#before all of this before the war destroyed him and parts of him died he will never get back...

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

I love going through the Ze pictures when I choose a new one every month (or for other reasons) because the man truly experienced it all and did every possible main and side quest in his life.

[ayamohammed2024]

Hello

my name is Aya, I am 26 years old, currently living in the northern part of Gaza City, and I am a mother of two children. My oldest is my daughter, Sana'a, who is 5 years old, and my youngest is my son, Wasfi, who is 3.

Since the morning of October 7th, 2023, our lives have been turned upside down. We have lived through the hardest days of our lives, facing displacement and homelessness. We have been forced to leave our home more than ten times since the war began. We would leave without knowing where to go.

We sought refuge in schools and relatives' homes, hoping we could return home and that this nightmare would end. But our house was bombed, and our dreams were destroyed. We became homeless and displaced.

Every day, we wake up to the sound of bombs and rockets. I lived in constant fear and terror with my children, especially when my family's house was bombed while we were taking shelter there.

We are experiencing a real famine in Gaza. I’ve gone to bed with my children many nights without dinner because there is no food available. We have had to eat animal and bird feed due to the high cost of flour just to fill the hunger of my young children. Even after eating it, we all suffered from diarrhea and severe stomach pain. My children developed rashes on their bodies due to the spread of viruses and the accumulation of garbage. There is also a severe shortage of water, and even when we find it, it's not safe to drink.

My children cry, asking for vegetables, fruits, and eggs, but we can’t afford them because we have no income. The gas shortage has forced us to use fire for everything—cooking and baking—using plastic and pipes because firewood is so hard to find.

My children also developed jaundice, and I struggled a lot to get them better because there was no access to vegetables, fruits, or medicine. I even feared that my son might have developed polio because he already had leg problems before the war, and they worsened due to malnutrition.

Winter is coming, and we have nothing for it. I need clothes and shoes for my children to keep them warm, but I can’t buy them because they are so expensive.

For this reason, I beg of you and hope that you can support me, even with the smallest contribution, so I can provide my children with the most basic necessities of life.

I was displaced with my children to my family's house, tears in my eyes. On the way, Salah Al-Din Street was bombed, and the Israeli occupation committed horrific massacres. By the grace of God, we survived for the first time. We lived in terror and fear. A few days later, my family's house was bombed, and we were pulled out from under the rubble, miraculously surviving for the second time.

When my husband heard the news that we had died, he came to bid us farewell, only to find us alive by God's grace. We returned with him, but as the situation worsened and the fire belts in our area increased, we started to flee again and again, not knowing where to go next.

I beg of you to share my story and help me continue to live.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #230 )✅️

Vetted by butterfly nu #1133

[maenefa]

Why does Eowyn want to die?

Because Aragorn won’t love her? Because she feels trapped in her feminine gender role?

These are the explanations we get in the text. However, none of the characters really acknowledge Eowyn’s darkest fear: being taken alive by the enemy.

There are some bad takes on Eowyn that boil down to patronizing her and downplaying the seriousness of her problems. People say that she had a naive desire for glory and Faramir teaches her that war isn’t actually fun. Then there’s the whole “Eowyn was a deserter who selfishly ran away from her duty” argument.

You can only say these things if you ignore how dire the situation was, how close Sauron was to winning, and how gruesome Eowyn’s fate would have been if he won. She knew that death or capture likely awaited her, and she knew that dying in battle was the least bad option. (She also knew her own worth and believed that she was too useful a warrior to be left behind with the civilians. And she was right.)

Eowyn’s actions are ruthlessly practical! She wants to die fighting because that’s better than waiting around for The Horrors. Let’s be real, Eowyn is too sensible to be suicidal over an unrequited crush.

Here are some of her most revealing quotes:

“All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

“And those who have not swords can still die upon them.”

“Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.”

“But I do not desire healing…. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

In the end, Eowyn only stops wanting to die after Sauron is defeated. Just before the Ring is destroyed, she tells Faramir:

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Eowyn can’t turn to light and life until the war is over. Hope is too painful; death at least offers “honor and peace.” This passage is so important because it EXPLICITLY links Eowyn’s despair to the outcome of the war and makes it clear that she is not simply having a meltdown because Aragorn rejected her.

There are two important moments where Eowyn is threatened with violence. The very first time we meet her, we are told by Gandalf that Wormtongue planned to turn her into a sex slave after Saruman conquered Rohan. Even though this threat is dismissed quickly, it’s a disturbing reminder of what could happen to Eowyn if Sauron wins.

Then we have the most triumphant moment of Eowyn’s story: her battle with the Witch King. Once again, Eowyn is not threatened with death, but with captivity and torment:

“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Eowyn laughs at him and makes sure to announce that she is a woman before killing him. Her victory is all the more satisfying because the Witch King has just threatened her with captivity, loss of agency, the violation of her body and mind—all threats that Eowyn has faced before. But the Witch King’s words continue to haunt Eowyn and us. He threatens to withhold death; and death is therefore framed as an escape, a gift. Eowyn is taken to the Houses of Healing, but she is obsessed with returning to battle and fighting until she dies.

When Eowyn says that she fears “a cage,” this is a brilliantly simple metaphor for the entire spectrum of oppression she has faced: from the well-meaning restrictions of her culture to the horrifying enslavement threatened by Wormtongue.

Once the war is over, Eowyn is able to laugh at her fears. She teases Faramir: “And would you have your proud folk say of you: there goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!” Her fear of being caged has been turned into a bit of flirtatious banter. She feels completely safe with Faramir, and the idea that he “tamed” her is nothing but a joke between them.

[thinkinonsense]

Bewitched

˖⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

bewitched masterlist

cw: 1800s mentality on marriage and women, pinning, bickering, enemies to lovers

pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: as of right now, i'm not sure how long this series will be but i'm so excited for it! i tried to make the reader as universal as possible but i did have to give her some sort of last name, so if that isn't your thing, you can always change it to fit. after the set up, i'll probably drop the last name.

bridgerton lore: ton (high society), debuting (when you begin dating/looking for a partner), spinster (an unmarried woman)

main masterlist

in early june, everyone returned back to england for this season and whispers of a french woman joining the ton spread around. one morning at breakfast, marie howlett was reading one of the gossip columns aloud to her family when her eldest brother, james walked into join them at the table.

"it says she's staying with her aunt, lady worthington. she is four and twenty and the only child. her passions are literature and painting. apparently, the queen has one of her paintings in her home..."

"she sounds lovely. doesn't she, james?" their mother said, hoping her boy was listening.

"she's a spinster." he says, eating some of the fruit on the table. "that's not viscountess material."

"the queen seems to find her to be diamond material." marie jabs.

james has never fallen for one of the diamonds. sure, their beauty is prominent and sometimes they can hold an intellectual conversation but for the most part they are simply shoved forward so the queen can take credit for their marriage.

"i have more important priorities this season."

"well, this season you should prioritize finding a viscountess." their mother bit at him.

during this time every year his mother gives james the same speech over and over again. the marriage speech. ever since his father died during battle, james has been plagued with not only his grief but also the weight of replacing his father and eventually having to find a replacement for his mother as well. instead of focusing on marriage, james kept himself busy either working or traveling and keeping his family afloat.

"mama, i promise i will find a wife at some point." james sighs. "i just haven't met anyone that can handle being my viscountess."

"what about the red headed girl from last season? you seemed to fancy her quite a bit."

"she married lord summers this past spring."

"and the munroe girl?"

"she's interested in mister brooks."

all his mother does is sigh in response to the news. he takes this as the perfect chance to escape the interrogation.

luckily for james, there was always an excuse to avoid marriage. in the past he's gotten close to making that walk down the aisle but something always held him back. he's never believed much in love or marriage past it's convenience. sure, he believed it was the blueprint of life, to take a wife and start a family but his marriage is seen as a much bigger deal.

all the mamas in the ton were practically throwing their daughters in his direction. at balls, he's always forcing marie to dance with him because if not, he will be forced to socialize with these young unintellectual girls who only value him for his money and title. james didn't want to have to nurture these girls. he would take care of his wife but he wanted someone who was independent from him.

ever since his father died in the war, james has always been guarded of his feelings. especially, when it came to love. when he went with his mother to identify his father's body, james swore on that day that he would never let love destroy him like it did his mother.

"remember, marie is debuting tonight at the first ball of the season." his mother called after him. "don't be late."

"i wouldn't miss it." he smiles at his little sister before dashing out the door and back to his study.

˖⋆࿐໋

a rainbow of silks are spread across your bed as you try to figure out what to wear tonight. if your mother was here, she would know exactly what would look best on you. it's only been three months since her passing yet the ache in your chest grows stronger day by day.

"what are you thinking of wearing tonight?" your aunt asks, lingering in the doorway.

"i'm not sure yet." you sigh, picking at the pretty gowns. "i like the light blue one."

arguably, it was the prettiest in the pile. so simple, you hoped to blend in among the wash of colors in the room tonight. the boning of the corset poked the left side of your ribs a little but beauty is pain.

as you got ready, the nerves started to kick in. by now you should be on your second or third child and pregnant with the next. why was love taking so long to find you?

ever since you were a little girl, you were a hopeless romantic. dreaming of your first kiss and getting married to your knight in shining armor. back home, there was a cruel joke that you were the girl before the wife. you get just close enough before they end it. afraid that the curse would travel with you.

"don't worry." you aunt hums, brushing your hair. "the queen picked you as her diamond for a reason."

"i know, i know." you nod, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. "i just wish mother was here with me."

"i do too, dear."

"she should've seen me married."

a small tear rolls down your pink painted cheeks. it feels like you let her down by not taking a husband before her illness got worse.

men have it so easy. there's no pressure from society put on them. you can marry at fifty to a nineteen year old if you so please because you know that they will marry you out of fear and desperation.

"who says she can't?" your aunts smile reflected in the mirror. "she's still looking down on you, probably working on sending you a lord or a duke for a husband as we speak."

"amusing." you giggle.

"imagine a viscount or a prince!"

both of you laugh at the possibility. viscounts and princes were usually swept up quickly in high society. all of them probably have pregnant wives by now.

"don't get too ahead of yourself."

˖⋆࿐໋

the queens ball was unlike anything you had ever seen. beautiful gardens, bright lights, and people gathered everywhere. inside the ballroom, the chandelier lights almost blind you.

like a hawk, lady chamberlain spots you two. she is an older lady and a close family friend. you haven't seen her since you were a little girl, surprised that she was able to recognize you.

"lady worthington and miss bowery, lovely to see you here!" the woman smiled, wrapping her arms around both of you.

"hello, lady chamberlain." you smile, feeling slightly at ease seeing a familiar face here.

"you look marvelous, sweetie." she smiles, taking in your appearance. at least someone appreciated all the bells and whistles that went into your dress for this evening. "truly like a diamond."

"thank you." you curtsy. a warm rose color rises to the surface of your cheeks at her compliment.

"let's go find that viscount i've told your aunt about." she says.

suddenly, she's pulling you and your aunt over to meet everyone.

quite some time has passed and yet you've only met barton's and a few lords. from one eligible bachelor to the next, it was the same process. you introduce yourself, dance, ask a bit about each other, jump into talks of marriage and children. it was all a bit overwhelming to say the least.

there's no news on a prince yet but lady chamberlain was holding out for a viscount while your aunt held out for a duke. meanwhile, you just needed someone with charm and charisma to save you from these godawful men of the ton.

"i'm going to get a drink." you announce, one the music ends.

in one of the dim corners of the room there was a refreshment table where you poured a hefty amount of wine into your glass and down as much of it –in a very unlady like manner– as you could before another person could find you.

it wasn't long until someone behind you clears their voice loudly.

"i was unaware that they taught women to drink like soldiers in france..."

you spin around quickly to face the man in front of you. he is gorgeous and... huge. dawned in white puffy shirt and a tight black vest with detailed buttons. he towered over you intimidatingly with a small smirk creeping on his lips from shocked expression.

"i-i deeply apologize, my lord. it was just grape juice." you laugh nervously, avoiding his piercing stare.

"hm..." he hums, lifting his hand up and letting his thumb swiftly glide under your lip to catch the bit of liquid there. you watch in awe as he licks the bit of wine off his thumb with a soft groan. "they must make 'grape juice' different in france."

never in your whole life have you been left so speechless. a gentleman has never done more so than touch your hand, let alone act so scandalous. with a satisfied smirk, the man walks away to join a small group of young women. thank goodness that no one seemed to have noticed.

"miss bowery!" lady chamberlain called after you. "i want you to come meet the howletts."

swiftly, you get back to her as she approach a mother and daughter. both of them were stunningly and wore expensive looking gowns with luxurious jewels. lady chamberlains wide smile only made you grow more anxious.

"meet lady howlett and her daughter, the honorable, marie howlett." lady chamberlain introduced.

"lovely to meet you." you say, bowing gracefully before them.

"where is viscount james?" lady chamberlain asks.

"oh! he should be around here somewhere..." the woman looked behind the two of you until she flagged someone down. “there he is!”

the moment that you looked up at the viscount, you feared your heart might explode right then and there. silently pray to the gods above that he won't mention your previous encounter.

