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justkending · 1 year

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Finding Memories. Chapter 25.

Series Summary: Waking up with little to no memory of her past, and being saved by a group of individuals who call themselves heroes, sends a long time captive for a whirlwind trying to find some form of grounding in this world she quickly learns runs on chaos. But she’s not the only one trying to figure out her forgotten backstory. Bucky Barnes, along with the other Avengers, can’t help but sense that there is a lot more to the whole situation than a diagnosis of amnesia. Her background slowly starts to come forward in pieces of her past and hidden information discovered. Who is she? And why was she in the room they were meant to destroy?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Word Count: 3100+

TW: Torture, cussing, gore, PTSD, triggers.

A/N: I think we have about 2ish more chapters left of this series and we will be wrapping it up. Also, I’ve decided to take a different route on the ending, but I’m excited to see what you all think of it :) Enjoy! XOXOXO

Chapter 25:

Within the next 5 minutes, the boys were suited up and running down the stairs to the basement until the generator finally had the elevators back up.

When they got downstairs, it was pure chaos. It was five in the morning, and the sun wasn’t coming up in another hour or so.

“Those three put them in the cell,” Tony pointed to a group of men who were bound by a rope and fought against it. “Keep it secure. As soon as we find others, we’ll make it a holding room for them.”

“Other what?” Bucky asked, seeing Y/N pacing and looking as if her mind was in 100 places at once. “What happened?”

“Mind-control. Don’t know how or when, but the three in there were the reason for the power outage. Y/N says there could be more, but hard to spot them since they blend in,” Tony answered, scanning through security footage he had up on a screen.

Bucky and Steve looked at the three and noticed they blended in with SHIELD uniforms. No wonder they didn’t see anything coming.

“There’s another mutant that has mind control powers. She’s strong too. She’s the reason Gabriel was acting the way he was,” Y/N interrupted, stepping over to the men with her arms crossed and her hand under her chin as she processed things.

“You think she got to them?” Bucky asked, watching her intently.

“If I remember correctly, she has to have physical contact. How long have those three been working here?” she asked Tony.

Tony pulled up their backgrounds in half a second.

“Two have been here for a week and a half and one for 6 months,” Tony scanned the information.

“That confirms it,” Y/N nodded, with a long sigh. “She must have been on the grounds at some point.”

“Someone like that can get in and out without being noticed,” Wanda spoke up, coming from another table of security footage, Nat close behind. “Make people forget she was even here.”

“Do you think the others were mind controlled or were just undercover?” Nat asked.

“Either way they’re here and they got step one of their plan completed. Whatever they did, the system is taking a second to reboot,” Tony answered. “What would normally take a few minutes is taking at least 20.”

“I’m going to do a perimeter check,” Y/N announced, moving to the door.

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky caught her by the arm and she looked down at it and back at him almost offended.

The look alone showed him, he didn’t know nearly enough of what was going on to be trying to put himself in commanding shoes, but he wasn’t comfortable with her just wandering on her own even if she had her memories back for the most part and could fend for herself. He still saw her as the brittle and quiet version although she had proven that wasn’t at all who she was now.

“I’ll come with you guys,” Nat spoke up. “Best to have backup where you can.”

Y/N held back a chuckle but didn’t show it. A few days ago, she would have needed the extra help. Today, she was confident that she was their protector instead of the other way around.

Though she was appreciative of the team effort, a part of her knew she was capable of protecting herself more than them thanks to her memories flooding back and giving her a glimpse of her using them. But another part of her still wasn’t convinced she could actually do them. I mean she was in a trance for the majority of the times she used them, and it was still her and she still had the muscle memory, but doing it with the mind she had now made her uneasy.

Her motive before was to complete the mission by any means necessary. Now she had collateral and actually cared if she hurt or damaged things.

She nodded moving back to the door and Bucky had released her to follow her.

“Wanda, keep an eye out for any others clouded by mind control. I doubt there's just a handful of those around,” Y/N shouted back to the group staying behind and working on getting the compound secure.

“You got it, sis,” Wanda gave a thumbs up and continued working.

“Steve,” Bucky started, but the two were synced in how they went to battle.

“Already on it. Bruce is on the way and Alma is on standby for medical backup,” he assured him.

“Thanks,” Bucky grinned and the three were out and on the mission.

They took an elevator to ride back to ground level, but mass chaos had ensued throughout the facility and agents were scrambling to man their battle stations though no one knew what they were necessarily preparing for.

With the elevator stopping every third floor or so to move people to their stations, Bucky got annoyed and did a quick hack through the controls to make the elevator take a straight shot to where they needed to be.

The sun was still down, but they would be lucky in the next 30 minutes or so to be gifted with light outside of the lamppost scattered on the grounds.

“What should be looking for, Y/N?” Nat asked as they watched her analyze her surroundings in a paranoid yet calculated way.

“I’m not sure yet,” Y/N mumbled, walking about 20 feet before stopping in her space. “Do you feel that?”

Bucky and Nat froze a few steps behind her and looked around expecting something obvious, but both looked at each other lost.

“Feel what?”

She didn’t answer, but instead put her hands out slowly and as if unsure if she had the motion right, stretched her fingers out and waved them over the ground.

After a second, the ground looked to be covered in what was like the purple haze she had projected when she used her powers, but this time it had an overlay that created a film over the lavender color.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to explain that one cause I got nothing,” Nat said with a straight face as she watched the film move around her legs like she was now standing in a pond full of galaxy-like water.

“From what I remember, it's like scanning for frequencies and vibrations. Believe it or not, you’re not even seeing what I am. You’re just seeing coverage of what I’m doing,” Y/N attempted to explain. “To put it into words you may get, it’s like x-ray vision. Which by the way, did you know your friend has electromagnetic tools embedded in his lawn?”

Bucky and Nat couldn’t help the knowing look that crossed their face.

“Can’t build a suit of armor around the world, so he’ll build one around his personal world until he figures it out,” Nat answered.

“How far down is it?” Bucky asked more intrigued by her ability to see it all.

“Far enough no one digging a garden would find it, but close enough that it can break the turf to do its job,” she answered, pulling her hands back. She looked around like something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

“What?” Nat asked out of curiosity as they followed her in her steps. “What’s going on?”

Bucky and Nat watched her as she continued to scan the area, but whatever was making her on edge wasn’t visible to them.

“I-I don’t know, but something isn’t right,” she answered, looking behind them now at the facility. She cocked her head slowly to the side as if she were scanning the building now.

Then her eyes widened and before Nat and Bucky could react to what was coming, she had created a force field around the explosion that had combusted with an earth-shaking hit. Her quick thinking kept all other parts of the facility from suffering the same fate.

“Holy shit,’ Nat gasped, immediately reaching for her comms. “Stark, did you-?”

“See it? No. But I heard and felt it,” Tony came through out of breath. “What was that?”

“Explosion. Northeast quadrant,” Bucky jumped in. “Send a medical team immediately and get uninjured agents suited up and on the scene. We may need to evacuate certain sections.”

“Steve’s on it,” Wanda came through and you could hear the commands being listed off in the background. “Are you guys alright?”

“For now,” Bucky answered with a mumble. He turned back to Y/N and saw her face stills stuck in shock. “How’d you know?”

Her eyes blinked harshly and she snapped back to reality. “I could feel it before it happened,” she answered after a second.

He turned back to the wreckage and realized she had left the top of the forcefield open to not cause the fire to burn everyone inside to a crisp. It was a small detail to her quick thinking that might have saved a lot more lives.

As much as he wanted to hold onto the girl who would have been flustered and panicked at something like that, this new version of her was not naive to the cruelties of this world and it made him sad for her.

“What’s our next move?” Nat asked, breaking his thought process.

Y/N shook her head not knowing the answer to that since she was still reeling from what she just had to do.

She sighed fidgeting with her hands and looking around, waiting for something to come to her.

Then she closed her eyes and thought back to the past memories. Things that would help her predict their next moves.

She opened her eyes quickly. “It’s another diversion. Keeps half the facility working on something else, something major, and leaves open a blind spot.”

“You say that like you’ve seen this happen before,” Nat replied hearing the mission report language come through.

She looked at her ashamed and embarrassed before looking back at the damage.

“Something along the lines of it,” she muttered to herself.

“What should we expect then?” Bucky asked, moving on from the touchy subject.

“The big guns,” she looked at him. “That did its purpose. Distract. What comes next is a gonna be a lot worse…”

“Why do you say that?” Nat asked feeling an answer she didn’t like coming.

“They’re coming straight for me,” she answered looking at her with a nervous expression.

“Wanda needs to get up here,” Bucky said quickly, not liking the turn things were taking. He knew they would be coming for her, but with a quarter of the facility up in flames, they were running low on time and options.

“I’m trying, but it’s chaos down here. I’m trying to help as I go. I’ll be up in 10 minutes hopefully though,” Wanda said through the comms and they could hear the loud chatter and shouts as the building erupted with thousands of frantic workers.

“What should we do? I can-” Nat started, turning to Y/N in a rush to do whatever the next step.

“I need to get far away from here,” Y/N interrupted, her answer frantic and the only thing she felt would work.

“What?” Bucky asked confused.

“If I stay here, this place will become a graveyard. He wouldn’t be infiltrating this place if he thought he didn’t stand a chance,” she replied. “Whatever he has planned, and I can’t really say what that’ll be, it’s not going to be easy to take down.”

“But that’s what we have you for,” Nat spoke up trying to give her some courage. “The reason they even need big guns is because they are fighting something even bigger. We all know the power you’re capable of. If what we’ve seen is only a portion of your abilities, they won’t make it out with anything they came for.”

“But what if I don’t actually know what to do? The times I remember doing the stuff I’ve been practicing were memories I wasn’t in control of. Who’s to say I won’t lose control again?” she said with almost a plead for the answer as if that would comfort her enough.

“Y/N,” Bucky stood in front of her and pulled her arms slightly to him. “I know all too well what you’re thinking right now. And I’m here to tell you from personal understanding, it’s always going to be scary to uncover if you are capable of doing the things you know how to for yourself and not for others.” She looked at him hopeful. “But we don’t really have time to do it or an ideal space. Now is the only time we were given.”

She looked at him with fear, but a small piece of strength she had came forward.

Before they had time to discuss plans any further the ground started shaking again, but this time from behind them.

“I’m gonna guess that’s from the big guns you were mentioning,” Nat said sarcastically as the trees in the landscape shook harsher and harsher.

“You guys should go,” Y/N said never breaking from the view in front of her.

“Like hell, we’re leaving you on your own,” Bucky moved to stand next to her in a stiff stance.

“You stay, you’ll die,” she said bluntly looking at him.

“No better way to go down,” he looked down at her and gave her a sad smile.

As sweet as a sentiment it was, she wasn’t comfortable with him willing to die for her when she didn’t feel worth it.

“No,” she shook her head and stepped to be back in front of him. “There’s a difference between dying nobly and dying for nothing.”

“You’re not nothing Y/N,” he was quick to correct her.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she shook her head looking behind her and seeing the shake of the trees grow in intensity. “If they see you, they’ll kill you simply because you’re worth something to me. Not because you’re a challenge to them. I don’t want that to be your ending.”

“What happened to letting people have a choice?” Bucky asked, with a quirked eyebrow.

“What happened to making a plan to prevent collateral?” she retorted.

He opened his mouth to argue, but they didn’t have time, and the ground shaking to the point they lost their balance proved her correct.

“Please, you’re no help to anyone dead. Both of you,” she grabbed Bucky’s hand and held it as she looked at Nat. “If I make it out of this, I want to know that everyone who’s become family to me, will still be there.”

“I can’t let you just go and sacrifice yourself,” Bucky started, but Nat came and put a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s not wrong, Barnes. We may have fought some crazy stuff, but we had time to prepare for it to an extent. Two super soldiers aren’t going to last long out here by ourselves,” she bargained. “We’re more help to her getting the whole team up here.”

“She’s right,” Y/N nodded, thankful that Nat was on her side.

Without another second to contemplate, a huge tree was airborne and headed straight to the three.

Y/N sensed it though and quickly turned to put her hands up to create a force field that stopped the tree in its place and froze it mid-air.

“No time to continue this debate,” she grunted as she caught her breath and dropped the tree to the ground with a soft crash. “Get inside and tell the team what we’re up against. And get Wanda up here!”

He would have nailed his feet to the ground if it meant he could stay and fight alongside her, but she was right. The only people who had a chance to make it out of this battle with little injuries were those with bigger powers than enhanced strength and agility.

Another round of trees started uprooting and randomly flying toward the area Y/N was at. Bucky heard Nat shout for him to run and follow him and he hesitated, but quickly started sprinting as the large trees were being thrown haphazardly.

“She’s going to die out there,” Bucky shouted, turning and looking back when he could.

“She’ll be fine for now,” Nat tried to comfort him, but he could tell she didn’t believe it fully either.

Y/N looked back at the two who were out of the firing zone and her anger spilled over at the fact that someone was destroying what she had created as a home.

She threw her hands to the side and the motion caused the space of attack to freeze. Trees that were flying mid-air froze and it looked like a scene out of a weird art exhibit.

“Come out and face me. You won’t win with those kinds of games and you know it,” she shouted into the vacant plot of land.

Then as if a facade lifted, two people were exposed. They were about 20 feet away coming out of the tree line.

Two women. One in her mid to late 20s and the other a young teenager. She could pass as 16, but Y/N could tell she was younger. Enough trauma ages a person.

“Who are you?” she questioned looking at them sternly.

“I think you know who we are…”

She didn’t see either of the girls move their lips so she wasn’t sure how she heard it so clearly, especially since they weren’t in close distance, but then in a flash, memories slammed through her skull.

She fell to her knees and cradled her head in pain as vivid and clear memories were forced onto her without warning. Her body wasn’t producing them and it felt like hundreds of needles prickling her head as they came through violently.

She saw in the flashbacks the kind of torture that she had endured, but it wasn’t her receiving it this time. The woman that stood down the way from her was sending her own personal memories of the torment and pain she endured under Dr. Hartley and the others.

She was trying to find an out of all this madness, but she could tell the girl who was doing this to her had practice. But she wasn’t strong enough to hold Y/N down for as long as she hoped.

Y/N let out a gut-wrenching scream as she fought against the pain her body was put under and broke the spell while also throwing the two girls back exerting her power.

When she looked at them again, she only saw red and the older one looked perplexed.

“You weren’t supposed to be able to do that,” she mumbled.

Y/N stood straighter and rolled her shoulders back.

“Yeah, I’ve been told that before.”

And with that, fury fuelled her fight. Mist of purple and galaxy filled hazes were thrown at the two as a second fight broke out on the campus grounds.

Feel free to follow me on Watt-pad too and vote on any of your favorite chapters:) It helps promote my story & also makes my brain release tons of endorphins every time I get a notification about one of ya’ll❤️

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x enhanced reader #marvel series #bucky barnes #finding memories #justkending #marvel x reader series #reader insert #bucky barnes x reader insert #mcu reader insert #mcu series #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes reader insert

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newberyandchai · 8 months

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The Slave Dancer (1974)

A review quote on the back of this book called it "horrifying," and that word is 110% accurate in describing my reading experience. I had to look up from time to time just to mentally process what I had just read.

The Slave Dancer is banned in virtually all school districts, and I certainly never saw it on any classroom shelf. It depicts in vivid detail the grotesque conditions of a boat heading to and from Africa to take a group of 98 slaves to America in the mid-1800s. The main character Jessie is kidnapped and forced to play his fife for the slaves each day to keep them active so their muscles don't atrophy over the course of the four-month journey. They're forced to do a kind of shuffle-dance in their chains, and if they don't move fast enough, they get whipped by a cat-o'-nine — a whip with nine knotted "tails." Both the crew and the slaves are subjected to the cat-o'-nine if they don't do what they're told (blah blah something about symbolism and how even the slavers are slaves to the industry...).

Jessie says, "I saw the others regarded the slaves as less than animals, although having a greater value in gold." The crew jam-packs the ship with so many slaves that there is nowhere for them to move. (I have memories of cramming into a crowded PRT car at WVU at the last minute, taking shallow breaths to avoid breathing in someone's body odor or too-strong perfume that's taken over the entire car — I'm imagining that discomfort tenfold.) There's so little space that many of the slaves afflicted with dysentery can't even make it to the latrine buckets fast enough because there are just too many people to get past.

Each day some of the crew tosses dead bodies overboard, with even some still alive if they're thought to be sick and spreading illness. Jessie notices a very young girl who makes a scene upon boarding the ship. She dies only a few days into the journey: "[Stout] held her upside down, his fingers gripping one thin brown ankle. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. Foam had dried about her mouth. With one gesture, Stout flung her into the water." Jessie protests and is slapped by one of the crew in return.

There was one scene that I think will stick with me for a very long time. Ben Stout, one of the crewmembers in charge of the slaves (and whom Jessie feels is a truly evil man), drops Jessie's fife down into the slaves' hold and forces him to go retrieve it as a kind of sick punishment.

"I caught sight of a black face turned up toward the light. The man blinked his eyes, but there was no surprise written on his face. He had only looked up to see what was to befall him next. I went down the rope knowing my boots would strike living bodies. There was not an inch of space for then to move to. I sank down among them as though I had been dropped into the sea. I heard groans, the shifting of shackles, the damp sliding whisper of sweating arms and legs as the slaves tried desperately to curl themselves even tighter. ... To search the hold meant I would have to walk upon the blacks."

I can't even imagine the smell. For four months, day after day, week after week, with friends and family members who couldn't survive the trip simply being tossed overboard each morning... There's no way to comprehend the scale of that tragedy today, and nothing we experience in the U.S. could even come close.

At the end of the book, the crew sees a rival ship that could board and arrest them for being part of the slave trade, so the crew starts throwing the chained slaves overboard right and left to destroy the evidence. To top it off, a storm devastates the boat immediately after. Only Jessie and a single slave boy survive; every other slave and crewmember has either drowned or been killed. Jessie makes it home, but he lives with the memory of those months for the rest of his life. As a result, he can no longer tolerate hearing music of any kind.

This book reminded me a lot of the Studio Ghibli movie Grave of the Fireflies. It's a movie I think everyone should watch at some point in their life, but only once — no one would ever watch it a second time for fun. It's about two young siblings trying to survive alone in WW2-era Japan, and ultimately they both slowly starve to death. (Cinema Therapy's review of this movie examines it in depth if you're looking for a summary/don't want to submit yourself to the trauma of watching the whole thing.)

