#Weapon designs people still want made

[meownotgood]

also I'll keep my thoughts about this in the tags, don't look if you don't want any leaked information, but the video of viktor's chinese voice actor.... have any of you seen it......... because.......

[silkentine]

Me when they are the sisters ever: 😭😭😭 They came out soooo freaking well. I won’t lie, they took me a thousand years to finish but through the constant support from all of my buds (and my latent bisexuality), we made it 😤

Hopefully you guys know the deal by now: design choices, easter eggs, and (NEW!) closeup shots below the read more. ⬇️

I wanted Ace to have a very down-to-earth vibe and looked at Aussie beach-girls, coastal cowgirls, and vaqueras for reference. (IDK, I’ve just always envisioned Ace as part-Australian🌺 and Mexican 🏴‍☠️) Her clothing choices are mostly natural or utilitarian materials like the painted wooden beads on her top, her woven fabric and leather belts, and her denim jumpsuit. I gave her bikini top a zen-garden kind of feel because I read the first Ace’s Story Novel and I loved how idyllic and peaceful they made Sixis Island sound so I wanted to invoke that in some way.

Speaking of her painted wooden beads, they hang off the back of her top and represent her connection to Sabo and Luffy. They watch her back once she sets sail. She only wears one red glass bead earring because the other one got ripped out of her ear when a child, leaving her earlobe torn (don’t think about it too much 😢). Also, YES! she does wear a hibiscus flower just like Rouge (because I hate you and I want to make you cry, muhwahahahaha).

Also, I really wanted her to have super textured curly hair that licks behind her like flames. I am always considering whether or not a character should have long hair or not because I don’t want it to be a hindrance if they’re in a fight (or if they ARE a fighter with long hair, how to they avoid an enemy making use of that?). Ace is, of course, a Logia-type Devil Fruit User so I think she wouldn’t have trouble with people grabbing it LOL I get the feeling that she doesn’t take very good care of it even though it looks amazing. Like you’d think it would be soft and bouncy just by looking at it but if you ever get the chance to run your fingers through it, it’s a total rat’s nest and there’s sand and food all up in it. She still falls asleep while eating 😂 but she tries her best to only do it around people she can trust (woman moment 😔).

Honestly, her design is not that different from Ace’s canon look. It feels really vital to Ace’s character to have a lot of skin showing. And he’s always hanging all over himself with his hips all cocked like the weight of the world is too much to stand up straight. It is certainly not my OWN preference to make her an absolute smoke show. That’s just the character, okay? (I’m partially lying and the proof is that I turned the emblem on Ace’s hat strap into a sternum tattoo for no other reason than that it is sexy af.)

Here are some closeups of Ace:

Now for Sabo, I’ve made her very girly. I tried putting her in pants or something more militant but she told me that she’d wear the big poofy sleeves and hiked-up ruffled skirt. I think Sabo has always had a strong grasp on his fashion sense and individual flair and I truly believe that his personal style is one of the major influences for the rest of the Revolutionary Army resulting in the very flashy, queer, steampunk aesthetic (aside from Dragon’s plain-ass cloak). So of course I had to implement her nonconformist look when reimagining her as a woman and dress her up to the nines.

I’ve given her very ornate jewelry that is there to tell a story, even if she herself doesn’t know it. I like to think she picks up stuff from her travels that resonate with her, such as a damaged set of earrings with one stone missing or red cup-shaped shells featuring three nestled pearls. Another accessory that cannot go unmentioned is her dragon claw hat pin that keeps her top hat resting on top of her hair (and is definitely used as a weapon when the situation simply doesn’t call for trusty metal pipe). She also has a veil that obscures her prominent facial scar. I imagine she’s not very keen on the reminder of the incident from her childhood that took away her memories. I also kept her chipped toothed because 1) it’s fucking adorable and 2) is a visual reminder that she no longer aligns herself with the nobility who would have gotten such a thing fixed. She is so poised in almost every outward facet of her life from her dignified role as the Chief of Staff to the elegant materials in her clothing that it can be easy to forget she was also a rough and tumble forest dweller. Every time Koala remembers this, he lets out the biggest sigh.

Her hair is inspired by Gibson Girls and Elizabeth Swann from the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I wanted it to be fussy and tidy but fall apart when she’s in moments of distress. For example, when she remembers her sisters, her hair starts to look like Ace’s flaming mane. I’m so in love with her, I think she looks like an adorable little porcelain doll that would fuck you up. I made an effort to keep her eyes a little bit manic. I get lost in her steely black orbs (and also Ace’s warm brown ones, but we’re talking about Sabo rn).

Here are her close-ups:

Plot notes for this AU:

For this series of character designs, I wanted the expressions and outfits to be aligned with the canon plot but I don’t know if I have the heart to kill fem!Ace in my AU. I’m too attached and ASL has suffered enough!!!!! But Ace’s death is also a major defining moment for Luffy so it feels disingenuous to completely avoid it. Also a huge aspect of Sabo’s character is carrying on Ace’s will and I have so many thoughts about how the Dressrosa Colosseum scene would play out if they were all women. Oh well, I’ll cross that tragic bridge when I get to it. I’m definitely going to draw some Modern AU Girl Piece ASL though. They deserve to hang out with no stakes 😭 They are sisters!!!

Check out the tag “girl piece” on my blog for my other One Piece genderbends! 🥰

[genericpuff]

I've been griping about the normalization of identity outing via social media for a while now. To put it simply, it's become almost some weird societal requirement that if you don't have every detail listed about yourself in your Twitter/FB/etc. bio, then it means you have "something to hide" or that you're not as "verifiable" because your account looks indistinct from that of a bot.

But that societal norm has really only benefited the people who profit off of that information in some way, whether it's through selling user data or through weaponizing details about a person against them.

I know that a lot of us love to use the fun little labels and acronyms in our bio that help others like us identify us as a 'safe person' or as someone who's in the same social/racial/identity groups as them. We're humans, we love to categorize things, it's in our nature (and it's fun!)

But if there's any time to start regulating that habit and challenging the norm that you're obligated to include all your personal info online - it's now.

There was a time when sock puppet accounts were expected and typical, not "suspicious".

There was a time when even age-sex-location was considered "too much information", but once it became the norm, we only EVER gave our personal information beyond generic ASL to people who we knew both online and in real life, or at the very least, people who we had known online for a significant enough amount of time that they had proved to be trustworthy (and even then, we didn't owe that information to anyone, ever; there are forum friends who I made online 10+ years ago and still talk to who do not know my personal information beyond broad strokes).

There was a time when simply being an avatar with a funny username was enough. And it still is enough, but massive platforms like Facebook and Twitter have been brainwashing us for years to believe that's not the case, under the guise of, "You wouldn't want to be dishonest, would you?" Through these same norms, we were led to believe that anime profile pictures are cringe, that having a fake online name is stupid, that the photos of you having fun at social events have to be taken JUST right otherwise you might imply to others that you're not actually having fun.

And considering how long these platforms have been around now, we have entire generations of children now who have been born and raised on that version of the ZuckMusk web, who have been taught that it "protects them" to express to everyone publicly their age, their school, their workplace, their family members, everything about themselves, because to not do so would be disingenuous.

None of this is to imply that the Internet was "safer" back in the day. I definitely should not have been on the Internet as much as I was when I was 13 in the late 2000's, it definitely did not benefit my brain development or my social skills. But the version of the Internet we currently exist in now is one that's been predicated on the false sense of security - the belief that if you're honest, everyone else has to be, too.

We've always had ways of identifying our safe people - by participating in the communities that we know are designed around our hobbies, our interests, our people. They might be small, they might not be as "cool" as the idea of netting yourself a big following of thousands of people, but they're also a lot safer and more genuine than that idealized following ever could be.

Don't feel pressured to include every bit of information about yourself in your bio. Even on Facebook, there's no rule that says you have to list your workplace, your school, your family members. There's no rule that says you have to list your personality type, queer labels, and neurodivergent disorders in your Twitter bio. There's no rule that you have to "prove" your life is real and fulfilled through the verification of photos, location tagging, and open-book sharing. If you share those photos, it should be because you genuinely want to share them, not because you feel some societal pressure to live up to others' expectations.

And I guarantee you, even your local mutuals on Facebook - your former classmates, family friends, distant relatives, coworkers, etc. - do not actually give that much of a damn about your personal life that they should be owed that much of a look into it on a daily basis. They've got their own shit going on, they literally do not need to know every detail about you.

I know it sounds scary. It also sounds kind of boring, when we've been used to a certain "way" of browsing and participating for years, that if we don't do so, it feels like being in the "out group" and that we're "breaking the rules". But I promise you, after spending over half my life online, those rules do not exist or benefit anyone who wouldn't profit off that information.

If you're wanting to learn how to branch off from major platforms like Facebook and Twitter and/or become more self-sufficient online, here are some guides to navigating the Internet like an old schooler that may help you!

FREE SITE BUILDER:

DIGITAL PIRACY 101:

(also in addition to everything mentioned here ^^^ they neglect to also mention Tor Browser which is a light and free-to-use browser software that allows you to browse anonymously; note that it's similar to a VPN in that it helps hide your identity online, HOWEVER it won't mask you from your ISP quite as effectively as a VPN, and if you sign into personal accounts with Tor, that's still going to obviously out you online lmao but I love using Tor for the odd time when I need to make a sock puppet for something and don't want it linked to my IP! and unlike a VPN, it's free to use!)

LEARN HOW TO USE RSS FEEDS:

People still use these! They're especially helpful for getting updates from your favorite pages and sites directly to your browser WITHOUT having to worry about stupid algorithm bullshit picking and choosing what you see. And many sites DO have RSS support once you know how to find it! (like adding in /rss at the end of a URL! Like this!)

FAKE EMAIL SERVICES:

LEARN HOW TO CODE IN HTML/CSS/JAVASCRIPT (AND MORE!):

DECENTRALIZED SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS:

I hope this helps arm you with some new knowledge in how to navigate the Internet like a Certified Old Person™️(like meeee!) Make your secret alt blogs for besties! Make your formal Facebook accounts that are clean of personal information and present the most neutral, safe-for-work version of yourself and keep the fun stuff to the secret profiles and chat groups that are just for you and friends/family/etc!! It might be "inconvenient" to have multiple accounts for the same purpose, but it's also INCREDIBLY freeing and can make your online experience both safer and more enjoyable.

