#it felt hollow and unemotional

[emeritusemeritus]

Simple really [Weasley Twins x ftm!Reader]

This work is based off a request I received from @king-of-the-damned-world and it’s been a pleasure writing this for you, sorry again that it has taken so long!

Unfortunately I am not currently taking requests but I am currently working on a few different pieces that should hopefully be uploaded soon.

Title: Simple really.

Pairing: Weasley Twins x Ftm!Reader {Established Relationship}

Timeline: Set around GOF.

Summary: With the Yule Ball around the corner, you must make a choice that could alter your entire life. Do you stay the same and remain unhappy or risk it all to finally find peace?

Warnings: Reader is trans!male (ftm). Contains a little angst and a lot of self reflection. Pronouns change throughout. A little humour, a little fluff and a lot of heartwarming goodness. Mentions of reader wearing a suit. Mentions of gender stereotypes and conforming.

This is my first time writing non-afab reader so please be gentle.

The walls of Hogwarts had never seemed so dreary to you or less like home than they felt right now. The corridors felt empty and hollow, even filled with people. It was a mild autumn day but it felt like it was mid-winter in your mind, every fibre of your body feeling bleakness all around you. You wanted to crawl into bed, shut the surrounding curtains and disappear but you knew even that wouldn't bring you comfort.

You'd avoided your boyfriends all day most successfully, most of the week really, which wasn't too hard between their shared detentions and your extra curricular activities. George might have been on to something, being the more sensitive of the two, but you were near certain that Fred hadn't even noticed anything was wrong, your efforts of hiding your true feelings paying off, at least for them.

You thought about going to Hagrid's, sharing a cup of tea or distracting yourself with his newest creature he was caring for but you didn't trust yourself not to unleash your inner monologue on him and quite frankly he wasn't the right person to work through your thoughts with. You didn't know who was, never having much experience on the matter except for your own thoughts.

You could talk to your head of house, or Madame Pomfrey, but that seemed too clinical, too unemotional in a time when you felt you needed it.

You sat on the grass, looking down at Hagrid's hut and the outskirts to the forbidden forest, watching as smoke rose from the chimney of his hut, drifting in the gentle breeze until it disappeared high up into the sky. You sighed, looking down at your legs and the wand in your hand, absently twirling it as you wished this could all be fixed with a single wave of said wand.

Your mind felt plagued, completely consumed by your thoughts, by the realisations you'd made and the intoxicated consequences they would have on your life if you sought to decide on the route to take. You were at a metaphorical crossroads in your life and your two options were to stay exactly as you were, on the path that had been created for you by societal expectations and preconceived notions; or you could create your own path, following your heart and deal with the consequences as they come.

The biggest loss would be your boyfriends Fred and George Weasley, the boys you had loved for years, first as friends and then more as your relationship grew. This new path you were forging would jeopardise the relationship in a way that nothing else ever could but was it worth a life of unhappiness and unfulfilment? It wasn't exactly new for you to be consumed by these thoughts but in the past year they'd grown in strength and reoccurrence until the faint inkling turned into assuredness, certainty and faint hope.

You sighed again, knowing what needed to be done.

You dragged yourself to your common room, another pang of discomfort hitting you as you walked to your pre-selected dormitory and threw yourself on your bed, thankful that no one else was there. You pulled out some parchment and your quill and began to write. There was no need to plan what you were trying to say, no thought of perfecting your words or of your penmanship, it was just honest words straight from your brain onto the quickly filled parchment. A rabid determination washed over you as you began writing, unable to stop or slow as you finally put everything you'd known to be true and denied for years plainly on paper for your loved ones to read.

"Whaaaatya doing?" You suddenly hear from behind you and you let out a scream, your body jolting upright in bed at the sudden and unexpected intrusion. George, who watches on, thinks quickly and salvages the ink pot that had spilled with your actions, not one spot of black ink falling into your crafted parchment or bed.

"Merlin you two!" You said, clutching at your chest as you look upon the grinning twins that had essentially broken into your dorm, not for the first time.

"Sorry sweetheart, couldn't resist," Fred smirks, hopping down onto the bed, followed by George who takes a seat with a hint more decorum than his slightly older brother.

"What you got there?" Fred says, nodding his head to the parchment. You suddenly freeze and clam up, not expecting the letters to be read so soon by the intended recipients.

"Potions homework," you say absently, scrambling to move the letter than you'd previously been so proud of.

"He didn't set us any," Fred says, eying you with suspicion before he turns to George in question, "did he?"

George shakes his head slowly in reply and his gaze flickers up to you, a sadness in his eyes as he realises that you were lying to them. Apparently, from the look he was giving you, you'd not quite hidden your mental and physical absence as well as you thought you had.

"What's going on darling?" He asks, cutting through the bullshit. It's now or never. You take one last look at them, their long gorgeous hair and the freckles, trying to remember them like this, just how you loved them. You took a deep breath and stare at your  slightly shaking hands, suddenly not knowing any way to explain yourself.

"Are you breaking up with us?" Fred asks quickly, his nervousness evident in his voice.

Your eyes shoot up to his quickly, as if offended by the notion and splutter out a reply that really doesn't help your case.

"No! Merlin no, I, maybe? I don't want to."

"Glad we got that cleared up," George says bitterly, though there's no trace of humour in his voice.

"It's not, you, it's," you begin to say, unable to meet their eyes. "I want to be with you both but you won't want me anymore."

"That's ridiculous," they say at the same time, protesting your words almost instantly. You sigh, picking at the blanket beneath you.

"I just, here," you say suddenly, thrusting the barely dried parchment onto George's lap and lingering for only a second before you run off, out of the dormitory and out of the common room.

Somehow, they find you a few hours later, curled up in the astronomy tower, fighting off the cold that you had not anticipated in your hurry. You caught sight of the Marauders map hanging out of Fred’s pocket and realised that they’d either borrowed it from Harry or had momentarily stolen it from him, seeking you out.

"Here he is," Fred says, catching sight of you and gesturing for his twin to join you as he smiles down at your crouched figure. His words make you freeze, shocked at the pronoun he used, so nonchalantly that is blindsides you.

"What-."

"We read your letter," George says, crouching down beside you, followed only moments later by his twin.

"All of this over a dress?" Fred says, smirking at you as if nothing was wrong.

"Well not really," you mumble, worried that they'd taken everything the wrong way, not taking it seriously enough.

"Well no," Fred admits, reaching out for your hand, "why didn't you just talk to us?"

"Because you wouldn't want me anymore," you said in a quiet voice, your tone blunt as if it was obvious. You were trying so hard not to cry, pushing down every urge as you faced your problems head on.

"Who told you that?" George says, outraged at the notion.

"No one?" You say unconvincingly, even though it was the truth.

"Sweetheart," Fred says, pausing and looking up to you with hesitation, "do you still want to be called that?"

You nod slowly, still unsure of where the conversation was going.

"I know this is a big thing for you, it's a big thing for all of us, and rightly so, but it doesn't change how we feel," he says, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth, as if he's trying to show you that it really is okay.

"Yeah," George says from beside him, "you're still ours, just with a few different pronouns."

You're silent for a moment, shocked as you take in their words until a huff of laughter escapes you.

"You're really okay with it? You still want to be with me?"

They share a look between each other, identical devious smiles on their faces.

"A few questions," Fred says, suddenly rather serious. You nod instantly, having anticipated this.

"Have you had a brain injury in the past 24 hours?"

"Eh?" You ask, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

"I ask, you answer," he smirks with a shrug. You shake your head. “Not fell off a broom or from a high ledge?” Once again you shake your head, still reeling with confusion.

"Have you been put under the imperius curse? Blink twice for yes," George says, an identical expression on his face. You blink once, with a frown and shake your head.

"Are you really someone else pretending to be our love, using Polyjuice potion to trick us?"

"No."

“Prove it, one thing about me and Georgie that no one else would know,” Fred says, egging you on with a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Uh, George has a freckle on his left rib and you have a mark on your left bumcheek,” you say, squinting up at them, not quite believing that those exact words were tumbling out of your mouth.

"Then that's sorted," George says, as if it's that simple. "We might need reminding sometimes, old habits and all that but nothing will really change, not between us at least."

"We love you, male or female, simple really."

The night of the Yule Ball had finally come and you were a bundle of nerves as you fiddled with the buttons on your suit.

It was ironic really that your whole life had turned upside down but you'd landed exactly the right way up, never happier now that you could be exactly who you'd always been, who you knew you really were inside.

The idea of having to wear a dress, to conform to the social pressures that came along with your birth assigned gender was the catalyst to all of this, the turning point that you couldn't go back from. As you looked in the mirror and saw the man you had always been inside reflected in the mirror, a tear came to your eye.

"You look perfect, love," George says moving to stand behind you. He towers over you as usual and you can't help but think of how devastatingly handsome he looks, the colours of his waistcoat and dress robes contrasting perfectly with his flaming hair.

"You both look so handsome," you say, reaching out for them both as Fred steps closer to you, his suit matching George's and complimenting your own.

"Out the way, three handsome gentlemen coming through!" Fred says, barging past the crowd as he leads you by the hand into the hall, George attached to your other hand as you navigate the crowd together.

“Yeah coming through! He’s all ours, everyone put your eyes back in your head and avert them!” George shouts, shooting you a wink.

Your smile shines brighter than every candle in the hall combined as you make your grand entrance, finally at peace with yourself and the world around you.

Taglist is currently being uploaded.

[january-tala]

I finished watching Lockwood & Co.!! Alrighty, time for some random thoughts:

I take back my initial impression of Cameron Chapman. The teaser and the trailer didn't do him justice. He seemed stiff and unemotive there. But even in the first episode, he clearly has the range to portray Lockwood. See, I think the producers could have gone the easy way out and made Lockwood a Typical Brooding YA Hero, but they didn't. And it's so nice to see Lockwood's subtle shifts from infamy-obsessed, to caring employer, to slapdash planner, to I'm-kinda-besotted-with-Lucy, to suicidal, to 100-gigawatt smile. Like, they did that. They really did that.

I really really liked Lucy's extended backstory. Yes, they took out her five (or was it six?) sisters, but we got Norrie instead, and I quite liked the bond she and Lucy formed. I'm glad that she didn't outright die with the others, giving Lucy the opportunity to share her thoughts out loud when she's recording messages for Norrie.

I wasn't sure how I was gonna feel about George Karim, given that George Cubbins is such an iconic character. But I greatly warmed up to Ali's deadpan delivery of his lines. Also, that bit of backstory, "My parents had 4 children: engineer, engineer, engineer.... weirdo." That's what got me. I love him, lol.

Sooo, this might seem weird coming from a Locklyle shipper, but Locklyle was a bit too strong for me. One of the things I really liked about the series was that I was second-guessing myself whether there would even be any romance at all, and it wasn't until the end of Hollow Boy that I felt that possibility. I get that they're speeding things along, but I really appreciated Lucy's obtuseness when it came to romance in the books.

Ironically, I actually liked the way George K. and Flo warmed up to each other early. It was a sweet touch, especially considering how they both can be such grouches

Speaking of Flo, ngl I wasn't too taken in with her character in the books. She was simultaneously entertaining and irritating for me, but she never really went beyond the surface. So I really liked Hayley's more sympathetic portrayal of her. I don't know... she just felt more... human, I guess?

Inspector Barnes seems more strict and serious here in the show. I remember him being quite gruff in the books, in a kinda comical way. But I understand why they needed someone to really apply some pressure.

Are they trying to shoehorn a Lucy/Kipps romance???!!!! Please, no!!!

So... Skully... I wish they'd retained his sassier, snarkier personality from the books, but I can understand why they wanted to make him more serious and spooky.

It might just be me binge-watching the entire series, but nearing the end of episode 6, I felt like the pacing started to go off the rails. That said, The Whispering Skull is my least reread book of the series, so maybe I just have to refresh my memory. Like, I really loved the plot twist about George not wearing his glasses when looking into the mirror, and they changed that here.

Also it might just be that Lucy's crisp, strong voice really carried through the quieter moments in the books. We don't get to hear all her snarky thoughts, so maybe that's why I was feeling off about some scenes.

Left-handed Kate Godwin!!

Oh boy, I can't believe Golden Blade brought a gun to a rapier fight.

Okay I think that's the extent of my thoughts for now. Time to dive into the tags!!!!

[cryopathiic-a]

from behind hug . 

Fingertips brushed over the wood, hand idly resting against it, pausing. All he had to do was push it open. Push it open, set foot outside into the walkways, leave and head to the main floors, follow the orders ringing in his head. He could almost see, through a crack between the doors, the lanterns shining pale blue glow outside and the myriad fireflies congregating on the lilly pads. So... close.

But, all of a sudden, he simply did not have the strength to take another step. Something all-encompassing was flowing in his veins. Breath caught in his throat, a thick, bitter swallow as prismatic eyes widened, fixated on some distant spot. Nails scraped the wood as his hand simply fell idly by his side, and there his towering form leaned forth, threatening to collapse.

That girl.

