#big mama with the vision of sorrow

[godddamnbranman]

How to stay afloat in a bottomless pit..? The trick is to stop falling.

[coyotescribbles]

OC Week: Day 1 "Best Day"

(A few hours late but who's counting?)

The Ones Who Return

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Little Onyesha Lake - and the winter village - came into view. Even from a distance, the thin columns of smoke rising up from dozens of chimneys was visible.

Someone was there.

Leda, who had been near to dozing off, immediately sat up straighter, prompting Mara to let out a drowsy protest as she tightened her grip on Leda's waist. "Huh...?"

"Hang on tight," was all she said, leaning forward and twitching the reins, urging their little red yearling into a gallop. Mara just squeaked in response, suddenly entirely awake as she held tight to Leda while at the same time trying to peer over the taller girl's shoulder to see where they were going.

Home.

The word was almost foreign on her tongue, but she breathed it out like a prayer.

Home. Home. Home. After six long years of brutal servitude and abuse and another year of finding their way through the treacherous north, after bloodshed and tears and sorrow, they were almost home.

She almost didn't dare let herself believe it, even as her vision blurred with tears and her heart raced in her chest and the ground blurred beneath them like they were flying - Home. Mama, papa, I'm almost home...

When they were halfway there, she caught sight of a group of riders racing out to meet them, and her heart leaped at the sight of the big piebald destrier in the lead. Even at a distance, even after all the years that had passed, she knew Nocked Arrow, and that could only mean -

"OBU!"

Leda's throat hurt with the force of her cry, tears burning in her eyes as she urged the red colt to go faster; he squealed and shook his head, but did his best.

She saw the riders falter, milling about, before Arrow surged forward again, thundering across the plain with a speed to match his namesake.

And when he and his rider reached them...

Obu was older now, his golden mane duller and his face grayer, but his green eyes were still sharp, and they lit up with recognition the moment he saw her. "LEDA??" he called over the thunder of hooves, wheeling Arrow around to race alongside them. Without even waiting for a response - he didn't need one, anyway - he brought his signal horn up and sounded one long, unbroken note.

By now the other riders had caught up, and were galloping alongside them, hardly slowing down even as the villagers came to the edge of the low grass to see what was happening.

And then they were all - Leda, Mara, Obu, and the rest - surging past the outer circle of structures and into the village proper. The red colt pranced and threw his head back as she pulled back on his reins, and Mara's arms were so tight around her ribs that it hurt, but all around them there was shouting and Obu's signal horn sounding again and everyone was pouring out into the early morning light to welcome The Ones Who Return.

[fantasywriternimzy]

The Dancing Lady

Arthur was riding the night train, returning from Paris to his old town. His business has failed. He was drowning in his sorrow, he couldn't do anything but look out the window, but he couldn't see anything but the reflection of the lights inside. As the train got closer and closer to his stop the pain in his chest grew bigger. What kind of son goes home with bad news for the holidays? 

The train reached the outer skirts of town the train stopped, where the graveyard stood. It was dark, filled with grief. His mother was lying there somewhere too, he didn't know where he didn't make it to the funeral. As he was thinking about her, her lavender scent, her copper locks, and a little too dirty clothes, he saw her. 

At first, he wasn't sure what he was seeing. She looked too eternal, too otherworldly to be true. But the woman was there, filled with light in the darkness, in her pointe shoes, dancing on the graves. Arthur thought he had gone mad, but she stayed there dancing in the moonlight no matter how hard he squinted his eyes or shook his head.

“Have you heard of The Dancing Lady, Sir?” asked a flimsy voice.

“What?” Arthur was so lost in his thoughts he didn't even notice how rude he was or that a kid sat down, next to him.

“The Dancing Lady, Sir.” the boy repeated, “Have you heard of her?”

Arthur was sure the kid was talking about the woman he just saw dancing on the graves.

“No” he gave a short answer.

“People say she was a beautiful ballerina, the most talented one this town has ever seen. And we have a lot of dancers.” The boy was filled with excitement as he was talking.

It was true, Arthur’s hometown was one of the few that had a dancing school. It wasn't as big as the others, but it was good enough for the surrounding towns to send their girls here to learn. 

“She was hardworking and she danced The Nutcracker like no one before! Do you know The Nutcracker, Sir?”

“I've even seen it at the Opera, in Paris.” Arthur said proudly, but on the inside it was another part of him, filled with sadness. One of his richer friends took him for his birthday. It was the most spectacular thing he had ever seen. The kid looked at him with stars in his eyes. 

“I've also seen it, but only on the town square at the Christmas Parade. And between us, most of the girls are not very good. Lisa fell last year, her bow fell out of her hair, it was pretty funny.” The boy giggled. 

Arthur nodded like he knew who the hell was Lisa. 

“Anyway, The Dancing Lady was so hardworking, she got accepted to the Opera, and she was supposed to star in The Nutcracker on opening night! But the night before she was supposed to leave she went to the school to practice more. The old school caught fire that night and she couldn't escape. That’s why my Mama doesn't let me dance, she says it's too dangerous.” 

Both Arthur and the boy looked at the graveyard again. Arthur was convinced that the little kid could also see the glowing woman, dancing around. 

“People say that she never went to Heaven, because God told her that she could not dance there, so she decided to stay on Earth and dance in the graveyard, using the Moon as a stage light.”

The train started moving again and when Arthur looked outside to see the Lady one last time, she vanished.

“Have you ever seen her? The Dancing Lady?” he asked the boy.

“Never, Sir.”

“Alfred, where are you?” a woman shouted in a weak voice.

“I'm here Mama” the kid waved in the direction the sound was coming from.

The lady came in Arthur’s vision and he saw an old woman, who looked way too old to be Alfred’s mother. She was wearing clothes that were too light for the cold and was carrying a big sack on her back. In contrast, Alfred was wearing a big winter coat, too big for a boy his age.

“Do not bother this young man, come, the next will be our stop.” She scolded him while looking apologetically at Arthur.

“But Mama!” Alfred kicked with his little legs on the seat, they didn't even reach the ground.

“I am making soup tonight, come on.” The lady reached her free hand out to the boy.

“I love soup!” the boy’s eyes light up, before taking the woman’s hand and hopping off of the seat. “Goodbye, Sir! Merry Christmas!” he waved at Arthur, before getting off of the train.

“Merry Christmas” Arthur muttered to himself.

Soup. Alfred looked so happy to have soup, it was his favourite, Arthur didn't understand. Growing up, soup meant that they did not have enough money to buy meat or anything for that matter. They only had meat for special occasions, like Christmas or birthdays. His family got it for cheaper from their neighbour who was nice enough to save them some nice pieces after he slaughtered his pigs. 

When he was Alfred’s age, he already knew that. He wondered what it was like to be growing up in the bliss of ignorance as the train reached its final stop.

To Be Continued...

AN: I hope you liked it, I know it's not perfect but I was too inspired not to write this. ^^ (Also forgive me for any mistakes, English is not my first language and I'm a little dr*nk.)

[percy-eats-souls]

I decided to write a nice, silly, and whimsical little story with Mars and Echo! Hope you guys enjoy it! it's definitely heartwarming! Teehee :3

TW: Death, blood, violence, and other very angsty stuff :3

-3rd person-

Echo walked out into the battlefield; Mars walked out from her side of the arena. They looked at each other for a few seconds before a loud voice was heard, "Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Here tonight in the Battle-Nexus we have Mars, the heir of sorrows. Then we have Echo, the angel of death!" The arena was filled with sounds of cheering, mutants were chanting Echo and Mars' names.

"Tonight, these two warriors will be fighting until there is only one left standing!" The announcer exclaimed, the crowd was full of roars and cheering. Echo and Mars looked at each other with shock, they definitely were not informed about that. This wasn't right, Echo tried to reach the announcer or try to see if Big Mama was watching her so she could try to call it off. The battle was already starting.

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

-1st person-

I unsheathe my scythe as I got into position, Mars did the same with her spear. 'I can't fight my best friend, maybe I'll just tell her to fake it so she can get away without actually dying...' I thought to myself quickly, I snap out of my daydream and see Mars run up to me and try to strike first

I instinctively tried to grab the blade, 'how stupid of me...' The blade cut my hand; blood dripped from it as I let go almost immediately. I hit the spear away with my scythe before trying to make a hit on her myself. I twirled my weapon as I dodged and rejected her attacks, I tried to make conversation since nobody could hear them over the sounds of metal clanging together and the very loud roaring.

"Mars, just fake being dead and you can escape without either of us having to die." I try to convince Mars; a look of desperation was on my face. Mars didn't like that idea though, "I can't do that! It'll be noticeable because there won't be any blood on me or any slashes!" Mars protested. We fought a bit more before I finally pinned her to the ground, I had to talk her into this now or else people will start suspecting things.

My scythe was to her neck, Mars' spear was laying on the ground next to her. "Mars, please, I can't let my one and only friend die on me. So, just please, please fake it...I know what I'm doing." I practically beg her; it wasn't enough though. I feel myself hit the ground from being swept off my feet, I was the one being pinned now.

"I'm sorry Echo...I can't do that; I have a contract, and I can't violate it or else my family will be in danger! This is the only way, Echo." Mars glared down at me; her eyes glowed in the shadow that covered her face. I looked down at the spear as it was pulled back and was now about the penetrate my neck, I grab my scythe and before I even can think...

The sound of Mars' heavy breathing was heard as I finally open my eyes, I had just impaled her with the other end of my scythe. Mars dropped her weapon as she looked at me, I drop it immediately and stand up to try and help her. It was no use. I look up as I see Big Mama watching this happen, she glared at me, expecting me to finish the job.

I look down at Mars before dropping her body, she tried to crawl back to me, begging and pleading with her last breaths for me to help her and how sorry she was. I didn't listen, I felt betrayed, broken, like our friendship meant nothing. I pick up my scythe one last time as I raise it and stab the sharp end into her back.

Her body went limp as I step back, my vision started going blurry as I fall to my knees. I feel uncontrollable tears start to fall down my cheeks like waterfalls. I felt like a monster...I was a monster

I WAS A MONSTER

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I'm so sorry this was so short. it looks really rushed too so I apologize for that as well!

-Percy

[comicsbyintroverts]

Mama, Are You There?--- Chapter #1

Cemetery, noontime, mid-spring. It’s raining heavily, the sky is covered in thick dark clouds, lightning is flashing, and thunder is roaring. The world is grey, cold, and rigid.

On the edge of the cemetery, where there are more trees than gravestones, stands a man and a boy. The man is tall, thin, pale, and appears to haven't slept in days. His eyes have bags, his dark curly hair is messy, his beard is overgrown, the suit he wears is wrinkled, and his posture is slouchy. On his face is a look of exhaustion mixed with sorrow and emptiness, as if, a piece of his soul was ripped from his body. He stands in the rain, umbrella in hand, staring blankly down at the grave in front of him. Not blinking, not moving, seemingly not even breathing. It’s not until the man feels a tug on his trousers does his focus shift away from the grave.

The boy, with sad confusion in his eyes, looks up at the man. The boy is young, with big eyes, a round face, a slightly puggy, and a mole on the right side of his nose. His cheeks are slightly pink— a noticeable contrast to the grey world around him. He asks the man several questions in a whisper tone.

The Boy: Daddy, I thought we were gonna see Mama? Why’re we here? When can I go see Mama?

The man, the boy's father, does not answer. He sighs, not having the energy to speak, and picks up his son. He carries the boy with one arm— his umbrella in the other— and walks away from the grave. As the two leave the cemetery, the boy stares at the same grave from over his father’s shoulder. The boy isn’t a strong reader, but when he sees the name on the large cement block he recognizes it instantly as one he has seen before.

The Boy (in a whisper): Mama?

Later...

The city, nighttime, the home of the Lux family. The boy and his father are sitting in the dining room and eating Cup-O-Noodles in silence. At least, the boy is eating while his father merely pokes at the dish with his fork. The boy looks at his father, then at the empty seat between them. 

The seat is a bright yellow, a contrast to the otherwise grey of everything else. The boy stares at it till the vision of a woman appears, filling the whole room with color and light. Where all was once rigid and cold, now it is loose and warm, where there was almost no life, now there is much, and at the center of it all is the woman.

She is beautiful, the classic kind of beauty you see in starlets from the 1950s. Her skin is pure, her hair notably long and wavy, her eyes as sparkly as two amethysts. When she smiles, it is as though the world becomes all the more pleasant for it. The charm she irradiates is almost too much to bear as her hand reaches out to the boy, gesturing for him to come closer to her side. 

The Father (flatly): Are you done?

With only three words, the world was back to being grey and cold. Whatever had been happening passed as quickly as it came— the tone of the father's question had sent it away. The boy looks at his father and then back at the yellow seat, which is empty once more. The father follows his son's line of sight, and upon seeing nothing but the space between them, he sighs heavily and stands up to retrieve his son's half-eaten food.

The Boy: Daddy, when is Mama coming home?

The man freezes, the Cup-O-Noodles so loose in his grasp that it falls to the floor. He couldn’t keep it a secret forever, he had to tell his son the truth but was afraid of the pain it would bring. He didn’t want his son to feel the same as he felt. The man is just standing there, staring off into the distance with a look that perfectly mirrors the one at the cemetery. It’s as though the more he thought about it, the more he thought about her, his energy was draining out of his body.

The Boy: Daddy..?

The man snaps back into consciousness. The boy is staring at him with confusion and worry all over his tiny face. The man closes his eyes tight and takes a long breath inward, holding it in as long as possible before releasing harshly and opening his eyes slowly. He knees down to clean up the mess he made while his son watches him patiently, still looking confused and worried about his father’s behavior. The man cleans the mess and tidies things up, his son watching him the entire time. As he finishes up, he glances at a picture of his wife on the fridge and sighs again.

The Father (mumbles): I’ll tell him tomorrow. I promise.

The Boy: Uh?

The boy is now standing at his father’s feet— he was so distracted he didn’t even hear his son move. For a second, irritability crosses the man’s face but is gone before the boy can notice. 

The Boy: Daddy, when’ll Mama come ho—?

The Father (flatly): Time for bed. We’ve got to be at your kindergarten early tomorrow.

The Boy: Why can’t Mama take me? She always goes—?

The Father, as he picks up his son: I’ve got an errand to run in the area, so we have to be out the door by seven. Understood?

The Boy (quietly): Yes, Daddy. 

The two head upstairs in silence with the father carrying his son the entire way and only put him down upon reaching the last step. The father proceeds to help his son get ready for bed; they brush their teeth together, the man helps his son change into his pajamas and then tucks him into bed, and the man turns off the lamp and turns on a nightlight.

The Father, leaving his son’s room: Goodnight.

The Boy: Daddy..?

The father pauses at the doorway, turning his head slightly to face his son. He stares at the boy blankly, causing the child to become nervous.