It's an important story that shouldn't be forgotten, but not for its entertainment value. My takeaway is that I think historical fiction has equal value to real history, in some cases, because it's able to humanize the past. Reading "many slaves did not survive the journey to America" in a textbook is just not the same as reading a description of a dead child being flung overboard by her ankle.

I don't know how this book fits into the larger conversation around banned books. This is a work I don't think someone under 13 should read, and even that's pushing it. I believe kids can handle a lot more than we give them credit for, but this was too much.

5/10 for the sheer devastation this brought, and I don't think I can give a Recommendable/Not Recommendable rating because it's in the same place as Grave of the Fireflies: the "this is important to preserve and talk about, but not fun in the slightest and will stay in your head in some capacity for the rest of your life" category.

#booklr #books #currently reading #newbery #newberyaward #newberymedal #reading #books and reading #the slave dancer

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chernobog13 · 2 years

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Neutro (1967), the first - and only - issue of one of the most boring comics ever!

Dell Comics, once the biggest comic book publisher in the USA, if not the world, was desperate for content in the mid-1960s. The publishing partnership Dell had with Western, with Western providing tons of content for Dell to publish, had dissolved. Western took all its titles, including numerous lucrative licenses (from Disney, Hanna-Barbera, and others) and began publishing them under its own Gold Key label.

Dell had to come up with its own titles to try and keep a place in the market. In the mid-1960s, at the height of Batmania (due to the Batman television show) that meant superheroes. Dell had never done superheroes before, but gave them a try just like every other Tom, Dick and Harry who had access to a printing press.

I’ve posted before about Dell’s trio of awful superheroes based on Universal Monsters (Dracula, Frankenstein, and Werewolf). Neutro was yet another laughable attempt at Dell becoming the next Marvel Comics.

One thousand years ago aliens from the planet Pluto deposited several boxes in the American Southwest. These aliens were observed by members of a Native American tribe, and the story was passed on through generations until it became a legend.

An adventurer is obsessed with the legend and, after several pages of searching, finally manages to find the boxes. He brings them to a scientist friend, and together they open the boxes and find--

So of course they take all the parts and put them together, which results in--

So there, right off, we see that Neutro isn’t the giant superhero depicted on the cover. In fact, he isn’t a superhero at all, just a brainless robot (which probably goes a long way in explaining the cover blurb “Neutro does not know the difference between right and wrong”).

After finally constructing Neutro, the adventurer and scientist then spend several pages figuring out what the robot is capable of.

Frankly, I wonder how these guys managed to conduct these tests. Did they really have Neutro shoot down aircraft, race after missiles, or wander into an atomic bomb test? And where did they get the herd of elephants, a thousand pythons, and a thousand lions?

Then these guys begin to have second thoughts about Neutro and the great power he possesses. But instead of doing the sensible thing like taking him apart and putting him back in the boxes, they just decide “you can’t hold progress back.”

Then we’re right back to showing what Neutro is capable of doing.

The reader is later informed as to why the boxes were left on Earth.

I’m probably crazy expecting this story to make sense, but the aliens’ motivation makes absolutely no sense. If you’re capable of making a robot that can take over a planet, why wait until the dominant species builds it and then come back and wrest control? Just use the robots yourselves and take over the planets right away, instead of waiting thousands of years.

Or maybe I’m overthinking this.

Anyhoo, nefarious folks all over the globe have somehow A) learned of Neutro’s existence (probably from all those airplanes, tanks, and ships he destroyed); B) decide they want to control Neutro themselves; and C) know the exact radio frequency used to control him.

There are then several pages detailing the months-long struggle of radio beams from all over the world striking Neutro’s transmission control device, Finally, one organization - Group 777 - magnages to develop a radio beam strong enough to take control of Neutro .

AND THEN--!!!!

--nothing happens. There is no second issue, and we never find out what happens to Neutro.

There are no credits for Neutro, and frankly I don’t blame the creators for wanting to remain anonymous. The writer was D.J. Arneson, and the artist was Jack Sparling (who also drew the original Secret Six for DC Comics, and his work was no better there), and I’m sure they never listed this book on their resumes.

There are elements about this story that make me suspect it may originally have been written for a science fiction comic instead of a superhero yarn. The giant robots/monster genre had been a popular science fiction trope, as were the evil aliens, and the apocalyptic images of Neutro destroying the word. And there’s also the complete and utter lack of any kind of superhero action at all.

Either way - science fiction story or superhero origin - the fact remains that this was an excruciatingly bad comic.

I read this as a lad while visiting an older cousin. He only had a few comics, mostly humor books (which I never liked), and absolutely no DC or Marvels. Neutro was the only book my cousin had that even remotely resembled the superhero comics I loved, so it was the only one I read. Unfortunately, it was one of those bad experiences that stays with you your entire life.

And now I’ve shared it with you. Misery loves company and all that.

#Neutro #Dell Comics #Silver Age comics #bad comics #Jack Sparling

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dishtothedeath · 1 year

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all the choirs in my head say, no || trial 3.2 || yukari || re: bonbon, jun'ya / attn: morgan, bonbon

Yukari could feel the different lines in her head running over each other as they tried to map out a clear cut conclusion. It was easier to think when she didn’t have to pay attention to the other voices in room waiting for a hitch or a slip to make the picture clearer. At this point, almost anything was a possibility and that made her doubt what she really knew.

When Bonbon speaks, she catches something. The last line had her turn her attention to him. Fergus is the first to speak and defend himself which is good! It helped calm her since her hands were holding onto her skirt for dear life, trying to keep everything beneath the surface. She was angry but Yukari wasn’t the type to show it. Instead she keeps her smile before taking a breath and raising her hand to speak.

“I think you are purposefully trying to overcomplicate things. If you’ll allow me, may I propose an idea?"

She doesn’t wait for a response.

"The person who set the trap is experienced in such convoluted set. They either understand how a live stunt scene works or how traps work. I’ve seen sets but I’ve never operated one. I’m not an action star or some type of comedian that relies on cheap slapstick, physical humor, so my knowledge on such traps is very limited."

Yukari sets her hand down on the table.

"So let’s just go with what we do know about the killer. They would have to be strong enough to successfully cut an alive Emil’s head off as well as set the stage. After all, the box that crushed Emil looks incredibly heavy. In addition to their strength, the killer has enough precision to take out multiple cameras with just one pool ball. That takes aim and a well practiced hand, wouldn’t you say?”

Her attention turns back to Bonbon and someone else just briefly before she’s addressing the group as a whole.

“I am beginning to doubt that there was an accomplice. Only because then the accomplice would have been the one to find the body. Judging but Alfie’s reaction, could we say that he was the one who participated in Emil’s demise? Granted he could be lying. Any one of us could be… But I will choose to believe him.” Just for now. Just this once.

She has to pause to think carefully.

“Emil’s death was only thirty-five minutes before their discovery. In those thirty-five minutes, the killer would have had to drain the blood from his head, set the head on the cake, and then disposed of their clothes along with their very shi— shoddy attempt to frame someone. They had to have been wearing the clothes found but… Did they need to wear the wig as well? Could it not just be enough that the clothes they were wearing were just what they had on? They could have just cut the wig and thrown its fibers in. After all, the strands did not get destroyed alongside the clothes and were fairly easy to reach and test… If the clothes were part of a disguise, why bother destroying them?”

This is… upsetting. Not for the usual reason but also because she couldn’t flat out call a killer. Not while there were multiple possibilities…

“I can say with great certainty that both Fergus and Jun'ya would not implicate themselves in something like this… Alfie is cleared through his being the discoverer. I clearly could not have set up something like this given my lack of physical strength. I would argue that Giselle and Yuzuki share in that weakness. Sunako is too softhearted to kill in a gruesome way such as this. Same with Castella. Haruki and Manqian would have somehow messed up their own plans and don’t possess the nerve required to do something to this scale."

Which only left them with two possible names. If her own predictions were right. Yukari’s head is hurting but she can ignore that for now. She can ignore the cameras as well to focus on the task at hand. She’ll throw the audience a bone later but when she’s not trying to find out which person at the table will be condemned to death.

”Morgan. Bonbon. Or anyone else who wishes to speak for them. Why is it the other and not you?“

#submission #ch3 #trial #yukari

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multistoty · 2 years

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what did you do? ( Abe to Hope, maybe? If you want! // cabbxges-and-kings )

There was romance in the unknown, but once a place had been discovered and cataloged and mapped, it was diminished, just another dusty fact in a book, sapped of mystery. So maybe it was better to leave a few spots on the map blank. To let the world keep a little of its magic, rather than forcing it to divulge every last secret. Maybe it was better, now and then, to wonder. To some it might’ve seemed callous, the way she boxed up her pain and set it aside. Yet, she had a heart the size of France, and the lucky few whom she loved with it were loved with every square inch—but its size made it dangerous, too. If she let it feel everything, she’d be wrecked. So she had to tame it, shush it, shut it up. Float the worst pains off to an island that was quickly filling with them, where she would go to live one day. Every person has the power to change their fate if they are brave enough to fight for what they desire more than anything. Not everyone gets a true ending. There are two types of endings because most people give up at the part of the story where things are the worst, where the situation feels hopeless. But that’s when hope is needed most. only those who persevere can find their true ending.

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfectionsBut there's something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour, I think, that creates a language of its own. There's a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. Books are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them. Words are such unpredictable creatures.No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh. And the pair of them are quotation marks, inverted and upside down, clinging to one another at the end of this life sentence. Trapped by lives they did not choose. The heiress's thoughts attempting to kill time as her pickpocket blue orbs trampled over his features and minutes.Killing time isn't as difficult as it sounds.You can shoot a hundred numbers through the chest and watch them bleed decimal points in the palm of your hand. You can rip the numbers off a clock and watch the hour hand tick tick tick its final tock just before you fall asleep. You can suffocate seconds just by holding your breath. And the Mikealson girl had been murdering minutes for hours and no one seems to mind.

And she had fallen for him growing up. So hard. She had hit the ground. Gone right through it. Never in her life had she felt this. Nothing like this. the auburn haired girl had felt shame and cowardice, weakness and strength. She'd known terror and indifference, self-hate and general disgust. Seen things that cannot be unseen.And yet she had known nothing like this terrible, horrible, paralyzing feeling. She had felt crippled. Desperate and out of control. Love is a heartless bastard. Arrogant. Overconfident. Vain. Impossible. She hated the way he refused to leave her alone, how he took her insults the same way other boys might take a compliment, and that his interest in her was clearly only part of his role. And yet she could never seem to push him away. This was why love was so dangerous. Love turn the whole world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals were as ephemeral as feelings, eventually they would wilt and die, leaving nothing but the thorns. He's never stared at her like this before. Sometimes he gazed at her as if he wanted to be her undoing, but just then it was as if he wanted her to undo him. What he had seen was unknown to her though she found scrunching the weather worn paper meant to be sent to the rebellions courier. Just because her Grandfather ,who was insanely abusive, had been a strong proponent for the British occupation of the colonies, did not make her a torrie. The cabbage farmer would need a decoder to fully understand what was written in the paper though she doubted that two am discussions in firelight while the house was silent could be easily explained away. A manicured eyebrow framed the ocean blue of her eyes as they settled further. Her usual sarcasm making its way across her features and slipping the breakable heart back behind the exoskeleton. The unruly organ beat like an animal against the cage of her chest. Her heart was still a little heavy, but she'd decided carrying it around would only maker her stronger. He smelled of magic and heartbreak, and something about the combination made her think that despite what he claimed, he wanted to be her hero.

"You gave me quite the fright, Abe. You'd think I would be standing over a body by the countenance of that lovely velvety voice of yours. As a dear friend, if you have an accusation, go ahead and make it. This is tough times for all of us. It is the measure of a man by what he does with the knowledge he has factual or not. I think highly enough of you to believe in your ability to see the world and people around you in the brightest of hues. Its already bad enough for you to see a lady in her dressing gown in the middle of the night. Especially when you know how soft their lips are."

@cabbxges-and-kings

#historical au #i don't know if you are wanting the half awake au i sort of gave with that #i have other unlisted muses and turn ones #but i haven't been writing #this isn't always my permeant fandom but recently it has seemed #i have slept three hours in two days #i usually have a better thread idea and not awake straight tell three am lol

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neriad13 · 4 years

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I finally sat down and worked out the mechanics and history of Marked plant powers in that story set in Pandyssia that I’ve been working on forever and I’m really happy with the result! =D

To clarify: the source of the rat plague, as marked on the official Dishonored map, is the center of a ruined city (Arouraíos Póli. Translation: Rat City) which was once ruled by a Marked king whose name has since been scrubbed from history. His ghost still dwells in the jungle and grants power to any who draw the Outsider’s mark on their hand.

When marking one’s self as a member of the Nameless King’s coven one gains the ability to:

Control plants, including both the stimulation of growth within (somewhat - they can’t grow a bush in five minutes, but they can make it happen in a couple of days) reasonable parameters and physical movement

Subpower: implanting a person with seeds or cuttings and stimulating them to grow under the victim’s skin and inside them. Grants the Marked complete control over the person’s movements. Long term use results in a plant golem with no humanity left to speak of. The golem will die when there is nothing left of the victim’s original body to feed on. Extremely taboo in Pandyssian society.

Offensive capabilities: manipulation of fast moving carnivorous vines to trip or ensnare opponents. Manipulation of poisonous spores and pollen targeting the opponent’s airways. Most Marked also use the former method to pull other people out of danger, do acrobatics the human body is otherwise incapable of and travel quickly through forested areas.

Other capabilities: stimulating the harvest to produce more of a bounty than it is capable of without assistance. Any garden tended by a Marked blooms with immense vigor.

Mentally tap into the mycelium network that connects all plants in the Pandyssian jungle

Subpower: Marked may use this connection to look through the eyes of other Marked. Canny Marked realize when this is happening and may be able to tell who is spying on them by the feel of the other person’s mind. Messages cannot be transmitted over this connection, but emotions can. Experienced Marked are able to block off this connection at will.

Subpower: Marked may use this connection to “see” things that are happening in other parts of the jungle. Works best within a range of several miles. A skill that improves with experience.

Subpower: ability to see the “echoes” of those who have died in the jungle and became imprinted on the mycelium network, whether animal or human. They normally present as semi-ephemeral beings who are caught in loops of what they were doing when they died, though there is an extreme minority of those who do not follow this pattern. The most well known of these is the golem of Arouraíos Póli, who has guided lost Marked out of the maze of the inner sanctum for generations. Newly Marked have difficulty distinguishing between echoes and living beings. They eventually learn to recognize their lack of shadows, sound and substance.

Drawbacks of being marked:

The echo of the Nameless King from which power is drawn exerts a profound influence on the minds of those who have been marked. He is a caught in a loop consisting of the sacrifice of the person who betrayed him and the subsequent unleashing of the rat plague upon the world. This loop is imprinted on the minds of the Marked and while they are marked, they are continually drawn to Arouraíos Póli and into this loop themselves. This is why candidates with strong mental fortitude are chosen to be marked and given extensive training in resisting the lure. Even so, most Marked do succumb to the pull of the Nameless King eventually.

When the person whom the Marked has designated as ‘the betrayer’ is chosen, that person’s stomach becomes a vessel of the rat plague and their sacrifice almost always results in the death of the Marked. The rare ‘betrayer’ who has broken free before being sacrificed gets horribly ill but is able to live a normal life if treated with King’s Mercy (also known as Plaga Perrit, a common remedy against the rat plague in Pandyssia) soon enough. If the sacrifice is successfully carried out, a wave of plague rats are released into the surrounding jungle.

The Tradition of the Marked in Western Pandyssia

by Dr. Kathryn Derring

Every village has at minimum, one Marked within its borders. Their duties are to prevent the jungle from encroaching on the village, protect its inhabitants from injurious flora and fauna, keep watch for danger coming from the depths of the jungle, ensure that the harvest is good and when needed, to guide people safely through the jungle. They are financially supported and treated with reverence (which is not untinged with fear) by the village in which they live.

Candidates are chosen and trained as children, preferably by the village’s current Marked. If the current Marked has died suddenly or given into the Nameless King’s lure, this duty falls to the village elder.

Traits looked for are willfulness, confidence, mental strength and strong emotional bonds, whether with friends or family. All genders are considered. A child and their family are free to refuse the appointment, but there is often significant pressure from the community to accept if the village has suddenly found themselves lacking a Marked to protect them. In these circumstances, a Marked from another village may be summoned to fill in the gap while the child trains.

The training consists of long hours of meditation, practice in emotional regulation, study of the local wildlife and combat training. Another important part of their education is helping out around the village wherever they can. The reason for this is that it encourages the child to form stronger bonds with the people they’re training to protect. The stronger the interpersonal bonds they have, the better they’re able to resist the Nameless King’s lure.

Traditionally, the child is ready to be marked when they reach 15 years of age, though their training might go on for longer, should their mentor deem it necessary. The ceremony in which they are tattooed on the hand of their choice coincides with the planting of the first harvest of the Pandyssian New Year (usually within the Month of Nets, according to our calendar).

In the week that follows the newly Marked is given a special hut to rest in, the village healer pays close attention to them and friends and family are encouraged to keep them company at all hours. The ability to see echoes (quite possibly of their deceased relatives) and the pressure of the Nameless King’s compulsion are difficult things to adjust to. It is not uncommon for the newly Marked to fall ill after being marked or suffer some sort of emotional breakdown. It is during this stage that candidates who were not fully prepared for the role most often try to kidnap a person they perceive as having wronged them and take them to Arouraíos Póli for sacrifice.

In this scenario, if the Marked cannot be made to see reason, they must be killed. This is an exceedingly dangerous prospect, as the powers of even a newly Marked are considerable. It is likely that the Marked and their hostage will escape into the jungle, never to be seen again.

Should the worst happen, the Marked’s mentor loses considerable face in the village. Village elders have stepped down because of circumstances like these. Marked mentors often pay restitution to their student’s family and that of their hostage.

But, should the newly Marked come through that week having adjusted to their new reality successfully, they take on their full duties as the village’s defender and the cycle begins anew.

Most Marked succumb to the lure eventually, as their will erodes over time and the bitterness of living in a continent so dead set against life itself builds up inside them. The villages they live in know this and are careful to treat the Marked with utmost respect and do their damnedest to stay out of disputes with them, lest they end up becoming a sacrifice. This can end up breeding a whole different type of resentment which well trained Marked are coached to avoid.