He could picture her smiling. And it did not frustrate him to think about how he had been tricked just now. Which was even more pathetic than the fact he had been tricked in the first place. He could not even feel fear or shock or find any reason to panic when his own eyeball simply fell from his face and rolled onto the floor before him, polychromatic hues retaining their beautiful shimmer even then.

Pale fingers twitched, all of the realizations and sensations coursing through him during a mere few seconds. Until he felt the shroud of another presence; of something dark and powerful resting beside him, through the collective hivemind. It was not Muzan. Muzan's presence always came with demands. That was different. Someone reaching out, someone who was also in a dire situation. Not Akaza, his hoarse voice was long gone now. Dōma wondered if he had suffered in his final moments, or simply fell over dead like a fly after it smashed on a window. But he would not have much time to dwell on those thoughts, because the feel of strong arms wrapping around their form snapped them back to the reality of the circumstance.

Through the corner of his remaining eye, he could see the gusts of frost emitted by the Crystalline Divine Children and barely catch a glimpse of that one slayer with the jagged blades trying to whirl them away. Their voices had faded into the background now, although the demon could tell they were yelling something at each other.

Kokushibo-dono? Is that you? You are still alive...

It couldn't be anyone else. There were no others. Muzan-sama's voice felt distant and faded in the background. Suddenly, Dōma's hands, that had been idle as he had no reason to keep gripping onto life and only relied on those orders to keep going... clenched again. Over his shoulder, he turned, seeing even past the shadow of the other - that was only visible to him and merely felt as a threatening aura by the slayers. Indeed Kokushibo was such a powerful demon that he would be able to be in two places at one!

I think... I might be dying.

Their voice was hollow and unemotional, simply stating the fact through their blood bond. When Dōma had taken that offer, all those years ago, they had been well aware of what it meant: if Kibutsuji Muzan perishes, all of his spawns would too. So they had been protecting this man for over a century now, aimlessly. The thought of death did not touch them. But...

The being that was hugging them without even being physically present... squeezing them... that strong hold, it was keeping them together! Keeping them from falling apart!

[fabulouslyflamboyant5]

The Unrighteous Knight Part 3

pairing: azriel x second archeron sister!reader

summary: an argument with nesta sends you reeling, so what better place to escape to than your own room? and what worse fate to be bestowed upon you than azriel intruding your solitude?

warning: canon typical violence

word count: 1.2k

a/n: writer's block is a menace and I like crystals so please feel free to send in suggestions for a potentially witchy reader. also, I am experiencing INTENSE throne of glass withdrawals and need something else to latch on to.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

What is it to live? 

Must one feel to live? Or does life only exist in the fleeting moments of feeling? 

Feeling and living. Can someone composed of nothing attain either of the two concepts? Or are life and feeling limited to those composed of something. 

You are, in the biological sense, alive. 

You bleed red and you bleed often; usually at the hands of yourself, and sometimes by the fury of Azriel. 

But what does blood matter in any of this? It signifies you are alive, but fails to determine whether or not you are truly living.

It's a peculiar thing, really. 

Living. 

Is it meant to be defined, can it be? Or is it just something that is felt, never objectified, only ever theorized?

And can someone filled with nothing live? 

Would you be no more than a soul, rotting away in the shell of your lifeforce? Dead in all ways but anatomical? 

Is that what you are? A shell, hollow enough for the winds of change to pull back your exterior and expose the monotony that brews within you? 

Your answer comes in the form of wake.

Like a rose ripped from its stem and forced into a bouquet, you are plucked from your slumber and presented to the world once again; with the expectation that you live, even though you have long since died. 

It’s degrading, really. 

It makes you feel like a prop. 

You are not y/n Archeron, and you have not been for quite some time. You are the Night Courts underutilized doll, tucked away in a gloomy room and laid across a rose pillared bed. 

Adjectives fail to encapsulate your essence, for adjectives require substance. And you are lacking in everything one could possibly possess. 

It is questions like this that plague your thoughts, tying you to your bed, holding you hostage from the lives playing out behind your bedroom door. You’d like to believe you lived a more fulfilling life as a human, but you are well aware of the fact that despite the mortal blood that had run through your veins, you were never living. 

And despite it all, you remain placid, crestfallen on the stairs of yearning, praying for contentment to shine upon you. As fate would have it, contentment is not what arrives in seek of you, for it is Azriel looming over your unkempt silhouette. 

The thought of words being shared has a wave of nausea crashing against you. So you, in spite of your resentment for the winged manipulator, turn away from the closed curtains and lean onto your right side. 

His eyes are what you take in first. Had he not raised his blade against you, perhaps you’d dream of swimming in hazel. But life, never quite kind to you, has you drowning in the golden irises you cannot help but revere.

“Good evening, Shadowsinger, I do hope you’ve come in peace,” you drawl, never tearing your eyes from his own. 

Peace. 

The prospect of it has you scoffing. 

“I’ve come to you as I am,” he replies blankly. His face, that damn face. Had he looked any less regal then perhaps you’d have an easier time listening to what he had to say, but all you can focus on are his unemotive eyes and formidable wing span.

“...I do recognize the situation is less than ideal, but it is a direct order from Rhysand, and we have no choice but to conform.”

“Ah,” you begin, not quite sure what he had been explaining to you for the past few minutes.

He raises an eyebrow but quickly lets a scowl overtake his features. His arms cross and his eyes look as piercing as they feel. “You know nothing of what I just said to you. I don’t intend on repeating myself for I do not find you of all beings to be worth the effort,” he exhales sharply, “meet me at the training grounds tomorrow, bring no weapon and arrive no later than the sun.”

Training grounds, with him and not Nesta?

It’s hard to imagine your High Lord caring very much for your well being, even with Feyre’s convincing. Still, you cannot help but feel that you are being overlooked once more. Exploited and deceived, never allowed to make decisions for yourself. You do not wish to train, you do not wish to learn the art of bloodshed, and most notably, you despise the prospect of Azriel being the one to teach you, for his blade is still wedged in between your flesh each and every time you close your eyes. Even today, he did not come in peace, for peace is a concept entirely unknown to him. He, despite his success as the Night Court's spymaster, is a creature of torment. An unrighteous knight, a commander of cruelty, the bringer of despair. And yet, in his own twisted way, he is still a savior deserving of accolades. 

The clearing of his throat removes you from your trance, commanding your attention to his being once more. As though he expects an answer, he nods in your direction, encouraging you to say your part. You are once more a character in a play, for your lines are being fed to you and the individual you embody is a stranger to the soul inhabiting it.

“Very well,” you say, letting nothingness consume you once more, “I will see you tomorrow, no later than sunrise.”

Seemingly content, or something akin to it, Azriel’s gaze falls upon your own and his scowl deepens to the point where it seems permanently etched to his features. It is moments such as these that you wish you could retreat into the air and never return. Of everyone to have ever despised you, the hatred that Azriel emits is entirely unprecedented. Since you’d been turned into a creature of myths and legends, he has taken it upon himself, treating it like a mission of the utmost importance, to tear you apart until absolutely nothing remains. His words are venomous and his actions bleed true, never once have you felt like such a waste. 

Feeling is a fickle thing because before this most recent encounter, you’d been convinced that it was a language lost to you. But no, you are capable of feeling in the same ways you are capable of living. Hope is not lost but it is frivolous because the promise of feeling and the potential of life cannot stop your soul from rotting away. According to your own philosophy, you are dying, little by little with each passing day. And yet, it is Azriel who stands before you, seemingly content with making you his prey.

“Do not disappoint me,” he says as he walks further away, through the door and down the stairs, effectively leaving you to bathe in your own grievances. 

He speaks of disappointment as though they are old acquaintances; or, in simple terms, as if you’d never be capable of recognizing such a thing had he not identified it for you. But a fool he is, for you and disappointment are the dearest of friends and loveliest of lovers. 

“Until next time, Shadowsinger,” you say to no one in particular, staring at the chandelier above your sprawled form. Its crystals, sharp, precise, and devastatingly beautiful are what spark something in you. Even if it is only a spark, the reminder that you are not yet dead is all that matters in this very moment. 

So alas, a crystal is the muse that has called to you, and a crystal is the very thing your desires shall embody. 

taglist: @aetherl0l @sidthedollface2 @marvelouslovely-barnes @impossibelle @chessebookgirl

[hargrove-mayfields]

Getting real tired of the duffers and their split-second coincidences.

If Murray hadn’t gotten the code wrong, and Suzie hadn’t made Dustin sing with her to get the right code, thus forcing that ridiculously long montage, they could’ve closed the gate before the Russians arrived, so Billy wouldn’t have died and Hopper wouldn’t have been captured. If that random guy hadn’t walked past the Creel house and seen Erica, if Jason hadn’t responded to that tip and crushed the Walkman during the fight, if Mike's speech had taken just a few seconds less, Max wouldn’t have died. If Murray hadn’t been in the right spot at the right time with his flamethrower then Joyce and Hop would’ve died. Actually all of Russia was just one massive predictable chain of events, starting from the moment Joyce got the package, to Enzo conveniently being at the phone when they call back, to Yuri's betrayal conveniently happening in enough time to get them in the prison right before the demogorgon fight, to them finding a grate in the floor that lead to the middle of nowhere but was still close to Yuris hideout, etc. Also the California crew finding the Nina Project at the same exact time it’s being busted so they can take El away before the government realizes she wasn’t killed. The timing of every single moment is way too practiced and forced.

They’ve been doing this shit since season 1, the earliest I can think of being Jonathan taking an extra shift so he conveniently wasn’t home to notice Will went missing overnight or to give him a ride home from the Wheelers. One (usually) implausible thing after another building and building until it’s just over in the end and you feel empty because nothing really happened. It’s honestly getting boring. You can’t make a good show out of pure tension with no big pay-off. They drag out these sequences just for the outcome to be exactly the same. Hopper was in Russia for all nine episodes, and then he gets like five minutes to reunite with his family. Talk about rushed. We all knew he was going to survive, so putting him in these situations that were never going to end badly for them just made the Russia sequences feel long and unnecessary. And later, if Mike hadn’t said anything and El gave up, Max still would’ve died because the Walkman was broken. So what did the love confession add? They already created the setup, we could’ve skipped the middle entirely because it didn’t actually change anything in the long run. This is how they end up with details that they forget completely and it’s honestly just a frustrating way to write a story.

But they keep doing this over and over, crafting these extremely high stakes situations that they think are plot twists, where the predicted outcome still happens in the end, and there’s loose ends left over. That’s why I think the ending of the Piggyback felt so flat. Because it was the first moment in the season pretty much that wasn’t pinballing off of another. It felt like the start of the next season instead of a meaningful conclusion to everything that had happened in this season. Because after killing off two characters, their tension was used up, and they had to find a way to start over and fill in all the gaps they’d left in the storytelling while they were chasing those high-strung, coincidental plots. At some point, they realized they’d written themselves into a dead spot by beating this tactic to death and just went with a spongebob time card to fix all their narrative problems for them while they dumped all of the plot exposition into a half hour block of dramatic shots, which very much just felt out of place as a conclusion to this massive season with multiple episodes the length of films.

[vampkillr]

Migraine — Matt Murdock

m! reader — 1k words — hurt/comfort — mention of suicide — i had a migraine for 3 days so. this is escapism. wish i could have been knocked out for that shit. kinda jealous of the character

I could almost hear the incessant pounding of the blood that rushed through my head. A throb that had me convinced my brain was growing with each second, an ache that felt as if my skull was getting pressed through the inside out. Every small sound, every glow of light, every movement was a jagged knife being sheathed directly into my skull. I couldn't cry, I couldn't move, even blinking was a hellish feeling.

It didn't just hurt. I had become a shivering shell of a human. I was overcome with a suffering that I didn't even have the words to describe. Methodic, relentless pain. Unemotional and unending. There was nothing I could say or do to make it stop. "Again?" I could hear Matt, but I made no move to look at him or respond. My body was a cage in which there was no action without consequence. "I'll go get the medicine." I could hear every step he made, tiptoeing over to the windows to close the blinds and walking away. The simple things that I wasn't able to do for myself like getting up to turn off a light or switch on a fan, Matt did them without having to be asked, without expecting a 'thank you'. Times like these, where pain was my cocoon, Matt took care of me so silently. "This is the normal stuff," He whispered, voice barely on the precipice of being audible. I could taste the coating of the pill he pushed in my mouth. "and this tea should knock you out. I asked Stick for something to help and apparently this should keep you asleep until the Migraine is gone." A cup was pressed to my lips and I drank the sweet concoction, having no qualms about the fact I was being drugged.

When I woke up, Matt was laying beside me, and the hurt which engulfed me was almost completely gone. The side of my head felt hollow, and I knew all too well it would feel like that for days, but I felt strangely euphoric. All I was left with was a quiet evening and a brain without the strength to let complex thoughts occupy it. I was in my body again. "You okay?" His voice was still quiet, cautious.

"Always am," I whispered, turning on my side to face him. "are you?" My fingers found place on his chest, ghosting over the raised scars that laid so perfectly on his skin. A deep breath and a sigh.

