#IVE BEEN WAITING A MONTH TO FIRE HER

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OUT OF THE KILN!!!

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ah heem heem......

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iv

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A/N: wow, another update four days later and ahead of schedule for once!! this chapter has been half-written and in drafts, waiting to be finished a whole month. sorry if it has some errors, i did my best to proofread and edit. i wrote most of this to someone to stay -- vancouver sleep clinic if that doesn't explain the soft moments this chapter gives, i needed the soft moments for my own selfish reasons pls enjoy <33

Synopsis: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens coming close to their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 7.1k

“How did it go?” 

Kermit had met Oscar at the doors upon his return from travel the past five and a half days — he couldn’t even hide his disgust at the sight and smell of his younger brother whose return was whispered to him as he had been sifting through the contents of the library that morning. He had made sure to be notified as soon as he’d stepped foot within the gates of Raventree once word had reached him that Oscar was expected to arrive that afternoon. 

It had been a long several days since the feast, and in the aftermath of the meeting between some of the Lords of the Riverlands, Oscar had been sent on horseback with a fleet of men from House Tully to the Arryn’s — a long journey that he did not outwardly protest against, but Kermit had seen the twitch of his eye as he gave his father a nod that was curt and far too formal for their usual dynamic; the war had shifted something in the air between the father and his sons in recent days. But the journey was one of necessity, sent as a messenger to House Arryn in the Eyrie -- one that would have been quicker if not for several storms that forced them to shelter for the night, issued with the task of reminding the Lady Jeyne of her vow to Rhaenyra and of their houses’ long-standing alliance and support of one another. A task that seemed easy enough, now days later and two less horses after having hit a snag and walking into a trap that had been rigged on the forest paths. Kermit had been there when the raven flew in with updates from their journey, notifying Elmo of the accident, which had involved his brother. Oscar was safe and otherwise unharmed aside from his pride and sore. 

Oscar, with his dirt stained face, smelling of fields and horse shit, yanked off his riding gloves as he shoved past his brother; his left cheek scuffed with a scab from a fall off his horse amidst their return after a last minute detour towards House Baratheon -- a decision his brother had made in his emboldened enthusiasm.

“What did they say?” Kermit asked again, earning a huff from his brother who continued his brisk walk towards the great hall where their father waited among the councilmen. 

“That’s a promising answer,” Kermit sarcastically said, striding alongside his brother and trying to keep up with his pace as he mimicked his huff, “I take it you replied with a sort of…” he continued, giving his brother an animalistic like grunt from behind him. 

Oscar abruptly stopped outside the doors and whipped around, scowling as his brother collided with his shoulder and awkwardly stumbled to keep from falling into him, “Do you know when to shut up? Have some patience, brother.” He muttered, shoving his brother back a couple of steps and re-establishing the small bit of space between them as he turned, his brother letting out a snort.  

He shoved the doors open, Elmo sat at the head of the table and deep in conversation with Lord Rivers who had yet to return home as the feast celebrating the union of his sister and Benjicot neared, the final details being cemented for that night, much to their reluctance -- Kermit and Oscar both heeded warning at the thought of last feast’s events, but their father insisted at least on something smaller and more intimate than dozens of random elderly Lords and their snobbish sons. The invite had only been extended to select few entrusted vassals of House Tully, Elmo reassured.  

He stopped at the opposite end of the table as he entered with Kermit in tow, his father’s gaze watching him with a look of expectancy, awaiting his words as his head bowed out of respect. Lord Rivers withdrew to his seat as Oscar glanced towards him, waiting until there was silence among the table of men, his gloves clutched in his right hand at his sides, “I have news from my journeys to House Arryn and House Baratheon.” He announced. 

The last of the mutters ceased, pausing as he moved to shift his stance, suddenly panged by a wave of anxiety towards the eyes that watched him from around the room. Oscar was never an insecure, timid boy -- he was confident, well-spoken and self-assured, and had never shied away from attention. But with his age, in comparison to the much more experienced men around him, oozing wisdom that countered his own youthful inexperience, he was painfully aware that he was just a boy in their eyes; stood there in armor, like a child playing ‘knight’. He knew that they did not view him as equal to his father -- not like he expected them to. 

“Proceed, son.” Elmo stated, his voice warm and encouraging. 

Oscar again nodded slowly and took a breath before he spoke, “House Arryn has once again pledged their support in favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and has pledged to support our military efforts as much as they can afford.” He spoke, his tone more confident than it had been when he arrived. 

“And that of House Baratheon?” His father asked. 

“They have declared for the usurper, Aegon.” He replied, his eyes scanning the men around the table who broke into a series of mutters. “They plan to support him and his army should the time come.” Oscar explained. “Craven cunts.” Kermit muttered from behind him, reminding Oscar that he stood only a foot away from him as they spoke. 

Elmo’s eyes darted to his brother, in response to his words, his frustration evident in his face as his brows furrowed. 

“It does not come as a surprise to me.” Samwell said, speaking up finally. “I recall their Lordship expressing his…reservations about a woman sitting on the throne when she was first declared apparent heir. I was just hoping he would come to see reason.” He said, letting out a small sigh and looking to Elmo, who gave a small nod. 

“We can only do so much to guide others to see better judgment. I’ve received ravens from House Manderly and House Celtigar who have declared for Rhaenyra at least.” Lord Tully stated, his fingers drumming against the table as he seemed to linger on the update. While not the outcome they had hoped for, Oscar had done his duty successfully in all other words. “You’ve done a good job, Oscar.” 

Oscar nodded again, his head lifting to where his father stared at him, the two men in silence. A moment passed before Elmo leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows atop the table and glancing towards an empty chair on his right as a sort of hint to his son. “Well?” He asked. “Do you plan to sit and join us?” 

Oscar turned his head and glanced at Kermit who looked back at him, the brothers sharing a look, his mouth opening to stutter out a sentence, “I…I was hoping to change first, make myself presentable.” He softly explained to his father. 

His hand waved dismissively to the idea, “Nonsense. There’s no more pride than that of a knight in the raw.” 

He visibly hesitated, letting out a small grunt under his breath that only Kermit could hear, a choked sound that came from his throat as though he wanted to refuse and insist on at least changing out of his riding gear; the little armor he wore streaked with mud and his own blood from the gash on his cheek. There was a sound of leather squeaking as he clenched his gloves with a white knuckle grip, before he let out a breath from his nose and walked forward, his head down as he moved to take his place at his father’s side. 

“And what of me, father?” Kermit asked, his brother’s chair dragging across the ground as he sat down.  

There was a glimmer of pride in his father’s eye as he watched Oscar scoot his chair forward, making himself as comfortable as he could, though Kermit could compare him to a wooden plank; stiff as he adjusted his cloak underneath him. His father turned to look at him after flashing a smile to his brother, chin lifting as he spoke, “Oh, check on your sister, will you? I haven’t seen her yet today.” 

Kermit gave a small nod, visibly disappointed at the request. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She found the castle had been quiet in the days that followed the feast -- much quieter than she was used to. In the aftermath, her father and Kermit were much gentler than normal with her, careful as though they feared she would jump and run if they spoke too loudly. She felt like a child they were coddling and the whole situation was humiliating, feeling as though she was six years old again, clinging to her mother and crying because some boy was mean to her. 

In some ways, she was grateful for it however. 

They gave her more space than they had before and didn’t interrupt her as often; instead, they hung back from a distance and occasionally walked by her rooms, to glance in and make sure she was okay but would leave without saying anything. On the odd occasion she caught them staring, they would offer small smiles and nod, before carrying on. It gave her an opportunity to breathe, ground herself and reel from the events of the feast -- she could almost pretend that it hadn’t even happened and convince herself, this was not her life and was just some nightmare. 

Once she had moved past the feast and its chaos, she was faced with a new challenge. 

She watched from the treeline as Benjicot trained, too engrossed in his spar with his cousin to pay her any mind as she kept her distance; Alistair posted a few paces behind her. Her hands remained preoccupied by the small purple flowers in her hands -- violets that she had managed to find at the edges of the property, plucking them with a childish excitement. She had turned from her knelt position on the ground, summoning Alistair forward and insisting he hold them as she picked whatever his hands could hold. There had been a hint of apprehension, hesitating as he eyed her, before nodding and accepting the flowers, holding them in his left hand as she resumed her task of collecting them and rambled on about the knowledge she’d obtained over the years; familiar with herbs and plants and their medicinal use -- she had rambled on about a tea she could make with them when they returned. In the aftermath of the feast that had turned out disastrously, she found she actually enjoyed Alistair’s company and found comfort in his presence. He listened and was polite when he responded, and in the few words he offered, he provided her with wisdom. 

“Should we return to the library, my lady?” Alistair asked. She hummed inquisitively in response, eyes still transfixed on the boy Lord she was still working to figure out. “I can summon one of the kitchen workers to fix that tea for you.” He offered. 

She turned to look at him, offering a soft smile, “No, no. It’s quite alright, I can do it later. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.” Serra replied, her gaze turning to look again towards the two young Blackwood men. “I…have something I have to do, actually.” 

“Might I be able to help somehow?” He offered. 

She shook her head, but paused, “Could you actually take these inside? I’d like to invite Lord Blackwood for a walk and then I will be in.” She explained, turning to him and once again scooping half of the flowers into his hands, her gaze down and avoiding his eyes. There was a moment of silence that passed between them before he spoke again. 

“Would you like me to summon him for you?” Alistair pressed again, her eyes finally coming up to make out the skepticism in his features, a look of concern in his eyes. 

She smiled again, “No, I…feel this is something I should do.” She replied, voice soft as she withdrew, keeping a few of the flowers for herself. 

Even through her reassurance, she could still see his concern, reluctant to nod and leave her to the task. Though he gave her a nod and passed her, walking towards the house and leaving her in the spot near the trees some feet away from where Benjicot’s cousin let out a yelp as he fell back into the dirt with a thud. Emrys was quicker to shoot up, rolling onto his side and reaching for his sword that had slipped from his hand in the tumble, just as Benjicot kicked it further from his grasp. She slowly approached, the small flowers in her hands as she stroked the petals between her thumb and forefinger, Emrys’ gaze finding her first as she neared the edge of the circle. 

Emrys looked relieved as he panted out a soft greeting and began to scramble to his feet, “My lady.” 

Benjicot turned towards where his cousin’s attention was placed, finding his betrothed standing before him and offering the smallest of smiles. The two men issued a bow, breathing heavily and flushed in the face as the heir wiped sweat from his bow, “Lady Tully.” He greeted, mouth ajar. 

“My apologies for interrupting.” She softly said, glancing between the two men. She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the flowers in her hands, looking then to Emrys, “Hopefully he’s not been too hard on you today.” She remarked, her tone hinting a stiff attempt at teasing the Blackwood cousin. 

Emrys barked a laugh, brushing dirt from his doublet, “Hardly. I’m starting to think he’s deliberately trying to maim me.” He commented, shooting a look to his cousin who let out a quiet snort, the closest thing to a laugh that Serra had witnessed yet since her arrival. “In the event I die, he would no longer have any more competition in vying for your eye then, isn’t that right?” He flirted, smug as he leaned to shove Ben with his shoulder. 

The action hardly caused Benjicot’s feet to move beyond his right foot dragging against the dirt in a half-stumble, the two boys jokingly shoving each other and wrestling for a moment. Serra watched as Benjicot quickly slung an arm around his cousin’s neck in the scuffle, laughter ensuing as he muttered something incoherent at him that resembled a warning of ‘watch it’. “Okay, okay-- easy!” Emrys cried out, laughing and shoving him away. 

They settled down, straightening themselves out before they both looked at Serra once again, the smile she wore both shy and hinting her amusement at their antics, finding the interaction rather endearing. “I also mean to bring gifts for you both.” She said, finally stepping into the circle and approaching them. She witnessed the look the two men shared, Emrys’ interest piqued and smiling at her as she walked first to him and offered the small purple flower to him, bowing to her as he gently accepted the flower; bringing it towards his chest. 

“Thank you, Lady Tully.”

She sweetly smiled at him, before her gaze reluctantly found Benjicot’s as he watched the interaction before him, though his expression was one that she found unreadable, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. She hesitated, slow in stepping towards him and offering the last flower to him, placed in her palm and waiting for him. 

Benjicot glanced up at her face from the flower. He had never really understood women’s fixation with flowers, even as a boy, as pretty as they were -- he never viewed them as anything more than decorative things that adorned banners, armor and were a nuisance in the yards of Raventree. They were hardly a gift, but he moved to place his sword underneath his arm, pinned against his side and holding it as he reached out to carefully pluck the flower from her palm with his fingers, forcing a tight smile while holding it up briefly, “Thank you.” 

He watched as she offered a sweet, giddy smile and stepped back, her face lit up with joy as he accepted the flower, “You’re welcome.” Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes darting to Emrys who hardly made an attempt at concealing the wolfish grin he gave his older cousin at the sight. She looked back up at Benjicot, his own gaze lingering on his cousin and shooting him a glare of warning, “I understand you are probably busy, but I was wondering if you would care to take a walk around the grounds? Whenever you’re done here, of course.” She hurriedly spoke, her own look shooting to his cousin as if to ask if it was okay, not wanting to intrude more than she already did. 

“I think that would be lovely.” Emrys quickly replied. “We were actually just wrapping up.” 

Benjicot wanted to turn and slap him by the back of his head in that moment, eyes fixing on him again as if to question what the fuck he was doing-- 

“Are you sure?” She asked. 

However, he suppressed the urge to argue and deny her hopeful stare, sighing softly, “Of course. Let me just bring my sword back inside and we can go.” Benjicot grumbled, his annoyance boiling under the surface of his words. 

Her mouth opened to respond, but she was cut short before she could even utter a word as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She blinked, shrinking back once again as Emrys watched her deflate, watching after his cousin, “So moody-- I promise he isn’t always like this.” Emrys whispered, trying to make light of the situation, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, running after him. 

Her eyes met Kemit’s from the doorway as she watched Emrys run inside, his expression stoic and plain as she forced a polite smile before he turned and walked in the opposite direction as the two men before him. 

     · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could still sense his anger when he returned to the yard. 

The pair were silent as they walked, her watchful gaze fixed on observing the outer parts of Raventree — tall, sturdy, and appearing just as powerful as its men. Although her feelings towards the man to her right were that of indifference, she struggled to comprehend or make sense of his own attitude towards her, as she had hardly ever done anything to him aside from existing in his presence and that, even as children, had enraged him to such a point that at times she could not deny Benjicot was nothing less than what his houses’ reputation stood for. He embodied that very idea. Loyal but brutes. He did not seem to outgrow that as adults as even now, he didn’t seem to care for her and just seemed to search for any opportunity to humiliate her. Unlike when they were children, it came in forms of snide remarks and innuendos dismissing her as nothing more than some…object to one day warm his bed, or a nuisance — if not, even worse, it felt as though he treated like some sworn enemy to the likeness of a Bracken at times. 

Even though his father could sometimes scare him back into line, it only came in brief moments before he seemed to fall back into his habits. And his father couldn’t follow them and play mediator at all hours of the day. How did they plan to enter a marriage and live under those conditions? In which he despised her and she was nothing more than some doll to take his anger out on? To one day show her some warmth, only to come back with rage and lashing out at her. 

She almost preferred his childhood antics and would have rather he’d shove her into mud and call it a day. The thought of a lifetime spent living this way felt unbearable, the realization weighing heavy on her chest, almost as though she was being both physically and figuratively crushed by the very idea as her gaze anxiously darted to the side of his face from the corner of her eye; taking in the sight of him, so nonchalant and blissfully unaware. Unfazed. Her eyes darted back straight ahead as her clasped hands released themselves, smoothing over the fabric of her dress to wipe the sweat from her fingers, hands shaking slightly as she then clenched them, her breathing deep and heavy with each sharp inhale and exhale of air; even her breath shuddered as she attempted to ground herself, trying to force air into her lungs which felt as though they, too, were being crushed— 

“You’re breathing quite loudly.” Benjicot suddenly said, having been unaware that she had managed to walk ahead of him by a few paces while in thought, her hands once again going to smooth over her bodice as she abruptly stopped. 

She was quiet in response to his statement, too frightened to turn and face him immediately, like a scared child who was fearful of getting in trouble for something they had done — scared that if she showed even the slightest hint of weakness, he would pounce like a predator does their prey. But there was no hiding the fear in her eyes as she slowly turned towards him, one hand at her stomach and gripping the fabric there as if it would somehow steady her shaking hand and hide it in plain sight from him, her eyes meeting his. Though she could only bear to hold his stare for a moment before it dropped to the chest of his doublet, sucking in a deep breath, Benjicot’s eyes narrowing with a furrow of his brows. 

“What…” he began to say, pausing and taking a step toward her, “pray tell, is the matter with you now?” He sighed as he spoke, shoulders slumping with the words and a roll of eyes. 

If she had had even the smallest bit of boldness that existed within her and coursed through her veins, his words could have enraged her — his tone, speaking to her like she was an unfortunate bastard child that burdened him by simply existing, maybe then she would have had just enough courage in her so that she might have been brave enough to shout, yell, even swing a punch at him— but she couldn’t. If she had been born a man, she may have been lucky to possess such bravery. Instead, she was frozen in place, swallowing and instead looking up towards a window of the castle that overlooked them to avoid his eyes as she felt him continue to stare at her. She realized in that very moment, realizing how trapped she truly was, that she would have rather jump from the very window she was standing underneath than be married and stuck with Benjicot the rest of her life. She heard him sigh again, though the sound felt muffled and distant — not like he was standing only half a foot away from her, the sound of her heartbeat pounding so loudly she could barely hear over it.   

“My Lady?” 

She subconsciously had stepped towards the house, her breathing still rapid as she closed her eyes, a cool breeze flowing through the court that blew a few loose strands of hair into her face and across her cheeks. She was snapped, however, from her daze by the feeling of his hand closing around her elbow, eyes shooting open and immediately moving to withdraw from his hold as she leaned away; shrinking back with her mouth open to protest, his eyes on her face — for the first time since her arrival, though, she couldn’t find any trace of disgust in his features as he scanned her appearance. His grip tightened as she tried to withdraw again, tugging against his hand but to no avail. 

“Easy— just… just wait.” He commanded, his eyes darting over his shoulder as though he was looking for someone or something and scanning their surroundings before he quickly looked back at her. His other hand mirrored his right, grabbing her other arm just above her elbow and holding her in place as the sinking feeling of panic set in, her eyes widening and gasping for air as she used her entire weight to try and force herself backwards and out of his hold. Even with all her strength, she was unsuccessful beyond more than a stumbled step forward, only bringing him closer, bringing them chest to chest, “Serra, please— stop.” 

“What are you doing?” She suddenly cried out, voice small as her arms attempted to flail free from his restraint. She looked up at him, a look she couldn’t quite place flashing across his features — hurt, disgust? She gasped inwards, leaning back. 

He suddenly released an arm, stepping back from her and scanning her face, the furrow in his brow remaining, “Do you really think I’d deliberately seek to hurt a woman?” He asked, voice quiet but not hiding his offense, though he knew it was hypocritical. He wasn’t always kind, he was aware of that. 

He hardly allowed her a moment to process his words before his hand around her second elbow loosened and he blinked rapidly a couple of times with a glance towards his feet. He looked up a moment later, his hand dropping and cautiously taking hers, the move slow as his hand covered hers and watching her face as though he was searching for any sign to stop; any further protest — her own eyes still watched in complete and utter fear, confusion on her face, “Just…trust me for a moment. Watch.” He pleaded, voice quiet and desperate as his gaze dropped briefly to her chest, still heaving with the breathless pants that left her mouth before returning to her face. 

His hand was gentle over hers as it lead hers from her side; unfolding her fist and spreading her fingers as it was outstretched towards him, only feeling a small bit of resistance as her hand was guided inwards towards his body — he caught her eyes, that looked between her hand and his face, “Easy...” He repeated, his voice softer than before. Her body was still rigid and her skepticism still evident, but even Benjicot could not blame her for being so unwilling to trust him. What reason had he given her to do so thus far? He’d been nothing short of cruel to her in their childhood and had been so selfishly engrossed in his own fury that he hadn’t even pieced it together that she was as equally innocent in this scenario as he was. It seemed to dawn on him, looking at her face, the pieces falling into place. 

He pressed her hand to his chest, the heat of her fingers felt through his clothing as he pressed it flat, her palm pressed against his sternum over his heart; the steady thrum of his heartbeat felt underneath the layers with his chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths, “do you feel that?” He quietly asked, her gaze still flipping between her hand and his own eyes before settling there, watching him. “Feel my heart? My breath?” He asked. 

He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her gaze dropped to her hand which seemed to relax under his, which was enough of a reply, “Just feel…breathe.” He quietly instructed. “Follow my breathing, in…out...in…” he guided, giving her a few moments and watching as the tension seemed to slide from her shoulders like a piece of clothing. 

The image of her fear-stricken face was still burned into his mind as he watched her relax — the memory invoking a flurry of guilt and shame to wash over him. He knew he could be cruel at times, but he’d never intended to be the source for her terror; hells, he’d never even realized just how much his actions had affected her. Looking at her in that moment, he’d come to remember she was just as much a pawn to the games of politics as he’d been — if not, more innocent than anyone. She hadn’t wanted this anymore than he had but she didn’t have any choice in the matter, just as he hadn’t. But he was prideful and had to swallow down the urge to say anything more about it, standing there silently as his gaze scanned her face. 

He pitied her, truly pitied her. 

“Your heart is beating faster.” She quietly pointed out, her eyes looking upwards from where her hand was placed, Benjicot having not even realized he was still staring at her as he’d pondered his anger these past days. A sudden rush of heat flooded his cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something -- the urge to spit out some sarcastic quip readily on his lips, but his words were halted by the sound of Ser Eryn’s voice as he approached them. 

“My lord.” 

Benjicot stepped back immediately, almost jumping and dropping his hand from her wrist as she simultaneously withdrew her hand from his chest; both their heads whipping towards the guard, “I apologize for my intrusion…but your father has summoned you.” Ser Eryn explained, his gaze fixed explicitly on the young man. 

Benjicot found his voice finally, nodding as he swallowed, looking down at the ground beneath his feet and then glancing towards Serra, her hands at her sides as she briefly returned his glance -- they both then looked back at Ser Eryn, “Very well. Thank you.” He simply replied. 