Some Marked see their death in Arouraíos Póli as their destiny and plan ahead for it. Some, instead of a person, take a thing which has wronged them and symbolically “kill” it in the inner sanctum. A faulty weapon which caused the death of a loved one. The parasite which destroyed a harvest. The fortune which caused a bitter family dispute. One man cut off the fingers of his marked hand which had failed to defend his village from the plague of biting insects that killed many of his charges.

But how are all these stories known, if Arouraíos Póli is the place the Marked go to die?

Because these are the ones who came back. When the ritual is complete and the Marked still lives, the compulsion ends, its conditions fulfilled.

Only those who are strong enough to destroy the parts of themselves that hold them back are able to return.

On Temporary Marks

Anyone with a stick of charcoal or a pot of ink can mark themselves with the greatest of ease. As far as power is concerned, the material with which one draws on their hand makes no difference. Mud works just as well as painstakingly drawn tattoos.

The difference is that when the mark is washed away, so too are the powers lost. A common thought is that a village in danger might be better served by having multiple Marked on hand who are able to wash away their powers once the danger is passed.

This is generally regarded as a spectacularly bad idea by most competent village elders. Without the proper training, marked villagers are at a heightened risk for succumbing to the Nameless King’s lure and harming their neighbors in the process. A village very rarely has the resources to train multiple Marked, let alone Marked who would only be Marked part of the time.

Thus, there is a long ingrained taboo in Western Pandyssian society against marking one’s self, even in jest. Bedtime tales of naughty children who did just that and then vanished into the jungle never to be seen again abound up and down the coast.

Then there is the other type of story - the ones about travelers lost in the forbidding jungle, on the verge of death from starvation, injury, poison - who mark themselves in a last ditch effort to preserve their lives and are then guided to safety by the ghosts of their ancestors.

Not all of them are bunk. In 1799, a group of woodsmen from New Cullero found themselves lost in the depths in the jungle for weeks. When things became dire, they chose the one man whose will had not yet broken to mark himself. He was able to tap into the mycelium network and find the path that would lead them out. He reportedly suffered no ill effects before or after the mark was washed away.

The lesson here is that some people, without training, if the matrix of their personality is one capable of overpowering the compulsion of the Nameless King, are perfectly able to wield the mark for a short while.

But the stories concerning an unprepared Marked murdering their rival, themselves and the village the resulting plague of rats overtook are by far the more numerous of the two.

#dishonored #pandyssia #fanfiction #A thought #Only those who are strong enough to destroy the parts of themselves that hold them back are able to return #aaaaaaaaa #that's it #that's the entire story #it took me half a decade to figure that out

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rphelperblog · 2 years

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Unravel Me Quote Rp Meme

Book 2 in the Shatter me Series by Tahereh Mafi- feel free to edit or change pronouns for rp purposes

“Books are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them.”

“I can't be my own person if I constantly require someone else to hold me together.”

“In my very limited experience I've already found that people seeking power are not to be trusted.”

But it's a lie, it's all a lie; every person, place, thing and idea is a lie. I do not function properly. I am nothing more than the consequence of catastrophe.”

“Hope can make people do terrible things.”

“How am I supposed to go back? How am I supposed to forget what it was like to be with you? To be loved by you?”

“... I'm starting to think that this situation is the exact antonym of excellent.”

“I don't have the time, the energy, or the interest to deal with your problems.”

“I'm wondering how many more mistakes I'll have to make before things finally fall into place. If they ever will.”

“You know, you have a really strange way of telling me you’re attracted to me.”

“I don't know how to hate you anymore. Even though I want to and I know I should but I just can't."

“Beautiful. He's so beautiful. I must be insane.” “Maybe he and I really are perfect for each other.”

“Loneliness is an old friend standing beside you in the mirror, looking you in the eye, challenging you to live your life without it”

“I clung to something like hope, to a thread of maybes and possiblys and perhapses.”

“I want to convince you to design a smile just for me.”

“My heart is pounding so hard I'm surprised it's not bleeding.”

“I love it when you say my name, I don’t even know why.”

“A handful of letters doesn't always make a word, love.”

“Because if I lower my voice, I won’t be able to hear myself speak. And that, is my favorite part.”

“It’s the kind of kiss that makes you realize oxygen is overrated.”

“I don't know much about anything in this world but I do know how to read the book written in his eyes.”

“I have nine different weapons concealed on my body right now. Would you like to choose the one I use to shoot you in the face? Or should i?”

“I wish someone would remind me how to breathe.”

“We are synonyms but not the same.”

“I am so tired, love.I'm so very,very tired.”

“I want to trust but it scares the skin off my bones.”

"Do I look like the kind of guy who's never had a girlfriend? Have you even met me?”

“How can you be ashamed of an attempt to be better?”

“We breathe when we're wrong, we breathe when we're right, we breathe even as we slip off the ledge toward an early grave. It cannot be undone. So I breathe.”

“He has dimples.He's easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.And I wish I'd never seen it.”

“Because it's so hard to be kind to the world when all you've ever felt is hate.”

“I think about what will happen if no one fights back. I think about a world where no one stands up to injustice.”

“I have a heart, says science, but I am a monster, says society.”

“Nothing in this life will ever make sense to me but I can't help but try to collect the change and hope it's enough to pay for our mistakes.”

“Sticks and stones keep breaking my bones but these words, these words will kill me.”

“The truth is a painful reminder of why I prefer to live among the lies.

“Time goes on even when we do not.”

“Please don’t shoot me for this.”

"Just because I'm going to hell doesn't mean you'll ever deserve her.”

“I want all of you. I want you inside and out and catching your breath and aching for me like I ache for you.”

“I'm falling apart and into his heart and I'm a disaster.”

Only those who cannot express themselves intelligently would resort to such crude substitutions in vocabulary.”

“I'd appreciate if you'd grow the hell up and stop walking around like the world crapped on your only roll of toilet paper.”

“Look who’s the smart-ass now.”

“You are so confident.You're stubborn and resilient. So brave. So strong. So inhumanly beautiful. You could conquer the world.”

“The books...they helped keep me from losing my mind altogether.”

“On the darkest days you have to search for a spot of brightness, on the coldest days you have to seek out a spot of warmth; on the bleakest days you have to keep your eyes onward and upward and on the saddest days you have to leave them open to let them cry. To then let them dry. To give them a chance to wash out the pain in order to see fresh and clear once again.”

“He's standing right in front of me and I miss him like I haven't seen him in years.”

“You know there's a different side of yourself you don't want to recognize, a side you don't want to see in the daylight. You spend your whole life doing everything to push it down and away, out of sight, out of mind. You pretend that a piece of yourself doesn't exist. You live like that for a long time. For a long time, you're safe. And then you're not.”

“It's just a whisper of a kiss but something collapses in my skull. It's a feather-light brush of his mouth against my skin in a place I can't quite see. It's my mind speaking in a thousand different languages I don't understand.”

“You should know— you, have to know, that I have never wanted anything like I've wanted you. Nothing. You have no idea, what you do to me.”

“Because a quiet night is not the same as a silent one, a firm man is not the same as a steady one, and a bright light is not the same as a brilliant one.”

“What a lie appearances can be. What a terrible, terrible lie.” “I felt the tears streak down my cheeks but I wasn't crying.”

“And maybe if I can find a way to stop being scared, I'll actually figure out how to make friends. To be strong. To stop wallowing in my own problems.”

“I can love him, but i can´t depend on him to be my backbone. I can´t be my own person if I constantly require someone else to hold me together.”

“I think wow, I imagine this is what it's like to have friends.”

“He’s smiling like someone’s strung the stars across his lips”

“I want to study the secrets tucked between his elbows and the whispers caught behind his knees. I want to follow the lines of his silhouette with my eyes and the tips of my fingers. I want to trace rivers and valleys along the curved muscles of his body.”

As if time were the kind of thing you could run out of, as if it were measured into bowls that were handed to us at birth and if we ate too much or too fast or right before jumping into the water then our time would be lost, wasted, already spent.”

“You can love someone so much, but you can never love people as much as you can miss them.”

“We can hide in a cupboard under the stairs our whole life and it'll still find us. Death will show up wearing an invisible cloak and it will wave a magic wand and whisk us away when we least expect it.”

But time is beyond our finite comprehension. It’s endless, it exists outside of us; we cannot run out of it or lose track of it or find a way to hold on to it. Time goes on even when we do not.”

“Mortification. I’m draped in it. Painted in it. Buried in it.”

“I wish I could love you less”

“Some people are stupid that they actually think that there are thick neon lines separating good and evil.”

“It’s raining. The world is weeping at our feet in anticipation of what we’re about to do.”

“I’m crushed. I saved us a table and everything.”

“I'm checking my pockets for spare words and sentences but I'm finding none, not an adverb, not a preposition or even a dangling participle because there doesn't exist a single response to such an outlandish request.”

“I want this up and I want these down”

“Then what's happening right now? Because something is happening right now and it doesn't feel okay,

“Words, will live as long as people can remember them.”

“I want to know where to touch you, I want to know how to touch you.”

“I like when he tells me that he likes the way I feel because it goes against what I've heard my entire life and I wish I could put his words in my pocket just to touch them once in a while and remind myself that they exist.”

“While a part of me wants to know, another part of me is too exhausted to ask.”

“You have severe mental constipation.”

“And I understand, for the first time, that I have the power to destroy everything.”

“Right now I can't even control my own imagination as it grips my hair and drags me into the dark”

“I have officially, absolutely collapsed inside.”

“Because it's so hard to be kind to the world when all you've ever felt is hate. Because it's so hard to see goodness in the world when all you've ever known is terror.”

“loneliness is a bitter, wretched companion. sometimes it just won't let go.”

“I want to scream, sometimes, I want to collapse, sometimes, I want to die knowing that I've known what it was like to live with this kiss, this heart, this soft soft explosion that makes me feel like I've taken a sip of the sun...”

"What the hell is this? You guys playing footsie under the table or someshit?”

“he thinks too highly of me, places me on a pedestal i've never deserved.”

“He's dangerous, electric, impossible to contain. His body is rippling with an energy so extraordinary that even when he's calmed down it's almost palpable. It has a presence.”

“Because all you ever said to me was that you didn't want to hurt anyone. You didn't want to murder people."

“Gone is the boy with the guns and the skeletons in his closet. These hands holding me have never held a weapon. These hands have never touched death. These hands are perfect and kind and tender.”

“I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend. The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body. I want to know where to touch you, I want to know how to touch you. I want to know convince you to design a smile just for me. Yes, I do want to be your friend. I want to be your best friend in the entire world.”

Its the kind of smile that makes me forget how to do everything but blink and blink and I don't understand what's happening to me. I don't know why I cant convince my eyes to find something else to focus on. I don't know why my heart is losing its mind.”

“i'm always apologizing. forever apologizing. for who i am and what i never meant to be and for this body i was born into, this DNA i never asked for, this person i can't unbecome.”

“Incredible. He left me bleeding all over his living floor. What a nice little present for his son to clean up. What a nice little lesson for his son to learn. Fall in love, and you get to watch your love get shot.”

“It's hot rain and humid days and broken thermostats. It's screaming and raging steam engines and wanting to take your clothes off just to feel a breeze. It's the kind of kiss that makes you realize oxygen is overrated.”

How am I supposed to feel? It's one shitty thing right after another and I'm trying to be okay--God, I'm trying so hard but it's really freaking difficult and I miss--I miss you, I miss you so much it's killing me.”

“I am a spectacle, an anomaly even among the anomalies.”

“I am so tired, love. I’m so very, very tired.”

“I’m really paying attention to my surroundings. All of a sudden my senses feel sharper, clearer; my entire being feels like it’s humming with a renewed kind of energy. I am electric.”

“...his lips twitch up to flick the switch that lights the fire in my heart.”

“And the stitches in my heart begin to pop. One by one.”

“How many times will you apologize for who you are?”

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saintofanything · 4 years

Text

power is power, and not everyone is powerful

when i see a lot of discussions who try to compare characters, the thing is, they forget about the very nature of the server, in that it is NOT our world despite how much it can feel like it, and thus the nature of power is much more primeval.

on a basic level, power is power. nothing else.

having the best armor doesn’t make you unkillable. Tommy had the first piece of netherite armor on the entire server. and it was stolen and used against him. Sam insists he’s one of, if not the, most powerful person the server - he still lost to a PVP with Dream. Techno infamously was able to kill Quackity with a pickaxe, some potions, and iron armor despite the latter being in full enchanted netherite.

now, in our world, resources = power. several people on the server take great pride in their resources (being the “richest”) but...once you have God Armor+Weapons and a solid base, you’re basically on the same playing field as everyone else, it then comes down to skill. because most people only have 3 lives, it’s not likely you NEED four stacks of Gapples and Diamonds. sure, it helps! in the Disc Finale, Dream talks a lot about how he has more than he’ll ever need and that Tommy and Tubbo can never feasibly beat him, but we’ve all seen an episode of Manhunt. Dream doesn’t need godtier items to be powerful. and it’s hard to say items make you powerful when out of canon, CC!Dream has a valid system to prevent people getting so far ahead no one can ever catch up (the End being closed and iron/villager/piglin farms being banned)

and all of this means the interactions of “powerful” people - Techno and Dream in particular - need to be taken with the concept in mind that in the end, all the “power” (resources, money, friends, allies) doesn’t matter if another person is able to kill you anyways. (other characters like Punz should be on that list as well but OOC we know he prefers to be a supporting character, Sapnap is involved but not as much as those two, etc.)

and what it also means is that objectively weaker characters will view the world fundamentally different from them because they do not have Power nor do they have misconceptions about who actually holds it. which brings us to this:

“One arrow can be easily broken. But when five arrows are be bound together, they become strong.”

people like Techno will not understand why a group needs to band together and consolidate power in an organized government, and it’s because his version of anarchy benefits him, and “governments” pose a threat to him (whether he wants to recognize or admit it is another story). he’s Powerful! nobody can, on their own, overpower him. the Disc Finale is the ultimate example of this - Dream was able to be taken down by the entire server joining together and saying “we’ve had enough” and Dream, despite all his Power, couldn’t outmatch them all. and though they weren’t part of a government, that’s ONLY because their governments had been forcibly dissolved and their country lands destroyed beyond repair.

L’manburg was originally about a group of people coming together to keep themselves safe from people with Power. The Disc Finale proves that was the way to go! Dream was considered unbeatable, even 2 vs 1, and we know from Manhunts not even 4 v 1 can take him down easily. but a dozen people? there’s no escaping that. Techno can say he did it at the Community House, but they weren’t actively hunting him - there are several “good enough” fighters that if they teamed against him, he would die. Sapnap alone got him down to 2.5 hearts on Doomsday. him + someone else? Techno would have been dead. that’s all it takes.

Dream understands this and did from very early on. he fully and absolutely understands why they formed a government. it’s exactly why he worked so hard to destroy it, and why he encouraged paranoia and sowed the seeds of distrust every chance he got, because it doesn’t need to be a “government” it’s any faction, any group that could get big enough to pose a threat, and if he can turn them on each other, he stays in control. he stays Powerful.

when Dream threatens people, when Techno comes into someone’s home and demands answers to his questions, when Sapnap tries to bust the drug ring, when Punz says stay away from the Egg, these are people who have Power. their actions, their threats, their intentions carry with them the Power to Kill if they don’t get their way. and that HAS to be considered when we look at how interactions play out and why other characters feel the way that they do.

#dream smp #i cant ever Not Ramble im sorry #this isnt even critical of techno or phil or anyone btw this is about that Perspectives Matter #i didnt think this would get Notes so now i have to retag my own replies lmfaoo #my post

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bokettochild · 3 years

Text

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones

Angst! My Beloved!

Not a lot of whump here, but I put Wild through the wringer!!! Lots of BotW2 ideas and concepts here, but nothing really cannon.

Also, disclaimer: I think Flora is a wonderful person, a bit harsh and sometimes unkind, but I feel for her a lot. The prompt submitted to me however asked for her as an ass, so that's what's here, for angst reasons. THIS IS NOT HOW I PLAN ON WRITING HER NORMALLY!!!

When Wild left the Chain behind in the woods, it was with a soft smile and a hesitant wave of his right hand. It was with a gentle ‘See y’all later’ that made Warriors shake his head with a sigh while Twilight offered a wobbly grin.

He would join them again, he knew that. After all, Hylia wouldn’t have chosen him to go with them in the first place if he was only supposed to leave before they’d even really started to know what it was that they were meant to be doing.

He’d see them again, and he’d fall back into a routine with all of them, sparring with Warriors and teaching Hyrule to cook and shield surfing with Wind and learning to carve from Sky. He’d go back to sewing with Legend, to exploring with Hyrule, to learning the Ocarina with Time and teasing Twilight about his terrible singing. He could work with Four on the Sheikah Slate and experimenting with different plants he’d gathered. He would see them again, and he’d go back to being busy and smiling nearly every day.

For the time being however, he had to square his shoulders and harden his jaw as he stepped through the swirl of black that had repulsed all the others every time they tried to enter. He had to tame his mind and wild spirit and come to stand before the Princess of Hyrule in all of her stern glory and receive the scolding he was due for wandering off without permission.

He never had time to question what she meant by being gone for ‘two whole weeks’ before she was marching off towards the labs and explaining that there was a new task for them to complete.

Such a task was one that left in his mind no time for thoughts of his brothers save on the lonely nights in the sky when the islands above the clouds were silent save for the birds about him that reminded him of Sky, or when he ran across the forests and was reminded of the wolf that once ran at his side. And, alright, the tiny people in the grass and the fountains reminded him of Four and Hyrule. When the wind sang strong in his ears as he dove towards the earth from the highest places in the sky, he couldn’t help but envision a small hero whose laughter danced like the sea and who’s fingers mastered the currents of wind and sea both.

It was a lonely quest, just like his last before it, but somehow it was more painfully so, now that he knew what it was to have brothers at his side to catch a monster’s blade when he was too slow or to help him patch himself up afterwards. It was quiet when the Princess and he sat around the fires as night, she studying him as he sat still and stonelike as she worked.

The hand that had waved goodbye to his brothers now flickered green and ethereal in the night shades, iron bands clinging to the wisping appendage and acting as a bond to hold its form together. It was nothing like what he’d known or studied in the Sheikah technology, or even what he’d seen from the many worlds he’d traveled with the other, and it earned many a stare and twist of the lips from those he met and traded with during his journey.

The arm was only the first of many changes, it’s power seeping through his body and altering him before he even knew what was happening. He’d hated it at first, disliking how it changed him, made his eyes glow and his hair touch with the same ethereal shades, red bleeding through at the roots and earning him even more wary looks.