"I can't think rationally when you get like that,” He started and I braced myself for the worst outcome of a conversation like this. I wouldn't hold it against him if he didn't want to take care of me anymore, but the drop in my gut at the thought was nauseating. “I can hear that you're not dying, I can hear your brain and I know you'll be okay— but I get so desperate. So..... anxious.” He almost sounded in disbelief that he could experience a feeling like that. “I would do anything in this world for you and the one thing I want to do most is the one thing I have no power over.”

I leaned my head on his chest and he pulled me to lay on top of him completely, holding onto me like if he didn't one of us would die. “What is it that you want to do?” I knew he could tell how nervous I was of his answer. I knew he could all but taste the fear that laced my words. Maybe even then.

“I want to take all of your pain and feel it for you. I want to take it all away from you the second you start to feel that way.” Matt pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You were asleep for a whole day.” I guessed as much from my change of clothes and my need to pee, but I wasn't going to outright tell him that.

“You do enough by just being with me. You function for me when I can't. You bathe me, turn lights off, close curtains, feed me, cover me up, clean up,” I propped myself up to get a good look at him. His beauty never ceased to amaze me. “You have no idea how much easier you make things, Matthew. You make all of it bearable. You make me want to push through it instead of giving up. I adore you— and everything you do is something I appreciate more than words can describe.” I understood the stress of a caretaker. I knew far too well exactly the way Matt felt— and during the time my father needed me, I was just a kid. A kid who had no idea what was happening to his dad. A scared kid who just knew he needed to be the man of the house for a few days every month.

I had no idea it felt this bad for him— but after the first one, I understood exactly why he killed himself. This was a disease only in death you could escape from. A disease that would make even a god-fearing man like Matthew accept a punishment of hell just to be without the torture. “You're staring.” He smiled.

“Just thinking,” I trailed off, kissing him gently and ignoring the embarrassment of not realizing he knew when I would stare. “I know what it feels like... To not be able to do anything and just watch.” Matt's hold on me squeezed just a bit tighter.

“I know,” He whispered. “you don't have to talk about him.” I never talked about my dad. And it wasn't necessarily because I didn't want to; of course I wasn't bothered by not having to— but, I think part of it was because the idea of me doing something similar scared Matthew. It scared him to death and he had no idea how obvious it was that he felt that way. I was the one person he let himself have. The person he couldn't lie to or try to run away from. Losing me would destroy him.

“I'm never gonna do that to you. I'm not gonna let you go through what I did.” Of course, the circumstances are different, but I couldn't rest in my grave knowing I robbed him of me. Even if living was the most painful thing in the world. I would endure it for him. He was enough for me.

likes and reblogs are appreciated — psa being this emotionally dependent on a person is very unhealthy so please don't think i'm encouraging thought like this. i am not. but, sometimes people can't help but think that way. which is what's happening here.

[burnedbyshoto]

bakugou leaving reader for the unknown, for his dream, because where they were wasn’t good enough, it was a hindrance on his future. it wasn’t so much that he hated his hometown, the people, or even you — he loved you, after all — but he just could never keep himself tied down to the place he was trying to outgrow.

he leaves for university, in the big city, a campus that is known for making the best, creating trailblazers in every field imaginable, and when he leaves at the age of eighteen, he doesn’t come back. all he remembers is the shocked look on your face and the helpless tears streaming down your face when he broke up with you.

it’s been twelve years, and he’s thirty now. he changed his number when he got to the new city, only keeping touch with his parents out of obligation than anything else. it’s short phone calls, three minute conversations of mitsuki scolding him for not calling enough, for never visiting, masaru trying to gently express their concerns for their only son, and of course, bakugou saying he needs to leave.

his parents are strangers to him, practically, and whenever they try to speak of his past life, the one he exchanged away for the current CEO position he’s found himself in, he hangs up. he doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t want the bitter pit in his stomach when they even begin to speak your name.

but they haven’t mentioned you in years.

but the thing about katsuki is, unfortunately, his attitude.

thirty years old and a prominent CEO of a company no older than four years old and yet already a billionaire? practically unheard of. sure, people, normal people, praise him for it, but the board? men who used to people like katsuki don’t praise him.

they hate his harsh attitude, his ridiculous will power, and necessity to do everything, and somehow… katsuki gets put on a leave of absence for a minimum of a year.

at first, it’s fine. bakugou spends the newfound free time traveling, seeing the world, doing things he never was able to because he was building his empire. but three months of nothing leads him to grow restless, bored, and the worst feeling in the world crawls into the pit of his stomach and he realizes in month number five what it is.

for the first time in his life, bakugou katsuki is: homesick.

so he goes home, trading the concrete jungle and modern technology for dirt roads and rusting machines. it’s just for a moment, he says as he sees the life he left behind ages ago.

it’s much slower in his hometown, people much more open and conversing with one another instead of cellphones like he’s grown used to. he isn’t quite ready to knock on his mother’s front door so he goes to the general store and walks straight to where he just knows his past time favorite snacks are.

to his total surprise (notice the sarcasm?) it’s right where he remembered it was through the cobwebs of his memory. there’s one bag of spicy corn chips left and as he reached for it, another hand goes for it too.

he freezes for a bit, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at the person who’s hand is connected to the bag of chips he wants.

but he stops breathing for just a moment.

it’s a young girl, most definitely no older than twelve, with your face. it’s exactly the same. but unlike you, the girl had ash blonde hair and deep red eyes.

the girl blinks eyes looking taken back and slightly lost, as does bakugou, and then as if finally caught up on the situation of things, she scowls.

“hands off the chips, old man! I got here first!”

the magic is gone and bakugou feels his eye twitch as he reels backward.

“what the hell did you just say to—?!”

“I said hands off! arent you too old to be eating chips anyways?! you’re practically a million years old, eat the lame corn nuts or something,” she scoffs rolling her eyes as she tucks the bag of chips under her arm.

“aren’t you some shitty little brat!” bakugou hisses, his hand twitching with irritation. “don’t you know to respect your fucking elders.”

“ain’t nothing to respect from what I can tell!”

“aiko, hurry up,” a voice bemoans from behind the aisle and bakugou feels his chest constrict in the weirdest, most heart aching way as you walk around the corner with an armful of party supplies. “we have to get to your grand—”

bakugou stares at you, and you at him. the tension and silence so thick and heavy on the both of your shoulders and tongues.

in the twelve years he’s been away, bakugou has had other relationships. most of them due mostly to friends insistence, and others mostly just because he wanted a warm body nearby. but no one could ever match what you meant to him, not that he could have realized that because he could never think back to you. you were his past, not his present, not his future.

and bakugou was suddenly feeling a lot of things, thinking a lot of things as he looked between you and well… aiko.

“y/n,” bakugou’s voice is hollow, almost unbelievable. “i-is she — are we—?”

“this is my daughter, y/l/n aiko,” you say, steely calm and dangerous. the warm smile you were wearing moments ago clean off your face and your eyes were like glass — shiny, unemotional. “she was born after you left, so you never got a chance to meet her, did you?”

“y/n—“

“y/l/n!” you snap, face still void of emotions. “you don’t have that right anymore.”

bakugou stiffens for a moment, but he knows that you’re right. “y/l/n,” he tries again, your last name a word he’s never had to use in his entire life to address you. “how old is she?”

“mama,” aiko whispers, eyes glaring at bakugou as she stand protectively in front of you, fingers digging into your blouse. “I wanna go now.”

your eyes drop from bakugou, and he watches as a strained but kind smile is expressed to aiko as you press a kiss to her forehead. “okay, go pay for these things for me, will ya? tell tayo-sama we’ll pay him back tomorrow. i’m going to finish this conversation with… with my old classmate.”

aiko looks between you and bakugou, eyebrows furrowed with unsaid questions but she nods, grabbing the things from your arms and going to the cash register. bakugou keeps his gaze on the young girl until your fingers dig into his bicep and your pulling him into a corner that he had definitely made out with you in ages, lifetimes ago.

“what are you doing here?!” you hiss in a near terrible whisper, face frazzled and overwhelmed. “you’ve never been back home! what’s different?!”

“is she mine?!”

“no!” you shriek, fist hitting his chest. “she’s not yours! she’s mine! she’s not some claimable object you get to collect years later!”

bakugou stiffens but also feels like he melts with guilt under those words… youre right. he has no claim to her. all he did was give her life but it was a life where he was probably nothing more than an empty space in. but he looks at you, millions of emotions swimming through your watery eyes, and the snarl on your lips as you stand before him as if you could do anything.

“i’m… i’m sorry, you’re right,” bakugou says, lips pressing into a thin line.

“you shouldn’t have come back,” you laugh miserably, fingers massaging your temples. your tone is weak, defeated, as if for the first time in your life you felt the bottom of the pit. “why did you come back home?”

“mama!!!! let’s go already!!!” aiko whines by the entrance and you tremble in front of him before shaking your head.

“coming!” you call back to her.

bakugou steals another look at what is his daughter. a girl he never knew existed.

“do me a favor, bakugou,” you say passing him with small but domineering steps. “don’t do anything to make her suspect youre her father.”

it took a few hours, probably more, maybe less, but bakugou finally finds himself at his childhood home. he’s heart feeling like it was being swallowed as the front door opened and he saw his older mother and father standing at the entrance. bakugou couldn’t understand what they were saying as they welcomed him in, he could only notice how their home looked exactly the same… well except that the walls that were decorated with photos of him and only him were also covered with pictures of aiko.

“did you know?” bakugou asks before he can even say hello.

mitsuki stopped mid rant, her face moving from irritated mother to exasperated but pitiful silence.

“since she found out.”

“why didn’t you… why didn’t I know?”

“she tried telling you, called you multiple times only to be blocked,” masaru gently explains. “you always shut us down when we so much as mentioned her.”

“she even flew out there at one point but caught you making out with some dumb model too.” mitsuki inserts with a huff. “we tried, brat. you just…”

bakugou is silent, his heartbeat roaring in his ears at the thought of his initial monstrous attempt of deleting his past life. mitsuki sighs, sad and sullen.

“there was no point in telling you when you won’t listen.”

or the story of a one sided bitter ex as bakugou and reader are challenged at creating some semblance of a relationship because aiko pieces it together the moment they looked at each other. including a lot of angst, a six month time limit to rekindle a once in a lifetime love story because choosing between family and work is damn hard.

[wizardofrozz]

Echoes of the Past

Bucky Barnes x Super Soldier!Reader, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, brief Helmut Zemo

Word Count: ~4.7k

Warnings: swearing, dark themes, description of torture, description of injury, mention of nightmares, violence, blood

Chapter 3

1965

(Y/N) ripped her hand out of the cuff keeping her suspended, her scream echoing off the walls when she felt a sharp pop in the shoulder still held down. Her scream tapered on into soft whimpers as the pain slowly bled into the dull ache that was her body at this point. Every inflation of her lungs was agonizing; one eye was swollen shut, bruises littered her torso, and her wrists were rubbed raw. Blood trickled from her parted lips, dropping onto the concrete floor under her hanging head, pooling in front of her foot.

When a handler released the remaining cuff, (Y/N) nearly sobbed in relief, putting all her weight on the shoulders of the men carrying her forward. Her head bobbed as they moved across the room, her chin knocking against her chest, making the pounding in her head intensify. A distant murmuring broke through the throbbing in her skull, and with the last bit of energy she had, (Y/N) lifted her head, fighting to focus her good eye, and God, she wished she hadn’t.

Bucky sat back on his haunches, shackled to the floor, his silver arm catching the light where it rested in his lap with his flesh hand. He looked sickly, his cheeks were hollow, and his chocolate brown hair was greasy and stringy. (Y/N) noticed his pale, cracked lips moving around the same three words, repeating them like a mantra.

           “You’re not real. You’re not real…” (Y/N) managed to drag her eyes away from his mouth, and a pained gasp rattled in her chest when she moved to his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes were empty, staring off unfocused and unemotional; (Y/N) shivered, knowing that blank stare would haunt her for years to come.

           “Vstan'te,” (Stand up) a handler barked. Bucky didn’t even flinch when the handler nudged him with their knee and (Y/N)’s heart twinged.

           “Bucky,” she whimpered, sounding broken, teetering on the verge of unconsciousness. His mantra abruptly stopped, but he didn’t look at her; instead, he calmly climbed to his feet, his arms hanging limp at his side. The handlers pulling (Y/N) along paused for a moment, letting her get one more look at him before dragging her off to heal. Just before she was pulled away, Bucky turned his head, and the last thing (Y/N) saw was cold, dead eyes staring back at her.

           “(Y/N)!” Natasha shouted, shaking her shoulders. She jolted awake with a gasp, wildly flailing her arms, nearly punching Natasha in the side of the head as she scrambled back in her seat. Her eyes darted around the small cabin, panting raggedly as she tried to slow her heart rate again.

           “Shit, sorry,” (Y/N) rasped, scrubbing a hand over her face, sucking in a deep breath.