Being "less" of yourself online does not make you any less you. It is your identity - you do not owe any amount of it to anyone beyond yourself. And in times like these, your identity is your greatest asset. Protect it.

[rayroseu]

You know what's sick as hell about the design of the Briar Senates??? It's that their design mirrors the weapon of the Draconias 😭✨

I know they're getting flak rn bcs they feel like "boomers who's against any progress because they value toxic tradition" but i don't really think they're like... entirely evil lol or the root of every bad thing that happened in Malleus'/Lilia's life (though im side eyeing them as one of the perpetrators still lol)

Tbh, removing them would also cause more harm (just some social issues inside the fae society tbh) than good imo, (I know many ppl say this bcs they think removing the Senates would make it possible for the peace between human and faes, but the thing is, the Senates aren't the only group that thinks this way, almost the entirety of Briar Valley does lol so forcibly removing them now would only come off as "Malleus forcing "human ideals" on the faes just because he has spent 4 years with the humans"(plus is the understanding between humans and faes truly achieved if you try to silence one group(even if that group is kinda disagreeable with anything human related lol), plus realistically the faes would trust their fellow faes first rather than some humans,

so for me, Briar Senates doesn't give off the vibe of toxic old people who drags others down in their toxic practices (while that can be an accurate description i feel like it generalizes too much about their behaviour), rather than that, Briar Senates feels more like thorns, like thorns that surrounds Briar Valley, they're not exactly harmful unless you go against them, but ultimately they're still protection for Briar Valley.

Which makes it fitting that their design has a similarity with the Draconia's weapon, they're the thorns that protects the Draconias, even if it means sheltering them.

And, tbh, if the Senates other job is to ensure Draconias lives, they're kinda doing a "decent job"??? If we can assume through Maleficia's (and Malleus' case), since we didnt hear about her leaving the Senate's side, she managed to survive for so long, unlike Meleanor😭 Also could explain why they're so enraged when Lilia arrived with the news that Meleanor died and why they hated the weak bcs what would weakness could protect JJDSJD Kinda wish their hatred against Lilia wasnt that he was a weak bat fae, but rather they doubled down on the fact he failed protecting Meleanor, imagine if Gen. Lilia wasnt as great in magic as the fae nobles were, yet he still managed to earn a position beside the Princess, all that hard work only to fail at the most crucial time, it wouldve make sense in the Senates' side to say, "Meleanor shouldnt have appointed him" (because "he's weak from the start")

oh additionally, this is just my assumption, bcs I felt like the way the Senates recoiled when Lilia hatched the egg was kinda... random?? so this is my made up reason lol Remember, the Senates were adamant that Maleficia should only be the one to hatch the egg because she's a Draconia, but Lilia did it and he's not a Draconia, What if because Lilia hatched the egg, it also affected the development of Malleus?? Like maybe for instance, it affected Malleus' lifespan, maybe he still lives more than one thousand years but he won't live for another thousand years like a pure Draconia because he's been hatched by Lilia as opposed to who they wanted it to be, which is Maleficia, OF COURSE Lilia hatching the egg is heaps better than Malleus dying before being born, but this is just my auto thoughts regarding the random hate reaction the Senates did when Lilia hatched Malleus lol

Interestingly, the placement of the stone of Draconia against the thorns (of the Senates) can also be hinted at their relationship with them??? In Meleanor's case, her stone is on top of the thorns, which may indicate that she's not under the Senate's commands or that its just telling she just lived distantly from the Senates, most importantly her stone is bigger than the thorns which may tell the fact that the Senates worships her because she's powerful and greater than them, and she's not someone who can be trapped/ordered around within the Senates. But, tragically, in Malleus' case, his stone is under the thorns, like its telling that he's under the Senates protection at all cost and his stone is little compared to Meleanor's because he's still young.

I also have a theory that the Senates are part of Briar Valley's land, like its been canonically said that they're the dead faes of Briarland, which makes think that their death is similar to the death of Conall from Maleficent 2, when Conall was buried, his body literally morphed to the land, which makes me think this is how the Senates used to be buried, when they die, they become one with the land, that's why you can't just remove them, when they are literally the Lands of Briar Valley,,,, get it lol

Though this is making me think that if this is the case then Maleficia's city,,, if the Senate's presence are the strongest there bcs that's where they're nearly buried, does that mean around Black Scale Castle is just lowkey a graveyard.... Is that why Halloween is special for Briar Valley bcs they have close ties/respect for the dead and Halloween is essentially about honoring the dead 😭✨

Off topic, but maybe the thorns part of the Draconia's staff may also tell about their age. Notice how Meleanor's staff has 3 twists which may tell that she's atleast 300~ years old, (if each twists signifies a century), while Malleus' staff only has one twist on its thorns which is accurate considering he's only 178 years old (one century).

If this is true, I'm kinda curious about Maleficia's staff... does that mean hers will be convered in thorns (she needs at least 7 twists (7 centuries~ and more) there on her staff 😭✨)

[warmilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 4

______________________

"why are they... Bedazzled?" Charles asks, looking at the mass of weapons ranging in designs

Some weapons look like they came straight off Genshin impact, while some look like (Name) just copied off weapon designs from deviant art

One weapon, a claymore, had intricate details on the blade, showing a story, a war, some caves and oceans, and a kingdom

"I got bored so I decided to carve the odyssey on the blade" you smile

They left you alone, in the forgery, for like 12 hours or something, came back to call you for dinner, and they see this

"I have ones, I made for myself, the others we can put in the armory-"

"Ehem, (Name)? May I have a moment with you?" Chiron, is this awesome centaur

When he first saw you he took you to the big house and healed your injuries

"Yes..?" You ask, did you do something wrong? Are unclaimed kids not allowed to stay in the territory of claimed kids? Technically this was a child of Hephaestus thing- but you were brought here? And-

"someone wants to speak with you" Chiron continues and you were snapped out your thoughts

"She is a daughter of Zeus, and I believe you know her already the last time I saw her was when she was a child, still staying on her home island, she is a trust worthy woman" he explained further

This doesn't calm your nerves, cause why, why does a child of Zeus want to see you?

Suddenly a familiar woman walks closer to you "Hey (Name), I was worried sick you know, you could have left a note"

"Diana!" You yell and run up to hug her

You love Diana, back when you were still a robin, and Batman bought you and Damian to meet the justice league

You were left alone in the corner while superman and Batman talked about Jon's and Damian's potential

The other members approached you, one of the reasons you loved being a vigilante was because of them, you had someone to talk to

Flash was like the funny uncle and green arrow was the uncle who tried to one up batman, they were all awesome, but you're favorite was Diana

She had this glow, not glow like green lantern- but this sense that you really mattered to her

____________________

"you're also a demigod?!" You exclaim in surprise, she nods while smiling

She holds your hand "I was thinking you were one too actually, but I didn't have enough proof, Bruce always said you were a target for mutants that's why you had to stop being a vigilante, but it's clear that those were actually monsters"

But then she went quiet "Why don't you come back (Name)? I'll explain everything to Bruce and I'm sure more precautions for your safety would be taken care of"

No it won't.

"D-diana... I don't want to return" you said meekly

"what... Why?"

"I- I'm not welcome back home... See Bruce and his kids- they don't think I'm special enough to stay in their family" you say

"... excuse me?" Diana's demeanor changed, like a cold air blowing over her

You shift and hesitate, but you decide to pull through, it was like a dam burst

Your tears blur your vision, as you go over every general and specific event that you felt unloved and unwanted

You weren't stupid, just because you never received love doesn't mean you don't know what it is, you could tell if someone didn't want you, because you've seen how they love

You've seen how Bruce got protective of his kids, how he cares about them in his own way, how the batsibs have their own dynamics, they claim to dislike each other yet are always by their side when needed

It was just never towards you.

You know what love what, and your relationship with those people, that wasn't love

It was indifference, you remember the first time Barbara talked to you is when you fought with Tim and she yelled at you backing her brother up

It wasn't too late, you could still receive what you've been craving for, but for sure you don't want it from the Wayne's

A few weeks after Damian appeared, his bullying towards you that has gotten worse by the day, you decided to retaliate

_______________________

(Name) Wayne 11 years old

Slap

Ouch, you thought

Jason Todd, the man who claimed Damian was a demon spawn, the man who picked on Damian jokingly

He slapped you for Damian

It was one of those rainy days in Gotham, you're in school, you were having a quiet day till the teacher called out your name

"(Name)! Two days to do the assignment and you passed nothing?! Don't make excuses child, your brother Damian was able to pass it"

You look up confused "But miss I did pass my work"

"where is it!?? Am I a special case of blind that I can see everyone's work but yours?!"

The laughs and Snickers of your classmates echo in the room

Damian had taken your work, and passed it as his

That fucker-

After school back in the mansion you lunge at him

"you spoiled asshole!" Unfortunately Jason was there, and the person who was usually a Damian hater became his apologist cause he went straight to help him

You explained what happened, of course you did, but even after knowing he stood his ground, he even told father and now you're punished

Isolation (as if you weren't isolated enough)

You could live like this, live every day without seeing them

Then it happened, Stephanie was in danger, well both of you were

It was one of Bruce's galas, the Wayne family was staying in a private room, and Harley Quinn broke in, laughing like a maniac, she grabbed the ones near her and which were you and Steph

On hostage both of you, Dick made a move to save Steph, he ran in her direction to try and pry Steph off Quinn's arms

Damian shot the Harley's leg, the one near Steph of course so she had a better chance of getting away

Once Steph was free, Cass hugged her

And then Tim, oh fucking tim

He used his electric staff to electrocute Harley, while she was still holding you

For a great detective he's quite an idiot.

That was it, he didn't even get in trouble with Bruce for that, they tied up Harley quietly and decided to proceed with the gala

Without you of course, come on, you're injured, why would you go with them?

It was like a switch flipped, after that not once have you ever tried to make them love you.

_________________________

"you can't make me go back there- Diana please!" You sob

She hugged you tight "I won't, I won't- I'll find a way to keep Bruce from finding you, I promise"

She kissed your forehead "For now... I want you to keep trying, make friends, if your parent claims you, you'll have new siblings"

"for now, be happy"

__________________________

Ivan Werner sat beside you, he was one of Hephaestus's kids that you made friends with earlier

Diana left a while ago and you were left trying to stop yourself from crying

"the conversation was that intense?" He hands you a handkerchief

You smile and accept "Yeah... It was- about my mortal family, they weren't really the best people"

"I hear that, my mother was a mad inventor who sold inventions that would self destruct to cause harm for the buyers" he says

Your brows furrowed at the implication Ivan's mom might be a villain

"hey- everyone has their past, that's why they end up here, I hope you find your place here in camp (Name), we really like you here"

KEOEOWHFVSBJAIEBD BE AKHRJEO WOSLAKDNDNNSKW

A flash of light appears before the both of you

You take your time trying to adjust your eyes, and you see the campers, Mr.D and Chiron there

"Out of everyone here!?!? You decide to- fraternize with a child of Hephaestus!?! I WONT ALLOW IT, you're too beautiful for him my darling!"