Ganon, in all his terrifying power, had been a surprising comfort during the quest, an aid to discovering his new abilities and training them to bend to his own will. The Princess had been wary of their relationship, but had accepted it when she saw what he learned to do, and every evening she would require a report of his newfound skills, as well as the occasional demonstration or examination.

It all came to an end both too soon and not soon enough.

Ganon was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, and the Princess was as cold as ever even after their second adventure at each other's sides. And now there was no use for the abilities that had fused to his soul like the arm had to his flesh. He’d asked Purah if there was something that could be done to restore his body to its normal Hylian state, without the glowing limb that earned his only stares and insults from the village people, but the Princess had overheard it and declared that such a thing should not even be attempted.

“You don’t understand, Link. Don’t be foolish! We have here a scientific marvel ready for our investigation and exploration and you want to get rid of it just because it looks odd?”

He’s shuffled his feet slowly, resisting the impulse to rub at his chest where the Hylian part of him ended and the eldritch horror began. “I can’t live like Hylian anymore.”

“Because you aren’t one!” Her Highness rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Sir Knight, after everything I certainly doubt that Hylian even applies to you anymore! Hylians do not possess the qualities that you now do, and they most certainly do not travel through stone or time or any other such thing at will. Think would you! You’re something else entirely, and I intend to find out what that is!”

Purah had frowned at that, eyes full of sorrow as they met his own with an apologetic sigh. But there was nothing the de-aged scientist could really say against the royal Sovreign of Hyrule, not as a Sheikah sworn to the service of the royal family. The woman/girl had offered him a sympathetic pat on the head later after climbing up to reach high enough to do so, as well as a few dumplings that Paya had sent on her grandmother’s behalf the day before. It was a welcome gesture, but amounted to so little on the grand scale of life. Not when so many others he had once called his friends had so blatantly rejected the mere sight of him.

Bolson and the other carpenters shied away from him with harsh whispers as they spat insults across the distance.

‘Half-blood’.

‘Gerudo Bastard’.

‘Freak’.

‘Demon’.

There were favorite insults spread from stable to stable and up and coming village to up and coming town and slowly all of Hyrule knew of the monster that had once been the hero. Gossip abounded, and he couldn’t even turn to shield his face with his hood without drawing attention to his arm.

It was only the koroks that welcomed him, themselves all too accustomed to the strange and ethereal. Them and the blupees.

Maybe it was the knowledge of how it felt to be shot at for his oddness that allowed him to ease into the graces of the flighty animals. And maybe it was his lonely heart crying for comfort, but when nestled in their midst, it almost reminded him of how it felt to be hugged by the salty veteran, on the rare occasional that the pink-haired hero had let down his guard.

The fairy’s tangled themselves in his hair and the blupees gathered at his feet, koroks dancing around him and flying to his side as if he was some sort of forest god, but the strange rise of his spirits in their presence shattered the instant a traveler caught sight of him.

Arrows and fire, once his favorite of weapons, were turned against him as words in every language of the New Hyrule had burst from the mouths of its people, and like his namesake, he ran before them, darting through the forest and fading in amidst the trees, hiding, incorporeal and translucent within the halls of the forest as those he’d once seen as allies pushed him away.

He’d begged the new Queen for aid, for relief or even just a word to the people that he wasn’t the evil they had come to think he was, but she only waved him aside with a purse of her lips. “You are not meant to be here without first asking.” The Child of Hylia declared, eyes as cold as the Shrine’s waters themself. “And why should I make a declaration on behalf of a man who refuses to even speak to me properly? You come groveling like a worm, yet for years it was I who you ignored. See how it feels, Sir Hero, to be the one left helpless at the hands of the country. Know what it is to be scorned by those who you thought would love you.”

He’d barely made it out of the window before the trainee guards of the newly repaired Hyrule Castle had caught him and Queen Zelda Diana Hyrule had stared after him with eyes colder than Hebra’s tallest peaks.

It was the Father Tree -the Deku Tree as the Queen had called it, but the koroks laughed at him for using the name, so he’d adjusted in kind- who suggested that he hide the changes, and he’d begun to wander Hyrule as much as possible to find the materials he would have needed.

The Queen still required his presence regularly so she could inspect him; her love of science no ways tainted as to stop her from ordering him to appear regularly, as there was now no need or safety in his acting as her guard. The Queen sought her people’s respect, and to employ such a being as himself, not Hylian and not quite mortal, would be to spark fear in the people. Indeed, when he skirted villages, he would wince at word of ‘the queen’s monster’ as gossip was traded. Those who didn’t see him themselves knew him as a beast of feral nature who lived amid the lost woods and destroyed any who came close.

“A specter that glows with the light of the shrines.” They would tell each other over campfires. “It has eyes like a ghost, empty and lost, with no care for humanity or Hylia’s chosen. They say it was once the Hero of this world, but he died ages ago.”

“I heard it’s the body, possessed by a being beyond this realm, a monster escaped from the edges of reality that tried to hide in our midst but corrupted it’s host so that it only scares away others, leaving it roam the earth in a shattered body. If you get too close to it though, it’ll take your instead.”

He’d stayed away from towns after that.

The blupees and koroks had been happy to help him to find what he needed to hide among the Hylians should he wish though, and two in particular guided him; the korok swinging little twigs like they were batons and humming swinging little shanties as it hopped along the path, the blupee snorting softly and nipping at his heels when he wandered too far, unnatural purple eyes staring up at him with something that was fondness and a reprimand all at once, and in their care he’d made his way across the land of Hyrule to find what would be needed to return to his once life.

The fairies and their Great cousins had been welcome help, and in time, he’d been able to walk amid the populace of Hyrule like any other, as long as he kept a long cloak about him and his hair pulled back to hide where the roots would begin showing again in gold and ethereal blue.

Once Hyrule had talked about needing to hide in his world, about the curse that followed him and made the Hylian people afraid. He’d thought it bizarre and ridiculous of the people at the time, but now he understood what it was to live it.

When the portal opened beneath his feet the day that the Queen had reprimanded him for concealing and potentially damaging the strange limb, startling the Skeikah scientists and Queen both, he’d nearly cried tears of relief.

He was going away, somewhere where he wasn’t a science project and where, unless they traveled to his world’s future, no one would know how much he had changed. His copy of the slate had enough hair dye to last him a few months, and he was certain he could make more over time, and as long as he continued wearing the tunics and gloves the fairies had helped him to adjust to hide the glow the others would probably never catch on. Or well, he could extend it anyway.

His brothers greeted him with open arms and teary eyes, and in a strange parallel to his adventure, he found himself thinking of blupees when Legend had curled against him, stiff and cold on the outside, but with fingers that clutched his tunic just a bit too tight to really be reluctant. And Four, Hyrule and Wind’s exuberant hugs and chatter brought to mind tiny forest people and koroks with twigs for batons.

It was good to be home.

It was good to cook for other people again, and they were glad to have him cook for them, even if his fondness for both Gerudo spiced dishes and fae like sweet things had increased exponentially during his newest adventure. It was good to fight at their sides, even if it was strange to once again have to take others into account before he could select a weapon. It was good to sit around a fire and talk with the others too, but that was perhaps the hardest one; it had been ages since he’d had a proper two-way conversation with anything other than a tree or a korok, and neither of those was good at either staying awake or staying focused for very long.

There were some harder things to adjust to though. Fire, for one. Unlike before when he’d have been happy to burn an enemy camp to the ground, now he was wary of using faming weapons or spreading heat further than necessary. The same went for hunting; he couldn’t bring himself to shoot an animal unless it attacked first or they needed the meat it would provide, and even then, he felt a bit bad for doing so. Is this what Twilight had felt like? Is this why the rancher never liked hunting? Because he too knew what it was like to be on the other end of the bow?

But the hardest thing by far to readjust to was his name.

‘Wild’ they had called him again, and after months of ‘the wild one’, ‘wild beast’, ‘monster’ and every other insult, slur or title that had been used on him, it made him flinch ever so slightly at the words. And unlike the other things where his brothers dismissed it as a change caused by his adventure or an increase of maturity, it was something that the others seemed to either not notice or to excuse as situational.

He had adapted though, learned to keep a smile on his face where blankness had once been required in his knightly duties, and the more he wore the mask the easier it was to put on again.

He’d reveled in traveling across time again, in dancing through battles and exploring the world without the Queen reprimanding him in her cold tones to stop wandering off. He’d pushed himself to learn more music in the last adventure, and even if his experience was more with what few instruments Ganon had had time to help him learn, he’d enjoyed sitting down with the others and borrowing one or another instrument to play a tune and sometimes he even got to sing.

He fell to comfortably into his role though, even with the changes, and he hadn’t even noticed when they’d come back to his world. To be fair, it was different in the daytime, and Hyrule had changed so much in the absence of her hero as he hid himself away from the eyes of civilization. Towns and roads had sprung up where there had only been fields before, and the Guardians that had littered the land had all been dug up and hauled to the castle to be either restored or destroyed by the Sheikah, depending on what Queen Zelda decided after she looked at them herself. The world was so different to him, so unlike that which he knew, that he’d failed to keep as alert as he ought to have been when he wandered about an open market with the others, laughing and chattering away with the other younger ones as Time and Legend herded them towards the needed stalls.

It was a traveler that was his downfall, a man who’d seen the Monster Hero and had been among the first to discover the disguise he wore.

No questions were asked when the word spread, and Wild hadn’t caught on to the whispers until a stone had struck his cheek and he was stumbling forwards on the path.

“Wild!” Twilight was at his side in a minute, Time right after him as Legend launched a barrage of insults at the guilty party who’d thrown the thing.

“’m fine.” He was careful to wipe the blood away with his cloak, holding the fabric to the wound to prevent bluish blood seeping down his face and exposing him to his brothers. He wanted to keep them as long as possible and proving himself to be a monster, not even Hylian, would surely have them turning their backs on him.

“Get away from him!” A woman scolded, grabbing ahold of two of the younger heroes while several other shoppers had like ways grabbed Legend and Sky. “Are you dears alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Freaking what?” Legend shrieked. “Who’s the injured party here?”

“I’d avoid that thing, son.” A man huffed through a frankly walrus like mustache, eyes hard as they trailed to where Wild stood, cloak still pressed to his cheek as he attempted to wave off a fussing Twilight and Time. “It’s not natural. Sure, it looks like a normal Hylian, but that’s just an effective ruse.”

Another villager nodded. “It’s one of the Calamity’s puppets, a Gerudo-Bastard set on destroying the kingdom!”

“He’s the freaking hero!” Legend shrieked, barely being held back by a steely eyed Sky. “He saved all your freaking asses and all you can do is insult his flipping guts? Who’s the-”

“Enough.” There were few times that Sky’s voice reached levels worse than Twilight’s growls, but the stern command, regal and firm, froze all present as the man stiffened with a cold nod towards the villagers. “I see we are unwelcome here, and with that being the case it would be wise to spend our rupees elsewhere. Legend,” A tug to the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s join the others and be out of their hair. If they cannot be welcoming and kind to our brother than they will not receive our patronage.” And like a swan gathering it’s cygnets, Sky swept down the street, cape fluttering as he ushered the rest of them out of the town and back to the safety of the wilds. The village stared after them with wide eyes, as if they’d just been judged by a breathing god.

The stiffness in Sky’s shoulders faded as they neared the edge of the forest, and instantly the Chosen Hero been tutting over Wild, gently but firmly prying his hand away from his face with a kind smile that almost set Wild at ease. Almost.

“It’s fine, it’s just a scrape.”

“Still.” Sky crooned softly. “I’d rather we clean it up now and make sure it’s nothing worse than let it sit and get infected later.”

And though he’d tried to fight, his single Hylian hand was no match for the firm grip of the Skyloftian, and within minutes his face was exposed to the shocked faces and flickering eyes of his brothers.

“It’s blue...” Wind breathed as Hyrule darted forwards, hands already glowing softly only for them to stutter to a stop over Wild’s skin.

“It’s... Wild, why is your blood- why is-” The healer’s eyes had flickered golden for a moment, wide as they stared up at him. “What happened to you-”

“What the freak!” Legend had startled, blinking in surprise as he stared. “Your eyes are glowing!”

Shit! The healing properties of the arm had already taken affect and it was making everything act up all weird! He shot a glance down at his arm, one hand raising to tangle in the long hair he couldn’t even see at the moment, praying silently beneath his breath that nothing was showing through. It wasn’t, but that didn’t change how Hyrule had come to fixate on his right arm, or how the healer's fingers hovered over it sparking and eyes twinkling as he whispered softly under his breath.

“Wild.” Time had sighed. “I think this one is going to need an explanation.”

All the breath left his lung in instants.

He’d panicked to say the least and Time had eventually shooed the others away to make camp as the eldest hero had sat at his side, waiting silently for him to regulate his breathing. Touch was too much right now, and any attempts from the others to ease him down or help him level out his breathes had only made him panic more. But when at last his blue eyes blinked back to clarity it was to see Time sitting at his side, a gentle tune wafting from the Ocarina at his lips.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, trying his hardest not to startle Time or otherwise make the situation worse. “I should have said something, I know. I just- missed being Wild and I wanted to come back and be normal and I didn’t want to-”

“It’s alright.” Time’s voice rumbled softly, a single blue eye turning to him with a pained look, even as the man offered him a hint of a smile. “None of us talk about our adventures either.”

“Yes, but you’re people.” He sighed, rubbing the fingers of his glove together. “You’re allowed to choose things.”

There was pain in Time’s voice when their leader answered. “And you’re not?”

“I’m not Hylia anymore.” He whispered. “I don’t count.”

“You count to us.”

“That’s because you don’t know.”

Time shifted, turning to face him fully as the ocarina was set firmly in the grass. “That’s because you’re family and we care. Wild, I don’t care if Demise himself named you the king of the dead, you’re still my kid and Nayru knows I’m not going to let you go without a fight. If that means fighting you, alright, but you’d best better believe that no amount of physical or mental changes will break the bonds we all have with you.”

Something, something damaged and crushed and stitched up and torn open again clenched inside of him, tears pricking at his eyes as he stared up at Time’s royal blue gaze. “W-what?”

“You could be granted godhood, made a monster, I don’t care. You’re ours and you’ll have to deal with that.” Time smiled, warm even with the pain in his eyes as he looked down at him. “So how about you start again, maybe with the facts rather than the insults. Or,” Time softened, brows furrowing lightly. “If you want, we can just sit here and you can choose to talk about this later. We do need to know, so we can help you and keep you safe, but you don’t have to tell us right now. You can take some time to figure out what you want to say if you need.”

And, well, shoot him, but Time’s arms had always been a safe place and there was one thing he’d wanted more than anything since he had come back. Wild threw himself into his grand-mentor's arms with a soft sob, clutching tightly to the other, ignoring the armor and its sharp points and awkward shapes as he tried to hold back all the emotions swirling in his chest.

Time’s arms folding around him broke the floodgates though, and when the man’s hand had stroked through his shortened hair, he’d had to bury his face in Tim’s neck to muffle his sobs.

“There, there,” Time hummed softly, rocking slowly as he held the broken wild hero. “Let it out, little one. I have you, I’ve got you and I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”

#whumptober 2021 #linkeduniverse #linked universe #idiot writes angst #idiot writes whump #lu wild #lu time #lu sky #lu legend #sky is scary when he's mad #wild whump #botw2 #botw2 theories #mean flora #flora bashing #zelda botw bashing #I ACUALLY LOVE FLORE PLS DON'T HATE ME!!!!#father time

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snackleggg · 3 years

Text

It wasn't hard, in that moment

~~~

Angsty one shot without a happy ending. Sometimes hate can blind you to the simplest things.

~~~

This couldn't be happening.

There was no way this was happening.

But the screen didn't change as Maddie and Jack Fenton stared at the news on their TV.

" -and with all this in mind the government has not only decided to revoke the Anti-ecto act but to also give ghosts and other ectoplasmic entities that fall under that category basic civil rights. The GIW and several other unethical ghost hunting organisations are being shut down as a result and the government will soon be moving onto the inspection of smaller groups and individuals that have shown excessive malice towards these beings-" The news reporter continued on but Maddie couldn't really listen to anything else they were saying.

She didn't think it would ever get this out of hand. At first it had been small things, the impressionable and naive children of Casper high supporting that menace Phantom. Then when word of ghosts being real spread to the rest of the world other groups supporting them and their rights as people started popping up.

Now the Anti-ecto laws were not only taken down but new laws protecting the scum were put up. How did this happen?

A growl escaped Maddie "Phantom".

Of course that evil menace had to be up to this. He and his ghost pals must have mind controlled government officials. Now Fenton works would undoubtedly be inspected and shut down considering the new Ectoplasmic Protection Act.

They had to work fast Maddie decided.

If they could destroy Phantom then whatever ghostly hold he had over the government would disappear and they would all come to their senses.

Maddie stood up and started stomping her way down the stairs. She didn't even notice Jack continuing to watch the news as they interviewed some ghosts on what they thought about the situation. She didn't even notice how Jazz was standing proudly at the top of the stairs or the suspicious look Jazz threw her way when she had left.

With her new urgency it wasn't hard for her to finish a project they had in the works for a while. Her and Jack had kept it top secret so that the scum couldn't somehow find out and destroy it like they did with some of their other brilliant inventions.

The Fenton Ghost Filter was about to get a test run on the local menace.

Unlike something like the Ghost Grabber or a Ghost Shield, the Ghost Filter didn't filter ghosts from an object or just force them away. It filtered them from existence. Separating all their ectoplasm down to the molecular bond, they would become nothing but air.

It wasn't hard to find the menace. He had just finished sucking another ghost into a Fenton Thermos, Maddie still couldn't figure out where he had got his hands on one. It wasn't hard to get his attention and expertly lie about her intentions, about seeing the news and understanding how wrong she had been, about how she wanted to speak to him and make a truce.

The words were bitter on her tongue and it took everything in her to keep her expression of friendliness up and not let any venom or disgust leak into her voice.

He was obviously still cautious when he approached her. He carried himself with the air of someone ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Of course Maddie would never give him that chance.

The moment he was in close enough where she knew she wouldn't miss she pulled out her newest invention. She saw the moment he realised what she was about to do, the moment he realised she had lied and the moment he realised that even with his speed he wouldn't be able to dodge in time.

Maddie saw the fear in Phantom's acid green eyes.

She smiled.

She was proud to be the cause of that fear.

She pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to slow down after Phantom collapsed. Not in the good way either.