           “You good? You were, uh, screaming,” Natasha whispered, sitting back in her seat, turning to look out the tiny window.

           “Nightmare,” (Y/N) breathed, glancing out the plane’s window, watching the scenery fly by.

           “Still?”

           “They only started about two and a half years ago. Well, more like two years, those first six months were…” (Y/N) trailed off, shivering at the memory. The first six months out of cryo were beyond miserable; spending days on end curled up in a dark room feeling like her head was going to split open as her brain tried to piece together her scrambled memories.

           “Yeah, Steve told me it was bad,” Natasha mumbled, glancing at her before looking back out the window.

           “Bad is an understatement,” (Y/N) scoffed, running fingers through her hair. “How much longer?”

           “We’ll be landing in Berlin in about 20 minutes.”

           “When are they going after him?” (Y/N) asked, wringing her hand, avoiding Natasha’s gaze.

           “They’re already on their way,” Natasha whispered, looking up through her lashes. (Y/N)’s eyes widened, swallowing around the lump in her throat as she looked out the window again, not bothering to stop her knee from bouncing.

The Joint Counter-Terrorism Centre buzzed with people as Natasha and (Y/N) walked through the front door. A surprisingly serious Tony Stark stood at the bottom of a giant staircase, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed.

           “Nice of you ladies to join me,” Tony snarked, pushing off the railing to meet them halfway. “They found Barnes.” (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she might faint. “Rogers and Wilson were with him.”

           “What?” (Y/N) snapped, startling Tony, making him stumble back a step.

           “Oh shit, Captain Golden Boy lied to you, didn’t he?” Tony didn’t bother to hide his smirk and (Y/N) wanted to smack it off his face.

           “Now’s not the time, Tony,” Natasha grumbled, pushing him towards the steps, waving (Y/N) to follow.

           “They should be rollin’ Barnes through in about half an hour,” Tony said over his shoulder, meeting (Y/N)’s eyes briefly. (Y/N) silently following Tony and Natasha through the labyrinth of hallways, ignoring their hushed conversation as her thoughts ran wild. She had no idea what to expect when she saw Bucky again for the first time outside Hydra’s control, and it terrified her. What if he didn’t recognize her? What if he didn’t want to see her? Oh god, what if-

           “You comin’, She-Hulk?” Tony’s voice snapped (Y/N) out of her spiraling thoughts just in time for her to hear the irritating nickname and shoot him a dirty look as she pushed past him. The room they were in was open, a few couches set up outside a small, glass-enclosed office, and one wall lined with monitors; a small group of people sat at the desks below the screens, typing away, the clacking of keys filling the silence. (Y/N) dropped onto one of the white couches, leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling; Tony made a move to sit near her, but Natasha grabbed his arm, faintly shaking her head and pulling him towards the other couch.

Thirty minutes had never seemed so long; the seconds seemed to stretch on for hours as (Y/N) switched between staring at the ceiling and staring at the time stretched across the monitor closest to her. She felt like she was stuck in a time loop, holding her just out of reach of the one thing she wanted more than anything, and it was eating away at her self-control. Half an hour passed with no news of the boys’ return, and (Y/N) couldn’t sit still anymore and elected to pace the length of the couch, pressing on her knuckles repeatedly despite them cracking 45 minutes ago. The door along the back wall groaned softly, and Sharon walked through with a smile on her face, hurrying toward (Y/N).

           “They’re back,” Sharon beamed. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sharon stepped aside, getting out of the way of the super-soldier making a beeline for the door. “In the garage!” Sharon yelled just before (Y/N) was out of sight. (Y/N) tried to keep a non-enhanced pace as she jogged through the hallways, throwing the door open to the stairwell and taking them two at a time. She finally reached the garage, slowing to a walk as she looked around the giant room, searching for the three faces she longed to see. (Y/N) walked around one of the parked vehicles, stopping on a dime when she saw them; Natasha caught up to her, plowing into her, sending her stumbling a few steps forward.

           “Jesus,” Natasha wheezed, holding her side. “Slow your roll.” (Y/N) couldn’t care less what Natasha was saying as she gaped at the two figures walking towards her, her heart dropping to her feet when she noticed the pod flanked by guards rolling behind them. Tears welled up in her eyes as she took a tentative step forward, forcing her legs to carry her across the dark concrete. Steve and Sam reached her first, Steve’s hands shooting out to grab her shoulders and stop her in her tracks.

           “I got you ten minutes,” Steve whispered, giving her a tight smile. (Y/N) could only nod, her eyes flickered up to his face for a second before focusing over his shoulder again. She quickly stepped around Steve, slowly approaching the pod as she tried to steady her breathing. He looked like a caged animal on display for people to point and murmur about, and for a split second, rage flashed through her veins, and she wanted to tear the stupid pod to pieces.

Bucky sat strapped to a chair with his head bowed, both of his arms were locked down, and a harness framing his chest. He sat unnaturally still; the only movement (Y/N) could see was his breath moving the hair hanging in his face. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as she moved closer, her brows shooting up her forehead and her the corners of her mouth turning down as she noticed just how big Bucky had got after being on his own. She screwed her eyes shut, shaking away the thoughts before closing the last bit of space between her and the glass opposite Bucky.

           “Bucky?” (Y/N) whispered, resting a hand against the glass, any trace of anger slipping away. Bucky’s eyes shot open, but he kept his head down, blinking at his feet before closing them again, slowly lifting his head. When his eyes finally fluttered open, (Y/N) gasped, suddenly realizing that her memories didn’t do the blue of his eyes justice.

           “No,” he breathed, tears pooling in his eyes as he shook his head. “You – you can’t be here.”

           “Well, I am,” (Y/N) sighed, never breaking eye contact.

           “No!” Bucky shouted. He started straining against his restraints but immediately settling when the guards lifted their weapons but not without glaring at the closest one before ducking his head. “No, you can’t be here because – because if you’re here, then…that means you were really t-there.” Bucky’s voice cracked, his bottom lip quivering as a single tear rolled down his cheek, breaking her heart more than she thought possible. She instantly knew what he was talking about, and she wished she could tell him it wasn’t real, but her nightmares begged to differ.

           “I was,” (Y/N) whispered, leaning down to try and catch his eyes that were pinned to the floor again.

           “It’s my fault,” Bucky cried, his hair moving around his face as he shook his head.

           “No, it was mine. I went digging around in places I shouldn’t have,” she insisted, leaning her forehead against the glass, watching the tears drop onto his lap.

           “You were there because of me.”

           “Bucky,” (Y/N) pleaded, waiting for him to look up, her chest aching when he refused. “Please, please look at me.” Bucky shook his head, his hands curling into fists as he dipped his head lower, his chin touching his chest.

           “I c-can’t,” he croaked, hiccupping around a sob.

           “James, please. I need to erase the empty look in your eyes that I see every night,” (Y/N) begged, wiping the tears collecting at her chin. Bucky sucked in a ragged breath, slowly tilting his head up enough that (Y/N) see his eyes; she gave him a sad smile, lifting her head off the glass to see him better. “Hi, baby.”

Bucky choked on a sound that fell somewhere between a sob and a laugh, a wavering smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Hey, doll.”

           “I missed you,” she whispered. (Y/N) focused on his red-rimmed icy blue eyes that were overflowing with emotion, something she hadn’t seen in person in a very long time, and she was soaring.

           “Times up,” one of the guards barked, moving to her side. (Y/N) gaped up at the guard, her instincts telling her to fight it, the longing to talk to Bucky for even a minute longer was almost overwhelming.

           “It’s okay,” Bucky’s voice drew her back. “It’s okay, doll.” The smile that spread across his face nearly brought her to her knees, and she yearned to kiss the boyish grin off his face.

           “I love you,” she croaked, letting her hand slide off the glass.

           “I love you more,” Bucky breathed, his smile wavering. (Y/N) caught the tick in his jaw when the guard pulled her to the side so the cage could be rolled towards the interview room. The guard left her side as soon as Bucky had passed, leaving (Y/N) standing on wobbly legs as she watched the man she loved get taken from her again.

She stood there, staring in the bowels of the garage, feeling like she was being consumed by the gaping hole Bucky left in her chest and like she was flying with the pure joy of seeing him again. (Y/N) couldn’t fight it anymore; she bent at the waist and emptied her stomach onto the dirty floor.

Steve found her a few minutes later, pointedly avoiding the vomit as he steered her towards the elevator.

           “He’s okay,” Steve murmured, tightening the arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “I know he’s being framed.” (Y/N) could only nod, causing a few stray tears to fall onto her shirt; she leaned into Steve’s side, making a poor attempt to wipe away any evidence of tears as the elevator approached the right floor. Natasha, Tony, and Sam turned when the door opened, pity written all over their faces, and (Y/N) wanted to scream; she brushed Steve off and wandered into the glass office, followed by Steve and Sam.

           “You’ll be able to see him on the screen,” Natasha spoke up, offering a small smile before walking out of the office. (Y/N) nodded, aiming a tight smile at Natasha’s back before training her eyes on the screen hanging from the ceiling. She glanced over at the door as Steve slipped out, talking to Tony, their voice low hum through the glass, but she ignored them, keeping her eyes glued to the blank screen. After a few minutes, she could hear the conversation between Steve and Tony getting louder, but her attention was pulled away again when the screen flickered. (Y/N)’s heart jumped, focusing all her attention on the footage from the top corner of Bucky’s pod, watching him shift around in his seat.

She barely reacted when Steve lumbered back in the room, although she did notice the thick tension that came with him. (Y/N) watched Bucky look around like a curious child, his face turning up towards the camera for a moment before his head snapped forward suddenly. Another man had walked into the room, placing a few things on the desk before settling into the chair. (Y/N) jumped when the door opened again, and Sharon walked in, handing something to Sam before resting hands on her hips, watching the monitor.

           “Bird costume? Come on,” Sam grumbled, glaring at the blonde.

           “I didn’t write it,” Sharon snorted, pushing a button on the panel on the desk, flooding the room with sound. (Y/N) glanced over towards where Steve sat lounging with his feet up, his face contorted as he studied a piece of paper.

           “I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” (Y/N) bristled at the use of his full name, noticing the way Bucky did too; he stayed quiet, staring daggers at the man sitting opposite him and (Y/N) didn’t fight the smug grin that followed. “I can’t help you if you don’t want to talk to me, James.”

           “My name is Bucky.” (Y/N)’s heart still fluttered at the sound of his voice, despite hearing it a few minutes earlier.

           “Why would the Task Force release this photo, to begin with?” Steve’s voice forced her to break her fixation on the screen and turn her attention to her best friend; (Y/N) shuffled across the room, standing over Steve’s shoulder. He looked up at her, shifting so she could see the picture too; she squinted at the picture, trying to find some indication that it was Bucky, but nothing changed. She was still convinced he was innocent.

           “Something feels wrong about this,” (Y/N) commented low enough just for Steve to hear, meeting his eyes.

           “Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Sharon suggested with a shrug.

           “Right. It’s a good way to flush a guy out of hiding.” Steve raised a brow at (Y/N) before shifting his gaze to Sharon; (Y/N) straighter again, her eyes falling on the image of Bucky squirming in his seat. “Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.”

           “You’re saying someone framed him…to find him,” Sharon proposed, her brows furrowing as she looked between Steve and the monitor.

           “Guys, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing,” Sam interjected, his eyebrows arched up in disbelief.

           “We didn’t bomb the UN,” Steve noted, raising a brow.

           “That turns a lot of heads,” (Y/N) added, crossing her arms again.

           “Yeah, but that doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would.” Sharon’s voice grew softer as she finished, pausing for a moment before turning her eyes on the monitor, squinting to get a better look at the evaluator. Dread twisted in (Y/N)’s stomach, her hand shooting out to grab Steve’s shoulder as she stumbled under the force of it.

           “Tell me, Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?”

           “I don’t wanna talk about it,” Bucky growled, his scowl deepening.

           “You fear that…if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry,” the evaluator paused, swiping at something on his tablet, and (Y/N)’s grip on Steve tightened. “We only have to talk about one.”

           “Steve,” (Y/N) tried, her voice climbing with fear. His name barely gets past her lips before every light in the building went dark, leaving (Y/N), Steve, Sharon, and Sam staring into nothingness until red emergency lights lit up their faces in an ominous glow. (Y/N), Sam and Steve shared wide-eyed looks before turning on Sharon, the trio already moving towards the office door.

           “Sub-level 5, east wing,” she called, shooing them. The three took off running, skidding around corners until Steve stopped; Sam grabbed (Y/N)’s arm to keep her from falling when her shoes slid out from under her. Steve’s eyes darted around the tiny map bolted to the wall, his hands clenching at his side, his lips moving as he memorized the path.

           “This way,” he called, taking off in the opposite direction Sam and (Y/N) were heading. The three barreled through the hallways, narrowly missing fleeing workers as they drew closer to the chamber Bucky should be in. (Y/N) picked up on the ringing of metal hitting concrete, and she knew that couldn’t be a good sign, and they were still two floors above where they needed to be. They finally burst through the door at the bottom of the steps but stopped short; agents were slumped all over the floor, none of them moving other than the faint rise and fall of their chests.