The Boy (quivering): Nevermind.

With that, the father shuts the door to his son’s room. The boy stares up at the ceiling for a moment, watching the star pattern left from the glow of his nightlight before his eyes begin to drift close.

*Scratch, scratch, scratch.*

The boy’s eyes open wide, his body shoots up into a sitting position, and a gasp escapes his mouth at a mysterious sound in the shadows. He shimmies his covers off and stands on his bed to turn the lamp on. The boy looks in the direction of the noise, but all he sees is his toy chest and a large-stuffed giraffe in the corner. He gets out of his bed to have a closer look at everything, and upon doing so, he notices a long-thin crack in his wall that wasn’t there prior. He puts his hand on the crack.

The Boy (hesitantly): Hello?

[peppermint-joys]

Being Bruno’s Child Would Include… Pt. V

Went back to school getting busy again, but here’s part four. I swear I have a problem all of my headcanons turnout way longer than planned. The reader’s age is 10. Stay tuned for part six.

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

Tag list: @jayleneblack @zzzzzzzzzzoom @bozowrites @meyocoko @dog-nature-fandoms @thebadasssass @crazykira @lost-lonnie @kenzi-woycehoski @venomsvl @mobuaddiction @raysreads @azzabynes @justagurlintheworld99999999 @queenotaku23 @alexwatchesandreads @silvereyedfreak-2654 @nonvocal-reverie @100b-cats @miyakana @bage-the-gabe (I guess if you want to be tagged ask in the comments?)

I couldn’t tag two users @breadglasses and @4rin4 here’s a link that should explain why.

You sat at the end of the table opposite Abuela. Mira’s side of the family, along with the Guzmáns, sat to your right. Antonio’s side, along with Julieta, to your left. You had the perfect seat to watch the chaos unfold. You always had been more of an observer.

You watched as Dolores began a train of gossip on her side of the table, curious as to what they were whispering about; watched as Luisa left to retrieve the piano, and Mirabel attempted to rush Mariano to propose.

That’s when the pain returned, flaring up in your head. In an instant, you were sent back.

You had been blessed with the gift of retrocognitive empathy. The ability to not only see into the past but gauge the true sentiments and emotions of the moments. You felt the joy of Antonio’s first moment in the sun, the frustration at Pepa’s wedding, the love in Javier's final moments with their partner.

You extended those feelings to the people who would travel with you. Mirabel laughed. Of course she did. She was basking in the witticism radiating off of the moment you had pulled her to. Valdovinos wept. You couldn’t blame her, her memory was ripe with sorrow.

You stood in the open arch entrance of the kitchen. Tía Julieta sat at the table, a small child you recognized as Mirabel, wrapped in her warm embrace. Mira had a look of complete and utter heartbreak. Tears raced down her cheeks and gut wrenching sobs tore at her chest. The rivers on her face flowed freely, spilling off her cheeks on to the white and gold dress she wore.

Beside you a little Luisa materialized, silently watching the scene unfold in the dining room. “Luisa, where’s mom? I need her.” Isabela said, appearing behind her.

“No! We have to be strong for mom, for Mira.” Luisa instructed, puffing up her chest to make herself big. Isa eyed her, then looked past her to Mira and Julieta. She pouted with a huff, then stalked off. Luisa looked over her shoulder at her little sister sobbing in her mother’s arms. “I have to be strong,” she whispered.

This moment had both no feeling and too many. This moment didn’t know how to feel. It was lost.

As Luisa left, you noticed, below her feet, cracks appeared on the tile. You knelt, extending a hand to touch one.

Your headache returned and in an instant, you were back. Luisa, crying, struggling to pull the piano through to the kitchen; Tía Pepa thundering, and Mirabella wrestling to retrieve a glowing green slab from some of Antonio’s coatimundi friends.

The night had not gone perfectly. The revelation that Mirabel was the focus of one of your Pa’s visions, one that warned of family’s destruction, had understandably distressed multiple members of the family.

While Abuela was concerned with hunting down Mirabel, Augustín was focusing on Luisa, and Camilo was calming down his mama. You directed your attention elsewhere.

It was really easy to consider the feelings of those showing visible signs of distress, (especially on days like this one). Those evading the conflict by holing up in their room, their feelings are more likely to be overlooked.

That’s why you found yourself in Isa's room. She has always been one of your favorite cousins. Top three, for sure.

You were the only one who regularly caught Isa’s "imperfections": you know she likes to play in mud, and that she has on point impersonations of almost all the family members, she wants to try cutting her hair short, and doesn’t love Mariano.

"Issy, impresionante prima grande! How are you feeling!?" (awesome big cousin). You called slowly, moving through the grand floral room. You always felt bad stepping on the flowers; Isa spent so much energy perfecting their arrangements.

Isabela, who sat on her bed, lowered from the ceiling. Even from where you stood, you could already tell she had been crying. She sat silently, hunched over with a sense of dejection. Seeing you, she stretched out her arms, “Come here, mi rayito de sol.” (My little sunshine)

Isa hugs are the best. “Please don’t be sad, Issy. Your sadness is worse than Tía Pepa's.” You snuggled against her chest, listening to her concerns and fears. You already knew how she felt about the high standards the family held her to.

“How are you feeling, rayito de sol?” She asked, running her fingers through your hair. Now it was your turn. You sat in her lap, letting her braid and decorate your hair, as you shared your own fears.

You felt bad for the things you were considering. The way you were feeling. “Issy, would losing our magic really be that bad?” You asked. You hid your face in your hands, feeling heat rise in your cheeks.

At that moment, her face fell. It didn’t read as disappointment, instead you read her reaction as one of understanding and sympathy. Her arms squeezed around you a fraction tighter, and you relaxed into her embrace so fully. "I'm sorry you have to marry Mariano…” you whispered. A smile sneaks out of the corner of your mouth. “And have his five babies."

With that tease Isabela kicked you out of her room, in the playful way older sisters do when they get mildly annoyed (you and Isa have a relationship comparable only to Nani and Lilo’s).

You turned to head to your own room, but found Antonio’s twin coatimundi standing in your path. “Oh, um, hello,” you waved. They had a glint in their eyes that made you… uneasy.

All the animals had only been invited to stay the previous night. Still, you knew the coatimundis could be trouble. They pickpocketed your tío Augustín, stole from Julieta’s treats and created trouble at dinner.

One jumped, perching itself on your arm, pulling at your sleeve. The other scurried behind you and attempted to nudge you forward.

“Tonito,” you called, walking across the planks to his tree house. “Tonito, your gift is amazing, truly, but I think you need to talk to the coatimundis about boundaries.” You continued, approaching your young cousin. You gently took one of the mundis, now perched on your shoulder, off and handed them to your cousin.

“They like you,” Antonio informed. You chuckle, smiling with your mouth closed, reaching up and scratching the chin of the mundi settled on your head. “There’s somebody they want you to meet.”

The coatimundis scurried from your head and Antonio’s arms off and up to the second level of the treehouse. Antonio gestured with his lips for you to follow. You tried to suppress your giggling, as you followed them up the tree, but ended up bursting into loud laughter.

As you reached the top of the stairs, sand, like a downpour of rain, piled on to the top of your head. “Why is there sand in a treehouse?” you squealed. Like a dog, you shook the sand, as much as you could, from your body. One of the coatimundis bounded back over to you, and with their little paws, attempted to help you wipe the sand from your eyes.

As your vision, fuzzy from sand, settled back into focus, you were able to make out the bright teal and vibrant embroideries of Miabel’s skirt.

“I’m sorry, Bruno’s vision suggests you’re gonna break the house.” Still wiping grains from your eyes, you moved to your cousin oblivious to what had taken place moments ago. “The future isn’t set in stone. Well, my Pa’s visions are glass soooo. Doesn’t matter. Glass or stone can be broken.” The coatimundis jumped and roosted on your shoulders. “Make your own future,” you smiled up at her, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Broken house or not, I’ll still love you. Tu mi familia, Mira.”

“Y/n.” The foreign voice startled you. You turned. There stood a man you expected never to see. Bruno, your pa. “You’re so big.”

You stared at the man across from you. You couldn’t help but try to hide behind Mirabel. At that moment, you felt like you were that small five-year-old again; standing at the front of the aisle, all eyes on you. Everything you wanted and feared out in front of you.

You had never moved so fast in your life. After saying a quick awkward goodbye to the two, you rushed past Bruno and out of Antonio’s room. You rushed to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets.

Unbeknownst to you, the doors flickered upstairs.

At that same moment, stress once again flared up in your head. In an instant, you were pushed back again, only this time you remained in your place in the kitchen.

A screaming group of children ran into the kitchen from the patio. Mud coated their little bodies like icing on a cake. Flowers and grass tufts were the toppings on their earthy coating. The peace you had known mere seconds ago had been shattered by their running and childish screams of delight. All the Madrigal kids of the time Dolores, Luisa, Camilo, Mirabel, and even Isa paraded around the room tracking mud across the floor without a care.

“What is going on!?” Abuela’s voice sounded through the room, bringing the children to a stand still. You felt yourself go rigid at her stern tone. You noticed Isa across the room straightening her posture, placing her hands neatly behind her back.

“Abuela! Lores and Isa taught us ta make mud pies,” Camilo explained. Both he and Mira missed the clear look of displeasure on the adults' faces. Seeing her grandson’s wide toothy smile as he held up a mud pie in one hand and held onto Mira’s hand with the other, Abuela's face softened.

“That’s nice Camilo. Why don’t you, and Mira, and Luisa, and Dolores go get cleaned up for lunch?” She gently instructed. The four kids allowed their parents to lead them away, just as Isabela moved to join them Abuela stopped her.

To the best of her ability, Abuela knelt, placing her hands on her young granddaughter’s shoulders. “Isabela, you are the oldest child. It is up to you to set a good example for others and for the community.”

Now standing behind Abuela, you could see the slight widening of Isa’s eyes. She blinked back a frown, instead flashing a half-smile. One you recognized as false. “I understand Abuela, for the family. For Encanto.”

Abuela extended a hand, cupping it around Isa’s cheek. “Isabela Madrigal, an angel. Our perfect angel,” she stated.

The initial energy and excitement you’d absorbed at the beginning of the moment had vanished, leaving the occasion to feel hollow, empty, lost.

As Abuela spoke, cracks formed on the floor, beneath Isabela’s feet. The same as Luisa, they didn’t even notice. You don’t have time to investigate the fractures further, as the headache returns and you're brought back to the present.

The house shook. Hopefully not a reaction to what you’d just been through. Looking at what you held in your hand, you remembered what had led you to the kitchen in the first place.

You hurried back upstairs to Antonio’s room. “Tonito, where’s Mira and my… where'd they go?” You asked.

“They left.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders sunk. Your eyes fell to the plate in your hands, stacked as high as possible with food. The coatimundi came to your aid, hugging and nuzzling at your legs. “I thought he looked hungry,” you mumbled.

You left the plate with Antonio’s animals and went to sulk at the hall railing. Suddenly, vibrant plants of various colors burst forth from the ground, decorating practically every inch of the halls, ceiling, and walls included.

Isa and Mira fell past you onto a pile of flowers that erupted on the floor of level below. Their peels of laughter echo in the open room. It was nice to see them getting along.

Abuela walks in, not sparing a moment to make her displeasure and anger known. Unfavourably, at the same time, a sharp pain pierced your head. You let out a cry of pain, keeling over, and pressing your hands to the side of your head. Moments flooded, flickering in and out of your vision. It was as if your brain couldn’t decide which moment it wanted to occupy, and thus was trying to occupy multiple moments at once.

Camilo lamenting the fact that they’d been asked to be someone else for a friend’s party instead of themselves and being told, “it’s a Madrigal’s responsibility to meet the requests of the community; Crack. Pepa being told not to cry because she’d ruin the celebration, even though she’d just had her heart broken for the first time; Crack. Julieta attempting a new skill, and somebody remarking, “you should stay in the kitchen, you’re actually needed there”; Crack. Dolores over hearing that her gift is a curse, if only it was as helpful as Isabela’s; Crack. You crying in the nursery, in Mira’s arms. “Bruno is dead to us,” Abuela stated coldly. “We don’t talk about Bruno.”; Crack. “I wish I was dead.”; Crack.

The pain, the visions, it was too much. You felt the past fracturing as it tried to catch up. Then total numbness, your body went limp, as your head went silent.

You were too busy falling in on yourself to notice the casa collapsing around you. You were paralyzed by the onslaught of emotions that had all too suddenly been silenced. You couldn’t acknowledge Camilo rushing to move you from the path of falling rubble. You were helpless as he took in his arms and slid with you in his lap down a slide created by Casita.

For once, in the present, you felt like a ghost. Much like the past, you were powerless to change the moment you were now living in. You could feel the burning sensation as you gulped down a sharp lump of air. You felt hollow, lost; and it broke you.

You bit at your lower lip as your eyes welled up with tears. Your face turned red, and you felt wet, hot tears start to stream down your face. Body trembling in response to your onslaught of tears and choked up sob, you fell into the fetal position. You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your face down.

You didn’t care who saw you, your walls had been smashed, ground to a fine powder. You were a child, ten-years-old, vulnerable against the tidal wave that is trauma and grief.

Like the most perfect flower, like the rock of the family, and so many others you cracked under the pain.

[ashdreams2023]

If you are up for it can we get a sequel to the Bruno x reader where she died a little bit after he disappeared. I would really love to see Bruno and Abuela bonding over this shared experience. It would be something so heartbreaking and they only have each other to suffer with.

Bond

Summary: bruno and alma sit together remembering their lost loved ones

Alma sighed as she was looking for her son, he was nowhere to be seen and she needed to talk to him.

"He might be you know" Pepa pointed to the familiar direction and alma felt so ridiculous for not searching there first.

Her heart felt heavy as she approached the area and saw him, hunched down to place a few roses on your place then sat down.

Facing it, like it’s gonna talk to him or that if he stays there long enough you will come back to him.

"Brunito" she whispered.

He heard her voiced and tuned around immediately, feeling a little stupid to expect someone else. He smiled softly at his mama.

"Hi…I was just visiting"

Alma nodded before sitting down beside him, she touched your grave stone softly and tuned to her son.

"I think your papa would’ve been very proud of you for falling with someone as incredible as y/n" Bruno smiled as his mama took his hand and kissed him.

His eyes looked at the ground once again "I miss her mama…everyday" alma hummed.

"When your papa died…I cried for days and held onto you and your sisters like the only life cored I have…I still miss him to this day" bruno rubbed the back of his mama’s hands comfortingly "when I look at you I see him, and I understand wanting your loved one to see how things are now but it’s just how everything works"

Bruno licked his lips then warped his arms around his mama "I understand, I just wish I could’ve said goodbye, that I had been with her on her last breath but I wasn’t" alma rubbed his back, held him like when he was just a baby crying because he’s scared of a bad dream or vision.