It wasn't the same kind of slow as when she was about to shoot him, when she was savouring that moment, that victory.

At first it was caused by confusion.

Why hadn't he been torn apart instantly? Maybe she had gotten something wrong in her rush to finish it? Maybe a calculation had been off?

Then white rings appeared around Phantom's waist and travelled up his body.

She was tense. Was this a new power? A new attack? Thanks to those damn new laws it would be seen as self defense if he attacked her now.

Then when the rings of white light disappeared her son was left there on the ground. He was screaming.

Over the years Maddie had learned to ignore the screams of ghosts, they were all just ploys to gain her sympathy of the emotionless creatures. The screams of ghosts had become white noise to her, nothing more than a passing irritation.

But infront of her right now was not a ghost but her son. Her baby boy. He was screaming. He was in pain.

The mother in her wanted to run over to her boy right then and try and make him feel better, comfort him and make his pain stop.

The ghost hunter in her, the part of her that had been driving her every action up until that point, whispered in her ear how this was a trap. Phantom was trying to trick her like always, trying to gain her sympathy by making himself look like her son.

The two sides were at war, and so Maddie was frozen.

Then time seemed to snap back into gear, moving fast now like a rushing river.

Someone ran past her, towards Danny (Phantomphantomphantom). It took her a moment to realise it was Jazz. She was quickly followed by Danny's two friends, Sam and Tucker.

They were all panicking. All calling out to Danny, asking what was wrong, asking what happened and what they should do. Reassuring him that everything was going to be okay, though it sounded like they were trying to convince themselves just as much as they were trying to convince him.

The entire time Maddie could barely hear them over the screams, over her son's (Phantom's) screams.

Then it all stopped.

The screams cut off abruptly, like the plug being pulled from a TV.

Danny (Phantom that's Phantom it's Phantom) fell limp.

Sam was crying, Maddie had never seen her cry before. She was always such a strong girl.

Tucker seemed to be franctically looking for a plus, both on Danny's wrist and neck.

Jazz was-

Maddie felt like she had been slapped when she looked at Jazz.

Jazz was staring at her- no, glaring.

There was so much in that glare.

Jazz had always expressed a lot of emotion through her eyes, she could never really hide what she was feeling if you looked her in the eyes.

There was rage, and sadness and- what Maddie didn't want to admit looked like hatred. Unshed tears sat in the corners of her eyes as she glared at Maddie like she had just taken everything from her.

Then her eyes trailed back to Danny's (Phantom's) limp form.

He wasn't breathing. He was still, too still.

His eyes closed from when they had been screwed shut in pain.

Tucker was now also crying, he had stopping looking for a pulse.

Maddie felt bile rise to the back of her throat as she replayed the events in her head.

Maddie saw the fear in Phantom's acid green eyes. (She didn't need to try hard to imagine those same eyes as blue- sky blue like the day the baby in her arms opened his eyes and she swore to always protect him)

She smiled. (That's the last thing he saw, her smiling. Smiling because she was about to kill hurt him)

She was proud to be the cause of that fear. (She caused that fear. Her own baby was afraid of her, and she had been proud of that)

She pulled the trigger. (She pulled the trigger, she shot him, she hurt him, she killed him)

"Tragedy struck today as Amity park's local ghostly hero Phantom, whose identity was revealed to be Damiel Fenton, was killed by none other than Madeline Fenton. It has been a common fact in the town of Amity for many years that the adult Fentons have harboured a, at times, unreasonable hatred to ghostly entities. While not all the details are yet known, the broader strokes of the story are that after the government's public declaration of the Ectoplasmic Protection Act yesterday Madeline Fenton decided to act out to destroy Phantom who she and her husband had claimed to be a menace multiple times. Taking a, as of yet unidentified, weapon and lulling Phantom into a false sense of security around her before she shot him and subsequently killed him. When he died his identity was revealed to be that of her own son who, we are told, after an accident involving their prized invention, the ghost portal, became part ghost and took personal responsibility for making sure that Amity park was safe from those who wished to harm it. Madeline Fenton is being charged with first degree murder and there is currently much debate on whether Jasmine Fenton should be removed from Jack Fenton's custody-" The news reporter went on.

Jack couldn't focuse on the TV anymore. His sobs having grown too loud to be able to hear what was being said.

His wife was going to be sent to prison.

His daughter hated them both.

His son was dead.

His son had died nearly two years ago and they hadn't noticed. They hadn't questioned his strange behaviour, the falling grades, the breaking curfew. They hadn't seen their son when they looked at Phantom, hadn't recognised him.

Then his son died again, by their invention again.

He was a terrible father.

He was a terrible person.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fic #angst #hurt no comfort #danny fenton #Maddie Fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #dp fic #my writing

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 3 years

Video

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In continuation to this post about Dooku’s stupid sad face, let’s wallow some more! This man is the worst and I wish he’d quit breaking my heart.

Much like being ordered to use his connection to Yoda to try and destroy him visibly broke Dooku’s heart (no, I’m not kidding, I promise there’s evidence for that, please check it out, oh my gosh Dooku why are you like this), being told to get rid of Ventress clearly hurt him so much.

There is just so much to talk about here. There are several key things in this episode (s3ep12 - Nightsisters). For one thing, after Dooku kneels to Sidious in the first scene, we never see him standing up again - except to kneel again, or when we see him through a com. So ‘Lord Tyranus’ is, in fact, nothing more than a beaten dog, whose only power is an image - that is, a mirage. It’s a nice touch, and a good reminder that those who follow the Dark Side are, in fact, nothing but slaves - and most notably, they are slaves to themselves, which is what happens here.

Dooku does not want to give up Ventress. He readily admits that she is important to him - and isn’t that foolish? Why would you ever tell a Sith Lord that there is something in the Galaxy beside yourself that you value? What’s more, he immediately interjects when Sidious says that she is ‘too important.’

To question his Sith Master like that is reckless and dangerous. Dooku is cunning, calculating, and most of all, self-serving - so for him to speak out like this means he couldn’t help himself. That’s how much he valued her. Unfortunately, the Dark will always make you value yourself more. Indeed, when Sidious questions his loyalty - loyalty that is nothing but a sham, which they both know, because the way of the Sith is to stab each other in the back - Dooku is quick to say that he’d never train his own apprentice. (Which, you know, he does next episode when he gets Savage.)

But anyway, this is Dooku’s face right before he agrees to kill Ventress - and right before he bows - practically kowtows - to Sidious. It’s pure anger.

But he agrees nonetheless. None of his anger, none of his hatred, none of his rage give him any power at all. And so, to preserve himself - because again, that’s what the Dark Side makes you do - he bows like an animal. When Anakin holds on to people because he can’t bear not to have them in his life, Dooku cuts people off because he is endangered by his connections, because of the position he put himself into in his quest for power. (Which is again quite ironic - a man called ‘Lord’ greets the man calling him that with complete subservience.) They go about it differently, but they are both undone by selfishness (and it’s not me saying it, it’s Lucas).

The most heartbreaking part about all of this though? When Dooku casts Ventress off, he’s not angry, he’s sad and defeated.

Just look at his face when he calls her ‘child.’

He is framed as off-balanced and cracked, ffs! And just look at his eyes.

Listen to his voice in that scene! How slowly he talks, how regretful he sounds! He looks away when he tells her he’s ordered the troops to abandon her. And when he looks at her again, listen to how stiff and impersonal his words are, in direct contrast to his previous... well, gentleness.

To save himself, he destroys a part of himself. That’s Anakin’s story. That’s Maul’s story, that’s the story of the Dark - in trying to gain something for themselves, they give up what matters. Maul tries to gain power and loses his body, then tries to gain revenge and loses the remainder of his life to a pointless endeavor that will never fulfill him. Anakin tries to preserve himself from the pain of loss and ends up losing everything he holds dear to his own actions. Dooku tries to protect his own life, and in the end has nothing to live for, and eventually dies. They all hurt themselves through their self-centeredness.

Just go and watch how defeated Dooku is when he says “I have done as you’ve asked, Asajj Ventress is dead.” Just look at his eyes right here:

And the worst thing is: this is the second time this has happened. Because Dooku did not fall because of Qui-Gon’s death - he was already a Sith when Naboo happened (as per s6ep10, The Lost One + the AotC timeline that was already too tight for him to have fallen, become Sidious’ apprentice and killed Syfo-Dias after Naboo rather than before).

Dooku has been subjecting himself to the Dark - to his own base need for self-preservation - for over ten years at this point, and he keeps doing it. He keeps repeating the same mistakes, because no matter how much he loved Qui-Gon, or Ventress, or Yoda, when faced with the question ‘what do I choose between my own interest and the interest of someone I love’ the answer of the Dark is always: “I choose ME.”

And the consequence is always suffering, for all the parties involved.

It’s not a coincidence that this very ep shows us Ventress’ first Master - her real Master, in the ways that mattered - Ky Narec.

One looks at her with pride and love - the other with bitterness, and regret, when he can look at her.

One she looks up to with joy, absolute trust and equal love - the other leaves her terrified, betrayed and alone.

Just compare Dooku to Obi-Wan - who always tries his hardest to save the ones he loves instead of preemptively cutting them off (Qui-Gon in TPM, Satine in s5, Ahsoka on Mortis, Cody in s7, Anakin because the Mustafar duel was choreographed to show that he was trying to let Anakin tire himself out and cool down, Luke in ANH) - and more often than not fails, but still tries no matter the cost to himself - and who lets go of what he has lost instead of holding onto bitterness and anger. Compare Dooku to Yoda, who is ready to give up his own safety and happiness, who is ready to die to protect Anakin (again, not kidding, here’s when it happens) rather than to pursue the outcome he wants. Yoda and Obi-Wan die with smiles on their faces, at peace, because the key to it all - the difference between love and attachment, and between love and self-preservation, and between letting go and cutting off, and between true power and the lies of the Sith - is always selflessness.

Whereas the Sith are slaves to their selfish impulses, the Jedi have the freedom to say no, I’m not going to save myself, I’m going to do what’s right, and I will be happier for it no matter how much it cost me.

The whole point of this angstfest was to say: dammit, Dooku! He used to be wise enough and strong enough to know better, and he still did this to himself, and then dragged the entire Galaxy into chaos and darkness. And I love him so much, and this self destruction that is characteristic of the Sith breaks my heart.

#meta #my meta #dooku #count dooku #darth tyranus #darth sidious #sidious #sheev palpatine #asajj ventress #star wars: the clone wars #light vs dark #sith #sith stuff #long post

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bimswritings · 3 years

Text

Armorer x Reder Pt. 2/2

Pt.1

Kofi

Ao3

Warnings: Typical Canon Type Violence

A/N: Part two for my love! Now that I've finished this, you can expect part three of the Savage fic, with the outline already nearly finished! Hope you enjoy, and until next time!~Bim

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“What is the meaning of this?”

She had been expecting Paz to have come to her earlier, seeking answers for what had just transpired . It could be considered nothing short of a blessing from her ancestors that she had been allowed the time she was, for if he had arrived not five minutes earlier she surely would have not been able to answer him. Even now she found it hard to find her voice, swallowing thickly as she tried to dispel the invisible grip that held her. It was as if the dust from the rubble had infiltrated the filter of her helmet, invading her senses and clogging every sense with a layer of dust.

“The empire sent TIE bombers.” The vecoder of her helmet masked the cracking of her voice from the large warrior in front of her, lest she appear anything but unyielding even in such a moment. It did nothing to dampen the way it reverberated within however, and the echo fact was like a hit to the chest plate all over again.

“Were there any other survivors.”

A light shake of her head gave him his answer. Even if they were strangers to her, the carnage she had witnessed would have been a shock to anyone.

None had been spared from the Empire’s wrath. Not a single structure nor person was left standing, and at places there were little more than scorch marks burned into the ground, the only testament of what was once there. The burns matched those marring the flesh of the scattered bodies, which there was no shortage of. Most were too burned and damaged to tell age or gender and she had no doubts that there were more victims, either buried or bodies completely destroyed in the initial blast and still burning flames.

“How did they make it?” He questioned further, and unsurprisingly.

“Their house was located further outside the village. It received the least of the blast, though there is still no home to return to.”

Yet again she was thankful for your reclusive behavior. It was only thanks to your distance, and the armor she found you buried in, did you survive, though you weren't without injury.

As soon as she received your transmission she had turned back mid flight, making it there in record time. Having never used the transmitter before, the fact that you did so now expelled any worry she might have had over your previous encounter.

When she arrived to find what had happened, she had immediately started digging. Using every tool and ounce of strength at her disposal to move the rubble, looking for at least a body to confirm her fears.

At long last she had found you, body bloodied and arm twisted at an unnatural angle. It was a shock to her system, heart nearly stopping as she took in your still form, thinking you were surely dead. Gloved hands ghosted over your exposed skin and still attached armor, which itself was badly damaged. As well made as it was by your own hand and her careful guidance it still had trouble holding up to the immense weight and damage it took. The metal surface was marred with countless scratches and dents, even completely caved in at places. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that you were already gone. There was no telling how long you had been under the rubble before she had arrived, and even if she had gotten there minutes after, your wounds were so numerous it would have been close.

Raw pain ripped through her as emotion broke through her carefully crafted dam, spilling out all at once over it’s months of accumulating, effectively taking grip over her entire being. She did not cry however. The ability to do such had been lost to her years before and would never come back. Instead, she simply held your body close as she knelt in the dirt, mourning what she had never had the chance of claiming. She had been so close. Her helmet showed that your heat signature had not even grown cold.

Taking her glove off, she reached for your own hand. Even if it was just once, she wanted to feel your skin against hers, without the barrier of metal or leather you both consistently wore. Fingers lacing your own, it once again brought a wave of sorrow crashing over her.

Your hands, strong and calloused from years of work, felt better pure Naboo silk to her own. They remained loose and unmoving, even as her own knuckles turned pale at the strength with which she grasped them. A silent plea to her ancestors, the maker; anyone who would answer the questions she herself didn’t know. Never having been one to believe that those unseen could have much of an influence on the living, she didn’t expect an answer. Only someone to shift the unbearable grief to.

Yet, as she lay mottionless over your corps, she received one. If her own hand hadn’t been so tightly clenched she may have missed it, and in her stay she thought she was imagining it. But then it happened. Again. Then again.

Your pulse, weak and uneven, but there.

Throwing herself back, she quickly changed the viewing mode on her helmet as she tried in vain to keep her hopes from rising. She knew very well it could just be her own that she was feeling and until there was concrete proof then-

There.

In the corner of her visor read your heart rate weak and uneven, just as she had felt before, but there.

She wasted no time pulling you from the rubble and nothing short of sprinting back to her ship, keeping in mind there were undoubtedly unseen and internal injuries as she did her best not to jostle around. She could only thank whatever force there was out there that she had taken the one ship of the coven that had a med chamber in it. Though it was well worn and outdated at best in comparison to the newer ones, it would serve her purpose until she could do something better.

The machine’s light humming reached through the air as it began working on your more severe wounds, the steady drone of the machinery a stark contrast to her own shaky hands as she piloted the ship off the cursed planet, making sure to keep an eye out for any lingering ships of the empire. It would only make your situation worse if you were to be caught in the middle of a firefight as your wounds were tended, though she did not even know if she would be able to gain enough control of herself to fly away from such an endeavor unharmed.

Once certain that there was no one following and they were out of range of the planet, she set the craft to autopilot and was back by your side immediately. The droid had just finished removing the armor from your body and tending to the majority of life-threatening wounds, moving on to what it could finish with the limited supplies it had. She had to resist grabbing your hand, instead putting the energy into pulling the medical log. Reading over it, her heart sized at the vast number and varying severity of each listing as she read further and further on.

Oblique-displaced fracture-R/Humorous, Transverse Fracture-R/Tibia, Hairline fractures of Ribs-R/arm/leg, Bruising of Kidney/Lungs/Liver, Puncture of R/Lung-Bone Frag. Removed-Origin-twelfth intercostal rib, Sever Grade four concussion, Multiple lacerations

She had no idea what had been fixed and what had not, but the number of bacta patches missing from the supply put a small ease on her, and the sight and sound of your slowly steady vitals was enough to keep her from jumping to extremes. She had no particular love for droids, though certainly not hating them as much as the young Din, the money spent to install the machinery was well used, even if the original purpose had been to heal warriors after missions with wounds that needed immediate attention.

That did not mean she found any time to rest on the way home, constantly watching for the slightest sign of life other than the low beeping of the monitor, and the ever so faint rise and fall of your chest as she counted each breath you took. The flight seemed to take double the amount of time it normally did, each second dragging on for eternity, until finally the landing gear of the Starjumper touched the surface of Nevarro. Thankfully it was night, and she had no issues once again lifting you into her arms and carrying you through the deserted streets to the coven. Its familiar coolness encompassed her as soon as she emerged from the stairs into the lower levels. The deathly silent halls were a stark contrast to her own panic.

Ignoring the guards, who’s attention faltered as they caught sight of her haul, she brushed past and headed straight to the only person who could help.

Olia, their healer, answered the door in her sleeping clothes, helmet clearly having been shoved on in her haste to answer the Armorer’s loud and incessant pounding on the door.

“What in the stars do you want this late..at..” Her sentence tapered off as she saw it wasn’t just a random idiotic warrior who had injured themselves, but her Alor, holding someone who clearly wasn’t Mandalorian.

“Fix them.”

The next few hours were a flurry of activity as Olia fixed what the med unit had not, resetting your afflicted arm which had been simply bandaged before and trying not to flinch at the nasty noises it made while doing so. Each thread of the needle to close skin together felt as if it were digging into her own flesh. Still, she watched, unable to tear herself away even as she knew in the back of her mind that rumor had already spread about her return. They would be looking for answers, and she would give them in due time. For now, they would have to practice patience just as she was.

Finally, two hours later, Olia was done. Wiping the sweat from the back of her neck as she admired her work, she explained the situation to the Armorer as she approached your bedside on stiff legs. She simply stared, not daring to touch when you looked so fragile. She hated it, the way your skin had lost its beautiful tone. The once powerful and proud posture she had seen stepping around the forge like a wild loth was nowhere to be seen. Your body seemed to have sunken in on itself, defensive even now.

“Her body is keeping itself under for now. Not surprising given the amount of trauma and injuries sustained, but if she does start to come around, I’ll give her something that should keep her under, or at least enough that she won’t register what’s going on. I would recommend it for as long as we can so that her wounds have time to heal without issue.”

She looked back over your still body, letting out a sympathetic sigh as she moved to do so.