The guard nodded, turning with a clank of his armor before striding away, but not before he shot a last look in the direction of the young woman who was still standing timidly a few inches shy of the heir, wordlessly. Benjicot waited until he was out of earshot before he looked back at her, his hands going to clasp behind his back, “We should make our way back now, my lady. Shall we?” He spoke, his voice regaining its prior confidence, head tilting to gesture her along -- she nodded, a meek gesture in reply as she tentatively took a few steps to come back up to his side as he then began to lead them back down the path that circled the estate. 

The walk back was just as quiet as the one there, both keeping their eyes straight ahead. Serra wasn’t sure she had accomplished what she had set out to do when they first left — not sure she felt she understood him better or felt they had bridged their feud; she wasn’t even sure she could say she knew him better. But she was at least reminded that he was still human, under the brutish behavior, that he did possess the ability to be gentle and kind, if that’s even what she could call it. Occasionally, her gaze would wander towards him and even though he seemed set on avoiding catching her eye again, she still took the brief opportunity to observe him as she tried to figure him out again for the hundredth time that week. She noted the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he scowled and she could assume they were prominent when he smiled, too. From this angle, as the sinking sun caught his eye, she could make out that his eyes were almost green — maybe even hazel? Regardless, in this lighting he did not appear as intimidating or even menacing as she had previously thought him to be. Nothing more than a boy, she realized. 

The main doors were opened by guards as they approached, creaking open so loudly the sound echoed throughout the halls; Benjicot walking ahead of her and letting out a puff of air as he began to approach the familiar doors where the council and his father were awaiting him, though he paused. He visibly hesitated in turning to her, the same pensive look on her face as they stared at one another a moment before he took a step toward her, “I apologize for having to cut our meeting short. I will see you at supper, yes?” He questioned, reaching out to grab her hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes briefly dropped to his mouth, noting the scar above his lip before returning to his eyes and nodding. 

“Yes, of course.” 

Benjicot straightened up and nodded, letting her hand go in order to turn and make his way into the hall where Serra briefly caught a glimpse of her father sitting at the table, along with Samwell and other council members as the doors opened. Though a silence settled over them as Benjicot entered and sat down, her father and Samwell both casting looks in her direction as their quiet discussion ceased at the doors being held open. It was then that her attention was drawn to the sound of her elder brother coming down the stairs quite quickly, one hand at his sword just as she and Benjicot parted; his gaze following his friend before looking at her. Kermit appeared to slow as he approached the bottom two stairs, pausing and sharing a silent exchange with his sister, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Sister.” He suddenly said, breaking the silence and nodding at her before rushing into the room behind the young Blackwood who had entered moments earlier. The doors were closed behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, more at ease than she had been the past several days. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A soft knock echoed through the room as Benjicot stood in front of the window, straightening the neck of his cloak, shoulders rolling as he assumed it was a reminder to hurry from one of the guards, “Come.” He called out, growing frustrated as the fabric would not sit right against his throat no matter how much fidgeting with it that he did. He felt as though he was being choked and deprived of air as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

He heard as the door opened and footsteps shuffled against the ground, entering the room and closing the door, “I will be down shortly.” He replied, giving the clothing one last tug and beginning to fix his sleeves, however his companion was silent. He turned, sensing that it wasn’t a guard afterall, and finding Kermit stood behind him with a look of contemplation, his eyes moving to scan his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed. They quietly stared at each other for a moment that left Benjicot almost uncomfortable. 

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Benjicot asked suddenly. 

Kermit forced a smile, “You always do, don’t worry.” He said, the attempt at a playful tone painfully forced and not unnoticed by Ben. His gaze dropped again, fixed on the Blackwood sigil across his chest, mouth opening to speak again, “I don’t want to be the overbearing brother who nags you with the same warnings your father already has, I know there is only so much I can say that has not already been said a hundred times...” He said, his voice soft and looking up to his eyes again. 

Benjicot did not attempt to interrupt him with a reply, settling on listening intently. 

“She’s a kind girl.” Kermit stated, matter of factly and more confident as he stood upright. “Kinder than most. She feels so much, so deeply, and she cares too much for her own good sometimes. But she is good…more so than anyone I have ever met. She possesses both intellect and wit, and despite the chaos of the men around her-- she remains such a gentle, good-hearted spirit who keeps us grounded. She is terrible with a needle and thread, but she knows how to soothe and mend the worst of wounds-- I used to go right to her whenever you kicked my ass when we would train as boys. And I know one day she will be equally as kind a mother as she will be a wife, just as our mother was.” He continued to speak, stepping closer to his friend who held his gaze. 

“I’d like to think we’ve always been good friends,” He said. “I even consider us to have become like brothers.” Benjicot’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing, “I do too.” 

“Then please treat her with kindness.” He pleaded suddenly, stepping forward one last step until he was mere inches from him. “Treat her with decency and be good to her. I have never trusted anybody else with her as I do you. I know you are a good and generous man, Benjicot, and I know somewhere inside you, you still possess the kindness and warmth my sister needs. I ask…” He spoke, pausing to catch his breath. 

He reached out to place a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, “I ask that you be a better man than your father was to you. Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot, and I cannot bear to imagine a life without her, knowing I was the cause for my own sister’s demise. She does not deserve that.” He explained, his voice thick with emotion as Ben watched his friend nod as if to silently ask that he understood after a moment. 

He reluctantly nodded after a few seconds that felt like hours. 

They did not part immediately, staring at each other in the silent space of Ben’s chambers, the weight of his pleas lingering over them. Kermit gave a final nod whilst clapping his friend’s shoulder and sniffling once before he stepped back and folded his hands behind him, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready, then.” He quietly said. 

Kermit was slow in retreating from the room, leaving him to his thoughts, his words heavy on his chest like the boot of his opponent in battle; the ache there deep and raw as his hand instinctively rose to massage his chest over his heart with his knuckles, as if to rub away the anxiety their conversation left him. He turned on his heel and faced the desk that was shoved against the wall, stacked with books — and there, among all the strewn papers and ink stains, sat a small purple flower against the brown leather of a history textbook he had skimmed through days prior. 

He reached out for it with the hand that had touched his chest, careful in picking up the delicate violet that had been plucked from the yards of Raventree and eyeing it under the little light that the sun cast in through his window. 

“Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot.” 

His mouth twitched, sighing as he lifted the flower across his chest and gently tucked it into the pin of his House that rested over his left shoulder as he turned to leave towards the door. His guard stood to attention, stiff and proper as he bowed his head while he was still preoccupied by the task of adjusting the flower against the fabric as he stepped into the hall, Ser Eryn’s eyes drawn to the plant that was neatly placed among the uniform. Benjicot exhaled, cheeks ballooning with air as his eyebrows rose briefly at the guard, his head tilting in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we?” 

The young Lord Blackwood led them throughout the halls of the keep, the sun beginning to set with the end of the day as evening enveloped the riverlands in darkness; the walls lined by lit torches that provided an orange glow despite the hour. He was given the odd bow of head as he passed workers House Blackwood employed, mutters of ‘my lord’ following him as he descended the stairs to the entrance. The doors to the great hall were already opened and readily greeted him as Ser Eryn followed close behind, relieved to find that the only commotion from the room was the sound of joyous laughter and the light hum of conversation filling the hall as he entered. 

His father had spared no expense with the extravagant display, the room lined with yellow and red decorations, the finest of silverware adorning the table as guests lined both sides of the table. 

He anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs of his doublet as he approached the head of the table, where his father and Serra’s family sat, waiting for his arrival. His father’s gaze eyed him from over his chalice, taking a sip as Benjicot found his place at a seat next to Serra, snug between her and Samwell. 

“--your men should reach the borders within the hour.” Elmo said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Samwell, attempting not to bring attention to the conversation. “They should meet the camp as soon as they get there.” 

Benjicot frowned as he pulled his chair forward, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Samwell quickly replied, setting his drink down and scanning his son’s appearance. “You look well-rested.” He said. Ben sensed his struggle to utter the words, not used to extending compliments. 

“Thank you.” He quietly replied. 

He could feel his eyes linger, following his father’s eyes to the flower on his left shoulder, “You’ve added some personal touches to your uniform.”

“It’s from the yards.” He answered, reaching for the wine pitcher from the table and bringing it towards his cup, pouring himself a drink. 

In the corner of his eye, he could make out the sight of movement as Serra had turned, mid-conversation with who he soon figured out was Oscar when he turned to look over at her whilst setting down the jug. Her gaze was fixed on the flower that was tucked in as part of his pin, delicate and perfect there, her lips parting but not saying anything. 

“It’s a nice touch,” Samwell said. “I like it.”

Serra looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face as she flashed a small smile, shy and genuine as she then looked down to her lap. He tore his gaze from her and looked once again at his father who rose an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Benjicot mumbled, lifting his cup to his mouth.

masterlist | backward

TAGLIST: @username199945, @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess, @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork @tannyfairy @maximizedrhythms

[angelyuji]

yandere wonder woman headcanons

diana prince x reader

tw // people pleasing, manipulation, usual yandere stuff, lasso of truth being used to interrogate/misused

big buff girls pls hmu ;) jk.... unless

missss diana prince i love you sooo much

wonder woman is known as a compassionate hero that values the truth (ive been reading the comics guys im so smart 😊) (ngl finding good comics for my girl was hard so rec me some pls)

shes kind, caring, so incredibly empathetic

she’s stubborn, reckless, and a hardcore people pleaser (shes just like me fr!!)

the first time diana prince meets you was a complete accident. she was running after a getaway car when she spots you. headphones in, attention completely on your phone. with another burst of energy, she launches herself in front of the car, one arm out to protect you and another arm to stop it completely. you can’t move frozen in fear as the car smashed into her arm, almost . you were pulled into her arms without a second thought.

“are you alright?” her face was overcome with worry.

you break down into sobs, “thank you. thank you. thank you” you bury your face into her shoulder

in that moment, all diana wanted to do was take you away from all of it. your touch on her skin felt like holy fire. you were angelic.

from then on, you saw her every day. first at a coffee shop, then at the grocery story, then at your work, then in front of your house. she wouldn’t pretend like she didn’t see you. no secret stalking. she would come up to you, ask you how you are and ask you about your day. to you diana became one of your closest friends. to diana , you were the one.

one day, she’ll tell you that she’s in love with you

“(y/n), i must confess something to you.” she turns to you on the couch.

you look over at her and she almost melts, “what’s up, di?”

she takes a deep breath, “i like you.”

“oh.” she stares at you, waiting for more. “diana, i’m not sure how i… feel about you.” you try to let her down easy, but she grabs your hands.

“(y/n), everything about you makes my heart stop. i wait with bated breath for any word from you. i would give you my soul if you asked. i love you.” diana got closer to you as she spoke. you try to inch away, but her grip on your hands were too strong. guilt swims as your mind processed her words. “please don’t say no. i love you, (y/n). i would do anything to prove it.”

you let out a breath, “maybe let’s go on a date first?” you see her eyes light up and you smile, happy to make her happy.

you keep going on dates with her becuz u didn’t want to upset her and she seems so sincere with her feelings

dates to dating to engaged to married

at the end of the day…. ur a people pleaser just like her

she would do anything for u babes like… anything

the emotional manipulation, the gaslighting, diana takes it to the MAX

she knows you would fold if she pressures u enough

shes so mother, mommy, wife, mother of my children

she babies you

like a lot

yk that post i made earlier about genius yanderes or wtv? its like that

she doesn’t trust u to do anything

treats u like a grown child

but its cuz she loves you!!!!

if you decide enough is enough and that u don’t want to get involved romantically…

“you’re lying to me.” diana’s eyes were fierce as she glares at you. it hadn’t gone too far but as she led you to the bedroom, pressing sweet kisses to your neck, you knew you had to tell her.

“i’m sorry, diana. i don’t like you like that. you’re my best friend. i just… didn’t want to lose you.” you were sobbing as you sat on the edge of the bed, head in your hands.

“all these months… you had been LYING TO ME?” with one push to your shoulders, you land flat on the bed. she straddles your hips, hands pushing your shoulders into the bed. you feel her hands tighten.

“please, diana, i’m sorry.” you choke out a sob. she lets go of your shoulders before leaning back to sit on your hips. you take in deep breathes as she shakes her head.

“no no no. you’re lying.” her eyes looked crazed and you don’t respond, fearing her strength. she starts to laugh. “you love me, i know it. the truth will prevail.” she states, she gets off of you. you sit up, afraid to move. you see her grab her lasso.

“diana, don’t you dare.” you try to move, but with one quick whip, her lasso had looped itself around you. you were trapped. “diana, don’t do this please.” you beg.

“what is your name.” diana’s eyes were cold, as she interrogated you.

“(y/n).” you can feel the words tumble out of your mouth.

“where are you.”

“in your bedroom.”

“do you love me, diana of themyscira.” you try to keep your words in, fighting the lasso. you know she would twist your words. “DO YOU LOVE ME, (Y/N). YES OR NO.”

“yes.” you sob as the word gets ripped out of you. the lasso loosens.

she wraps you into a hug. “i knew it. i knew it. i know you love me. i don’t understand why you’re fighting, (y/n), but we will figure this out. together.” she smiles at you, tears streaming down her face. you don’t respond and she presses a kiss to your lips.

i need her so bad guys i want a big buff gf soo bad i want u diana prince

not movie diana. FUCK movie diana. this is only comics diana. fuck ww 1 & 2 and FUCK gal-can't-act gadot.

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[periprose]

Bedside Manner - Chapter One

The Ghoul x Reader

When it comes to job prospects in the Wasteland, being a nurse isn't all that lucrative. So you're Dom Pedro's assistant, where your nurse skills of administering drugs come in handy with sedating the Ghoul. (Not really following canon, just taking my own spin on stuff)

Genre: fluff, fallout angst (more in future chaps anyways), strangers to accomplices to ambivalent friends to lovers, heated moments of tension, probably eventual smut

Word count: 2.2k

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Holy fuck, does shoveling do a number on your back.

You groan as you roll back your shoulder, and throw the shovel behind you. 

Dom Pedro has been on your ass about this shift. You have to take the Ghoul to Dom’s workshop, where he’ll carve him up, when the sedatives have worn off and the pain will be ever-present and lingering. You figure Dom’s angry about something else– and what better outlet is there than torturing a ghoul?

It’s not something you like to do, carrying this extremely heavy, tall undead-man through Dom Pedro’s house by using a rope system and tugging, and then after Dom Pedro’s had his fun. re-administering drugs that will prevent the feral nature from taking him over, but it’s necessary and it pays well.

Pedro’s a little too elite to do this himself anyways. That’s why he hired you, a former nurse who used to work at a charitable hospital– one that was eventually claimed by the Brotherhood.

You try not to think too much about your former, much more fulfilling career.

The mildly disturbing scent of a living corpse hits you as you open up the casket. The Ghoul isn’t the worst ghoul you’ve ever had to look at, but he’s still a little creepy, and you stare at him as he lies there.

Is he awake? Pretending to be asleep so you’ll be caught off guard, and his gun will fire rapidly, making a bloody mess out of you?

You’re well aware of the risks. You just have to hope that today’s chemical cocktail IVs are correct, and enough is administered inside him so that he’s truly, really, fast asleep.

You carefully tie around his wrists and legs– you feel, somehow, the slightest bit of warmth, something that could suggest a pulse from the veins of his wrists– but you know that’s ridiculous and continue on.

/

Dragging him to the workshop makes you feel a little guilty. His face sometimes smacks onto the wooden floors of this cabin if you’re not careful, and you always whisper a hushed “Sorry!” Even though he’s not human.

You don’t want to be on his bad side, even if he can’t hear you. 

“Why the fuck isn’t there a more moral way to make caps?” You exhale, a common complaint you always have.

You tie him to the torture-chair, wrapping rope around his torso and arms and legs, so he can’t break free, adjusting his hat so it stays on, and because– despite the Ghoul’s reputation as a bounty hunter, you feel like he deserves a little respect with his belongings– and now you’re waiting for Dom Pedro to come and cut him up.

You don’t know why Dom Pedro does this. Is there some sort of use for ghoul skin and blood that you don’t know about? Or is it just purely torture, since Dom Pedro’s kept the Ghoul alive for so long, even giving him the false kindness of anti-feral ghoul drugs so he’ll be entirely aware of every inch Dom Pedro’s knife cuts into him?

You don’t know. And it’s not exactly like you’re important enough to know that information, anyways.  

/

The Ghoul stirs awake. He blinks– he’s back in the workshop, yet again.

He’s only half aware of how he gets here. He knows there’s definitely a woman involved– someone soft, with pliant fingers and hesitant motions that suggest she doesn’t want him to get hurt as she drags him from sleep to being butchered– he only vaguely remembers seeing her back, just once, maybe a few months ago.

He turns to the side, ready for Dom Pedro to be seething in the corner over whatever their beef was and brandishing that scary, rusted axe. 

He’s not there.

Oh. The Ghoul blinks again, his eyes clearing up as he does.

It’s you. You’re the woman, the nurse that Dom Pedro uses to administer all these drugs into him. 

It’s almost a little shocking, a little tantalizing to him to actually see you. Two-hundred years of memories doesn’t exactly give him the most clear of minds, but he knows you’re the one who’s always just hazy, on the edge of his peripheral vision after being tortured, in his dreams after you sedate him.

“Hey, nurse…” He can hardly talk, but you jolt in your spot, and turn to him. 

“Uh–” You stare at him, entirely flabbergasted. “You’re not supposed to be awake!”

“Well, I am. What’re you gonna do about it?” He yawns, still ever so slightly woozy from the drugs. 

The Ghoul notices a knife on the table. He tips his head toward it.

“Cut me free.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!” You shake your head immediately. “Dom Pedro will kill me.”

“Dom Pedro’s a bitch if he’s killing someone willing to do the hard work for what, a couple hundred caps?” The Ghoul raises his non-existent eyebrows, and you swallow. “You don’t know how rare that is nowadays.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust you? The Ghoul, the most terrifying, ruthless, brutal killer I’ve ever known?” You narrow your eyes at him, with every adjective tossed out of your hissing mouth, coming closer and closer to him.   

“I like how you describe me, keep going.” He jokes, looking up at you, but he snarls suddenly and you flinch.

The Ghoul grins in satisfaction, white pearly teeth, very square and rigid in their appearance, something that should look handsome on the right person and instead, is a little unnerving right now.

Still attractive, though, and you question yourself.  

“Let me go, sweetheart, and I promise your death won’t be as half as painful as he could make it.” He drawls, and you swallow but shake your head.

“I’m not interested in being a mercy kill.” You state, and he sucks on his teeth. 

“That’s a mistake.” He leans closer to you, somehow straining against your carefully tied knots to do so. “I’d be doing you a favour.”

“Well, I’m a coward. I’m not all rough and tough and shooting every single person I see, unlike you and Dom Pedro. I’m not gonna die in glorious battle, and I don’t want to die anyways.” You’re glum. “I only took this job because being associated with him protects me.”

The Ghoul is silent for a moment.

“And what if you were associated with me?” He asks, not actually intending anything serious, but he feels an urge to tease you ever so slightly. “That’s protection, isn’t it?”

“What?” You glance back at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe because I’m trying to bargain my way out of here, maybe because you’re the one who’s been kind enough to make sure I’m not chafing with how you tie these fucking ropes– and I’m assuming you drug me, right, sweetheart? You dull the sick pains he gives me.”

“Uh… yeah, I do.” You pause. “Stop trying to sweet talk me, Ghoul.”

“Nah, nurse. It’s funny and I wonder what Dom Pedro will do when he sees you talking to me.” The Ghoul says, another shit-eating grin upon his face.

Oh.

That’s actually quite bad, you think. The Ghoul hasn’t just been trying to coax you with compliments so you’d help him escape– the longer he’s kept you in this conversation, the closer you’ve gotten to his Plan B: Dom Pedro’s wrath.

“I’m guessing a smart lady like you would be more afraid of him.” The Ghoul keeps prodding, and you glare at him. “Rather than me.” 

You know he’s right. Your eyes give away what you’re thinking as you ever so slightly glance to the table.

There’s a syringe of chems there, meant to send him to sleep after Dom Pedro has done his worst. Usually Dom Pedro takes the initiative to do that himself, because as he tells you, he likes being the only one who can send the Ghoul to sleep, the closest Dom Pedro will let him ever get to death. And then you’re stuck with dragging his comatose body back to the grave that awaits him.

Maybe you can just put a stop to the Ghoul’s philandering right now, and get yourself out of here before things get bad. Dom Pedro wouldn’t even notice– the Ghoul would seem as out of it as he was supposed to be at this time.

It’s only a second of you looking over there, but the Ghoul is quick– too quick, immediately understanding what you intend to do– and he somehow pushes his chair forward, at you, aiming his foot to kick at you with what limited motion he has in his restraints.

You get shoved back with a grunt, and you see him edge towards the knife on the table– but you knock him backwards with a shove, and the chair tips back, only stopping on it’s back legs due to the ropes extending from them, tethered to the back wall and through the gear and pulley systems that are ever present in this workshop. 

The Ghoul’s kept his grip around your wrist, though, from where his hands are tied on the armchairs, and you fall back with him, balancing on your tippie toes and your hands on the top of the chair. Your hair brushes against his face as you lean forward, and you attempt to move away, but he won’t let go of you, instead sighing with gratification as he looks up at you from here.

“Huh. This is a compromising position, isn’t it?” The Ghoul licks his teeth as he keeps pulling you towards him, and you hear the wooden floor creak under you as the chair wavers in the air.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, c’mon, cut the bullshit.” He scoffs, still trying to get you to budge into helping him. “You really think Ol’ Dom Pedro won’t think you’re conspiring with me now, after it looks like you’ve taken a lover–”

There’s a sudden sound at the porch of the cabin. You and the Ghoul both turn to look out the window– and it’s definitely one very drunk Dom Pedro struggling to open the door.

You duck, out of fear that he’ll see you through the window, in the delicate moonlight, and the Ghoul tuts as your face comes near his jaw.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” He looks at your trembling face nonchalantly, as you try to make a decision. “Free me, and we’ll escape together. Use the drugs, and you’ll be stuck under Dom Pedro’s grubby fingers making exceedingly meagre wages.”