"She was a great woman bruno, with a big heart, I believe she’s watching you now from heaven, joy beaming from her face as he sees how happy you are now" bruno couldn’t cry anymore, nor could alma the tears all ran out and there was no place for sorrow and pain.

"She’s my Angel" he said.

"Yes she is" said alma.

They stayed beside you for a little longer than went back home, alma took him to her room and gave him a box.

Bruno’s heart warmed at the inside of the box, his wedding photos, the ones the family took down after both of you were gone.

You looked so bright and beautiful in white and he seemed like the happiest man in Columbia.

In his head you made him the happiest man in Columbia.

He made sure your picture was framed and put back up so every morning he could wake up and greet you along side his papa, knowing that know both of you are in a better place, watching over him and smiling down.

"Tío bruno! Tell us about tía y/n" bruno smiled at the two teenagers and sat down, a proud smile on his face.

"Well this is the story of how your tío won the heart of the prettiest, most incredible woman in Encanto!"

Yeah you were his forever happiness.

[tropes-and-tales]

Heaven on Earth, Part Seven

Characters:  Pero Tovar and F!Reader

WC:  3625

Other Pieces:  This is part of a miniseries.  Pero Tovar masterlist found here.

CW:  A big ol’ blob of backstory.  Heavy angst; fluff; Period-appropriate feelings about virginity.  Talk of sexual assault and physical abuse, 18+ only.

AN:  Historically inaccurate.  Full of typos.

________________

It should have been a revelation, pulling you into his arms.  Holding you, feeling the length of your body pressed against his.  It was more touch than Pero ever had been granted with you, but instead of feeling that lightness in his chest, that warm flush through his body…he just felt hatred.

A burning, seething hatred, hot as the coals in a blacksmith’s forge.  It was all-consuming, almost.  His vision went hazy around the edges as he let his wrath burn through him.

I will kill the man, he thought, even as he held you tight.  I will kill the man and part his head and cock from his body.  I will bring them to her as a tribute, his mutilated body parts, and prove that he’ll never hurt her again, that there is justice in the world for a gentle girl-healer…

His rage wasn’t all-consuming.  Not quite.  There was the more urgent issue of you in his arms:  weeping, trembling.  His heart ached to know the pain you’d suffered, and how the suffering continued through those fucking gossiping villagers.  Pero would have the truth; he would ask Mistress Mathilde for the entire story.  But before then, he had to calm you.

It was as if you had saved a lifetime of tears for now.  They never stopped or slowed, and in fact, your emotions only grew and grew.  The trembling ceded to shaking, so hard that your teeth chattered.  Your hands scrabbled at his cloak as if you were a woman drowning and he was your only salvation.

He shifted his hands to your shoulders, pushed you away gently so that he could look at you closer.  You weren’t there anymore:  you had been replaced by sheer panic.  Pero had seen it in animals before—warhorses, mostly—but he’d seen it in men too.  Your eyes were glassy and darting but seemed to see nothing at all.  You drew great gasping breaths but still seemed breathless.

“Just breathe, hermosa,” he said softly.  Like when his horse was green and unproven in battle.  He stoked your hair gently.  Tried to soothe you.

You were beyond him.  Beyond any paltry help he could offer.  You swayed in his arms, in a near faint, so Pero did what he thought best:  he swept you into his arms and carried you home.  He removed your cloak and boots and tucked you into his bed, and once he was certain you were safe enough, he rode like the wind to find your mother.

-----

When he arrived home with the elder healer, Pero was horrified to find that you had not calmed.  You paced the small interior of his cottage like a caged animal, and it was a lucky thing you hadn’t hurt yourself while he was gone—when he entered his home with your mother at his heels, you walked right into his newly shaped table, probably hard enough to bruise.

You were a good healer.  Your mother, with her decades of experience, was a master of healing.  Mistress Mathilde let out a low moan of sorrow when she saw your state, but she knew exactly what to do:  she stilled your restless pacing carefully.  She pinched your chin between her fingers to force you to focus on her.

Like that, Pero saw some of the haziness in your eyes lift.  You were you again, at least partially.  Your eyes flooded with fresh tears as you reached out to grasp at your mother’s kirtle.

“Mama, I told him,” you whispered, but Pero was close enough to hear.  You sounded so plaintive, like a sad child, that he wanted to pull you to him again.

“Hush,” you mother said.  She gently untangled your hands from her dress, then led you back to the bed.  Made you sit on the edge, and then gestured to Pero to bring her basket of supplies.  

He watched as she removed a small wine skin and pulled the cork.  She pulled another packet of ground herbs from her basket and mixed them into the skin.  Shook it gently.  Handed it to you.  Watched in grim satisfaction until you drank enough, then nodded and helped you lie back.

“She’ll sleep,” the older woman told Pero.  “I can stay with her.  I am sorry to trouble you, Master Tovar—”

He waved her off and settled into a low stool near the fire.  “It is nothing.”  He sighed, scrubbed his face with his hands, then watched you.  Your eyes grew heavy with sleep after a while, and then you gave a deep, heaving sigh.  

Then you were asleep.

“I would hear the whole story, mistress,” he said softly, and the healer-woman bit her lip before nodding.

*****

“If this story was a fairy story told to children around the fire,” Mathilde said, “I would begin by saying something like, ‘in a faraway land, long, long ago.’  But it is no fairy story, Master Tovar.  And it happened here, in this village.  And not that long ago.”

He gestured for her to continue, and she did.

Your father, Mathilde’s husband, had died a few years beforehand.  The healer woman had seen her sons safely delivered to their adult lives—clerics and bakers and merchants—with just you remaining in her fold.

“I wanted to secure her a match,” the woman explained.  “A girl alone in the world is like a lamb among wolves.”

Your father had been close friends with a blacksmith on the other side of the valley; the two had fought in Levant as young men.  The blacksmith had a son only a few years older than you, and it had seemed a good match.

“The boy, Leofric, was polite,” Mistress Mathilde emphasized.  “A quiet boy, I thought.  A good match for my sweet, gentle girl.  He seemed the sort of boy that a girl could grow to love quite easily.”

The bride-price was settled.  The betrothal accepted.  A home promised to you across the valley where you could set up your own healing practice, and Leofric poised to inherit his father’s smith.  A good match.  

Leofric had family in your village, and he spent a summer there so that the two of you could acquaint yourselves.

“Master Tovar, if I’d known he was a beast, I would have never agreed to the match,” the woman said.  Pero could see the tears in her eyes, the way she looked near him but not quite at him.  Ashamed to meet his gaze.  She was a frank woman, usually.  Her guilt ran deep as a ravine.

“My daughter complained of him.  Said he was cruel.  First she told me that he would pinch her, or twist her arm until it ached.  She had bruises, of course, but she always had—from climbing trees or chasing her dog or playing in the village,” she continued.

Mathilde had brushed off your complaints.  Had sat you down one evening to give you a stern talk about womanhood, growing up, leaving childish things behind.

Which only made you hide Leofric’s torments from then on.

An entire summer of suffering in silence.  Mathilde will never forgive herself, not as long as she remained drawing breath.  The pinching bruises, the twisted arm that would ache for days where it met your shoulder joint.  The split lip, the oozing wound where a hank of your hair had been pulled out.  Your mother, busy with her own healing work, missed much of it and misinterpreted the rest.  Misunderstood why you lost flesh from your frame and grew wan and hollow-eyed.

“You see it sometimes,” she explained to Pero.  “When a girl crosses into womanhood.  A sort of melancholy overtakes them.  The freedom of childhood surrendered to the yoke of being a wife and mother.”

Not that you’d be either—at least not with Leofric.  Your wan face hid your steely nature.  Pero had experienced it firsthand when you healed him, when you had pushed him down and forced him to yield to your healing hands in the struggle to save his life.

Near the end of summer, without Mathilde knowing, you broke your betrothal to Leofric.  He was supposed to return home for the winter, to prepare a place for you after your springtime wedding the following year.  Instead, you marched to where he was staying with his aunt, and you informed him that you would not marry him.

Leofric, stunned, had said nothing in that moment.

Then you had marched to the parish church where the betrothal contract had been filed.  You sat and told the priest that the marriage would not happen and to not announce the banns when the time came.  

“She was canny, my daughter,” Mistress Mathilde said.  She reached out and stroked your sleeping face with a gentle smile.  “Everyone knows the parish priest is half in a wine skin by afternoon.”  

You had waited until the priest was half drunk to break the marriage contract—the man too deep in the wine to question why the girl in question was making the demands.

At that, you had thought the matter settled.  You returned home, gathered up your basket and your small knife, and you went into the forest to look for morels.  

You didn’t realize you were followed.  Stalked until you were far enough away from the woodcutters’ and huntsmen’s huts to be without aid if you needed it.

“I would have never found her if not for the dog,” the healer said, her voice shaky with tears.  “Her father’s old hound, a faithful beast with white around his muzzle and a limp.  But that dog bit me, dragged me by the hem of my skirt until I paid it heed.  He led me to my daughter in the wood, injured.  The gold pieces were there—”

“What gold?” Pero interrupted.

“The gold pieces,” she said.  “The three gold pieces that were her bride-price.  That beastly boy threw them at her after he violated her.”

*****

The rest came easily enough:  finding you, healing you.  Keeping the heavy secret—a broken betrothal meant that the wedding wouldn’t happen, but an outcry of rape would go to the magistrate…and could lead to a forced marriage to Leofric as punishment for his crime.  

“She had these fits of passion, just like you saw,” Mathilde told Pero.  “Daily, in the weeks after the violation.  I’ve seen it before, mostly in men who have returned from war.  It’s a wound I cannot heal.  It’s a wound to the spirit, and I cannot bind that up or make a poultice for it.”

“Is there anything that can be done?” he asked.

“Only through time and patience.”  She glanced at you, brushed a piece of errant hair away from your still face.  “It took her so long to make her decision, I knew that she would tell you.  I hoped it wouldn’t happen, one of these fits, but I thought it might.”

“She declined my proposal.”

Mathilde looked at the man.  His face, usually in a stern glower, looked bleak.  Empty.  His shoulders were slumped as he sat on his stool.

“She cares for you,” she told him.  “She trusted you enough to tell you her secret.  Her reasoning why she feels she cannot marry you.  Even her brothers don’t know.  But she thinks it a sin that cannot be absolved, no matter how many times she confesses.”

“Where is this Leofric now?” he asked, and Mathilde didn’t even need to guess why he asked.  She saw the way his eyes drifted to the corner of the cottage to a large trunk, and she could guess what it held.  His armor.  His sword.  His dagger.  His weapons to kill.

“Cruelty is always repaid in kind,” she said.  “The boy was kicked in the head by his horse a year after the broken betrothal.  I imagine he treated his steed the same way he treated my daughter.”

“Pity he didn’t suffer.”

“Oh, he did.”  She had gotten secondhand news about it, from a healer she knew in Leofric’s village.  “He was kicked in the head a year after, but he only died last winter.  He suffered mightily, Master Tovar.”

Your mother sighed and rubbed at the tightness in the back of her neck.  She glanced at the dark man and waited for his judgement.  The entire sordid affair had been her fault, after all.  A clumsy attempt at securing her youngest child in the world.  An attempt at doing what she thought your father would have wanted.  She had failed at all of it, and she had to live with this now—her sweet, gentle girl, convinced that she was unlovable and spoiled in some way that could not be healed.

If Pero Tovar judged her, he kept it to himself.  He only said, “thank you for telling me” before he stood and left the cottage.

-----

Mathilde spent the night curled up beside you.  Measured your deep, even breathing.  Secured the soft furs around you when you seemed cold.  She banked the coals in the hearth, and late at night, she went outside to see if Pero was nearby.  She found him in the crude animals’ croft, curled up in the hay.  No stranger to rough living, she thought.

She woke before dawn and found Pero awake too.  The man was milking his goats, and his face was a fierce glower.  It didn’t abate when he tilted his head in a silent greeting.

“She is still sleeping.  I am going home to tend to the animals,” she told him.  “I will be back as soon as I am done, to bring her home with me.”

A terse nod from the man.  No words.  Mathilde sighed to herself.  She was proud that you had told him about Leofric, but still…

At least the proposal wasn’t public knowledge.  A broken betrothal was one thing, but to add an embarrassing failed proposal?  She may have to send you away to live with your brother forever.

Mathilde returned to her cold cottage.  She did her chores, fed and watered the animals.  Milked the goats.  She replenished her supplies—brought another wine skin, just in case—and she returned to the farm.  

Near the door, though, she heard voices.  Yours and Pero’s.  The two of you talking, and through a small chink near the casing, she could just make out what you were saying to each other.

*****

Upon waking, you found yourself in an unfamiliar place.  Not your own bed, and it took a moment to recognize where you were.  You were in Pero’s cottage, and it was significantly improved from when you had healed him almost a year ago.  

But then, a moment later, you remembered why you were there.  Why you had slept a deep, dreamless sleep, and why the man himself was perched in a stool beside you, leaning forward and studying you with eyes so dark that you recoiled from him a little.

“How are you feeling?” he asked without preamble.

Too complicated to answer.  You were ashamed.  You were wretched.  You felt exposed and scrutinized, like how a scrape on the skin can burn just in the open air.  You felt too, just a little, relief:  your secret was a millstone around your neck, and now someone else could help bear the weight.

When you didn’t answer, Pero stood and walked to the hearth.  You watched him ladle some hot water into a mug from the pot that hung over the coals.  He fussed with it, but then brought it to you.  You sniffed it carefully; it was your mother’s own tisane.  Chamomile, lavender, and rose.  A little honey, to sweeten it.

He only watched you drink it, that same unblinking stare fixed on you as you did.  When you finished, he took the mug and set it aside, then turned back to you.

“It is not your sin, hermosa,” he told you.  His voice was rougher than usual.  Raw.  

You sighed and looked down at your hands on the soft fur coverlet.  So many furs sewed together with neat, simple stitches.  You had thought Pero was preparing a home for the winemaker’s daughter, but it had been you.  He had wasted all that effort for nothing.  It made tears spring to your eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered.  Quiet, but still a rough growl.  When you did, he repeated himself.  That the sin didn’t belong to you, but to…the other.  Him.  The one whose name you never said, never thought.

“I didn’t fight him,” you confessed.  When you blinked, a single tear shook free, and with a gentleness that seemed incongruous with the stern face he presented, Pero reached over and brushed it away.

“He was a blacksmith’s boy.  He was likely bigger than you.  Stronger.”

“I had my knife, Pero.  I should have fought.”

“He would have killed you, hermosa.”