“Even then, she’s not going to be moving around on her own too much any time soon. Wherever she came from, I hope they aren’t expecting her back anytime soon.”

The Armorer could feel the underlying question in her words, and for what she had done the women had earned her answer.

“That won’t be an issue. There is nowhere to go back to.” She looked away from your form for the first time, something that did not go unnoticed by the observant healer.

“She’s ours now. Treat her as you would any warrior, for she has fought just as bravely.”

She nodded solemnly. The Alor was know to always be serious and straight laced, but the way she was acting now gave way to more than words could ever tell. Tentatively, she rested a hand on her pauldron.

“Go. Get some rest. I can watch over her for now.”

The Armorer hesitated, feeling the lack of rest catching up as the adrenaline finally began to wear from her system. But to leave now would only leave her mind to wonder instead of knowing what was happening at every moment.

Olia sensed her hesitation, pushing her more firmly in the direction of the door.

“Once she’s more stable I will move her to a more comfortable bed. If there’s any changes then I’ll alert you but until then there’s nothing for you to do, and the others are bound to be wanting answers.”

Rod straight shoulders dropper slightly at her words, and a smile tore its way across the old woman’s face as she realized she had won.

Guiding her further out, she made sure the smith was out and well on her way to her own space before closing the door. What she didn’t see was that, instead of turning down the hall that led to individual dwellings, she instead turned right, down the path that would lead her to the only place she could think, to feel less powerless than she was right now. Her forge, where she fell heavily onto her work bench, unmoving as she stared blankly into the once comforting blue flames of the fire. Now they only acted as a painful reminder, thinking back to the times back in your own dwelling. She had yet to move, and Paz found her in the same position when he entered, leading to their current situation.

“I would never doubt your commitment to the tribe, but I must doubt the wisdom of bringing an outsider here! Into the heart of our tribe!”

Had she been in any other situation, she would have no hesitation in putting him back in his place. Heavy infantry expert and lead warrior or not, he had no right to speak in such a way to her. The only thing that saved him from her hammer and tongue was the fact her mind was still filled with thoughts of you. In this moment she even found herself thankful for his questioning. It meant that there was at least one person still thinking straight enough to be an effective leader in her stead.

“It’s her.”

“It's her?” he parroted the words, twisted with their own sense of confusion. “What do you mean it’s h-“ The words stuck mid-sentence as the wheels turned in his head, slowly putting the pieces together. From where he knew she was going, the small glimpse and rumors he had gotten from the others describing you, and the way his Alor was acting now, he was able to come up with his own relatively accurate assumption.

“The Smith.”

Her silence was his only answer, but it was all he needed.

Moving slowly, he settled his own large frame next to hers on the bench, which creaked under the weight. It felt odd, seeing her look so deflated and almost small. Even after years of putting on muscle from the forge and training, she still had nothing on him size wise. Though he was still positive she could beat him in a fight if it came to it, and she had countless times before.

His voice took on a softer, more rumbling tone.

“How did it happen?”

“The Empire. I only got there after they were gone, though there was really nothing left to go back to.”

He wanted to ask more, what they were doing there, why they chose such an outlandish, insignificant town, but he already knew. They both knew. It was because of them. While tolerated by the empire, both sides knew the other would wipe them out if given the chance. With so many going to one town multiple times, it was bound to draw attention. They had just been willing to believe that the Empire would turn a blind eye to it, just like they had with Nevarro.

How foolish of them.

Now they had dragged an innocent bystander, who had done nothing but help them and expecting nothing in return, into their fight, costing them not only their home but almost their life.

Though Paz was more akin to fighting than feelings himself, he could see the turbulence going on within her. Years of being what one might consider confidents let him know everything he needed to.

“She’ll pull through. From what you’ve told me, she’s strong. Not to mention she has Olia looking after her. And besides,” he stood up, walking out to give her space to do what she did best. To think, and come up with the next best plan of action for them to take.

“I still have yet to meet this mysterious smith.”

_______________________________________________

You had never been much of a morning person. Waking up bright and early just to face the scorching heat of your planet's twin suns combined with that of your forge didn’t make for a promising work day. Alas, that was when a majority of customers would come looking for wears and weapons, as well as to hire your services. Even though you preferred working during the marginally cooler nights, you still braved the day, gritting your teeth and dragging your feet as you forced your body into motion. As hard as it had always been then, it was nothing compared to how you were feeling now.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been run over by a Loshev, then further trampled on. Not even in the early times of your apprenticeship, when you had gone to bed with the inability of even being able to lift your arms to fold back the blankets after lifting your hammer an immeasurable amount of times, had you ever felt this sore. Everything from head to toe hurt, and the thought of moving at all was enough to fill your body with a sense of dread.

Instead of doing so, you settled on just getting your eyes open, which itself proved to be a difficult task. They felt as if the skin itself was welded together; made of Kiern metal as they dragged open painfully.

Darkness was the first thing you saw. Shapes and colors only came along after a few moments as your eyes adjusted. Blurred objects slowly came into focus as you took in your surroundings.

You were in a dimly lit room, the only source of light coming from a small lantern hanging from the wall. It’s glow cast drastic shadows on each object, giving the unfamiliar space a touch of comfort with its warm light. The furnishings themselves were rather bare, consisting of only a few boxes stacked on top of one another with small trinkets of one kind or another littered around, and the bed which you currently resided on.

Pulling the blankets aside, you hissed at the way your body groaned in protest, feeling as if every nerve were on fire. It appeared that the lantern also provided the only source of heat because as soon as the surprisingly quality blanket left you were subjugated to the cool air of the small space. You noted areas of bandages scattered all over your body, covering most of your arm and spilling across your torso. The scratchy material could also be felt under your pants, catching on the material and rubbing uncomfortably at your temples.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position, your head swam as the pounding from within increased, leaving you gasping for breath. As much as it hurt, you had to keep moving. You didn’t know where you were, or who was around. The last thing you remember was the walls of your home coming down around you as fighters screamed overhead. For all you knew, you were being held by some backworld smuggler who intended to use you for profit, working to make weapons or using your body for other means. Bandaged wounds or not, you had to get out before the choice was taken away.

Getting to your feet was, unexageratly, one of the most difficult things you had ever done. Your legs gave out as soon as they touched the ground, forcing you to use a majority of upper body strength to drag your way across the room to the door on the opposite wall. It was far from graceful, and there was even a point where you bumped into one of the various stacks of crates. It was nothing more than a little bump, but enough to knock a precariously placed holoboard from its perch on the edge.

Clattering to the floor loudly, it only prompted you to move faster, the fear of someone having heard the ruckus and coming to investigate. You prayed to the maker that wasn’t the case, but with the luck you had been having lately it should have been no surprise when the door opened with a loud creak. A shadow fell over your crawling form, and you looked up expecting the worst. Someone like a pirate or scavenger, maybe even an enforcer. What you weren’t expecting was a child, or what you assumed was one at least.

The person standing in the doorway was small. They were just shy of reaching halfway up the frame, lithe frame hunched in on itself from what you could see peeking around the opening. It was hard to tell their exact age, due to the achingly familiar helmet they wore. While far from being a replica, it was still close enough to that of your beloved Armorer to send a pang through your already aching body. The polished metal reflected the new light of the hall in an almost blinding manor. An owlish visor stared down at your form, just as frozen as you were.

Then, before you could react, they were gone. Light footsteps echoed down the corridors, growing more and more faint until they disappeared completely, leaving you in silence once again. There was only a moment of hesitation before you were on the move once again, now with a reinvigorated urgency.

Finally making it to the door, you used the frame to pull yourself up, gasping all the while as sharp jolts of pain stemmed from every part of your body. Emerging from the room you were met with the sight of similar metal walls as the room. They extended in both directions, the one to your left extending into darkness while there were two branching paths on the right. While having no idea where exactly you were and no reference on how to get out, you still pushed forward.

Heading right, your path was lit by only the occasional light on the wall. Some were the normal low lights that could be found on virtually any planet, while others were a more archaic version using oil and gas were scattered in between. You could tell you were most likely somewhere underground judging from the cool, damp feel the air carried. Either that or you were on an already cold planet, as judging from the state of the room you woke in, it was doubtable that you were in such a place that would waste resources on high quality cooling.

Reaching the split path, you paused, giving yourself a moment to breathe and recuperate as you listened carefully down each. The left was dead silent, almost unnervingly so, and for a moment you thought the second was the same. However, the light flicker of the nearest flame caught your attention. It moved consistently back in the direction you came, not like how it would normally; and with how much of your life had been spent staring and carefully watching such flames it was almost childs play to tell it was being manipulated by something else. Listening closer once again, you could hear it. The slight whisper of the wind. It’s draft was light, almost undetectable, but if you enough it was there. Gently caressing your skin and whispering promises of a way out.

It was a slow go, and painful the entire time. Your body gave not a moment of relief, in just as much pain as when you woke up if not more. It was hard to even take a full breath. Your lungs felt as if they would burst with each inhale. It was as if the air itself was made of fire. The pain didn’t leave much room for thought, but those that you did have were for the armored warrior you had been so abruptly reminded of earlier.

You had no idea where she was now, or if she even knew what had happened. The message may have never even gotten through, and while the Mandalorians were always well informed of the events going on around the galaxy you had no idea how long you had been here. It could be just a night or day; maybe even a week. She only visited every thirty rotations, so she could only find out when she came by for her next visit, only to find nothing but ash.

Would she mourn your supposed death, or would it be more so due to the loss of a weapons provider and face they could use to get supplies and information without knowing who it was really going to? Maybe it would be a relief not to have to worry about any information about them being uncovered. A loose end tied up without them having to do any of the work.

The thought of her throwing whatever connection you thought you had away, especially after having fallen so hard for the strong woman, hurt your heart almost as much as your body. It was a mortifying thought, and one that distracted you from not only the pain for a moment, but also caused a lapse in judgment that allowed your pursuers to get so close. It was only too late that you heard their footsteps echoing behind you in the dimly lit hall. A new wave of fear coursed through your body, pushing you further as they got closer to you, and yourself finally emerging into a larger section of the hall. This one had alcoves lining the top of the wall, allowing the moonlight and cool night air from outside to filter in and drain the hope from your body. The entire time you thought you were getting closer to a way out, you had just been losing yourself deeper in the maze of the unfamiliar compound. It was cruel for fate to do so, but there was nothing to be done now. Not when your pursuers were getting so close.

Your eyes darted around the small area, locking for a place to hide or at least a weapon to defend yourself with, before settling on one of the many alcoves. It was under the small windows that allowed the traitorous light and breeze in, leaving it bathed in darkness.

Thinking quickly, you limped over and forced yourself into the narrow space. It was plenty tall, but so thin it forced your shoulders straight and grated on your exposed skin as you slipped in. Here, your breaths sounded even louder and more labored, forcing you to muffle them with your hand and making it even harder to breathe. It wasn’t the best spot, and quite obvious now that you thought about it, but there was no time to find a new one as a group burst in through the arch you had emerged from seconds prior.

It was hard to see with your eyes still adjusting to the dimness of your little space combined with the light blur they still held, and you simply squeezed them shut, unable to watch as you listened to them get closer to your hiding spot, and focused on remaining as silent as possible. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other wrapped around your body as it squeezed as tightly as possible, as if it were the only thing keeping you together.

You could hear them talking. Their voices sounded muffled even as they bounced off the cold stone walls, and they spoke in low tones that made it nearly impossible to hear. A few still made their way through however.

‘Escaped’ ‘gone far’ ‘Find them-’ ‘kill’

The last word sent a shiver down your spine. It was only made worse as one of the group got closer than any had yet stopped mere feet away. The rough, damp stone dug into your skin as you pushed yourself further back, duly noting the itching pull of your wounds as they grew heated.

They were going to find you, and once they did they were going to kill you, or worse.

A moment passed. Then two. Then several more, all waited out with tension so thick it would put any ship hull to shame, before the shadowy figure retreated. Their own footsteps faded in with the others as they moved on in search of their present target of you, continuing to head down the maze of halls.

Even once they were gone you didn’t allow yourself to relax for a full minute, too fearful of them coming back. But as the momentarily spike in adrenaline wore off and your current position became increasingly uncomfortable, you allowed yourself to relax. Greedily gulping in as much air as your recovering lungs would allow, you were doubled over as you tried to recover. That position, combined with the increasingly loud pounding in your ears, left you unaware of your surroundings and defenseless against the shadow that unknowingly approached.

Their arm reached in, easily pulling you from your hiding place and out into the open.

“N-no! Stop!” You fought back weakly, pushing away at the figure that held you in an iron grip, not yet painful but refusing to budge as you clawed at it uselessly.

“Please.” It was a whimpering, pathetic sounding plea. One born of desperation and fear. Never in your life would you think yourself to sink to such levels, yet here you were, bracing for the pain you knew would come. They would drag you back, either to that little room or somewhere even more secluded, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You braced as the person shifted, recoiling as they brought their free hand up. You expected a hit, a slap. Something that would daze if not knock you completely out. What you weren’t expecting was the gentle caress of fingers along the skin, tracing along your cheek and following its slope up, where it gently rested, silently urging you to open your eyes and raise your gaze.

There was hardly a chance to be confused by the action before a sense of familiarity hit. Worn leather, softer than porg fur and just as warm despite the chilly environment, was stained with the smell of oil and sharp tang of metal. It was a scent that you had thought of many times, haunting your thoughts at night as you wished to be nothing more than wrapped in its comfort.

With a shuddering breath, you forced yourself to look up into the visor of your captor.

The gold of her helmet seems even brighter now as the light of the moon causes it to practically radiate under its glow, starkly contrasting the inky darkness of the owlish visor as it tilts in a way that gives away her concern.

There’s a moment of silence as you simply stare at one another, an exchange of silent emotion as you take each other in.

“Tracinya’ika…” The voice that flows from her helmet is akin to a whisper, seeming almost impossibly soft for such a warrior. However quiet, it’s enough to break the last of your resolve. The Armorer catches you as your legs give out, exhaustion finally catching up. She doesn’t say a thing, simply letting you bury your face in the warm fur covering clasped over her shoulders as you silently hiccup and stutter.

“H-how did I get here? The last thing I remember is-” your unable to finish, screams of the villagers mingling with tie fighters coming to the surface along with a crushing, constricting feeling gripping your chest, as if you were trapped under the rubble once again.

Seeming to sense your thoughts, the Armorer places a comforting hand on your lower back to lead you away. When it becomes apparent that there’s no way you’ll be walking on your own, she pauses a moment, before bending down and sweeping you off your feet to carry you bridal style down the hall, past the other Mandalorians that had appeared without a sound. They were silent as she passed, though their curiosity was almost tangible. She paid them no mind however, easily carrying you through the dim halls and allowing you to once again bury your face into the fur of her cowl. If she minds she says nothing of it.

“There is much to explain.” Her voice rumbles, vibrating through her chest and against your cheek. “But you have been through much. For now, rest. When you awake, you can ask as many questions as you like.”

You wanted to argue, to protest, but there was no energy left to do so. Your escape attempt had left you drained. Instead, you simply let your head rest against the chilled metal of her armor, allowing the gentle sway of her walk to lull you back to sleep without the fear of what was to come, knowing you were safe as long as she was around.

____________________________________

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, the crate of rations you were about to hand to the man next to you blocking your vision from the worst of the glare you could already feel. That barrier was shortly removed, leaving you exposed to the cross Mandalorian.

It had been foolish to think you would be able to sneak off without her knowing. Nothing went on in these tunnels that she didn’t know about. If you didn’t know any better you may think that she had monitors hidden around the place, or maybe even a tracking device to keep tabs on you. It was more likely someone had mentioned your whereabouts in passing, or she had come for one of her usual check-ins throughout the day.

“You should not be up and about, none the less moving supplies.” Her gaze snaps to the others, who were all similarly frozen as they watched. You felt slightly guilty, knowing they didn’t deserve her wrath.

“Why would you let her in here? If the cold doesn’t make her sick then the labor will only make her recovery that much longer.”

The man visibly flinched at her tone, her attention now focused on him as the others slowly back away, letting him take the blame.

“Well, I just thought-”

“You clearly did not, else she would not be working herself to the bone.”

She takes a step closer to the man, sending him into a panic as he quickly backpedals, stammering.

“Hey.” You grab her arm, instantly shifting her attention back to you. Unlike the others, you don’t shrink back or even flinch. Instead you stare back into the darkness of her helmet. “It’s not his fault. I told him it was alright, that I was fine to work.”

The Armorer stares a moment longer, glancing back once more at the others before grabbing you by the hand, shoving the crutch you had been using since your leg healed enough to put weight on into your hand and dragging you away. She continues to scold you as she walks, never pausing in her climb from the lower levels as she continues to make you feel more and more like a child.

“There is no reason for you to have to work in your condition. Olia said rest would do you best.”

“That was weeks ago.” You huff, using the wall to stabilize yourself a bit better as you attempt to keep up with her quick pace. “And it’s only right that I do something to pull my own weight, especially after all that you and the others have done for me.”

“You have already done enough for us, and once you are fully healed I know you will continue to help. Until then I implore you to rest.”

The concern she held made you blush, her complimenting words nearly winning you over. Too stubborn for your own good however, your tongue speaks your thoughts before you can stop it.

“I know, but I can’t help but feel that I’m taking advantage of you. I just want to be, you know, useful.”

Your words cause her to pause, nearly causing you to collide with her back, sending a glance over her shoulder to your deflated figure. Logically she knows that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help out, even sending a streak of pride through her at your eagerness to help her people, but the small voice constantly hounding her and leading to her protectiveness was too loud to ignore.

To your surprise, instead of heading down the left hall to what you knew would lead to the room you had been set up in since arriving, she turned to the right. Following cautiously, you looked about with wide eyes, having never been down this way before despite being her for weeks now. There were still many parts of the tunnels you didn’t know, mainly memorizing the paths to important places such as the communal area, storage rooms(which were the easiest to sneak off to help in), and of course the forge.

Soon enough you enter another section. The smell of metal and oil hits as soon as you step over the threshold, taking you by surprise. It was even stronger here than the forge, which was saying something. Though with the number of weapons and armor lining the walls it was to be expected. Every inch of the room, from the ceiling to the floor and even laying in piles were weapons. The order with which they were all organized in was impressive, not a single piece out of place in the organized chaos. And there, in the middle of it all, was one of the biggest men you had ever seen.