“How do I know you won’t just abandon me as soon as you want to kill a bounty?” You whisper, and he rolls his eyes. 

“You don’t. But I always repay my debts.” He says, and you don’t really believe him at all, but the more time passes by, the more you know that he won’t even seem appropriately sedated for Dom Pedro’s wishes– so you wordlessly nod.

The Ghoul won’t let go of you, so you’re left careening to the side as his arms hold you to him. He’s keeping such a tight grip to ensure that you scrabble for the knife– and you do.

“No sneaky bullshit.” He spits out, and you, despite being of the Wasteland, had no mind to kill him. No, that would’ve certainly looked bad as well. 

Dom Pedro’s favourite lap dog, dead? His bounty killer, who does it for the love of the game? His favourite ghoul to torture? The one who did something so bad it’s basically unspeakable, and Dom Pedro would be livid if he wasn’t ultimately the one to kill him in the end?

You could say goodbye to your head if you killed the Ghoul. You know your place– even if you get paid to administer drugs to him, you’re no better than a dealer, a sweet face providing a nice bedside manner.  

You make quick work of the ropes restraining him, and the Ghoul stands up before ducking behind a table, putting his finger against his lips, shushing you.

You’re very careful now. Dom Pedro is coming down the hallway, and any second now, he’s going to check to see if you brought the Ghoul here.. Luckily, Dom Pedro’s so drunk, he’s taking his time, stumbling and groaning.

After mulling over it in your mind, you decide to take the full syringe on the table. Less evidence, and you figure maybe Dom Pedro will be so drunk he’ll forget you were supposed to be here anyways.

And after second-guessing it– you think fuck it, and take the entire briefcase of drugs with you.

The Ghoul whistles very slightly at the sight of that. “You’re committing.”

You resist the urge to ask him what other choice you have, since running out on Dom Pedro is a great way to have a bunch of bounty hunters after you– you’re relying on selling some drugs, and bribing the Ghoul with some so he’d have to continue protecting you after he inevitably says he’s completed his debt by helping you escape.

“Let’s go.” You mouth, and he nods.

He’s not one to care about personal space at all, though– and he lifts you up over the ledge of the other window, pushing up on your thighs, away from the hallway where Dom Pedro is finally coming in– and you feel your face turn hot at the close contact, halfway over the ledge into the outside, with his hands on your waist as he hoists you away.

You don’t even have time to think about it as you land lightly on the ground together, because he’s right behind you, hands still on your waist for a moment, and then he lets go, and together you move quickly.

[thevampiremarie]

Summertime Sadness (part 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Ten years ago: the first time you met Simon

Today: the first time Ghost meets you

Tags: mental illness, therapeutic boarding school, self harm, suicide attempt/suicidality, self harm, abuse, parental abandonment, much the same as last chapter. This fic is unedited because I don’t feel like editing it lol. If you see spelling/grammar issues, no you didn’t.

TEN YEARS AGO

Reader POV

-

It’s intake day.

Intake day happens once a week, always on Wednesday.

You don’t know why they pick Wednesday. It seems pretty arbitrary, doesn’t it?

On intake day, the nurses and counselors make all the current residents of the inpatient program line up to greet the newbies. You actually look forward to intake day. Everyone here is so boring and routine; your roommate never speaks unless spoken to and she always keeps her earbuds in. On intake day, the hope that someone nice will be admitted survives for the few hours of the intake itself.

It usually dies right after. There was one polite girl who smiled when you waved last week, but she was transferred to a different facility that night before you could learn her name.

You’ve been here for three weeks, so that’s three intake days.

You’re not sure why you’ve been here so long. It seems a little excessive; you’d think by now they’d realize your stuff isn’t so bad and maybe you could transition to outpatient appointments?

It’s a little dissociation and some minor depression. Not bad at all.

But your doctors agree, albeit gently, that you should stay for the full five month course.

The program isn’t so bad. The facility sits on a sprawling multi-acre property in the British countryside, where everything is beautiful and verdant and always chilly. It’s lovely. The tea is good. You’re getting used to how they take it here. It’s nothing like the sweet tea you drink back home.

You suppose that’s another reason why they won’t let you go home even though you’re okay; there isn’t a home to go back to. Your dad hasn’t looked you in the eye since Mom left. At least the orderlies here greet you in the morning.

(What Dad doesn’t know is that before she left, she told you she loved you and to wait for her. Soon, she’ll take you away from this place and you’ll never have to see your dad again.)

Before you head to the foyer, you check your hair in the mirror of your room’s suicide-proofed bathroom. A young teenage face stares back at you with cheeks flushed red from the sun. You trace your deep smile lines with the tip of your finger, then practice smiling. You would have feel better about moving to a therapeutic boarding school if you’d been greeted with a smile.

At first, you think the newest crop of poor souls will be uninteresting at best. Listless rich kids detoxing off Mommy’s coke, frightened preteens who’ve never been away from their parents for an extended period of time, and a few teenagers straight from an ER, IV bags and all.

And then you see him get off the bus last.

He’s tall, towering over everyone else. A lanky, almost skeletal build, with a bored, aloof expression on his face. He hides the Zippo lighter he was playing with in his sleeve before the nurses catch and confiscate it.

There’s something horrifically severe about him. He can’t be more than a couple of years older than you, but he carries himself like he’s a blade and the world is filled with monsters.

His eyes are large and dark, rich brown irises rimmed with pale blonde eyelashes. And they’re kind, even though he would probably hate having that pointed out.

You decide then and there that you’ll befriend him. He could use a friend; everyone here does. He’s beautiful in his sharpness and elegant in his abrasiveness. Maybe you can coax more of that hidden kindness out, show him that it’s worth more than his anger. You wouldn’t be able to stay away if you tried.

You both like playing with fire, though you prefer less literal ones.

-

TODAY

Ghost POV

-

Your smile fades swiftly as if it was never there to begin with.

There are two ghosts in this room. That’s what you are; a ghost of the girl he knew.

He watches and waits for you to shift uncomfortably and start blabbering to fill the silence like you used to. “Why’d you make them call me?” Ghost asks when it’s clear that you won’t.

As soon as you explain, he’s out of here. Ghost meant it when he said he never wanted to see you again.

You’re the last living reminder of the past he’s tried so hard to kill. The beeping sounds of your heart monitor spell out his mistakes in a grating, irritating rhythm.

Your answer disappoints his expectations. “I didn’t actually think you’d show.” Ghost doesn’t hear any wistfulness or longing in your voice, anything that would tell him that you’re clinging on to the boy you thought he was. Only a bone-dry and hollow statement of facts.

“What do you want?”

You ignore his question. At fifteen, you were good at that. At twenty-five, you’re better. “You got any cigarettes I could bum? You look like you still smoke them,” You say as you fiddle with your torn, bleeding nail beds with the classic anxiety of nicotine withdrawal.

He does that too when a mission stretches too long without a resupply and he finishes his cigarettes early to stave off hunger.

Ghost remembers fighting with you over the pack of smokes he smuggled into the program. He would hold it way above your head and laugh as you struggled to reach them. But you never gave up - they were bad for him, and you liked him too much to see him die of lung cancer.

He remembers the determination in your eyes and your unwavering faith that he could be saved.

“They’re bad for you,” Ghost echoes.

If you remember that moment, you don’t show it. “You know what else is fucking bad for you?” Your tone is so acerbic that it gives him whiplash.

He can’t resist taking a shot. “What, being a prick?” You just… bring out the worst in him. You make him feel as unhinged and unmoored as he was when you first met.

You roll your bloodshot eyes.

“I wasn’t going to call you out on that. I was going to say benzos and vodka. Also throwing yourself headfirst off a bridge.”

“Oh.”

What is he supposed to say to that?

“Why did you come?” You ask after a long moment of quiet interspersed by that fucking heart monitor.

Ghost grinds his teeth into each other as he reflects. He hates doing that; the inside of his skull is a bad place. “…I don’t know,” He admits. Coming here was a mistake; Ghost understands that now.

The foul taste on the back of his tongue is guilt. But why? You did this to yourself. You brought him here to play games and fuck him up, so why is he the one who feels… bad?

You sigh. “Simon-“

“Ghost. It’s Ghost now,” He cuts you off with more violence than necessary.

Your mouth settles into a tight, pained line. “Ghost. Go away.”

“But you called me here.”

That provokes a reaction.

Ghost sees it and immediately wishes it hadn’t.

You stare him straight in the eye, your dilated pupils peel back his mask and see the face underneath. Your skin is tinged gray and your bottom lip blooms red with blood from where you’ve bitten through it.

He wants back the child sobbing for his forgiveness on her knees, who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“And it was a mistake, and I should never have done it, and I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t going to pick up the phone. That I was truly alone.”

So the memory of him is a knife you’re using on yourself. Fucking disturbing.

“Oh.”

You raise an eyebrow as you wave. “Bye.”

Right.

That’s it.

Though your dismissal rankles, Ghost does as you ordered and takes his leave of you.

His work phone vibrates a few times.

Only one person calls that it. “Captain,” Ghost greets.

Captain Price clears his throat on the other side of the line. “Lieutenant. When can we expect you back?”

‘Tomorrow’ is on the tip of Ghost’s tongue.

He’s never taken a day off in his career, which means he’s got at least a year or two in built up vacation time. “I’ll be gone for a while longer, sir. Not sure yet how long,” Ghost answers promptly.

It’s only for a few more days, a week at most. Long enough to make sure you won’t try to kill yourself again, long enough for the guilt freezing his blood and choking his lungs to fade.

“Alright, Lieutenant. Keep us posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

TAGGING: @devcica @igotmajordaddyissues @almightywdm @copiasratscheese @nerdyreaderpapi @schmelscorner

[myladysapphire]

My Lady Strong (IV)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 1,495

CW: bullying, feelings of neglect and isolation

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

It had been nearly a year since the events of Driftmark. Since her mother and brothers had left to Dragonstone. A year since her fathers death. And yet she already had a new father, one she did not like, alongside his two daughters. She had also gained a new brother. But she hadn’t met him, and she doubted she would meet him soon. As each day passed the distance between Dragonstone and the red keep seemed to get bigger and bigger.

“My dear?” she heard Alicent call out, having gotten closer the last year, Alicent had become more and more of a mother to her, and being her 9th nameday and her mother and brothers nowhere to be seen, to Aemma it had began to seem like Alicent was more of a mother to her than her own. A fact little 9 year old Aemma could not stomach to admit.

“Yes?” she asked, looking up from her spot in the library. She had found her time often spent alone as of late. Aemond having become more distant since the incident. And Heleana, well was Heleana, keeping to herself, though she had become more and more isolated since her wedding to Aegon last month. And Aegon spent most of his time at the bottom of a bottle in the depths of kingslanding. So she resided in herself spending days in the library by herself, in a spot that used to be her and Aemonds to just becoming hers. And the few spare moments Aemond seemed to give her were spent training Vaghar, or watching him train with ser criston. He no longer wanted to chase after each other in the godswoods, or read in the library. Or simply just existing in each others company. She understood, somewhat, he was becoming a man, a man hell bent on learning everything in him to defend himself, to learn to fight. Everyone was growing up, but her, and she was being left behind.

“My sweet girl, what's wrong?” Alicent questioned, rounding the corner to see Aemma in what she knew to be her spot. “Hmm? You seem to spend every moment alone, and I know many girls at court who would die for a moment of time spent with you.”

“What girls? Helena only ever wants to be by herself, and seems to ignore me every time i spend time with her, and the last set of girls you summoned just whispered rumours behind my back. I don't wish to spend time with them, i just want Aemond, and he doesn't want me.”

Sighing, Alicent moved down to her level, talking her hands in hers, “that's not true, Aemond still adores you, he is, well-... he's becoming a man and needs time to grow, and after the events of driftmark, well they changed him, just give him time.

“Time? Thats all ive done, it's been almost a year, and not even a moon had passed after driftamrk has he started to ice me out. He was supposed to marry me, and yet he's completely changed!”

“He's a boy, a twelve, Trust me sweetheart, he's just a silly boy who thinks he has to do all of these things to make up for his lack of eye. He thinks you will not love him, think him to be hideous, that is why.” Alicent responded, soothing Aemma, by stroking her hair.

“Well that's just plain stupid!”

“I know,sweet girl, but all boys are.” Alicent continued “ know, we have a birthday ball and feast to attend, and my gift is waiting for you.” she said standing up and inviting Aemma up with her.

In her chambers, laid out on her bed was a white dress embellished with gold. It had puffed sleeves that slimmed down to cover her arm. The dress was lkonger than her usual dresses, and more wide, though not by much. Glod was laced around the neck line, and out edges of the dress, with gold and silver jewels scattered across it, creatijng a pattern down the bodedice. The white itself seemed to shimmer, as if moonlight was bouncing off it. When she put it on she felt pretty. She felt beautiful. Her hair was tied up with a gold ribbon, decorated with pearls and butterflies. For this she knew the gift was not Alicent but Aemonds, or atleast he had some influence. Butterflies. The thing they always used to chase, and the thing ameond loved to compare her too. Butterflies. 

The feast was magnificent, lords and ladies from all over Westeros had come, and she had received more than enough gifts and attention though not from anyone that mattered to her. 

Aemodn was there from the start, though he stuck to eating rather than actually spending any time with her. His attention seemed to be elsewhere.

“Aemond?” she questioned, trying to capture his attention “Aemond, are you enjoying the feast?” he did not reply, looking down at his plate instead, avoiding eye contact. “Aemond?” she pushed again “Aemond!? By the gods answer me!”

“Hmm?” he hummed looking up, allowing her to see the book placed in his lap.

“Gods why wojnt you talk to me?” she asked, moveing to turn to him, her eyes filling with tears, “ for the last six moons i have been acting like a stay dog trying to get your attenion, and now even at a feast helped in my honoru, you brign-” she reached forward grabbing Aemonds book “- a book. A book? To my own party, instead of talking to me. Why?”

“Aemma, please-”

“No, tell me.!”

“Gods, you're a child!” he snactehd the book from her hand, “your just a silly little girl, can't you understand that, you could not defend me, and when you had the chance to you ran off to your pathetic mother, and then come crying to me for help, whilst i have just lost an eye to your bas-” he shook his head, a look of shame fillking his face as he sees her eyes filled with tears, “gods!” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face, reaching forward “Aemma- it's been a lot lately, i have had to relearn everything, to fit with the loss of my eye, and i, look im sorry, i just snapped. But you have to understand, i cnat be a child anylonger, being your friend, and litening to your childish escapades caused me to be in this situation. Now I have to be a man, I have to stop being a child.”

“So you have to stop being my freind, to go on your silly little- your, to be a man? What does that even mean?!” she cried, “it's my nameday, can you not just be my friend for today?” she was begging,it was almost pitiful. 

Aemonds face changed, snapping form the look of shame and regret to annoyance, to cold and still, a face evewryone would soon be familiar with, “ and why would i want to do that” he sneerd, dropping her hand, and standing up, before briskly leaving the room without a single glance back. 

The rest of her night was spent alone. With Heleana leaving not shortly after Aemond, followed by Aegon muttering something about doing his husbandly duty. Alicent and her grandsire had already left an hour in, the King's health failing him, and forcing many of the lords and ladies to leave, as if their only purpose was to talk to him and not her. So she was left all by herself bar a few older cousins that she did not know. 

But the remaining hours she was forced to stay, many lordlings asked her to dance, and it turns out Alicent had already summoned some more girls to King's Landing, arranging a meeting  witht them at her own ball. Taking her mind of the event sthat had happened prior, evne if for a few hours. For a few hours she wasnt so alone, for a few hours she was just a nine year old girl celebrating her name day, celebrating with her friends. People who over the next four years would become the only people she truly had.

And when she did finally retire to her rooms, and she was well and truly alone she cried, she knew no one would knock and have late night celebrations, just as no one had knocked at midnight to wish her a happy name day. Just as Aemond did not spend every second of the day with her, smuggling her all the food she wanted, and giving her a gift for every hour of the day. She spent it alone, and she would spend the next four namedays alone, crying. She would celebrate with her ladies, though it would never be the same, she owuld dance with strangers, and not ameond, where dresses gifted by people other than her mother and Aemond. Her family would become more distant and Aemond becomes less and less her Aemond.

next part

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

My lady strong: @aemondssiut@idonotknowenglish @sydneyyyya @wondergal2001 @whitejuliana1204 @meowtastick @bellaisasleep @tinykryptonitewerewolf @sarahkimtae @winchesterfamiliebusiness @iiamthehybrid @zzz000eee @spookydaddy01 @melllinaa @ateliefloresdaprimavera @aelora-a @aleemendoza2425-blog @chittakii @gghoulzz @ryiana @duckworthbean @cynic-spirit @may-machin @Gianinaa19 @wolfiealina @unique7676 @yentroucnagol @loserwithnofriends @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @urmomsbananabread @azaleapotterblack @delaynew

Hotd: @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17 @flrboyd @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter

[rollingsins]

the drabble files, p1

p1 | p2

summary: If you're not counting the murder, Tara's most toxic trait is her hatred of your favorite artist.  

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder, mention of sex, strong anti-ariana grande rhetoric.

word count: 800 words.

a/n: going to start a mini-series of all hers drabbles that will all loosely exists within the universe. this one is set around part iv (pre-Wes)

 “Could you at least pretend to enjoy it?” You yell over the blare of the music.

You’re standing in the nosebleeds of an Ariana Grande concert. A concert you’d saved up a lot of money to go to. Stashing away birthday money, weeks of allowance.

And it’s amazing. The lights. The music. Ariana. 

Except for one thing. 

Tara’s been standing next to you the entire night pouting, her arms crossed, her stance stony. Like a boyfriend at a women’s clothing shop, or your Dad waiting for your Mom to get her nails done. 

Like she clearly would rather be anywhere else. 

“Then you’d think I approve of this garbage, which I do not.” She says, nose tilted slightly. Her tone betraying her hatred, “It’s awful, teeny-bopping nonsense.” She pauses, “And she’s not even that pretty.” 

She is Ariana Grande herself. 

Your favorite artist and Tara’s number one enemy. You'd vaguely mentioned once you thought she was cute.

And Tara had hated her ever since.

Angrily switching the radio station whenever one of her songs came on. Flipping the channel anytime she was on a talk show. You’d even once caught her trying to throw all of Ariana’s vogue covers in the garbage at the grocery store. 

It’s ridiculous. 

“You have nothing to worry about babe. As if Ariana would ever give me a shot.” You’d teased on the way home. 

Maybe the wrong thing to say. She’d angrily stopped the car and thrown you into the backseat.

Then fucked you so hard it made the car squeak. 

But that was months ago, you’d thought she would have gotten over it by now. 

You groan. Try to tug at Tara’s arm to loosen her up. 

“Baby, please. You know how much I saved up for this. If I had known you were going to be such a grinch the whole night, I would have invited Liv instead.” 

That she doesn’t like at all. 

She stares at you through the fog of the rainbow colored lights. 

“Liv?” She says, disbelief on her face, “Liv?” 

“Not too late to text her,” You warn, waving your phone about, “You better get dancing.” 

Tara narrows her eyes. She leans in close, giving up her crossed arms to wrap an arm around your waist. 

“Bathroom.” She says, voice low, dangerous, “Now. You’re about to get fucked so hard you won’t even remember the name of that tone-deaf, spray-tanned oompa-loompa.” She gestures wildly to the stage. 

You hum. Press a kiss to her cheek. 

“No thanks.” 

Tara blinks back at you. 

“No thanks?”

“I’m watching the show,” You say. You wrap and arm around her shoulder, nuzzle your nose to her cheek, “I’ve got to support my other girlfriend, babe.” 

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. But you can’t help it. Tara’s grudge is so ridiculous it’s hard not to make fun of her for it. Her hand tightens around your waist. She grips you so hard you wince. 

“You think this is funny?” She growls. There’s fire behind her eyes, “You won’t be laughing when I sneak into her dressing room and slit her throat ear from ear-”

Your eyes widen. You smack your hand over her mouth. 

“Tara,” You hiss, looking around, “There’s children here.” 

They don’t seem to have noticed your girlfriend threatening to carve up their favorite pop star. Too enraptured by the music. Tara bats your hand away. 

“Bathroom.” She insists. 

“I’m not fucking you in a bathroom at a concert,” You say, voice flat.

“Oh, you’ll be the one getting fucked, I assure you.” She says, eyes wild.

You look at her, all worked up and fiery-eyed and sigh. You lean down and press a kiss to her cheek, stroking her hair out of her eyes. 

“I’m kidding, baby. You know you’re the only one for me,” You say, “I just like her music, is all.”

It doesn’t relax her. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she’s still staring at you like she’s about to throw you down and make you hers right in front of Ariana and forty thousand other people. 

You press a gentle kiss to her lips. 

“When we get home you can do whatever you want to me,” You promise, “But not unless you loosen up and let me enjoy the concert.”

Her lip twitches. 

“Please, baby.” 

She stares at you for a long moment, eyes still guarded. 

“I’m not dancing.” She says, voice tight. 

“You don’t have to dance, you just have to stop standing there like an axe murderer.” You negotiate. 

She considers this. 

“Fine,” She says. She leans in, presses a kiss to your lips, “But when we get home, I’m tying you up and pounding you so hard you forget her name.”

Your stomach flips. 

The crowd screams. The music blares your favorite song, but Tara’s promise is all the only thing you hear. 

“Deal.”

[pabtsblueliving]

Never Changed

Another song-spo fic. Been feeling Knoxville heavy these past few days. Saw an edit by someone of tik tok of him during the Gumball Rally with this song…brain rot occurred. 

WC 1.2K

Warnings: angst, flirting, semi-established on and off relationship, smoking, drinking, making out, groping etc. 18+

Song: Change (In the House of Flies) by the Deftones

I tried my best making the reader as body neutral as possible, still working on improving!

pabtsblueliving © 2023

You and Knox had been on and off for years. 

It was cat and mouse for as long as you could remember. 

You were a well known model, walking for Versace, Gucci, and Mugler since 2004. You somehow got roped into the Jackass crew when you had went to the first premier of the movie which was a backyard BBQ with celebrities left and right, playboy models and hustler girls walking around everywhere you looked.

