesn’t happen often—two strangers on the same wavelength, exposing their vulnerable underbellies, desperate to be heard and yet skittish at the same time—and it is oddly therapeutic. 

A decision is made right then and there in the span of a heartbeat. And even more significantly, it is 100% your own choice without any intervention or manipulation from the Force. 

You stop walking, causing the Mandalorian to halt as well. He scans the area for a threat, then visibly jerks when he turns back to find you have your hand held out towards him, pinky raised high, reacting as if you are pointing a weapon at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, blunt and almost suspicious sounding. Are you just imagining it or can you actually hear him frowning? “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever made a pinky promise with someone before?”

“...A what?”

You snort, ducking your head to hide your smile, and then reach for his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest your touch.

“A pinky promise,” you repeat as you make his hand form a fist, curling his fingers towards his palm, and then adjust his pinky so you can wrap yours around it. He watches the whole process wordlessly. “It’s a sacred vow shared between two people. The Elders say once it’s sworn, the promise can never be broken.”

He cocks his head, skeptical. “Never?”

“Never,” you reaffirm with a nod. Licking your lips, you look at his visor, right where you instinctively know his eyes are staring back. “I promise I’m going to help you. No matter the odds.”

And something leaks into your voice then, something resolute and binding and otherworldly. A tremor shoots down your spine, too quick for you to make sense of it.

Your sister’s words echo in the back of your mind, ‘You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.’ 

You try to pull away, self-doubt gnawing a hole in your stomach, only for the Mandalorian to wrap his pinky tighter around yours, holding you still. A gasp escapes your lips, muffled by the bleeding sincerity in his voice as he swears:

“I promise I will be there when you need me. No matter the odds.”

And although your sister could undoubtedly provide you with a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t, you believe his promise to be true.

__

The Mandalorian heaves a heavy sigh at the sight of his crashed ship. 

“I can’t do much about the landing gear,” you inform him, believing honesty to be the best policy for cases like this. “And I brought some foam-jet for the cockpit viewport, but it’s not a permanent fix. You’re going to have to find someone offworld to replace them.”

“Right,” he agrees absently without turning his eyes away. It occurs to you then that this ship is the closest thing to a home he has now. One of the few precious relics from his past he can still physically cling to. 

“Does your ship have a name?” you ask.

He looks at you, as if coming back to self-awareness, and answers, “Razor Crest.”

A good name, you think. Strong. A bit mysterious. Just like its owner.

You nod decisively. “I like it.”

His modulator crackles faintly, a quiet noise produced from a sudden exhale of air. You blink at the unexpected sound, surprised to realize you recognize it. A laugh. The Mandalorian just laughed at something you said. What is next in store for you? Are akul going to sprout wings and start flying?

He steps around you, heading for the side entry door still open from yesterday with its ramp laying on the ground, pebbles shifting noisily beneath his boots with each step. You don’t realize you are staring, oddly entranced by the swish of his cape and his purposeful strides, until he calls out your name to ask if you are coming.

You nearly drop your tool kit in your haste to follow after him into the Crest’s interior, ignoring the flaring heat radiating from your cheeks. 

For the next few hours, you and the Mandalorian work in companionable silence, engrossed in rerouting wires and welding damaged components with your trusty hand torch. The gunship is older than you initially assumed, perhaps even as old as yourself, and you idly wonder if the Mandalorian found it in a scrapyard somewhere or maybe inherited it from another Mandalorian. You notice the way he handles each piece with an experienced and respectful touch; the same kind of care someone reserves for their most cherished possessions. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves the Crest just by watching him.

Once you have finished sealing the numerous cracks dissecting the cockpit’s viewport like a spiderweb with foam, you approach the Mandalorian to see his progress on returning power to the dashboard. He is on his back beneath the steering controls, rearranging a mess of wires, and barely acknowledges your presence when you squeeze yourself into the tight space next to him.

“The red wire goes before the white one,” you point out, noticing the mistake immediately. “Fire hazard.”

He pauses, looks at where you have gestured, and corrects his error without criticizing your intervention. You bite back a smile, pleased to be heard. Within your community, even though you have proven your skills time and time again, some of the villagers, usually men, don’t always adhere to your advice, thinking you are too young and too female to know about technology, until they inevitably make their problems worse for themselves and come back to you with their metaphorical tail between their legs. 