You shook your head.  Shook another tear free that you angrily brushed away yourself.  You could not bear to have Pero touch you so gently so often—it would weaken your resolve…

“Heaven is full of saints,” you argued.  “Virgins who died before letting their attackers violate them.  I could have—”

“Stop.”  He reached out with that same hand and laid it, featherlight, over your mouth to still your words.  “Stop.  I’d rather you here, living with me than cold in some tomb as the saintly dead.”

It was blasphemy, but you felt a ghost of a smile twitch at your lips.  You tried to move away from his silencing finger, but he only glared at you.

“It is not your sin,” he repeated, and he sounded so angry, so stern, so unwilling to accept otherwise that you finally nodded at him.

And at that, you finally started to believe him.  Fresh tears rose to your eyes, but you did smile.  A little.  You felt your lips trembling, and Pero removed his hand.  His glare never abated, but the corners of his mouth curved a little into his version of a smile.

“You have sinned though,” he added, and now his tone was light.  Playful?  Pero Tovar was using a playful tone, and you wondered if he had given you the wrong tisane by accident.  If he had given you the one that made a person silly and insensate.  The one your mother gave before resetting a bone or stitching up a large wound.

“Many sins,” he continued, and he ticked them off his fingers as he counted them.  “You mocked me when I was ill and feverish.  You said I deserved to be mocked, all for trying to preserve my modesty around a young maiden.  I was a stranger here, and to be so sorely mistreated by a healer-girl—”

“I did heal you though.”

His faint smile fell.  He turned serious again.  “You did.  I did not realize…”  He trailed off, hesitated.  Reached out and took one of your hands in his own, clasped it between his two warm palms.  “I did not realize why it upset you, when I pressed those gold pieces onto you for payment.  I did not realize many things, hermosa.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I have hurt you, in my own way.  I have misunderstood things, and I have spoken roughly to you.  I am a rough man, and I’ve sins innumerable against my soul.  I need…”  He shook his head, gazed at you.  Seemed to struggle with finding the right words.  “I need you to know that I would never hurt you….like that.  I would never take what wasn’t freely given.  I would never…force you, even if we were married.”

“Pero, I—”

“I only want you here, with me.  Just like the moments we’ve already had.  Walking in the fields or sitting in the village square.  Or in the orchard together.  I don’t deserve even that, but I do dare to ask for it, even so.”

It was so many words for the man, who usually answered in grunts or growls.  Now all of his words came out, as if he had saved them like coins and was spilling them in front of you to glimmer in the firelight.

Just to have you near me would be heaven, he said.

You already call me ‘Pero,’ so perhaps you feel the same?

You laid your hand on my head in the orchard, and that was enough to last a lifetime.

I would spend the rest of my wretched life trying to make you happy.

You must marry me.

I do not think the winemaker’s daughter could abide my rough nature anyway.

I think you are the only woman strong enough to marry me.

You must marry me, hermosa.

Finally, you agreed.  The words came out without much thought.  The words came out on their own, as if your heart knew what it wanted and didn’t care for what your mind or conscience may think.  Your mind, in fact, seemed to agree:  both you and Pero had been injured in ways that couldn’t be healed by tinctures or herbs, but maybe you could heal each other.

“I will, Pero.”  You whispered it, and it made him lean forward to hear your words.  “I will marry you.”

The sigh he heaved was world-weary.  A great release of pent-up emotion, but then a smile that no one would ever mistake for a grimace.  

Then the man laid his head in your lap like a rangy mutt, and like in the orchard, you laid your hands on him.  Drew your fingers through his tangled curls until he sighed again, this time in contentment.  

That was how the two of you stayed for long, long moments, until your mother returned to hear the good news.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt​   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @isvvc-pvscvl​   @mrschiltoncat​   @danniburgh   @stillshelbs​   @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics    @tobealostwanderer​   @nuvoleincielo​  @knivesareout​  @frankie-catfish-morales​    @prostitute-robot-from-the-future  @mishasminion360​   @elegantduckturtle​   @sarahjkl82-blog​   @qwtyy   @crazyworldofsiani​   @luminescentlily​   @hriive   @tenderwhat​   @giselatropicana​   @luxmundee​   @lolwhateverlol  @etenax​  @amaras83​   @literallydontlook​   @mrsbentallmadge​  @yoditostan 

[rose-colored-amy]

So, this is a continuation to my extremely short one-shot Last Moments, Last Regrets, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Regardless, I'll leave the link of that one in here:

Also, thanks to @coeurhh for suggesting I write a second part. You're a sweetheart 🥰

She made a lovely fanart/gif, which I'm also sharing, of course:

Prompt: AU. Sakura's death goes unnoticed to everyone but the squad she protected with her life and Tsunade. Team Kakashi doesn't find out until the very end, when Naruto and Sasuke have already had their fight, and there's nothing to do about it but mourn the absence.

Warning: Mild Sasusaku and lots of angst. Team 7 sort-of-fluff (?)

—Blue Bird, Let Go—

"Hey, bastard... I know they really let us down, the village, I mean."

"Aa... "

"But I really think it's not all that bad. When we were I team, I knew you understood. It felt like having a brother, believe it."

They were watching their lives go by, shadows of unknown faces passing by them, not noticing their pain, or not caring whatsoever. Their backs were touching, but it was all cold and bleak; a bad memory. A clan slaughtered, a demon sealed. Two lonely boys wallowing in their own sadness.

"Well, even if I don't make it, I'm glad it was you, bastard—"

"Shut up, idiot." His voice sounded strained, even for his standards, but Sasuke was so tired he couldn't even bring himself to care.

"We're really dying, ah? Wanna say something? I do have things to say, 'cause there's no way I'm dying—"

"In silence?" Sasuke interrupted, but Naruto payed him no mind.

"Without telling you how much of an asshole you've been! I couldn't even keep my promise to Sakura-chan! She's gonna be so damn mad when she finds out, I'm sure she'll drag me back to life just to cave my face in—" He was rambling at that point, but it was just so comforting and normal to Sasuke that he didn't even acknowledge it anymore.

"Hn. Sakura... She..."

"She still loves you, asshole. I don't have any idea how it can be possible but—"

"I'm sorry..." It sounded rushed, but Naruto heard it perfectly, and in the darkness of their shared consciousness, Sasuke heard a resigned sigh.

"Well, it's not that bad. I cannot imagine dying beside anyone but you, bastard."

"Idiot..." He made a pause. "Me neither."

"You're both a pair of idiots!"

Suddenly, the unreadable mass of unrecognizable faces around them cleared, and one figure stood in front of them, pink eyebrows frowned in annoyance. Though this version of Sakura looked familiar, it was one none of the boys had seen in a long time. Genin, long-haired, Sakura was glaring at them, arms crossed.

"Sakura-chan! What are you doing in here?!"

Her eyes softened. "What, so I'm supposed to let you two die, after everything? No way in hell!"

"Sakura..."

"You!" She pointed at Sasuke, who flinched slightly at her rudeness. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I don't care. Lighten up and start being your moody self. We love you just like that! Don't act so repented and shit! If you're sorry stop looking like a lost puppy and start doing something about it, you asshole!" Her voice was raising with madness and it was slightly off putting to see what used to be a stuttering lovestruck preteen talking to him like that.

Naruto snorted at that, obviously delighted for not being at the receiving end of her wrath for once. It was short-lived, however.

"And you!" She pointed at the blonde; then crossed her arms. He jumped back in fright. "What is this? How dare you even consider dying after you promised to be the best goddamned Hokage in history?! Here I am, rooting for you, while you lay around like a lazy pig with your edgy bro there. You should be ashamed of yourself!" She scoffed.

Naruto's mouth was so wide open he could have caught a fly. "Lazy pig? Are you kidding?!"

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, half amused, half annoyed. "Edgy?"

Suddenly, the edges of their vision began to blurr, like a genjutsu being unravelled. "Ah, someone came to help you at last." Sakura seemed relieved. Strangely so.

"Hey, Sakura-chan! You know what? You're right. I'll be the best damn Hokage ever, believe it! Just you watch!" He threw a punch to the air.

Seemingly placated and pleased with his answer, she nodded. "I know so." Then, she turned to her other teammate, who was concentrating solely on her face, mismatched eyes softened as they'll ever be. "And you'll make sure he doesn't mess up, right?"

They shared a long silence. There was something strange about Sakura aside her appearance. He could tell. "Hn. I will..."

"Hey! I don't need him watching over—"

"Sure you don't." He countered sarcastically.

"Also..." They turned to her again. "I'm sorry."

"Wha—" Naruto stuttered. "What the hell would you be sorry for, Sakura-chan?! If anything, it's the bastard here who should be apologizing to you!"

"Sakura..." Sasuke seemed to be searching for the right words, but she couldn't let them go without them listening to her. To what she needed them to know. There wasn't much time left after all.

"I'm sorry, because I wasn't what you needed..." She closed her eyes, her pretty minty orbs. Her appearance suddenly shifted, before then now standing her true self, still dressed in the standard shinobi uniform of the alliance. Her forehead protector lost to whoever knows where. "And thank you. You both made me stronger. You made me appreciate what I had. And I'll always, always love you. Our moments together like team seven... I'll treasure them for all eternity."

"Sakura-chan..."

"I know Konoha wasn't the best to you both, but don't forget the good... The wholesome moments. It's all that matters in the end... Our bonds, the bonds you managed to forge with sweat and blood... The world we live in, the world that gave me the chance to meet you. To me, that's to be cherished. Forever."

The white light started overwhelming the rest. Even Sakura's features started dissapearing.

"Live. Just live." For that, she specifically stared at Sasuke, a soft smile playing on her lips. "And thank you."

Sasuke started racing towards her, hand stretched, a forebonding understanding shaking his bones. "Sakura!"

And then, they both lost consciousness.

When they woke up, aside from feeling like shit, the first thing that crossed their minds what the finality of Sakura's words. Tsunade was beside them, patching them up, with Kakashi beside her, silently watching over them.

"About time, brats! What were you think—"

"Baa-san." Naruto interrupted her, his voice the most serious she had heard him until then.

"Where's Sakura?" Sasuke finished for him, his eyes icy and detached, trying to keep his worry at bay.

But she didn't need to answer. Her chakra flow hesitated, spiking with sorrow. Her eyes glistening with unbearable loss. Kakashi, at her side, stared, eyes widened in comprehension.

She was gone by a long shot.

And they were just finding out.

...

Everybody had different ways of dealing with loss. Naruto helped rebuild the village along with everyone else, but he skipped his usual meals, his ramen left forgotten in his kitchen counter. His movements when sparring were sloppy at best, not just because of the new prosthetic limb, but also because his mind was clearly somewhere else. Usually, Shikamaru would drag him out his makeship house, like he had done when Jiraija was gone for good. Sometimes, he would bring Ino with him, who was suspiciously skinny and messier than normal. No makeup covering the dark circles under her eyes.

Kakashi spent more than usual at the memorial stone every day, tracing the newly marked name of the girl who once remained him of Rin but that had come to claim a place for herself in his heart. Also, he took more missions than it was allowed in a month, going so far as to pick up his ANBU mask again, which caused an altercation with Tsunade, who hadn't been sober in a long time and had been hoping to hand the Hokage seat to him.

Sai avoided the color pink for a long time.

Sasuke... Well, he dealed with loss the same as everyone else... Longing for the missing person to be there, itching to have the opportunity to say what he couldn't at the time. Wanting to be alone whenever they would reach for him... And he built a tomb for her in hopes to find some closure. Not that official, because there wasn't a body to bury, and it had no name, but it was enough for him. He would bring with him camellias every day, buying them at the Yamanaka's, where Ino would always glance at him in silent understanding.

One morning, on his way to her tomb, he spotted a young shinobi leaving a white lilly for her. When he came by, the child spoke without a care, like they were acquaintances. "This is Sakura-san's, right?"

"Hn." It wasn't really an answer, but the child seemed to understand anyway.

"You know? Mama and big sister are also buried in these grounds... I always talk to them and tell them about my day and stuff I want them to know!" He turned to the Uchiha, a smirk on his cherubic face. "I'm sure she would appreciate it as well." And just like that, he left without another word.

Sasuke sat on the ground, just in front of the stone, mismatched eyes half lidded. Sensing no one in the vicinity, he exaled a shaky breath, and his dam opened up, the words longing to be said broke the silence he had been wrapping around himself since he knew of her death:

"I miss you... I've been missing you since I first left."

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Gracefield Sun zine! I wanted to take a little walk through that dark time after Norman’s death but before the escape started.

…

…

…

…

Despite the dark shadows and poorly lit underbrush, the expansive forest hemming the orphanage was inviting. Emma rocked back and forth on her feet, staring into the cool shadows out of the corner of her eyes. She’d wandered the shaded paths more times than she could count, memorized the unruly tree roots and low hanging branches. Ray could immediately tell you the product of any two numbers, Norman knew every path to victory in chess, and for Emma, the forest was her domain. She could navigate it with her eyes closed, if she had to.

“Emma.”

At the sound of her name, Emma tore her eyes from the trees and returned her attention to her two best friends. Norman chuckled softly, his eyes crinkled just so, while Ray gave her a moody glare.

“Could you pay attention for two seconds?” Ray grumbled, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Sorry.” Sheepish, she flushed a bright red and rubbed the back of her neck. “What’re the rules again?”

“From there?” Ray’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“It’s fine.” Finally, Norman stopped laughing. After wiping the tears from his eyes, he squeezed Emma’s shoulder. “You’ve always been better at doing than listening, right?”

Emma burned a brighter red. It wasn’t that he was wrong, per se, but did he have to put it that way? “Y-yeah,” she admitted reluctantly, scuffing her shoe against the dirt.

“So, the simple version,” Norman decided, letting go. Gesturing at the woods, he explained, “Ray and I will hide, you’ll catch us. It’ll be a game to keep you away from the hidden kids.”

“Hidden.” Emma blinked and cocked her head. Now that she thought about it, the field was oddly empty. Not even the littles ones were running across the sloping lawn. “So they’re already in the woods?”

“Yep. We need to practice distracting our pursuers.” Norman straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders. He glanced at the morning sun. “We’ll do it for an hour and then switch positions.”

“Remember to use that brain of yours,” Ray added scathingly, and she wasn’t sure if he meant to help or insult with that comment. Either way, it was rude, and she stuck her tongue at him.

“Guys,” Norman sighed, trying to placate them. He stepped in between them, “Come on, we need to start. We don’t have much time as it is.” With a gentle push, he directed Ray to the forest. “You’ll need the head start.”

“Like you don’t?” Ray scoffed, but he started to run into the woods nonetheless.

He shook his head, watching him go. As Ray disappeared into the woods, the white of shirt fading into the dark undergrowth, Norman turned to Emma. “Alright, you got this?”