Youd shown up with friends, Knoxville stealing you to say hi right after youd grabbed a drink.

“Big fan” He smiled, god that smile

“Likewise” you spoke, shaking his hand.

I watched you change, into a fly

I looked away, you were on fire.

It was breaking up and making up, every few months. Youd fuck, youd fight, youd see him in the tabloids with a new blonde the next day. Then after your declaration of finally being “done with him”...He’d show up backstage of your latest runway show.

I watched a change in you, It's like you never had wings

Now, you feel so alive, I've watched you change

Bam Margera had invited your best friend to come to the bar the Jackass Crew and himself were at in New York City. You knew he would be there, and you told yourself no…don't feel into his ego…don't show him, he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“Come on, Y/N, seriously…for me? You know ive been into Bam lately…And you know all those guys anyways! Who cares if Johnny will be there” Your friend, Melissa, had a big grin, batting her lashes at you.

You looked at her and let your head fall back as you sighed, 

“Fine…Mel, alright I'll come. For. An. Hour” You pointed in her face, walking to your suitcase to pick out something to wear.

She landed a big kiss on your cheek, and you laughed. 

“Y/N, holy shit I love you, I will totally owe you a drink at the bar!” She gleaned, running to put her shoes on. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, fluffing your hair. You'd thrown on your outfit Finishing the look with your harness motorcycle boots, and that one final…accessory.

His belt

God, you'd stolen that belt from him two years ago and he hasn't asked about it back since. The jewelry around your neckline and wrists clanged together as you reached for it. 

It was black, some studs, and his old red Waylon Jennings belt buckle on it. You were wearing it, you had to. Mess with him a little, tease a little, maybe piss him off…who knows what wearing this belt would do to you. 

I took you home, Set you on the glass

I pulled off your wings, Then I laughed

You and Melissa walked into the dive bar in Brooklyn. You had looked around, spotting Wee-man hand standing on the bar while also funneling a beer. 

You and Melissa couldn't help but to groan while laughing, what the hell did we get ourselves into.

“Well, well, I knew you’d be here.” You hear a familiar, Pennsylvanian accent slur.

Melissa turned around, and smiled, giving him a hug. You still had no idea if he had said that to you, or his date who’d finally arrived.

Bam smiled and hugged Melissa, then looked up at you in their embrace, and spoke

“Yeah, I'm talking to you.” He laughed, and Melissa pulled away. “Good luck” He said, accent prominent, and pulling Melissa on his arm towards the other guys.

Melissa looked back and cringed, mouthing ‘Sorry’ as she continued to walk with Bam. A few minutes later, youre standing at the end of the bar, chin in your hand, waiting for your much needed gin and tonic. 

“...So that’s where my belt has been, huh.” You heard that voice, his voice, shit, compose yourself a bit, dont turn around yet.

You kept yourself facing the bartender, feeling Johnny’s looming figure just inches behind you.

“Yeah, well…” You turned around, straw in your lips.

“I always thought it looked better on me, no?” You tossed your hair over your shoulder, taking another sip.

I watched a change in you, It's like you never had wings

Now, you feel so alive, I've watched you change

He looked down at you, and tilted his sunglasses down.

“I take it back…you look quite lovely tonight, Rabbit.” He said softly, taking off his sunglasses fully.

That nickname, he's playing a dangerous game, but he's playing it just right

“Starting already, Knox?” You couldn't help but to smile, you two were like magnets whenever you were five feet within the same space together. 

“Whaaat, Y/N…you’re being mean tonight…are you breaking up with me?” He joked, smiling after his last few words. 

“Don’t you wanna catch up?” His arms slapped against his thighs, grabbing his beer from the bar and taking a sip.

“What to hear about the next blonde youre seeing?” You rolled your eyes, “Dont think im too interested, Knox. 

I look at the cross, then I look away

“Hey…come on now, that's over with…” He stepped closer, you're now trapped between him and the bar. “Come have a smoke with me…” He grinned, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. 

I'm in for it, and now I'm crossing a path that's near impossible to turn around on.

He lit your stick, then his. You had your back against the brick wall, him leaning on the wall on his side, on arm holding him up above his head. 

You both took a drag, making eye contact, not breaking with the other. He exhaled his smoke, stepping closer, his hand with the cigarette stroking the side of your face, thumb going over your lip. 

“I always forget how gorgeous you are, rabbit…” he pulled up your chin as you took another drag

“How do we,” You exhaled the smoke, “always end up like this, huh, John?” 

Your mind was fuzzy, you had a buzz, desire.

“Maybe this is just…meant to be.” He took your cigarette and put it out, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a smoldering kiss.

You gasped, usually you're able to fend him off for at least another hour. But, the inevitable is going to happen. 

You pulled him in by his belt buckle, whining into the kiss. The feeling of his tongue shooting straight to your core. He tasted like beer and cigarettes, your favorite. 

Give you the gun Blow me away

I watched a change in you It's like you never had wings

His right hand sneaked down, and grabbed a handful of your ass slowly, and he groaned. You took this opportunity to stick your tongue between his lips and grab a handful of his hair.

“PJ” You whined…taking a breath

“Baby, come on, baby, if you call me that you know this will be a long night…” He grabbed you by the chin.

You held his belt buckle, teasing the trail of hair leading down under his dickies.

“So let be long, Knox…” You smiled.

[littlebluentebook]

Alastor x Sewing!Reader

Hi everyone! This is my first ever fic but I have read far more than anyone should in a lifetime! Please let me know if theres any criticism. Im open to other ideas and fandoms (that I will eventually make a list for.) I'm merging some chapters I have just because they're short or make better sense that way and tried tot keep things gender neutral. If I slipped let me know and I will go back and edit! This is probably super out of character but I did my best! Hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1 <3

You and your husband had always gotten along like a house on fire.

Every other week a client would come in asking for costumes and repairs for a speakeasy she sung and danced at.

"-just say Anne invited you love n' they'll be bound ta let you in!" she exclaimed while picking up her newest order for the night ahead.

"Well darling I'll just have to see if I've got any sort of plans." You said knowing full well you were going to come up with new patterns until eventually falling asleep.

"Come on Y/N, Ive been coming to you for months! Don't you want to see where all your heard work goes to?" Anne was definitely pulling your strings taking advantage of your curiosity. She had a point.

"I suppose you've gotta point Anne. What time are you starting tonight?"

"Nine!" She was bouncing up and down in excitement. " I've got to get going now doll! See you tonight!"

The jingle of the bells on the door signified she was gone. You started to realize what you agreed to and panicking.

"Oh my goodness gracious!" you stressed out loud, "what even am I going to wear! Im going to look ridiculous- I don't know a single soul there! What if I make a fool of myself?!"

Your thoughts battles for longer than you would like them to eventually grabbing a paper riddled with measurements no longer needed and started writing pros and cons of visiting Anne.

Pros: Cons:

Meeting new people! Showing up alone

Can make friends Looking like a buffoon!

New possible clients

Deducting that embarrassment is temporary, your cons list could easily be eradicated by breaking out of your shell and talking to others. Plus, Anne would be there and she was your friend... kinda? You considered her a friend but was unsure if she felt the same way. Well, she did invite you to visit her tonight, at the very least she will introduce you to her friends! There shouldn't be a worry.

With your mind finally set you heard the clock strikes four. Ashamed of how long you let your thoughts get the better of you, you got back to work. The task was to complete a keepsake blanket from a wedding. You created the dress for the newlywed, sitting for hours with her finding the perfect materials and creating patterns and designs for her. In the family, it was a tradition to create a quilt from the dress of the bride using the grooms suit as a border. All the pieces were cut and you could not wait to sew them together and create a stunning memento.

Chapter 2 <3

you knocked on a door two streets over from your shop. A short lady opened the door raising an eyebrow.

"And who might you be?"

"Im Annes... friend," you tried. "She comes to me for her outfits and graciously offered me the opportunity to come a view her performance tonight."

The lady's gaze hardened, staring at you intensely.

"It looks like I have got the wrong place then, I am so sorry to waste your time," you stammered taking a step back away from the door.

"Oh Mimzy! You mustn't be giving anyone trying to see me a hard time now!" Anne's bubbly voice spoke from behind the short lady who must be Mimzy. "Y/N is a good friend of mine! Works far too hard for me and deserves a break, plenty of time to relax!"

Mimzy bursted into a smile and reached for a hug. "of course! Welcome! Sorry for being all prude- just had to makee sure you weren't anyone coming tottery and ruin what I've got going for me here" she drawled.

"No ma'am of course not! Im just here to watch my friends performance then I'll be outta your hair, away from your 'do," you explained to Mimzy while she dragged you from the door to the bar.

"Nonsense my dear! Please have a drink and stay awhile!" you sat at the bar with Mimzy talking about how difficult it was to be a female business owner. No one takes you lot seriously!

The lights dimming and shinning on stage caught the room's attention effectively hushing all conversation. Anne sauntered to the center of the stage, dress shimmering. You recognized it as the most recent dress that you crafted for Anne. It was stunning on her.

"My oh my! Look at the handiwork that went into making that dress. Must of taken days!" a familiar voice chipped. You were unable to put a name to the voice but luckily Mimzy did it for you.

"Alastor," Goodness! The radio broadcaster! You had always loved his voice, you would have his station playing while sewing- waiting patiently for songs to end just to hear him speak. "Our dear friend Y/N made that specifically for our lovely Anne!" Mimzy exclaimed.

She admired your work while Anne sung and waltzed around the stage. You were incredibly proud of your work. Every detail of that dress took so much time and effort and turned out beautifully. The fringe was all hand cut, the lace took countless hours of stitching for the perfect design and finally the beads. Each bead had to be placed individually in the right spot on the dress to shimmer. It was a fine dress indeed.

"Y/N, how would you like to make dresses and suits for the rest of those who preform for me?" As soon as the song ended Mimzy had dropped the question, ensuring she wouldn't tale any attention away from Anne.

"Oh my! Why I would be honored and ecstatic to! Thank you so much for the opportunity Mimzy!" You were so excited! Sure the flapper dresses were hard work and time consuming, but now, seeing how they looked on a stage, in front of an audience, made you realize you didn't mind all the time and effort it took into making them.

Mimzy left her seat in an excited hurry to go get paperwork for you.

"You know," the broadcaster- Alastor leaned over Mimzy's now empty seat, "she goes on and on about how beautiful Annes dresses on stage are." The comment caused you to blush but he continued, grabbing your hand gently. "I must agree with her, although the lady behind the creation of this wonderful attire is much more beautiful than what she creates."

With that Alastor kissed the back of your hand with his lips. You were speechless.

Mimzy came back with paperwork and Alastor smiled at you. The three of you spent hours conversing, telling both jokes and stories.

"Oh my!" You glanced at the nearest clock- almost one in the morning. "I have got to get going! I have to open the shop in the morning."

"Do you ever take days off darling?" Alastor asked softly.

"Only Sundays. No one is out on Sundays!"

"Goodness! -at least let me walk you home. You know its not safe for a lovely person such as yourself to be out alone this late."

"Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you at all Alastor."

"Of course I'm sure dear, its not an inconvenience if its you." The words were rolling off his tongue and you blushed so hard it could have matched his vest.

"Your performance was amazing Anne! You are so talented, I have definitely been missing out, I am going to come back to watch you! " Enthusiasm and pride towards your friend took over. You wanted to let her know what you thought before you suddenly ran off.

"Thank you for coming out tonight for me. Sure was nice seeing a friend in the crowd!" A jittery wave of happiness washed through you at her last statement.

"Im so glad to hear you enjoyed yourself!" Mimzy gushed to you giving a farewell hug. "Blessed to know you'll be coming back doll."

"Of course! You have an amazing place Mimzy. This is a pleasant change of scenery compared to what I'm used to!"

With your goodbyes concluded you walked out the door arm in arm with Alastor.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

A New Normal

Part 3 of Monet Issues and Reborn 

Summary: It’s been 2 months since the Avengers saved you from HYDRA and you are trying to learn to use these new ability you’ve been given and trying to put on a brave face for those around you. But when a nightmare wakes you up everything becomes to much. 

Warning: Nightmare, mention of past torture, injury, mention of a feeding tube. 

Word Count: 3.0k 

“We’ll call it there,” Wanda said. You fell to your back, staring up at the ceiling of the training room. The workout clothes you were wearing stuck to your skin from sweat. You heard footsteps walking over to you and Wanda sat down next to you handing you a water bottle. You took it, sat up, and downed it. The cool water provided temporary relief, you needed a shower. “You did well today. A few more sessions like this and you should be cleared to go home.” You smiled but you knew it didn’t reach your eyes. 

“Thanks, Wands,” you stood up stretching your muscles. “I’m gonna hit the showers if anyone is looking for me.” You didn’t wait for her to respond as you headed toward your room. 

As soon as the door shut behind you you released a breath you were holding. You shed off your workout clothes, set the shower to your desired temperature, and got it. The repetitive pounding of the water relaxed your muscles. You rested your head on the title and watched the water drip down the drain. Staying at the compound was your idea although the rest of the Avengers agreed. It’s been 2 months since HYDRA kidnapped you. On the outside, you were making insane progress. Your scars were healing and you were training to control your newfound ability. It was why you decided to stay. You couldn’t set a reporter on fire if they upset you with their question, that would be bad business. So you weren’t leaving until you had it under control.  

On the inside, you were struggling. Every time you closed your eyes you were strapped to that chair with the doctor’s hands on you. You felt an insane amount of guilt for telling them what factory the Avengers were interested in. They were constantly telling you it was alright. You didn’t believe them. 

You put your body on a towel and cleaned yourself. You were exhausted, right down to your bones. Your time was split between training, running your company, spending time with Natasha, and rebuilding your relationship with your father. “Miss. Stark,” the AI said. “Miss. Romanoff is asking if she could join you in the shower.” You sighed, looking up at the water as it fell down your face. 

“Tell Miss. Romanoff that I’ll meet her in the kitchen. She can make me lunch.” That was the other thing, you barely had a moment to yourself. The others were afraid that HYDRA was going to snatch you up. You turned the water off and wrapped a towel around you. You didn’t recognize the person in the mirror as you stared at your reflection. Dark bags were underneath your eyes from lack of sleep. You traced the scars from the IV and the injection that gave you powers. Your eyes. Now a red instead of your birth color. You looked down at your hands, flicking your wrist and a flame grew in the palm of your hand. It danced along your palm and up and down your fingers. 

“Miss. Stark, lunch is ready.” You put out the flame with a sigh. You just wanted it all to stop. 

*

Natasha set a plate of leftovers in front of you along with a glass of water. She kissed your cheek. “How was training, malyshka (baby girl)?” You cut up the steak. 

“Good, Wanda said I may be able to go back to the city soon,” you didn’t miss the flicker of worry in her eyes. “I can’t stay here forever.” You said. Natasha sighed, picking up a piece of steak from your plate and eating it. 

“I know I just worry,” you nodded, taking a sip of your water. She cupped your face in her hands. “You look exhausted,” She said. “Why don’t we call it an early night and watch a movie?” That did sound nice. 

“I can’t,” you said. “Well, maybe we can watch a movie after but it’s Wednesday Tony and I hang out.” It was an effort to rebuild your relationship. Tony set aside time on certain days of the week to hang out with you. A lot of the time was spent in his lab both working on individual projects but it was nice being in his presence. Your girl-no Natasha smiled. You weren’t sure what to label your relationship with the Black Widow. 

“I’m proud of you,” you were sure she was but sometimes it was hard to read Natasha. Since you were released from med bay, you both have been dancing around what she wanted to talk about. You had a feeling you knew what she wanted to say but you weren’t ready for that. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you said with a smile. 

*

“Kid, are you listening to me?” Tony asked. You were staring blankly at your laptop, trying to look over last month's numbers. The numbers and words were blurring together. Your eyes burned. 

“Mhm,” you said, looking at your father. He smiled. 

“I asked if you could look at these blueprints. I want your opinion on the new design,” you set your laptop down on the side table and stood up. Your shoulders cracked as you stretched and walked over to the table he was standing at. The blueprints were a modification of the Widow Bites Yelena and Natasha used. You knew Tony was talking but the words weren’t reaching you. You stared at the table, not understanding a thing. “Hey,” Tony said softly. The change in his tone broke through the fog. “Go to bed. You can barely stand.” 

“What? No. I’m fine. Just repeat what you said,” Tony smiled, shaking his head. 

“It’s not important. What is important is your health and I know the signs of sleep deprivation. Go to bed.” You sighed. 

“Are you sure?” You asked. He nodded. “Do you want to meet for breakfast in the morning?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” you picked up your laptop. “Night kid.” He kissed you on the side of your head. 

“Night dad.” You said, leaving your lap and heading towards your room. When you got inside your room, you put your laptop down and climbed into bed. Sleep welcomed you in an instant. 

*

Natasha opened your door quietly. She smiled at the sight. You were curled up under the blankets with your arms underneath your pillow. On quiet feet, Natasha walked over to the bed and slid underneath the covers. Your eyes opened slightly. “Tash,” you mumbled. 

“Is this okay?” She asked. You nodded. 

“Hold me,” you turned on your side so Natasha’s front could be pressed against your back. The Black Widow put her arm under your head and her other arm around your waist, pulling you closer to her. You hummed happily. 

“Sleep,” Natasha whispered. It was moments like this that Natasha was going to miss when you returned to the city. You were safe in her arms. In her room or yours, it was your haven and away from the prying eyes of the team and your father. Natasha kissed your shoulder, where your sleep shirt was falling. She closed her eyes and allowed the steady beat of your heart to lure her to sleep. 

*

A soft whimper woke the Black Widow up. She slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. You both shifted in your sleep. You were acing her, eyebrows pinched together, and frown on your face. You whimpered again and the sound broke Natasha’s heart. She knew nightmares were going to be part of your recovery process but this was the first time you allowed her to sleep with you besides small naps after training. “Malyshka (baby girl),” Natasha said. She didn’t want to touch you or startle you awake. “Wake up sweetheart. You're safe.” 

“No,” you mumbled. Eyes were still closed. 

“Yes, you’re safe. It’s just a nightmare. Come back to me.” Natasha felt the temperature of the room increase. She had to wake you up. “Y/n,” she said louder. You sat up with a gasp, a ball of fire formed in your hand and you grabbed onto Natasha’s arm. The Black Widow yelled in pain and clenched her arm to her chest. Her shout pulled you out of your nightmare-induced fog. 

“Natasha I-” your eyes were glued to her burned skin. You scrambled off the bed and pressed your back against the wall. 

“It’s fine,” Natasha winched. “You didn’t mean to.” She saw the panic and guilt running through your eyes. Your door swung open and Tony and Yelena came rushing into your room, armed with weapons. Yelena lowered her Widow Bite and rushed to Natasha’s side. 

“What did you do?” She asked. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you were gasping for air. Tony walked over to Natasha and used his gauntlet to spray a cooling spray on the burn. The commotion woke up the others. 

“I’m fine,” Natasha said. “It was an accident.” She looked at you but your eyes were darting around the room. 

*

You needed to get out of here. The sleep shirt was sticking to your skin. The temperature of the room was increasing. “Squirt,” Tony said, taking a few hesitant steps toward you. “I need you to breathe for me.” 

“Stay away from me,” you said. 

“Okay,” he stopped, walking. “But I still need you to breathe.” You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on calming down the organ that was pounding in your chest. When you reopened your eyes, you were back in that cell. Your arms were locked down by metal cuffs and the doctor was standing in front of you with a syringe in her hands. 

“No!” You yelled. “No! Get away from me!” You punched a fireball forward. You heard screams but you jumped to your feet and pushed past the guards. You ran. You ran and ran until your bare feet hit the grass. You slipped slightly on the dew but continued until you fit the woods. A fallen tree branch snagged your foot and set you tumbling to the ground. You groaned as your back hit a tree. But you didn’t bother to stand. You curled yourself up into a fetal position and squeezed your eyes shut. Natasha’s scream echoed in your ears. Yelena’s look of disgust and anger danced behind your eyes. It was becoming too much. You screamed. You screamed until your throat went raw and you felt the flames of your powers but you didn’t care. It was good to feel anything else besides fear. 

*

Tony acted quickly to put out the fire that spread on your bedsheets. “Yelena, I’m fine.” Natasha pushed her sister away from her. 

“She burned you!”

“And it was an accident,” she said. Tony knew Natasha was going to have to see Helen and surgery may be needed to fix the skin on her arm. 

“We need to find her,” Wanda said. The billionaire wasn’t sure when the witch showed up. “Her powers are connected to her emotions. She’s unstable and she could hurt herself or someone else.” 

“Boss,” FRIDAY said before Tony could ask the AI to find you. “There is a fire on the west side of the woods and it’s spreading.” 

“Avengers,” Steve ordered. “Suit up.”

*

You woke up in med bay. The last thing you remembered was your father walking through the flames you created in his Iron Man suit and picking you up. “Squirt,” Tony whispered. You rolled onto your side and ignored him. “Come on kid. No one is upset with you.” You still didn’t answer him. “You don’t have to talk now but we are here for you. I’m here for you.”

It didn’t matter who entered your room. Natasha came to talk to you with her arm wrapped. Yelena tried to apologize and Wanda said that these things happened, but you didn’t talk to anyone. You didn’t even eat when they brought you food. Helen did threaten to put a feeding tube down your throat if you didn’t eat something, so you drank a protein shake. You were just so tired. 

“Egghead,” you looked at the door and saw Taylor standing there. You’ve spent the past 3 days in med bay since your nightmare. “Are you done throwing yourself a pity party?” You rolled your eyes and lay down. “Oh no. You aren’t giving your best friend the silent treatment.” She sat in the chair next to you. “Come on, talk to me.” You slowly turned to face her, eyes burning with unshed tears. Not many people knew how you changed; Emily and Taylor were told as soon as you got back. The media were told that you were staying at the compound to recover. “Awe buddy,” she said. “It’s okay to cry.” You did. The dam snapped and you choked on a sob. Taylor ran her hand over your hair and whipped the tears. You grabbed onto her hand and held it like a lifeline. 

“Why did this happen to me?” You asked. She sighed. 

“I don’t know bud. Maybe the universe thought you were the strongest one to handle it.” Taylor squeezed her hand.     