What the fuck?? Who is this extremely rude and gorgeous floating lady?

You haven't even registered the fact that now you're wearing a chitton, your hair has been decorated with pearls and small intricate gold flowers

A pink aura making you glow

"what's going on!?!?" You ask panicked

The beautiful gorgeous, ethereal, pretty, cute, hot, sexy, dashing, charming lady goes to the ground

"Hi dearest!" She smiles

You hear Chiron clear his throat "(Name) Wayne! Child of Aphrodite!"

_______________________

I had the godly parent chosen from the start acc, I wrote this fic with her in mind

A child of love without receiving any

Hope you like the chapter! :3

@nathaly36 @erikasurfer @jisnothere @bat1212 @sweetconnoisseurgardener @vanessa-boo

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story also available on WattPad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 0 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐀 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐨

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eight members of the Harbingers had gathered in the palace-like church. Inside, the air was so frigid that the nation's flags began to freeze, crackling under the intense cold. No candles lit the space; only the ethereal glow of the polar lights streaming through the stained-glass windows provided illumination.

A petite woman with long hair, her eyes concealed behind a delicate white lace mask, hums a familiar lullaby from her deceased friend as she leans against a casket. Her voice echoes softly in the frozen stillness.

The eight other Harbingers watched her from a distance, each wearing a similar coat of identical design. By order of Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, all Harbingers were required to attend the funeral, even the elusive 0th Harbinger.

The 0th Harbinger, code name: Innamorati — The Lovers;

A figure shrouded in mystery and danger, Innamorati remained an enigma even to her fellow Harbingers.

Known only by whispers and rumors, she was a being crafted by the Cryo Archon herself, a weapon designed to challenge the Celestial Gods. Hidden away for years, her existence was the subject of much speculation.

Some Harbingers were indifferent, focusing solely on the success of their plans, while others were intensely curious. Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, claimed to know nothing about her, adding to her mystique.

Rumors abounded: some said Innamorati would annihilate anyone who crossed her path; others believed she had perished decades ago, her legend merely a shadow from the past.

What they all knew for certain was that Innamorati had a notorious reputation for forgetting critical missions assigned by Tsaritsa herself. This unreliability made her both feared and ridiculed within their ranks.

"We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade," an old dwarf with a long nose and mustache solemnly broke the deafening silence. "In honor of her sacrifice, all work shall halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing."

"Hehe, merely half a day...?" Pantalone laughed coldly, crossing his hands in front of his chest with a mocking smile. "People say the Northland Bank's true currencies are blood and tears... But mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable."

"Rosalyne died in a foreign land," Arlecchino stepped forward, her crimson red X-cross pupils glowing dangerously bright with annoyance. "But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries always find a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland..." She frowned. "You couldn't hope to understand, so why don't you keep your mouth shut?! We don't want to make the children cry."

"Hey, c'mon now, even I don't think this is the right time or place for a fight," Childe chipped in, lazily sitting on one of the wooden benches.

"Utterly risible!" Sandrone mocked, and the machine behind her emitted an audible angry sound.

"Though her methods tarnished her honor, Lohefalter's sacrifice is a great pity. Her loss shall not hinder our progress," Capitano's deep voice resonated through the entire palace, catching everyone's attention.

He turned towards the Doctor, his face hidden behind a dark veil. "But Dottore... What of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma?"

Dottore smiled, twirling a tube filled with blue liquid between his fingers. "Conventional wisdom holds that Divine Knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended. After conquering the Divine Gaze, he will make his next move."

The heavy, frozen church door creaked open, allowing the bitter winter air to sweep inside. Everyone turned their gaze towards it, even Columbina, who had paused her humming. 

A woman, clad in a coat of the same design as theirs, stepped into the church, holding a red paper umbrella. The door closed behind her with a resounding bang. The click of her heels on the marble floor echoed through the hall, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room.

Her face remained obscured by shadows, yet every person in the room knew instinctively that she was not someone to be trifled with. 

The sense of her power and presence was palpable, a mutual understanding among them all. To cross her would be to invite disaster.

This was Innamorati, the 0th Harbinger, a figure shrouded in mystery and danger, whose very presence commanded respect and fear.

As she advanced, the air seemed to grow even colder, the weight of her presence adding to the already frigid atmosphere. Each step she took resonated with authority, and the silence in the room deepened, a silent acknowledgment of her status among them.

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Finally, you found your way to the place where the funeral was to be held. You hadn't thought you would make it in time, given the ferocity of the snowstorm that had nearly obscured your path and made the journey treacherous.

Your heels clicked sharply with each step as you approached the group of people gathered at the center, where the casket lay. You set your red paper umbrella on one of the wooden benches, the action deliberate and unhurried. 

As the shadow over your face disappeared, the polar light from the stained-glass windows illuminated your features.

With the shadow gone, the collective breath of the eight Harbingers halted involuntarily.

Your beauty was striking: peach-colored, plump lips; long, dark eyelashes framing eyes that seemed to hold the very essence of winter. Your skin was pale and flawless, with a cold radiance that mirrored the icy surroundings. Your presence was both ethereal and commanding, a juxtaposition of delicate grace and chilling power.

You stopped a few steps before the group of Harbingers—your comrades—and looked up at them. 

"0th Harbinger, Innamorati... That is what they call me. You may call me whatever you wish," you introduced yourself, your voice ethereal and soft, yet so cold and lifeless it sent shivers down their spines. "This must be the first time we meet."

"You are quite late, Lord Innamorati," Pulcinella, the old dwarf, addressed you with a mix of respect and caution.

After all, The top-ranked Harbingers, from rank 1 to No. 3, possess powers that can rival the gods. So what about No. 0? Could she surpass the powers of the gods? Or even be greater?

You let out an annoyed sigh. "All the snow-covered streets look the same, and the blizzard did not make navigating to this gathering any easier."

Pantalone chuckled, turning towards you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"If I had known, I would have taken you with me in my carriage, Lady Innamorati. Alas, I am left to wonder why there were no escorts ready for you. I thought I had ordered the highest-ranked Skirmishers for your protection." His voice was dangerously smooth, laden with speculation, hinting at the rumors of you annihilating anyone who crossed your path.

Before you could respond, Childe interjected from the side. "Huh? The oh-so-feared Innamorati getting lost in a mere snowstorm? This is truly a sight to behold." His tone dripped with mockery. 

"Were you also getting lost on the way to your missions?" His voice carried an angry undertone, bitterness seeping through his words. 

He had often been the one to hurriedly take on your missions at the last minute, running from one nation to another like a lackey. The mission to obtain the Geo Archon's Gnosis had been assigned to you, not him, nor the now-deceased Signora. In the end, he had faced severe repercussions after the Northland Bank had to pay heavy reparations.

If gazes could kill, Childe would have been long dead under Pantalone's icy stare. Though his slight smile remained, his eyes closed behind his glasses, he radiated a murderous aura. He longed to hear your voice again and to capture your attention. Such a rare opportunity shouldn't be wasted.

"Insolent child! How dare you—!" Sandrone hissed at Childe, her anger palpable. She, too, feared inciting your wrath. If Childe weren't a fellow Harbinger, Sandrone would have killed him long ago for destroying her ruin guard factory.

"It's time to end tonight's foolish theatrics." 

A deep, husky voice resonated through the church, cutting through the cold silence like a blade.

The man stepped forward from the shadows, his right side concealed by a dark mask. It was Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, and his presence commanded instant respect.

His voice, cold and demanding, echoed with authority as he advanced towards the casket.

"Right now, you have no captive audience," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Harbingers and guests, silently commanding them to gather and pay heed.

You stood on the opposite side of Pierro, your own presence a stark contrast to his imposing figure.

"Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and let this nation endure for all time," Pierro intoned, his voice carrying the weight of solemn duty.

The assembly lowered their heads in reverence, eyes closing as he delivered the farewell speech. Your hand drifted absently towards your Divine Key, a subconscious gesture.

"In the name of Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa," Pierro continued, his voice imbued with a steely resolve, "we will seize authority from the gods."

After several minutes of mournful meditation, Pierro broke the silence and left the building, his movements purposeful and commanding.

The others followed in silent procession, a testament to their respect and shared grief. You took your red paper umbrella, closing your eyes briefly before stepping into the freezing, snow-covered landscape.

"Absolute peace."

As you all departed, the church behind you began to freeze over, layers of crystal ice encasing it under the unyielding winter sky, which shimmered with the ethereal glow of the aurora.

"Such is the gift from the Tsaritsa, such is Her Majesty's benevolence," Pierro declared, his voice carrying a chilling reverence as he halted and gazed up at the celestial lights.

"Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice. But, Rosalyne, I promise you..."

"Your final resting place will be the entirety of the Old World," Pierro's voice echoed through the night sky, his farewell imbued with a cold resolve that matched the frozen land around you.

As you watched the polar light dancing across the vast darkness of the sky, a thought surfaced in your mind. You had never known this person, but you had made a promise to someone...

You halted in your steps and glanced back at the frozen church.

Some tasks have to be done, even if they seem pointless.

Amidst the snow, you caught a glimpse of shadowy hands emerging from the icy landscape, reaching out towards the sky one by one, as if seeking transcendence. As you blinked, everything returned to normal.

"Another Memory..."

"Lady Innamorati, is something the matter?" Pierro's voice broke through your reverie as he noticed you staring back at the frozen church.

"...meaningless," you whispered to yourself, yet the faint wind carried your words to Pierro. 

"Pardon?" Pierro asked again, this time capturing the attention of some of the other Harbingers, especially Dottore. The Doctor, ever curious, considered whether you might make an intriguing subject for his experiments.

"It's nothing. Continue without me. I wish to be alone," you ordered, your voice light as silk yet cold as ice. Pierro nodded, casting one last glance at you before leaving. 

Dottore lingered a moment longer, watching you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. As he did, the falling snow seemed to halt and move backward, defying the natural order.