“I don’t like being it,” Emma griped, frowning. She didn’t like chasing, being the demon, the scary monster. Crossing an arm across her chest, she clutched her forearm, her fingers digging into her skin. “But I’ll do it.” She turned away from the woods. “To a hundred, right?”

“Right.” Norman stepped beside her and gently removed her hand from her arm. Uncurling her fingers, he looked at her. “You got this, okay?”

His hand was warm on her skin. She studied it for a moment before looking up at his sorrow-tinged smile. Something didn’t feel right. “Norman?”

“Just…just remember that, okay?” Without waiting for her to reply, Norman let go and started to jog into the woods. “No peeking, okay?”

Her hand still felt warm. “Norman!”

He didn’t reply, giving a simple wave before disappearing. Fine. She’d just have to ask him after she caught him. Turning away, Emma glared at the orphanage and counted to a hundred. Somewhere in there, she was certain Mama was making her plans. Well, whatever they were, they couldn’t stand up to Ray’s and Norman’s smarts.

“100,” she uttered and like a lion on the hunt, she sprang forward. Running down the hill, she burst into the forest. It didn’t take long for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, for her ears to pick out every cracking twig and rustling leaf. Her feet automatically stepped over the gnarly tree roots, making sure she didn’t trip as she kept her eyes peeled for her family.

A fake set of footprints led to the right. Several more were hastily wiped away to her left. Another trick? Probably not—she’d seen Norman do set this trap before, playing with expectations until you didn’t know what was true or not. The breeze picked up, blowing through the trees, and Emma hastily looked up just in case her younger siblings were hiding up in the higher branches. Nothing. A flash of white crossed her vision and Emma looked down just in time to catch Norman sprinting away.

“Norman?” Emma stood stock still for a moment, bemused. It wasn’t like him at all to be so forward. Maybe he was trying something new. Well then, she was willing to test it out. Pushing powerfully off the ground, Emma chased after him. Down the forest path she ran, nimbly leaping over fallen logs and jutting rocks. Norman didn’t look back once, just straight on rushing through the forest.

Neither Norman nor Ray had her stamina and Emma started to close the gap. Just ahead, she could see a break in the trees, sunlight filtering through. They’d run in a circle, almost, and she pushed forward. “I’m going to catch you!” she shouted, forcing herself to pick up the pace.

Racing past the boundary between forest and field, Emma eagerly looked left and right for her prey. What she found instead was an empty field. “Norman?” How did she miss him? She looked back, but there was no one there. “Norman!”

A cup landed at her feet, a long string attached to the bottom. Immediately, she recognized it. The ‘phone’ she used to call Norman when he’d been sick. She looked up, but the string winded far into the distance, and she couldn’t see who was on the other side. “This isn’t funny!”

There still wasn’t a response. Not even a giggle from her younger siblings. Gingerly, Emma picked up the cup, not understanding this strange new plan. Holding it to her ear, she waited for a message.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Norman apologized.

The string brushed against her arm and she looked down to find it was cut.

-x-

Emma woke up with a start. Her hand was above her, stretching for something just out of reach. Drenched in sweat, she stared up at the dark ceiling. A dream. It was just a dream. The bed beneath her was hard, the room dark, and it was just a dream. Around her, her sisters slept soundly, their breathing soft and steady. Someone snored, like a loud bee buzzing.

This was safe. No, even half-asleep, Emma knew that was wrong. It wasn’t safe, just manageable for the moment. Blinking her eyes awake, she slowly got up and glanced out the window. There was only the slightest sliver of moonlight spilling into the room, just enough light to make out people and nothing more.

A dream. Emma laid back down. It was a dream. Despite reassuring herself, her heart continued to race. Clicking her teeth, she softly sprang out of bed. There was an easy fix to all this—she just had to go to the boys’ room. A quick peek and she’d see that it was alright, everything was fine. There was nothing to worry about.

Quietly, she stalked across the hallway, keeping to the wall to prevent creaking. She’d done this often enough as a child, sneaking into the Ray’s and Norman’s beds when she didn’t want to sleep alone. This time was no different, they were just a little bigger. As she slipped into the boys’ room, it was easy enough to spot Ray. His messy bed hair stuck up at all angles, defying gravity almost. Emma smiled fondly at his instantly recognizably profile.

And Norman—

Emma stared at the empty bed. The mattress was gone, leaving behind only the box spring.

“No,” she uttered, sliding down the wall as she remembered.. “No.”

Norman was gone. Norman was dead.

Mama had won.

-x-

Seated under the big oak tree, Emma shivered as the breeze played with her hair. It was chilly this morning. She should pull her jacket on tighter. She should move back inside. She should do something. Anything.

It all felt like too much effort. Even without Mama watching her like a hawk, her body was heavy. The world was a dark cloud and whether she moved or stayed still, nothing would change the fact that Norman was dead. Norman was gone and, in a month, so would Ray. Emma thought she’d known sadness before this, but it didn’t hold a candle to the bottomless despair she felt now. Grief, she found, was an endless well, constantly over spilling.

“You’ll get sick like that!” Catching sight of her, Gilda ran over and admonished her.

Emma looked up at her, then back at the grey-greens of the lawn.

“Here, I’ll fix your buttons,” Gilda offered kindly, kneeling in front of her. She leaned forward to adjust Emma’s collar. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she continued, “We’ve almost got the supplies ready. Don’s just gathering some more food while he’s on kitchen duty.”

Emma stayed still. “It’s cold.”

“You should go inside,” Gilda added aloud. She dusted Emma’s shoulders once, twice, before gripping them tight. Quietly, she murmured, “We’ll be ready. Don’t worry. So just…take care of yourself, okay?” Gilda was staring at her, watching her, her teeth worrying her lips. Her hands trembled as they held Emma. “Please.”

It wasn’t good to leave her sister like this, scared and uncertain. There were words she should say, words she could say: Good job, I know you can do this, or even just Thank you. What had she said, before everything had fallen beneath her feet? How had she talked to Gilda without the layer of subterfuge and farce? At the very least, she wanted to reassure her, to give her some small piece of comfort as the clock steadily counted down to Ray’s birthday.

You got this.

Unbidden, tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Norman was good at that, at comfort, at keeping the pieces together. Even now, she remembered his hand in hers as they ran from Connie’s death, his warmth seeping through her clothes and grounding her. If there was one good thing about Mama, it was that it gave Emma an excuse to slip into grief. To let it wrap around her like a thick blanket.

An understanding look crossed Gilda’s face and she stood up. Holding out a hand, she smiled gently. “Here, let’s go in.”

“That’s…” Emma tried, but the words wouldn’t form. She leaned back into the tree, her back hitting the gnarled trunk. “You…”

Gilda offered her hand still. A few weeks ago, the position would have been reversed, Emma reaching out to drag Ray to his feet. This is the view he saw, she thought, following Gilda’s hand up to her face. This was Ray’s seat and Ray’s tree and the lump in her throat burned hotter.

It wasn’t just Norman she was missing.

-x-

Emma woke up with a start. Nightmares, again. Or should she call them sweet dreams—it the was the only way she saw Norman now. In the span of weeks, his presence had been completely scrubbed from the orphanage, as though Mama couldn’t bear to feel his lingering presence either.

Pressing her hands to her face, Emma moaned quietly. It hurt. It hurt. In the darkness of the night, with only the stars as her witness, she could admit the truth of her charade: everything was painful. Living. Breathing. Figuring out a plan.

You got this, Norman had told her. Be strong and keep moving forward.

And she would, she had to, her family was at stake. They’d all live, even if she had to fight off the monsters herself. As much as she wanted to curl up and give into grief, there wasn’t time for that.

Not by day, at least.

Now, in the middle of the night, she wearily swung her legs off her bed. Despite how painful it was to see Norman’s empty bed, the only way she could get any sleep was by checking up on Ray and the others. To watch the steady rise and fall of their chests, to hear the rustling of sheets as they turned in their sleep. To see Ray’s bed hair defy gravity, a rare source of levity in the otherwise serious boy.

She wondered if he smiled anymore. They had been rare enough even with Norman around; without him, she had a sinking feeling it was impossible. Not that it was any different for her. It took every effort to tug her lips into a smile, to look at Don and Gilda and let them know they were great.

You were right, Emma wanted to tell Ray. We can’t save everyone.

Don and Gilda are working really hard. Phil’s being brave

Do you miss Norman?

She stared at Ray’s sleeping face, her tongue heavy with the words she couldn’t say. Slipping back into the hall, she sat down next to the door and leaned against the wall. She didn’t have to ask that last question to know the answer to it. Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing. What was she looking for, anyways, coming out in the middle of the night?

A soft clatter next to her and she snapped open her eyes, tensing as she scanned her surroundings for Mama or the sister. Nothing. No one. She glanced to her right and spotted a small paper cup, wire attached to the back.

A paper-cup-phone. Emma stared at the white cup, her heart in her throat. Norman? She thought immediately, but that was impossible, he was dead. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the cup, her fingers sliding against the rim. Unlike the dream, the string stayed attached.

A paper-cup phone. Hesitantly, she placed it against her ear.

“Emma.” Ray’s voice came over, calm and clear.

Emma tried not to cry at the sound of his familiar voice. It had been too long. Quickly she pressed the cup to her mouth, muffling her voice. “Ray.”

“Good.” He sighed on the other end and she marveled at the noise, at the sound of it all. At how his voice sounded just as worn and broken as hers. “You’re safe?”

It was a stupid question. “Yeah.” Before she could stop herself, she said, “I miss Norman.”

There was silence on the other end for a long minute, so long she thought he’d fallen asleep. A quiet voice, quieter than she thought possible. “Me too.”

Part of her wanted to poke her head through the door and catch the expression on Ray’s face. She was certain it matched the one she saw in the mirror. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she leaned back against the wall. “Sometimes, I forget he’s dead,” she confessed.

“I wish I could forget,” Ray replied blithely.

There was something soothing about that familiar scorn. Emma leaned back. “She’s still watching us.”

“Yeah. She won’t stop till I’m gone.”

Fear shot up her back. His birthday was soon, too soon. There was a creak down the hall and Emma sat straight, holding her breath. After counting to thirty, it was apparently that Mama had just rolled over. Still, she had to go. “You’re not joining him, she growled. “I’ll protect you. “

She didn’t want to know how badly it’d hurt if she failed again.

[themonkeycabal]

WandaVision Ep 8 Spoilers

(THERE IS A MID-CREDITS SCENE, BTW)

Previously on WandaVision: It was Agatha all along.

This show has really come along well. I was worried after the first couple episodes, which were extremely slow, but it's tightened up and been entertaining as heck, in addition to being kind of a surprising meditation on grief and dealing or not dealing. You go along with wacky sitcom hijinks and then get whacked with the reminder so many things that have happened here are driven by terrible loss.

Anyway …. Acting Director Dick is Up To Something regarding Vision, and I fear we're all going to have to endure lots of his jackassery this episode. He's the not very fun part of this show, tbh. But we're getting down to it, so hopefully he gets his comeuppance sooner rather than later. And then on to deal with Agatha. Who is fabulously rotten. I love her, I have to say.

I guess this all leads into Doctor Strange 2, which I didn't know until Feige said it at the TCAs this week. So, that's something to look out for, too. Maybe everybody already knew that, but that was new to me, I think.

In happy news, nobody is power washing the sidewalks this morning. Hooray.

Creepy woods, a figure holding a flaming torch, Salem, Mass. 1693. Ah, Agatha's origin story. Burning at the stake. Or, maybe not. So far it's just being tied to one in the middle of a dark, creepy night.

"Agatha Harkness, are you a witch?" "Yes. I am a witch." "Yet, you have betrayed your coven." *gasp* Agatha!

She's been captured by her coven, because she stole knowledge, practiced dark magic, and other sundry evilities. But she says she's innocent, innocent, do you hear her! Oh, I guess not, "I did not break your rules, they simply bent to my power."

The lead witch is her mother, apparently. Since Agatha seems unrepentant, all the witches zap her with witchy magic or something. She screams a lot. But then her dark powers start drawing from the witches, sucking them dry. This is all very dramatic. Mom casts the final bolt, but Agatha is too powerful and she breaks free. All the other witches, except mom, have been grotesquely mummified.

Agatha swears she can be good, mom doubts. Mom zaps her again. Oh, whoops, Agatha drains mom next. She takes the broach from mom's desiccated corpse then zooms off into the sky in a burst of swirly purple magicy mist. The coven really didn't think that plan through all the way.

Present day, we're right where we left off, in Agatha's basement cavern of dark witches and nosy neighbors. Agatha is talking to her rabbit, Mr. Scratchy, and smirking at Wanda. "I know. She does look shocked to meet the real us, doesn't she?"

Wanda's eyes go glowy and Agatha laughs. "Oh, that's adorable. My thoughts are not available to you, toots."

Wanda wants to know where her children are, and Agatha mocks her about her reappearing/disappearing accent. Wanda tries to whammy her. "Huh, your magic's no good here." But Agatha's is. Agatha's no dummy, and now she's got Wanda magically trussed up in the center of the room.

"Didn't you notice? Basic protection spell? One on each wall? No? Nothing?" Hmm. Agatha, tbh, Wanda has like no idea what she's doing. So … "How do you not know the fundamentals?"

Wanda asks "Who are you?" and Agatha asks the same "Who are *you*? All those costumes and hairstyles. I was so patient, waiting for you to reveal your true self. I got close with fake Pietro — Fietro, if you will". Lol. I love her. She goes on about the magicy stuff she did to make Fietro "But you're so crippled by your own self doubt that you believed it. Oh Wanda."

"When I sensed this place, the afterglow of so many spells cast all at once, I couldn't make heads or tails of it." She shows off a mind control spell with some sort of big gross bug. Great. And has it fly at Wanda's face. Super awesome, Agatha. Oh, I see, she's going through the spells she thinks Wanda has cast, all the details, all the control of a whole town and all its storylines. Agatha's impressed and envious, "What's your secret, sister?"

Wanda says she didn't do anything and Agatha doesn't like that answer and tosses Wanda around. Now, see, Agatha, much as your coven underestimated you, I think your runic protection is only going to go so far before Wanda decides it doesn't.

"I tried to be gentle, to nudge you awake from this ridiculous fantasy. But, you'd rather fall apart than face your truth." Well, I mean. She's really been through a lot the last few weeks, Agatha. Like A LOT. Oh, and we're going to relive it. She's casting some sort of memory spell on Wanda, taking them back to the vast emptiness, endless nothing Wanda described to Fietro a couple weeks ago. You're not being very nice, Agatha.

"It's time to look at some real reruns." Wanda doesn't want to play along, but Agatha reminds her that she's got her children.

So, through the magic memory door they step, and into a tiny Sokovian apartment, with Wanda's parents. Her father apparently smuggled DVDs of "I Love Lucy" and "Bewitched". Didn't the people of Sokovia suffer enough? Well, he's got "The Addams Family", too. That's okay, I guess.