“I don’t want to be strong,” you whispered. “I wish this didn’t happen to me and everything went back to normal.” She stood up and laid down on the bed next to you, bringing you into her arms. You let a few more tears fall on her shirt. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” you finally said. You didn’t even remember the nightmare that woke you up but you remember her screams. 

“I know,” Taylor said. “It was an accident.” 

“What if I hurt more people?” You asked. Taylor didn’t say anything right away. She ran her hand up and down her back. 

“You won’t well you may be not intentionally,” she shifted on the bed and forced you to sit up. You crossed your legs to give her more room. She took your hands and put them in front of you, your palms facing up. She traced the lines on your hands. You were a bad person. Bad people hurt people. “You aren’t a bad person or a monster,” she whispered. It was like she knew what you were thinking. “There are many differences between you and the people who kidnapped you but one thing is that they hurt you with a purpose, with horrible intent to hurt you and those who love you.” She placed her hands on top of yours so her palms were on yours. “Because of them, you were given this new ability. You are still learning to live with it. So if you burn us or set us on fire,” she smiled. “We won’t blame you but those who hurt you.” You sniffled, whipping your eyes. 

“I should have you do the speeches for our next gala,” you smiled. “That was good.” Taylor rolled her eyes and punched your shoulder. You laughed. It felt so good to laugh. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she said. “Now they’ve said you haven’t eaten. What do you want?” You bite your thumb as you thought. 

“A burger and a milkshake,” Taylor smiled. 

“Sit tight and I’ll go get it,” she got out of bed and stretched. “Your father is one the richest men in the world, why is this bed so uncomfortable?” You laughed, shaking your head. 

“Thank you, Tay.”

“No problem. I can’t have you spiral down into a depressive episode for too long. I don’t want to run this company by myself.” 

Once you ate the food Taylor brought you, you felt much better. She convinced you to get out of bed and go talk to everyone. You made your rounds, accepting Yelena’s apology and seeing your father in his lab. FRIDAY told you that Natasha was sitting by the pound on the compound’s property. On quiet feet, you walked up to her (ignoring the trees you destroyed) and watched her. She was sewing a ribbon on a new pair of pointe shoes. You knew she was lost in her thoughts because she didn’t know you were there. “Hi,” you finally said. She spun around to look at you. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course,” you sat down next to her. Her arm was still wrapped. Tony told you she had a small surgery to repair the skin on her arm. With careful hands, you traced the bandage. “I don’t blame,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”  

“I know,” you whispered. “But I am sorry.” Natasha kissed the top of your head. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, malyshka (baby girl),” she made a few more stitches on her shoes then looked at you. “Our relationship didn’t start the conventional way and at the beginning, it was just sex,” you felt your anxiety spike. She grabbed your hand and interlocked her fingers with yours. “But rather quickly you became someone I cared about. I craved spending time with you, not just on a physical level.” Natasha faced you. You stared into her green eyes, a color you missed. “I love you. I have for a long time but never knew how to tell you.” The woman in front of you once believed that love was for children, a weakness but now she just confessed that she loved you. “It’s okay if-” you cut her off with a kiss. You put your hands on her face and moved to her neck, pulling her closer to you. You kissed her until the need for air became apparent and Natasha ended the kiss. She rested her forehead against yours. 

“I love you too, Natasha Romanoff,” you said. You moved your hands down her arms, careful of her surgical spot. “I hate that this happened to me. That they used me to hurt you and my dad.” You sat back slightly so you could look at her. “Taylor said that maybe this happened because the universe knew I was strong enough to overcome it. I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Sweetheart..”

“Sh, let me finish,” you smiled. “I think I’ll overcome this because the people next to me make me strong. They love me, support me, and stay by my side even when I burn them,” Natasha chuckled. 

“You will always impress me, moya lyubov' (my love),” you smiled, grabbing Natasha’s hands and kissing them. “You’ll get through this.” 

“Of course, I will,” you said. “I have you.”  

_

Taglist: @ maria-403 @ tye-dyemango @ mymommawanda @ animealways

wifeofnatasharomanoff

This will probably be the last part unless you guys have more ideas for this AU. Just let me know!

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part 20 - zuko x fem!reader

Guess it's true, I'm never getting over you

part 19 | masterlist | part 21

a/n: holy shit guys. we're finally here. the title chapter, the part that officially puts us over the 100k mark, the turning point, the end of the constant mf angst that i've put you all through. that's right. it's finally time for yn and zuko's life changing field trip. ive had this idea down for so long and i can't believe we're actually here lol. buckle up because she's a very long and very emotional one. i hope you enjoy.

wc: 14.3k I KNOW IM SORRY

warning(s): a lot of angst, fighting, violence (including minor character death), a whole lot of emotions, but the fluffy reconciliation you've all been waiting for<3

chapter title comes from everything happens for a reason (!!!!!!) by madison beer

Y/N felt betrayed. 

It wasn’t a secret how she felt about Zuko. She avoided him at every possible moment, making herself scarce whenever he walked into a room or completely ignoring him in group conversation—it was the closest she could get to the civility required now that he was Aang’s firebending teacher, and even that was difficult. 

Not because she didn’t want anything to do with Zuko—no, it was becoming the opposite, and it scared her more than anything. 

She found herself thinking of him more often than not. And not of the North, or their meetings along their journey, not the catacombs—she found herself recalling the more pleasant memories. 

The time they spent together whenever they could when she was still a servant and he was still a prince. The sunset they shared together the night before her life was turned upside down. Those afternoons when she would visit him in the tea shop, talking like they used to, smiling like they used to. 

Remembering him for who he was rather than who he had become was dangerous. It was how she got her heart broken in the first place, how she went through some of the worst months of her life. 

He couldn’t hurt her again if she didn’t give him the chance to. So she wouldn’t. 

But it was getting harder and harder to avoid him, because one by one, her friends forgave him. 

First, she’d heard, was Toph. She didn’t have any kind of grudge against him, and she was able to make up for him burning her feet tenfold now that he was part of the team. 

Next was Aang. He was already far too forgiving, the amount of grace inside of him more than Y/N could even hope to muster. They proved themselves in front of the last dragons together, and apparently that was enough for Aang to trust him. 

It took Sokka a bit longer, but after what they pulled off at the Boiling Rock together, he didn’t seem to have a hard time getting along with Zuko. The fact that he helped save Y/N and Suki probably didn’t hurt his chances either. 

Zuko had burned down Suki’s village, but Y/N still remembered what she told him in the courtyard—”if you can get me out of here, you’re forgiven. Kyoshi’s fans, I’ll be your best friend.” They weren’t exactly that close, but they worked together, and that was enough. 

Katara, it seemed, was the only one who still shared Y/N’s scorned feelings. They held onto each other like a lifeline, feeding off of the other in their hatred. It might not have been the healthiest option, but they refused to forgive Zuko. They stewed in their hurt, and it felt good. It felt good to have a target for their bitterness rather than the abstract ideal of betrayal, and Zuko worked just fine. 

After they had fought against Azula, the night they settled on a random Fire Nation island, the two of them sat together on the outskirts of camp. They were meant to be keeping watch together, but instead they made quiet conversation. 

“So,” Katara said, “today was… something.” 

“That’s one way to say it,” Y/N said wryly. “Since joining you guys, I’ve had enough action for a lifetime. I can’t wait for all this to be over.” 

Katara smiled, but it was wistful. “Neither can I. This has all gone on for so long—all I want is peace.” 

A memory flashed through her mind—frantic screams, desperate pleading, flames devouring centuries of life—and Y/N swallowed thickly as she tried to push it away. The closer the day came, the more the memories would appear. It happened every year, but this time it was worse. 

“Me too,” she murmured. “More than anything.” 

Katara looked at her for a moment, her gaze softening before she finally spoke. “Are you okay? I… I know today wasn’t easy.” 

Y/N managed a thin smile, but it wasn’t convincing. “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” Katara said dryly. “We look out for each other—we always have, even from the first day we met. But it’s like you’re trying to make it as hard as possible for me to care about you.” 

“One of my many skills,” she said sarcastically, but Katara didn’t laugh. Y/N sighed in response, long and deep, and allowed her gaze to drift into the murky distance. At nighttime, the water and the sky became one. It was calming. “I just…” she shook her head, “I don’t know what to do.” 

“With Zuko,” she guessed. 

“With everything,” Y/N said, but then she sighed again. “...Zuko included.” 

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Katara said quietly. “Not after everything he’s put you through.” 

“I keep telling myself that,” she murmured. “But there’s something inside of me that I can’t get rid of.” She looked at Katara, the beginnings of tears glimmering in her eyes. “There— there’s this hope that I can’t get rid of, that things could be the way they used to be again. And— and last time I felt that way was in Ba Sing Se, and I know where that got me, so—” 

Katara stayed silent, only taking her hand to acknowledge her while allowing her to continue. It was a lifeline to her, one sorely needed, and she let out a shaky breath. 

“So why do I still feel that way?” she asked, almost desperately. “How have they all forgiven him so easily? They know what he did— spirits, Aang died because of him— but they’re all able to sit around and joke with him like nothing happened.” 

“They didn’t trust him the way we did,” Katara said with a quiet anger. “They didn’t trust him the way we did, so it didn’t hurt them the way it hurt us.” 

“I don’t want to forgive him,” Y/N said weakly. “But the thought of losing him hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much?”

“I don’t know,” Katara murmured. “I… I don’t know.”

Y/N flinched as a tear rolled down her cheek and fell to the ground below, and she instinctively wiped it away. She couldn’t show weakness.

She grimaced at the thought. How long would that wretched place stay with her?

“I’ll give you some time.” Katara’s expression was pained as she squeezed her hand. She didn’t want to leave her alone, but Y/N was thankful for it. Right now she just needed to feel miserable by herself, without bringing Katara down with her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Katara nodded as she stood up. “You can sleep in my tent tonight. Or if you decide you want to talk, come bother me. I promise it’ll be okay.”

Y/N nodded, the action a bit numb, and she could feel Katara’s eyes on her as she lingered. But eventually she mustered the strength to leave, and Y/N was left with her thoughts.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as she stared up at the sky. She tried to find the constellation her father taught her when she was a mere child—the tiger seal. 

It was a jumble of stars that didn’t even remotely resemble the animal, but she remembered late nights spent stargazing on the ground outside their house, giggling endlessly as her father would point out various other constellations that he made up on his own. It would last until her mother would come out and tell them it was far past your bedtime, young lady, but she would never hide her smile as they ambled back inside.

The memory made a smile of her own emerge, but she soon realized she was fully in tears. They slid down her cheeks, falling onto the dirt and stones jutting out of the cliffside. 

She couldn’t stop thinking of Zuko. She couldn’t stop thinking of her father. She felt so deeply broken in a way that she had no idea how to fix, in a way that was threatening to consume her. 

She had her life back. Everything should have been back to normal. 

But instead, she felt more lost than ever.

-

Y/N ended up taking Katara’s offer of sleeping in her tent, and she was glad she did. The familiarity of it all made her heart ache, but she was thankful for it. Thankful that she had friends like these who wouldn’t let her push them away, no matter how much her newly wired instincts told her it was the right thing to do. 

She was visited by her childhood in her dreams yet again. She saw her father and her mother, walking hand in hand with smiles on their faces as they trailed behind a young Y/N skipping through the village paths. 

She saw her child self running, screaming and laughing in equal parts as she was chased by the boy marked as the tagger, only to stagger backwards after running into one of the adults. But she was greeted by the smiling face of her father. The boy tapped her on the shoulder and ran off laughing, but her father knelt down to her level and looked at her completely seriously. 

“I guess that means we’re the taggers now, huh?” And with that, the two of them ran around the village tagging everyone they could with the seriously unfair advantage. 

She saw the moment after she’d learned how to waterbend, sprinting through the whole village to find her father, drag him to the lake, and show him her new skill. Gan held all the stars in his eyes as he watched her bend, and even though it was the simplest thing she could’ve done he praised her to no end. 

The absence of scars, the smoothness of her skin, a bright smile that shone through her—she was unmarked by the world then. Hopeful, content, naive. 

When she woke up with still-wet tear tracks on her cheeks, it wasn't a surprise. She woke up like this more often than not. 

One week. Seven days. And then she would go to face something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

But for now, there was something else to focus on. She could hear loud voices outside of the tent—all familiar, thankfully—but she knew that meant she had overslept. 

Y/N fixed her hair and her clothes, rubbing furiously at her face to get rid of any signs of her previous emotions, and emerged from the tent to see her friends all standing around Appa. 

“—about getting closure and justice,” she heard Zuko say, and her brows instinctively creased. 

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms as she stopped between Sokka and Zuko. “What are you all talking about?” 

Zuko’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at her. “Uh— good morning.” 

“Good morning,” she said stiffly before repeating herself. “What’s going on?” 

“Zuko knows where to find the man who killed our mother,” Sokka said. He was oddly quiet. 

“And Katara wants to find him,” Aang said, his expression uneasy. 

“Is there a problem with that?” Katara asked defensively. 

“Not if Zuko’s right and you just want closure,” he said. “But I don’t think that’s what this is about. I think it’s about getting revenge.” 

“Maybe it is!” Katara exclaimed, gesturing with one hand. “Maybe it is about revenge, Aang. But don’t you think I deserve it?” 

“You don’t know what it will do to you,” Aang said. “I know how you feel right now, trust me—like violence is the only way to solve your problem. I felt that way after I discovered what happened to my people. But it’s not the only way.” 

“I can’t let him go now that I know I can get to him!” she yelled, her voice rising with her anger. “Maybe it’s what I need—maybe it’s what he deserves.” 

Aang’s eyes widened slightly. “Katara, you sound like Jet.”

“That’s not the same,” she snapped. “Jet hurt the innocent. This man— he’s not innocent. He’s a monster.” 

“Katara, she was my mother too, but I think Aang might be right,” Sokka said. 

She set her jaw. “Then you didn’t love her the way I did.” 

Sokka took a step back as his eyes widened. “Katara…”  

“The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper.” Aang spoke up quickly, trying to fill the air after what she’d said. “While you watch your enemy go down, you’re being poisoned yourself.” 

“That’s cute, but this isn’t Air Temple preschool,” Zuko said. “It’s the real world.” 

“And you think he hasn’t experienced the real world?” Y/N snapped. “I think he knows a little bit about grief after what’s happened to him.” 

Zuko looked at her with a surprisingly level expression, contrasting her narrowed eyes and upturned lip. “Monk pacifism isn’t going to help here.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to retort back but Aang stopped her. “It’s okay. I forgive you, Zuko.” He looked at Katara. “That’s what you need to do. Forgiveness.” 

Katara laughed in disbelief. “You want me to forgive the man who murdered my mother?” 

“Of course not!” Aang said. “You need to face him—I understand that. But when you face him, you can’t kill him. You have to let the anger flow through you, and then out of you. Accept your emotions, then let them go.” 

“Why should he get to live when our mother is gone?” Katara shouted. “I don’t want to forgive him, I want revenge!” 

“Killing him won’t bring our mother back,” Sokka murmured. “You’ll just have someone else’s blood on your hands.” 

“Good,” she said coldly. “An eye for an eye.” 

“Makes the whole world go blind,” Aang finished. “One of the monks said that back in the temple—violence might feel right, but it just hurts everyone more. Forgiveness is the right choice.” 

“Forgiveness is the same as doing nothing,” Zuko said. 

“No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s easy to do nothing—forgiveness is hard.” 

“It’s not just hard,” Katara snarled, “it’s impossible.” 

Aang looked over at Y/N, who had been silent since her outburst at Zuko. “Y/N, please. You know revenge won’t help her.” 

Y/N looked between the two of them, the steely determination brewing in Katara’s eyes at odds with a desperate softness in Aang’s. Something twisted in her chest, and she had to force herself to look away as she spoke. 

“...Do what you have to,” she said quietly. “Whatever that ends up being.” 

Hurt flickered across Aang’s expression before he looked away, and Katara nodded thankfully at her before she started walking away. Zuko cast a long look at Y/N before he followed her. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” Y/N muttered as she hurried off in the opposite direction, swallowing her doubts as her hands bunched into fists and loosened over and over, desperately needing something to do with them. 

Katara was going after her mother’s killer, and Zuko was helping her with it. Katara, her last line of defense in her feelings against him, was going on her own trip with him. Y/N knew it was for the best—it was something she needed to do and Zuko had the Fire Nation knowledge that no one else in their group possessed, so he was the obvious choice—but a small part of her still couldn’t help but despise it.

He was getting too close, far too close, and she wasn’t going to let that affect her. 

No matter what.

-

Y/N had found a small solace by the cliffside, sitting on the edge as her legs hung off. She could fall just as easily as anything, but maybe it was the danger that calmed her, the fact that she was in control of what would happen. She heard the footsteps before anything though, and her body tensed up instinctively as she whirled around. 

“It’s just me,” Toph said, her blank gaze aimed at the ground. “You’re jumpier than usual.” 

“How can you tell?” 

“I can hear every ant on this cliffside through their movements,” she said. “Your heart rate spiked so much that even a baby could tell you’re off. You’ve been off, ever since you came back.”

She smiled wryly. “I’m still getting used to everything again. It’s not an easy transition.” 

“But you’re here,” Toph said, and she sat down next to her. “You’ve been through everything, and you’re still here. That means you’re tougher than everything the Fire Nation has tried to throw at you.” 

“How can you say that so easily?” Y/N asked. “I’ve flipped out on everyone at least twice for no reason. I constantly have nightmares about what’s happened. I— I can’t even bend because Zuko still has this stupid hold on me. I don’t feel tough. I feel weaker than ever.” 

“You’re still here,” Toph repeated, emphasizing each word. “So many other people would have given up by now if they were in your position. But you didn’t—you fought, and you continued to fight until you won, no matter how long it took you. That’s what makes you tough—not all the stuff you’ve been through, but the fact that you’re still standing at the end of it.” 

“When did you become so wise?” she joked weakly, her gaze trailing off into the horizon. The sun was beginning to set, beautiful reds and oranges blending with deep purple. It reminded her of the night everything changed. 

“Someone had to keep these dunderheads together while you were busy in prison.” Y/N chuckled a bit, but she could see Toph’s expression sober in her peripherals. “...I’ve just been worried about you.”

“Really?”

Toph punched her on the arm without looking. “Does that make you believe me?” 

Y/N managed a small smile as she rubbed the spot. “Yeah.” 

“Good. Because I don’t know how much sappy stuff I can take.” 

Her smile widened as she wrapped an arm around Toph and pulled her closer. “So you do love me.” 

“Let go of me!” she protested. “This is the worst kind of sappy stuff!”

But Toph made no move to get away from her, and Y/N laughed. “Just admit it. You missed me.” 

“Of course I missed you,” she huffed. “Without you, I actually had to do all the work with Katara instead of knocking Twinkle Toes around with earthbending or practicing on my own. It was horrible.” 

“I missed you too, Toph,” Y/N said with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I appreciated your tough love until I didn’t have it.”

“I have plenty saved up for you, Snowflake,” Toph grinned, “so don’t worry.” But her expression sobered, and she paused. 

“...I’m here for you,” she said after a moment. “If you need anything, or just someone to listen to. I’m good at listening to people complain.” 

“Thank you,” she said, her smile softening. “That means more than you know.” 

And as the two of them sat there in silence, nothing being said verbally but more in the air between them than ever, she felt content once again. She didn’t realize how much she just needed to talk to somebody. First her conversation with Katara and now with Toph—her friends really were the secret to making her feel better. 

…Things would be okay again, Y/N thought to herself. No matter how long it took, her friends would be there for her. 

Things would be okay again. 

She would be okay again. 

-

“They’ve been gone for too long,” Sokka grumbled. 

“It’s been two days,” Aang said. “Zuko said the man they were after was retired—it can’t be easy to find a retired Fire Nation soldier, no matter how knowledgeable you are about the navy.” 

“That’s too long,” Sokka insisted as he crossed his arms. While Y/N, Aang, Suki, Toph sat together in a loose arc, Sokka was up and pacing. He had been for the past twenty minutes.

“Can you sit down, Sokka?” Y/N asked. “You’re stressing me out.” 

“You should be stressed out!” he exclaimed, flinging his arms up. “The boy prince of betrayal went off with my impressionable sister on a murder field trip. There is no reason to not be stressed out!” 

“You need to give Sugar Queen more credit,” Toph said. “If Zuko tries anything, he’s the one that should be worried. Not the other way around.” 

“Toph’s right,” Aang said, but then he frowned. “And I thought you trusted Zuko.” 

“Not when he’s alone with my sister on a murder field trip!” Sokka heaved a long sigh as he stopped, staring out into the distance. Even though their island was one of a big scattered chain, they were still extremely isolated. It was unnerving sometimes, especially at night. “She feels everything so strongly, and… and she’s always felt guilty about what happened to Mom. I know she thinks this is her chance to make it up to her, to do what she wished she could have done on that day. But I also know that if she goes through with it, she’ll regret it for the rest of her life.” 

“She’ll make the right choice,” Y/N murmured. “I know she will.” 

Aang suddenly perked up, and he turned around. When he did, his eyes widened. “They’re back.” 

They all turned around to see Appa touching down at camp, but only one person dismounted. 

“Where’s Katara?” Y/N instantly asked, her eyes narrowing as she darted up. 

“She’s fine,” Zuko said, but when he glanced at Aang she could see his nerves. “She… she’s back at the dock. At the soldier’s village.” 

“Did she…?” Aang didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. 

“No. He’s terrified out of his mind, but he’s alive.” A weight was visibly lifted off of Sokka’s shoulders with the single word, and Aang nodded. 

“That’s… that’s good.” 

“She said she needed some time to herself,” Zuko murmured. “I figured it was only right to bring you back with me.” 

“I’m coming too,” Sokka said.

“Me too,” Y/N spoke up. She could feel Zuko’s gaze on her, but she didn’t meet it. 

“I’ll stay back,” Toph said. “Someone has to hold this place down.” 

“I will too,” Suki said, and she gave Sokka a light kiss on the cheek. “I hope she’s okay.” 

“She will be,” Sokka said softly. “Eventually.” 

Zuko nodded and started walking back towards Appa. “Let’s get back, then. It’s a bit of a ride.” 

-

Soon enough, they were all in the village, and Aang jumped off Appa as soon as he’d guided him close enough. 