You help him reattach the cover plating once he has finished, screwing the bolts back into their corners, and then watch, fingers crossed, as he attempts the ignition sequence, flipping a series of switches.

None of them light up with even the faintest flicker of life.

“Dank farrik,” he growls under his breath, slamming a fist upon the console.

You take a tiny step forward, hesitant to direct his frustration your way. “Can I try?” 

He tilts his head, probably thinking he knows this ship better than anyone and if it doesn’t work for him then you aren’t going to have any luck either.

Eventually he steps back with a shrug, uttering a simple, “Sure.” 

Although you can’t remember the last time you were on a ship, it doesn’t take long to refamiliarize yourself with the various controls and screens once you take a seat in the pilot chair. When your hobby for fixing broken machines changed into a passion you wanted to pursue as a future career, you started memorizing any reading material you could find on the Holonet, including the flight manuals for different classes of starships. You flip through the stored information in your mind about gunships as you press a few buttons on the panel overhead, trying out different sequences for a response.

When your third attempt fails, you bite your lip, racking your brain for a solution. You think about Huno’s kitchen droid and how you had been on the verge of ripping off one of your head-tails trying to repair it after one of its fuses blew, causing it to malfunction. Your tools and knowledge hadn’t been able to fix it in the end. It had required a special remedy to bring it back to life.

You lay your palms flat on the console, just as you had held onto the droid’s square torso. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian fidget, as if he wants to come closer but is hesitant to crowd you. You ignore him, pressing your fingertips harder against the metal, visualizing in your mind the unseen gears, cables, and components stiff and powerless. You imagine the parts working properly, a current of electricity running through each wire, life ultimately returning to the entire ship, and whisper under your breath a request to the Force.

“Please work, please work, please work…”

An invisible pulse of energy burns down the length of your arms and discharges through your fingertips, strong enough you jerk backwards against the seat. Every button and screen on the dashboard lights up all at once, beeping with alarm at being so rudely resurrected.

You sit there helplessly, stunned and breathless, hands twitching in your lap. The kitchen droid hadn’t required even half as much energy to restart, barely a pinch. Now your body feels like you have been thrown against the electric fence a dozen times. Wordlessly, the Mandalorian comes to your side to help, punching buttons and turning knobs until the alarms quit blaring. A distant part of your brain thinks the Razor Crest as a whole seems strangely soothed by his presence, not quite as cold and dark, but it is hard to follow that train of thought due to the distracting pain throbbing along your temples.

“That’s quite a spark you’ve got,” he says, not unkindly or accusingly, just a statement of the obvious. He looks down at you, not outright asking for an explanation, but giving you the opportunity to open up if you wanted to.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply, forcing a cheerful smile, praying it doesn’t resemble a grimace. “Sparks Tano at your service.”

He chuckles again, oblivious to how your heart stutters at its raspiness. “Thank you, Sparks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we’re not done yet.” You rub at your temples under the guise of adjusting your headband. “I need to take a closer look at the engines before we attempt flying out of here. I—”

“I’ll do it,” he cuts in, already heading for the ladder. “You stay here, see if you can update the navicomputer settings.”

You know he knows that updating the navicomputer is child’s play for you. Clearly you aren’t as great at concealing your pain as you thought you were and this is his way of giving you a break. A small part of you is irritated at being treated like a porcelain doll, but you push those negative feelings aside as quickly as they develop. Your aunt always used to remind you and Ahsoka it was okay to accept help when it was offered, that needing support didn’t in any way make you weak. 

“Hey, wait a second,” you call out as you spin around in your seat, freezing him right before he disappears from view into the hull. He holds onto the ladder, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Back at Maar’s place you didn’t introduce yourself and it’s weird just calling you Mandalorian in my head,” you say, awkwardly drumming your fingers on top of the armrests. He doesn’t answer, eliciting a sigh from your mouth after a drawn-out beat of silence. “What’s your name? You do have one, right?”

“I do, but I can’t tell you it,” he admits at last. “By Mandalorian Creed, only other Mandalorians or my riduur—my spouse,” he corrects, seeing your confusion, “are allowed to know my name and see my face. This is the Way.”