Little Pietro runs in reminding Mama and Papa that the only rule of TV night is you have to speak English. They call for Wanda and Agatha nudges her to step into the role of little Wanda. Papa says Wanda can pick what they're going to watch, but outside, there's gunfire. Except, I guess it's no big deal, Mama turns away from the window and the street battle below their apartment, while little Wanda says she wants to watch "The Dick Van Dyke Show", season 2, episode 21. Poor kid. Pietro agrees and moans, "Always sitcom, sitcom, sitcom!"

I'm waiting for the Stark Bomb to fall.

Little Wanda is far too enamored of "The Dick Van Dyke Show". Oh! There's the bomb. Pietro grabs her and they hide under the bed and they stare at the Stark Bomb. She and Pietro discuss what to do, while in the background, behind the bomb, the tv continues to play.

Little Wanda reaches out with her magic hand and then big Wanda is yanked out of the memory by Agatha, who demands to know if she stopped the bomb going off. "You used a probability hex?" Wanda says she didn't do anything, the bomb just never went off.

"So, what I see here is a baby witch, obsessed with sitcoms, and years of therapy ahead of her." lol, but harsh. "Where'd you get the big guns, Wanda?" A good question, Agatha. We never did get that answer before, really, did we? Just a sort of vague suggestion of "hydra did stuff to her and pietro maybe?".

"I don't want to go back there." "I know you don't. But it's good medicine, angel. The only way forward, is back."

Through another magic door we go.

Ha, I just paused and saw the title of the ep is "Previously On".

And into the Hydra lab. "Don't be scared, you already lived it once."

Oh, it's Loki's scepter. And the … whichever stone that is. I can't remember, totally lost track of them. Mind stone?

Wanda is in the containment unit with the scepter. The Hydra scientist wants her to do something with the scepter, and jr scientist says that no subject has survived this and lead scientist is like shut up and 'go ahead Wanda, it'll be totally fine'. 

Wanda approaches the scepter and it starts to shake and the stone breaks free and flies at her, but then pauses and they stare at each other. She reaches out for it. Then the blue outer bit of the stone explodes off and underneath is the the yellow stone. Ok, yeah it is the Mind stone.

Lots of dramatic power stuff with Wanda and the stone. She sees a flying silhouetted figure in the light of the stone and then passes out. She survives! I mean, obviously. The Hydra scientists have her sent to isolation where they torture her by making her watch "The Brady Bunch". Well, no, I guess she likes it. Keep this under your hat, but if you ever want to break me, making me watch "The Brady Bunch" could probably do it.

The Hydra scientists meanwhile are trying to figure out what happened, watching the recordings over and over — they don't see the whole stone flying towards Wanda and the subsequent mind meld. She's just standing there, and then falls down.

Agatha sums this up for us "So, little Orphan Wanda got up close and personal with an Infinity Stone that amplified what otherwise would have died on vine. The broken pieces of you are adding up, buttercup. I have a theory, but I need more."

Door number three reveals her digs at the Avengers compound. She is, of course, watching TV. "Malcolm in the Middle." Well, it's better than "The Brady Bunch." The only thing I hate more than "The Brady Bunch" is "The Partridge Family."

"Where are we now?" "The Avengers compound. It was the first home Vision and I ever shared. Pietro was dead, and I was in a new country. I was all alone."

Vision enters through the wall, back when he didn't remember doors existed, and Wanda invites him to sit next to her and watch TV. "It's funny because of the grievous injury the man just suffered?" Vision doesn't get sitcoms either.

Vision sweetly tells her that if she wants to talk about what she's feeling, he'd like to know. "Should you wish to tell me. Should that be of some comfort to you." "What makes you think talking about it would bring me comfort?" "Well, I read a thing—" that's the Tony Stark part of Vision. "The only thing that would bring me comfort is seeing him again." Poor Wanda.

Vision has a little "I don't know how to respond to that" face journey that is subtle but made me laugh.

She apologizes to him. "It's just like this wave washing over me again and again." She says the wave will drown her, but Vision says it won't. 

"It can't all be sorrow, can it?" IS2G if you two make me tear up this morning, I will … not do anything but be kind of annoyed. I have had the worst allergies the last couple of days, don't make me more snotty!

"I've always been alone, so I don't feel the lack. It's all I've ever known. I've never experienced loss, because I've never had a loved one to lose. What is grief, if not love persevering?" Damn you, Vision. At least I have a new box of tissues.

He sees something funny on the telly and laughs then apologizes. She laughs with him, though. "No, it was funny." They smile at each other, cutely awkward.

Even Agatha wipes at the corner of one eye. Though it could be annoyance. Hard to tell.

"So to recap: parents dead, brother dead, Vision dead." You're still a very mean person, Agatha. "What happened when he wasn't there to pull you back from the darkness, Wanda?"

Wanda doesn't want to play this game anymore. Agatha insists. "Tell me how you did it? Vision was gone, but you wanted him back."

Wanda sort of wakes up, "I wanted him back." Door number four takes us to SWORD's ridiculous and massive lobby. Really, what is with the stupidly enormous monitors hovering over the whole absurd place? So stupid. Nobody wants to watch the news that badly or bigly.

Wanda is walking through the lobby — SWORD's security sucks — but contrary to Acting Director Dick's version of the story, Wanda is politely asking the security guy where Vision is. And not throwing red woo-woos or anything. "Please, please. When I came back, he was gone. His body. And I know he's here. He deserves a funeral, at least. I deserve it."

Speaking of AD Dick. He seems to be watching this on the security feed, he calls the security desk and talks to the guard. Wanda spots the camera. But, security guy waves her through, gives her directions to wherever.

Security guy gets up to buzz Wanda in, but she says she's got it, and she opens the door herself. The footage AD Dick used to make her look like a terrorist. I mean, we knew he was a dick, so this is no surprise, but still. Jimmy! Arrest that asshole for aggravated assholery and general shadiness!

Anyway, Wanda's striding down hallways and as she comes even to the Director's door, the security light goes green and beeps so she goes into his office.

There’s polite introductions and whatever. 

"I understand you're here to see the Vision. To recover his body." "Well, I'm his next of kin." "I understand." You're a lying sleazy snake who's been doing shady things with Vision's body. "I'd like to show you something?" "And then you'll give him to me?" No, because he's a scumbag.

He shows her a lab, she's confused, he says it's what she asked to see. And down in the lab are technicians taking Vision's body apart. Obviously, this is horrifying to her. What did Hayward expect to get from showing Wanda that? Like she'd be all "oh, hmm, how fascinating. Look, he's made of wires and such. By all means, cut my boyfriend's robot head off. For science"?

"What are you doing to him?" "We're dismantling the most sophisticated sentient weapon ever made." I think you're a liar pants, Dick. "It's our legal and ethical obligation."

"I just want to bury him. It's all I want." "Are you sure?" "Excuse me?" "Not everyone has the kind of power that could bring their soulmate back online — forgive me — back to life." You are such a sleaze, Dick. They can't get Vision to work again, so why not emotionally manipulate the grieving woman to do it for you. Gross. DIAF Dick.

"No, I can't do that. That's not why I'm here." "Okay, I can't allow you to take three billion dollars worth of vibranium just to put it in the ground." He's the worst. "The best I can do is let you say goodbye to him here."

"He's all I have." "Well, that's just it, Wanda; he isn't yours." Somebody needs to squash this guy like a bug. I don't care who. Wanda, obviously, deserves the honor most, but let her get on with her life, I say. Monica's probably the next best for sure. SOMEBODY THOUGH! Hand Darcy a wrench, she'll take care of it.

Where were we … Oh, Wanda's doing the head tilt of impending magical ass-kickery. She busts through the glass, drops down to the floor of the lab, and a security team runs out to point their guns at her. AD Dick tells them to fall back. Why, his plan's working just perfectly, no need to interfere with the woman he’s making suffer extra.

Wanda walks around Vision's body to his head. And she puts her hand over the giant hole where Thanos ripped out the mind stone. "I can't feel you." Every bit of this, for me, takes AD Dick from a generic loathsome character, to somebody actually disgusting. Do not like.

Wanda can't feel Vision at all, and she walks away, out of the room, out of the SWORD building, leaving the body behind. THIS IS VERY SAD, MARVEL.

She gets into her car, and in the passenger seat is an open envelope, like for a greeting card or something. And off she goes to Westview, New Jersey. A down-on-its-luck small town, full of sad looking people and dirty streets. 

She pulls into the driveway of a property that's overgrown, with just a foundation, no house.

Damn you show. It wasn't an envelope, it was a real estate deed with a plan of the property with a red heart drawn on it, and the words "to grow old in. v." inside. What did Wanda do to deserve this? I mean, fine, she was in Hydra for like a minute, but she wasn't a true believer or anything, and she redeemed herself. Come on. Stupid Marvel, making all the things hurt.

She's crying, you're crying, I'm crying, everybody's crying, as she walks into the foundation of the home that never was. And then it all just comes pouring out of her in a great burst of red light and grief and power. Creating the sitcom world around her and swallowing Westview. Poor Wanda. 

There. There's your answer, Agatha. Are you happy, you big meanie? Go turn AD Dick into a toad, or something, would you?

Hm, from her power, the yellow light of the mind stone starts to separate out, from back when she and it sort of had their moment in the Hydra lab, and out of that Vision is recreated or reborn or reconstituted or … whatever. Then they're in the black and white world of the first ep, and everything is perfect. Damn you, Marvel.

Real world Wanda looks up from where she's standing behind B&W Wanda and Vision and sees it's all just a TV show set. Agatha is in the audience, clapping. She vanishes and Wanda can hear Billy and Tommy screaming for her. She runs off set and into her front yard.

Out on the street, Agatha has the boys on magic leashes.

Agatha says she knows what Wanda is and that "You have no idea how dangerous you are." Well, keep holding her boys with magic ropes around their necks and we'll all find out. Agatha's gone full witchy here, she looks great.

"You're supposed to be a myth. A being capable of spontaneous creation. Here you are, using it to make breakfast for dinner." lol. Hey! I was actually thinking last night that I hadn't made waffles in a while. Breakfast for dinner is its own kind of magic, Agatha. (note to self: check we have syrup)

Wanda is pretty done with Agatha. She wants the boys released.

"Oh yes, your children. Vision. This whole little life you've made; this is chaos magic, Wanda. And that makes you … The Scarlet Witch!" DUN DUN DUN! CREDITS! !!!!

Well that was all very dramatic and sad. A really good episode, really good. Damn you, Marvel. Kathryn Hahn is great, absolutely love her.

Yes, there's a mid-credits scene, btw. F'in AD Dick, for what it's worth, finally putting his Genius Master Plan into action. What a dick. The biggest sack of tiny dicks you ever saw. No really, I hate this guy. I hope Wanda tears him a hundred new ones. Then sets what's left on fire. With her mind. 

Also, he’s dumb. He can’t possibly think he can contain Wanda when she gets a look at his Genius Master Plan, can he? Is he that dumb? Probably, but couldn’t one of his little minions go “um, sir, she did almost defeat Thanos. I suspect this may end catastrophically for us.” 

Do you suppose Darcy’s still stuck in traffic? 

OH NO! There’s only one more episode left. I’m sad about that. This has turned out really quite good. Well done, show. Well done. 

[mclsquared]

In the Woods Somewhere

Werewolf! Drew McIntyre x Reader

Genre/s: Supernatural, Romance, Angst

A/N: ALL THE ANGST @bigbabyscottishpsychopath​

Chapter One: When I Awoke

Grandpa always told me that everything had its time, and everything ends.  

Yet, as Isla stood there watching as his coffin was being lowered into his final resting place, she had hoped he would be the one exception.  

It hadn’t stopped raining since the day she arrived at Bramley. The village was ever the same since she had left it when she went to attend university in the city, and yet it was different at the same time.  

Fergus Calum had been one of the gatekeepers of the village of Bramley for well over 60 years. He had been since he was 18. Then about a week ago he had died in his sleep. 

“He didn’t suffer.” The coroner had told her. “Most don’t live to 79 like he did. A peaceful death is a good one.”  

But he was alone, Isla thought despondently, her grip around the umbrella tightening so hard her knuckles turned white. He shouldn’t have been alone. I should have been with him.  

For Isla, Grandpa Fergus had been the one constant in her life. For a long time, he was the only family she had. Her father was an unknown, her mother died in childbirth, and her grandmother had been taken away by cancer when she was barely old enough to remember.  

Her grandfather had been the one to raise her up and provide for her, all on his own. All while he grieved over the loss of his daughter and his wife. He had been kind, he had been patient, and he had loved her more than anyone else in the world did.  

And you left him, Isla’s thoughts hissed at her.  You left him alone and now he’s gone. He’s dead and he’s never coming back and you never got to say goodbye. You’re all alone now. Well and truly alone.  

Tears blurred her vision, the grief and the guilt catching up on her. Sobs wracked through her body, and she fell to her knees in front of her Grandfather’s grave, her umbrella discarded to the side. She didn’t care that her pants would get muddy. She didn’t care that by the time her tears stopped, she would be soaked to the bone. She didn’t care if she got sick. Her family was gone and her heart was empty, she had nothing else to care for.  

By this time, the funeral attendees had already offered their condolences to the lone Calum, and had all but scattered. Some would have gone to their homes because dinner time was almost upon them. Some would have gone to the pub, perhaps the other gatekeepers, drinking to Fergus’ memory.  

And Isla would be there, sitting amongst cold statues and tombstones, crying and mourning the remnants of her family all on her own.

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

The sounds of her sorrow should have been drowned out by the rain, yet it seemed to drift through the cemetery and reach the woods that overlooked the village.  

There by the edge of the woods, hidden in the shadows of the trees, stood a looming figure who listened to the young woman lament her loss.  

He had watched the whole ceremony from afar, careful not to be seen. He didn’t know what had possessed him to even come but Fergus had been a good man— he had been somewhat of a friend . He had very few in the way of friends, and even lesser— those of the human kind. So out of respect he had decided to at least watch as the old gatekeeper was laid in his final resting place.  

He hadn’t planned on sticking around, yet hearing Fergus’ grandchild weep over the late man’s grave had compelled him to stay, even just for a while. To make sure nothing disturbed her, so she could cry in peace.  

It was the least he could do.  

But he hoped she would be gone by the time night fell. There were many things that lingered in the cemetery when darkness came, and many things crept out of the woods when the sun fell.  

She would have to leave by then.

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

For someone who’s job was to guard the village gates, Fergus’ home was quite far from it.  

The Calum’s quaint cabin was situated near the village borders, neighboring the trail that went into the woods of Bramley. Many a hiker would pass by, and the Calums were no strangers to travelers knocking at their door to ask about the hiking trail.