“Katara!” he exclaimed as he ran towards her, sitting on the edge of the dock. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m doing fine,” she murmured. Her voice was placid as the water she sat above, but it was strained. 

“Zuko told me what you did,” Aang said softly. “Or… what you didn’t do, I guess. I’m proud of you.” 

“I wanted to do it,” she said stiffly. “I wanted to take out all my anger on him, and I almost did. But… but I just couldn’t. I don’t know if it’s because I’m too weak to do it or strong enough not to.” 

“You did the right thing,” Y/N said. “Facing that man makes you stronger than he could ever hope to be.” 

“Forgiveness is the first step you have to take towards healing,” Aang said. 

Katara stood up, and her gaze was a mixture of sadness and acceptance. But it was obvious the ordeal was still weighing on her. “I didn’t forgive him. I’ll never forgive him. But…” she looked past them and over at Zuko, the smallest of smiles pulling at her lips. “...I am ready to forgive you.” 

She walked up to Zuko and hugged him, and after a moment of hesitation Zuko smiled and wrapped his arms around her. Y/N clenched her jaw and started walking back over to Appa. 

She was happy Katara got closure, of course she was. But in the process, she had forgiven Zuko. She was her confidante, the one person who understood how deep her anger towards him went. She had been by Y/N’s side throughout their whole journey, at each and every road block, she was there for Ba Sing Se—for all of Ba Sing Se. 

And somehow, Zuko had gotten her to forgive him too. 

It was selfish, unbelievably so, for it to hurt her so much when Katara had just faced something impossible. But she couldn’t help the way that her chest twisted, how her heart ached, how her nails dug so deep into her palms they left indentations. 

When the rest of them got back onto Appa, Katara sat down next to her. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course.” She didn’t make eye contact, her gaze focused into the distance as Aang set off for camp. “I’m glad you got to face him. That you made the right decision for you.” 

“Y/N,” she murmured, “I know what this is about.” 

“It’s not about anything except you,” she evaded. “This was a journey you had to take—we’re all behind you.” 

“And you have all my thanks for that,” Katara said. She glanced at Zuko on the other side of the saddle, very obviously trying to pretend like he wasn’t listening in on their conversation. He wasn’t very good at it. “But I know you’re upset about… that.” 

“We don’t need to talk about this right now,” she said. 

“Y/N…”

She didn’t say anything. Katara sighed and settled back down on the saddle. 

“Okay,” she nodded. “When you’re ready.”

Quiet conversation was made on the other side of the saddle between the three boys, but there was nothing between Katara and Y/N. 

Nothing except a newly found weight on both their shoulders. 

- 

The sizzling fuse exploded when they got back to camp, though. A ride spent staring at the sky didn’t do much for her. Y/N got down from Appa the moment Aang guided him to the ground, and Katara let out a hefty sigh as she followed after her. She started to say her name, but she didn’t get far. 

“Even you forgave him.” Her words were cold, icy rather than hot anger. “Even you! After everything we’ve talked about— everything you know!” 

“I— I know,” Katara said, and she let out a deep sigh as she ran a hand through her loose hair. “But… but he helped me in a way that no one ever had. I found my mother’s killer. I got closure.” 

“Well, maybe I should get him to help me find the guard who killed my father,” Y/N said sarcastically. “Maybe that’ll get me my bending back.” 

“It could,” Katara said, and she was actually genuine. “It could work. And Zuko would help you.” 

She huffed a mirthless laugh and shook her head, biting the inside of her lip to prevent the tears she knew would start welling up. “I’m not letting him back in. Even you said I shouldn’t.” 

“I can’t say I know how much you’re hurting,” Katara said, “but… but Zuko is hurting just as much as you. There’s no excuse for what he did, I’m not saying that. But he wants your forgiveness more than anything in the world.” 

“Did he tell you to say this during your trip?” she asked stiffly. “I mean, now that he’s turned you over to his side and everything.” 

“I’m saying this because I care about you,” Katara said softly. “Y/N, I have seen you hurting for months now, all because of Zuko. Even from the first moment we met in the North, I knew there was something inside of you, and it’s still there. And if you don’t take care of it, it’s going to consume you.” 

“I can’t forgive him.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a cracked, haunted resolve behind it. “I won’t let myself get hurt again.” 

“And I can’t promise that he won’t hurt you again,” Katara murmured. “But I do know if you decide to let him back in, he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to you.” 

Y/N wasn’t able to muster any words. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and turned away, blinking back tears. 

“He talked about you,” she continued. “When he wasn’t talking about the Fire Nation and where we were going, he was talking about you. He loved you back then, and he still loves you now. Even if it took him way too long to realize it.” Katara’s expression softened as well as her voice and she took a step closer. “All he wants is to help you however he can.” 

“If he loved me then and he still betrayed me,” she whispered, “then how can I ever trust him again?” 

“...You just have to,” Katara said quietly. “Trust in the Zuko you knew before you were forced to be on opposite sides. When the two of you were the missing half of each other’s souls.” 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, still unable to look back at Katara. “I can’t.” 

“Then at least don’t push us away,” Katara urged. “You’ve been off. I don’t know what it’s about, but you can tell me as little or as much as you want, whenever you’re ready. I’m here for you—we’re all here for you, Y/N. We love you so much. Let us help you.” 

She bit down on her lip hard to prevent the tears from welling up, and she was only able to muster a nod. “I will. Soon.” 

“...Okay.” 

Y/N walked off, and she could feel Katara’s worried gaze on her. It took all her strength not to look back. 

-

Three days. 

It all went on as usual. Suki asked if she was okay, but she didn’t push. 

Sokka wouldn’t stop looking at her strangely. He must have heard her leaving her tent in the middle of the night. 

-

Two days. 

The nightmares were worse. She nearly woke up screaming. Thankfully, she didn’t wake Katara. 

Aang sat with her during breakfast, telling ancient airbender stories. He didn’t ask anything when he had to repeat himself because of her blank stare at the ground. 

She spent most of the day sitting by the water. 

Maybe it would come back after this. 

-

One day. 

Everyone knew something was wrong, but she didn’t give any of them the chance to ask.

Especially Zuko. He wouldn’t stop looking at her, wouldn’t stop trying to talk to her. She brushed him off every time. 

She packed her bag that night. 

She barely slept a wink. 

-

“What are you doing?” 

Her plan was to leave at the crack of dawn, before her friends could ask any questions or try to go with her. She would be back by nightfall, and she would have closure. The nightmares would stop. The guilt would go away. She would be okay again. 

But of course, he had to ruin everything. 

She didn’t look over at the sound of Zuko’s voice as she rifled through her bag, making sure she had everything she needed. “Nothing.” 

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” 

“Very perceptive, aren’t you?” she said dryly. Y/N tied her bag shut and stood up, then climbed onto Appa’s back. “I’m leaving.” 

His eyes widened. “You’re leaving? Does everyone else know about this?” 

“Not leaving for good,” she scoffed. “I just have something I need to do.” 

“And that is?” 

Y/N glared fully at Zuko. “None of your business.” 

“You’re taking Appa in the middle of the night to go somewhere,” he said, crossing his arms. “Every time someone’s tried to do that, it’s been for something important. Sokka was going to the Boiling Rock, and Katara wanted to find her mother’s killer. I’m guessing whatever you’re going to do is equally important, which means you’re gonna need backup.” 

“I said it was none of your business,” she repeated. “I can handle myself just fine without you.”

“Well,” Zuko crossed his arms, “I’m not leaving until you tell me what you’re doing.” 

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” she jabbed. 

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” he responded with a shrug.  

She went silent for a moment as her gaze traveled away, staring instead at the dark night sky. Today had been the hardest day yet, even looking back on her months in captivity. It was the day everything changed. She didn’t exactly know what possessed her to tell Zuko the reason, but after a moment, she did. 

“Seven years ago today, my village was invaded,” she said quietly. “It’s the day my mother and I were captured, and… and the day my father was killed.” 

Zuko’s eyes widened, and his voice was the same as hers when he finally mustered something. “I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” 

“So am I,” she said, “but apologies haven’t helped me with anything. I’m going back. I’m visiting my village for the first time since my mother and I were taken. Now that I have the means to travel there, it’s something I need to do.” 

“I understand,” Zuko said, “completely. I’ll come with you.” 

Her response was instantaneous. “No.” 

“You can’t travel that far alone,” he insisted. “I have no doubt that you can handle yourself, but you’ve trained to fight with your bending, and right now you don’t have it. If you run into any kind of trouble, you’re… well, you’re gonna be in trouble.” 

“I can fight,” she said. “I’m good with my fists. I held my own against Azula.” 

“You did,” he admitted, “but her skill also isn’t in her hand to hand. And if you’re up against multiple people—say, Fire Nation guards—you’re gonna go down quick.” 

“You have just as much faith in me as ever,” she remarked sourly. 

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you!” Zuko defended. “I just don’t want you to die because you have too much pride to accept any kind of help.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want any help,” she stated. “I just don’t want your help.” 

Zuko let out a long-lasting sigh, shaking his head before he finally met her eyes again. “Look. I know you don’t like me, and you don’t have to. Not after… not after what I did. But whatever’s between us can’t affect our mission, because ultimately we’re all here to defeat my father. That has to happen no matter what, so like it or not, we’re probably gonna have to work together at least once to make that happen.” 

“I don’t have to work with you if I don’t want to,” she said. 

“Really? So if we’re in the middle of a fight and your choice is to either work with me or die, what would you do?” 

“I’m not that stupid,” she snapped. 

Annoyingly, though… he had a point. They couldn’t afford any distractions, not so close to the end. And Y/N wouldn’t be the reason for their failure because of Zuko. 

“...Fine,” she relented, but the glare she pinned him with was still withering. “But you do whatever I tell you to do, and you don’t come with me when we get to my village. This is private.” 

Zuko immediately broke out into a grin and he nodded. “Of course. I’m here for you.” 

She averted her gaze as she took her seat on Appa’s head. “Get your things before I leave you here.” 

He nodded again and he started off towards his tent. Y/N let out a loose sigh as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, the early morning chill beginning to get to her. 

A trip with Zuko to her childhood village on the anniversary of the worst day of her life. 

This couldn’t go terribly at all, she thought wryly. 

-

“...So,” Zuko said, “do you know where we’re going?” 

“No,” she said, “I just thought I would lead Appa around blindly and hope that we somehow end up in the right place.” 

“So you do know—” 

“Of course I know where we’re going,” Y/N snapped. Maybe it was unfair of her, but she didn’t exactly care. “Sokka took a map from Wan Shi Tong’s library before it collapsed, and he let me borrow it. It’ll take us a couple of hours, but we should make it before noon.” 

Zuko nodded. “Where is your village? You never told me much about it when you talked about your past.” 

“Why do you care?” 

He huffed a laugh. “You can’t be serious.” 

She said nothing, and Zuko sighed. “I care about you, Y/N, more than anything. I’m here because I want to help you. Of course I care about where you’re from.” 

“That doesn’t mean we need all the small talk,” she said. 

“It’s not small talk, it’s a conversation,” Zuko said dryly. “I’m more than happy to sit here in silence with you for another six hours, but I think that’s pretty boring.” 

“...It’s by the southern coast, near the Zeizhou provinces,” she relented after a moment. “It’s so small that you can’t find it on a map unless you know what you’re looking for. We didn’t even have an official name—if we had to, we called it South Zeizhou because that was the only notable thing near us.” 

“What was it like?” he asked. “Growing up in a place like that.” 

“It was nice,” she said. “We were almost completely isolated from other villages, so we were tightly knit. Everyone knew each other—I’m sure I knew each person by name by the time I was five—and everyone helped each other. We didn’t have much, but everyone was well taken care of. Our community was everything.” 

“That sounds beautiful,” Zuko murmured. 

“It was,” she agreed. “Until your people invaded it and destroyed it.” 

Zuko went silent at that, but instead of the sick sort of satisfaction she normally experienced, she felt… guilty. 

It wasn’t his fault. Zuko was only a year older than her—when her village was invaded, he was probably in school lessons or learning how to be a prince. And now he was here, going against everything he knew, everything he’d ever had, to try and make things right. 

He was a child just like her. And with a father like Fire Lord Ozai… 

“...I’m sorry,” she said, and his eyes darted up, a bit of shock visible in them. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I just…” she sighed. “I’ve never forgiven the Fire Nation for what was done to my people. And I guess you’re just the easiest target.” 

“I understand,” he murmured. “And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry too.” 

“This doesn’t mean anything.” The words were quick to leave her mouth, and she didn’t look at him. “Just because I feel bad doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.” Nevertheless, she could still hear the smile in his voice. 

“I know.” 

More silence. 

“What was your father like?” Zuko asked as he broke it. “You speak of him so fondly.” 

She bit her lip at the question as the memories flooded back, and Zuko was stumbling over his words almost immediately. 

“You— you don’t have to answer,” he said, “obviously, if it’s too much, but I—” 

“He was the nicest man you’d ever meet,” she said softly. “He was always willing to help anyone who needed it, always willing to do far more than he had to if he thought it would make someone happy. And he did—he made my mother the happiest woman alive. He was beloved by everyone in the village.” Y/N swallowed hard. “He died to protect it. To protect me.” 

“You’ve made him proud,” Zuko said. “I know you have.” 

“I hope so,” she murmured. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She meant to leave it at that, but for some reason, the words continued to flow. “But I… I’m worried about what will happen when I get there.” that they won’t recognize me when I come back.” 

Zuko frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been years since I was there.” Y/N let go of the reins and wrung her hands together. She glanced down at the bandages, the rough fabric almost a comfort after her time without them. “I haven’t been back since I was captured. What if they resent me for not being there?” 

“No one could possibly resent you for that,” he scoffed. “You were taken, Y/N, by soldiers. You were a child—what could you have done?” 

“Anything,” she muttered. “If I had done anything, maybe things would have been different.” 

“You can’t do that to yourself,” Zuko insisted. “You’ll drive yourself insane going down that path.” 

She shrugged. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” 

“Look at me.” 

Y/N frowned. “What?” 

“Turn around and look at me,” he said again. “And don’t do your stubborn I hate Zuko thing. Just humor me for once.” 

She scoffed and crossed her arms as she turned around, looking him in the eye. “What?” 

“Do you think it’s Katara’s fault that her mother is dead?” 

The jump to the topic made her blink, recoiling the slightest bit. “What? No— spirits, of course not.” 

“But she died to save her,” Zuko said. “The raiders were there looking for the last waterbender, and that was Katara. Her mother gave herself up in place of her.” 

“That’s not her fault,” she said. “Her mother ch—” 

It hit her then, and her eyes narrowed. “You’re not clever.” 

The slightest smile tugged at Zuko’s lips and he shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?” 

“You’re not clever,” she simply repeated, and she turned back around and grabbed the reins. She couldn’t see Zuko’s pleased expression as he adjusted his position in the saddle. 

“Just trying to help,” he said, and his voice softened. “You’ve made your father proud, even if you don’t think so. You’ve made both your parents proud.” 

She didn’t respond. She feared that if she tried to, the tears would spring. And she wasn’t going to cry. 

But she appreciated his words more than he knew. Maybe even more than she knew. 

But she couldn’t say that. And so they rode in silence. 

-

“We’re almost here,” she announced, and she lightly tugged at Appa’s reins to get him to slow down. It had been a few hours of silent flying and navigating, but they’d made good time. By the spot of the sun in the sky, she could tell it was just before noon. 

“Good,” he said. 

They had been in the air for hours, starting even before the sun had risen, so it was no surprise when she glanced behind her and saw Zuko fighting off grogginess in the form of a barely stifled yawn. 

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” she said, maybe a little too snippy. 

“I wasn’t going to let you go alone,” Zuko said. “And even though you might not think so, I like being around you. I…” he sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind.” 

“What?”

“I just want things to be the way they used to be,” he murmured. “But I know that can’t happen. And I know you’re tired of hearing it.” 

“...I want that too,” she said quietly after a moment of hesitation. 

She heard the rustling of leather and a sharp intake of breath, and it wasn’t hard to tell he was shocked by her words. And maybe she was shocked too, because she knew she meant them completely. 

“Y/N,” Zuko started, “you—” 

But then he was interrupted by her gasp. 

“What?” he asked, only a moment of hesitation before he switched veins. He moved up beside her, and his eyes widened. “Flames of Agni…” 

In the distance, she could see where the forest abruptly stopped. It went on for kilometers, the ashy remnants of fauna and chopped stumps. So much of the forest was just— was just gone. And in the center of it all…

Her village was unrecognizable. Houses made of wood and stone had been torn down and replaced with metal buildings, and the few original buildings that still were in disrepair, riddled with scorch marks and on the verge of falling apart. She could see armed Fire Nation soldiers manning certain spots around the village, as well as marching through the streets. They numbered far more than anyone in simple Earth Kingdom garb. 

Flags and banners with Fire Nation insignias hung everywhere, but the worst part was the factory. It was as big as ten of their old homes, black, polished metal only good for serving as an eyesore. It pumped out acrid black smoke, and even from so far away it made her eyes sting. Her hands clenched into fists around the reins, and anger swelled up inside of her. 

Everything that was held sacred in her village was gone, ruined by the Fire Nation for their own gain. Just like everything else in the world.

And she hadn’t even known about it. 

“The Fire Nation is still here,” she said shakily. “I… I don’t know what I expected. I thought they would move on after the raid, but…” She barely managed to choke back a sob by clenching her jaw tightly. “They destroyed it all.” 

“I’m so sorry.” There was horror in Zuko’s voice, and like her, he was unable to look away from the devastation. “I… If I had known…” 

“Sorry isn’t going to fix anything,” she said bitterly, but it was more pained than anything. 

“Then we will fix it,” he countered. Her eyes flicked up to him, the smallest bit of surprise visible. “We’ll take your village back and get the Fire Nation out, once and for all.” 

Y/N’s grip tightened even further on the reins, her nails digging deep into her palms as she nodded. Her eyes hardened as they moved back to her village, and she nodded resolutely. 

“You’re damn right we will.” 

-

“Are you okay?” 

“Of course I’m not okay,” she said. She wanted to snap at him, but she didn’t have the energy. Not after what she’d seen. 

She and Zuko had set up camp a while away from her village, deep in what remained of the forest to give Appa enough cover. Though she wanted to light a fire, she knew it was too risky. And so they sat together on the ashy, barren ground, the air between them heavier than ever. 

They were going to take back her village, that much was a given. The only question was how. 

“You’re right,” he murmured. “It was a stupid question.” 

“I just don’t understand,” she said weakly as she sat back on the ground. “Why would they stay in our village? We’re so far off the map that it’s probably costing them more to be here than not.”

“That’s what the Fire Nation does,” Zuko said. “They destroy everything they get their hands on.”

When Y/N looked up at him, he was staring at the ground, his jaw clenched. 

“It’s about breaking their spirit,” he continued. “If they just left, your people could fight back. Get revenge for the invasion. But if they take over completely—”

“They crush an uprising before it has the chance to grow,” she murmured, “and they gain a workforce and all the natural resources they could want.”

“Yeah.”

Zuko’s voice was oddly quiet, stilted in a way she couldn’t place. She couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“What happened when you went back to the Fire Nation?”

Zuko glanced at her, swallowing hard before he looked away. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

“I do,” she said. “And I think I have the right to know.”

“Mai and I got together.” He sounded almost embarrassed, and she hated the twist of jealousy in her chest. “We talked during the entire boat ride home, and it went from there.”

“Oh,” she said stiffly. “So while I was sentenced to rot in prison for the rest of my life, you were getting busy with the girl who’s loved you her whole life.”

His cheeks flushed bright red in spite of the obvious anger. “That’s not what it was!”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what it sounds like.”

“We were both struggling,” he insisted. “I… I wasn’t handling Ba Sing Se well, and Mai was having doubts about everything. We gravitated towards each other in our misery, and— and it just happened.”

“You can’t honestly believe that’s true,” she snapped.

“You don’t know anything about Mai if you think it isn’t!” he exclaimed. “Neither of us were—”

“What?” she asked, brazen in his silence as he suddenly cut off. “You weren’t what?”

“…We realized that we didn’t like each other in that way,” he finished in a mumble. “Expectations pushed us together. Our own feelings pulled us apart.” Zuko looked back at her this time. “We couldn’t ignore our… our true feelings.”

“And what are those true feelings?” she asked. She couldn’t help the mocking tone in her voice, but the anger was beginning to come back. Mai had never been mean to her back in the palace, but it was hard to forget Omashu and Ba Sing Se. And it wasn’t exactly nice to hear that she and Zuko got together right after she was sentenced to a life in prison. 

“I love you,” he said, “and you know that. But Mai, she—” Zuko shook his head and glanced away. 

“What?” she repeated. 

“...Do you remember Ty Lee?” 

She frowned. “Yeah. She’s tried to kill me a couple times.” 

“That’s who,” he said, and her eyes widened slightly. “They’ve always been close, but… I don’t know. Maybe the pressure of working under my sister brought them together. Maybe me being as horrible as I was pushed her away. But all I know is that Mai has feelings for her, and none for me. And I’m okay with that.” 

“...Ty Lee,” Y/N said, and she managed a chuckle. “I think that’s the last pair I expected.” 

Zuko cracked a smile. “It works, though. I hope they can figure something out.” 

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Me too.” 

But then Zuko’s expression sobered again as he looked at her, his gaze as piercing as ever. “You know I don’t like her. You know there’s nothing between us. A—and you said you wanted things to be the way they used to be.” His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the edge of desperation in it. “So why can’t they be?” 

“Why does it always come back to us?” she asked bitterly. 

“Because I want there to be an us again so badly,” he said. Zuko’s voice was so genuine it pained her, and she hated how easily he was cracking her resolve. 

The walls used to be easy to keep up, used to be gratifying. But now all it did was hurt. The night was cold, and she longed for his embrace. 

But Zuko was fire. Beautiful, inviting, full of warmth, but able to hurt her just as easily. 

And spirits, that was all she could think about as the scar on her arm stung. The burns on her hands had faded, and Ba Sing Se’s mark was nearly gone as well, but she couldn’t forget.  

“Maybe there can’t be an us again,” she mumbled as she stood up. “And maybe we just both have to accept that.” 

The look in Zuko’s eyes hurt, his downcast expression combined with the same longing she felt. So she walked away towards the forest, or rather what remained of it. 