"miss bowery, this is my son, viscount james logan howlett." lady howlett announces proudly.

"what a pleasure to meet you, miss bowery." james smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.

"as is it for me, my lord." you curtsy politely, feeling hot under his gaze.

a cloud of lust fogs james mind at the words, my lord fell from your pretty, slightly berry colored lips. the lower his eyes drift from your face, the tighter his trousers get. every exquisite curve is highlighted by the way that the silk fell on your frame, reminding him of the goddesses he had only seen in the finest of paintings.

"might you wish to accompany me to a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

you nod, offering him your gloved hand in return.

the two of you make your way to the dance floor with everyone else. the orchestra begins and you quickly fall in sync with each other.

"how are you enjoying england?" james asks.

"it's quite lovely." you lie.

"better than france?" he questioned with a small tilt of his head.

"no." you giggle softly. "nowhere on earth is better than home."

"i suppose i cannot argue with that."

"have you journed to france?"

"once. when i was younger, i went with my father. he loved france."

"that's why my mother left england. she fell in love with my father when she visited france."

"they must be true romantics."

"oh, most definitely." you smile.

carefully, logan spins you twice. never letting you stumble over your own two feet like most men would.

"i truly am sorry for earlier, my lord. that was completely unacceptable for a–"

"it's alright, sweetheart." the viscount cut you off with a chuckle. "your secret is safe with me."

james looks down to see your big round eyes sparkle up at him with great appreciation. there's a unique feeling blooming deep in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on.

"i heard from some mamas that you are seeking to wed this season." you say, looking elsewhere as the two of you pull apart.

"seeking is such a complex word." he sighs amusingly.

"i imagine it would be difficult to find a future viscountess."

"you have no idea."

all around you, you can see the women openly fawning over the viscount. some fan themselves while other clutch their jewels with either anger at you or lust for him. any of those women would duel to be in your shoes right now.

"do you have a desire to be viscountess?" his question made your heartbeat increase, pounding in your chest.

as a young girl, you watched your family struggle in order to survive so it would be a lie to say that you don't dream of having a title. you have a father back in france to take care of in his elderly age. but love was your main desire. you would marry a sweet common man as long as he loved you.

"i desire to be loved." you tell him.

the answer caught james off guard. the women of the ton had no issue telling him to his face that they want his tittle or money. none of those women actually cared about love.

"well, my darling, you are quite the fool to be seeking out something as pure as love in a place such as this." james says, pulling you so close that you can feel his heartbeat in his chest and his eyes darken.

"don't be so cock-sure, viscount howlett. i am no fool at all." you glare angrily up at him. "i wish you well on your journey to find such a bird-witted viscountess."

the song ends and you are quick to make an exit. hot on your heels, james follows you outside. perhaps you shouldn't have insulted the viscount to his face but you didn't quite care anymore. this night has been a bust and you aren't any closer to marriage then you were before walking in here.

"miss, bowery..." a man calls, capturing your attention. "would you accompany me to a dance?"

based on the man's appearance, he seems even more important that the viscount. he was definitely the opposite of james. this man wore light grey in places where james wore black. this man had a sweet smile where james had a scowl.

"her dance card is full." the voice behind you threatened.

the gentleman's face fell a little.

"actually, i have one last spot open on my dance card." you smile, showing him the tag tied to your right wrist which had exactly one spot open. "i would love to accompany you..."

"prince harrison." he grins.

you hum, offering your hand. the prince leans down and kissed your gloved fingers before sweeping you off to the dance floor again.

james fumed as he watched you walk away with the prince. lady howlett spots her son alone and walks over to him.

“please tell me that you did not scare off this seasons diamond, james.” lady howlett asked in a low whisper.

“i’m gonna call a carriage” he growls, annoyed.

“dear!”

his mother called after him but he couldn’t care to turn around and stay here any longer.

˖⋆࿐໋

on the carriage ride alone, james is stuck with the image of you. your beauty and the pain in your eyes when james called you a fool. oddly enough, james enjoyed the way you bit back at him. he just wishes that he hadn’t offended you.

apparently you must not be that hurt if you accepted a dance from harrison of all people. not because he wanted to court you but because harrison was barely considered a prince and was a poor excuse of a man. never having to lift a finger a day in his life. never knowing a single struggle. the prince was insufferable.

perhaps it was in james best interest to forget about the beautiful woman he met this evening. she is this seasons diamond after all, desired by too many. james wasn't known to chase the things he desired.

──★

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[evermarch]

“like the geese, we really did mate for life.”

an interesting thing about the sotr epilogue is that, despite its placement in the early years post-war, where haymitch would be in his mid-40s, it feels like it’s set at the end of his life. his tone is reflective. he speaks often in past tense. he talks about lenore dove coming to him, and he uses her language, saying that he’s not sure he’ll be in the “old therebefore” much longer. how his liver’s destroyed and he’s not sobering up, even if he’s not drinking for the same reasons.

but this is the same book where we saw one poor little girl transformed into another. the same series where skin grafts grow easily in a lab. where “genetic manipulation” class is part of the core curriculum before university. where mutts with practically supernatural abilities are designed at will. where the capitol populace has a notable substance abuse problem. in my mind, there’s no way transplanting a liver, a regenerating organ, particularly in a district whose new industry is medicine, isn’t possible.

so, to me, haymitch isn’t near the end of his life unless he chooses not to pursue a future. which he very well could. as he says, “when my time comes, it comes, but i’ve no idea when that will be.” but i think there’s a lot of evidence that he would choose to stick around. or at least, to try. namely, his lenore dove telling him he can’t go to her yet. because he needs to look after his family. and geese, for one thing, have an average life span of 10, 15, 20 years.

whether haymitch is or is not at the end of his life, i think it’s clear that he has not and does not intend to marry or have children beyond katniss and peeta. but i think the wording of the line which best establishes that is notable. “lenore dove likes it best [in the meadow], and I’m content where she’s content. like the geese, we really did mate for life.”

when he reflects on the life he’s already lived, he uses past tense. when he talks about his life now, on his reasons for sticking around with katniss and peeta, haymitch uses present tense. lenore dove exists in both places. throughout the epilogue, she exists in the present. she grows older with him. so i think it’s interesting that haymitch uses past tense tense for this one line. “we really did mate for life.”

that’s not to say that haymitch ever “moves on,” because that’s a false characterization of people who lose their loves in the first place. however, i think this line is past tense because it makes this question, like the rest of haymitch’s life, ambiguous. it also opens up discussion on what “mating for life” means. it’s a statement which implies exclusivity, but i don’t think necessitates it. because it’s not true that geese mate for life. they mate until one dies, after which the surviving goose mourns and then finds a new partner.

there’s room for a version of haymitch, who lives many years past the epilogue, who finds romantic attachment again.

if he does, he would not be replacing lenore dove. he would not be disgracing their romance or defiling their love. and 16 year old haymitch, believing he’s about to die, caught in the throes of the exploding tank and grief over ampert’s death, knew it, too. he was “furious” with himself that he didn’t tell lenore dove to “move on” from his death, because he was terrified of her living out her life haunted by his death. even while he desperately clung to her as he faced his imminent end, he was hoping she’d go on without him.

to love someone like all-fire is to love them enough to let them be free to go on after death. and that’s how haymitch loves lenore dove. and that’s how lenore dove loves him, too, because she is his goose. except haymitch has never been free to go on. the life haymitch was terrified for lenore dove to live is exactly the life he does live. from the end of the book, we know that he is doomed to repeat the 16th year of his life over and over again for 25 years. there’s no reprieve until katniss and peeta come into the picture.

yet, the epilogue’s tone is entirely different. it’s melancholy, but hopeful. he is no longer the 16 year old boy living in a repeating cycle of his own tragedy. when he next revisits it, it’s on his own terms. from that point on haymitch is finally allowed to grow up. to live a life in the “after.” to truly enter his mourning period. for someone new to join him in this new life would not mean he leaves behind lenore dove, or that she’s no longer his mate. because we know lenore dove stays with him, and will continue to stay with him, always.

and it’s likely that anyone with whom he finds comfort in his remaining years would carry someone with them, too. there’s no shortage of people who lost their loves in panem, whether from the war or before. there’s no shortage of people who would understand that his love likes it in the meadow. because maybe theirs tells stories around the fireplace in a creaky house in the seam. or fashions snares in the woods around district 12.

maybe 5, 10, 15 years in the future, when his geese are all grown up and two new goslings hatch, he’ll be an example of a different kind of love. of how new love is not a dilution of the love that was lost. of how lost love never dies, even as life goes on. of how love is not finite.

regardless of whether haymitch finds something resembling romantic love again, i am at least comforted by the thought that his end is much more peaceful than we dreamed it could be. because he has a family again. and because lenore dove is with him, too. and, no matter how long it takes for him to leave the old therebefore, she’s waiting for him in the next world.

[endofthelinegang]

the patriot

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  john walker x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  #90 from the prompt list "If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?" 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bad words 

use this magical link here to find a number and give me a request for ANY marvel character :)

The op was supposed to be clean.

Get in, get the files, don’t get blown up. Real simple. Barely an inconvenience. Except for the part where every camera system in the building was running on spaghetti code and Cold War duct tape. Except for the part where John Walker—your Thunderbolt teammate, reluctant handler, and possibly a human caffeine tablet in a tactical vest—was stuck in the same room with you, trying to keep you from pushing every glowing button just to see what they did. And especially the part where Valentina Allegra de Fontaine called you two specifically instead of anyone else on the team to do the most absurd thing imaginable mid-mission.

“Don’t touch that,” John barked, not looking up from his datapad. He’d said it four times now. He was practically hitting you in the head with his elbow from how close he was standing to make sure you hadn’t gotten bored and decided to just mess around with something. 

You hovered your finger over the blinking red control switch labeled COOLANT OVERRIDE.  “You don’t even know what this does.” 

“I don’t need to,” he muttered, thumbing through corrupted files. “I know you, and if you touch it, it’s gonna end with us knee-deep in radioactive soup or setting off an old Soviet alarm that wakes up a bear.”

You dropped your hand. “One time, Walker. I trigger one bear one time and suddenly I can’t have a little fun anymore?” In all fairness to which you did not bring up was that it had not just been you who had done it. It was actually you and Yelena discussing what the little symbols meant, she thought bear and you thought maybe a small house dog. You were wrong, and no one died. 

He gave you a look. “You shouldn’t name the bear, either.” You smiled at him and just remembered the look on his face when he walked in to see a bear three times the usual size staring him down. He was trying to kill it, and you were considering maybe keeping it as a pet, 

“Dmitri had a soul.”

He sighed like he’d been aged by this job, by you, by everything. You tapped the tops of your boots on the floor taking your hands away from the buttons you looked up at John. He was reading really intently, his thumb tapping off the back of the device creating the tiniest little noise when the hard piece of his tactical glove hit. Before he could notice you were studying him the comms crackled.

“Hey, so, uh…” It was Val. The two of you immediately made eye contact and listened in. The two of you could tell from her little “uh” that she had been on the phone all day thus far. Which was never good. “We’ve got a situation.”

You and John exchanged a look. Neither of you wanted to talk first so you pointed a finger at him before he shook his head and nudged you with his boot. “What kind of situation?” you asked slowly.

“The kind where CNN’s en route, the press already knows you’re in-country, and Walker’s last mission made him trend for destroying national land with a motorcycle  instead of the enemy. We need positive coverage. Like, immediately.” 

You blinked. He was throwing his hands around ready to respond to her and have a repeat conversation about how he did not know it was national land and that he was just doing what had to be done. But not wanting to hear that conversation you broke the brief silence, “How is that our problem?”

There was a pause on the line but you could still very faintly hear her making little sighs and the fact that she had stopped walking wherever she was headed because the little clacking of her heels stopped. You knew right then she was going to tell you something you did not wanna hear. 

“You’re both hot, you’re both in one piece, and the system’s still down so I can’t even see where the rest of your idiot team is. We’re going with plan D.” Val finally breathed it all out so fast that you barely understood her but you did catch the “you’re both hot” part which you could not fathom was going to go anywhere good. 

John narrowed his eyes looking at you before setting down what actually needed to be worked on because he too could sense this was going to be some shit,  “What’s plan D?”

“You kiss.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

Eye contact seized. 

Even the building, full of ancient rust and creaking pipes, seemed to go quiet. The machines that had been making fuzzy noises were silent. John said nothing for a second. Then: “The hell we do.”

“I’m serious,” Val snapped, now she knew the two of you had heard her and were considering her little plan. That is all a woman like herself needed. “Sell a romance arc. I don’t care if it’s real, fake, or hate-fueled. Make the press eat it up. We need a distraction.” You grabbed onto John's arm and pulled yourself up off the ground because this was way more serious than whatever she originally had you working on. 

You rubbed your forehead and started pacing back and forth, with a slightly raised voice you spat at her, “Val, I swear to God—”

She cut out. 

“Val?” you said again. “Val—”

Nothing. Comms dead.

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the team was losing it.