To Isla, this cabin was home. She had lived here most of her life, she had grown up here, this cabin had a memory in each corner. But now that Grandpa Fergus was gone, each plank of wood, each window pane seemed to send a piercing shard of ice into her heart.  

Even when it was just the two of them, the cabin had always felt so warm and full. Now it felt empty, a shell of what it once was. The same as how she felt in the moment.  

“A house doesn’t make a home Isla,” Grandpa once told her, “it’s the people.”  

She never really understood what he had meant until now.  

Isla sat on her Grandpa’s armchair, a big club chair that as a kid she felt would swallow her up. She sat there wrapped in a large quilt, a large mug of raspberry tea in hand, gazing into the fireplace watching the flickering flames and the smoldering logs with an absent mind.  

She had taken a few weeks off from work to tend to the funeral and all the legal affairs that came after. But now she didn’t want to leave town. She didn’t want to leave the cabin.  

She didn’t want to leave the last vestiges of her Grandpa’s memory.  

Her hands trembled around her mug, eyes growing hazy as she tried to blink back the onslaught of tears. It felt like she hadn’t stopped crying since the cemetery.  

As Isla tried and failed to will the tears away, a knock sounded on the door.  

Isla turned her head to the direction of the small foyer, wondering who would be knocking at the dead of night while the rain was heavy and the roads could barely be seen.  

Perhaps it was one of the older gatekeepers coming to check up on her? They used to do that when she was younger and Fergus had the night shift.  

With a heavy sigh, Isla stood up, letting the quilt pool on the floor as she made her way to the front door to greet the visitor.  

Except when she opened it, no one was there.  

She blinked a couple of times before scrunching her nose in thought. She was sure someone had knocked on her door.  

You’re tired, she reasoned to herself, it’s your mind playing tricks with you.  

But as she was about to step out onto the front porch to double check, her bare feet brushed against something that made her jump. She stared down at the item for a moment before leaning down and picking it up.  

It was a small bundle of white and red wild poppies, tied together with a piece of twine.  

It held no tag, no indication as to who it was from. But they were there.  

Isla held them gently in her hand, gazing around the cabin’s surroundings for any sign of who had left it there. But there was none. Whoever had left the flowers had taken their leave quickly.  

Isla stared at the flowers in her hand, letting her fingers caress the soft petals for a moment.  

“Red poppies are for consolation Isla,” Grandpa told her when they went to visit Grandma and Mama, “and white poppies are for remembrance and peaceful rest.”  

I console you in his death, the small bundle of flowers seemed to tell her more than any words the funeral goers could have said. May he rest in peace, we will remember him.  

Isla felt some of the weight in her heart alleviate, the little gesture from an unknown, giving her a sense of comfort. It brought a small smile upon her lips.  

She went back inside, flowers in hand; it was late and she needed sleep.

-------------- 

All the while, in the shadows of the woods, he watched as all this happened. When the young woman had smiled, he felt something in him grow, something warm.  

He placed a hand over his chest, confused as to what that growth was.  

He stood there for a while, long after she had already gone in and the lights in the cabin had been doused, pondering the feeling before he shook himself out of his stupor.  

He had duties he must attend to. There was nothing left here for him to do.  

He turned his back to the cabin, striding into the woods, the night covering his presence and the rain washing away any traces he could have left behind.

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

A/N: If I grow to love this enough and garners a nice reception from readers then I might just skew away from the original 5 chapters and make this an elaborate story... we’ll see. Comments are appreciated and my ask box is always open!

[alchemicheart]

Event Info | Mistified

OK so. I had so many ideas for Ed, but here are my favorites. If you had any other ideas or if one of these appeals to you, feel free to DM me or message me on twitter/discord :o

1. Shou and Nina Tucker - Starting off w the big guns-- this would be horrible for Ed. Depending on the situation, you’d either see him trying not to cry while babysitting a little girl, or have to stop him from beating up a sad-looking scientist in the aftermath of something truly horrible. Either way, he. could probably use a hug after

2. Envy - The homunculi always seem to find him in Amestris, so why should Spirale be any different? Envy isn’t really looking for a fight, though they could probably be coerced into one pretty easily. Mostly they’ll just heckle him and anyone he’s with, and abuse their shapeshifting at Ed’s expense. If your muse wants to team up with them to bully him, even better!

3. Trisha Elric - See above with the Tuckers, this would cause Ed a tremendous amount of sorrow seeing that he’s a mama’s boy at heart, and you would see him at his most vulnerable. (Trisha would be very interested to meet Ed’s friends, though)

4. The Promised Day - Ed’s canon point brings him directly from the Promised Day, in the middle of a fight with the homunculus Pride. The scene played out here could include that fight, or even a vision of the oncoming final battle-- (and maybe even the doorway of truth if you’re particularly (un)lucky?)

[sneakymalou]

Hiii it’s me again ! I requested an idea on another blog but it was never responded and since I was happy of my first request I’m gonna ask you then ! May I request a scenario where Hop is jealous of Leon’s s/o because he thinks they’re taking Leon away from him, next day he loses a battle and cried a lot Leon’s s/o who has mother instinct comfort him and Leon walks in and he’s like very happy to see his s/o with his brother ? It’s very specific but I hope it will be okay I know you can do it !

Heeey ! I'm happy to see you again on my blog ! 🤩 Oh I'm so sorry to hear that your request never got a response 🥺🥺 I'm glad to do it though, and even if it's specific, it's so very cute I love it !! 💋❤

Hop x Leon x reader

“I don't care, I just don't like her !!” For the very first time, Hop and Leon had an argument. Not a violent one, but a sad one : the champion's little brother happened to be jealous of you, convinced that you've been stealing Leon from him, or at least, all moments they could have had together since the two of you started dating. Even if the galarian champion tried his best to change his baby brother's mind, nothing worked. “She's nice, you know Hop. If you only tried to get to know her, you could see for yourself...” Leon calmly said, frowning, his strong arms crossed against his chest. “I don't want to know her. She's a poison, nothing good could come out of her ! See for yourself : when's the last time we actually did something together ? When's the last time you saw me train, or even gave me advice ? Ages. I'm sure you don't even remember !” Unfortunately, Hop was absolutely right on this point, and an unbearable silence answered to him : his big brother didn't remember when, or the last circumstances when they had a nice time between brothers. “I knew it...” the young man sighed, turning his back on Leon to leave the place. This was how their last chat went, and the champion had no clue on how to fix things...

「The day after...」

Under a pouring rain, Hop clenched his fists until pain made him realize what was going on : he lost. He lost the most important battle of this year as a challenger, against Raihan nonetheless. He never felt so humiliated and lame. The young trainer walked through the rain for a few hours, being soaked to the bone at the end. His pain made his own heart bleed as he tried not to cry. Losing this battle proved him how pathetic he was compared to his brother. Everybody was right : he didn't belong here, among the other challengers. Hop clearly persuaded himself when a soft voice surprised him. “Hop ? Oh my goodness but you're going to catch a cold !” you claimed as you reached him, taking off your own jacket in order to give him. In a matter of seconds, you were protecting him from the rain with your umbrella. “What happened ? Did anybody hurt you ?” Carefully, you placed a warm hand against his shoulder, seeing him in pain like this saddened you. Feeling so much kindness, even after all horrible things he said about you, shook Hop's soul and pushed him to wrap his frail arms around you. Against your protection and warmth, he started to cry all tears he had, all tears he kept from the sorrow he experienced for far too long. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...” he kept saying while you cuddled him, a sweet smile on your face. Since forever, you always considered Hop as your baby brother, and today, more than a big sister, you acted like a mother, with an instinct as sharp as one of a mama wolf.

You stood there, protected of the rain by both your umbrella and the wings of your Pidgeot, always looking for you, for at least a dozen minutes. Hop needed to be listened and understood, but most of all, he needed to be loved and accepted. “Would you come with me for handmade cookies and a hot cocoa ?” you proposed with a shining smile, taking his hand in order to guide him to Leon's house. Hop didn't say much when you were preparing the snack, but he couldn't stop looking at you. He discovered how smart and gentle you could be, a vision far away from the one he had before. “I lost against Raihan...” he suddenly said as you set the table. You gazed softly at him, encouraging him to go on only if he wanted to. “I thought I've prepared myself enough, but... I'm just too lame. All I ever dreamed of was to be the next champion, but I can't even battle Raihan and beat him... Leon is gonna be ashamed of me !” You sighed before coming closer and squeezing his hand, with all kindness in the world. “You're not like Leon, that's for sure... but you're a wonderful trainer all the same, Hop. You lost today against Raihan, yes. But one defeat doesn't determine you ! It only means you have to work harder, believe in your team AND yourself, in order to be better tomorrow...”

The both of you continued this discussion for a few minutes, Hop being more impressed every second of how wrong he was about you... even more when he tasted your cookies ! And that's how Leon found you, laughing and eating together at the same table. This very picture made his heart melt, and he felt the happiest man ever. “Did I miss something ?” he finally asked - after grabbing one of your cookies - a amused smile shining his all face. “Yes love, you did ! Starting tomorrow, you're going to have to train your brother and me !” A little wink to Hop and the three of you laughed the happiest way possible. “My girl orders, and I execute !” he accepted with some kind of bow. Needless to say, after this request, Leon reclaimed a hug from the both of you... pretty price to pay to be trained by the galarian champion, isn't it ?

[l-x-ie]

So Big, So Small

ao3

I humbly request you to also listen to this song as you read.

“Traitor,” the galra soldier spat, fingers digging into the loose dry dirt under them.

Krolia barely registered the spit on her cheek instead tightening her hold on his hair, wrenching his head back to leave his throat open and vulnerable. “I’ll ask again. Are there more coming.”

“The blue lion will belong to the Empire soon enough, traitor.”

She didn’t deign him a response, her knife biting into the soft skin of his throat. Blood bubbled up, wetting the earth under them as he gasped out a semblance of the Empire’s battle cry. Loyal to a fault.

She stood, sheathing her knife to her belt, her borrowed clothes less effective as her Marmora suit but it served its purpose. The soldier was merely a scout, his partner already dispatched, both ships in perfect condition, both bodies still leaking blood that almost looked black in the starlight.

Krolia had a pang of regret. Both were young, one so green he still had his identification number written on his uniform. Both grew up with the ideology she rejected. They never had a choice but she didn’t either.

That’s a lie.

Once. She made one decision for herself and it was the best decision she ever made. Her heart ached thinking of the life she chose. Of the life waiting for her back home. The smiles and laughter, the warmth and everything she never realized she wanted.

She looked at the sky, the endless stars on velvet black, so many it made her dizzy. A terrible, looming decision ahead of her, so big it could swallow the stars.

The longer she stared, looking at some far away threat, the bigger the stars grew, the more that crowded her vision. Growing, growing, growing. So much so she felt consumed by them, helpless. Small.

She thought of her boys. Their smiles in the stars and their eyes reflecting galaxies. The stars shrunk. And for a moment it didn’t feel like an impossible task or a suicide mission, but a step closer to the life she wanted.

Hot tears spilled from her eyes as she choked on the remaining air in her lungs.

Regret and sorrow swirled into a heavy ball in her chest, taking up the rest of the space there until it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She blinked away her tears and turned to their ships, hatches opened, dashboard lit up with incoming transmissions.

Face dry, she leaned down to rip the scout’s identification number from his uniform—

—and made a choice.

-----

“So, you’re leaving then.”

Krolia tightened her grip on her husband’s hands, too terrified to look at him and see his face. “Ethan—“

She gasped when gentle fingers guided her head up, two lone tears dropping from her eyes. More fell as Ethan gave her a heartbreakingly understanding smile, his beautiful dark eyes shimmering with his own tears.

His thumb stroked her cheek as he kissed her forehead, so soft she barely felt it. “I’ll go tell Keith.”

Her heart cried out when he got up and left. A part of her demanding that no, no, she had to be the one to tell him. She had to make sure he understood. That he knew she loved him. That she loved him so much she would leave and—

She sobbed into her hands, covering her mouth to smother them because she’s a Blade. She’s a warrior and a spy and strategist and—and—

She’s a mother. She’s a mother who was terrified of breaking her son’s heart. Terrified of seeing that little face be so confused and scared and hurt and she doesn’t want to see it—she can’t—

Her teeth bit into the meat of her palm, the pain grounding. She took a moment to breathe, biting into her palm harder for a brief moment because she deserved it, and got up. Wiping her tears as she left to break her son’s heart.

Her body felt strangely lethargic as she approached Keith’s room. Feet dragging, heart thumping hard behind her breastbone, blood sluggishly moving through her veins leaving her cold.

She paused outside of his door, her throbbing palm resting against the wall. No sound came from his room. No murmurs, no crying, were they even in there?

Then she heard it. The faintest sounds of sheets rustling. Her baby sitting up in his bed. His little voice slipping and tumbling over the words he barely understands the concepts of.

“Are—are you going away too?”

Tears sprung to her eyes and she choked on the lump in her throat. Covering her mouth to muffle any noise she might make. She had to be strong. There were a million battles she never backed down from; she couldn’t back down from this one.

”No. No, Keith.” More rustling, the tiny twin bed they got online creaking. “Your pops is always gonna be here. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

She took a deep breath and braced herself. Knocking on the wood of the doorjamb she peeked around the corner.

Keith was in Ethan’s lap, his face hidden in his chest, just a black tuft of hair sticking out in a wild fluffy mess. So small and tiny. Her husband’s arms wrapped around him, shielding him from the world.

He turned to look at her and a fist squeezed around her heart seeing the tear tracks drying on his cheeks. It squeezed even harder when he turned away to wipe his face with his pajama sleeve. She couldn’t help but wonder if he got that from her. Ever the brave little soldier.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Keith, would you like to come outside with me? I would like to talk to you.”

He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. The color like the night sky, a little memento from home. Silently, he got up and padded to her with his little bare feet and little toes. Holding his hand, just a fraction of hers, she led him outside.

------

Outside was cool, the leftover heat of the day leaving the longer the night stretched. The porch covered their backs, protecting them from the wind as she kept Keith close to her body, rocking on the chair looking at the billions of stars overhead.

He was so light. Barely any weight in her arms as he snuggled into her. His hair still baby-soft, the little tufts falling through her fingers. She could feel his lashes blinking against her neck, tickling the slightest bit. Butterfly kisses, Ethan told her once.

Nuzzling her nose in his hair she breathed in his scent. Cataloging everything she knows about him in that moment. How soft he was, how small and defenseless, his innocent scent. How warm and comforting and brave her little baby was.

He was just three.

He had an entire life ahead of him. How many moments like this was she going to miss? How long was it until he was no longer small enough to hold in her lap and wrap him in her arms? How many ways was she going to let him down by not being there, fighting an endless war, just to keep him safe?