“I’m going to scout out our surroundings,” she said, though it was half-hearted. “I’ll be back when the sun starts setting. We’ll figure out a plan at nightfall.” 

She’d disappeared into the woods soon enough. If Zuko said something, she didn’t hear it. 

-

She held true to her word, and she was back by nightfall. Zuko had drawn a map of her village in the dirt with a stick, and though it was crude it was accurate. It turned out he had a better memory than she thought, and it also seemed that when they were working towards something like this, it was easier to work through the tension. 

It took the better part of an hour for them to come up with something and actually agree on it, and it was still shakier than he liked—a lot of it relied on her people remembering Y/N the way that she remembered them. But it was a plan, and it could work, so it was good enough. 

Soon enough, they were back on Appa, riding through the inky sky towards her village. Dressed in black from spares Zuko had in his bag—the same outfit he lended Katara during her mission, she was sure—they blended in perfectly. 

“We’re here,” she whispered, and Zuko nodded as he sheathed his sword and moved up next to her on Appa’s head. “Do you remember the plan?” 

“Of course I do,” he said. “Are you dropping down here?” 

“Yeah. I’ll signal when I’m ready for you.” 

He nodded again. “Good luck, Y/N.” 

“...Thanks.” 

She guided Appa closer to the ground, handing the reins off to Zuko when she thought she was close enough. She slid off as quietly as she could, her moccasins doing little to help with the shock of landing but good enough at muffling her movements. There were fewer guards than before, but it still made her nervous. 

Y/N didn’t even dare to breathe as she moved through her village, ducking behind cover when she needed to as she made her way towards one of the only remaining houses. Despite the Fire Nation banner hanging across the front, it still felt like it was her village rather than another forced colony. 

That was something, she supposed. 

She pushed the door open quietly and pulled the fabric down from her face, checking once more to make sure there were no guards before she closed it. And when she turned around, she was met by a wide-eyed woman and a stark-faced man darting up from his spot on the floor. 

It probably wasn’t the best look, showing up dressed in all black in the middle of the night while the village is occupied by soldiers. She could only hope they would recognize her. 

“What are you doing in our home?” he demanded, but his wife shook her head. 

“I must be dreaming,” she whispered, and she stood up as well. “Y/N? Is… is that you?” 

“Leya,” Y/N said, and she felt the pinpricks of tears behind her eyes, “you remember.” 

Leya laughed and clasped her hands together as she moved closer and pulled her into an embrace. “Of course I remember you, darling! How could I forget the little waterbender who always managed to soak my laundry just as it had finished drying?” 

“Gan’s girl,” the man—Lao—marveled, and he laughed as well. “What in Kyoshi’s name are you doing here?” 

“It’s hard to explain,” she said, slightly sheepish as she pulled out of Leya’s hug. “But basically… I’m here to save the village.” 

Lao shook his head with a smile—that same smile she remembered from her youth, a mix of approval and surprise. “You haven’t been here since the invasion and now you’re here to save our village. You haven’t changed a bit.” 

“What can I say?” she said with a slight laugh. “I’ve been busy with the Avatar.” 

“The Avatar?” Leya asked, and Y/N held up her hand. 

“As much as I’d love to tell you both what I’ve been up to all these years, we’re working on a schedule.”

“‘We’?” Lao caught. “Who else is here with you?” 

She didn’t think she could exactly say the crown prince of the Fire Nation, no matter how reformed he claimed to be.

“A friend of the Avatar,” she decided. “He’s waiting for my signal. That’s when the action’s going to start.” 

“What exactly is your plan?” Leya asked tentatively. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but our numbers aren’t the highest. Those who haven’t been sent away as laborers had their spirits broken long ago. There are very few with any kind of fight left in them.” 

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got more than enough fight in me for this whole village. But I need your help.” 

Lao nodded. “Anything.” 

She smiled, a miniscule amount of weight dropping off her shoulders in relief. “Good.” 

-

Appa was stashed securely in the woods, a rucksack full of moon peaches to keep him happy and quiet, but Zuko was still nervous. 

How couldn’t he be, hiding behind a gaudy metal structure pretending to be a house that fit into this village? He was only the traitor boy prince of the Fire Nation, most likely with a wanted poster and a bounty on his head courtesy of his father. 

He wasn’t scared, though. 

Nervous? Sure. But he couldn’t wait to give these soldiers what they deserved. 

Zuko’s eyes snapped towards the sudden movement across the way—the Fire Nation banner had been ripped down from the house Y/N went into, and the woman who did it held her fist in the air for a moment before darting back inside. 

The signal. 

It was time. 

Zuko took a deep breath, pulled his broadswords out of their sheaths, and started moving. 

It didn’t take long to find a guard, standing at his assignment near some light post. Zuko dashed behind him and brought his swords up to his neck. 

“Stay quiet if you want to keep your head,” he said. “Nod if you understand.” 

The guard nodded, but Zuko saw his hand clenching into a fist. He moved one sword down, and he froze in place as the sharp edge settled against his skin. 

“No firebending either,” he growled. “You wanna test my patience some more, or are you ready to cooperate?” 

“I— I’ll cooperate,” he stammered. “Just don’t hurt me, please. What do you want?” 

It was almost pathetic. These people took over an innocent village, and now they were so confident that they stationed guards like this. Zuko wondered if this man even knew what had been done here. 

“Good,” Zuko said. “Who’s in charge here?” 

“General Lee,” he said, and Zuko had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Of course. “He— he’s the one who took over this place at the beginning. The one who ordered the invasion.” 

“And where is he?” 

“The biggest house at the end of the lane,” he said. “You— you can’t miss it.” 

Zuko thanked the soldier for his information by knocking the flat end of one blade against his head, and he took a step back as the man fell to the ground, unconscious. 

Step one complete. 

-

“How is your earthbending?” Y/N asked. She and Lao moved swiftly through the village under the cover of darkness, avoiding soldiers where they were stationed as they conversed in low voices. 

“Not as sharp as it used to be,” Lao said. “I’ve been hiding it since the invasion—otherwise they would have killed me or sent me away. What do you need it for?” 

Once again, that sheepishness came back. The plan she and Zuko created sounded very outlandish when she said it out loud. 

“I want to destroy the factory.” 

“You certainly don't aim low, huh?” Lao chuckled a bit, but he flexed his hands nonetheless. He moved his fist forward and a short pillar of solid rock shot up from the ground. “I’ve still got some of it, at least.”

“That’s why I asked for your help,” she said. “The Fire Nation builds everything out of metal, but I think they forget that rocks are pretty effective against it.” 

Lao smiled as he sent the rock back down into the earth. “I like how you think.” 

She smiled as well, but her head shot up at the movement near them. She stepped protectively in front of Lao, her instincts above anything, but the tension dissolved when she saw it was just Zuko. 

“Did you find out where he is?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“His name is Lee— General Lee,” he said. “The last house,” he pointed, “that way. You can’t miss it.” 

“Good.” She cracked her knuckles. “I have some things I’d like to say to him.” 

“Y/N,” he said, “he’s…” 

“What?” 

“He’s the one who did all of this,” Zuko said. “The one who ordered the invasion. He’s been here ever since.” 

Her jaw clenched as she felt fire ignite inside of her. “Then maybe I have a little bit more to say to him.” 

“Take this.” Zuko took one of his swords off along with its sheath and handed it to her. “Just in case.” 

She nodded, taking some satisfaction in her practice swings before she stashed it across her back, then she looked at Lao. “You two are going to take down the factory together. Is anyone in it still?” 

He shook his head. “Shifts ended a few hours ago. It should be completely empty.” 

“Good.” Y/N looked at Zuko. “How do you feel about causing some explosions?” 

He smirked. “Pretty great.” 

“And how do you feel about crushing a lot of stuff?” she asked, turning to Lao. 

“Even better.” 

“Great,” she smiled. “Obviously, this is going to make a lot of noise. Get out when you feel danger—we might have to bring this fight to the streets.” 

Lao cracked his knuckles. “Gladly. It’s about time we take our home back.” 

“Laya’s alerted the people?” Y/N asked. 

He nodded. “She’s gone house to house—she should be near the end by now. She and the rest of our people will be safe, and anyone who’s willing to fight will be ready for my signal.” 

“Then I think it’s time we split,” Y/N said. 

“Be careful,” Zuko said. “Don’t let your anger blind you.” 

“I’ll do what I have to do,” she said simply. 

Zuko nodded in understanding. “See you on the other side, then.” 

“See you on the other side,” she murmured. 

-

Y/N got used to the weight of the broadsword in her hand as she moved through the village yet again. She was surprised at how easy it was, how inattentive the few guards were. Their confidence would be their downfall. 

It wasn’t hard to find the house of the general. It was so massive it edged on gaudy, obviously built for nothing but the man’s ego. The door wasn’t locked, and she just shook her head as she slid inside. This was ridiculous. 

She closed the door as quietly as she could behind her, and she held her breath as she looked around the first floor. It was eerily empty, eerily silent. Maybe he wasn’t here. 

Y/N tightened the grip on the hilt of the sword as she crept up the stairs, wincing at every creak. The whole upstairs was the general’s room, and she shook her head. This was more luxury than anyone in the village lived in. He’d built his comfort off the pain of her people. 

“Would you like to tell me what you’re doing in my home?” 

She whipped around, her sword instinctively flying up as she stared right at her target. So he was here, and he’d been just as quiet as her. He was younger than she expected, but his eyes told everything she needed to know. 

“General Lee,” she said, and she was surprised at how steady her voice was. “This isn’t your home.” 

“Isn’t it?” He was dressed in a simple tunic and pants, no armor in sight. Good. “I was here when it was built, and as far as I’m aware, it was built for my use.” 

“You took it from my people,” she said. “You took everything from us.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” he said nonchalantly. “I’ve taken over a lot of villages.” 

“Do you not have any shame?” Y/N demanded, and she pointed her sword at him. He didn’t even flinch. “Destroying the lives of innocent people, tearing apart their homes for resources, occupying them just to show off your strength. You kill people, you destroy families, and you don’t even care?” 

The general had the nerve to smile. “It’s the way of the world. The weak fall, the strong prevail. I guess your people were just weak.” 

Y/N couldn’t control herself after that. She yelled out as she lunged forward and swung with her sword. The general sidestepped her as she whirled back around, and he just laughed. 

“You want to fight, girl?” General Lee mocked. “For what? Your people? Your honor? You won’t get far, I assure you.” 

“For my family!” she growled. “Your men killed my father and forced my mother and I into servitude. I’ve wanted revenge for so many years, and now I can finally get it.” 

His eyes lit with recognition and he raised his eyebrows. “The waterbenders. So you managed to escape—impressive.” 

And then suddenly, there were two massive explosions. They were all the way across town, but it still rocked the foundations of the house. The impact must’ve been felt all over town, surely alerting every guard on duty that something was wrong.

Step two was complete. 

It was Y/N’s turn to smile at the general. “There goes your factory.” 

The general’s mocking confidence melted into cold anger. “You—” 

“Blew it up,” she responded. “Yeah.” 

She lashed out with her sword to force him out of the way, then booked it down the stairs and out of the house. She laughed in pure exhilaration as she saw all of the guards in the street, as well as the general running out of his house. The fire blazing in his hand matched the anger in his eyes. 

“You want a fight, girl?” he growled. “I’ll give you one!” 

General Lee launched the fireball at her and she dodged out of the way, watching as it sizzled against the ground. She held her sword in both hands, beckoning him to come further. It wouldn’t be an easy fight to win against an enraged firebender, but then again—she’d done it before. 

He was far too eager to go against a young girl as he shot fire at her in repetitive blasts. She dodged what she could and slashed through the others with her sword, lunging at him with the blade when Lee gave her space. 

But then fire shot past, narrowly missing her, and her head whipped around. It took these soldiers long enough to realize the fight was happening right next to them. 

“Come on, Zuko,” she muttered as she backed away from the men, the general and the soldiers narrowing in on her. She brandished her sword. “Where are you?”

“You’ve picked a battle that you can’t finish,” General Lee spat as fire lit in his hand, “just like your father!”

Rage hotter than anything before ignited inside of her. And then, everything happened at once. 

The general and his soldiers shot their fire at her. 

Someone yelled at her to duck, and she dropped to the ground. 

As the fire was extinguished above her, General Lee’s eyes widened. He took a step back. “What in Agni’s name—” 

“I’m not too late, am I?” Zuko reached a hand down to her, and Y/N let out a relieved breath. 

“Right on time,” she remarked as she took it and allowed him to help her up. “I’m in a bit of a situation.” 

“I noticed.” Zuko turned to the general and gestured with his head behind them. “I’m sorry, general, but I think someone blew up your factory!”

“Prince Zuko,” he said sourly. “So you’re a traitor as well.”

“I’m not a traitor,” he said, stepping in front of Y/N ever so slightly. “I’m helping free these people from your glorified slavery.”

The general’s eyes narrowed. “So all it takes for the crown prince to give up his values is a pretty face.”

“You’re a sick man,” Zuko spat. “Take your soldiers, leave this village, and we’ll give you the mercy you never extended to her people.”

“I don’t think so,” Lee said, and he smiled. “Don’t worry, though—this’ll all be over soon. Unless you think you can go against every soldier here on your own.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been outnumbered,” Y/N said, and she drew her sword. “Besides—”

“—They’ve got help,” someone interrupted. She looked behind her and saw Lao, followed by a myriad of villagers—some earthbenders, some that were just ready to end this. More than she thought still lived here, more willing to fight than she thought. 

So everyone’s spirit wasn’t broken. 

She smiled. Step three. 

“So you want to make this harder,” General Lee said. “I admire your tenacity, but it won’t do you much good.”

“We’ll see,” Zuko said. 

Lee didn’t even say anything before he started firebending, and Zuko blocked it yet again. The battle immediately escalated from there, earthbenders and soldiers and swordsmen fighting. It was mostly visible in flashes of fire and the occasional lamppost, but it was loud.

Y/N and Zuko fought side by side against the general, their moves seamless—whenever one fell back, the other would step forward. She was surprisingly good with a sword, but it might’ve been her adrenaline.

With the amount of energy and anger pumping through her veins, she was sure she could take on anything at that moment. And having Zuko with her… She would be lying if she said it didn’t help. 

It was a deadly dance between the three of them. Y/N’s sword sung as it cut through the air, and it was in sharp contrast to the explosions of fire in the background and the general’s own bending against them. 

Maybe it was that adrenaline inside of her, or maybe it was the thought of finally getting to deliver justice for her village. Maybe the spirits were finally on her side. But whatever it was, General Lee ended up stumbling as he dodged the sword’s jab at him, and it gave her enough time for Zuko to kick him in the chest and send him backwards. Y/N took the opening and swept his legs, putting all her strength into the single move, and it worked. 

He fell to the ground, a slight grunt being forced out as he landed on his back, and Y/N pointed her sword at his neck. She took immense satisfaction in the flicker of fear in his eyes. 

“Zuko,” she said placidly, “go help the others.” 

He looked at her for a good, long moment before he conceded with a step back. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” 

“I won’t regret this,” she murmured. 

Zuko’s gaze remained on her for another moment before he turned and ran back into the fray. Y/N could do nothing but stare down at the general. The man who took everything away from her in one short afternoon, now defenseless below her blade. 

“So,” she said, “after all this time, all it took was one fight for you to fall.” 

The general gave her a wry smile. “It wasn’t exactly a fair fight.” 

“Neither was the invasion of my village. But that didn’t stop you, did it?” 

“You savages have never understood,” he growled. “No great leader has ever gotten anywhere by being nice, by yielding to the demands of those lesser than him. There’s a reason the Fire Nation is at the world’s helm while every other nation continues to fall to its feet.” 

“Because you go after the defenseless!” she exclaimed. “You go after those who can’t do anything against you, and then you destroy everything you find. All you care about is power.” Y/N huffed a mirthless laugh and gestured around them. “And look where that’s gotten you.” 

“Yield,” she demanded before he had the chance to speak, moving her sword closer to his neck. “Yield, and leave this village, and I’ll let you leave with your life.”

The general laughed, followed by a wince as her blade nicked his skin. “Don’t you know anything about the Fire Nation? You served there for so long.”

“Yield!” she shouted, her voice trembling along with her grip. She just wanted this to be over. 

“We fight until death,” he continued. “You’re going to have to kill me if you want your way.”

“You think I won’t?” she challenged. ”You’ve taken everything from me! Your life is too small a price to pay for what you’ve done!”

“I think you’re weak,” he spat. “Too weak to do what you need to do.”

Her eyes stung with tears as she pulled the sword away from his neck.

General Lee huffed a laugh. “Like I said: you’re wea—”

He was stopped in the middle of his sentence as she plunged the sword into his heart. His eyes widened as he choked out his last breath, the light beginning to drain out of him. And then he was gone.

“I’m not weak anymore,” she murmured. 

Y/N stared at his lifeless body for a moment, glanced at the gleam of blood on metal. 

She had just killed a man. The one responsible for her father’s death, for the imprisonment of her and her mother, for the invasion of her village. 

Y/N didn’t feel remorse, didn’t feel satisfaction—but she felt whole. Like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

She sheathed her sword and walked away, back towards the chaos of the ongoing fight. Zuko had joined the others, fighting with a combination of his sword and his bending, and it worked wonders. For a moment, all she could do was watch him. The grace he fought with was akin to that of a waterbender. 

Lao moved like he was twenty years younger, working in tandem with other earthbenders as they took down the Fire Nation forces soldier by soldier. Toph would have been proud.

But now there was only one thing left to do. 

Y/N took a deep breath then cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling as loudly as she could. “Soldiers of the Fire Nation! Your general is dead!”

That was enough of a shock to knock them off their balance, because Zuko and the earthbenders all immobilized their foes. Zuko with a sword to the neck, Lao and his crew with rocks around their legs and other limbs. The fight died down quickly, all of them staring at her. Zuko’s expression was impossible to read. 

“You heard me,” she repeated, “General Lee is dead. You have no stake in this village anymore. Leave, or face the same fate as him.”

“Will you stand here and fight for a nation that doesn’t care about you?” Zuko shouted, catching on to her goal. “Or will you do what’s right and leave these people be?”

Silence hung in the air, only broken by the heaved breaths of soldiers and earthbenders alike. She stared at them all expectantly, her heart pounding in her chest. 

And then, the clatter of a sword against the ground.

“I surrender.” A soldier being held in place by rocks around her ankles had dropped her weapon, looking Y/N straight in the eye. “I’ve served the Fire Nation blindly for far too long.”

She nodded at the earthbender, and he retracted the stone around her. 

“Go,” Y/N said. “Back to wherever you came from.” 

“Your mercy…” the soldier murmured, and she shook her head. “Thank you for giving us a second chance. I know it means little, but I apologize. For everything.”

And then she walked off—in the direction of the shore, she noticed—and soon enough, she’d disappeared into the wood. They must’ve come in on ships. 

Slowly, the remaining soldiers either dropped their weapons or declared their own surrender, and one by one they were let go. The sound of clattering metal was music to her ears, and with each one the weight lifted a little more. 

The soldier in Zuko’s hold was the last to drop his sword, and Zuko kicked it away before removing his blade from his neck. As he walked away, she let out a sigh of relief.

“…We did it,” she said. “We finally did it.”

“You did it,” Zuko said as he sheathed his sword, doing the same to the other when Y/N handed it to him. “None of this would have been possible without you.” 

“Wouldn’t have been possible without you either,” she said, and the smallest smile tugged at his lips. 

Lao walked up to her, and he enveloped her in the biggest, tightest hug she’d felt since Katara’s at the air temple. She reciprocated immediately, tears springing into her eyes at the warmth he carried. 

“You did it,” he said, his voice and eyes full of pride as he pulled away, though his hands remained on her shoulders. “You’ve given us the freedom that none of us could attain in seven years. We owe everything to you, Y/N.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, unable to help her grin, and she looked back at the other villagers. “Any of you—thank you so much. Tonight, you fought for our people! You fought for our village! And we’re finally free from the Fire Nation.” 

A wild cheer erupted from the group, and Y/N had to wipe away the tears that began to fall. They’d really done it. 

“Go, be with your families!” she exclaimed. “Celebrate with your loved ones! You deserve it—enjoy your freedom!” 

Several of the villagers clapped her on the shoulder or shook her hand as they began to wander around, returning back to their houses. She heard one discussing architectural plans, about what they would do with everything the Fire Nation left behind, as well as their houses. The smile wouldn’t leave her face. 

And then Zuko walked up, alerting her to his presence by clearing his throat. “Y/N,” he said, and she turned around. 

“What?” 

“First of all, congratulations.” His own small smile was there, and she felt her cheeks warm. “You freed your village from a seven year occupation. It’s amazing.” 

“It feels amazing.” She rubbed her arms, the cold of the night beginning to get to her as her adrenaline from the battle started to fade. “I can’t believe we did it.” 

“I’m not surprised,” Zuko said. “You can do anything you put your mind to—I’ve learned that twenty times over by now.” 

She chuckled a bit, but Zuko’s expression sobered. “But I have to ask. You… you killed the general.” 

The air between them immediately changed. “I did.” 

“How do you feel?” he asked. 

“I don’t feel happy,” Y/N said, “so you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going to start killing everyone that’s ever wronged me.” 

Zuko laughed, though it was slightly nervous. “That’s, uh— that’s good.” 

“But I don’t feel sad either,” she said. “I just feel… right. Like it was something I had to do. Not just for my people, but for me. To know that he’ll never be able to hurt someone the way he hurt me.” 

“...Good,” Zuko repeated. “That’s all we can ask for, isn’t it?” 

She nodded. “But… I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. At least until I’m ready to tell everyone.” 

“Of course,” he agreed. 

“Good,” she said. 

Y/N looked up at the sky, the sun having fully set. It was dark except for the bits of ashes that littered the battlefield and the lanterns that lit up the path through the village. But there was still something she needed to do. 

She looked back at Zuko. “I have something I need to see. And I want you to come with me. Is… is that okay?” 

He smiled, his voice soft when he spoke. “I’d love to.” 

- 

The path she led him down was one well-traveled by the people of her village—the inky darkness they walked through was penetrated only by the flames Zuko held in his hand at Y/N’s request. She knew she would be able to find her way without it, though. 