“We’ve almost got it,” Bucky said through clenched teeth, typing furiously at an old Soviet terminal hooked up to an external power supply Ghost had hotwired together from literal scrap metal. The keys were sticking on and off thanks to the metal of his fingers slamming them so deeply into the board. 

“Are you sure that’s the right port?” Ghost asked, upside down, practically inside the wall. She was hoping anything would work so that there was a possibility of leaving this dingy and smelly place as soon as possible. 

“It’s glowing red,” Alexei said, pointing helpfully. “That seems promising.” He was nodding and absolutely no one in the room was even looking at him.

Yelena threw her hands in the air. “Everything in this place is glowing red! The coffee machine glows red!”

“I told you not to drink from that!” Bucky barked, usually John was the one giving helpful advice or rules such as that but he was too busy running around with you. Which was honestly beneficial, Walker would have already shattered that keyboard into the wall and everyone would have been standing around bored as a team. 

Yelena shrugged. “Too late. I have regrets.” She gagged and fanned at her mouth taking in deep breaths.

“Focus!” Ghost said. “We need visual back before Val loses her entire mind.” Ava nudged into Bucky watching what he was doing to make sure nothing else went wrong.

Alexei leaned over, his piece was the only one that had been working this entire time, which he did not mention, but now he had something fun to say so it would be worth telling on himself, “Pretty sure she already did. She told them to kiss.” 

The others paused in synchronized horror, Buckys hands stopped typing, Ava did not even look backwards at the man who was now belly laughing, and Yelena slowly put her tongue back into her mouth and her hands fell to her sides, 

“…Oh no,” Yelena whispered. “They wouldn’t.”

Bucky’s fingers flew faster, he snapped out of his trance just long enough to get into a rhythm of typing and then slamming the keyboard onto the desk to prevent his earlier issue from happening. “What happened now? What could warrant that?”

“Visual coming online,” Ghost announced, shaking the hell out of the box connected to the computer that was so hot from being overworked that no one else was even willing to touch it.

Bucky smacked the monitor and jiggled it a bit watching as the static would stop and start. Then the static cleared—

And then—

“OH MY GOD,” Alexei shouted, running over to the computer and putting both hands on Bucky’s back. “I—THEY’RE—”

“ARE THEY KISSING?!” Yelena shrieked practically jumping on top of Ava who was frozen in total shock not even caring that Yelena now reeked of what smelled almost like coffee but worse.

Ghost slammed a button. “Recording started.”

“We do not need a recording of this.” Bucky groaned and sat back in the chair that was now sitting straight up and down thanks to Alexei’s weight pushing on the back of it. 

Back in the camera's line of sight, you and John were still standing close together, you had stopped pacing once you realized there was really no getting her back online and that just not doing it was not going to be an option. 

He muttered, for once he was trying to not be rude and just handle the situation for what it was, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But you? You broke into a grin, an evil and sinister little grin as you now stood toe to toe with him, arms around his neck and hands resting right on the back. He didn’t move a muscle he just stared you down.

“Well, Walker,” you said leaning into him just enough to feel his chest rise and fall against yours. “Ready to be a patriot?”

He touched the side of his head to yours placing two hands on your hips. “You enjoy this way too much.”

“If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?” Before John could again be the one to make the final blow, you pulled your face back from his ear and pulled your arms back so that your hands could grab onto his face. The kiss hit like a switch flipping. His hands moved against your waist instinctively, firm and grounding. You felt the tension in his shoulders melt and re-coil in new, unfamiliar places. His lips were warmer than expected, mouth soft but insistent, the kind of kiss that said we’re doing this, and we’re doing it right. Then of course John took things into his own hands like you knew he eventually would, guiding you back against the cool panel wall. Your hands were going everywhere now. First you curled then into his vest, then up into his hair without thinking, because of course it was soft, and of course he groaned low in his throat when you did it. The angle shifted, deepened—

“OH MY GOD THEY’RE STILL GOING,” Yelena howled, Ava had sensed moved on once she realized that this may only be the beginning of whatever was going on so Lena had a front row seat to the action now. 

“That’s the most American thing I’ve ever seen,” said Alexei, sounding weirdly proud smacking both of Bucky’s shoulders, still choosing to be right behind him instead of his right side which was completely empty. 

“I’m turning this feed off,” Bucky muttered. “I’d call HR if they weren’t the ones insisting they do this.” He scowled, watching in clear view of Walker moving one hand from your waist up your body and into your hair. 

“I’M RECORDING,” Yelena declared, moving the keyboard away from him. 

Val shrieked something about “fireable offenses” and “weddings get 30% off in DC if you use my name.” To the entire group seeing as to how everything for the actual mission was now at a complete standstill. 

And you? You pulled back just an inch, breath warm against John’s jaw, grinning like an idiot.

“That’ll sell it,” you whispered, not moving to push him back or anything to get away from him just staying put. 

He looked at you, expression unreadable.

“…Yeah,” he said after a second. “It will.”

Back at the safehouse, nobody let you live it down. Yelena and Ava brought popcorn to the debrief. Red Guardian reenacted the whole thing with sock puppets for your good friend Bob who could not go on the mission. Bucky tried to avoid any and all conversation or reenactments of the whole thing. Val sent a legal contract titled Thunderbolt Relationship Clause 4B: I Told You So.

And John?

He sat next to you on the old couch, legs spread wide, one arm behind your shoulders—casual, like nothing had changed. Except everything had. You can feel his warmth all of a sudden, you can’t stop thinking about how you could just curl up next to him and cuddle.. Or how you could get in his lap and start kissing him all over again the way he was sitting.  Instead you decided to move closer to him now you were touching side by side. Not saying a word he dropped one arm from behind the couch and sat it around your shoulders. 

“You know,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy, “we might need a... sequel. For the press.”

He turned, slow and deliberate, one brow ticking up. “You talking damage control?”

You shrugged, playing with your own hands, spinning the rings around your fingers as you spoke. “Public morale. National interest. You know. All that patriotic stuff.”

His mouth twitched, but not into a smirk—something softer, more thoughtful, like he was weighing the truth in your joke. Or the lie in it. He was staring at you, watching how just started curling into his side. The way your hands were so unsure of what to do or where to go. 

“We make a good headline,” he said finally, voice rough around the edges as he let out a little cough using the arm that was around your shoulders to dip down and wrap around your waist to pull you up closer to his face. 

You met his gaze, “Then maybe we should give ’em something to write about.”

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t for show. No click of cameras. No orders in your ear. Just the press of his hand against your cheek, warm and certain. Your breath catching as he leaned in—slow, like he wanted you to stop him but knew you wouldn’t. Just the quiet hush of lips meeting, the kind of kiss that didn’t care who watched because no one was.

It was steadier than before. Realer. And when he pulled away, barely an inch, his forehead resting against yours, the world felt... quieter somehow.

Like the mission was done.

Like something else was just beginning.

(Kind of.)

[stormhearty]

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

[greystend]

When Jason die, he becomes a ghost in the Infinite Realms.

A ghost kid, with a literature obsession and a Justice core, a big smile and robin's wings.

At first, his memory is a little blury and confusing, but by fulfilling his core's needs, he gains it back bit by bit.

He stills can't remember how he died, but he can't let Batman (who's also perhaps his dad ?) fight alone ! It's not like this other guy (who's such a dick he can't even remember calling him by any other name) will help the hero, so Jason needs to go back !

Except... apparently, ghosts don't have a lot of power, in the living world. And even if Jason's pretty powerful for a new dead, it's not enought without a ectoplasm source. The only way he will be able to interact is by possessing someone.

And even that is limited, at some point his host body will reject his spirit.

But there still a body, out there, that's perfect for him and won't reject him : his own cadaver.

So he decides to learn how to heal, to heal his body back in living condition. Or at least, in apparence.

He goes to the Far Frozen and apprentice under FrostBit. Even helping a few times with Phantom's half human part, so he can practice on a living body !

And he feeds his core by going after the people who hurted his patients, so he keeps gaining his memory back.

The day he remembers his death, he has a mental break down and execute his plan without waiting to be really prepared.

He goes to his tombstone (Jason Todd ? Why not Jason Todd-Wayne ? Why in the cimeter, with that disgrace of a biological mother and not in the Wayne family plot ?), heal all the damages and the decay he can find, and possess the body.

Except, in his state, he forgets something really important.

He healed all the things he could see, yes, but brain damage isn't visually detectable.

Once in his body, he's really confused, having barely enought consciousness to realize he needs to get out of the tomb and how.

From there, it's the canon, except the Lazarus Water is normal extoplasm and helps him regain a few memories so he start instinctively healing his brain. But so much ectoplasm after so much time starving intensify a lot all the ghost traits, and his Justice Core makes him completly unhinged at the idea of his murderer still free and runing around.

Years later, Danny & co needs a healer, but can't go to the Far Frozen because they destroyed the portal to stop the GIW from starting a war.

Danny can remember one of Frosbit's apprentices talking a lot about Ghotam, before disappearing. He can only hope he's right and the apprentice succeded in coming to the living realm.

It's his only chance.

[bullet-prooflove]

Nightmare Fuel: Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @𝘢𝑛𝘢𝑛𝘰𝑛𝘺𝑚𝘰𝑢𝘴𝑎𝘧𝑓𝘢𝑖𝘳 @𝑐𝘭𝑢𝘣𝑠𝘰𝑓𝘵 @letsgobarbs for the #ADOCTORADAY event.

My prompts were: "You’re okay, I got you." and with the color black.

Warnings: Deals with the realities of SANE nurses but there's nothing in graphic detail. Mentions of bruises, bleeding, sane nurses deal with victims of sa, mentions of death, domestic violence.

Companion piece to:

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Slut (NSFW) - Frank gets a little bratty after a bad day.

Working in the E.D can fuck you up.

You know that better than anyone. The shit you see as a SANE nurse, it’s beyond irreprehensible.

It’s the worst of human misery because underneath the bruised thighs and bloodstained panties, you know that that person is irreparably changed forever. The marks may fade, their injuries may heal but they will still carry the weight of what was done to them like a black spot seared into their soul.

You should be in fucking therapy you had told Frank the first time he took you out, you’re just to fucking stubborn to admit you need it.

The fall though, it’s coming.

All it takes is one bad night and tonight, it’s been off the charts in terms of nightmare fuel. He knows you won’t be sleeping when you get home.

He finds you out by the ambulance bay, sitting on the sidewalk, your back against the building as you smoke a cigarette. You have up a few years ago, he remembers the six months you spent manically chewing nicotine gum trying to kick the habit.

“I heard she died on the table.” He say quietly as he lowers himself down onto the concrete beside you. His scrubs rustle, brushing against yours as you suck in a lungful of smoke, holding it in for as long as possible before releasing it into the air in one long stream.

“Yea.” You say, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead. “He fucked her up really good. Kinda think that was the point from the injuries I documented.”

“Do they know-”

“Her ex.” You finish, taking another drag. “She moved on, he didn’t. It’s the same old story I hear day in, day out.”

“Fuck.” Frank says, his elbows coming to rest on his knees.

“The shitty thing, and I mean the really fucking soul destroying part of this story is that this isn’t even the first time I saw her. I had her in here two months ago for the  same thing.” You tell him, snubbing out the cigarette on the concrete with an vengefulness he feels deep down in his veins. “It’s relentless Frank, I just…”

It’s then the dam breaks.

He hears your breath catch. A punctuated sob that signals the inevitable collapse just before the walls come tumbling down and all of that emotion jettisons out of you like a geyser, spilling down your cheeks. You clasp your hand to your mouth trying to stifle it but Frank sees it, he sees every little single thing when it comes to you.

His arm settles around your shoulders like a weighted blanket, drawing you close into the shelter of his form. You tuck yourself in against him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, your tears staining his skin.

"You’re okay, I got you." He whispers against your hairline as you let out a shuddering breath. “Don’t worry Ivy, I got you.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[alacritysparked]

Transformers One headcanon that Sentinel specifically took T-cogs from bots who would potentially uprise if given the opportunity.

Looking at even a handful of the cogless bots, they’re all characters who become part of the Autobot or Decepticon chain of command. Jazz becomes TIC of the Autobots and one of the best saboteurs ever. Ironhide becomes the weapons specialist and one of Optimus Prime’s inner circle. Prowl becomes SIC and again, one of the bots Prime relies on throughout the war. Elita-1 becomes a commander and leads her own team of elite warriors - all of which we saw as energon miners.

The free thinkers, the dreamers, the loyal, the ambitious, the leaders…the bots who displayed the greatest potential were put in the sub levels so they could latch onto a lie. The lie of a better life, the Cybertronian dream, the ability to make their lives marginally better with the limited opportunities given to them. Sentinel focused their energy to the lie, working them to death in the name of chasing a false dream.

In that life, there’s no time to question things. We saw it with Megatron, one of the more skeptical bots out there. He didn’t question it. He trusted his leader. He worked hard. It got him nowhere.

Sentinel probably learned his mistake with letting Orion Pax wander around as freely as he does. Orion was a troublemaker. Orion defied everything in the name of the greater good. Sentinel could NOT have another Orion on his hands. So B-127 was isolated. B had a similar spark, someone who could create community and be content with community. Content enough to see past the bleakness of his situation to start asking questions. Sentinel couldn’t have more bots asking questions.