Your own father had been large, standing at six five, and while this man seemed to be slightly shorter he more than made up for it with width. Shoulders like a rancore, with hands so large they made you jealous of the potential grip strength, he looked as if he could snap you without a second thought. It’s not as if you were some petite thing in your own right, yet you felt dwarfed for one of the first times in your life.

As soon as he noticed you enter, he stood, his head bowing in acknowledgement.

“Alor.” He helmet shifted towards you, unconsciously forcing you further behind your bronze protector. “How can I help you?”

She shifts to the side, exposing you further as her hand gently rests against the small of your back, pushing you further towards the giant.

“It seems our newest friend can’t sit still. Unfortunately I can not watch them at all times to ensure they do not sneak off, but I know I can trust you to watch and keep them entertained.”

His head tilts, studying you closer as your heart jumps to your throat. In the process of trying to pull your own weight, you were now nothing this man with having to babysit you.

“I’m sure he has better things to do. If we just go back I could-”

“No. You will stay with Paz until I come for you. He will keep you from sneaking to the lower levels and lifting boxes.” A warning lay under her tone, both for you and Paz. His helmet dips in a nod once again, silently accepting his new instructions as she lightly ruffles your hair, pulling back only when your hand swats at hers.

“Do not worry. I am sure you two will get along just fine. I’ve had enough trouble keeping him away as it is.” Before you could try and argue once again she was gone, turning on heel and heading back down the passage. Great. Now you were alone with a giant and potentially grumpy Mandalorian while surrounded by weapons, which was both potentially good and bad.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and turned back to Paz, as he had been called. He was still standing, watching as you cautiously approached.

“H-hello there.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering, only imagining what he might think of you now. Still, you powered on. “You’re name is Paz, right? I’m-”

“I know who you are.” He cuts you off, flopping back down into his seat as he picks up the weapon he had previously been inspecting.

“Oh….You do?”

He snorts. “Everyone knows who you are. You made quite the entrance.”

You flush, still embarrassed you had made such a spectacle arriving. Definitely not how you had hoped to meet such esteemed warriors, bloody and defeated. He seemed to sense your embarrassment.

“No matter. I’ve known about you before then.” He twirled the blaster in his hand, one that you now recognized as your own craft. “Been a fan of your work for a while.”

Gesturing to the bench across from him, you soon found yourself becoming comfortable with the blue man. Within the hour you had relaxed completely, joking around with him as he answered any questions you had about the location of rooms or the odd Mandalorian you had yet to talk with. The conversation quickly shifts to, of course, weapons, as you talk about the ups and downs of each design.

“It’s good to have someone to talk with like this. Nobody back on Quilon were interested in the craft of weapons. They just cared if they shot or not.” He took the weapon you had just finished checking, looking for nicks or spots needing maintenance, and handed you another. It was a small mercy he had granted you. While not a physically demanding task it was enough to keep you busy and feeling useful. There was a lot to get through after all, and he surmised there was no one better to check weapons then one who knows their ins and outs.

“While many like to use the weapons, they don’t get too familiar with their inner workings.”

“That’s why we’re here though.” You point out, only causing him to sigh.

“Yes, but if I have to fix one more blaster that simply has a residue build up that could be solved with a good cleaning I’m going to strangle them.”

“I’m glad she brought me here. What she’s done, what you’ve all done, is amazing. If I could spend my life working alongside her it would be more than enough.

He pauses, in the middle of sharpening a skinning knife, his helmet tilting up before going back to his work. “I’m sure she would be delighted to hear so. You should tell her yourself.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean? She already knows that I want to continue making weapons for you all.”

Now you had his full attention, staring back at one another across the small gap as you both tried to discern the others thoughts. His words made no sense. She knew your intentions to stay, so why would you need to explain any further? You wanted to stay, more specifically just for her, but there was no way you could just tell her that. To risk ruining everything you had built between the two of you? Just for some silly little crush? No thank you. You were content being as useful to her as you could now, relishing in the little crumbs of affection you received now.

“You have to be kidding me.” He finally says, breaking the silence. “She literally calls you ‘ni tracinya’!”

You blink owlishly, still not understanding. Your Mandoa was still coming along. As of now you only knew a few words, mostly greetings and curse words, much to the amusement of the clan and the disdain of the Armorer.

He throws his hands in exasperation, head practically slamming back into the wall behind him. “It means ‘my flame’ for makers sake! Listen,” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees as his voice takes on a more serious tone. “Think real hard, back to when you first came here. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything?”

Now that he mentions it, you do remember some odd things that you had never really put into question before now.

When you had first been cleared to move out of bed by Olia, the Armorer had insisted on moving you to a room closer to the forge, claiming its warmth would do you better then the cooler parts of the tunnels where the injured normally stayed. You had been cautious, unsure of being so close to the center of the tribe space and felt as if you were being invasive. She had assured you it was only temporary, to sooth your concerns you suspected, though that was quickly thrown out the window as the small space quickly collected a number of trinkets thanks to the little ones. After overcoming their initial hesitancy and fear of being an outsider, they were constantly bringing small objects and bits of easily bent and cut pieces of metal for you to make things out of, trading your creations for their own crude versions. The majority were from the Armorer however, and you treasured those the most. They were nothing extravagant, certainly not to the level of detail you would go into, but you wouldn’t have expected her to. Her focus was always more on practicality, though that’s not to say her works weren’t beautiful in their own right. Your own just placed more emphasis on the small details, and you were allowed the time and pleasure of putting them there.

She had brought you all your meals during that time, eventually evolving to the point where you would enjoy them together in her forge when you were well enough, your backs pressed to one another with a covering tightly wrapped around your eyes. Hardly was there a time when you weren’t greeted with the warm shine of her armor, the fur she wore brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine with how close she stood at times. Her hand would constantly be touching your back or shoulder, holding your wrist as she led you through the halls even when you knew the way. There were many nights you would fall asleep in the forge, lulled by it’s warmth and the familiar sound to metal striking metal. It both soothed and made the itch to work once more that much worse.

The memory brought on a shy smile, accompanied by a light flush across your skin. It was times like that when you could allow yourself to wish, to hope, that you might mean something more than just a friend or fellow smith.

Just as soon as the thought arrived you were quick to banish it. Dreaming of the impossible would only bring more disappointment. And so, with a small laugh and roll of your eyes, you implored Paz to put it to rest; and to his credit, he did. The thought still lingered on your mind however, and you wanted to curse him for putting it there.

You continue to check and clean the weapons in peace, avoiding any and all conversation surrounding the previous topic until dinner. Or what you thought was around the right time. It seemed that even with all the time spent in the dark tunnels you had yet to gain the innate ability to just tell what time it was without looking at a clock. Paz sure knew though, racking his weapon with you following his lead.

“Your company wasn’t as annoying as others, and your weapons knowledge and appreciation is respectable, though I would expect nothing else from someone in your situation.” He reached his hand out, watching as you realized he wanted you to shake it. His hands were just as strong as you had thought, firmly grasping your own as you got into a small battle trying to squeeze the other. “Feel free to find me any time you’re bored. Keep Alor from getting frustrated and who knows, once you heal enough I might be able to teach you how to fight for the next time you run into any imperial troops.”

“That sounds...great.” He dropped his arm, handing you your walking stick and leading you back through the tunnels to the communal area as you added the new path to your mental map. His large strides were hard to keep up with, and though you suspected he had adjusted his pace you were still out of breath by the time you reached your destination. Inside the circular space there were a number of mandalorians lounging around. Children ran amuck, some helmed some not, weaving between the adults and ignoring their complaints. As soon as you entered a crowded space they descended like a swarm. Small hands pulled at your clothes, climbing up your non injured leg. After the scolding they had received last time they made sure to give your injuries a wide berth.

They were clamoring, all trying to be first to show you the small projects that had been working on or made that day. The others looked on with mild amusement, or so you assumed that's what was shown behind their visors. There were many jokes passed around that you were turning their young warriors into inventors and thinkers, though you hardly saw it as a problem. Exploring bright minds and exercising critical thinking skills would only make them that much better in any tight situations. It’s not like they couldn’t do both after all.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, bouncing over the family colors painted in intricate patterns on armor as you looked for one in particular.

“She’s still in the forge.” You jumped, causing your current passengers to squeal as they were nearly thrown from your elevation to the ground. Olia stepped closer, shooing the children away, causing a ruckus of groans and complaints, but nevertheless did as they were told. They knew better than to disrespect an elder, and their medic at that. Placing two ration portions into your hands, she’s already pushing you down the main hall.

“Never a moment of rest for that one.” She jokes, turning on her heel and heading back into the common area before you even have a chance to speak.With nothing more than a shrug, you continue on, walking the by now familiar path to deliver the food.

Warmth is the first thing that greets you, a heavenly contrast to the otherwise cold and damp dwelling. Not that you hated it, but growing up on a planet with two suns and working in a forge for the majority of your life made anything below blazing feel like Hoth. The clang of metal striking metal rings clear and crisp, but as owled eyes catch your movement, the hammer pauses mid strike, afloat for just a moment before quickly being deposited back into her belt.

Holding up the ration packs for her to see, she’s already moving, fluidly packing up her project and clearing a space as you pull the bench from the wall, settling on the wood with a light creak. Not long after, gloved hands found your skin, briefly brushing over your cheeks and causing butterflies to erupt throughout your body, setting every nerve on fire as the soft fabric of the blindfold replaced her hands. It wasn’t something you ever questioned or protested, simply content being allowed the level of trust such an action required, though you would often question what you had done to earn such an honor from an esteemed figure such as herself. The tools along her belt clicked softly, the only thing telling her location as she closed the shutters to the forge.

Not a word was said the entire time, and you didn’t need any. The practice had been born after she had gotten on your back about finishing meals, only to have you express your awkwardness of eating alone while she watched, combined with your own concern with her eating enough. She was always working, crafting new armor and weapons, or meeting with elders and warriors to discuss and organize the smaller aspects of clan life. The disregard she had for her own health when she always put so much work into that of others was both adermable and frustrating. It became one of the few things you could do during the day, making sure she had eaten and stayed hydrated in the heat of the forge. Dinner was the only time she sat down however, enjoying whatever rations or food had been chosen for the night.

After the blindfold was on and your own ration pack was in hand, it wasn’t long before you felt her warmth at your back as she too settled down on the bench. The fur of her cowl tickled your skin, telling you of how close she sat. Then you just talk. Telling her about your day and the new things you had learned.

“Introducing me to Paz almost makes up for the scene earlier.” You joke “His knowledge of weapons and their care is amazing. I can see myself getting closer with him.”

You could have imagined it, but you could swear you felt her tense behind you.

“Not too close I would imagine. Olia has informed me that you should be cleared to go back to work within a week or two.”

Perking at her words, you grew excited. It had been so long that you had begun to think you would never craft again.

“I’m glad to hear that. I already worry about the muscle mass I’ve lost since being laid up.” Laughing, you bump your shoulders against hers. “I feel like my shoulders are only half their size now, everything all atrophied and squishy.”

She’s silent, and you think the joke just fell flat, or she’s simply tired from the day.

“So you enjoyed staying with Paz today. I can assume that means I won’t have to worry about you sneaking off if I leave you with him again?”

“No.” Chuckling, you set down the now empty ration container. There’s no rush for her to finish, as you enjoy these small moments. It’s easy to pretend to be something more, something closer.

It may have been the comforting warmth of her body combined with that of the forges own heat and scents, or simply the exhaustion that came with having been able to do actual work for the first time in weeks. Either way, your tongue was loose and words flowed without thought.

“It’s hard to believe I’m here. I never thought I would ever go anywhere besides Quilon. It’s where my family has lived since forever. My mother and father, my grandparents, their parents and so on. We’ve all come from the same planet. After they died I was scared to even think about traveling. I thought that if I left I would be alone. The forge was the only thing I had left even close to family.”

Losing it had been hard. When you had first heard the news after waking it had felt like you were crushed by its foundation all over again. Olia and the Armorer had to practically force you to eat, not having the energy to do even want to get out of bed. Recovery had been slow, especially when there was nothing to go back to. It was around the time she let the children into your room, tasking them with keeping an eye on you while she tended to the clan duties she had been neglecting. It was the young ones, so bright and full of energy, that pulled you from the slump. As soon as your crafting skills were discovered after absentmindedly making a flower out of paper scraps they had all but demanded you show them more. Leading you through the tunnels and teaching you games had come after. Soon enough you were almost back to normal, able to smile and laugh once again.

It had nearly broken her to see you in such a state. The fire your eyes had once held had been reduced to little more than smoldering ash, while the glow that radiated seemed to radiate from your skin itself had dimmed. You had lost everything to the empire, but Maker be damned if she wasn’t going to do her best to give it back and then some.

“Would it be wrong of me to say it was a good thing?” She jerked at your words, taken by surprise.

“And why would that be?”

“Well, I got to meet all of you. Olia, Paz, even the young ones. You’ve all been so kind to me.” A slight hesitation, unsure if the next words would be stepping over boundaries.

No. You had come this far, and knowing her she would only pry in that aloof way of hers until you divulged a proper answer.

“Even if none of you feel the same way, I like to think that you’ve become something of a family to me. It’s been so long since I've known what it's been like to be a part of a family, so that’s what I think this feeling is at least.” A deep breath, pushing the words that seemed to catch. You can’t live feeling like this anymore, Paz’s words coming back to you once again and giving you a small amount of confidence.

“I would like to be a part of your family. With you, that is.”

With bated breath, you wait. She’s silent, but not in the way she normally is. It’s more calculated, the air itself charged. Heart pounding in your ears, you're not sure if you would have even heard her answer. Instead of any words however, you find yourself blinded by the light of the flames as your blindfold is practically ripped off, revealing the cause of your emotional rollercoaster herself, helmet back on yet with a gaze more intense than you’ve experienced yet.

“I have always been content with my deal in life. I provide for my clan, do my best to lead and keep them safe. True leaders are those that are selfless, however,” her hand grasps yours, pulling you closer. The cool feel of her helmet sends shivers down your spine; a stark contrast to your own burning skin. “But since I have met you, I have been nothing but selfish. I want everything that you are; from your body to your soul.”

Getting up, she leads you to the far corner of her forge. A small strike of disappointment hits as she lets go of your hand to dig through one of the storage compartments. It quickly dissipates as she emerges with an all too familiar item.

You gasp. It was a helmet, just like the one you had been working on and lost on Quilon. The real one was lost, but the one before you took many of the elements you had worked into your own and combined them with a more traditional Mandoan style. The eyes had the same wider vision you had been incorporating. A combination of the classic t-visor with the more elegant swooped eyes that females seemed to favor. The jawline was also slightly more convex then normal, allowing for greater range of the head and felt less claustraphobic. Other than that, it seemed she had taken her own creative liberties and upon closer inspection you saw it was eerily similar to her own. Instead of bronze it was a silvery blue, the same three lines running down the forehead with only two horns, looking as if they were coated in the bronze color as her own. Etched into each of the cheek recesses was a hammer and tongs respectively, done in the same elegant etching found on many of your own weapons.

“I will not push you to make a decision, but I do wish you to know; if you pledge yourself to the creed, to the tribe, to me, you will never find yourself alone again. I will personally make sure of it.” Her voice barely makes its way past the vecoder. Never before had she spoken in such a gentle tone, even to yourself.

“You will be mine as I will be yours.”

Taking the helmet in your own hands, the surprising lightness of such a large metal object nearly causes you to throw it. Turning it over and inspecting every inch, you know you’re only delaying the inevitable. For so long you wanted to be part of a family, to help and be more than just a weapons crafter. Furthermore, the very person you wished, no, yearned, to spend the rest of your life with was the one to ask.

“To spend the rest of my life by your side, providing for the tribe, would be all too short.” Smiling, you pull the helmet, your helmet, closer.

For a second you think she’s short circuited, frozen in place. Then, quick as a blaster shot, she grabs your arm and drags you from the forge, all but throwing the shutter open and practically running down the hall as you struggle to keep up with your still sore leg. Briefly you catch a flash of familiar blue armor, but it's gone before you can get a good look. Instead you focus on keeping pace with the bronze warrior.

“Wh-where are we going.”

Others are watching as you pass, moving out of your path as their Alor continues her war path.

“The elders.” She says without stopping and, not winded in the slightest as, in one fell swoop, you find yourself swept into her arms and being carried bridal style as her pace continues to pick up speed. An impressive move if you hadn’t been so shocked.

“We have much to prepare.”

#star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars #x reader #fanfiction #mandalorian armorer #the armorer x reader #mando x reader #mandalor #fanfic #paz vizsla #the mandalorian

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Deep Breaths

Valkyrae x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Panic Attack, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, Swearing

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst to Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having received a call from the correctional facility where their alcoholic/drug addict mother is being kept, Y/N gets some intense nightmarish flashbacks to a time that still haunts them despite a decade having passed. Luckily their girlfriend Rae is there to comfort therm.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your lovely request, I hope I captured what you wanted to read! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete and post the fic, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Love, Vy ❤

“Hey Y/N, I-“ One step in the living room and that’s all it took for Rae to pick up on the melancholic mood in the room.

Her partner hasn’t even noticed she’s entered. Instead, they are sitting hunched over on the couch, elbows on knees, hand seeking their hands’ support to stay upright and their eyes hiding a thousand yard stare that’s got Rae worried sick.

“Babe, what’s wrong?“ She asks softly, inching closer to the couch to take a seat next to Y/N, “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?“

Through the fog surrounding their brain, they somehow manage to catch onto Rae’s words, forcing themself to give her at least a nod in response as to not scare her with their unresponsiveness. They can’t bring themselves to speak, it’s too hard on them to even think of what to say let alone spit it out, especially when their chest feels like it’s caught fire and their mind is still going haywire, heartbeat thumping in their ears as the adrenaline rush refuses to cease.

“Hey, look at me...“ Instead of sitting down, Rae ducks down in front of Y/N, taking their hands in hers, almost wincing at how cold they were. “Tell me what’s bothering you, baby.“

The girl is trying her best not to freak out or lose her cool, despite her already quickened heartbeat she can hear in her ears. She has every right to be reacting the way she is. Her permanently happy, bubbly, optimistic and cheerful partner who always seems to be as energized as though they’d just had a gallon of coffee is now a pale ghost sitting statue-still, staring off into the void with eyes that look empty yet terrified simultaneously.

Y/N’s mouth falls open as though they want to say something but the words die out somewhere along the way, refusing to leave their mouth and give them the relief of sharing their pain with the only person they trust limitlessly. “I-...“ They finally manage to find their voice though their gaze is still avoiding hers, “I got a call from the correctional facility where....” They trail off, a bitter taste forming in their mouth, making their stomach turn and bite the inside of their cheek as they feel the urge to throw up start to become unbearable. “She wants to s-see me...”