He doesn’t linger to hear your response, dropping down into the hull with a resounding thud. You slowly turn back around, staring absently out the glass. Every culture is unique, including your own, but you think there is something especially interesting about the Mandalorians’. It sounds like a lonely existence, only able to show your face while in select company. What would have happened if he had been unconscious and you had slipped the helmet off his head? What consequence would he have faced? 

And if there truly aren’t any Mandalorians left besides him, his spouse will be the only one to ever know him completely. It almost sounds like a love story, if not a little bit heart-wrenching. 

Two high-pitched dings from the console jerk you out of your thoughts with a wince. You look for the source, finding the radar lit up and actively scanning the area, and bristle when you see a pair of red dots moving across the screen. 

Not even a minute later you are sprinting out of the cave, ignoring the Mandalorian’s alarmed shout from the roof of the Razor Crest. They’re early, you think with panic, looking towards the sky where two starships with Imperial logos are heading straight for your village. Why have they come back so soon?

You push your legs to run faster, your surroundings a blur beyond the trail in front of you, but the effort is meaningless. You won’t make it back home before they land.

And when your absence is noted, bloodshed is not a possibility. 

It is a guarantee.

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[angelic-serenade]

“losing game” || fukuzawa yukichi

gif does not belong to me, nor do the anime & characters

fandom: bungou stray dogs

pairing: fukuzawa yukichi x gn!reader (1st person pov)

warnings: angst, lots of hurt and no comfort, emotional distress, barely mentioned mental instabilty, plot twist

a/n: just a little something i managed to write during the few moments of free time from uni. read as a letter to yukichi from the second paragraph onwards!! hope you enjoy, let me know if you like the new lyric-prose style i’m experimenting with!

word count: 1434

synopsis/prompt:  “a broken heart is all that's left, i'm still fixing all the cracks” ― arcade, duncan laurence

there is something noteworthy and indistinguishably patronizing which marks the mere presence of one fukuzawa yukichi – be it his wise and almost all-knowing gaze or his imposing posture, the way he manages to command respect without so much as a gesture anywhere he stands. he is authority and justice and that’s the only manner he allows himself to be, the only partial impression he allows others to make of him. sometimes i fret there really might be nothing more behind the carved, relentless shadow than the steely stares and unmovable frowns, lines so deep and intensely depicted that one might think of them as unforgiving – of what one may never know, if the unforgiveness staggers from the same place where the thoughts in his mind convince him that peace is something to be fought for but to never be attained. though sometimes the rough edges, the hollowed lines marking a tiredness which some days, some way feels all too familiar for comfort give way to a softer, unmistakably caring look; it’s almost imperceptible, the way he manages to turn the cold and unforgiving watercolors into a beautiful masterpiece, the true talent of the unrecognized artist  – his eyes lose the usually guarded edge which serves to protect everything but himself, his strained lips imperceptibly curl at the edge of a smile and the way he almost lets his shoulders abandon the weight he carries as if it were an old, battered companion brings to mind a tender sort of sympathy that sticks and can never really be forgotten – or forgiven for that matter.

akin to the flourishing of the most precious cherry blossom, you never allow for these moments to last too long, nor do they recur as often as to make those you care for expect them – in that, i think of you as more alike to the orchid than the cherry, for whenever the mysteriously grim orchid blooms, one knows not to hope for more time than its evanescent beauty can offer. cherries come to be expected, granted, but orchids never kiss and tell and you end up entangled either way. and after all, is it not the inevitable transience of things that makes them all the more desirable? if you heard me talking this way, with flowers and art and everything fulfilling in this life on my lips, singing your praises as if you were my last day of spring and sunlight, i’m sure you’d scoff the silliness away – this is your way, the way things have always been and always will be. no matter what you seldom sternly say, i’ll always be fonder of orchids than cherry blossoms anyway, for in their grave allure i found my own kind of tragic beauty.