As for the Transformers around before the Primes died? Well, energon stopped flowing the minute the Matrix of Leadership returned to Primus. It’s not that far of a leap to tell the populace that Cybertron was sparking incomplete bots. Some of the newborns didn’t have T-cogs because the planet couldn’t produce T-cogs for everyone. Simple luck of the draw. And those bots had no reason to question Sentinel. Why would the Secretary of the Primes lie to them?

Sentinel tried to destroy a generation of leaders and almost succeeded. His fatal mistake was selfishness. He didn’t see the value of those creating communities until Orion Pax was well on his way through the sub level tiers. Sentinel is smart, so he didn’t make that mistake again. But it was too little, too late. Community, caring about others, working for the betterment of all of Cybertron…this was Sentinel’s downfall.

[deswhomst]

nothing fucks me up more than imagining the four black cousins’ reactions to finding out regulus had died. he was the youngest one and the first to go (at only eighteen).

bellatrix cared about family image and was devoted to the death eater cause. she was probably very proud of regulus joining up and i think her immediate reaction to his death would be anger. she would be apparently disappointed and embarrassed but deep down a lot of that rage would come from the unfairness of losing regulus so young. she would not embrace it, though, and it would probably manifest in form of a few mental breakdowns.

andromeda hadn’t been a part of the family for years but that meant she never saw regulus become a death eater. of course she wouldn’t support that decision but the image of him in her mind would be her little cousin. she didn’t see him past a certain age and to find out that that kid she remembered made all the wrong choices and got himself dead as a result would probably fuck her up. it wouldn’t destroy her life or whatever but i imagine she cried all night when she heard.

under the cut for narcissa and sirius !!!! all the “sirius hated regulus” crowd can leave right now <3

now narcissa, this one would be bad. regulus was still in her life and they probably saw each other a lot. to me these two were very close and shared experiences so narcissa found it easy to talk to regulus and vice versa. could they talk to anyone else about andromeda and sirius? nope. no one else understood. it wasn’t just that, though, of course. i imagine that narcissa advised regulus against getting the dark mark at age 16. she probably had a bad feeling about it and told him to wait but when does regulus ever listen?

narcissa would be crushed when she heard the news. the worst part? she couldn’t talk about it the way she wanted to because regulus was the only one who got it and he was gone. also with lucius gone on DE business she could’ve just spent days and nights alone crying about it and i don’t think she ever properly dealt with it. life just went on and she had her own son (who she wanted regulus to meet and cried about that too) and she had to focus on her own family now.

regulus was sirius’ brother. sirius probably couldn’t believe what he heard at first. sure they had been estranged for three years but hadn’t they had fifteen years before that? it’s not easy to erase that. i feel like when sirius heard it, there was this ringing in his ear -> Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus is dead Regulus—

anyways. before this happened, there was also a possibility that sirius could have reconnected with regulus. it’s like… somewhere down the road, if regulus came to his senses, maybe things could be different but now that he was dead, there was nothing left to do. death is final. and sirius cared. he said:

From what I found out after he died

not “from what i heard” !!!! this, to me, is an important detail. it implies that sirius looked for answers and he didn’t just hear that regulus died & moved on. another thing is that this was war time and he probably didn’t have the luxury to go around and investigate an insignificant death eater’s passing but he did. he tried. he cared. and the way sirius talked about regulus screamed to me this bitter sense of regret (not regret of his own decisions but regret of regulus’).

“stupid idiot” translated to me as -> “oh this stupid idiot joined the wrong side of the war, this stupid idiot blindly believed everything our parents said, and died as a result. he couldn’t handle the service and got killed. he could have lived a good and long life if he didn’t join the death eaters.”

to conclude, i think sirius was initially in straight up denial about it and tried to find out what happened. he never got any closure, of course, because no one really knew what had happened to regulus. i think even further sirius’ way of coping was to mask his grief with a layer of bashing (??) regulus (i can’t think of a better word. what i mean is that he just kept thinking about regulus bringing this on himself and how it could have been avoided if regulus hadn’t been a puppet to his parents). so yeah, regret. loads of it.

[speaknowgirl3184]

I Loved A Monster

Unburnt! Darth Vader x female reader

You're part of the Rebellion. You discover the Sith Lord hunting you used to be the love of your life. The reveal destroys you, and yet, some part of you still sees the man he was.

Warnings: ANGST, Major character death, killings, death, blood, war, gore. (Let me know if there is anything else not mentioned).

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

The hangar was in flames. You didn’t look back.

Your boots pounded against durasteel, blaster fire ricocheting off the walls behind you. Another squad had arrived, stormtroopers, white armor gleaming in the smoke. The Rebels were falling back, but not you. Not yet.

You had to make sure the data got out.

“Y/n, evac’s on the east wing, go!” shouted Obi-Wan through the comms, his voice crackling with static.

You ducked into a corridor, your breath ragged, clutching the drive against your chest like your life depended on it, because it did. It held the Empire’s newest fleet movements. Too many lives would be lost if it didn’t make it back to command.

The corridor flickered. The lights above you sputtered, then died.

The temperature dropped.

It wasn’t the failing power systems. It was something else. A weight pressing in on your chest, your ribs.

You turned the corner.

And there he was.

Tall. Cloaked in black. Breathing slow and mechanical. The hiss of the respirator was worse in person, like the ghost of a man who should’ve died long ago.

Darth Vader.

You froze. Every cell in your body screamed at you to run, to hide, but your legs wouldn’t move.

He stepped forward.

“You cannot escape,” came the voice, warped and metallic, but… underneath it, a note of something else. Something you recognized without understanding how.

And in that instant, it was like the world stopped.

You had heard stories of Vader, how he crushed enemies without lifting a hand, how he bled worlds dry. But that wasn’t what rooted you to the floor.

It was his presence in the Force.

So familiar it made your knees buckle.

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “No. It can’t be…”

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to be human, and that made it worse.

You remembered the boy with fire in his eyes. The man who kissed you under the twin suns. The Jedi who promised he'd always come back to you.

“Anakin,” you breathed.

He hesitated. Just a flicker.

And then, like a wave crashing down, the moment shattered. You ran.

You didn’t see him follow. You didn’t need to. He would find you. He always did.

And this time, he wouldn’t be the one you loved.

The Rebel outpost on Derra IV was buried beneath meters of ice and stone, but you couldn’t stop shaking.

Not from the cold.

You sat on a crate in the medbay, the data drive clutched in your hand like a lifeline. No one questioned why you were silent. No one asked why you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Maybe they’d seen him too. Maybe they’d felt him.

Darth Vader.

But not just Vader. Not anymore.

Anakin. Your Anakin. 

The name hadn’t left your lips in years, not since the Clone Wars ended and he vanished, presumed dead in the fires that consumed the Jedi.

But he hadn’t died.

He’d become something else. Something… unrecognizable.

Except he was recognizable. That was the problem.

That presence. That pull. The way your heart knew him before your mind could catch up.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to breathe. It was all wrong. He was dead. He had to be.

Because if he wasn't… then you had loved a man who became the galaxy’s greatest monster.

And worse, you still felt something when you looked at him.

-----------

The doors slid open behind you.

“Thought I’d find you here,” came a voice.

It was Obi. 

You didn’t look up. “How bad is it?”

Hw exhaled. “Could be worse. Thanks to you, we’ve got the fleet movements. You saved lives today.”

You nodded numbly.

He paused. “But something’s wrong.”

You turned your head just slightly. “When you… when you first saw him, Vader, did it feel like you knew him?”

Obi-Wan blinked, taken off guard. “No. Just fear. Why?”

You looked down at your hands. “Because I did.”

A long silence followed.

Then quietly: “You knew who he was.”

You swallowed hard. “I think I did. A long time ago.”

-----------

That night, sleep didn’t come.

You stood alone in the comms tower, staring out at the icy plains, your breath fogging the glass.

The dreams kept coming.

His smile.His hand brushing your cheek.“I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

Lies now. All of it.

And yet, when he looked at you, even through the mask… there’d been something in him that knew you.

You pressed your forehead to the glass.

“What happened to you?” you whispered.

And far above, hidden among the stars, the Dark Lord watched your signal trace across the sector.

He didn’t speak.

But he remembered your voice.

-----------

The alarms didn't go off until morning.

You were already awake.

The nightmares hadn't stopped, but this time, they weren't filled with fire or screams, they were quiet. Softer. Just him.

Ani as you remembered him. The boy who grinned when he flew. The man who carved you a charm from starship scrap and tied it around your wrist like it was a promise.

It still sat in the bottom of your pack. You hadn’t looked at it in years.

You wanted to throw it into the snow and bury it. But you didn’t.

-----------

The medbay was emptier now. The wounded had been moved or lost. You moved through it in a haze, checking in, taking inventory, pretending to be useful. Pretending not to be broken.

But when you reached the back storage unit, you stopped.

His name wasn’t written anywhere. There was no record of it. No one had spoken it out loud since the purge. But you still saw it, like a ghost etched into every wall.

Anakin Skywalker.

You leaned back against the cold shelving unit, arms crossed over your chest.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

He loved you. You knew he did.

And you… you never stopped.

Even now, with blood on his hands, with that machine where his soul used to be, you still felt it.

Still hoped, in some small, twisted part of yourself, that there was something left of him inside that mask.

-----------

Later, you found yourself alone in the command center.

You shouldn’t have accessed the records. You knew better. But your hands moved on instinct, pulling up the encrypted logs from the mission. The surveillance cam in the hallway—the one just before the power went out.

You watched the footage.

You watched yourself turn that corner.

And you watched him step out of the smoke.

Darth Vader.

Even in shadow, he filled the frame. The stormtroopers behind him didn’t move until he did. He raised a hand, signaling them to stand down.

And then…

He saw you.

You paused the frame there.

Just before you ran. Just after he stopped.

Zoomed in.

It was barely anything. A shift in posture. A breath caught. A flicker of hesitation that the others might’ve missed.

But not you.

You knew him.

You stared at the frame until your vision blurred.

Because in that moment… he remembered you too.

-----------

You were halfway to Obi-wan’s quarters before you realized what you were doing.

You knocked once.

He opened the door in his flight suit. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I need to speak to Mon Mothma,” you said quietly. “Or General Draven. Someone high enough to listen.”

His expression shifted. “Why?”

You took a breath.

“Because I know who Vader is,” you said. “And I think there’s still something human inside him.”

Obi-Wan stared at you like you’d just lost your mind.

Maybe you had.

But it was too late now.

Because you were going to find him again.

Not as an enemy.

But as a reckoning.

-----------

They didn’t believe you.

Obi-Wan had begged you to let it go. Mon Mothma looked at you like you were already gone. Even Draven had pulled you aside, tried to warn you: “If you go after him, you won’t come back.”

But none of it mattered.

Because you knew.

Anakin was still in there. Somewhere beneath the armor, beneath the weight of the Dark Side. You couldn’t prove it. You could barely explain it.

You just felt it.

So you left.

One stolen ship. No authorization. Just you, a tracker, and a hope as fragile as glass.

-----------

He was on Dagobah. That’s where the rumors led you, an Imperial facility crawling with storm troopers and whispers of Vader's presence. You didn’t have a plan. Just a name on your lips and a fire in your chest.

You made it to the surface undetected. Through the ruins. Into the steel heart of the fortress.

But they found you eventually.

You tried to run. Tried to fight.

But there were too many.

You held your own, long enough to make it to the inner corridor. Close enough that you could feel him through the Force, like a storm just beyond the horizon.

That was when one of the troopers panicked.

You didn’t see the blaster turn toward you.

Just a flash.

And then fire.

-----------

You dropped to your knees.

The world tilted sideways, cold and wrong. You pressed a hand to your side. Warmth bloomed beneath your fingers. Too much.

Everything around you blurred. The voices, the footsteps, the shouting. But one sound cut through it all.

A scream. Mechanical. Twisted. Agonized.

Then the storm arrived.

You didn’t see how it happened, just the bodies flying. The troopers crushed against walls. The hallway trembling beneath the weight of his fury.

And then—

Silence.

You were on your back now, barely breathing. The ceiling above you flickered with the failing lights.

Then he appeared.

Not the monster. Not the Sith.

Just him.

He dropped to his knees beside you, arms gathering you up like you were made of something holy.

You tried to speak, but your throat was thick with blood.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice breaking even through the mask. “Don’t talk. I’m here.”

You blinked slowly, your fingers twitching weakly toward his.

His gloves came off. You felt his bare hand, warm and shaking, cover yours.

“I should’ve found you sooner,” he said. “I should’ve left the Order. I should’ve run with you when we had the chance. I thought I had time, I thought if I had power, I could keep you safe.”

His voice cracked. “I became this for nothing.”

You stared up at him, eyes glassy, lips parted.

“You loved me,” you managed, barely a breath.

He took off his helmet and leaned closer, forehead resting against yours.