"Existence is fleeting as the dawn's dew," your voice echoed in a dimension separate from the real world, where time had ceased.

Dottore's breath caught as he watched you, disbelief etched across his features. His analytical mind struggled to comprehend the anomaly unfolding before him.

"Yet, I guide the wandering souls on the still waters of oblivion..."

The dimension around you cracked like glass, shattering as you began to walk towards the church.

"...and weep for the departed."

A powerful gust of wind struck Dottore, and in that moment, he perceived everything yet nothing. The world seemed meaningless and empty. He felt his body ascending, his soul slipping away...

"Don't look back..." Your ethereal voice called to him, a beacon of light in the encroaching darkness.

He felt a pull from behind, "Move forward," you whispered. In the next instant, he stood where Pierro had asked if you were alright moments before.

Dottore's breath hitched, his cold heart pounding faster than ever. This was neither a dream nor an illusion. He knew this with certainty. What had just happened? The question echoed in his mind, a mystery as deep as the winter night itself.

One thing was certain: he had unmistakably felt the presence of the Almighty One—the Divine Creator.

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[linkspooky]

The Next Gojo Satoru

As you've probably guessed I have a lot to say about this chapter. However, right away I want to start out by pointing out once again that the fandom is taking a mostly gojo-centric view of this chapter. Which I understand it's Gojo's body that's being puppeteered around and dehumanized in the exact same way that Kenjaku one of the sickest and most inhuman characters used Geto's body.

However I think it shouldn't be understated how shocking it is to see Yuta betray all of his values like this. The most human character who represents love in the cast has given up on the cast and betrayed someone he loves. So let's talk about what this all means for Yuta under the cut.

GOJO GETS AN F IN TEACHING.

I understand why most of the focus is on Gojo, because yes Gojo's body is the one being violated here. He's not even allowed to rest in death after fighting on the front lines against Sukuna to the point where his brain was hemmoraging in the middle of battle and he was brutally cut in half.

Considering how much horror Gojo experienced when he saw Geto's body taken from him and made into Kenjaku's pupet. Cosidering the horrible pain that Nanako and Mimiko endured just seeing Geto's body still moving around denied a good death (Nanako and Mimiko were tellingly willing to let go and not try to take revenge against Gojo for killing Geto because of their friendship even though Geto was their whole world, but they'd never forgive Kenjaku for taking his body). Considering that Gojo even went out of his way to say he wanted to kill Kenjaku / Geto on Christmas Eve again in order to give him a proper burial it's understandable how horrifying this update is.

This is also a series where the two main antagonists are parasites who take the bodies, and steal away all bodily autonomy from characters like Yuji and Megumi and then force them to do horrible things they would never do and bear witness to it, such as the slaughter at Shibuya, or the murder of Tsumiki at Megkuna's hands.

It's understandable how people had such a visceral reaction to this chapter. However, I think the fandom has a tendency to paint Gojo like he's the central victim of all of Jujutsu Society when he's both victim and perpetrator.

Gojo is someone who has only been regarded as the strongest his entire life, and been used as a tool to keep Jujutsu Society stable his entire life. Gojo is also someone who never tried to be anything other than the strongest, never tried to empathize with anyone other than those who were just as strong as he is, and who raised all of his students to be tools too.

To illustrate my point here's an incredibly similiar character from Tokyo Ghoul: Arima Kishou. They are so similiar that they're both white haired mentor characters to the protagonist, they're both the strogest in their respective worlds, and Gege straight up copied this section of panels from the Tokyo Ghoul Manga.

Arima is a breeding project, who was bred by the Washuu Family who mxies blood between humans and ghouls through a series of controlled marriages for the purpose of creating hybrid ghoul human children. Arima isn't the ideal hybrid they were looking for, but he was so ungodly talented he quickly rose to being the most powerful and well-respected investigator in the CCG.

However, this is how Arima reacts to the fact that his entire purpose in life was just to be a weapon to kill ghouls.

Arima loathes violence, he loathes being an investigator, he loathes himself most of all and designs his entire political revolution around him finally being killed by Kaneki - to punish himself and also to relieve himself of the burden of living a life where he was only meat to kill others.

Gojo on the other hand loves being the strongest, he lives for Jujutsu. Arima's death is tragic and nihilistic believing his life had no real worth because all he ever was was a weapon to hurt others, whereas Gojo died satisfied.

Arima's last battle against Kaneki is grim, silent, and tragic, he does everything he can to make Kaneki despise him, to force Kaneki to kill him by being the worst version of himself and when Kaneki still wants him to live he just slits his own throat because even if Kaneki forgives him he can't forgive himself. Gojo laughs his head off and has the time of his life fighting against Sukuna, and going out in a blaze of glory.

Gojo dies smiling, Arima dies finally breaking into tears after a life of pretedig to be cold and emotionless. Gojo's dying regret is 1) that Geto wasn't there to say goodbye to him, and 2) that he wasn't able to draw out all of Sukuna's strength. Arima's dying regret was all the pain and suffering he caused throughout his life and how he was never able to rise above his circumstances and be anything other than what he was born to be.

These two characters are incredibly similiar, they are both the strongest, and they were both made into tools by a dehumanizing system they were born into. However, their attitudes are entirely different. Gojo enjoys being strong, and yes part of it is that Gojo himself doesn't realize he's a victim or what society has groomed him into becoming, but the other part is just because it's an ego trip for him. Gojo doesn't see himself as the tragic victim his fandom makes him out to be.

If you were to transplant him into Tokyo Ghoul Gojo would be happily killing ghouls, and he would think killing ghouls is fun because he's the strongest and best at killing ghouls. This is the complexity that is Satoru Gojo, he has been dehumanized and put on a pedestal his ow life, but Gojo also enjoys being on that pedestal and won't ever step down from it willingly.

I'm not saying that Arima is a better person than Gojo. I think the fact that Gojo doesn't think of himself as a victim is tragic in its own right, because he lacks the self-awareness to actually grow and change as a person. In the end both Arima and Gojo believe they couldn't be anything better than what they were, and their only release is death which is just insanely sad to me because as long as the future exists people always have a chance to get better no matter who they are. To give up on the future, to see an early death as a good thing simply because you can't endure life any longer is one of the most hopeless things imaginable.

Gojo's not sad because he was born to be a tool exploited for society's benefit, he's sad because he was lonely. He doesn't even realize it's his own darn fault he's lonely, because not only has Shoko said that he's not alone she's always been right there, but this chapter we get a repeat of Gojo's students begging him to let them in and Gojo himself decided to draw that line between himself and others and thinking an enlightened, godlike being like himself can't possibly be understood.

All of this to say I think Gojo is the sole victim here, but he's the middle of a chain of of victimhood. I think ultimately the biggest victim here is Yuta, and yes I will not only play trauma olympics here I'm going to win.

If this chapter goes to show anything it's that Gojo has completely failed in his ideals of protecting the youth from the dehumanizing system of sorcerers that takes children and reduces them to cogs in a machine.

A lot of people criticize Jujutsu Kaisen for dropping basically all of its political elements and themes of reform in the second half after Shibuya, and while I understand the criticism I think Gege intentionally shifted away from politics because Gojo's political revolution was never going to succeed.

From the beginning Gojo's solution to reforming Jujutsu Society and it's habit of taking away the youth of children and raising them up instead as child soldiers is... to make stronger child soldiers.

This is Gojo's blindspot and it has always been Gojo's blindspot.

It's why Gojo is completely okay with someone like Mei Mei who at the best uses her brother as a human shield to get out of curse domains and has stolen his entire childhood away to make him own pet little shoulder, and at worst actively molests him.

It's why Gojo is stated in the databooks to have only taken an interest in Megumi and Yuta because they were strong.

Gojo understands that he's being exploited by Jujutsu Society, but doesn't understand you need to deconstruct unfair systems of power and exploitation in order to build something better. Gojo from the beginning only had one plan, and that was to replace the people at the top with his own allies who'd support his agenda. He just thought waiting for them to die out and the children to grow up was the more peaceful way of doing it.

Gojo's political revolution was doomed from the beginning and that's why we see him go back on his word this chapter and just slaughter everyone at the top. His choice of a new leader for Jujutsu Society is hardly better than the elders, the person who executed Gojo's teacher and tried to get all the children to kill Itadori early on. Good choice.

This is what Gojo said would happen though, if he just wiped everyone out at the top no real systemic change would occur because they'd just be replaced with someone who wasn't that differet. Gojo's just given up on the notion of lasting change out of pragmatism.

Which is why Gojo himself is not that different from the elders in the first place, not because he's a bad person but because he was shaped by that same society and he's the pinnacle of that society.

I think the thing is and this point often gets ignored - a lot of the choices the elders make are because of outdated traditions like choosing to oppress Maki and Toji just because they challenge the traditional notions of cursed energy.

However, some of the decisions they make are out of cold hard pragmatism. Gakuganji actually turned out to be right in his assassiation attempt against Yuji Itadori. If they had succesfully killed Yuji, then the massacre in Shibuya would have been prevented and likely Kenjaku's plans would have been pushed back. The elders didn't sentence Yuta to execution just to be cruel, or just because they're superstitious but because he's already had several incidents of nearly killing people because he can't control Rika.

It's easy to dismiss the Elders as evil because they're just faceless entities, but then we witness in this very same chapter the main characters making the same heartless decisions out of the same sense of pragmatism.

Gojo understands Jujutsu Society is flawed, but doesn't understand exactly why it's wrong. He doesn't raise his students to be independent free thinkers because then they might question him, he raises them to be very powerful because that's more pragmatic.

Here are the next generation of sorcerers who are going to bring about the change to Jujutsu Society that Gojo so desperately seeks.

Nobara Kugisaki: Dead

Hakari Kinji: His greatest ambition is to start a fight club

Yuji: Actively calls himself a mindless cog and just wants to kill whatever society points him at and tells him to kill.

Maki: Mass murderer.

Yuta: Just stole Gojo's body and said he had to become a monster i Gojo's place.

Megumi: Begging to be killed.

Inumaki: Tuna Mayo

Panda: Is a Panda

(Joke lovingly ripped off from @kaibutsushidousha)

I understand that fighting Sukuna takes precedence now, but do you think once the dust settles any of these characters are going to do anything to make lasting change?

Are we going to see anything for them at the end of the road other than a mountain of their fellow sorcerers corpses?