by now i am convinced that you know and have always known exactly how much power you yield and how little you’d need to make me forget my own sadness – those moments, the careless slips of that bleeding heart of yours, are never meant for me. it pains me so to stand by your side without being able to bask in your praises, but that’s just how things are supposed to be – i am in your life, and that’s all i will ever need. sometimes you look at me as if you expect to see something - or someone – else in my place and i always end up trying to fill the void left behind by an illusion i don’t even know the name of. there is a hole that feels like an aching fever permanently carved into my soul, it spreads like an illness each and every time your voice creeps into my mind; even now i think of you and suddenly i feel much worse and better at the same time because you can never be the cure, but you sure as hell turned into my favorite medication. when i’m not by your side, in your beloved agency with your beloved family – the only ones allowed to walk alongside you into the sun - i delude myself into thinking i somehow may get over these terrible feelings that stretch my mind and hollow my heart, desperately convincing myself that time will wash away all of the promises kept in your sleeve. but sometimes, times that are just some and so unbelievably others, far in between and still so unfathomably precious to me, sometimes you let me hope and crave and i am almost convinced it could maybe be enough. the truth is that i have only ever known pain and i learned to make an addiction out of it.

once you called me by your side and i was quick to follow, as i always am because it’s you after all. under the feeble setting sun, the words spilled faultlessly from your lips, as if they had been composed to the likelihood of those poems about tragedy and grace i was stubborn enough to keep reading at night, and i stood in awe as you let me sip the most bitter of nectars, an aftertaste so haunting i knew it would forever ruin any chance of escaping this, of escaping you. welcoming the sudden flood with far more haste and yearning than i’d like to admit, you told me many things that day – about the agency, about your duty, about mine-, but you did not dare to utter my name even once, as you never did. you thanked me – me, little old, battered and faded, wide eyed and heavy-hearted me with no home to turn to and no more dreams in my closet to spare. you who had retrieved the pandora box and sealed it shut with your bare hands, you who had showed me another way, another path that nearly splintered my spirit all over again. i smiled still and for the briefest passing moment i almost hoped for you to reciprocate the minutest hint of affection; you raised your hand and rested it on my shoulder – it was warm, and it felt like water, like the purest form of unattainable salvation and i almost found myself crying in front of your unshakeable stance.

there was another time when you did gift me the smile i so desperately wished to keep for myself and i burn still, because look at what you made of me and what did you reduce my integrity to – i am neither blessing nor curse, the limbo of your love turned me into a willing martyr rejoicing the smallest act of kindness. you ruined me and i let you. i let you because a singular moment of bliss was worth the relentless tortures of your inferno.

i follow you around and keep you company still, but you never seem to acknowledge my unyielding pestering (just like before). when you let your guard down, my eyes lose themselves in yours because i can never completely understand what goes on in that obliviously rigid mind of yours – you look apathetic or sad or something that’s quite in between. oftentimes i worry for you, but you have always managed to cope and stand strong even as the tide came to wash away the last footprints of a decaying era, i believe you ought to keep doing so for another lifetime still. you have people who are dear to you as you are to them and for how much you’re unwilling to admit it, i also know that you keep a picture of me in your pocket, the one hidden on the inside of your austere kimono, somewhere between your contrite self-loathing and the lovely remnants of the day. when you think i can’t see you, i notice you make a habit of touching the spot where it’s concealed as if to remind yourself i am something right within your grasp, but that you’d never allow yourself to have. you never take me out of that pocket to properly relish the view and i will never ask you to. you grew fond of another illusion, as you’re prone to always do.

“the road to hell is paved with good intentions” i chant to myself when no one is listening, for my good intentions have only ever been inspired by you and burning and rotting in hell now barely sounds like a threat at all if i got to hear your praise just one more time.

today as you once again kneel pathetically curved upon my solitary grave, i can hear you weep yet; it’s been a while since you came to see me but finally for the first time, you call my name –

maybe you really did love me after all.

[ptergwen]

hi could you do a fluffy blurb where the (stark)reader and peter have to babysit morgan so they go to the park and have a picnic while she plays? could you also make it a little angsty with mentions of Tony’s death? thank you <3

i went a little hard on the angst in the beginning idk what came over me but i hope you like 😭

when the news was broken that tony stark took his last breath, the whole world went into mourning. he was loved by so many, looked up to and raved about worldwide.

they say his death was an act of selflessness, that saved everyone except himself. you don’t see it that way. it’s simply a tragedy in your eyes. that a hero’s destiny is to sacrifice their life for the greater good, it’s just complete bullshit. what about the greater good of you? your mom? morgan? a father and husband are missing from your lives now.

the father who taught you how to use the extraordinary mind you were blessed with, and encouraged you to do whatever you want with it. he turned the simplest of mishaps into silly life lessons, like when he spilled a pot of coffee down the front of his louis vuitton and went on about the importance of knowing a good walk-in dry cleaner.