“I still do,” he whispered. “I always did. I had plans, I used to dream about a place far from Coruscant, like Naboo. Just us. A little house. A ship with your name painted on the side. No war. No Jedi. Just peace.”

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest. You could feel the thrum of the respirator. Slower now. Quieter.

“I would’ve given it all up for you,” he said. “If you’d asked. I just… I didn’t know how to stop.”

You looked at him, truly looked, and for one brief second, the amber eyes were gone.

You saw him.

His eyes were wet. His hands trembling. A boy lost inside a man made of steel.

“I waited for you,” you said.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Then everything faded.

-----------

He held you long after your breathing stopped.

He didn’t speak again.

Not for a long, long time.

But somewhere, deep in the Force, something broke.

And for the first time in years, Anakin Skywalker wept.

-----------

Epilogue: Anakin's POV 

They burned your body on a forgotten moon.

No ceremony. No names spoken. No one else knew who you were to me.

That was the only kindness I had left to give, keeping them from turning your memory into a weapon.

I stood alone while the flames rose.

I didn’t wear the armor.

I couldn’t.

Not when the last person who knew the man beneath it was gone.

-----------

The galaxy keeps turning.

The war continues.

The Emperor asks nothing about the mission. He never does.

But I can feel his curiosity, like a blade pressed to the back of my neck. He knows I lost control. He knows something happened.

Let him wonder.

He can have my anger. My obedience.

But he doesn’t get you.

-----------

I kept the charm you wore.

It was still in your pack. The one I made from starship scrap—back when we were both young, stupid, full of hope.

I remember the way you laughed when I tied it around your wrist.

"You’re not going to lose me," you told me.

But I did.

I lost you the day I chose power.

The day I believed the galaxy needed me more than you did.

I would undo it all if I could.

I would burn the stars down just to go back to that moment, to stop myself.

But there’s no time machine in the Force.

No way to rewrite the story.

Just ashes. Just silence.

-----------

So I’ll carry this guilt.

I’ll wear it beneath the black robes and the breathing and the fear.

Let them all call me a monster.

Let the galaxy hate me.

They should.

Because I was loved by someone good.

And I destroyed her.

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

I hope you are bawling your eyes out like I am right now! Anyway if you have any recs or ideas just dm me or message me, love you guys, ty for all the support. 💗

[visenyaism]

hearing about the great bastards ocs as someone who doesnt know that part of westeros history is so funny... who is dae2mon... who is anus blackfyre

Okay so. There’s this king Aegon “The Unworthy” the 4th (ae4gon if you don’t have time) and because he was just kind of born under a bad sign he was the wooooooooorst guy ever like comically terrible recreationally cruel misanthropic turbohedonist. Just fucking disrespectful. He didn’t have an evil plan or anything. He was just kind of using his power to antagonize everyone he disliked enrich himself and also have one million mistresses.

He had two siblings who were the exact opposite of him and that his sister and brother were both the most neurotic westerosi tradcaths. Ae4gon hated his brother Aemon (lame ass knight who died in his service, despite despising him, which was kind of dickrider behavior )and used his sister Naerys (baby-bird-victim-wannabe-nun) who he also had to marry as a weapon against him because he knew they liked each other so he would just kind of be awful to her as a way to get into his brother‘s mind. Ae4gon and Naerys had two children who survived to adulthood the important one to this story is Daeron, who was by all accounts kind of a nerd he like was chubby and liked to read books and think about his decisions before he made them.

But Ae4gon also had his aforementioned like 1 billion mistresses and he had kids with all of them. Those kids are called great bastards these are the ocs. The most important canon ones are Bittersteel who’s the bracken one he’s like 7 foot eight and fucking belligerent and then there’s Bloodraven who’s the Blackwood one and he’s an evil twink who invented the surveillance state using bird blood magic and also only has one eye because Bittersteel ate it during a duel. i’m getting ahead of myself. There’s also Shiera who had two different color eyes and was the most prettiest princess in the party and also maybe a blood witch? she was trying to challengers Bloodraven and Bittersteel a little bit but ended up hooking up with Bloodraven more until she left him? who knows.

However, the most important bastard child of all was Daemon “Daemy B” Blackfyre. His mom was a Targaryen Princess who should have been the queen except misogyny did win the war on misogyny during the dance of the dragons so she wasn’t. Daemy B was a bastard, but he was his dad‘s favorite because he was masc and had an eight pack and a magic sword he was named after called blackfyre, which was Valyrian steel. Ae4gon gave it to him instead of Daeron, his legitimate heir.

One day Ae4gon got bored and decided that he was gonna declare Daeron the illegitimate child of his two siblings, cause he didn’t like him. this successfully killed off both of his siblings (don’t worry about it) and made Daemy B a more likely contender for the crown. And then another day Ae4gon got bored again and decided that not only was he going to die, but on his way out, he was actually going to retroactively legitimize every single one of his thousand bastard children so they could start a realm destroying civil war because fuck the world.

For a while, no one started around destroying civil war, but then about 12 years passed and Bittersteel with his bracken treachery, convinces Daemy B to make a go for the throne because he was way hotter and sword-er than his brother. Every single one of the Blackfyre allies is like the evil league of evil it’s Brackens it’s Peakes it’s Toynes I know there would be Coles there probably. it’s also racists because Daeron had a Dornish Martell wife because he negotiate a peace treaty to bring Dorne into the realm through marriage and alliances, instead of just trying to kill them all again and some did not like this.

However, Daemy B forgot to consider that having the Brackens on his side meant that he would LOSE. and they had a big battle at the end of the first rebellion where Daemy B gets shot and dies because of Bloodraven and Shiera inventing heat-seeking weirwood missiles. Bittersteel cuts out Bloodraven’s eye and then takes Daemy B’s like one billion kids he had with his wife and flees to essos.

However, (man I introduced the thread of this guy having a lot of kids too late) anyway, Daemy B has a lot of kids and those kids about once every 20 minutes decides they’re gonna do a Blackfyre Rebellion cause maybe it’ll work this time.

One of those kids is Daemon II Blackfyre (Dae2mon), who is the Mystery Knight in the Dunk and Egg Novella in the Mystery Knight. He is a melancholic twink who loves to play the fiddle and is constantly haunted by his prophetic dreams. He says I dreamed of you. He hits on Dunk who is too stupid to clock it. He goes over to Westeros to start another Blackfyre rebellion, which is contingent on winning a tourney and hatching a dragon egg but it doesn’t work because Bloodraven did invent the modern surveillance state using bird blood magic and thus identifies it instantly thwarts the whole thing and takes Dae2mon hostage he’s like the court gay false prophet purse dog for a while and then he dies mysteriously. He’s my favorite for being Renly Baratheon.

This pattern of Blackfyres coming over trying to start a rebellion and getting Bloodraven nuked from orbit continues until there is a great council because the king has no heirs. And Bloodraven invites Aenys Blackfyre, the current Blackfyre, over to westeros to be like okay we will hear you out. This is JUST an excuse to kill his ass. However in a twist of fate WOKE EGG becomes the king at the council and is like Bloodraven you canttttttttt actually just invite people to my house to kill them. That was my cousin I did not like that you🫵 are going to the wall🙂‍↕️. And woke egg sends Bloodraven to the wall. Bloodraven gets himself elected lord commander and then deserts to go be a tree. The end. Sort of.

[obiwansito]

the night i nearly lost you

the great war chapter four

playlist 𐐒𐐚 taglist ʚĭɞ fic masterlist

pairing- obi wan x f!reader

word count- 5.5k

summary- grab your tissues, order 66 is here.

tags & warnings for this chapter- this is pure angst. heavy, gut-wrenching angst. graphic descriptions of violence, death, more angst. also, very brief reader physical description (blink and you miss it). child death, torture, emotional distress, betrayal.

a/n- i need therapy after writing this, that's all i'm gonna say.

"The clones? How- they would not do this."

Sammi's desperate voice enveloped your ears, which buzzed loudly as panic took over your body.

You thought of Forge. Rex, Cody - would they have betrayed you too? Or was it just the clones on Coruscant?

No, it was impossible. They had fought with you for so long, they were loyal, much more than just soldiers. They were your friends.

A nearby blaster snapped you out of your thoughts, the screams of who you thought was the knight who lived across the hall from your quarters making you shiver.

Your chest rose and fell uncontrollably, and you used all your inner strength to control your body and pull yourself away from the door.

The screams died down too quickly. In the air, you could feel hundreds of Force marks fading away. Not just in the temple, all around the galaxy.

You wanted to breathe deeply, to think clearly. But when you tried to tap into the Force, you sensed a vast darkness surrounding it.

"What will we do?" Sammi's voice trembled.

You looked around, trying to find a way out. You couldn't stay there. It was too dangerous.

The window? It was too high.

Go straight out the door? Surely there were too many clones and you would easily be outnumbered.

You sighed, making a decision.

"We can't get out of here. Not yet." You grabbed your belt with your lightsabers.

"So what do we do?" Sammi stood up.

You grabbed her hand, dragging her into your closet. You both hid in the small, dark place, the tiny space in between the two doors your only source of light.

“They will most likely come in here. If they do, we'll be ready. If not, as soon as it's all clear we'll come out.” You whispered. Your voice was weak, but you weren't going to let fear cloud your senses.

Sammi nodded, but her Force mark reflected her nerves. You couldn't blame her, you were the same way.

You were about to reply when you felt a change in the Force. It was just a sensation, as if something you'd had for a long time had been taken away from you. Your vision blurred as you tried to detect what was missing, what was it that was destroying your heart inside.

Just then, you realized what it was. That thing that had broken, that was slowly disappearing without a trace.

No.

No, no, no.

You blinked, and were no longer in the Jedi Temple. You were smaller, just a child of almost three years old.

You looked around you. A familiar planet that before, when you were not yet conscious enough, was your home.

You were on Naboo.

Beside you, was a woman. So beautiful, yet her face was lost in the sea of memories hidden deep in the depths of your mind. Kept to prevent the bonds that your Order prohibited so much.

And when you looked ahead, you found the person you could call family. The man who had taught you everything you knew, who had cared for you as if you were his own daughter.

“If she approves, she will be taken to the Jedi Temple for training. I can sense that she is powerful in the Force, I will take care of her myself.”

The familiar voice of your master became a blur, as hundreds of memories with him flashed through your mind.

When he took you in as a Padawan.

Your first mission together.

The last hug you gave each other and the last time you talked, his advice causing your eyes to sting with tears.

You fell to your knees as you felt that part of you, that soft warmth in your chest that you knew was the bond you shared, simply vanishing without a trace.

Sammi was trying to talk to you, tugging at you desperately. But you couldn't hear her.

Not when your master was dead. Plo Koon was gone, and along with him, so a part of you was too.

The air started to go out of your lungs, the small space where you were hiding quickly suffocating you. Your master's face was beginning to plague your mind, his last words to you stabbing into your chest like hundreds of daggers.

“Hey, what's wrong, are you okay?” Sammi's startled whispers sounded blurry through your tears, which you didn't even know you were shedding. Until-

“Look for all Jedi traitors! Leave nothing in the room unchecked!”

The door to your quarters opened, and footsteps could be heard coming in. Surely they had destroyed the lock. You immediately quieted your sobs, looking at Sammi. Her eyes were wide.

You put a finger to your lips, warning her not to make a sound. The two of you held hands, trying to calm your racing breaths.

From the footsteps, you could tell it was two or three troopers. They were making a mess of the room, searching everywhere. The sound of their boots against the floor made you shiver, afraid they were coming towards you.

“Check everything!” That familiar voice was breaking your heart. The voice of your best men, now turned into a threat to everything you considered home.

You had one of your blades ready, in case they opened the door. “There's nothing here! Let's go, there's plenty out there.”

You heard the troopers moving away, and you almost sighed from relief, but....

“Wait! There's still another place left.” There was only one trooper left , and you tried to locate his footsteps, but your breath quickened as you felt him getting closer and closer to you. You could see him through the small space between the two doors, covered in blood. And you and Sammi were next.

The sudden sound of blasters and lightsabers outside the quarters snapped you out of your distraught state. The clone immediately ran off, leaving you alone.

You both held your breath for a few more minutes, when the blasters had stopped firing and you knew the clones had gotten far enough away.

Slowly you opened the door, checking that everything was clear before leaving. Sammi followed you cautiously, her bloodshot eyes scanning the place. Your rooms, once a direct reflection of your personality, were now in shambles. The furniture overturned, the bed unmade, your few belongings thrown everywhere.

You approached one of your drawers, which was completely turned upside down. In the middle of crumpled sheets and towels, there were two hidden images; which you should not have, since attachments in the order were forbidden. But because of your big heart and infinite love for your loved ones, you had not been able to avoid treasuring those lovely memories captured forever.

Your hands trembled as you picked them up, recalling a life that would never be the same. The first one was from almost a year ago, after a battle that had left you exhausted and full of dirt. Anakin and Ahsoka were lying on the ground, resting. And off to the side, sitting by the fire, were Obi-wan and you. Forge had taken it, and though he didn't mention anything, it was almost impossible for him not to have noticed the way you were looking at each other. As if there was no one else around.