Gojo didn't nurture his students to grow into healthy adults, he raised them into stronger child soldiers and yes that's the pragmatic thing to do to help them survive in the Jujutsu World, but the elders make those decisions out of cold pragmatism as well.

MHA is also showing a story where the children are failing to learn from the previous generatio's mistakes, but it's far less frustrating to watch in JJK because it almost seems like that's the point?

Maki sacrificed Mai for the sake of becoming someone strong enough to reform the Zen'in Clan, only for her sister to die and Maki to slaughter the rest of her family failing in both her goals to reform her clan and protect Mai.

Yuji became the host of Sukuna in order to help others, because the total deaths of people in the world would go down if he ate all the fingers. Not only did that decision lead to the death of thousands in Shibuya, but he's even lost his role of being Sukuna's host to Megumi.

Yuta wanted to find a reason to live and a purpose in protecting his friends, and also wanted to pay back the man who saved him, not only is Yuta choosing to die in a way that breaks his friends heart he's also violating his beloved teacher's bodies.

There's a lot of arcs like this where characters fail in what they set out to accomplish, because like in most tragedies they don't try to grow as people they only care about getting stronger. It's the same choice over ad over again, a decision made of cold pragmatism that brings about their tragic ending.

I think it speaks to why systems like this perpetuate themselves, because it becomes so hard to hold onto your humanity that even trying gets you actively punished all the while people like Mei Mei crawl to the top. However, even if you throw your humanity away purely as an act of survival you're still helping perpetuate that system instead of fighting against it.

Anyway, that's enough hating on Gojo, onto the main event.

THE NEXT GOJO SATORU.

It's almost masterful how perfect the foreshadowing for this chapter's twist was. Yuta sharing a common ancestor in Sugawara with Gojo.

The irony that Kenjaku said out loud that someone like Yuta could never become Gojo, on top of the fact that Yuta's true power comes from detaining his loved ones soul. He's turning Gojo's body into a weapon the same way that he once used Rika's vengeful cursed spirit as one (he even channels her strength into a sword, the same way Maki uses the sword that Mai gave her life to create in battle).

The way that Yuji's first impression of Yuta from his powerful presence and cursed energy alone was calling him someone even creepier than Gojo.

The idea that Kenjaku has been trying to get his hands on the six-eyes for years, which is what led most of the fandom to theorize a possible Kenjaku return by stealing Gojo's corpse. The fact Tengen said the six eyes, himself and the star plasma vessel are all connected and one time Kenjaku killed the six-eyes from a child only for another one to appear right away.

Yuta being told he could never reach Sukuna's heights because he lacks the selfishness of a calamity.

Even Yuta trying to tell a nameless assassin Uro to be less selfish, only to be chastised by her for not understanding because it's impossible for someone as blessed as he is to know what it's like to not have a name, to not have a face, to not be someone important.

Now here Yuta is, not only is he making the selfish decision to use his teacher's body as a tool, he's also most likely in five minutes going to die in someone else's body, having sacrificed not only his name, and face, but also his personal values in order to become a monster.

This arc makes it seem like Yuta's gone against everything he's stood for, making his arc a complete circle from Jujutsu Kaisen Zero and that's kind of the point. Heck, even something as small as Yuta's decision to show mercy to Ishigori was rendered pointless because Sukuna immediately killed him soon after taking Megumi's body.

If Yuta's regressed in his character it's because Gojo's purpose was not to raise these children into healthy adults, but strong soldiers.

What happened to Yuta is a direct consequence of the way Gojo recruits these children, and the underhanded motivations he has behind those recruitments.

Yuta's decision to take Gojo's body is more tragic on Yuta's part then it is on Gojo's, because Yuta is a child, and Gojo is an adult.

It is sad that Gojo is all alone, that he's forced to become a tool to society, but Yuta shouldn't be the one who feels responsible for that. Gojo is supposed to protect Yuta, he's the adult, the teacher, the one with power and Yuta is the child. Yuta is not the one who should be making this speech because it is not Yuta's responsibility to do any of this - but Yuta thinks it is because he owes Gojo.

However, when Gojo recruits people it's with the unspoken implication that they now owe him. He wants them to feel indebted, because then they'll be easier to use as pieces in his intended political revolution. We see this blatantly with the way he recruited Megumi.

I'll make sure you and your sister don't starve but you owe me in the form of labor later on in your life.

Gojo saved Yuta because he thought Rika was powerful and the elders were foolish for executing a potentially powerful sorcerer for THE GREATER GOOD instead of teaching him to control his power out of fear. Gojo recruited Yuji, because someone with Sukuna's power and who could eat his fingers as a vessel had the makings to be an incredibly powerful sorcerer. Gojo didn't even think of Megumi until after Geto defected, and Gojo decided he needed to start making changes to Jujutsu Society.

While Gojo's pragmatism is understandable to a point it also poisons his more nobler intentions. Since Gojo expects payment in return when he sticks his neck out for people, because these children are assets first and children secod.

I think Gojo likes Yuta. I think he gets along with him well. Yuta clearly respects him as a mentor. He did in fact go to great lengths to save Yuta from execution. He was right that it was more ethical to teach Yuta to control his powers rather than execute him for the danger he might represet. He even gives Yuta emotional advice a couple of times.

However, if Yuta was just like a grade 4 sorcerer with no special talent I doubt Gojo would have blinked at his execution. He sees Yuta for his talent first, and his potential to become someone like him. If anythig there are clear comparisons to both Megumi and Yuta. They're both prodigies born with incredible techniques, but Yuta is a lot more receptive to Gojo's grooming than Megumi is who's too traumatized to function. Gojo's not just grooming Yuta into being a powerful sorcerer, but another version of himself.

So it's almost karmic that not only does Yuta basically turn his back on everything that makes Yuta himself (his love for people, his desire to live and be surrounded by others), he also does so by literally becoming Satoru Gojo and transplanting his brain into Gojo's body.

Because Yuta is despite possessing a similiar level of talent as far from Gojo as possible. Gojo is not well liked by his comrades, he's there because he's needed due to his power. Yuta on the other hand has everyone vehemently disagreeing with his backup plan in the event of Gojo's death because they don't want to lose him.

People need Gojo, they want Yuta because of the connections that Yuta has made with them and because they care about Yuta as a person. Gojo is someone who deliberately draws a line between himself and others because he believes the strongest can't be comprehended, Yuta only fights for the sake of being accepted by others because he needs their approval in order to live.

Yuta's now turned his back on those two things, his tendency to put his loved ones first, and his desire to live, both because he feels he owes Gojo.

This comes about because of two factors, number one Gojo helping him with the implication that this help means that Yuta owes him something which makes Yuta desperate to pay him back and therfore easy to mold, and number two Gojo's intentions to begin with to take Yuta and make another Gojo out of him. To make a successor who would carry on the same burdens that Gojo did.

Gojo succeeded one hundred percent in making his successor as opposed to Megumi who turned out to be too different from Gojo i the end. He took what make Yuta unique and ironed out all those wrinkles until he was left with someone willing to make the same inhumane, pragmatic decisions that Gojo was.

I think it's tragic that as much as Gojo wanted to make things better for the next generation, he basically led Yuta down the same road he did, to make the same choice to throw his humanity away along with all of his loved ones. Especially since Yuta started out in such a different place.

Yuta has learned to become selfish like Gojo, because selfishness is apparently now the only way to get by in this world. A cycle that has been started with the elders, and continued on with Gojo, remains unbroken as Yuta becomes just another link in the chain. Yuta's likely going to die in a stranger's body, leaving all of his friends behind to mourn him, but even if he lives what life will that be exactly?

It speaks to the arcs in Jujutsu Kaisen that they're all kind of circles at this point. We have this heartwarming goodbye of Rika telling Yuta to live, and Yuta's whole arc was to learn to try to live without Rika and make new friends, but it's now likely goig to end with Yuta dying a year after Rika finally moved on.

Choso was told to try living on as a human and Yuki even sacrificed her life to give him the opportuity to escape the fight, and he only lived a month longer to die right in front of Yuji's eyes.

Gojo put all of his hope in the next generation, but now not only did he put all the power in Gakuganji's hands but he ended up dying a year after Geto did just like Yuta will likely die a year after Rika.

I think these character arcs are turning out to be circles because the characters aren't actually doing anything to try to break the cycles that they're trapped inside of - they're only trying to get stronger. Which is why they end up resembling the actions of the villains, Yuji becoming more curselike, Yuta stealing Gojo's body the way Kenjaku did with Geto's.

It reminds me of a quote from Critical Role that I absolutely adore.

“I have just taken an audience with the Raven Queen who has snuffed any hope of my redemption, for which I am truly grateful. With new clarity, I can finally see my life as a series of compounding, poor choices.” Vax winces. “There was nothing I could’ve done to save my family, yet I still sold my soul in search of vengeance. Later I allowed Ripley to leave, knowing full well she was a greater threat to the world than the Briarwoods would ever be. I traded the world’s safety for the belief that I could murder my way to peace; that if I could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back. And once this lie was shattered I scrambled to find asolution, to make a deal, to undo my mistakes and balance the scales. I nowunderstand that there are no scales, there is no redemption, and no ledger that judges me good or evil. I am free to simply be myself and live with the terrible mistakes I’ve made."

Especially this sentence: I believed I could murder my way to peace; that if I could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back.

Maki is a character that I have not found all that interesting in a while because she committed such a huge mass murder, only for it to have no consequences in the narrative and never be mentioned again, but this chapter she suddenly became an interesting character again.

Maki who lost everything but gained strength, doesn't seem all that bothered by the loss. People compare Megumi's reaction to losing Tsumiki to Maki's reaction to losing Mai, but Megumi's reaction is much more interesting because it's always better to see a character be weak and fall apart then to be strong and power through things.

However, maybe the reason Maki hasn't experienced any grief at all towards Mai and has instead delighted in her newfound strength and independence is because of this, because she still had Yuta.

Maki is a character who's not really said anything other than exposition the past like twenty chapters, but now she's the most vocally against Yuta sacrificing himself for the greater good. Yet this is against Maki's own ideology of doing everything you can to be stronger, to win. Maki was always about individualism, not about friendship or the bonds between others, she severed her own bonds to be free. Yet, she can't stand to see Yuta do the same thing as her, to become more like her.

This might be the consequence of Maki's continued choice to value freedom and the power to achieve that freedom over all else. Now, the one time Yuta is trying to throw away the same things that she threw away she can't say anything meaningful or convince him to stop him.

Which reminds painfully of this chapter as well.