you’re obviously aware that people around the whole world are grieving your dad, but his absence is a heavier hole to fill for you and everyone who was in his life. this has fundamentally changed who you are, and only a couple of things can help you cope.

one of them is peter.

he’s experienced more loss and pain than most people ever will, tony’s fate only adding to it, so he understands completely what you’re going through. he comforts you while also dealing with his own grief. you not only need, but deserve the support, and only peter can give it to you in the ways you’re looking for. even his presence by your side throughout the day makes your heavy heart feel a little lighter.

what also helps is your family, mostly morgan.

she doesn’t quite get what happened to tony because you all agreed not to tell her yet. she’s smart and strong and extremely capable for a five year old. still, it’s a lot for anyone to handle, especially when you’re as impressionable as morgan. she knows that tony is gone and won’t be coming back, that’s it.

since she doesn’t have to carry the weight of her dad’s passing, she’s living in blissful ignorance. she’s the same ray of sunshine and hope, of everything good, and being around her is refreshing. she makes each day feel normal again.

pepper isn’t home because she’s on a work trip, so you and peter have the job of watching morgan. she’s thrown herself into her ceo responsibilities more than ever as a distraction. to lift your spirits a bit, peter suggested the three of you go to the park. morgan insisted that you also have a picnic, which leads you to now, halfheartedly packing a cooler in the kitchen.

“we need the juice pops!” morgan beams, going to grab the box from the freezer. “you love those things,” peter chuckles and takes them from her outstretched hands. she’s quick. tony got her into them not too long ago, and it’s an obsession now. you crack a small smile as you lean against the counter. you’re only watching them pack.

“ok, what’s next?” peter asks himself, rubbing his hands together. “sandwiches because that’s all i can make. cool.” that earns a playful scoff from you. “sounds promising.” “hey, i do a great peanut butter and jelly,” he defends and leans over to peck your cheek. you hum in content of his soft lips on your skin. “we’ll see about that. don’t forget drinks.”

after morgan demands that you two stop being gross and you finish packing the cooler, you head out for the park. it’s one you’ve been to a few times. unlike the parks in the city, this one has less going on, more isolated and peaceful.

“why not the movies or something? why this?” you ask peter as the three of you step onto the grass, morgan trailing along in between you. you’re holding one of her hands, and peter is holding the other. “because it’s nice out,” he hums in response. there’s a warm breeze and blue sky above you. “and, some fresh air might make you feel better,” he adds more seriously.

you haven’t left the house much recently, so he’s probably right. leaving it at that, you settle on a spot with a lot of open space surrounding you. peter lays out the blanket while morgan digs into the cooler. she goes right for a juice pop, an orange one that she takes a big bite out of.

“aw, man. doesn’t that hurt?” you giggle at your sister, whose answer is to happily continue chomping on the freezing cold thing. “she’s a wild one. we better hide the rest,” peter jokes, then places the cooler down in the center of the blanket. morgan gasps and rushes over. “stay away!” she gestures to peter with her stick. “or i’ll blast you.” “and how’s that gonna work?” he tests her with a small smile.

your heart speeds up and falls into the pit of your stomach. “um... dad gave her one of his old blasters a while ago,” you explain, avoiding peter’s eyes as you take a seat on the blanket. morgan finishes off the rest of her juice pop and goes in for another. “well, she technically found it. she got to keep it, though,” you continue and pull the cooler away before she ruins her appetite. she sticks her tongue out at you.

“that’s nice,” peter murmurs, sitting down next to you, putting a hand on your back. you were in a pretty good mood until the reminder that tony isn’t here to join you hits. he can see that. “hey, morg? why don’t you go play while we set everything up,” he tells her sweetly and hand her one of the many toys she insisted on bringing. it’s her luke skywalker action figure. you blame peter for that one.

“ok, bye!” morgan is gone without a care in the world, on a pretend space invasion. once she’s out of hearing range, peter checks in on you.

“you okay? i didn’t mean to bring that up,” he says quietly and fully wraps his arm around you. clenching your teeth into each other, you let your shoulders drop. “it’s okay. i just...” you feel your throat getting tight. “i can’t believe he’s gone, peter. it’s not fucking fair.” tears cloud your vision, peter pulling you into his chest. he presses his lips to your hair.