Did it even matter when she wasn’t going to be able to watch him grow up? To know the great man he was going to be?

Tears fell from her eyes and she could taste blood in the back of her throat from how tight it was. A horrible, betraying thought ringing around in her mind.

He wasn’t even going to remember her.

“Mama?”

She kept him close, wiping her tears with her wrist. “Yes, Keith?”

He leaned back and she let him, both looking at where he had his hands fisted in her shirt.

“Do you have to go?”

She gently gathered his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “I don’t want to.”

He buried his face in her chest, arms going around as far as they could go around her middle, tears dampening her T-shirt. “Then why are you?”

She gnawed on her lip, her mind swirling and swirling with so many possible answers it made her dizzy. What should she say? What can she say? She closed her eyes and breathed deep, the cold Arizona night air filling her lungs and clearing her mind.

Guiding him back she looked him in the eye, one hand holding his and the other cupping his soft cheek. “I can’t really say but I love you, Keith. No matter where I go or how far away I am I’ll always love you. I want you to understand that.”

She moved the hand cupping his cheek to his heart, her entire palm covering his small chest, covering the tiny planet on his pajamas. “No matter what, I’ll be right here.” She placed her hand on her own chest. “And you’ll be right here.”

Slowly, he gave a hard nod, his mouth pressed into a firm line trying to hold back the tears. He lunged and hid his face in her shirt, holding on tight, determined not to let go.

His grip gradually loosened, falling from her waist as he fell asleep. She stayed outside, holding him close as the stars shrunk back with the morning light. She was going to have to let go eventually but until then she wasn’t going anywhere.

[is-it-madness]

My Glorious Purpose | Loki x OFC Chapter 11

A/N: Okay, first off, I’m so sorry it took me so long to post this. My beta and I have been struggling so much, it’s crazy. Second, I’m really excited about this chapter. And third... if I hurt anyone from this, I’m sorry.

Pairing: Loki x OFC  (Tera Digitalis)

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warnings: 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER HAS DEATH, ABUSE, BLOOD, (AND POSSIBLY SOME OTHER STUFF I FORGOT TO MENTION) IN IT! IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO PROCEED I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND

Chapter 11: Backstory

(Tera's POV)

For the next several months, Tom follows me around the tower, making himself more comfortable with me. He's always by my side—except in the morning. I would fall asleep at night, with him sitting next to me, then in the morning, he would be gone. But he would always find his way back to me several hours later. Everyone kept their distance from him, since he didn't like any of them. Loki would always become extremely stiff if he's ever in the same room as Tom.

One morning I wake up, and sure enough, Tom is gone. I don't mind, I know I'll see him later. I shower, get dressed, and go to meet Nat down in the training room. I finished karate a few weeks ago, so this week I asked her if we can start boxing. She quickly agrees and suggests we should use Tony for practice. I haven't seen him since she suggested that.

I'm not very advanced yet, still learning the correct form and what not. When we finish, I take another shower, grab a muffin from the kitchen and head to the library. I find Loki in there, reading. We've been spending more time together, what with the team always going out on missions. I'm not allowed to go on any of them; Fury won't let me. So for the past three months I've been staying in the tower. Loki isn't allowed outside yet so we hang out, both of us bored to death. We bond over books in the library, staying in there for hours on end, coming in the morning and leaving late at night. I introduced him to my favorite books. He acts like he doesn't like them, but I know better. I sit on the other end of the couch and open up my own book. I've gone through several pages, when I have the sensation of being watched.

I look up, meeting Loki's gaze. "What?"

He shakes his head and mutters "Nothing," before returning to his book.

I'm interrupted a few minutes later by JARVIS.

"Miss Tera, Mr. Stark wanted to notify you that he and the rest of the team have to leave for a mission. He asked if you would be capable of babysitting the god."

I see Loki clench his fist from the corner of my eye, but he doesn't say anything.

"Yeah JARVIS, tell Tony not to worry, we're fine."

"Yes ma'am."

Finally! Now I can actually read.

Not even five minutes later, Loki clears his throat to get my attention.

I huff in annoyance. "What?"

He smirks. "Forgive me for wanting to speak, Your Majesty," he says, mocking me.

I push my hair out of my eyes. "No, no you're fine." I put my book down. "What's up?"

He looks upward, "I believe it is called a ceiling."

I laugh. "No it's an expression. Like, do you want to tell me something?"

"Ah, I see."

"So," I sit crossing my legs, "what's up?"

"Well, I actually wanted to ask you something."

I raise a brow. "Okay?"

"When we first met, you spoke of my powers, but there were other things you were about to mention but held back. What were they?"

"Oh. Well I'm not so sure about how true they are, afterall, they're just stories."

He gives me a pleading look. "Okay fine. So I know you're adopted. Odin took you from a temple when you were a baby, and you’re a frost giant. You have a wife named Sigyn and two-"

"I must say, you know quite a bit about me, but I know next to nothing of you."

"I guess so," I say laughing, "So what do you want to know about me?"

"Your family."

I open my mouth to object but he interjects.

"When I first asked you about them, you refused to answer, but I find it rather unfair that you know so much about me and I know nothing of you."

I bite my lip, debating on whether or not I want to tell Loki about my past. It's a hard subject to discuss. Only Nat knows about it. I figure he's right though. It isn't fair that I know all this about him and he knows literally nothing about me. And besides, I would rather tell him, than he go digging into my brain.

"Okay," I tell him, "but it's kinda long."

"I have no plans for the day."

I take a deep breath. Don't cry, whatever you do, just don't cry, I plead to myself.

"Okay, I guess I'll start when I was about four. I had a mom, dad, and baby sister. My sister was one at the time. Life was great, I had everything a girl could want. But then something happened. I noticed my mom was always not feeling good. She would always go to the doctor, telling them about her pain, but they brushed it aside. 'You're overreacting.' they would tell her."

Loki watches me, listening, his eyes widening at my next words.

"One day she decided to just go to a hospital. Turns out she had an ectopic pregnancy. She ended up having major internal bleeding. The doctors said she needed emergency surgery, but she wouldn't go in, not without telling me and my sister goodbye."

Tears spring to my eyes, but I hold them down.

"When we reached the hospital, my mom was all ready for her surgery. She took my hand, told me she would see me soon. She made me promise to watch my sister, then kissed us goodbye."

I replay the vision in my head, as I have done thousands of times before.

"Mama? Are you okay?"

"Yes baby, Mama's fine. She just needs the doctors to help her feel better."

My baby sister is sitting in her lap, holding her tight to her chest. My mom kisses my head, cheeks, and hands.

"Can you promise me something?"

"Yes Mama! Anything!" I tell her, eager to show her that I'm a big girl.

"Can you promise me to take care of your sister?"

I didn't see it before, but her beautiful eyes were no longer full of laughter. Her eyes, blue, green, and brown, like mine, were full of sorrow, despair, sadness.

"But you said we'll see you soon Mama," I tell her, confused.

She strokes my hair.

"You will baby. But when I'm gone, I need you to protect your sister, watch her, love her with everything you have. Always keep her from harm. Can you do that for me?"

I salute. "Yes, Mama," I tell her playfully.

A nurse comes up, taking my sister from my mom's arms and handing her to my dad. He was silent the whole time, not uttering a single word.

My mother. My strong, beautiful, loving mother began crying. I had never seen her cry before this.

"I love you baby. Mama loves you both."

"We love you too Mama," I kiss her cheek.

I come out of my thoughts when I feel Loki take my hand.

"She didn't survive." I continue telling him. "It was too late for the doctors to save her."

"I'm terribly sorry Tera. I didn't mean to- I did not realize-"

"It's okay," I tell him with a shrug, speaking through the lump that formed in my throat.

"You do not have to proceed if you wish not to," he tells me quietly.

"No, no it's okay." I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

"After my mom died, my dad moved us so we could live with his mom. It was fine for a few years. I protected my sister, like I had promised my mom I would. I watched everything she did, making sure she never got hurt, scared to lose her as I lost my mother. Then, when I was about seven and my sister was four, there was—"

I have to clear my throat before I can continue, trying to remove the lump forming in my throat as I tell my story.

"There was an accident. My sister and I were playing outside, in our front yard, when my grandma called me. I told my sister to stay put and I ran inside. My grandma told me to make her something to eat, which was normal for me to do for her at that time of day. I was going into the kitchen when I heard a terrible noise. A little girl's blood curdling scream. I ran outside, desperately looking for my sister, when I saw her. I think her toy car rolled onto the street or something and she went to get it—I don't know what happened to this day. All I know is that my sister was hit by a car. I ran to her mangled body; the car that hit her, sped away."

I shut my eyes tight, trying to hold back the tears that are free falling.

"I cradled her head, screaming for help, but no one came. I carried her back to our lawn and laid her on the grass, still calling for help. My grandma finally came out of the house, yelling at me for burning her food. She looked at my sister then back at me. I tried telling her what happened but she was already going inside to call my dad.

"I held my sister close to me, begging her to stay with me, telling her not to leave me as mom had. She told me she loved me and that I was the best big sister. But I'm not. I lost her too. I swore to my mother that I wouldn't let anything happen to her baby, but I wasn't able to do that. I broke my mother's dying wish."

I look up to see an appalled look upon Loki's face.

He begins to say something, but I hold up a finger.

"I'm not done," I say.

He magics a handkerchief, takes my face in his hands and wipes my tears, but I pull away.

"I told you I'm not done," I tell him with a shaky laugh, tears staining my face.

"My grandmother told my dad it was my fault, that I pushed my sister out onto the street. My dad went insane. My sister was his favorite, because she looked so much like him. After she died, he- he-"

I cover my mouth, swallowing my hiccups. I lift a hand to Loki, telling him to give me a moment.

It takes me a minute to compose myself. "He started beating me. At first it wasn't bad. He would hit me with whatever he could get his hands on. But over the years it worsened. My grandma started telling my dad things that I did wrong, things I have absolutely no memory of doing. He believed her—of course he would, she's his mother. But I guess his beatings didn't satisfy her. She started calling me lazy, hideous, fat. And I believed those words. I started starving myself, refusing to eat for days, only allowing myself a few sips of water a day. I started hating myself, hating what I would see looking back at me in the mirror. Of course she never said any of that stuff in front of my dad. Foolishly, I decided to tell him, stupidly thinking he would take my side. But his mom started crying, asking him if he thought she would ever say something like that. When he was done with me, my entire body was covered in the design of his belt. I had to cover myself, head to toe—save my face—for several weeks before those marks disappeared, and I was unable to sit from the pain. As the years went on, my life became a living hell, my grandma said anything she could to get my dad mad at me, but that still wasn't enough for her. She began hurting me as well. She abused me, verbally and physically. My dad never saw any of it. He started to get even worse with his beatings. I remember this staff he had. It was at least four feet long. One day he was beating me with it so hard and for so long, that it broke when he struck me. That infuriated him even more, so he started punching my back on the same spots, over and over and over, on top of the previous bruises, cuts and marks."

I lift my shirt up to my ribs and show my lower back to Loki. I hear him inhale sharply.

No one has ever seen my scars besides Nat. They're faint now, but they decorate my skin, refusing to leave, a reminder of everything I've done wrong. A payment, a punishment I deserve for causing my sister's death.

I drop my shirt and continue. "After that staff broke, he started using other things that were much more painful. When I was about fourteen, my grandmother died. She had a stroke. When she died, I believed my nightmare was over." I start laughing at my stupidity, for even believing that for a second.

"My dad thought I had poisoned her, or killed her somehow, I tried defending myself, but he had convinced himself that I must've done something. My beatings increased in frequency and length. He would beat me for hours, hitting me so hard, my skin would break after several minutes, and I would bleed out, but that didn't stop him. I convinced myself I deserved this, I'm the cause of my sister's death, I need to suffer. I thought when my sister died, that was the worst of him, but no. When his mom died, that's when I saw just how bad it could get. He threatened to cut my tongue on several occasions. He actually got really close one time."

I'm sitting, huddled in a corner, covering my head with my bleeding hands, whimpering, waiting for the next strike, but it doesn't come. I hear noises of metal and the stove being turned on. I frightfully look between my fingers to find my father placing a butcher's knife on the stove, heating it up. I don't say anything, any sound from me results in greater punishment. I know what's coming, he had threatened to do this so many times already, I just never thought he would do it. Terrified, I try backing up even more, but I have nowhere else to go. I'm trapped, this is really happening. I'm losing my tongue at fourteen. I begin weeping, harder than I have ever from all of my beatings. When the metal is red hot, my dad takes it off the stove and walks towards me. With my mouth clenched shut, I start screaming, I try kicking away with my bloody, bandaged legs, but it's useless. I clamped my hands to my mouth. I'm petrified with fear, unable to escape, to move, to do anything. He takes my face and starts squeezing so hard that I can't breathe. I look at him. The man who is supposed to protect me, love me, hold me, is trying to take my tongue. He managed to get my hands away, but I refuse to open my mouth. He started cramming his fingers in my mouth, trying to pull out my tongue. I bite him and he punches my jaw, I immediately taste blood. I can't fight anymore. I'm tired, I can't keep fighting anymore. Maybe I'll see Mama, I think.

With the blade in his right hand, mere inches away from my tongue in his left hand, I accept my fate. Not quietly though, no. I softly sing a lullaby my mother taught me. Before my mother died, we would sing together for hours, it was my favorite thing to do with her. After she died, I couldn't bring myself to sing anymore. I decide if I'm losing my tongue, I might as well do it remembering something that brought me joy. When I start singing, my dad punches me, over and over. He aims for my face, my chest, and my stomach. I turn to my side, more sobbing rather than singing, but I try to continue, showing him that he won't have complete power over me. He grabs my neck and starts slamming my head into the ground. Before I pass out, I see a figure in a black outfit and red hair, hovering over him, eyes ablaze with anger.

My tears are cascading down my face. No matter how quick I wipe them, more would immediately take their place. I bit on my knuckles, hard, trying to prevent any noises from escaping me, remembering how any escaped noises would result in my beating.

I'm too embarrassed to look at the man sitting next to me. I'm blubbering like a fool, and I know he wants nothing to do with me. I told him how I caused my sister's death. I'm responsible. I am to blame.

I'm shocked though. I feel his arms come around my waist, he holds me close to him, wiping my tears with the cloth he summoned earlier.

"It's my fault." I whisper to him, my face in his hands.

"No. I refuse to allow you to think this way. You were a child! I-I simply cannot believe you have blamed yourself all these years. And you still let that witch's words haunt you to this day?!"

I shake my head. "I promised to protect my sister. My mother—her dying wish—I-I failed her. My sister died in my arms, it should have been me. I should have been the one to die. Not her. She was still a baby."

Loki just pulls me closer to his chest, holding me tight.

~~~

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