Mai killing herself in order to free Maki from cursed energy is an obvious parallel to Sukuna devouring his own twin in the womb, but the difference is in this situation Maki didn't want Mai to go, she begged her not to. However, just like with Yuta there was nothing Maki could ahve said or done by that point to convince Mai to stay. Maki has always chosen power over her sister, she's always abandoned Mai, so what exactly can she say to convince her that she cares more about Mai more? That her dream of defeating the Zen'in and having revenge against them isn't worth the price if it comes at the sacrifice of Mai?

Maki didn't want to abandon Mai, or for Mai to sacrifice herself, but tragically her every action indicated otherwise. It all comes down to this: I believed I could murder my way to peace; that if I could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back.

Maki seems to have achieved peace by murdering the Zen'in, but we see the same kind of circular arc that we have for Yuta.

Maki gave up on everything for strength, but Maki's not strong enough to finish Sukuna then and there, forcing Yuta to sacrifice himself the same way Mai did.

Maki can't talk Yuta out of making that sacrifice, or come up with any convincing argument with why he shouldn't because of all the choices she's made before this.

Maki chose to murder her way to peace, but it came at the cost of her humanity and growth and thus she's faced again with the exact same situation with Mai and she's forced to watch her heart be taken from her again.

It goes to show that we think these characters are getting stronger but they're actually sacrificing something vitally important.

These characters are just going to keep going around in circles and you have to wonder just when is it going to stop?

[kyu-piddy]

The mark of a soulmate

Small drabbles about meeting your soulmate.

Gn reader x Silver, Rook, Trey, Sebek, Kalim

Tw: None

2.5k words

Soulmates. A strange concept to you, but not to the residents of this strange world. Will you find yours?

When you came through that mirror, to this strange place of Twisted wonderland, you could feel a sting on your wrist. A small pain, like a sting of a needle, and then it was gone. When you had looked down at it, you had seen an intricate design. Curious about it, you asked the headmage.

“That is the mark of a soulmate! My, are they not common where you’re from?”

You shook your head.

“Not to worry. I’ll explain it to you, for I am so kind.”

“That mark is proof that out there, there is someone who is your other half. Their soul and yours complements each other in a way that no one else can. Meeting them will make you love the world just because it has them in it. Some people have multiple soulmates, others have platonic soulmates, but the most common is a romantic soulmate, and looking from your mark, it seems you have a romantic soulmate, and they’re rather close by. The mark gets darker and more defined the closer you are to them.”

With so much information, you could feel your head spinning. A soulmate? Such a thing really existed in this strange world you had been thrust upon by a dark carriage? 

You stared at the headmage with a confused expression.

“Oh, you doubt me! How can you think that of your headmaster?”

You sighed.

“But how would I even know who my soulmate is?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“Feel it?”

The headmaster nodded.

“You’ll feel something pulling at your heart. Like a string.”

It all still felt like bogus to you, but who were you to deny his words? In a world filled with magic and talking animals, soulmates wasn’t such a strange concept.

“A soulmate, uh? I can worry about that later. It’s not like I’ll meet them any time soon, even if they are close by. This campus is massive.”

Silver

The mark on your wrist was a beautiful sword, glimmering silver enveloped by roses and their thorns, but they weren’t menacing, more like a protection to the splendor of the weapon.

Being in this strange new world was stressful. You didn’t know any of the material in class or had any street smarts. You were a stranger in a strange land, and everyday felt like a fight to stay afloat and not lose yourself in the unknown.

It all felt so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help but run into a remote place and hide under a tree, tears streaming down your face, hiccups assaulting your body.

A gentle tap on your shoulder made your head shoot up.

You locked eyes with a beautiful silver haired stranger, his kind purple gaze making you want to cry even more.

“Are you alright?”

He asked, a voice so soft and soothing, you broke into tears again. 

You wailed and wailed and the stranger remained in place, his comforting hand stroking your shoulder until all your tears dried up and you just hiccuped like a child who just had a tantrum.

You finally felt calmer, but embarrassment was settling in.

“It’s going to be okay.” said the stranger, his sweet voice resonating through your head and making any embarrassment die down.

Looking at his eyes again, now calmer than before, you could feel something. A gentle tug, a pull from your… heart?

Your eyes widened. According to the headmaster, this meant that this guy was your soulmate.

As if he could read your mind, he murmured:

“I think we might be soulmates.”

You tried to speak, but instead a hiccup left your mouth.

The stranger put a hand in his pocket and took out a white handkerchief, using it to gently dab at your eyes.

“Do not cry, soulmate. It will be alright. I’m here for you.”

And he smiled. A smile so soft it felt criminal to be the cause of it.

Your hiccups finally settled, you thanked him.

“Thank you, …?”

“Silver. My name is Silver.”

Rook 

The mark on your wrist was of a bow and arrow, poised to hit its mark with staggering accuracy, but more in the way a Cupid would hit its mark, a piercing of the soul and not of the flesh.

For the first time since you had come to NRC, you had Crowley's permission to head to the local town in this mysterious isle.

You had missed the hustle and bustle of strangers of different ages, of being a face in a crowd with no connection, even if at every turn you could spot the tell tale uniform of NRC.

Wandering through the town, starry-eyed and distracted, you tripped on someone’s foot and fell,  grabbing onto them and making them fall too.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

You quickly got up and offered him a hand, but he refused, getting up on his own.

“You dirtied my uniform shirt!!” he screamed at you, a frown etched onto his features.

From the color of his vest and his peerless complexion, you knew he was a Pomefiore student.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll clean it-”

He looked you up and down and sneered.

“I should have noticed immediately. You’re the magicless half a student of that rundown dorm. No need for you to touch my uniform. Your filthy hands will only dirty it further.”

Rage filled you to the brim, and you were about to give him a piece of your mind, when an arrow passed through you both and landed on his vest, right above his shoulder.

“What do we have here? An altercation between our Trickster and Monsieur étudiant? What seems to be the problem?”

A man spoke from behind you, his voice close to your ear.

The student in front of you turned as pale as a ghost.

“Vice-house warden Rook! T-t-there’s no problem! None at all! I was actually leaving to take care of my dirty uniform!”

He scurried away, not even looking back.

“What a difficile Monsieur. Such cruel words for something so little.”

You turned back, seeing a blond man with a bow and a quiver filled with arrows, a gentle smile decorating his sharp features.

“Thank you for saving me. He was being really horrible for no reason.”

He reached over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, and you felt your heart pulse erratically beat in your chest.

“Non, non. It was my pleasure to save you, soulmate.”

Trey

The mark on your wrist was of a playing card, three green clovers dotting its white space, comfortably in each place, pieces of a puzzle missing a hidden piece, to be found by itself and no one else.

The campus of NRC was a truly gigantic thing. It felt so labyrinthic, paths and more paths crossing with each other and becoming one or diverging into many, butterfly wings of concrete and bricks.

Getting to each class felt like a wild expedition. Where would each corridor lead you next?

You mostly relied on asking others, but in a school full of villains not many would tell you the way, or worse, not many would tell you the right way.

You stared at the edge of a corridor, no path to “turn left” like that student from Scarabia had told you.

Frustration bubbled inside you and rose up, small tears threatening to slip from your eyes, but you held strong, and kept them trapped.

You turned back around and started your scavenge for your classroom again, tracing your steps to the entrance of the school building.

You counted each step in your mind, walking backwards but sometimes looking back to make sure you were going the right way.

You didn’t even register the change in the deafening silence around you, so concentrated you were.

A pair of steps became two, and as you were about to look back, your face collided with a wall covered in fabric.

You exhaled a quick “ow”, pinching your sore nose, closed eyes watery.

“That was quite the hit. Do you need some ice?” asked the wall.

Opening said watery eyes revealed that the wall was in fact, a person.

A tall man, green hair and glasses and a worried expression.

His worry for you made you feel strangely happy.

“I don’t think I need it, but thank you. Oh! But I do need your help with something else.”

You scrambled to explain to him your problem.

“Ah, so you need to go to animal linguistics class. It’s really close by. I can take you there.”

His smile was so mature, it made you feel like you could rely on him for anything. He couldn’t be lying.

“Thank you so much, senpai!” 

Giving him your brightest smile, you followed after him, your heart soaring with happiness, the mark on your wrist so defined it looked like a fresh tattoo.

He’d let you notice it for yourself.

Sebek

The mark on your wrist was of a crocodile curled around a beautiful dark rose, its piercing gaze and ferocious fangs turned to any who dare harm it, but rather than animalistic, it felt noble, like a knight protecting its liege.

The horses of the equestrian club were magnificent things, varied coats and manes and tempers, all in (sometimes not so) clean packages.

You liked observing them, their manes floating in the wind, some of them unruly, some of them as docile as a house cat, as their riders took them around and around the race track, perfecting their skills as you watched from afar.

But curiosity had gotten the best of you one day, and you decided to approach the stables.

Sneaking in right after practice, the tired horses were resting on their wooden homes, the smell of hay and horse dung infiltrating your nostrils and making you gag, but you were already here, so why stop now?

You didn’t dare to approach too much, but being this close to them made you feel better. Even in this weird magical place, some things were the same.

A loud sound came from behind you, and you felt yourself freeze. The main door to the stable had opened.

Louder than the first sound, a voice yelled from behind you.

“WHO IS THERE? NO ONE IS ALLOWED IN THE HORSE STABLES AFTER PRACTICE!”

You slowly turned around, coming face to face with a tall light green haired man, his expression serious, frightening and yet also ethereal.

“I’m really sorry! I know I shouldn’t be here, but I got really curious and really wanted to see the horses.” you explained.

“THAT IS NO EXCUSE! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SEVERELY HURT, HUMAN.”

Even though he had approached you, he was still screaming loudly, making you flinch.

The horses didn’t seem to mind, perhaps used to his booming voice.

His tone wasn’t the nicest, but it didn't feel mean either. It was a strange mixture of emotions that neither of you were entirely sure of.

“You’re correct. I sincerely apologize.”

He kept his hardened posture and gaze, but an almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye told you that he appreciated the apology.

“IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE THE HORSES, YOU NEED TO ASK TO BE ACCOMPANIED BY A MEMBER OF THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB. AS A GUARD OF LORD MALLEUS AND A MEMBER OF THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB, I WILL DO MY DUTY AS BEFITTING OF ONE OF HIS KNIGHTS AND ACCOMPANY YOU IF YOU SO WISH.”