“i know, baby. it isn’t,” he coos, a muffled whimper escaping you. you grab onto one of his biceps and let out a breath. “i wish i could move on, be more like morgan. i hate having this at the back of my mind.” peter nods as you speak while cradling you in his arms. “you get there when you get there,” he encourages and kisses your forehead for good measure. you wind your arms around his torso.

he’s so good at telling you exactly what you need to hear.

“you’ll have me through all of it.”

[the-septic-maniac]

Reunion AU: The Memorials

(This takes place after my reunion au and is inspired by an old prompt written by @hawklanthebard who also inspired my Reunion AU. Here is the old prompt that they wrote. Here is a link to the chapter masterlist for the au. I had written something simialr like this but I expanded upon it for this AU)

A series of memorials were installed at a renovated Hope's Peak Academy by the demand of Makoto Neagi, a former student at the prestigious school in memory of the students that died at the school due to the events that happened there.

The first memorial was installed in the room where The Tragedy initially happened. It features a series of faceless statues in what would've been student council uniforms. Some are facing up. Some are facing down, hands covering their faces as if they were crying. Each one had a halo, signifying their passing on to the afterlife. They all faced away from a chaotic-looking statue. A plaque on a nearby wall read " This room is where The Tragedy started. Each one of these statues represents a student council member whose life had been forcefully taken away from them. The statue in the middle represents the form they took when their souls fused when they had been left to suffer their death over and over and being at odds with each other. It wasn’t until recently that the troubled spirit was put to rest. While we do not know the individual names of the council members, they deserve to be remembered. May they rest in peace."

The second memorial was installed in what would've been the trial room. The stands still stand with nine cases behind a few of the stands. In each case were a few items, outfits, pictures, and a plaque. Each case was dedicated to a member of the 78th class. The plaques of each one describe moments of that student's life, their dreams, and what was taken from them.

The first one was devoted to Sayaka Maizono. In the case held two of her outfits, her school uniform, one of her idol dresses, a mic, and pictures of her and her idol group smiling and laughing as they performed and danced. The plaque read as follows "Sayaka Maizono was an idol to many and a great friend to those who were close to her. She made music along with her friends and warmed the hearts of many. She dreamed of continuing her work, inspiring others but fell into despair during the Mutual Killing School Life, where her life was taken. Her idol group after finding out about the death of their leader wrote a song inspired by the killing game and by her. While she was not innocent in the game, she didn't deserve the fate that she earned."

The second one was unexpectedly devoted to Mukuro Ikusaba. It held her school uniform and had a plaque on it and nothing else. The plaque read this "Mukuro Ikusaba, an unlikely victim of the game. While she had helped initiate the game, she had major regrets doing so. All she wanted was to be free of her duties as a soldier and take control of her life and live a normal life. But that was destroyed as she was killed suddenly for breaking one of the rules of the game. May she find freedom in the afterlife from her duties"

The third one was devoted to Leon Kuwata. In the case had his general clothing, his baseball uniform, his guitar, images of him at his games, practicing his guitar, and him hanging out with his cousin laughing together. The plaque read as follows "Leon Kuwata, an aspiring punk musician, a good cousin, and a caring person even if it didn't seem like it. He was a known baseball player and was loved by many for his nearly perfect high school record in the sport. But for him, the sport had gotten dull and he aspired to do something else. He found that release in the punk rock genre of music. He wanted to make music to release the tension that he withheld through music. But as you can guess he didn't make it through the game. He had killed someone in self-defense and was brutally executed by the mastermind. His fate was undeserved and was cruel and unusual. He was hot-blooded for sure but his cousin and those who were close to him can tell you that he was a caring person even if it didn't seem like it on the surface.”

The fourth one was dedicated to Chihiro Fujisaki. The case included his clothes, his laptop, images of him working and laughing with his classmates. “Chihiro Fujisaki, an incredible programmer who had to hide his true gender for his protection. He was bullied for the way he looked as he seemed more feminine than what people would consider the stereotypical male to be and considered him weak although mentally he was far from it. This affected him so much that he dressed more femininely to avoid getting bullied. He found comfort in programming, making some of the most advanced AIs that not even most programmers can get a grasp on. His magnum opus was a program called Alter Ego which was later on improved and called Phoenix. But he wanted to become physically stronger. But he was accidentally killed. He would’ve eventually revealed his secret when he was ready but didn’t get the chase to reveal it to his accidental killer. His killer was generous enough to attempt to keep his true gender under wraps but it was a bust. But Chihiro left us Phoenix as a way for us to remember him.”