You felt your heart shrink with the second one. It was old, the margins were slightly wrinkled. But the image was very clear. A smiling girl, a Padawan braid in her long hair. And beside her, a Keldor was looking at her lovingly, a hand on her shoulder. It was you and your master.

You wiped away a tear that threatened to fall on your cheek, inhaling softly as you laid the pictures on your chest. Plo Koon was gone. Never again would you feel his presence in the Force, or hug him, or hear his voice.

Sammi, who had been silent until now, rested a hand on your shoulder. “What happened in there?” her voice was soft, and full of caution. She could feel your pain in the force.

You turned to her, a lump in your throat. “My master... he's dead.” You were trembling slightly, your mind couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth. It was impossible, but you knew it was true.

Your friend stepped back slightly, holding a hand to her mouth in horror. “No... How do you know?”

“I felt it.” It was almost a whisper.

She asked no more questions, for she understood what you meant. Her face contracted in sadness, giving you a small hug. “I'm so sorry.”

You gave her a sad smile with tight lips. There was no time to suffer, you had to find a way out of there.

You placed the photos on your belt, putting on your robe. “We have to go.” You closed your eyes, thinking of a plan. You could outnumber some clones, but if there were too many, then you would be easily outnumbered.

“We have to find the younglings. We can't just leave them here.”

Your stomach turned at the thought of the little ones all alone in this dangerous situation. You quickly nodded. “Let's try to save everyone we find. The larger our group is, the better chance we have of survival.”

Sammi nodded. “There's a hidden hangar near the medical wing. We can get out that way, grab a small ship and get off the planet.”

Since the temple was such a huge place, there were passages and exits that very few Jedi knew about, used in ancient times in cases of emergency. You just prayed they were still a viable option.

“Alright.” You muttered, walking discreetly to the door and peeking out. The hallway was empty and silent, a completely cold force mark. A place that was once full of life, now lay with no warmth at all. You felt your body shudder. You didn't want to imagine the horrible scenes that lurked between these rooms.

You turned to Sammi, indicating to her that all was clear. Together you left in silence, moving through the corridors of the Temple. Aside from the echo of distant footsteps and lightsabers, you had not run into anyone yet.

But every room, every corner of the place you called home... It was unrecognizable. Horror invaded your body as you found blood stains on the walls and floors. When you opened a door, your blades trembling in your hands, you found torn robes and bodies lying around.

Hundreds of Jedi, your partners that you had seen throughout your life. They were all dead. Mercilessly murdered by the people who had fought by your side for so long. What had caused this betrayal? Had they been faking it all along? Preparing to attack you at the right time?

Synchronized footsteps brought you out of your thoughts. You pulled Sammi behind a wall and took a deep breath. She was terrified, her eyes locked on you as she trembled.

“How many are there?” she whispered with ragged breaths.

You closed your eyes, connecting with the force. You tried to ignore the darkness you felt stalking your being. “Four. Are you ready?”

But there was no time for her to respond, as the clones rounded the corner. For a second they froze, until you ignited your blades and lunged towards the first one. When the second one opened fire, your body reacted before your mind.

It was a quick duel, you had no time to think or regret. At this moment the priority was to survive. It didn't matter if you were hurt by his betrayal or felt tired. You put emotions aside to concentrate.

When the last clone fell, you lowered your blades, your chest rising and falling uncontrollably.

And as you turned around, you saw Sammi. She had frozen, her hand clenched tightly around her lit lightsaber. She hadn't even made an attack, she simply hadn't moved.

You half-opened your lips, but she stepped forward. “Forgive me. I couldn't...”

You interrupted her by taking her hand. Her eyes glistened with tears and your chest sank. She didn't deserve this. To regret not being able to attack, when you as Jedi had been created to bring peace and not violence. “It's okay, don't worry.”

You shut off her blade for her, taking a deep breath. “Come on, we can't stop now.”

As you went through the temple, you were encountering a few small groups of clones. Your blades were moving almost by instinct, leaving you to the force to continue moving forward quickly.

Sammi was trying to help you, deflecting shots at first. But when the last clone of a medium-sized group fell, you saw that she was panting, her force mark full of determination. Slowly she was loosening up.

You squeezed her hand, encouraging her to continue. The deeper you went into the temple, the more impossible to bear the feeling of emptiness became. So many force marks and broken bonds, the air felt heavy from so many lost ones. You just hoped you weren't too late to reach the younglings.

“No.” Sammi's gasp made you stop walking. You turned in her direction, she had gone to a large column. You approached slowly, feeling a bad taste in your mouth and your ears vibrating.

The scene in front of you was heartbreaking. Sammi was holding a boy in her arms, about your age. You recognized him instantly, he had been in your same class, but you weren't that close.

Your friend was kneeling on the floor, one hand on his cheek, the pink of her skin contrasting terribly with the boy's pale one. They were friends, you remembered it well.

“No, no, no... Please. Bry, look at me. Don't leave me.” Her voice trembled as she caressed his face. His body was stained with blood, his eyes wide in shock, as if he hadn't expected the fate that met him.

You knelt beside her, hugging her as she sobbed. Seeing your friend suffering hurt your soul. You thought of all the people who had met the same fate. Had it been a quick death? You hoped with all your heart that it had. That he had not suffered, and that the force would always be with him.

In the midst of your thoughts, you realized something. “What the...”

Sammi noticed it too, for she fell silent. She gently laid the body on the ground, and stood up hurriedly, throwing up into a vase.

With trembling hands, you approached the corpse. And in that moment, your worst fear came true.

A clone had not killed him. That burn was too big for a blaster.

It was a lightsaber mark.

Bry had been killed by a Jedi.

You stood up in horror, your mind racing a mile a second. Who could have been able to do this?

But there was no time to think, you heard footsteps approaching. Too many for your liking. Sammi, who was in a trance, didn't move. Her eyes were full of tears. She whispered that you couldn't leave him, that you had to give him a proper end.

But that was not going to be possible. The clones were getting closer and closer, barely within sight of discovering the two of you. So, with a whimper you grabbed Sammi's arm, forcing her to run with you.

You simply moved forward, without thinking about where or how much noise you were making. You ran together without stopping, even though your legs ached and your whole body begged you for a break.

You stumbled a little, fatigue taking over your body. You apologized in your mind to your baby, who was surely suffering the consequences of all your stress. But you couldn't stop, your lives depended on this.

You exhaled as the door to the Council Chamber materialized in the distance.

There you could hide, regain your strength, and organize your escape route.

You rushed inside, closing the door instantly. Your body wouldn't stop shaking, full of adrenaline. At least now you were safe, no one would find you there. You were almost relieved.

But when you turned around, you found the worst scene of your life.

You felt bile rising in your throat as your eyes fell on the little ones lying in the center of the room. All brutally murdered.

You were late.

You brought a hand to your mouth, feeling breathless. Beside you, Sammi let out a choked scream. You felt her running towards them, but you couldn't move. You were paralyzed, your body refusing to react.

It was something no vision, no nightmare could have prevented you from seeing. The force echoed in your being, showing you the pain and fear the poor younglings had gone through.

And she was there.

Your body moved forward on its own, falling to its knees beside the little togruta. The little girl who brightened your saddest days, the one you had sworn to protect. But you had failed her.

You didn't know at what moment you had started to cry, you found out when your sobs reached your ears and tears were felt on your cheeks. You took her in your arms, so small and delicate, and hugged her. You asked her forgiveness over and over in whispers, as if she could hear you.

“My little Kyla...” You heard yourself say. “I'm so, so sorry.”

Sammi sat next to you, her eyes red. She stroked the little girl's montrals, with infinite gentleness.

“They were just children.” Her voice was hoarse. “They didn't deserve any of this.”

You nodded, your vision blurred by tears. Your heart ached so much it felt like it would burst out of your chest at any moment. You clung to the small body, as if having her there was going to bring her back.

You were silent, only your sobs echoing in the room. You don't know how long you just laid there, mourning for all that you had lost that day.

And you realized it was time. You had held on so tightly to this secret, but if you had said it earlier, maybe everything would have changed. You looked at Sammi, who had a blank stare.

“I'm pregnant.” Your voice was something less than a whisper, but she heard it. She turned abruptly to you, her eyes wide.

She blinked, as if she hadn't understood what you had just said. But when she saw your tear-filled eyes, she understood.

“What?”

"I've known for a few days now. Obi-wan..." Your voice cracked at the thought of him. You didn't even know if he was alive. "I haven't told him. I thought I had time. I thought everything would get better. I was a fool."

The next thing you felt was Sammi's arms around you tightly, your breath shaking. You rested your forehead on her shoulder, letting out a little whimper, trying not to cry again.

She didn't ask anything, just held you while you cried quietly. For what you had lost, for what you had lived through, and for the uncertain future of your child.

After a few minutes, she stroked your hair gently. “We have to go.”

You nodded, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. You couldn't afford to grieve. You had to survive now. And for the life of your baby, you were going to get out of there. Whatever it took.

You struggled to your feet, your hand going to your belly intuitively. You were tired, but you were going to fight.

Before you closed the door behind you, you took one last look at the little ones. Your chest ached remembering all the moments you had spent together. You would never forget them. None of them.

Sammi looked at you, taking your hand to move forward together. You could hear footsteps in the distance, but you went with confidence, you were prepared.

The path was indeed full of different groups of clones. You let yourself be guided by the force, your body acting instinctively to face them. Next to you, Sammi moved with more agility. She was no longer the same girl paralyzed with fear - now she covered you, defended you and even launched offensive attacks.

You crossed through the training rooms, down a maintenance passageway. In the distance, the medical wing materialized. You were so close, you would soon reach the hangar.

But your luck had to run out at some point.

As you rounded the corner, a whole squadron of clones cornered you. As you turned, more came from behind. You were surrounded.

You inhaled deeply, sharing a look with Sammi. You could do this.

You ignited your sabers, the purple light from both of them glowing on the shining floors of the temple. Sammi followed you, determined.

When the shots started, you immediately focused on dodging them all, taking out a few clones as the blasters bounced towards them.

Although your body was exhausted, you relied on the force, defending yourself with agility.

Sammi was fighting by your side, her movements were much more confident and that made you proud. Yes, the clones were many. But maybe you did have a chance.

There were fewer and fewer of them left. You jumped to dodge a shot, falling behind the clone and taking him out with your saber. Your body was shaking with adrenaline as you defended yourself.

But then, the world stopped.

You watched in slow motion as Sammi was surrounded. She was dodging the blasters of one clone, and hadn't realized that behind her another was approaching. Your scream wasn't fast enough to alert her.

With a hole in your chest, you threw the clone with the force, smashing him into a wall and knocking him unconscious. You dropped your sabers, rushing to your friend in a hurry.

You held her in your arms, her trembling hand taking yours. She looked up at you, her eyes shining as she gasped from the pain.

“I'm sorry.” She whispered, and it broke your heart.

“Don't.” Your voice trembled. “Don't leave me, please.”

“You must go.” She gasped from the pain. Her eyes, always cheerful, were now losing their sparkle.

“I'm not leaving you, Sams.”

She squeezed your hand weakly. "Do it. You must protect your baby."

A tear fell down your cheek. “Please.”

She smiled at you, and you remembered the same smile from when you were little girls, playing around the temple. Now her life was ending as she lay in your arms. “Thank you for being my friend.”

And before you could beg her to stay, Sammi was gone. You felt her force mark fading, leaving an emptiness behind her.

You held back a sob, resting her cold hand against your chest. You closed your eyes, feeling the loneliness hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You kissed her forehead, shakily rising to your feet. You looked at your friend one last time, wiping away a tear with the back of your hand. Her sacrifice would not be in vain.

You grabbed your sabers, wrapping your cloak around you and moving towards the hangar. There was no time to stop now, you were so close.

You stumbled, exhaustion taking over your body. There was so little left, you motivated yourself not to fall to the ground.

You knew there were bodies beside you. You felt them in the Force, cold and empty. Corpses of masters and knights and padawans. Of children. All brutally murdered. You closed your eyes, not daring to look. If you did, you feared you would fall and never get up again.

The hangar door opened and you felt the icy night wind fall on your face. You shivered, thinking of an escape route. You could grab a ship and try to call someone. Obi-Wan. Your heart ached at the thought of him.

You stopped abruptly when you saw a figure standing in the middle of the place. It was a Jedi, covered by his cloak. You gasped, it was-

“Anakin.” Your voice cracked from relief. You felt tears forming in your eyes. At last a familiar face. Ani was alive, together you would get out of there and find Obi-Wan and...

When your friend turned around, you felt your stomach churn. The dark force around him was almost unbearable, it made you feel sick. And his eyes were yellow, lacking the brightness that once characterized them.

And you knew it.

In your mind, almost like a memory, you saw him. His fall, how he had brutally murdered everyone. The younglings.

You took a step backward, your eyes injected with tears. “No.”

“I knew you were very strong.” He had a cocky grin. “After all, we trained together.”

You looked at him in horror. “What did you do, Anakin?” it was a whisper, you didn't want to believe what your whole body and mind was telling you.

"What I had to do. To save her."