That was unexpected. The screaming, lightning eyebrowed boy that had the expression of someone with extreme constipation wished to accompany you. What a strange and wonderful thing.

“Then, Knight of Lord Malleus, I accept your offer. Next time you’ll have to show me around the stables and let me meet all the horses.”

You gave him your brightest smile, and watched as the tips of his ears turned pink.

In the dim light of the stable, neither noticed the intricate design on their wrist become fully inked, its splendor in full bloom.

Kalim 

The mark on your wrist was of a beautiful exotic carpet, gold, red and purple thread intermingled to create an embroidered tapestry, who instead of laying flat or being rolled on its side, looked ready to soar into the sun. 

Potions class always made you feel like some sort of ancient magic bearer, living by a bog and making frog stew.

It simultaneously felt mindless and stimulating, being so precise with temperature and ingredients and color of the potion but also mandating that you stir a pot for 10 minutes while looking for a color change from burgundy to pale red.

It all took ages to perfect, and a second to explode on your face.

You stirred the pot, your mind already outside of the classroom and in the lunchroom, boredom and hunger fueling daydreams of snacks.

You almost even wished for something to explode, just so you wouldn’t be as bored out of your mind.

Like the universe had read your mind, a loud thwack echoed from the window beside you, scaring you out of your mind, your arm moving on its own and accidentally elbowing your cauldron, the whole thing spilling on the floor, a goey slippery mess of red and chopped ingredients.

From the other side of the room, Professor Crewel gave you a look that said it all.

A thorough scolding later, and your after class lunchroom plans were dashed, as the bubbling mess of a potion on the floor was your mess to clean.

You sighed, but armed with a mop and some cleaning solution, you’d deal with it.

Looking at the window that had started it all, your eyes widened, seeing what you assumed to be the perpetrator of the loud sound still there waving at you.

It was some sort of a rug? And it was waving at you? But the strangest part of it all, is that you felt like you recognized this rug, like one recognizes a friend lost in a crowd.

You stared back down at the spilled potion, wondering if in its liquid state it caused some sort of hallucinations.

Your contemplations of your state of mind were interrupted by the door to the classroom loudly opening, and someone exclaiming:

“Found you!”

Turning back, you saw a silver haired youth barreling towards you and the spilled potion.

“Wait, watch out-“ you warned, but it was too late, as the young man was already with one foot on the puddle and the other in the air, his body directly projected towards you.

“waaaAAAAAHHH” he screamed as he fell on you, squishing you against the ground.

He quickly got on his elbows, looking down on you with an easy going smile.

“Oh, hi there! Sorry for falling on you. But my carpet flew away and Jamil would be super mad if he found out so I’ve been searching for it everywhere.”

You blinked slowly, the whole situation feeling like a fever dream.

You should be more appalled at whatever just happened, but seeing this stranger's smiling face made you feel soft.

Everything dictated that he should get off of you, but strangely you didn’t want him too.

A light turned on in your head, and you peaked at your wrist, the once slightly faded mark a vibrant work of art, like a freshly painted portrait.

Your eyes met the smiling strangers' red ones, and you smiled back at him.

“I think I already found the carpet.”

[natsgrave]

THE SMALLEST WOMAN WHO EVER LIVED | natasha romanoff

and i don't miss what we had, but could someone give a message to the smallest woman who ever lived? i do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated on other sites. plagiarism is a crime!! masterlist whispers of heartache m.list

The night was dark, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the cityscape. Shadows danced across the abandoned warehouse where she had taken refuge, a place forgotten by time and society. The woman sat in a corner, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling from exhaustion and fear. Her name was Y/N, but she hadn't been called that in years. To HYDRA, she was known only as Subject 47.

For years, Y/N had been their pawn, subjected to torturous experiments designed to unlock her latent powers. She had been forced to use those powers in ways she could never have imagined, becoming a weapon in HYDRA's arsenal. But she had endured, biding her time, waiting for the moment when she could break free. That moment had come, and now she was on the run, trying to stay one step ahead of the organization that had taken everything from her.

The memories of her escape were still fresh in her mind: the alarms blaring, the shouts of the guards, the searing pain of the injuries she had sustained. But she had made it out, and that was all that mattered. She had to keep moving, had to stay hidden. She couldn't afford to be found, not now.

As she sat in the darkness, her thoughts drifted back to the years of torment she had endured. She remembered the faces of the scientists who had experimented on her, the cold, clinical way they had treated her, as if she were nothing more than a specimen. She remembered the pain, the isolation, the despair. But most of all, she remembered the moments when she had been forced to use her powers to harm others, to carry out HYDRA's will. Those memories haunted her, gnawing at her conscience.

She knew she couldn't go back to being the person she once was. That person was gone, replaced by someone who had been forged in fire and darkness. But she also knew she couldn't let HYDRA win. She had to survive, no matter the cost.

Y/N's powers were formidable. She had the ability to manipulate energy, to create devastating blasts of force that could level buildings. She could also control minds, bending others to her will. These abilities had made her a valuable asset to HYDRA, but they were also a constant reminder of the monster she had become.

She had tried to lay low, to stay out of sight. But it was difficult. Her powers were unpredictable, and sometimes they manifested in ways she couldn't control. And then there was the constant need for resources. Food, money, shelter— these were things she couldn't simply conjure out of thin air. She had turned to a life of crime, using her powers to rob, to steal, to survive. It was a dark path, but it was the only one she knew.

One night, as she was preparing to leave the warehouse and find another place to hide, she heard a noise. Her heart raced as she turned, her powers at the ready. A figure emerged from the shadows, a woman with a determined look in her eyes.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice cold and wary. "How did you find me?"

The woman raised her hands in a gesture of peace. "My name is Natasha," she said calmly. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"Talk?" Y/N scoffed. "I don't have time for talking. If you're HYDRA, you won't leave here alive."

"I'm not HYDRA," Natasha assured her. "I know what they did to you. I know what you're capable of. I'm here to help."

Y/N narrowed her eyes, her suspicion evident. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I've been where you are," Natasha replied, her voice softening. "I know what it's like to be used, to be turned into something you're not. But you don't have to keep living this way. There are people who can help you, who can help you control your powers, who can give you a chance at a new life."

Y/N's resolve wavered. She wanted to believe her, but trust was a luxury she couldn't afford. "How do I know you're not lying?"

Natasha took a step closer, her eyes filled with sincerity. "You don't. But you have a choice. You can keep running, keep hiding, keep doing things you hate. Or you can take a chance, and maybe— just maybe— find a way out of this darkness."

Y/N stared at Natasha, her mind racing. She had spent so long fighting, so long surviving. The idea of something better, something different, was almost too much to hope for. But as she looked into Natasha's eyes, she saw something she hadn't seen in a long time: hope.

"Alright," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll listen. But if this is a trap, if you're lying to me…"

"I'm not," Natasha interrupted gently. "I promise you, you're not alone anymore."

And for the first time in years, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of the darkness after all.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Natasha grew closer. The walls Y/N had built around herself slowly began to crumble as Natasha showed her a different way to live, a way that didn't involve fear and isolation. They spent their days training, honing Y/N's powers with precision and control, and their evenings talking, sharing stories of their pasts.

One evening, they sat on the rooftop of an old building, the city lights twinkling below them. The air was cool, and a gentle breeze rustled their hair. Y/N sat on the edge of the rooftop, her legs dangling over the side as she stared out at the city lights. The memory she was about to share was one she had buried deep within herself, a wound that had never fully healed. But Natasha's presence, her understanding, gave Y/N the courage to finally let it out.

"It was one of the worst days," Y/N began, her voice barely above a whisper. Natasha's eyes gazed into her softly, curious about what she was about to share. "I had been with HYDRA for a few years by then. They had already started experimenting on me, trying to unlock my powers. I was in so much pain, all the time. But this day… this day was different."

Natasha sat beside her, listening intently, her eyes filled with empathy.

"They had me in this lab," Y/N continued, her gaze distant as she relived the memory. "It was cold, sterile. The walls were lined with equipment, and there were a dozen scientists there, all watching me like I was some kind of animal. They strapped me to a table, injected me with something. It burned, like fire coursing through my veins. I screamed, but they didn't care. They just watched, taking notes."

Y/N paused, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists. Natasha reached out, gently placing a hand on her arm, grounding her.

"I could feel my powers surging," she said, her voice shaking. "It was like they had torn down a dam inside me, and the energy was flooding out. I couldn't control it. I couldn't stop it. They had these targets set up, and they told me to destroy them. I didn't want to, but the pain… it was unbearable. So I did. I blasted them apart, one after another."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, but she forced herself to continue. "Then they brought in… people. Prisoners, they said. Enemies of HYDRA. They wanted me to use my powers on them. I refused. I begged them to stop, but they just laughed. One of the scientists, Dr. Zola, he was the worst. He looked at me with such contempt. He told me that if I didn't do as they asked, they would make the pain even worse."

Natasha's grip on Y/N's arm tightened, a silent offer of support.

"So I did it," Y/N whispered, the tears now streaming down her face. "I used my powers on those people. I saw the fear in their eyes, heard their screams. I tried to hold back, to minimize the damage, but it was no use. I could see what I was doing to them, the horror and pain I was causing. And all the while, Dr. Zola was there, taking notes, completely detached from the suffering."

Y/N's voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands, sobbing. Natasha pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly as she cried.

"It wasn't your fault," Natasha murmured softly. "They forced you. You were a victim, Y/N, just like those people."

Y/N shook her head, the guilt and shame overwhelming her. "I still see their faces, Natasha. Every night, the same nightmare. I can never forget what I did."

"You were put in an impossible situation," Natasha said firmly, pulling back to look Y/N in the eyes. "HYDRA did that to you, not the real you. The real you is the person sitting here with me, the person who has the strength to fight back, to survive. You are not defined by what they made you do."

Y/N nodded, though the pain was still raw. "I want to believe that. I really do. But it's hard."

"I know it is," Natasha replied, her voice gentle. "But you're not alone anymore. We'll get through this together. We'll find a way to make things right, to move forward."

Y/N took a deep breath, the weight of her past still heavy on her shoulders, but there was a glimmer of hope in her heart. With Natasha by her side, she felt a strength she hadn't known in years.

"Thank you, Natasha," she said quietly. "For listening. For being here."

"Always," Natasha replied, a small, reassuring smile on her lips. "We'll face this together, Y/N. One step at a time."