           “Jesus Christ,” (Y/N) gasped, turning a worried look towards Steve, only to find a similar expression reflecting back at her.

           “Come on,” Steve whispered, maneuvering his way towards the chamber. Sam stepped in front of (Y/N), and when she tried to argue, he pinned her with a scowl that she was sure would be deadly if looks could kill.

           “Fine,” she breathed, following behind Sam, scanning the room for movement. Steve lumbered into the room first, making a beeline for something (Y/N) couldn’t see; she took a deep breath at the same time Sam did and prepared for the worst. (Y/N) saw him at the last second and ducked, shielding her eyes from the dust exploding from the wall where Bucky’s fist hit. She looked up just as Bucky threw Sam across the room by his face, of all things, and she froze when his attention was suddenly on her.

(Y/N) had only seen Bucky sitting in the pod but now that he was out, she got a good look at him, and holy shit. He loomed in the doorway, nearly filling it as he watched her with dark, cold eyes; she tried to take a calming breath, that didn’t seem to help, before slowly moving closer.

           “Bucky,” she tried, offering him a shaky smile, “I know you’re in there.” (Y/N) had to suppress the urge to giggle when the Winter Soldier tilted his head, his face softening into something resembling curiosity. The docile nature only lasted until (Y/N) tried to reach for him and the rage came back for force, a feral yell falling from his lips as he swung. She ducked the punch, holding her hands out, trying to plead with him, but it didn’t matter; he kept coming for her, shouting every time he missed.

           “Damnit, Bucky!” (Y/N) yelled, swatting away a right hook. Her fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side, and he stumbled back, stunned, blinking at her for a moment. She inched closer to the doorway she had managed to move him away from; she got a step inside when the Winter Soldier charged. His metal fist was aimed for her face, and she twisted out of the way, which ended up being exactly what he wanted, and his flesh hand landed, palm open, right over her solar plexus. The air was quite literally punched from her lungs as she flew backward, knocking into the side of Bucky’s abandoned pod before falling to the ground.

(Y/N) rolled onto her back, clawing at her chest as she gasped and gagged, trying to pull air into her lungs as her diaphragm spasmed. It felt like she was trapped under a ton of bricks, her vision starting to blur as the time without the proper amount of oxygen got longer. It felt like she laid there for hours until she noticed she was pulling more air in with each inhale, and the panic started to subside; (Y/N) rolled onto her side, coughing as she tried to get to her feet again.

           “Take it easy,” Sam warned absently, pulling his knees under himself. (Y/N) got to her feet and grabbed Sam’s arm to help him up when she noticed the evaluator peering into the elevator shaft. “Hey!”

           “Where’s Steve?” (Y/N) called as Sam took off running.

           “Find him!” was what Sam offered as he rounded the corner. (Y/N) tried to sigh but instead hissed at the sharp pain in her midsection, gently lifting the edge of her shirt as she wandered towards the elevator.

           “Jesus, Buck,” (Y/N) huffed. She gently traced the already forming bruise in the vague shape of Bucky’s hand, trying not to breathe too deeply and cause herself more pain. She let her shirt fall as she approached the side of the elevator, figuring the fake evaluator had a reason for looking down the elevator shaft. (Y/N) leaned through the destroyed doors, her eyes searching for something, when she noticed the blonde mop of hair moving at the bottom.

           “(Y/N)!” Steve called, hoping she could hear him, not realizing she was standing right there.

           “What?”

           “Jesus Christ!” Steve shouted, tripping over something she couldn’t see. “A little warning next time.”

           “Oh, sorry, I’ll send up a flare next time,” (Y/N) scoffed, rolling her eyes.

           “You okay?” he called, tilting his head back to look up at her.

           “Well, I have a hand-shaped bruise above my stomach from Bucky trying to punch my lungs out through my back, but other than that, I’m great.” Steve’s snort echoed through the elevator shaft, making (Y/N) smile, despite the shitty situation.

           “Good, go find Sam,” Steve ordered, fumbling around in the dark corner to (Y/N)’s left.

           “Shouldn’t I help you?”

           “Just go!” (Y/N) rolled her eyes again but caved, jogging towards the stairwell Sam disappeared into. She took the steps two a time for as long as she could before breathing heavily hurt too much; she managed to make it to sub-level 2 before she had to slow down. She nearly hit Sam with the door when she emerged on the ground floor, grabbing for him when he stumbled.

           “Where’s Steve?” Sam asked, looking over her head.

           “Climbing the elevator shaft,” (Y/N) replied, rubbing circles over her steadily forming bruise.

           “Excuse me,” Sam scoffed, titling his head, looking thoroughly done with Steve at that moment.

           “Yeah, whatever you’re thinking, I agree,” (Y/N) laughed, watching Sam slap a hand over his eyes. She let Sam have a second to collect himself, dragging his hand down his face stretching the skin with a sigh. “Fed up with Steve Rogers yet?” (Y/N) snorted, covering her laughter.

           “You have no…actually, if anyone would understand, it would be you,” Sam laughed, resting a hand on her shoulder to steer her back towards the belly of the building.

           “And you’ve only had the pleasure of dealing with just Steve; when he and Bucky are together, it’s a whole different beast.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes fondly, thinking back on the things they’d get into and smiled at the thought of them being together again. A staticky buzz hit her ears, and she turned towards Sam, raising an eyebrow as he dug something out of his coat pocket.

           “Swiped it off an agent,” Sam replied with a shrug, showing her the handheld radio. Sam twisted the nob, flooding the narrow hallway with the grainy voice, holding it between himself and (Y/N).

           “I repeat, the helicopter is down. We need to send a team into the canal,” the disembodied voice crackled. (Y/N) looked up at Sam, the pair sharing an exasperated look before Sam pocketed the radio again and started for the back of the building.

           “How many times are we going to pull these assholes out of the water,” Sam grumbled, glancing around for any sign of movement.

           “This better be the last time,” (Y/N) huffed, pointing to the emergency exit at the other end of the hall they turned down.

           “Motherfuckers,” the pair hissed simultaneously. Sam and (Y/N)’s eyes met, lingering for a second before their laughter filled the hallway, the echoes following them into the warm afternoon. Sam went ahead, jogging towards the canal's edge closest to the floating debris while (Y/N) checked for approaching guards before joining Sam. He shouldered her gently, pointing towards a bobbing shape closer to the other side of the canal, and the closer she looked, she could see the flash of Bucky’s red shirt.

           “Come on,” (Y/N) urged, tugging on Sam’s sleeve. “We gotta get out of here before the dive team shows up.”

           “Ready to steal a car,” Sam sighed, jogging down the length of the building.

           “Why not? Might as well ease myself into a life of crime,” (Y/N) joked, smirking at Sam.

           “That’s the spirit,” Sam cheered, directing her onto the street in front of the JCTC building. “Stay.”

           “Seriously,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “I could break into a car easier than you.”

           “Yeah, except a car missing a door or a window would draw attention,” Sam counter, raising a challenging brow. (Y/N) had no reasonable argument, so instead, she just mocked Sam and moved into the shadow of the building to pout. Sam grinned like an idiot before jogging down the street, checking car doors, cheering to himself when the door of a navy-blue beetle opened. “(Y/N)!”

Her head popped out from behind the building, and Sam waved her closer, doubled checking no one was lurking around before dropping into the driver’s seat. (Y/N) rested a hand on top of the driver’s door, watching Sam hotwire the car, memorizing how to do it, just in case she needed it in the future. The beetle’s engine coughed and sputtered, finally roaring to life before settling into a weak purr, and Sam beamed up at her, waving her towards the passenger’s side.

(Y/N) settled into the seat, glancing around the small car as Sam navigated the obnoxiously blue vehicle onto the street towards the nearby bridge. “You look good driving a clown car,” (Y/N) joked, biting her lip in an attempt to keep a straight face.

           “Shut up,” Sam hissed, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, sending her into a laughing fit at his expense.

Chapter 4 | Masterlist

Taglist:

@itsafansworld07​ @youracidqueenmina​ @witch-of-letters​ @spookyparadisesheep​ @blackbirddaredevil23​ 

[sneezefiction]

please don’t go

Ushijima x Reader - Scenario

@moonlightaangel‘s event request: “congrats on reaching 600 followers!! 🥰 can i request ‘please don’t go’ with ushijima, if it hasn’t been requested yet! i need some angsty feelings in my life”

a/n: mmmm angsty Ushijima is my aesthetic :,,)) i also messed around with some flashback formatting, so i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: angst, breakups

wc: 1640

---

“Please don’t go.” It’s a soft, tearful whisper.

“I thought you would understand, y/n. We had established this.” His reply was blunt. Like a dull knife to the chest, digging deeply only to pull right back out, leaving you gushing and writhing at his words.

“Please don’t.” Your cry reached his ears this time.

“I need to focus.” He sighs, twinging with guilt. 

Why didn’t you understand? Had you not known that his career would come first? Above everything else?

Or had he misspoken at some point, giving you the false assurance that this relationship would work forever? That he could always treat you as though it were possible to balance both you and his life’s work.

“Then I won’t distract you! Just don’t leave me. Please.” You begged, knees painfully falling to the cold floor, but your cries fell on deaf ears. 

He remains resistant to change. Without accommodations. Nothing left to give or take.

“Maybe someday, y/n. But this isn’t working out for me anymore. I have to leave for now.” Ushijima’s response is icy. 

He meant for those words to somehow be heartening. Promising, even. That maybe this was just the wrong time and place for a relationship. Where time could ebb and flow and someday he would be able to draw you back into his life.

Yes, there would be a day where you could take priority.

Because he wanted you… but not above his first love. Not above his skills and lifestyle. Not enough.

Volleyball comes first. Plain and simple.

And for that, he wouldn’t compromise.

---

White, crisp linens and fresh lemony scents.

Fluffed pillows fitted with new covers and soft patterns. Feather filled duvets. Curtains drawn to keep out the early morning light. 

Everything has stayed clean, clear, and Pristine. Even the dust particles, dancing around the room, have always seemed to find their own peace, settling mildly in gentle formations.

You sleepily blink open your eyes, rustling your arms over the bedspread to what should be a happier sight. Soft pillows hugging your sides, the gentle birdsong outside your window, a conceivably delicious cup of coffee to be made in the kitchen.

Yes, you should be filled with contentment. You were safe. Physically you were fine, and nothing was on your checklist for today.

In fact, things had appeared fine for months now...

Yet all you notice is who’s missing.

There’s no longer a delicate divet where his dozing head used to lay. The scent and shape of the pillow had only recently dissipated thanks to your citrusy laundry detergent and the slow passing of time.

You don’t awaken to a recently showered, olive-green eyed boyfriend. You could still picture the water droplets, hanging freshly on the tips of his tufts of hair. How the towel draped around his neck, over his shoulders, catching the drips and drops as they fell.

That warm smile he shared with you before placing a chaste kiss upon your forehead, caressing the side of your face. It was pure. You can almost feel the ghost of his lips. Still lingering. Mocking you.

You were liberated from his presence… but you never wanted to be.

Being absorbed in his chaotic life had kept you busy, but you had never minded it. There was never a doubt in your mind that volleyball would be his first priority. That he would follow his passions. His plans. His abilities.

You just wanted to tag along. To sincerely celebrate his victories and mourn his losses. Supporting him and holding onto him when he needed it. Yes, he got home late at night, left early in the morning, and only connected with you on his very few off days… but you cherished every second of it.

Because you loved him. You poured your soul into watching him flourish and thrive. It made you feel whole.

However, eventually, to Ushijima, you started to rival volleyball, becoming a distraction. He had made space for you in his already complicated life. And at first, it was a welcome change. A breath of fresh air to his methodical and planned out character. You were complex, bringing new perspective and sunshine into his typically boring apartment. Beautiful in a natural, yet eye-catching way. Furthermore, you somehow knew how to keep up with his hectic pace along with his gruff personality. 

In every aspect, you were perfect.

Expect one.

You were a diversion from the life he had in mind.

And even though you never pushed him to give you more… he longed to give you more of his attention. More time. To share his success with you. To love you deeper. To give you what you deserved. Because you are a profound being… and it burdened him to have to choose between his two greatest desires.

But, as most things do, these thoughts of love and devotion go unspoken, coming out all wrong. Mangled, unemotional, and misrepresented. Looking back, Ushijima wishes he’d been able to express it to you with empathy. To erase the tears that followed his brutal narrative. But softness isn’t his strong suit… and he needed you to know that, as powerful as he was, he wasn’t strong enough to balance you and volleyball.

---

“Ushijima, if you leave…” You take a deep breath, tears slipping down your face, “... you have to promise me you’ll never come back.” You choke out, your request came out in a sobering snarl.

For a moment, you question your own words- but your dignity was on the line.

“You can’t just break up with me and expect me to be there when you get back. I’m not disposable, you know?”