“Where are we going?” he asked. 

“Somewhere special,” Y/N answered. “Sad, but special. Somewhere I’ve thought about a lot since my mother and I were taken.” 

It took a few more minutes of walking in silence only disturbed by night ambiance. When they got there, Y/N let out a quiet sigh. There was unimaginable weight behind the sound. 

“We’re here.” 

“Where is ‘here’?” Zuko asked tentatively. But then he made the fire in his hand bigger and brighter, and his breath caught in his throat. 

“...Hi, Dad,” she said softly, her gaze focused on the headstone. “It’s me. Your little girl finally found her way back home.” 

“Y/N…” he murmured. 

“I’ve been wanting to come here for a long time, but I’ve never been able to,” she continued. “But you don’t have to worry anymore—the village is free. The Fire Nation is gone. And Mom is okay—she’s safe in Ba Sing Se, and after all of this is over, I’m going to find her again, and I’m going to take care of her. You don’t have to worry about us anymore.” Y/N chuckled. “I’m sure I’ve been driving you crazy with everything I’ve been doing lately. But you can rest in peace now.”  

“Are you sure you want me here?” he asked. “I— I don’t want to disturb you—” 

She shook her head, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “Stay. Please.” 

“...Okay,” he said. “Of course.” 

“This is Zuko,” she said, and she laughed a bit as he hesitantly waved. “He’s… he’s the most important person in my life.” 

His eyes widened a bit and he looked at her, but her only response was to wordlessly slip her hand into his. He didn’t hesitate to lace his fingers through hers. 

“We’ve been through a lot together, and I’ve… I’ve been really angry at him lately. And I thought it was good, righteous anger, but all it did was eat me up inside. I’ve been miserable because of it—I even lost my bending. But now… now, I understand.” 

She looked at Zuko now. His gaze hadn’t moved. 

“I love you,” she said, “and I mean that with everything in me. I’ve been so angry at you because of what you did that I haven’t let myself think about anything that you’ve done—and you’ve helped my friends so much since you joined them. You’ve helped me too, even when I claimed I didn’t need anyone.” 

“And all this time, I thought that letting you go was what I needed to do. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.” She tightened her grip on his hand—her lifeline. “I’ve lost so much in my life, Zuko, things that I can’t get back. And I’m not going to let myself lose you again.” 

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to Zuko’s lips, and he extinguished the fire in his hand as he immediately reciprocated it. It was impossibly soft, impossibly right. And Y/N knew then that this was exactly where she was supposed to be. 

“I love you too,” he murmured, and his eyes shone even in the darkness. “More than anything. And I’m so sorry that I ever made you think anything else.” 

She pulled away from the kiss to embrace him, and when his arms wrapped around her, it was like home. The constant twist in her chest, the constant weight she’d been carrying for months—it dissipated, and she felt lighter than ever. Spirits, it all felt so right. 

And when they pulled away, Y/N rested her head on Zuko’s chest. He responded by wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her in close. 

“Thank you for taking me here,” he said. “For trusting me enough with it.” 

“Thank you for never giving up on me,” she said. 

“Speaking of that…” Zuko said, and there was a slight lilt to his voice as he lit the fire in his hand again. “How about trying that bending again?” 

Y/N chuckled a bit as she looked at her hand, flexing her fingers the way she used to. She barely had to concentrate as she pulled moisture from the air, forming into an orb of water in the air. She wasn’t even shocked—she’d known, after they got here. It wasn’t anything concrete, just… a feeling. A feeling that order had returned. 

“It’s back,” he said, and the boyish surprise in his voice made her smile. 

“That it is.” 

Y/N formed it into a flower and then froze it, gingerly taking the stem in her fingers. She walked up to her father’s grave, running her fingers over the engravings. She wasn’t here when it was made, but she was so thankful it had been made. That her people had always been thinking of her and her family. 

GAN 

HUSBAND OF KURA, FATHER OF Y/N

48 AG-93 AG

WILL BE REMEMBERED FOR HIS LOVE AND HEROICS

It was bittersweet, but she was glad he had a spot here. He would always be remembered. 

She carefully placed the flower of ice against the headstone, lowering the temperature of her breath as she blew on it to preserve it longer. It would melt eventually, of course, but this wouldn’t be her last time here. Next time, there would be real flowers. 

“I love you, Dad,” she murmured, resting her head against the stone as she closed her eyes. “Forever and always.” She stayed there for a moment, and the gentle breeze that blew through the enclave was no coincidence. For the first time in a very, very long time, she felt peace inside. 

She stood back up with a sad smile, wiping at the tears before she turned to Zuko. “I’m ready.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Y/N nodded. “I am.” 

Zuko nodded too, and they started to walk together down the path. 

And when he offered his hand, she took it without hesitation. 

-

hope you enjoyed this mf emotional marathon of a chapter lmao im gonna go hibernate for a few months because jfc

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[louellaby]

FORGET-ME-NOT

REPLACED!MC AU

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

W A R N I N G

May contain bad grammar, limited vocabulary, and OOC characters. Please mind that English is not my first language, and it takes a lot of courage for me to post due to my anxiety and paranoia.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

taglist: @books-and-catears @owl778 @yourlocalgrass @kaiserkisser @hhurric4ne @amberheavendremurr @yu-ulda @bk-4-trash-fire

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER I | CHAPTER II | CHAPTER III | LOUE'S LETTER | CHAPTER IV | CHAPTER V | LOUE'S LETTER | CHAPTER VI | CHAPTER VII | CHAPTER VIII | CHAPTER IX | CHAPTER X | LOUE'S LETTER | EPILOGUE

E P I L O G U E

「 I'm Right Here! 」

"Y-You're not really going to k-k-k... m-me, are you? I know you won't...! Y-You are all a bunch of sweethearts, after all, and you're all just messing with me right now! Y-You can't do this to me...!"

"Have you forgotten, Lady Soley? They're demons. And with one command from me, you'd be gone."

In the Devildom, the lives of the demons continued on as usual. The streets were bustling with noise, the shops full of customers, the forests as quiet as they have ever been, and the servants of the castle were all busy preparing for an upcoming festival which should bring more cheer to the realm. But in that particular castle, a man sighed deeply as he eyed the paper that slowly crumpled in his grasp.

"That's the 16th sigh this minute, Lucifer," Diavolo lightly chuckled as he watched his friend with an apologetic look. The prince knew what Lucifer was extremely bothered with.

It had already been four weeks since school ended. Everyone should be on vacation, including Lucifer and Diavolo, but they couldn't stay away from this specific problem. Why? Because it was the case of their failed human exchange student, Soley Day, who was thought to have disappeared months ago during their trip. That's right, no one outside the group knew what really happened to her. It's all a big secret.

"What are we going to do about this, Diavolo?" Lucifer sighed once more before dropping the paper on the table and leaning back on his chair. He tried to soothe his headache by rubbing his temples, hanging his head to the back. "I'm supposed to be on a trip with my family, and you told me two months ago that you would handle this on your own."

"I know, I'm sorry, but I really need your help on this one. I thought I could handle it, but it turns out this is a bigger problem that we hoped for, considering everyone's wondering where Soley has disappeared to. It has become a huge headache."

"Yeah, I can feel that." Lucifer sat up straight again and looked at his friend. "Does the Celestial Realm have a problem with this as well?"

Diavolo shook his head, "No. For reasons unknown to me, they left this one alone. The only problem now lies in Soley's family."

"I see, so that's what's bothering you. Despite their title, they're still just humans, Diavolo. It would be easy to deceive them."

"... Do you really think that that's the only way left to go?" The prince got bothered by Lucifer's reason. He knew Lucifer was getting impatient that he'd suggest something like this, but... is that really what it has come to? Deceiving humans who he wanted to gain the trust of?

A lot of time has passed. Eventually, even Diavolo understood how irritable Lucifer has become, the more the paperwork kept piling on and on. And so, the Avatar of Pride was dismissed for the day.

"You know, it's rare for you to admit you want to spend time with your family," teased Diavolo, enjoying the sight of Lucifer's face turning red as the man got up from his seat.

"My family is important to me, Diavolo. Every single one of those seven; they're all important to me. That will never change." Lucifer left the room, hurrying back home where seven people were waiting in chaos for him to return.

"Family, huh..?"

"Mother! Father! I'm back!" A certain girl with light orange hair and lime green eyes exclaimed, excitedly running out of a limousine and rushing into the arms of her awaiting parents.

"Soley! Welcome home! We were so worried about you! So, so worried!"

"I told you you didn't have to worry so much. I'm fine and in one piece." The girl then looked towards the man who stood behind her parents. "Heath!" She ran past the couple and jumped into the man's arms; an action that surprised both the man and the couple, along with the other servants surrounding them.

It was the first time in a very long while that their young lady showed any closeness or emotion towards her butler. While most were happy about this unexpected development, some were suspicious. Nevertheless, everyone was happy with the events, and her parents were so proud of her.

Little did anyone know, a translucent figure with tears in her eyes was watching them up close.

"Mother! Father! Heath! That's not me! Everyone! Listen to me! I'm right here!"

Despite her constant shouting, her unbearable protests, her desperate efforts in making them notice her; not one of them reacted to her presence. Every time she tried to touch any of them, her hand went through their bodies as if they were made of air; but it was, in fact, her own figure that was the problem.

"Come, Soley, we prepared a party for your return. All of your friends are here, and they can't wait to see you!"

"Alright, I'm coming, but after the party, can we have our own time together? You know, as a family?"

Once again, everyone around them was taken aback. Even the invisible form of her, who cringed at the suggestion.

Everyone knew Soley wasn't one to spend time with her parents anymore. Not since she grew up and had her own friends that she called her family. Because of the surprise, Soley's parents hugged the girl with tears in their eyes. They were so happy to hear that their precious daughter wanted to be with them again that they didn't even question anything. The ghost just watched it happen; her claws digging into her arms and her biting her lip in frustration.

"How dare that fake steal all the attention meant for me... I refuse to take this!"

That day had been a difficult one for the young lady. She watched in pain as her impostor lived the life that was meant to be hers. She did her best trying to get just anyone to notice her. Most painfully, she watched as the fake walked through the halls of the place she called home, with the man she held closest to her heart.

"Heath, I have a question."

"Yes, my lady?"

The two of them were in Soley's room. Heath was helping the lady prepare for the grand party happening later that day.

"What would you do if someone confessed their romantic feelings for you?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. You're not doing this to me."

The butler dropped the brush he was holding, freezing in place as he locked eyes through the mirror with the girl in front of him. "I, uhm, I-I beg your pardon?"

"If someone confessed to you, what would you do?"

"Heath, don't answer that!"

The more the questions popped up, the wider Heath's eyes went. His brows furrowed. He suspected everything would've been a joke, but the look in Soley's eyes told him they weren't. And so, putting his heart on his sleeve, he opened his mouth in response.

"I suppose it would depend on my own feelings as well, my lady."

"What do you mean?"

"I will be happy and accept the confession of the person if I also feel the same way for them as they do for me."

"But if you don't, then..."

"Then, no, I'm afraid."

The lady sitting in front of the mirror removed her gaze from Heath and placed it on another. Soley's ghost gasped in surprise when she realised her impostor was staring directly at her, a smirk on her face forming before she opened her mouth and spoke to the butler again, her eyes not looking away from the spirit.

"What about me?"

"... my lady?"

Soley got off the chair and approached the butler, who stood still in confusion. She reached out and held both of his hands in hers, longingly staring at his eyes.

"What if I tell you, Heath, that I have feelings for you? Would you accept them?"

"My Lady, I—"

"Don't worry about your job, Heath. It's secure, and I'll keep it that way no matter your answer. I just want to know how you feel about me."

"No, please. Don't do this to me...! Y-You can't take Heath away from me, ple—"

"I..." The butler paused for a moment. And at that moment, all of his precious memories with his lady rushed through his head, displaying themselves one-by-one.

Heath stared into Soley's eyes just as she had hoped he would. His breathing quickened the more he realised the weight of the situation. But that was a moment he had always been waiting for. The moment he thought would never come. Not even in a million years.

"... I love you, Soley."

"What do you suppose happened to Soley's soul up in the human world?"

"Everything went according to plan, Young Master. Lady Soley had seen her life taken away from her, including the one she felt romantic feelings for. She is currently on a breakdown as we speak."

"What about MC?"

"MC is doing better than before. Their bond with the brothers has deepened greatly."

"Good. Perfect. ..... It's time to find a new exchange student. This time, let's hope they won't be as troublesome as the previous one. And even if they are, we can count on MC to handle it."

"Of course, my Lord. I will prepare the papers."

The moment the Seven Rulers of the Underworld and their human master returned from their family vacation, they were met with stacks and stacks of papers with information about new candidates for the exchange program. As the prince and his butler expected, a tsunami of complaints and disagreements washed over them. After a long while of discussions, everyone agreed to close the exchange program temporarily until they could find the perfect students for it.

Little did they know, a human sorcerer was watching them from his crystal ball in the human world. The moment his deep blue eyes glowed, a piece of paper appeared in his hands. He studied its contents for a moment before placing it in an envelope, a smile appearing on his face as he held the letter out towards the white raven that rested on its perch.

"Deliver this to the prince of the Devildom. Tell him I'm interested in his so-called exchange program."

"Your wish is my command, Lord Ceowald."

「 LOUE'S LETTER | THE END.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Loue's Note:

Whether you've been here since the beginning, or you've just stumbled upon this story recently, I thank you so, so much for taking the time to read this! Thank you for the ones who supported me all the way (you know who you are) ! I'm really grateful for the wonderful reactions I've received! ♡♡♡

Forget-Me-Not has reached its end; but just as one story ends, another one begins. I hope you look forward to my next replaced mc au!

I give you lots of hugs and wish you the sweetest of dreams whenever you fall asleep.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[fever-fluff]

Home III

Part II , Part IV

Word Count: 1.2k (not proof read) The three begin their journey, the path becomes a little more steady for Azriel's companions. Who they've invited along becomes much clearer...

They had gathered again at dawn, Mor had sent word just before Aodhan had bid his goodnight and slipped into his own room. It seemed Azriel was eager to join their cause, but for whatever reason, she'd have to figure that out later.

Feeling the goodbye Azriel and Mor had shared sent something warm yet sad through her chest. From what Mor had shared, the two were close, and now having to part after only being reunited. She felt a small pang of guilt wash through her, but it was gone as quick as it came.

They'd set out not a moment after, her mare Cara taking off into a swift gallop, the muscles of her strong body straining around her legs. Cara had been her companion for years now, trusting her was like second nature as she felt the wind press to her face, the solidness beneath grounding her thoughts of her body being in free fall. Azriel and Aodhan flew in tandem, the beats of their wings in her ears let her know they flew above her. She laughed to herself remembering the shock in Azriel's voice as he'd seen her familiar, Brien, shift his form of a docile feline to one of a swift hawk, taking off in front of them all. Ever the noble one, making sure the way forward was clear of things she couldn't see.

"He enjoys putting on a show" she had said to him, his sound of agreement still full of wonder.

Although she'd barely spoken more than a few words to the male, his hands remained a steady thought in her mind. She'd expected some roughness to them, from what she'd gathered of his build with her breeze moments prior. He was steady, in every sense of the word. The gush of air had swirled around him easily, no snare from a twitch or slight movement. He had felt like a predator, unmoving, waiting for the right moment to pounce. The wings were the same, sure of the space they occupied, unyielding. His hands had been like nothing she'd ever touched before. The deep ridges, the smoothness that separated healed over wounds to the roughness of the little skin that remained. Fire had done this, hot scorching fire eons ago. It was a miracle he could feel anything at all in those hands. She'd never forget them, couldn't even if she tried.

The journey wouldn't take them long. Inderre was as close to North as you'd get before you reached Monteserre and Valhallan, both of which they'd avoid, slipping though the small strip of land in between the two borders, unclaimed, and they'd reach the passage for her home.

Samhain was a month and a half away, not much time at all really. She'd spent longer from it than she'd hoped, Aodhan had come to request her back not even a week ago, the chieftains restless for her return. She supposed it was natural, the unease. No one had ventured from the Islands in her almost seven hundred years of existence. But, times were changing, and the islands needed to change with it. They'd been apart from the world for too long, while they were safe now, she needed to ensure that lasted. It only took one wrong move and their hidden world could be deemed a threat to be eradicated.

Azriel's presence with them was a welcome one, to her at least. While Aodhan had been buzzing with energy beside her when they were first introduced, she had felt the disdain for the male roll off him in waves after that. She couldn't blame Azriel though, from what it seemed the male was out of his depth for once. Her eyes were always a sore subject for those around her. She could sense the stares, the questions lingering on their tongues. She had gotten used to it fairly quickly, with her winds filling in for the sense she lacked. They paved a new world for her, singing in her ear all she needed to know. Their voices filled in the rest of what the breeze could not tell her, and all Azriel breathed was solitude.

She could feel him now, pressing between the currents of air, parting waves invisible to everyone but her. His gaze strayed from the path ahead of him from time to time, and flitted to the top of her head, no doubt wondering if she'd slip from her saddle.

They'd stop for a day or two in between, and each time she told him of her home and the festival he'd been hurriedly invited to. "Samhain is a time of rebirth. We let go of what no longer serves us and welcome in the new. It marks the end of our farming season the the entry into the dark time of year." Azriel had set down the roasted meat he was eating as she explained. "We usually celebrate the most on the Eve of All Hallows, when the veil between our world and the next is at its weakest, and the ancestors of our home can watch over us, but it usually lasts for a week in all."

She heard Aodhan make some off handed comment about the more...debauched happenings during the time of year, and Azriel's loosened laugh following had her own chuckle coming forth.

They had fallen into a silence save for the crackle of the fire after that. Aodhan had deemed it time for him to wander, to which she'd reprimanded to not go far. While they were far off the beaten track, the woods didn't take kindly to rowdy intruders. Aodhan had waved her off but grabbed his hunting knife to stave the lecture on her tongue.

She faced the fire as she heard the last of his footsteps in the foliage soften to nothing, and felt Azriel turn from where he'd seen her son go off to her. "If you hadn't mentioned he was your son I would never have guessed"

She smiled, "he takes after his father more than anything." There it was again, that silence. But there was something more this time, something cold and silent and-

The first tendril snaked across the ground beside her closest to the male, slowly inching itself closer to her hand that propped her up as she leaned back. She didn't move, detected no malice or ill intent in its movements, but she still couldn't place exactly what it was.

It slowly creeped to her hand and that was when she felt another of the same being at her legs, moving to slide over her knees. She heard Azriel's intake of breath, and the almost silent swear under his breath.

"Are you going to explain what exactly has become interested in me?" she kept her voice even, but with his reaction she wasn't sure if she should have stayed in her position as long as she had.

They're my... shadows." At the mention of them, the wisps which had slowly encased her lower legs and her hand became slightly heavier, as if Azriel had given them permission to.

She huffed, lifting herself and her hand. The shadows followed the movement, and circled it still as she brought it up to her face. While she couldn't see, the natural movement usually eased the discomfort of those who could. "Hello little one."

It tightened slightly on her, nothing painful, more solid in its hold. At last she turned her head to Azriel, "and hello to you too, Shadowsinger."

Taglist @mis-lil-red , @justdreamstars , @florencemtrash

[carmarriage]

make you my home ☆ a solmates fanmix

if i could fly into the heavens, i'd rearrange the stars and see if maybe with a shift in planets, the fates could bring you next to me

i've just been thinking about them nonstop for the past couple months. they're so easy to mix for too. the parallels, your honor!!!!

fifteen tracks; listen in listed order and enjoy!

listen on 8tracks or spotify ☆ tracklist under the cut

i. this must be the place (talking heads cover) — miles fisher home is where i want to be, but i guess i'm already there / i come home, she lifted up her wings / guess that this must be the place!

ii. 7 stars — the apples in stereo seven stars in the sky, in the sky / you're feeling sociable / silver stars in your eyes, in your eye / you feel emotional / and you don't even know my name, and i know every constellation

iii. take me to you (feat. jake joyce) — mom's home asked me if i'm from around here, i said "no, far far away" / that was a long time ago, i wish i could stay in that day

iv. man on the moon — zella day i had a dream that the sun in the sky / was feeling so lonely, it started to cry / the rain on our window kept us inside / all of the morning and into the night

v. turn on the sunshine — suckers when these feelings arise, i'm turning on the sunshine / i could never describe, your lovin' is a goldmine / i'd like a little more time to spend inside your goldmine

vi. unseen girl — emily brown my love is holding out for an unseen girl / she's written in the stars, she's the end of the world / he waits for her to hold him in her golden arm / she knows the magic word that keeps him safe from harm

vii. ancient mars — the zolas several billion golden years ago, i lost a planet that i loved to the cold / civilization bloomed, and then it erodes, and that's it / oh, my ancient mars

viii. i was an island — john-allison weiss i was a fighter, and i was so brave / but i lowered my sword when you held me and swore you'd stay, stay, stay / oh.

ix. like the dawn — the oh hellos you were the brightest shade of sun i had ever seen / and your skin was gilded with the gold of the richest king / and like the dawn, you woke the world inside of me / you were the brightest shade of sun when i saw you

x. mountain on fire — zoey van goey i see his silhouette sitting on the rock at night, where stars should be instead / please come down, my fire-breathing monster / i will wait, wading in cold water

xi. venus — sleeping at last i was a billion little pieces 'til you pulled me into focus / astronomy in reverse; it was me who was discovered / and suddenly, i see you

xii. and the sun will shine only for us — lizard kisses after it's said and done, things will end just as they've begun / and you'll be my only one, you're as gold as the setting sun

xiii. i will — mitski i will take good care of you, i will take good care of you / everything you feel is good, if you would only let you / i will wash your hair at night and dry it off with care / i will see your body bare, and still i will live here

xiv. never look away — vienna teng let me uncover the silver in your dark hair, the weight of your bones / i want to witness the beauty of your repair, the shape you've grown / for you are made of nebulas and novas and night sky, oh / you're made of memories you bury or live by, oh, oh

xv. the sun and the moon — annalise emerick i used to be so scared, and i'd sing about terrible things / but you, you make it so easy; your love gave me my wings / 'cause you are the sun and i am the moon / you shine so bright and i like the night / baby, we fit together just right / you are the sun and i'll be your moon