"You killed innocents. Good people who didn't deserve the fate that fell to them."

“They were all traitors!” you jumped when he raised his voice. "They all abandoned me. You abandoned me."

“I didn't abandon you.” Though you were on the verge of tears, your voice was steady. "I was always there for you, ever since we were children. I was the first one to talk to you, when everyone whispered about you." You took a deep breath, trying not to cry. "Those younglings you killed? They were the future. They were good, they were smart- you took everything from them!"

Kyla's face came to your mind. Powerful, confident, intelligent. Then you remembered her murdered body and felt bile in your throat.

“You're right.” He nodded. "You were always my best friend. That doesn't have to change." The mixture of fondness and darkness in his words turned your stomach.

He held out his hand toward you. "I know you're feeling anger and pain right now. Those emotions will only make you stronger. Join me and we will be unstoppable."

That darkness that surrounded him was beginning to lurk towards you, wanting to envelop you. It wanted you to give in to temptation and fall for it.

But then you remembered the younglings. Sammi, always excited to see you and talk to you. Padmé, her kind smile being an unconditional support for you. And Obi-Wan. His force mark, his love for you. His warmth when he hugged you and held you in his arms.

You stared at Anakin. “I would rather die than join you.”

His eyes darkened. “As you wish.”

The rest happened so quickly. He ignited his lightsaber and lunged at you wildly. You barely managed to ignite your sabers and deflect his attack, staggering under the brutal force of his onslaught.

You were used to dueling with Anakin, you had trained that way. Countless times your sabers had clashed, competing against each other to see who was the best.

But this was not the Ani you knew. Your best friend, the one you jokingly competed with and knew would never hurt you. This Anakin was attacking you aggressively, with force. To kill you.

His attacks were full of rage, with a precision that was frightening. You felt your heart pounding in your ears as you forced yourself to react, to dodge and block, even though your whole body was begging you for a simple rest.

Your senses were in automatic mode, your purple sabers clashing against his with a sound that threatened to deafen you. Another time, you might have given Anakin a fight. But your body was exhausted, and you knew that in this condition you would be no match for him. Still, you would keep trying. You were not going to give up so easily.

In one brutal move, Anakin swung his saber at you with deadly speed. You managed to block it, but his force sent one of your sabers flying into the hangar.

He laughed derisively. “You are weak.” His eyes burned with cruelty as he attacked you again.

You fought back as best you could, the blue and purple colors illuminating the dark hangar. Your mind begged for a breath, but your survival instinct was stronger.

And you were trying, you really were.

But you screamed when his saber grazed your arm, leaving a deep, smoking cut. You staggered, pressing down on the wound with a groan of pain.

Though the ache blurred your vision, you clenched the saber with your other hand. You repositioned yourself, though you knew you wouldn't last much longer.

You were going to fight for your baby and for all the fallen victims tonight. For all the lives that had been lost, and those that still had hope.

But when you raised your saber, your arm trembling, your body could stand no more.

You fell to the ground with a choked groan, your saber rolling close. Your vision filled with tears as you saw Anakin approaching, the blue light illuminating his terrifying face.

Then this would be the end.

And as he was raising his saber, ready to strike the blow that would determine your death, you decided something. You were not going to die a coward.

You raised your head, looking him straight in the eye. “What's going to happen when Padmé finds out?” You spat, his eyes going wide and instantly freezing. “Do you think she's going to love you when she discovers what you did?”

You saw his façade crack, his eyes full of doubt as he turned off his saber. But you weren't going to stop.

"You're a murderer, Anakin. She's not going to run into your arms to thank you when she finds out everything you've done." Your voice trembled. “You're a monster.”

Your words froze in your throat as he roared, and you felt the Force wrap around you brutally, something invisible closing tightly around your neck.

You gasped as you rose from the ground, your feet kicking and your hands on your throat, trying uselessly to free yourself.

Anakin's eyes glowed with pure hatred. “You don't understand anything!”

The lack of air clouded your mind, tears pooling in your eyes. Your belly ached, as if your baby sensed your despair.

You moaned in pain. You couldn't die. You wouldn't let him die with you.

So, you gathered your courage, and with what little strength you had left, you pleaded. "Wait- Wait. I'm... I'm pr-"

And he knew. Maybe in the force, he felt that little child fighting for their life. Your desperation to stay alive, just for your baby.

His eyes widened slightly, his hand trembled. And it only took a second of hesitation from him for you to fall, coughing and gasping for air.

From where you lay on the floor, you could see his figure wobble. And for a small moment, your Anakin's blue eyes came back. Staring vulnerably at you as they did thirteen years ago, when you were just children who had just met.

And perhaps in memory of the little innocents you once were, he murmured. “Run.”

You whimpered, struggling to your feet and picking up your saber. He didn't have to repeat it to you twice.

You climbed into a ship quickly, your whole body shaking. Your arm ached and you were still panting for breath, but you ignored everything to turn on the takeoff commands.

The ship powered up with a familiar hum, and for a second you felt relieved. But this was no time to relax, you had to go.

As you were about to take off, you heard familiar footsteps entering the hangar. A whole squadron of clones. You swallowed saliva, your hands shaking as you pushed buttons to speed up the ship.

“Get her.” Anakin ordered, his icy voice chilling you to the bone. You panted, your body tensing as you managed to get the ship in the air. Just a little more and you would be off the planet.

You heard ships powering up behind you, the clones preparing to follow you. And the ones that didn't were positioning themselves to shoot at you.

“Shit.” You sped up, trying to dodge the shots that were headed straight for you. At the same time, with trembling hands, you wrote down Obi-wan's personal number, the one he used only to communicate with you. You waited while it rang, begging the force to be able to talk to him. Just to know if he was alright.

Come on, my love. Answer me.

Nothing. You held back a sob, your mind overwhelmed. It was all happening too fast.

You entered the aerial streets of Coruscant, aiming to lose the clones following you. But there were too many of them.

The first shot landed on the right wing, destabilizing you. The system beeped in emergency, your attempts to deflect the attacks were in vain.

You covered your belly with your arms, preparing for the fall. You closed your eyes and concentrated to at least try to protect yourself with the Force. You prayed that this would not be the end of you.

The unbearable ringing in your ears woke you up. You raised your head, smoke covering your sight. Your forehead felt wet, surely you had hit your head and now were bleeding. You opened the hatch of the ship, the icy night air of Coruscant surrounding you.

You were dizzy, and when you tried to get up, you let out a groan of pain. The wound on your arm hurt like hell, and if you didn't clean it soon it would get infected.

In the distance, you heard clones shouting. “There's the ship!” “”Find her!"

You froze in your stall. “Kriff, kriff, kriff.”

As best you could, you got up and left the ship. You analyzed your surroundings, you knew this level of the city. But now you just had to hide.

You limped to behind a wall, where you knew the clones wouldn't see you. You spied them approaching what was left of the ship. “She's not here! Bring her!”

You held your breath until they were gone, falling to your knees in relief. Finally, perhaps you were no longer in danger.

You rose shakily to your feet, exhaustion taking almost complete hold of your being. But you had to make one last effort, until you found a safe place.

You walked slowly, your senses still alert. You had one hand on your belly, the other holding your wound. The pain and exhaustion were suffocating and made it very difficult to move forward. But at least now you knew where to go.

In the distance, an apartment building materialized. It wasn't the most luxurious, but it wasn't on one of the lower levels either. You sighed in relief, stepping inside.

You reached the fifth floor, knocking on a door decorated with flowers and artificial plants. When it opened, it revealed a pantoran with large, curious eyes. It was Shen, lady-in-waiting to Senator Riyo Chuchi and Forge's secret lover. Your heart ached at the thought of your commander. Of the clones.

But she gave you a worried look. "General? I was so scared for you."

Her sweet voice reached your ears. You understood why Forge had fallen in love with her, she was his polar opposite.

"The temple is on fire. I've been calling F- I mean, the Commander, and..." Her smitten voice and sparkling eyes reminded you of Obi-wan. The last time you saw him, the last hug you gave each other, his kiss on your forehead. You missed him so much. “General? Are you alright?”

You looked at her, but your lips came to nothing. You had used your last bit of energy, and now your body was finally ready to rest safely.

The memory of Obi-wan's smile was the last thing you saw before you fell to the floor.

next chapter 𖥔 ͙ࣳ ⸰ֺ⭑

taglist: @whisperofwild @ladywraith

© obiwansito, 2025. reposts, copies and translations are not allowed. my work cannot be used for training AI.

[wukyma]

A little bit of info for this au!!

So, yeah, Poseidon disguises himself as a common soldier, but all his plans of being a mysterious shadow behind the scenes of the main action come crumbling down when Polites decides "hey you're my friend now!" Consequently Poseidon proceeds to find himself in all sort of strange situations (some of which include Odysseus. that man has no chill)

And Poli! He's definitely gotten a bit too comfortable lol (no glasses for practical reasons ahem ahem)

We might need a name for Poseidon to use btw,, yes i came up with a whole story but not a name; im open for suggestions XD

Warning!! Sad things: the war ends, they part ways (insert drama here because Poseidon basically flees from his feelings and Polites feels betrayed because he didn't tell him a thing before just vanishing)

Then the cyclops thing happens. Polites dies. Poseidon comes to his son's call and discovers an all too familiar body in the cave. Of course he doesn't want to believe this but a trip to the underworld destroys any doubt and hope—yes you may mentally throw OP in tartarus that's my rightful place

and he doesn't recognize Poseidon either because a) dude isn't in mortal disguise anymore, b) his injury made him forget some people's faces, or both

A bit of blood and an important question ⬇️

I was thinking like... did Polites know about Odysseus yeeting the infant? (sorry for phrasing it that way but ehhh,,) Depending on the answer, Open Arms could have a different meaning and message, ykyk?

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh @juliperezsilveira @pandaofsilentdeath

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TW: Cussing, Walkers (Zombies), tension, kidnapping, helplessness, coercion, lecherous behavior, predatory behavior, angst, Negan is a Villan, SA (Implied, offscreen)

A/N: this is a very dark chapter, I have left what happens between reader and Negan as a cut away so that it remains up to personal interpretation as I know the Fandom has differing views on this part of his character.

Part 43

Dead Weight - Part 44

The hand on the back of your neck feels like a brand, Negan's fingers pressing just hard enough to remind you who's in control as he guides you through Alexandria's gates. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you take in the familiar sight of home—a place that feels both exactly the same and completely foreign after weeks at the Sanctuary.

"Hot diggity dog!" Negan's voice booms beside you, that signature grin already spreading across his face as he takes in Alexandria's walls, its houses, its people.

"This place is magnificent! An embarrassment of riches, as they say." His grip on your neck tightens slightly as he drinks it all in. "Rick! Good to see you again, old friend."

You can see Rick's jaw clench from here, his hands flexing at his sides as his eyes dart between you and Negan. The look on his face—that mixture of relief and horror—makes your stomach twist. Behind him, you catch glimpses of the others, Carol's pale face, Glen's protective stance in front of Maggie, Michonne's glare.

Already, you can see Negan's men spreading out through Alexandria like locusts, their hands on everything—furniture, supplies, anything that catches their eye. The systematic pillaging of your home makes your chest tight with helpless rage. These are your people's things, their security, their hope, and it's all being carted away like spoils of war.

But it's the shuffling footsteps behind you that make your breath catch.

You turn, and your heart shatters.

Daryl.

He's barely recognizable—that orange 'A' painted on a filthy sweatsuit that hangs loose on his frame, no shoes, and feet that are cut and dirty, hair greasy and matted. But it's his eyes that destroy you. Those blue eyes that used to find yours across every room, that held such gentle warmth during those tentative moments in the attic—they're hollow now, defeated in a way you've never seen, and their not meeting yours.

She's here. The thought hits Daryl like a physical blow. She's really here, and she looks... God, she looks beautiful. Even in that black dress, even with Negan's hand on her neck like she's his property. His chest tightens as he takes in the sight of you— looking so small next to Negan's imposing frame.

The shy way you're holding yourself, trying to make yourself invisible, it makes him want to scream.

The note he thinks, fingers twitching at his sides. 'Still yours.' How can she be mine when m'standing here like this? When I couldn't protect her? Because I was too weak to keep m'goddamn hands to myself?

"Daryl," you voice is barley a breathe, the word escaping before you can stop it.

His eyes lift to yours, curtained by his greasy tresses and for just a moment, you see him—the real him—breaking through that defeated exterior. But then his gaze drops to Negan's hand on your neck, and something dies in his expression.

"Now, now," Negan chuckles, his grip on your neck tightening slightly. "Isn't this just a beautiful reunion? My new wife here has been just dying to see how everyone's doing."

The word 'wife' hits the group like a physical blow. You see Glen's face darken as he pulls Maggie closer behind him, his protective instincts flaring. Carol's hand twitches like she wants to reach for a gun. Rick's eyes burn with fury but remain downcast.

"She's not your wife."

The voice is young, defiant, and makes your blood run cold. Carl steps forward, that determined set to his jaw that you've known since he was eight years old and making bread.

Your heart lurches—no, not Carl, please not Carl.