The fifth one was devoted to Mondo Owada. The case held a motorcycle seat cover from one of Mondo’s bikes, one of his motorcycle gang jackets, and images of him and his friends. "Mondo Owada, a strong leader for his gang and someone willing to change. He was the leader of his motorcycle gang and posed as a strong leader for them. But underneath the surface lay someone who was grieving for the loss of his brother, which was in an accident that he blamed on himself. He believed that he had to be stronger than his brother in order to be the leader. This caused him major distress and unfortunately caused an accidental murder down the line during the killing game. He regretted so much that when he found out, he didn't even resist his execution, as he felt like after all he had done that he deserved it. He had dreamed that after he had graduated that he would become a carpenter to repay and to rebuild all the damage he caused in the past due to his unwarranted actions. He may not have known it, but that alone proves his strength as a person."

The sixth case was devoted to Kiyotaka Ishimaru. It had his school uniform, images of him working and with his family. "Kiyotaka Ishimaru, a strong moral compass, an inspiration for many, and a very hardworking person. He worked hard for his family so that they could resolve the debt that his grandfather caused. Everything that he did was to help resolve the debt that they owed. He wanted to undo the damage caused by his grandfather. He loathed when he was compared to his grandfather and being called a genius as his grandfather was considered one and he felt like geniuses ( at least in his own meaning) barely worked hard to get to where they are today. His strict moral code and hard work allowed him to work with many ethics committees. He didn’t have many friends but those that were close to him can say that while he was blunt, he meant well in everything that he said and did.”

The seventh case was devoted to Hifumi Yamada. The case held his usual outfit, his writing tools, and images of him at cons. “Hifumi Yamada, an inspirational fanfiction writer for many. He wrote fanfiction that cause waves across all fandoms and that inspired many to make their own. He worked his sister to make some of the fiction that he made and took the world by storm.”

The eighth case was devoted to Celestia Ludenburg AKA Taeko Yasuhiro. The case held her dress, her jewelry, a deck of playing cards, some poker chips, and some clay gyoza. “Celestia Lundenburg, a great gambler. She was a calm influence in the killing game as she helped set rules for her classmates to keep them mostly safe. Although her dreams were selfish overall, she just wanted to live a life with no cares in the world and be with her cat.”

The Ninth and final case was devoted to Sakura Ogami. It held her school outfit, her gi, the suicide note she left behind, and images of her matches and her friends. "Sakura Ogami, a brave warrior, one of the strongest fighters in the world,, and a great friend to many. She sacrificed her life to end the killing game once and for all. She was forced to be a spy for the masterminds of the game as they had taken her family hostage. But in the end, she rebelled against them and took her life. While her appearance was brutish, she had a heart of gold and forgave those who were scared of her and was a true woman."

In the center of the trial room stood a statue that had The Remnant of Hope standing over the survivors and protecting them from a monokuma. The plaque read as follows “Thus statue represents the battle between hope and despair and those who survived of class 78. They had originally locked themselves in this very school to ensure that they were safe from the chaos outside but that, unfortunately, didn’t work. These 9 students had died, whether it was by their own hands or by someone else's, under an unfair circumstance. They were forced to kill each other. And for those who did kill they were horridly and unfairly executed. But whether they killed or were the victim themselves, they still had hope or despair like any ordinary human. They, although not with us anymore, were the true remnants of hope as they pushed the survivors that are alive now to never fall into despair or give up hope. They fused together to become the Remaint of Hope and they represent those who had died during the game, while the monokuma represents the despair that they had faced. This statue is the very repetition of this. Rember the 78th Class. The True Remaints of Hope!”

The final memorial stood in the entrance hall of the school. It was a statue of The Remaint of Hope comforting the fused student council souls and a large figure standing over it called The Future. “This statue represents hope and despair coming together and making the future. The future would not exist without nither hope or despair. To those who read this, remember that with every pit of despair, there is a glimmer of hope. But do not forget to look towards your future to ensure that it can be an even balance of both”

(Here are images of what the fused souls looked like)

(SCS btw means student council souls)