His body goes rigid. He hadn’t meant it that way.

You meant more to him than words could express… so why couldn’t he get it out clearly enough? How could he make you understand the gravity of his choices?

“...Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like that. I just need to concentrate right now.” The alarm, though subtle, shines in his eyes.

His usually composed, confident figure began to show cracks of uncertainty. He didn’t want you out of his life… Not at all.

He just needs you out of his mind for the time being. Just until he had things settled. You could come back at some point and he could love you so well. Just the way it was supposed to be.

But clearly he’d struck a deeper chord. He’d selfishly assumed you would wait for him. You weren’t some prized pony.

You’re a person. Someone with worth, plans, and dreams, just like him. He’d failed to acknowledge just how demeaning the truth of his actions were. But it’s too late.

You haven’t replied and the pain is etched intricately across your face.

“Okay, fine.” He breathes in deeply, letting out one final exhalation of defeat, “I... I’m sorry, y/n.” His brows furrow in deep, conflicted thought, but his mind is made.

He won’t be back.

---

Ushijima’s life hasn’t changed much.

It’s the same old routine. The standard, grueling workouts. Typical volleyball practice, group meetings, finances, paychecks, physicals, doctor’s appointments, fan meet-n-greets.

The usual.

But there’s a void settling like glacial frost in his soul. A snowy blue that seemed to melt into his bones, slowing him down.

He didn’t go a week… a day...  a minute without thinking of you.

Even now, lying in bed, the room cloaked in a tranquil darkness, you rest on his mind.

It’s not just the emptiness of the bed or the lack of physical touch. It’s the bitter, clawing memories of what he’d done to you and your gentle spirit. His body is frigid and forever frozen in the recurring visions of his foolish explanations, by how heartless and indifferent he’d seemed.

He’ll never get over the venomous tinge to your words.

You’d felt used.

He’d never meant to make you feel that way.

But since he moved out of your apartment, everything has felt glaringly hollow. The icy, barren tundra he crosses every time he realizes he won’t come home to your sunbeam smile and those thoughtfully lit candles, wears on him. How you would lavish him in comforting words, lulling him into a restful sleep.

Ushijima hardly remembers the last time he slept well.

Those dark circles under his eyes follow him everywhere. His whole team can see the exhaustion seeping into his execution of serves and spikes. He’s never struggled with his game performance before, but somehow the crashing reality of you leaving him has broken his patterns and systems.

He’s weary from searching for an answer to his emotions. Your warmth gave him life… and with that gone, what was the point of all of this?

And then it struck him, the realization sinking its needle-sharp claws into his soul, shredding it in seconds.

He’d found something far more valuable than any unique skill. More remarkable than the legacy he’d built as a world-class volleyball player. Someone who wanted to be with him just for the sake of… love.

And for the first time since he was young, he lets a tear slip into his white pillowcase.

Just one.

But it’s for you.

Because in chasing after what made him feel known and alive...

He’d lost the only person who had ever wanted to show him that he was important all along. The only person who was satisfied with his bizarre schedules. Someone who expected nothing more than gentle kisses and weekend dates.

But you were right.

You aren’t dispensable. Nor are you someone to drop for the purpose of picking up later, like loose change on a sidewalk. You deserved to be cherished. Held tightly. Given the love that you offered others.

He wishes he’d listened when you’d pleaded with him to stay. That he’d thought it through and functioned on more than just logic and reasoning. If only he’d known what it really meant to choose you.

Because if you were here now, he’d be the one begging,

“Please don’t go.”

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @miss-rin

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list) 

[fanfoolishness]

Orphans (The Mandalorian)

(Three of y’all wanted Din & Boba Fett, so I combined your requests into one story because to be honest I think I have no idea how to write him! That’s probably enough Boba for one weekend, LOL.  For @healingdays, @innitmarvelous2 and Anon!

Din and Boba have a talk by a fire.  Platonic, a little angsty, set just after Tython, 1200 words.)

***

At least there was this, then, battle: the brutal and elegant dance of blows struck and bolts fired, the song of pumping blood and pounding heart.  In this Din could lose himself for a time, his focus shrunk down only to this moment, this second, this instant. 

He grunted, taking a blow that rattled his beskar; blocked and parried, shoved back, struck deep with his spear, finished with his fist.  Felt the crunch of bone beneath his balled hand, breathed deep of the gasp his enemy huffed into the cold night air.  There was safety here in the thin line between victory and defeat, and he leaned into it with every fiber, muscles heart gut brain a singular deadly unit.

And then what he’d been dreading came upon him: the silence, the echoing ring of the final blow.  He stood over his fallen opponents, stormtroopers still and broken in the night.  Sweat streamed down his face, soaking his collar, slicking the inside of his helmet.

Beside him, Boba Fett slung his gaffe stick over his shoulders, tilting his helmet toward Din.  “You do good work, Mandalorian.  Pity they had no information for us.”

The adrenaline leached out of him, leaving in its place a humming hollowness.  “I knew Gideon would be hard to find,” he said gruffly, disappointment clinging to him as bitterly as the sweat.  “I might be able to find another lead.  Let’s get back to the ship.”

“Fennec’s taken it for repairs, remember,” said Fett.  “Won’t be back for a few hours yet.  We may as well find a place to hole up for the night.”

Din sighed.  How had he forgotten their earlier discussion?  He blinked.  Perhaps the lack of sleep was catching up to him.  He hadn’t slept for more than broken snatches since Tython.  Sleep meant quiet, and quiet meant room to think, and that meant missing him, meant worry, fear, barely-contained panic --

“Fine,” he said.  “But we’re gone as soon as the ship is free.”

***

The forest was alive and buzzing in the moonlight, creatures singing their night-choruses and buzzing their thoughts into the still spring air.  Din ignored them, sitting at the edge of the fire across from Fett.  Periodically he lifted his helmet, just slightly, to take a few drinks of water or a bite of the rations Fett had brought along.  Fett’s helmet rested on the ground beside his feet, and he ate and drank openly, the shadows on his bare face stark in the firelight.

“So,” said Fett, cocking his head to one side.  “Do you have a name?”

Din shrugged.

Fett quirked a brow.  “You don’t want to say it?  Or you’ve forgotten it?”

“It isn’t necessary.”  He relented, Fett’s direct stare boring into him.  “Usually people call me Mando.”

“Not exactly a flattering name, especially these days.”  Fett shook his head.  “I suppose it’s your business.  But we might be working together for some time.  A name might help.”

Din bristled.  “Moff Gideon could be experimenting on the child as we speak.  I don’t have the luxury of time.”  Anger flared within him, a sick heat in his belly, and his hands tensed into fists at his side.

“I understand,” said Fett.  There was an intensity in his naked eyes, a fierceness that left Din taken aback.  “There will always be those who play such games.”

“It isn’t a game -- he could kill him --”  No, don’t think about that, you’ll find him in time, you must --  

“You misunderstand me,” said Fett, back to being as unemotional as ever.  “In battle, sometimes terrible things are done for good reasons.  I’m sure you’ve faced this yourself.  It comes to all of us in time.”  He took a drink of water.  “But sometimes there is no battle.  Sometimes there are only cowards, doing terrible things without cause, and somehow, they never see themselves the villain.”  He fell silent for a moment.  “Whatever the Moff is doing to your child, there is no reason for it.  I’m sorry.”

The tension in Din’s fists and shoulders faded, dissolving into weariness.  Your child.  He wasn’t -- but wasn’t he?  “He’s a foundling,” Din said suddenly.  “As I was.”

“As my father was.”  Fett gazed into the fire.  “This is a galaxy filled with orphans.”

“Yes,” Din agreed, wondering why Fett had said something so obvious.  He shook back a flash of red robes, smoke in the streets.  “I was to find him a Jedi.  They’ll be able to protect him --”

Fett let out a loud, barking laugh.  “Jedi!  Well.  I suppose things may be different, for one of their own.  He has their powers?”

“Yes.  He can move things with his mind.  Heal people.  Hurt them.”  A dim memory swam before him, the heat of a flamethrower, Grogu standing between him and the flametrooper, casting the fireball back, back.  He remembered Cara, her hand scrabbling at her throat over a misunderstanding.  “I can’t teach him myself what he needs to learn.”

“The Jedi have no fathers, you know,” said Fett.  

The words settled in beneath Din’s armor, tearing at him.  Was this good news, or bad?  He swallowed.  “Neither do the foundlings.”

“Some of them,” said Fett.  “Maybe not yours.”  He took another bite of his rations.  “But what do I know?”

***

Din woke up with a start, his back and shoulders stiff from leaning against a log, his hands reaching up to touch his cuirass, reaching for -- 

But there was no sleepy Grogu nestled against his chest.

He blinked against the sunlight filtering in through his helmet, squinting.  Morning.  How he had let himself fall asleep?

“Good, you’re up,” said Fett, standing over him helmeted once more.  “Fennec is making her way to the rendezvous point now.”

“You should have woken me,” said Din.  “I could have kept watch.”

The tone in Fett’s voice suggested an eye roll beneath the helmet.  “No, you couldn’t have.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t slept.  You’ll get sloppy if you don’t tend to yourself, and the child needs you at your best.”

Din hung his head, abashed.  Of course.  He’d been foolish. 

“Come now. Your best is formidable,” said Fett.  He held out a hand.  “The child’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”

Din stared up at the older man, blinking sleep from his eyes.  He trembled, thinking of the weight of Grogu nestled against him, the way his eyes crinkled, the sensation of his tiny hand cradled carefully in Din’s.  

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely.  He grabbed Fett’s hand, and Fett pulled him to his feet with a grunt.  

Up on his feet in the dawn-light, things seemed finally clear.  He and Fett and Shand were formidable indeed, and there were others he could call on.  A plan began to come to him, and with it, a faint sense of hope amidst the aching fear.  He let out a long breath.

“My name is Din Djarin,” he said.  “And I’ve got a plan.”

“Good to hear it, Djarin,” said Fett, and far above the treeline Slave I soared into view.  “Let’s go hunting.”

-fin- (Partly inspired by the National song, “Baby, We’ll Be Fine: All night I lay on my pillow and pray

For my boss to stop me in the hallway

Lay my head on his shoulder and say

“Son I’ve been hearing good things”)

[too-attached-to-fiction]

October 31st | Raising Harry

Main Masterlist here

Series Masterlist here

C/W: Canonical death

Word count: 1084

Synopsis: What if you and Lupin had taken in Harry that night instead of Petunia and Vernon?

A/N: so I got this idea and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so this is a series now! I’ll probably be posting things out of order depending on how I come up with things! I’m not going to rewrite the entirety of the series, but little snippets of what could have been.

~~~

You lay on the couch, sitting on Remus’s lap but leaning your backside against the arm of the couch. Another Halloween had come and gone, not that you had been celebrating it anyways. 

The two of you were in northern England, gathering intel for the Order of the Phoenix. Normally, you’d be with James and Lily, the way you always celebrated Halloween. But the Order came first, and they knew it as well as you did.

Looking back, you should have found the peace of the evening suspicious. Still, it was the first time in days that you and Remus had been alone together. You didn’t think to wish any of your friends a Happy Halloween, for fear of them being targeted. 

Little did you know that while you were peacefully relaxing, Lily and James had been found in Godric’s Hollow, dead. 

You had just closed your eyes when a silver wisp entered the room. Remus nudged you, and begrudgingly, you watched the wisp turn into a very familiar phoenix. Dumbledore’s patronus. 

You sat up immediately, eyes widening. Had something happened? You and Remus watched, waiting for Dumbledore’s calm voice to speak. 

“Something awful has occurred tonight in Godric’s Hollow. Please come as soon as you can.” His voice was grave, and you looked at Remus with wide eyes. The two of you stood up, and gingerly, he took your hand. Before you could think about what could have happened, you felt the familiar pull in your gut, and you slipped away. 

You arrived in Godric’s Hollow, your mouth dropping open in shock and eyes brimming with tears as you looked at the sight before you. The Potter’s house had always been warm and welcoming, standing as tall as Gryffindor tower. But the house was smouldering, and a section of the roof appeared to have been blasted off. 

Remus stayed frozen beside you, unemotional. Dumbledore, Sirius and Aurelia, his girlfriend, and Hagrid approached you, all with grave looks on their faces. 

“What’s happened?” You gasped out, and Sirius looked at you with sad eyes. “How? I thought…” Your voice faltered, and you stumbled forward to Sirius. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, letting the tears fall down your face. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

“What do we do now?” Remus asked softly, and Dumbledore nodded. 

“They are survived by Harry.” Dumbledore said, holding up a bundle of blankets. “Somehow, he survived the blast.” 

“I’m his godfather. I should take him.” Sirius said, sniffling slightly as he wiped his tears away. You stepped back, back to Remus who pulled you into his arms. Aurelia kept herself tucked into Sirius’s side. 

“No. Harry will go to his aunt, Petunia. He will be safer there. Hagrid’s come to take him-” 

You’d met Petunia, once, and heard many stories about her from Lily. In all of them, she seemed like a very unlikeable person. 

“He’s staying with us.” You said, finding your voice. “He’s not going there. The muggles won’t know a thing a-and they’ll hurt him more than help.” 

“(Y/N)-” Dumbledore tried to stop you, but you looked at him with such ferocious eyes that even he stopped. 

“That’s not a question.” You said coldly. Carefully, Dumbledore handed the bundle of blankets to you.

“As of tonight, we disappear until Harry is ready for Hogwarts. Remus,” You looked at your boyfriend. “The Fidelius charm, please.” 