They don’t need to say anything else, Rae’s already connected the dots and her complexion has gone just as pale as theirs. She knows how sensitive and triggering this topic is for Y/N, how many bad memories are tied to this one person in their life. To make matters worse, they’re the one person who was supposed to take care of them yet she couldn’t even take care of herself - Y/N’s mother.

Rae distinctly remembers the night Y/N told her the truth about their family life - or the lack thereof - almost a year since the two had started dating. Rae never questioned their secretiveness and respected their privacy enough not to ask about it, patiently waiting for them to tell her on their own time and own terms. It was no secret even from the very start that Y/N had a very hard time connecting to people and trusting them. It took them maybe two or so months to be able to call their now-girlfriend a friend instead of an acquaintance. Rae didn’t question that too, didn’t push to pursue a friendship with them since, from her point of view, they were already her friend, so she patiently waited for them to come around and start trusting her enough to accept her within their tightknit circle of trusted people called ‘friends’.

Things progressed from purely platonic to sweetly romantic a little more quickly which pleasantly surprised Rae. The two were quick to grow to be inseparable though that didn’t mean Y/N gave up all their secrets. The darkest one, which happens to be this one regarding their mother, is the one they hid the longest and the last one they had to share with their girlfriend. The night they did tell it was a very emotional one: plenty of tears were shed by both Y/N and Rae but luckily they had each other’s embrace to seek comfort in and protect themselves from the ghosts and demons of a past Y/N spent so much time running away from.

An abusive parent is not a bit of baggage you can just get rid of. It’s something that weighs so heavy on you and is such a big part of who you are that you can feel it as a part of you. It haunts you no matter how much you try to run or hide. It’s not something you can shake off or forget. You might have physical and visible scars from the time spent with said parent or the trauma can be entirely psychological - regardless, it lives within you. Follows you around, raises questions you’re not sure you want answered, degrades you - making it seem like what happened was your fault in one way or another - it destroys you slowly very time something triggers a memory of that time, be it a simple conversation that has nothing to do with the subject or be it the glimpse you accidentally catch in the mirror of a scar on your body - a scar you remember being inflicted on you like it was yesterday.

That’s how Y/N’s been living. Feeling responsible, feeling unloved, feeling chained to their past. They’ve done all in their power to appear unbothered and let it be visible, not even when around Rae since they don’t want to worry her.

But seeing as their past has caught up to them now and they inevitably have to face it, they’re forced to let it show, they couldn’t hold it in even if they tried. Although they don’t wanna play the unbothered, unfazed part any longer. They have been strong on their own for far too long and it’s taken a toll on them. If they keep up with the act, they’ll be completely and utterly crushed.

Not that they’re feeling any better at the moment.

“Stay with me, Y/N. Stay with me. Keep your eyes on me, ok? Take deep breaths. Deep breaths, baby. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. It’s ok. You’re ok.“ Their short-circuiting brain has been spasming under the influence of the adrenaline, anxiety and panic brought on by the memories of every time they felt small and helpless while at the merciless hand of their alcoholic, drug addict abusive mother, begging to be spared the pain of being hit with whatever object the deranged woman could get her hands on - yet somehow, Rae’s voice still reaches them through all that messy dark fog. “Come on, Y/N, stay with me ok? Please don’t do this, I’m right here, there’s no need to be afraid,”

“I...“ they can barely hear their own voice over the racing of their heart, “I don’t...I don’t wanna go....“ is all they manage to say, a tear falling from their eye.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to go. We won’t go. Your mental health is the most important thing here, Y/N. We’re not going and that’s final.“ Rae replies vigorously, tightening her hold on Y/N’s hands.

Despite the state they’re in, Y/N can’t help but take notice of the use of the word ‘we’, Rae’s reminder that they are not alone, that she’s there for them and will not let them go into this alone. That brings a small smile to their face, calming their heart and panic ever so slightly, “N-no, I have to. It...it’ll help me.” They sigh before attempting to express themself again, “It’ll give me...closure, I guess.”

Seeing that Y/N’s doing a bit better, Rae’s hand move to cup their face instead, pushing the stray strands of hair away for their features to be full exposed to her, especially their eyes, “Are you sure you want that? Can you handle it? It’s not supposed to be your obligation, Y/N. I mean, the woman’s a monster and she hasn’t even thought to contact you in half a decade, and now she suddenly wants to get back in contact? She has the audacity to disturb you after all this time? You don’t have to agree to this, Y/N.”

Y/N shakes their head, “No, no, I want to. I want to agree to this. I want to live a normal life, Rae. I want to leave her and all she did to me behind. And I can’t do that if I keep running away. What happens when I stop to catch my breath? It still catches up to me like I made no progress whatsoever. That’s not a way to live, not the way I wanna live, at least.”

Rae nods slowly, fully understanding what Y/N is referring to. She maybe hasn’t said anything about it ever, but she’s always seen that little bit of darkness behind the happiness and excitement Y/N always displayed. Rae’s heart ached every time she caught glimpse of those little signs Y/N was putting on a performance while actually hurting on the inside.

And if a meeting with their mother was what would help them finally fully embrace a happy life, then who was she to stop them.

“Ok.“ The girl sighs, “Ok, we’ll go see her, but only if you’re 100% sure you’ll be able to handle it.“

They shake their head again, sighing with unease, “I can never be 100% sure, my emotions have a tendency of being unpredictable so I’ll just have to pray I don’t have a breakdown or a panic attack.”

Rae swipes her thumb over their cheekbone wiping the tear that just escaped their eye, “If you do, don’t worry, I’ll be right there. You know the drill: squeeze my hand, take deep breaths and most importantly, don’t forget I’m there for you. Ok?”

Y/N nods their head, the small smile reappearing on their face. They squeeze Rae’s hand and take a long inhale. “Hand squeeze, deep breaths, noted.” They say when their eyes meet hers, “Thank you so much, Rae. Thank you so much for putting up with me and all my shit and thank you so much for never giving up on me no matter how much work I am or how hard dealing with me and my demons becomes.”

Rae’s heart stings at Y/N’s words, tears brimming her eyes when she raises a bit on her knees to press her lips against Y/N’s forehead. “Don’t thank me, angel. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and I never want to get gratitude for it. Love doesn’t ask for gratitude, and neither do I.”

Y/N lets out a small laugh to cover up an emotional sob that escapes their lungs. “I love you, Rae.” They say with a trembling voice.

“I love you too, Y/N.“

This time, the Y/N’s lips met the lips of their girlfriend, reminding themself that their safe haven isn’t a place, it’s a person - their girlfriend who means the world to them.

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druigswhores · 4 years

Text

what died didn’t stay dead

(originally posted by vormirjumper)

dedicated to @starsvck and @artipotter hope u enjoy this <333

summary: the last thing you remember was fainting in wakanda thinking you saw your own fingertips turn to dust only to wake up in a world where natasha romanoff no longer existed. inspired by marjorie by taylor swift

content warning: natasha romanoff x fem!reader, set after endgame, angst, mentions of death, trauma, their relationship ending on a bad note, trust issues & previous steve x nat, (WANDAVISION SPOILERS AT THE END)

‘моя любовь’ = ‘my love’ in russian <3

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! (please lmk if anyone written something similar to this! & if you want more nat content lmk!)

masterlist

PART TWO

You forced your eyes open.

Pulling yourself up from the ground you glanced at your arms in confusion. You swore you saw your own hands turn to dust before fainting. You glanced around to take in your surroundings eyes widening in shock as you saw the hundreds of Wakandan's you fought beside minutes ago appearing out of dust. You stared speechless as you watched people materialise out of thin air, the dust forming into fingers, then a whole hand and eventually becoming a person who's mirroring your exact reaction.

You felt guilty about the first thought that came across your mind.

'Is Nat okay?' You panicked while rushing to look around, ignoring how you spent the last few years loathing her to hide your heartbreak.

You were an avenger since the beginning. The two of you were on the same team during the airport fight which wasn't surprising due to your history together. Despite the slight age difference between the two of you, your personalities worked well together which is why you got along well, so well in fact that those platonic feelings you thought you had for her developed into something more and somehow you found yourself in her bed many times in her arms with your bodies pressed against one another's, struggling to catch your breath, bliss written all over your face. Your legs were intertwined with hers as you embraced the warmth radiating off her. You refused to acknowledge the unspoken tension in the atmosphere due to the fear of speaking out about your feelings and end up ruining what you had. You couldn't help but let the insecurities build up as you gently caressed her cheek, her eyes met yours back in adoration, full of what could've been love.

But you knew she once looked at him in the same way.

"I love holding you in my arms моя любовь." She muttered, as she stroked your hair gently, you hummed in response, not trusting your own voice. What you both had felt right, you didn't want to ruin it, you didn't want to label what you had together due to the job you both have. Being an avenger doesn't exactly mean stability, anything could happen.

You remember the panic you felt when Ultron took her, the chance of losing her filled you with dread, but you also had faith. You knew how strong Natasha was. Your faith gave you strength and it kept you alive, Nat admired that about you.

The two of you fit together well, whether it was on the field or outside of the field. You could predict each other's moves and although telepathy isn't either of your powers, you know what the other was thinking. You made her better. You helped her wipe out the red in her ledger and when everyone's files was exposed to the globe you were right there by her side comforting her as she feared the reaction from everyone. You were there for her when nobody was and you stood by her side no matter what. Those feelings were reciprocated, you knew Natasha would've done anything for you.

She would even sacrifice herself for the possibility of you coming back.

Then the Accords happened and Nat betrayed the Accords, ending up on the run with Steve, Sam, Wanda and Vision. You were left alone at the compound with an injured Rhodey.

"How could you do this?" You spat out, voice full of hatred as you watched Natasha let Steve and Bucky get away. Your pistol shook in the palm of your hands, pointed directly at Natasha who lowered her own onto the ground, allowing herself to be defenceless.

"It's not that easy моя любовь, you out of all people should understand that." She explained, and you scoffed in response. The pet-name which once caused a flutter in your stomach now fuelling the fire that's building up. All the insecurities you felt during your relationship suddenly turned to hatred. You should've expected this, you should've expected that after all this time she would've chosen Steve over you.

"I guess you'll never change." You responded flatly, admitting defeat. You silently walked passed her and climbed out of the rubble that was created, allowing a wall to be in between the two of you not knowing you tore a piece of her heart as you did so.

That was two years ago.

You thought you'd never have to see her for a long time. You hoped you wouldn't have to see her. Clearly things never go the way you wanted it to go as you found yourself staring back at the person who once owned your heart.

"Well, you guys look like crap." Rhodey teased, wrapping the fellow avengers in his arms as you stood to the side, awkwardly watching the scene in front of you while fidgeting with your fingers. The atmosphere in the compound was comforting, it's been a long time since you've heard so much laughter in one room despite the war that's brewing.

Natasha, who was now blonde but as gorgeous as ever, hesitantly approached you. The two of you stared at each other, waiting for the other to make the next move.

"Romanoff." You nodded, greeting her before moving away to greet the other Avengers, missing the way she muttered the now bittersweet name she specifically picked you.

"моя любовь..."

Did she really love you? Or was it just for revenge? You believed that love blinded you, you managed to convince yourself that your love wasn't enough for her and that's why she left you. Your relationship with her died. It was over. You thought you buried it all, all your feelings. But you were wrong, when your eyes met her green eyes all those feelings came back to life, flowing through your veins.

After all this time you still loved her.

But your feelings for her weren't the only thing you couldn't bury.

Within an hour of reuniting with the Avengers, the team found themselves on the quinjet travelling to Wakanda. You wouldn't have said this out loud but you had faith that everything would be okay, Nat was finally by your side after all these years.

You felt as though nothing could go wrong.

That was a couple hours ago you estimated, you glance at Wanda who appeared a couple feet away from you the tears were evident on her face.

"Where is he?" Wanda cries out, clenching her fists, you saw the scarlet red energy glowing around her. You knew she must've been talking about Vsision who should've been on the ground next to her. "Wha- why does everything look different?" You realised, noticing the damages caused by the battle has disappeared. The grass was greener as ever. The corpses of the creatures you fought were no longer on the ground.

It looked as though the battle never took place.

You ran over to Wanda, helping her up from the ground when you hear someone call your name out. "That sounds like Sam." Wanda points out as the two of you held each other up.

"Wanda!" Sam called out.

"Come on, we gotta go! They need us! The fights not over yet!" He shouts from a distance, the two of you made your way to the direction you heard his voice come from, you saw all the superheroes surrounding him and a man in a red cloak. "What about Nat? Or Rhodey?" You questioned, looking for them in the crowd. You missed the sympathetic glance the man shot you before waving his hands up in the air, creating a yellow ring in the air that transformed into a portal.

"We're going to fight beside them right now." Sam confirms before flying through the portal.

The compound was completely destroyed. Your home was crumbling apart. Thor looked completely different, Tony had grey hair and Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

You wanted to finally tell her, tell her that you loved her with all of your heart.

You fought beside hundreds of Avengers that day, but you couldn't help searching for one specific Avenger. You ran over to Clint who was on the ground struggling to fight off a bunch of creatures, saving him within moments.

"Thanks kid." He pant, out of breath from all of the fighting. You smiled at him in response, reaching your hand out for him to take which he gratefully took, lifting himself up. "Have you bumped into Nat on the battlefield yet?" You asked, hopeful. There were hundreds of people fighting so you didn't expect to find her easily. The smile on Clint's face fell.

In that moment he relieved everything that happened moments ago. Flying to Vormir with Natasha, climbing the cliff with her, reminiscing about Budapest. And the way he witnessed her body hit the ground, the crack echoing so loudly he managed to hear it more than just once. He glanced down the cliff and saw her lifeless body faced towards his.

His closest friend. The person he trusted with his entire life. The person he named his son after. The Godmother of his kids.

Gone.

Just like that.

"I need to do this for her Clint, she's моя любовь." Nat whispered to him before smiling back at the oldest friend she had, pushing away from the cliff and inevitably falling to her death.

You found out what happened to Natasha, hours after.

The Avengers won, but at the cost of the lives of the people you cared the most about, the person you'd do anything for and the person who owned your heart the minute you met them. Clint broke the news to you, he felt as though you deserved to hear it from him.

"She loved you till the very end." He finished after explaining what happened on Vormir. You felt as though you couldn't breathe, like your soul was crushed and pulled away from you.

Natasha Romanoff was dead and there was nothing you could do about it.

She never got to hear that you felt the same towards her.

"I didn't think the ending to be so soon." You struggled to hold back a sob, holding the letter Clint gave you tightly in your arms. Scott somehow found a letter on the ground while trying to save Clint, it was slightly damp and covered in mud. But it was written for you in Natasha's handwriting.

You couldn't bring yourself to read the letter even nine days after the blip. You had to live in a world without her, a world where people drag her name through the mud even though she is the reason they're still standing. You adjust to a world without Natasha Romanoff and reading a letter she wrote for you months ago wouldn't help.

You regretted everything. You regret spending those last few years in anger, you should've stayed with her, you could've told her how much she meant to you. You could've told her you loved her, you could've held her in your arms once more. You would do anything to have her in your arms once again.

Sometimes it felt as though she was still there, laughing at something she saw on the TV. You always felt her presence around you after she passed away, it felt as though she never died. It felt as though a part of her lives through you.

You sat in the passenger seat of Wanda's car, staring at the Sword logo plastered on the side of the building, you could feel the letter in your back pocket, dying to be read. Wanda made her way back to the car, face flared in anger, tears threatening to spill.

"Wanda?" You called out as she got into the car, turning on the ignition but not pulling out of the car park. She sniffled quietly, wiping her eyes before glancing back to you. "I saw him." She responded, her eyes glancing to the folded paper on the backseat of the car, she could see the faint colour of red that was in the shape of a heart. "But they're not letting him have a funeral." You realised, looking back at your friend, heartbroken. "I figured at least one of them deserved a funeral, it's not fair. It's not fair that the world can just go on like nothing happened and we don't get to mourn the people we lost." Wanda rants, pulling out of the parking lot and beginning to drive.

"They both deserve a funeral." You agreed solemnly, remembering the fact that Natasha's body is at the bottom of a cliff in space in 2014.

"Where are we going now?" You asked, wanting to distract yourself from that thought. You felt as though you and Wanda were left to mourn your loved ones alone as the rest of the avengers scattered across the country.

"To the only thing I have left of him."

The two of you sat in silence as Wanda drove, you stared at the shrubbery outside the window before closing your eyes and resting your head on the window, allowing yourself to drift off.

It felt like it was only seconds later when you felt the car turn harshly, you opened your eyes and glanced around in confusion when you saw that you pulled into a quaint town, you had only just missed the town sign plastered with the words "West View." You watched the pedestrians walking by, noticing how some of them sat on their own with no one to comfort them similarly to you and Wanda.

The two of you pulled up to a plot of land with the foundation of a house on the ground, it looked at though the house never had the chance to get completed.

"Stay in the car, I won't take long." Wanda reassured you before reaching towards the back of the car to grab the folded up sheet of paper and getting out of the car. You nodded, staring at the built house next to the plot of land.

Your mind wanders as you stare at the home. You think about Natasha. You think about the future you could've had with her, living together in a quaint home like the one in front of you. No stress about being an avenger, just the two of you and your family. You softly smile as you imagine Natasha's reaction to wanting to adopt 5 cats, knowing she was more of cat person. You imagine holding her hand while walking down the street and watching movies with her in your shared bed. You wanting to stay in for the day and watch movies to ignore the real world outside and her letting you.

You think about what could've been.

A heart wrenching scream snaps you out of your thoughts, you rush out of the car and look for Wanda but is blinded by a scarlet red light that knocks you unconscious.

Your eyes open on command.

The room you stood in was black and white. It was a nicely decorated living room with a dining room connected to it, you couldn't pinpoint which decade the interior was from, too preoccupied by the woman standing in front of you.

Although the lack of colour in them, you could recognise those eyes from anywhere, that smile that you've wished to see was right in front of you. The dress she wore matched the decade and decor of the room, her hair curled up neatly. Natasha stood in front of you, reaching her hand out towards you waiting for you to take it.

You hesitantly reach out towards her, happiness flooding your emotions. She pulls you closer to her, welcoming you into a hug. The palm of her hands are warm as they rested on your back, you could feel her heartbeat as you laid your head on her chest, melting in her arms.

"Welcome home моя любовь."

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