"Carl," Rick warns, his voice tight with fear for his son.

Negan's laugh is like nails on a chalkboard, but his eyes narrow as they focus on Carl. "Well, well. Somebody's got some balls." He releases your neck to lean forward slightly, studying Carl with predatory interest. "How old are you, kid?"

Your heart is in your throat. Carl—sweet, brave Carl who you've watched grow from a scared eight-year-old into this fierce young man—is staring down Negan. You want to step forward, to put yourself between them, but Negan's hand finds your waist, holding you in place.

"Carl, please," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

But Carl's jaw is set, his one good eye blazing with the same stubborn fire you've seen so many times before. He doesn't back down.

Your eyes find Daryl's again, seeing the way his whole body goes rigid, hands clenching into fists. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he watches Negan's hands on you.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. You can see the way Glenn's arm tightens around Maggie, the way Carol's shoulders shake with barely contained rage. Michonne looks ready to draw her sword, and Rick... Rick looks like he's calculating how many of Negan's men he can take down before they kill him.

But it's Daryl who breaks your heart. The way he won't meet your eyes now, the way his shoulders hunch like he's trying to disappear into himself.

"You know what?" Negan says suddenly, his voice taking on that playful tone that makes everyone tense. "I think this calls for a celebration." His hand slides from the back of your neck to your waist, pulling you against his side. "After all, it's not every day a man gets to show off his beautiful wife to her old friends."

Before you can process what's happening, before you can react, Negan's other hand is in your hair, tilting your head back.

"Don't," you whisper, but his mouth is already on yours.

The kiss is possessive, claiming, meant to humiliate and control. Your hands come up instinctively, hitting against his chest, trying to push him away, but he's too strong. You can taste the smugness on his lips, feel the way he grips you tighter when you struggle.

Behind your closed eyes, you're aware of the shocked gasps, the sound of someone—Glen, maybe—cursing under his breath.

Daryl's hands shake at his sides, his whole body screaming at him to move, to fight, to do something. The sight of you hitting Negan's chest, trying to fight him off—it's killing him.

His mind drifts to the attic room, to the way he'd hold you so carefully each night, his face buried in your hair, breathing in your scent like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to this world.

But he can't. He's nothing now—less than nothing. Just a dog in Negan's kennel, watching the woman he loves be claimed by another man. This is what I am. She saved me, and for what? So I could stand here and watch this? She deserves so much better, she sure as hell doesn't deserve this.

When Negan finally releases you, you stumble slightly, immediately wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before spitting on the ground with disgust. The taste of him makes you sick, and you can't get it out fast enough.

Your eyes immediately seek out Daryl's, desperate to convey everything you can't say—that this means nothing, that you're still his, that the note you sent was true.

But Daryl's looking at the ground now, his whole body radiating shame and defeat.

"Well," Negan says, straightening his jacket with satisfaction, "I'd say that went rather well. Wouldn't you agree, Daryl?"

Daryl's head snaps up, and for a moment, you see murder in his eyes. But then that defeated look creeps back in, and he just glares.

Negan grins, then turns his attention back to Rick. "Now then, Rick, let's talk about what you owe me."

As Negan begins his usual routine—the taunting, the threats, the systematic breakdown of everyone's dignity—you find yourself caught between two worlds. The man whose hand rests possessively on your lower back, and the man across the street who won't look at you anymore.

The dining room felt enormous with just the two of you in it. Negan had insisted on candles, of all things, like this was some kind of romantic dinner instead of... whatever this actually was. You sat across from him, hands folded tightly in your lap to hide the trembling, barely touching the food on your plate.

"You're not eating, sweetheart," Negan observed, cutting into his steak with deliberate precision. "Don't tell me you don't like it. Had the kitchen make their best for you."

"It's... it's very good," you managed, your accent thick with nerves. "I'm just not very hungry."

"Nervous?" His eyes glinted with amusement. "That's understandable. Big few weeks for you. New life, new husband..."

The word 'husband' made your stomach lurch. You took a small sip of water, hoping it would help steady your voice.

"Tell me," he continued, leaning back in his chair, "what did you and ol' Daryl used to talk about during those long nights on the road? Must have gotten pretty cozy, sleeping side by side all that time."

Heat flooded your cheeks. "We... we just talked. About normal things."

"Normal things," he repeated, grinning. "Come now, don't be shy. I'm your husband now—we shouldn't have secrets between us. Sweet little thing like you, lying right there next to him..."

"He wasn't like that, he wasnt like—" you said quickly, then immediately regretted giving him any information at all.

"No?" Negan's voice was teasing, but there was something predatory underneath. "Hard to believe a man could show that kind of restraint."

You kept your eyes fixed on your plate, willing the conversation to end.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, sweetheart."

The command was gentle but firm. You lifted your eyes reluctantly, and his expression softened slightly when he saw how frightened you looked.

"Hey now," he said, reaching across the table to cover your hand with his. "No need to look so terrified. I'm not going to hurt you."

But you were trembling harder now, his touch making your skin crawl despite his gentle tone. He noticed immediately, his thumb stroking across your knuckles.

"You're shaking like a leaf," he murmured, and something in his voice suggested he found your fear almost... endearing. "Poor little thing. This is all pretty overwhelming, isn't it?"

You managed a small nod, not trusting your voice.

"We don't have to rush things," he continued, but his hand didn't move from yours. "I'm a patient man. We can take all the time you need to get comfortable."

Comfortable. As if that was possible. As if you could ever be comfortable with this man who held Daryl's life over your head like a sword.

"But," his grip tightened slightly, "I do expect you to try. For Daryl's sake, if not your own. You understand that, don't you?"

The threat was clear even wrapped in his gentle words. You nodded again.

"Good girl." He released your hand and went back to his dinner. "Now, eat something. You're going to need your strength."

The words sent a chill down your spine, but you picked up your fork with shaking hands and managed a few bites, tasting nothing.

Later, back in his room—your room now, he kept reminding you—Negan loosened his scarf and shrugged out of his jacket while you stood by the window, trying to make yourself invisible.

"Come here," he said softly.

Your feet felt like lead, but you forced yourself to move closer. When you were within arm's reach, he cupped your face gently, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone.

"You really are beautiful," he murmured. "Daryl's a lucky man... Sorry, was a lucky man."

The correction made your chest tight with grief and fear.

"I want you to understand something," he continued, his voice still soft but carrying that underlying steel. "I could go check on your boyfriend right now. Make sure he's... comfortable in his accommodations. Or I could stay here with you. Your choice."

It wasn't really a choice at all. The threat was crystal clear—behave, or Daryl would pay for it.

"Stay," you whispered, the word barely audible.

"What was that, sweetheart? Didn't quite catch that."

"Please stay," you said a little louder, hating yourself for the words.

"That's what I thought you'd say."

"Now, I told you before that I'm not the kind of man who forces himself on a woman," Negan said, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. "And I meant that. I'm a man of my word." His grip tightened just slightly. "But I'm also a man who expects cooperation from his wives. Enthusiasm, even."

The words hung in the air like a noose. You understood perfectly—he wouldn't physically force you, but he didn't need to. Not when Daryl's safety hung in the balance of your compliance.

"You see, sweetheart," Negan continued, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating from his body, "I'm a man who likes to be appreciated. And when I'm not feeling appreciated by my wives, well... sometimes I need to work out that frustration elsewhere. You wouldn't want me to be frustrated tonight, would you? Not when your boyfriend's in such a precarious position."

Your breath caught in your throat. The choice he was offering was no choice at all—submit willingly, or watch Daryl suffer for your resistance.

"I want to be here," you forced out, each word like swallowing glass. "With you."

"That's what I like to hear," he said, satisfaction clear in his voice. "See? I knew you were a smart girl."

When he leaned down to kiss you, you didn't pull away. You stood perfectly still, letting him press his lips to yours, trying to disappear inside your own mind. His beard was rough against your skin, nothing like Daryl's gentle touch that felt like a lifetime ago.

Think about something else. Anything else. Think about home. Think about the group. Think about—

"There's my girl," he murmured against your lips, and you realized with horror that he'd taken your stillness for compliance.

When he started moving toward the bed, you followed on unsteady legs. The black silk nightgown he'd laid out for you felt like costume, like you were playing a part in some horrible play, sleeping next to this monster.

"Take your time," he said, settling onto the edge of the bed. "No rush."

But there was expectation in his eyes, and you knew that Daryl's safety hung in the balance of your next actions. With trembling fingers, you reached for the zipper of your dress.

Daryl had been pacing the small cell like a caged animal, running his hands through his greasy hair, trying not to think about where you were right now. What that prick might be doing to you.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made him freeze. Too light to be Negan, but he recognized the gait.

Dwight appeared when the door opened, holding a plate with what looked like a sandwich made from dog food and stale bread.

"Dinner," Dwight said, sliding the plate too him.

Daryl didn't move toward it. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb. Y'know who."

Dwight was quiet for a moment, then glanced down the hallway to make sure they were alone.

"She's fine," he said quietly. "Having dinner with Negan."

The word made Daryl's stomach churn.

"Look," Dwight continued, his voice dropping even lower, "I know what you're thinking. But fighting it, trying to resist... it just makes things worse. For both of you."

"Like you'd know," Daryl snarled.

"I do know." Dwight's jaw tightened. "Better than you think. My wife... she's one of his wives too."

The admission hung in the air between them. Daryl stared at him, seeing something he'd missed before—the same haunted look he'd seen in his own reflection.

"Sherry made the same choice your girl did," Dwight continued. "To protect someone she loved. And fighting it, trying to change it... it only made things worse for her. Made Negan more interested in breaking her down."

Daryl remembered his brief glimpses of the wives. They all had dead eyes.

"The best thing you can do for her right now is survive," Dwight said. "Stay alive, stay strong, and wait for your chance. Because if you get yourself killed trying to be a hero, she'll have suffered for nothing."

Daryl wanted to punch him, wanted to grab him and choke the life out of him. But underneath the rage, he knew Dwight was right. Getting himself killed wouldn't save you. It would just leave you completely alone with that monster.

"She's stronger than she looks," Dwight added, turning to leave. "She'll survive this. You both will"

After he was gone, Daryl sank down against the wall, burying his face in his hands. Somewhere in this building, you were with Negan. Probably scared out of your mind, probably thinking about the attic and those sweet, tentative kisses you'd shared before everything went to hell.

Imma get you out of this, he promised silently. I don't know how, but I'm gonna get you out. Just hold on a little longer.

The dog food sandwich sat untouched on the floor. Daryl couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything but sit in that cell and listen to the building settle around him, wondering if you were okay, wondering if you were thinking about him too.

Jus' survive, he told himself, echoing Dwight's words. Both of us Jus' gotta survive.

The silk sheets were cold against your skin as you lay perfectly still beside Negan, listening to his breathing even out as he fell asleep. His arm was draped possessively across your waist, heavy and unwelcome.

You stared at the ceiling in the darkness, trying not to let yourself break down completely.

This was the nightmare your life had become. And somewhere in this building, Daryl was probably lying awake too, wondering if you were okay.

I'm sorry, you thought, tears finally spilling over to wet the expensive pillowcase. I'm so sorry, Daryl. I'll find a way back to you. I promise.

The moonlight streaming through the window reminded you of all those nights you'd spent curled up against Daryl's side, safe and warm and loved. It felt like another lifetime.

Just survive, you told yourself, borrowing strength from the memory of his arms around you. Whatever it takes, just survive until we can find our way back to each other.

You must have dozed off at some point, because you woke to the feeling of Negan stirring beside you. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. Even in sleep, he was possessive.

"Mmm," he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with sleep. "Good morning, Sweetheart."

You went rigid, every muscle in your body tensing as he moved his head to your neck. His beard scratched against your sensitive skin, and you had to bite your lip to keep from pulling away.

"Sleep well?" Negan asked, pressing his chin to your shoulder in a way that made your skin crawl.

"Yes," you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You closed your eyes and tried to imagine it was Daryl holding you instead. Daryl's gentle hands, Daryl's careful touches, Daryl's whispered words of comfort in the darkness. The way he'd hold you, just letting you know you were safe.

I wish you were here, you thought desperately. I wish it was you holding me. I wish we were back home, back when the biggest worry was whether Rick had enough diapers for Lil Asskicker, God, what I wouldn't give to be worried about something that simple again.

"You're trembling again," Negan observed, his thumb stroking along your arm. "Bad dreams?"

"I'm fine," you managed.

"You know," he said, settling more comfortably against the pillows while keeping you pressed against his side, "I was thinking we could have breakfast together. Maybe take a walk around the compound. I like showing you off to everyone."

The thought of being paraded around like some kind of trophy again made your stomach turn, but you knew better than to refuse.

"That sounds... nice," you forced out.

Daryl, if you can hear me somehow, you thought, staring at the ceiling as Negan's fingers traced patterns on your skin, please know that none of this means anything.

Outside, the Sanctuary was waking up, but you lay trapped in silk sheets and false intimacy, counting the minutes until you could find a moment alone to breathe, to remember who you really were beneath this performance you had to give to keep Daryl alive.