~~~

An hour later, the four of you arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place. “We’ll only stay the night, and tomorrow we’ll search for a house.” You told Sirius. Harry started to stir in your arms. 

“I’ll need to buy formula, I suppose.” You mumbled as the baby continued to move. “Aure, can you, Moony and Padfoot watch Harry while I get his food and nappies?” You handed the baby to a confused Remus before apparating to the nearest pharmacy. 

Remus glanced at Sirius. “Do you have any firewhiskey?” 

You returned in less than ten minutes with your arms full of baby supplies. Frankly, you’d practically shoved everything baby related you found into the trolley, and you spent longer checking everything out than looking for supplies. Remus and Sirius were playing with Harry, who was gurgling happily. When you came closer, Harry turned in Sirius’s arms and held out his little chubby arms to you. 

“Hello, Harry.” You said, picking him up. He gave you a toothy smile. “I suppose it’s time to change your nappy, huh? Sirius, do you know how?” 

Sirius groaned, finishing his butterbeer in one long gulp. “Bloody hell.” 

“I’ll go with him,” Aurelia offered, giving you a small encouraging smile: 

“Just do it.” You snickered, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. 

As soon as they left the room with Harry, Remus sighed. “(Y/N), I don’t know if I can do this. I’m already afraid of hurting you because of the transformation. What if I hurt him? What if I can’t be the father that he needs?” 

You were crying again, your face wet. “Don’t say that.” You said, scooting close to him. “I can’t do this without you. I’ve lost two of my best friends tonight. I can’t afford to lose you, too.” 

“I’ll only make things harder-“ 

“Yes. But I… Harry and Sirius need you. Don’t disappear on us, please. Promise me you won’t disappear.”

“I-“

“Promise me, Remus.” 

“Okay.” 

“I think Lily and James already got him to sleep through the night, but he should be fed and changed every 3 hours when he’s awake.” Aurelia said, bringing a freshly changed Harry back into the kitchen. Sirius trailed behind her. 

“So where are we moving?” Sirius asked. 

“We?” Remus raised an eyebrow. 

“The countryside, far from here. My parents owned a small cottage close to Ottery St. Catchpole. It’s part of my inheritance, but I’ve never had a use for it until now. You should stay here, this is the Order headquarters.” you said, taking Harry into your arms again. 

“But the full moon-“ 

“You can come then.” You promised. 

For the next few days, you and Remus went back and forth between Grimmauld Place and the cottage. Together, the two of you cleared the house of creatures and made things look at least a little liveable. The appliances were old, but still functional. Carefully, you turned your old bedroom into a nursery for Harry. In the evenings, you’d return to the Black family house and sleep, with Harry safely tucked in your arms as you dozed off. 

This was the start of your little family.

[rinusagitora]

Another empty seat in the city of ghosts.

Fandom: BLEACH

Characters: Isshin Kurosaki, Kisuke Urahara, Tessai Tsukabishi, Orihime Inoue, Rukia Kuchiki, Ichigo Kurosaki, Karin Kurosaki

Pairings: HitsuKarin, others not mentioned

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Shinigami!Karin AU. Chapter 6/8. WARNINGS- mentions of suicide, dysfunctional families;  Karin has taken her life. What follows is a maelstrom of emotion.

AO3

Isshin sat with Kisuke and Tessai, some of his only friends. Confidants.

He missed his daughter and she wasn't yet gone. Oh, but soon she would be. Given away to a boy he once knew well. It wasn't her wedding, though. He wished he got to see that. Karin in a beautiful kimono, glowing with happiness, next to someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Instead, he got to watch her run away, never to be seen until his expiration.

And in the meantime, his children torn asunder. Hopelessly drifting in rivers of pain and confusion. He wished he was more like Masaki in those times. Empathetic, wise. But he was just a silly old man with nothing to offer but platitudes.

God, it hurt. So much so he couldn't sleep that night. Isshin sought refuge with the Urahara house in the wee hours of the morning. Tessai made tea, and Isshin cried.

"This is a fucking disaster," he said as he rubbed his eyes.

Kisuke said, "They're children. They'll understand down the line."

Isshin wasn't so sure. He leaned his head on his palm and stared at the wall as his thoughts spun. What could he have done to protect them better? To have not isolated them? And Yuzu... sweet Yuzu, blind to her siblings' tribulations until her twin couldn't take it any longer. What should he have told her? What could he do to ease her pain?

He shook his head as he wept. It was so overwhelming. "I don't think Yuzu will speak to me ever again... A fucking disaster."

Isshin blinked when he saw Kisuke pass him smokes. Isshin smoked irregularly. Socially, at Masaki's grave. That was all. He knew better. He was a doctor.

It seemed like an appropriate time to smoke, though. God knew he needed a buzz.

When he felt Karin die, he lost his legs. He wanted to run, run, run until it wasn't true anymore. Until he stopped feeling his lungs clogging with water and the agony of losing a child.

Was Karin lost? It felt like it, but she was only moving onto another world, the world she pined for day and night, year after year.

A world far away from them. From him.

Isshin curled his lips into his mouth. "I'm... I don't know how to fix this." How he was supposed to get his baby girl back.

Tessai said, dripping with only the utmost sympathy and understanding, "We're past fixing. Now... now it's just damage control. Repairing your relationship with Yuzu. Giving Karin your best."

Isshin shook his head. "Will they even hear me out?"

"Maybe. Hopefully."

"I can try talking to Karin," Kisuke said. "I don't have a rapport with Yuzu, however.

"No. No, no. I've done enough damage. Anything I say will only worsen this." Only alienate himself from his babies more.

He remembered when they were still in cribs. Chubby and giggly. How they snuggled against his chest, how their heads smelled like love. How, once upon a time, Karin and Yuzu curled up with each other in their crib.

God, he missed his babies.

"She's a bright girl, that Karin," Tessai said, extinguishing his cigarette in an ashtray. "She knows what she wants. How to get there. This was the avenue she saw most expeditious. I'm sure she still regards you all fondly."

Isshin knew that wasn't it. He shook his head. "That's the thing, she hates us all. They all hate each other now." Isshin wiped his face with his thumb. He hadn't stopped crying for days. "Karin's always hated me. Now Yuzu does too because I kept this secret for so long. Ichigo may come to hate me too for all this... They may never speak to me again." All alone, with all his babies gone.

"It's true. This is a disaster," Tessai agreed, But as was your loss of powers. And you made it through that." He held Isshin's hand, rocking it. "Your children are of the resilient ilk. Green and adaptive. They will mend. Grow. Their roots will rejoin yours."

Isshin nodded. He held Tessai's hand in both of his, nodding, sobbing. How he hoped that was true. How he yearned to hold his babies again.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost five-thirty. "I should go home." He needed to get ready.

He hadn't worn his black suit in years.

"Stay as long as you need," Kisuke reminded him.

"Thank you... but my daughter..." He smiled, thinking of Yuzu.

"We understand. We'll see you in a couple of hours, Isshin. Take care."

Isshin let himself out, feeling dreary, exhausted.

He returned home. None of his children were downstairs. He leaned against his poster of Masaki, petting her face with the back of his hand. "I miss you," he said. "I wish you were here. For our children, for me." If Masaki were still around, could she have saved them? Kept them from falling apart?

Isshin pulled away. He couldn't ruminate too long, he needed to get ready.

A black suit. He hated it. How it was loose in his chest, tight in his gut. He'd let himself go, just like his family.

Yuzu was gone by the time he returned downstairs. Ichigo, with Karin in tow, as well as Rukia and Orhime, accompanied him.

Orihime approached him and squeezed him in a hug. He returned it, squeezing her. She was such a sweet creature. Loving to everything and everyone.

"It's gonna be okay, Dad," she whispered. A precious girl. He was glad Ichigo found someone who loved him so much. Someone unconditionally kind.

"Thank you, dear," Isshin said. He cupped Orihime's cheeks. "We love you so much. You have a loving heart and my unconditional adoration."

She returned his smile. "Thanks. I love you too."

Ichigo clapped his hands. "Let's go. People will start arriving at the wake soon, we best be there before it reaches critical mass."

They all packed into the car. Karin sat in the back, in his rearview mirror. Translucent and unemotional. Ichigo hovered next to her.

It took everything in his power not to cry. Not to scoop her up and tell her how fucking much he loved her.

"We're gonna stay in the back," he grumbled at Karin, "so you can watch all the people you hurt."

Karin snort. "Ironic, coming from you of all people."

"Guys... stop," Rukia sighed. Orihime shifted uncomfortably. "Let's just have a quiet ride."

"No. What Karin did was the epitome of selfishness. We're not gonna tiptoe around that."

Karin stammered, enraged. "The epitome of selfishness?" she screamed. "Me? You're the one who refused to teach me how to protect myself against hollows, Ichigo! You left me to the wolves, all of you!"

"That's not fair to us!"

"Fair? You wanna talk about fair?"

"Enough!" Rukia boomed. "Both of you. You're fighting like children. You're adults. Warriors. This is unbecoming of both of you. If I hear anything above a whisper while we're in the goddamn temple, I'm going to choke both of you out!"

Isshin was grateful Rukia was able to act so quickly, while simultaneously embarrassed he, their father, didn't put his foot down.

He parked behind the temple and they headed in through the front. There were many people already there.

Kisuke met Isshin only minutes after his arrival. They hugged. Isshin was so grateful to have the Urahara there.

He sniffed. "Thanks for coming. Ichigo's been awful to Karin. I don't know what to do about it... he won't listen to me."

Once he gestured to them in the corner, Kisuke nodded. "I'll talk to him."

Once Kisuke left, Isshin took a seat in the front row, lost in thought, in grief, in the din of the room.

His eyes were glued to Karin's altar. Surrounded by lilies and marigolds. Smiling in her picture with her friends. Did Isshin have any of her? Of all them together, smiling and gleeful?

Isshin was not a religious man. Masaki was, though, a devotee of Kannon, goddess of mercy. Was Karin religious like her mother? Would Kannon listen if he prayed for the areligious?

He asked Kannon to watch over his baby girl Karin in the Seireitei, nonetheless.

The ceremony began with the priest stepping to the front of the room. Isshin's breath caught in his throat.

He cried through the entire ceremony. The blessings, the kind words... Utterly overwhelming.

It came to an end. He only wanted to hold Karin more.

Isshin tore himself from his chair and found Karin. Ichigo intercepted them. "We need to go," he said, "handoff is soon."

"I don't care. Karin is my daughter. I'm going to say goodbye," he snapped at Ichigo. They stared off before Ichigo stepped aside.

Karin stared numbly. "I love you," Isshin said. "I always have, and always will. You are my daughter. I will never stop loving you." He hugged her. "Never forget that. Not for a minute."

She separated from him. "Bye, Old Man."

It broke his heart. A farewell so impersonal. Still, he swallowed, cried, and nodded.

There was no fixing this.

[duker42]

Hello, angel, could I please have an angst/hurt/comfort one-shot in which y/n has been in the SC since before Levi, Farlan and Isabel were forced to join, and y/n is loyal to Erwin but she knows she has a soft spot for Levi, and on the day his friends die, she’s the first one to reach him as he’s on his grief-stricken rampage and forces him to stop, and he thrashes away before breaking down in her arms, and when they return to HQ she’s the one who patches him up/consoles him?

***I just chopped an onion! I’m not crying!!!😭😭😭😭😭😭

💜I’ll Be Here💜

Y/N would have been lying if she hadn’t said she wasn’t intrigued by the three cadets brought in from the Underground. She knew they had to be something special to bypass the years of training and immediately be pressed int a Squad. 

Especially the shorter male. He was an interesting combination of quiet reserve and ‘Don’t Give A Fuck’ attitude. His black hair and ivory skin made his sullen expressions even more rakish. The girl was innocently adorable. She seemed to have an unapologetic zeal for life. And no one could deny the girl was a natural with the horses. The taller dirty blonde was a bit more of a wallflower. You didn’t really notice him until he was playing peacekeeper for the one that obviously let their little group. 

She had heard the discontent from Flagon and rolled her eyes at his comments. So what, that they were from the Underground? They were people as well. And damned if they didn’t have the skills the Scouts obviously needed. Watching those three in flight, especially Levi, was like watching a perfectly executed ballet preformed in the sky. 

Y/N had vowed to herself that she would keep an eye out on them during the expedition and when they all got back, she would show them that not all Scouts were wary of them. They would be able to count on someone from the Legion other than themselves. 

The day it happened, she was shocked. She was the first one to arrive. Horse racing as fast as she dared, she pushed the beast as she rode towards the screams. She had known where Flagon’s squad was in the formation and could only pray that she wouldn’t find the carnage the thought she would. 

She saw the final slice to the neck and saw a lone figure collapse as the steam rose from the carcasses around him. Hopping off her horse, she ran over to were Levi was hunched over, shuddering breaths coming from his heaving body. She glanced around and whispered a quiet “Fuck.”

The bodies of his entire squad were around him. But what had the usually unemotional Levi struggling with his composure was the decapitated head of Isabel and the dismembered torso of Farlan. Both of his friends had been killed by the Titans. Looking around, she realized that this man; this slight, dismissed kid from the Underground had just single-handedly taken out a group of Titans in his rage. 

Erwin rode up just as Y/N had processed the scene. She was right next to Levi when he started speaking. In a flash, Levi had lifted his sword and attacked the Squad Leader, screaming about how it was his mission to kill him. Y/N sprang into action. Grabbing Levi from behind, she wrapped her arms around his and pulled them away, giving Erwin a chance to defend himself. 

He struggled against her, but in the position he was in, it was more difficult that it would have been face to face. He stopped struggling as Erwin began to pull documents from his shirt. Y/N felt Levi’s body sag as the horror washed over him. His best friends had died for nothing. 

He sank to his knees again, this time the tears streaming down his face without pause. Deep racking sobs emerged from his chest as he bowed his head in sorrow and shame. Y/N released his arms and simply held him. She shifted slightly so she was at his side and felt him lean into her shoulder as he broke down. As she moved a hand to his head, she looked up at Erwin’s blue eyes watching the scene in front of him. With a subtle nod, he moved away and let Y/N handle the grieving scout. 

Long minutes were spent, Levi locked in Y/N’s arms before he managed to quell his tears. His eyes puffy and face red, he still managed to mask his emotions as he began to pull away from her. Mounting his horse, he didn’t  say a word but followed Y/N back to the rest of the group, his spirit broken. 

When they got back to HQ, Y/N pulled Levi away from the others. She knew that he needed time to heal and wanted to help in whatever way she could. Dragging him along with her, the usually combative man offered no resistance as she gathered clean clothes and let him to an unused section of the castle. 

There were showers here that were unknown by most, but Y/N used when she needed peace. Levi blinked in surprise at the room when he entered. His first real reaction since mounting his horse back on that field. Y/N turned to him and gently began to untie the cravat from his throat. Setting it on the bench, she begins to remove his jacket and shirt, while Levi offered no protest. 

She reached for the medical kit she alway kept her and began to clean and assess his various cuts and bruises. There were none that required stitching, so she put the kit away after removing some bandages for after his shower. 

When Y/N reached for the button on his trousers, Levi grabbed her hand. Looking up at him with compassion in her eyes, she met his hollow grey orbs. He didn’t say a word but his eyes questioned her. “I’m just helping you, Levi. Trust me.” 

His intense stare last for a pregnant moment before he inclined his head. He helped her by pushing his boots off and removing his trousers as she turned on the water and let it warm up. There was nothing sexual in her touch as she moved the now naked man under the water. Her own uniform was wet and plastered to her skin but she focused on Levi. She only meant to comfort him, soothe him as he processed the day. She had seen that he was particularly fastidious about cleanliness, but knew that he was in no shape to really take care of those things on his own. 

He stood under the water as she bathed him as she would a baby. His eyes were distant and she could see the grief whirling beneath the surface. Y/N kept her touch gentle as she ran the soapy rag over his well formed body. He closed his eyes as she washed his hair. To keep from getting the soap in his eyes, but also from the sensation of another person’s touch, sifting through the wet strands of his hair.

When she was done, she moved him over to the bench and sat him down, placing a towel over his lap. She bandaged his cuts and toweled his hair dry. When she went to move away from him, he captured her wrist in his hand and said one word to her. “Why?”

She smiled at him gently. “To show you I’ll be here for you.“

Follow Up: I’m Still Here

[everydisneymovie]

Review #36: Perri

Post #40

8/3/2020

Next up is 1957′s Perri

Enjoyment : [4]

Want to know if you have made a bad animal documentary? When the moments where there are no animals on screen are the best parts. This movie can actually be really lovely when it focuses on the scenery and the melancholy score. The scenes with the animals are hard to enjoy when they keep blatantly murdering the animals on screen over and over again. There is a layer of separation since they dropped the whole ‘documentary’ angle and just outright state that this is a fictional account using real life footage. I feel like this is probably the best of the ‘true life adventures’ but it is still boring and uncomfortable to watch as a whole.

Quality : [4]

This movie is rather sloppy. You can really easily see the seems where they slow down or even reverse footage to stretch out the run time. There is a really pathetic moment in the middle where they have a half animated ‘dream sequence’ that is 200% nothing but a time waster to stretch out the movie. They don’t try to teach us anything and the new fictional narrative aspect is very flimsy. For example, the narrator is waxing about how Perri is so in love with her new mate when the footage being shown is obviously two squirrels fighting. You can’t fool me Disney I grew up in a swamp I know what it looks like when two squirrels fight. The biggest issue with this movie is that I can no longer guess if this movie was filmed first and narrated second, or narrated first and then they went out and manufactured those shots to make the narration true.

Hold up : [3]

Narrator tiny dick returns yet again and he is only creepily projecting once or twice throughout the film so I guess that is an improvement. We see animals die on screen, and because of Disney’s meddling I guarantee you that none of the on screen deaths were incidental. To keep the movie ‘thrilling’ they obviously manufactured animal fights. During one scene I counted the same squirrel dying a minimum of four times on screen being switched out with a new squirrel between shots. The best way I can convey this, is that at one point Perri falls off a tree, and there is a 20+ second shot of Perri falling to the ground. It is not slowed down and clearly a real squirrel. There is an abrupt cut and suddenly a very visually different looking squirrel is thrown into a pile of leaves and the narrator says “Luckily Perri landed without a scratch.” Yeah a lot of animals were killed to make these shots, even more so that any previous ‘true life adventure’.

Risk : [2]

I have to say this movie is very low effort and very cheap. The narrative aspect feels more like a crutch than an artistic choice. I almost wonder if Disney chose to add the Perri plot line because their documentaries were already so hollow and plastic. Killing dozens of animals just to make a boring slog of a movie is actually kinda cowardly. There was also a minor moment that actively made me shout in disgust when it happened. It wasn’t actually that bad it just caught me off guard with its stupidity. For a split second a deer appears on camera, and in the deadest monotone possible the narrator says “Oh hey look kids, its Bambi here to pay us a visit.” I can’t really convey it through text alone but it is so jarring and like, lazily pandering it almost made me laugh. It felt like the first real attempt since Saludos Amigos Disney has made to push its brand in any movie so far. Just a limp and unemotional “hey kids look it’s that thing you like, but in another movie! That means you like this movie too right?” 

Extra Credit : [1]

I like that SOME tension was built with the footage they had on hand, but its not much of a saving grace. I was actually more worried about the physical animals Disney put in danger instead of the ‘characters’ they were trying to create. Try harder next time Disney.

Final thoughts:

This movie kinda sucks. It is the most watchable of the ‘true life adventures’ but thats only because it isn’t horribly racist and the music is kinda nice. I feel like Bambi is actually a better documentary than this, since way less animals died while making it, and it conveys emotion far better through way more impactful framing. It actually gets kids to sympathize with everyday animals while keeping them simple animals. there is no possible way to get invested in the narrative of Perri since even a layman can see that the squirrel changes color, size and age in nearly every shot. You know from frame one that this is not the same squirrel and this is all just a transparent attempt to edit together unrelated footage into something that can trick audiences enough to steal their money. Skip this one and don’t ever give it a second thought.

Total Score: 14/50

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[sasorikigai]

@sonxflight​ stabbed the heart for Raiden! 

⚡ || The pale, behemoth form flies across the tempestuous sea, rising and falling in the waves. The lightning flares, the thunder crashes with its severing high voltage, and the sky pours down its fury. The waves leaps like hoards of dark monsters, threatening to swallow any prospect of demonic presence with its serrated maw. The divine light would burst on his fingertips, as the waning moon of his darkness would find solace on his broad ribcage. No longer, Raiden bleeds words when ferrous taste of countless mortal blood lingers in his mouth, becoming rusted chains sinking through his collarbone. 

Through the eons of his eternal life, the Thunder God’s sadness have felt incredibly heavy; all too tangible, although it does not dig through the hollow of his ribcage, but it settles with such burdensome weight, gnawing through his divine conscious. He has swallowed it mistakenly somewhere along the way. Even as an ascended elemental god, he had felt like a hostage, whether it had been within the depths of his mind, or with a physical being. Never being able to escape, just trapped, wishing something would release him from his misery. Beneath the avital of fiercest storm that would pulverize his inner workings, now Raiden, drenched with courage, with undiluted intrepidity, travels through realms and even the construct of time itself. No longer fighting the battle of his heart, everything would begin to be repaid - until he came across an obstinate samurai named Ryou Sakai, having begun endless battle to slaughter all-too-familiar entity not too unlike Shinnok and Quan Chi. 

“Ryou Sakai of Earthrealm; I see that you are attempting to reconstruct your past, from fragments, irretrievably consumed by Aku’s darkness. The burdensome weight hung around your neck will no longer drag you along in life, nor become your own to bear. For you take an oath you didn’t intend to take will soon liberate as the protection of storm and thunder will always guide you, should you become lost and defeated.” His form appears with the blitzkrieg of lightning before the samurai; a single streak of ichorous flow, manifesting into a seven-foot, his unflappable, seemingly unemotional and stolidly calm disposition exudes the celestial might. ⚡ || 

[ganymedesclock]

What do you think the Pale King and White Lady’s relationship was like?

I think the biggest testament to how PK and WL seem to have felt about each other is the Kingsoul. WL seems like she wasn’t so actively concerned with public works like PK was, and I think that often gets read as her being a hands-off ruler in general, but, PK’s strongest possible Badge of Authority was literally achieved by uniting his power and hers. To the point that when he went into seclusion, he didn’t take the Kingsoul with him, but left White Lady with her fragment.

This is significant when PK’s private writings suggest he sees himself as needing to be a solitary god, because he never acted against WL in any way we can find evidence of. There’s not that much of a meaningful difference between PK and WL’s aesthetic sensibilities. They functionally operated as a conjoined unit.

White Lady seems to have a lot of insight into how he was thinking and feeling, and that’s powerful, but she also seems to have kind of allowed a lot of his dysfunctional thought patterns to just keep going. It conjures the idea that, when she decided to, she could challenge him very effectively- as an equal he can’t ignore, and as someone whose opinion he clearly valued- but that she seldom did. She had the power to argue with him, but chose acceptance a lot.

She accepted the way he was, the decisions he made- even when the vessel project clearly upset her a lot, to the point that she chose to bind her body rather than have children ever again, but she just says it’s feeling ‘some shame for my own part in the deed’.

But on the other hand, it’s clear that PK, despite styling himself an unemotional being, thought pretty deeply and highly about WL? Considering when we make it to the White Palace, it’s obviously overtaken with greenery, white trees and vines. It’s as much a garden and a palace, and this without even finding the hidden room where he has, by all accounts, mentally set out a chair for her even knowing that she’s not about to be there with him and there’s no comparable position ‘for him’ in that room.

It suggests they had a certain distance, a certain tenuousness in their connections. She didn’t confront him when that was exactly what he needed, and he doesn’t seem to have tried to reach out to her, even when starting to avoid her was probably a major step in his downward spiral after sacrificing Hollow.

I tend to read WL as someone who enjoys the idea of taking care of others, who’s very focused with maintenance and preservation. She implies that she took care of Hornet for a while, and seems to have thought highly of Herrah. But on the other hand, even if she didn’t necessarily participate actively in a lot of the things PK did wrong, she certainly folded her roots and let them happen, and there’s no real implication she tried to contradict PK but he didn’t listen.

WL to me reads a lot like halfway between Pink and Blue Diamond from Steven Universe, with the whole concept of someone who’s caring and wants to nurture others but to a degree, is detached and doesn’t really understand how to do that. For her to have understood PK as easily as she seems to, she needs to have been kind of a disengaged person herself. She clearly misses him but doesn’t seem to quite mourn him, even if she, seems to understand that he’s gone. There’s cut dialogue where she talks a bit sadly about “We were unfair to you, weren’t we?” and then asks Ghost not to hate PK, implicitly okay with the idea of them holding this against her. But at the same time, she also has no qualms asking Ghost to be a sacrifice just like Hollow was.

I think White Lady’s an interesting character. I don’t think she’s necessarily the “blameless nice one” of the two of them- I feel like both she and PK did a lot of things wrong and were flawed beings. But I think they really did love each other, and I think that she has kind of the same problem he does, in that both of them would probably like to have been benevolent gods but in practice, they fell short.

It stands out to me that towards the end of his life, PK seems to have simultaneously missed her terribly and also, avoided her.