And as the night stretched on, they sat together on the rooftop, two kindred spirits bound by their pasts but looking forward to a future they could shape with their own hands.

"You know," Y/N said, her eyes fixed on the horizon, "I've never told anyone that before. Not even the other subjects."

Natasha nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It takes a lot of courage to share something like that. I'm honored you trust me."

Y/N glanced at her, a small smile playing on her lips. "You've given me a reason to trust again. I never thought I'd feel that way after everything that's happened."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of their shared experiences hanging in the air. But a nagging thought had been bothering Y/N for days, and she knew she had to address it.

"Natasha," she began hesitantly, "there's something I need to ask you."

Natasha turned to her, her expression open and encouraging. "Anything, Y/N. What is it?"

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. "How did you find me? I mean, really find me. I've been running for so long, staying off the grid. It doesn't make sense."

Natasha's face grew serious, and she looked down at her hands for a moment before meeting Y/N's gaze. "I understand why you're curious. The truth is, I was able to find you because of my past. You see, I wasn't always… on the side of the angels."

Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Natasha sighed, her eyes distant as she delved into her memories. "I was trained by a group called the Red Room. It's an organization that turns young girls into assassins, into weapons. They took me when I was just a child and molded me into what they wanted. I was one of their best."

Y/N listened intently, her heart aching at the pain in Natasha's voice. "That sounds… horrible. I'm so sorry, Natasha."

Natasha shook her head. "It's in the past. But the skills they taught me, the connections I made— they're how I was able to track you down. I recognized the signs of someone trying to hide, because I've been there myself."

Y/N's eyes widened in realization. "So you used your training to find me?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes. But not to hurt you. To help you. I saw a kindred spirit in you, someone who had been used and discarded. I wanted to give you a chance to break free, to find your own path."

Y/N's emotions swirled within her. "Thank you, Natasha. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Natasha replied, her voice gentle. "Just know that we can face our pasts together and create a better future."

As the weeks turned into months, their bond grew stronger. They trained together, pushing each other to their limits, and spent their downtime sharing stories and dreams. Y/N found herself opening up more and more, revealing details about her life before HYDRA, her hopes and fears. Natasha, in turn, shared her own experiences, the pain and triumphs that had shaped her into who she was.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, they sat on the rooftop again, watching the sunset. Y/N turned to Natasha, her heart full of gratitude and something she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Natasha," she said softly, "thank you for everything. You've given me a reason to believe in myself again."

Natasha smiled, a warmth in her eyes that made Y/N's heart swell. "You've always had that strength, Y/N. You just needed someone to remind you of it."

And in that moment, surrounded by the fading light of the day, Y/N knew that she had found not just a friend, but a kindred spirit. Someone who understood her pain, her struggles, and her dreams. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt truly free.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Months and months passed, and Y/N and Natasha became inseparable. Natasha taught Y/N everything from combat techniques to espionage tactics, sharing stories of her own childhood in the Red Room and even recounting funny anecdotes that brought laughter back into Y/N's life. The once distant and cautious Y/N now felt a warmth she hadn't experienced in years.

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed one night, staring at the ceiling, her mind filled with thoughts of Natasha. Every day, she found herself falling deeper in love with the woman who had not only saved her but also given her a reason to live again. Natasha's strength, compassion, and unwavering support had become a beacon in Y/N's life, guiding her through the darkness.

But with those feelings came fear. Y/N was terrified that if she confessed her love, it might push Natasha away. Despite Natasha being a trained assassin with an uncanny ability to read people, Y/N had managed to keep her feelings hidden. She didn't want to risk losing the one person who meant everything to her.

One afternoon, they were training in an abandoned gym they had discovered. The space was perfect for their needs— isolated, spacious, and filled with old equipment that they could use for their rigorous routines. As they sparred, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at Natasha's agility and skill. Even after months of training, Natasha still amazed her with her prowess.

"You're getting better every day," Natasha said, wiping sweat from her brow as they took a break. "I'm proud of you, Y/N."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with warmth. "I have a great teacher."

Natasha chuckled, but there was a hint of seriousness in her eyes. "It's not just about the training. It's about finding yourself, trusting yourself. And you're doing that."

Y/N nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude. "Thank you, Natasha. For everything."

Natasha's expression softened. "You don't have to thank me. We're in this together."

As they sat on the gym floor, catching their breath, Natasha began to share another story from her past, this time about a mission that had gone hilariously wrong. Y/N laughed, feeling the tension in her chest ease as the sound of Natasha's laughter filled the room.

"You should have seen the look on his face when the cat jumped out of the box instead of the intel we were expecting." Natasha said, grinning. Avoiding to mention any name.

Y/N shook her head, still laughing. "I wish I could have been there."

Natasha's smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful look. "You know, Y/N, I don't think I've ever felt this close to anyone before. It's… different."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, and she looked down, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Yeah, it's different for me too."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging in the air. Y/N wanted so desperately to tell Natasha how she felt, but the fear held her back.

One evening, they decided to take a break from training and relax on the rooftop of their safe house. The night was clear, and the stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds. They lay on their backs, side by side, staring up at the cosmos.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have a normal life?" Y/N asked softly.

Natasha sighed. "Sometimes. But I think we make our own normal, don't you? Whatever that looks like."

Y/N turned her head to look at Natasha, her heart aching with unspoken words. "I think you're right."

Natasha met her gaze, her eyes searching Y/N's. "Y/N, is there something you want to tell me?"

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. The moment had come, and she felt both terrified and exhilarated. "I… Natasha, I—"

Before she could finish, a loud noise from the street below startled them both. They sat up quickly, their training kicking in as they scanned the area for potential threats. After a few tense moments, they realized it was just a group of teenagers making noise.

Natasha sighed in relief, then looked at Y/N with a small smile. "I guess we'll have to save the deep conversations for another time."

Y/N nodded, her heart still pounding. "Yeah, another time."

As they settled back down, Y/N felt a mix of disappointment and relief. The moment had passed, but the feelings remained. She knew she couldn't keep them hidden forever, but for now, she was content to cherish the bond they had, hoping that one day she would find the courage to tell Natasha how deeply she cared for her.

The night had settled into a comfortable stillness, the kind that Y/N had come to appreciate in her new life with Natasha. They had spent the evening on the rooftop, their bond growing even stronger with every shared story and laugh. But the moment of potential confession had been interrupted, leaving Y/N with a mix of emotions that she couldn't quite sort through.

"Hey, I'm going to run to the store to grab a few things," Natasha said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "Do you need anything?"

Y/N shook her head, offering a warm smile. "No, I'm good. Just hurry back."

Natasha grinned. "Won't be long."

As the door closed behind Natasha, Y/N found herself alone in the quiet apartment. She tried to shake off the lingering thoughts of her unspoken feelings, instead focusing on the simple task of tidying up their training equipment, replaying the evening's conversation in her mind, wondering how she might finally confess her feelings to Natasha. She was just about to sit down and relax when she heard the door creak open again.

"Natasha, that was quick." she began, turning around with a smile. But her words died on her lips as she took in the sight before her.

Instead of Natasha, a group of several figures stood in the doorway, none of whom were Natasha. Y/N's heart began to race.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, stepped forward. His expression was firm but not unkind. "Y/N, we need you to come with us."

Y/N's heart raced, confusion and fear flooding her mind. "How did you find me? Who are you?"

Clint Barton, Hawkeye, responded calmly, "We're the Avengers. We need you to come peacefully. We don't want to hurt you."

But Y/N shook her head, taking a step back. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Tony Stark, Iron Man, sighed. "We were hoping it wouldn't come to this."

"Y/N, please," Captain America urged, taking a step forward. "We don't want to fight you."

Without further warning, Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline. She couldn't let them take her. She had fought too hard, endured too much, to be captured now. Her powers, usually kept in check, surged uncontrollably as her fear and anger took over.

The energy crackling around her as she prepared for a confrontation. "I'm not leaving without a fight."

The battle began with a blur of movement. Y/N unleashed a blast of energy that sent Captain America flying backward, his shield barely absorbing the impact. Iron Man's repulsors fired in response, but Y/N dodged with agility, her movements a blur. Thor swung Mjolnir, but Y/N countered with a force field that deflected the mighty hammer.

Iron Man flew into the air, attempting to get a better angle for his attack. "She's fast. We need to contain her!"

Y/N responded by sending a wave of energy that disrupted Iron Man's flight, causing him to crash into a wall. He recovered quickly, his suit's systems recalibrating, but the momentary distraction gave Y/N the upper hand.

Captain America threw his shield, aiming for Y/N's legs to incapacitate her, but she leaped into the air, avoiding the strike and landing a powerful kick to his chest. He stumbled back but quickly regained his footing, his determination unwavering.

Thor charged at Y/N, lightning crackling around him. He swung Mjolnir with all his might, but Y/N created a barrier that absorbed the impact. She pushed back with a surge of energy, sending Thor skidding across the floor.

Clint shot an arrow aimed at disarming Y/N, but she deflected it with a wave of energy. Steve charged forward, his shield raised, but Y/N countered with a blast of force that once again, sent him skidding backward.

Tony, in his Iron Man suit, launched a series of repulsor blasts. Y/N dodged them with agility honed from months of training with Natasha. She retaliated with a powerful blast that knocked Tony off balance, sending him crashing into a wall.

Thor entered the fray, his hammer Mjolnir crackling with electricity. "Stay your hand, mortal! We mean you no harm!"

But Y/N was beyond reasoning. She unleashed a torrent of energy, attempting to fend off the god of thunder. The two clashed in a dazzling display of power, the air around them crackling with raw force.

As the battle raged on, Y/N's control over her powers slipped. She sent waves of destructive energy in all directions, causing the building to shake and debris to fall. The Avengers fought to contain her without causing her harm, but Y/N's desperation made her unpredictable.

In the midst of the chaos, Y/N caught sight of Natasha standing at the edge of the room, a look of pained determination on her face. Y/N's heart ached with a mix of relief and confusion. She was about to call out to Natasha, to tell her to run, when she saw Natasha raise her wrist, the Widow Bites charging with electricity.

"Natasha, no—" Y/N's words were cut off as the electric shock hit her. Pain surged through her body, and she collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. She fell to her knees, her vision blurring as she tried to process the betrayal.

Confusion, hurt, and betrayal were etched across Y/N's face as she looked up at Natasha. "Why?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle.

Natasha's eyes met Y/N's, a silent apology evident in their depths. "Y/N, please. Just listen—"

Before Natasha could finish, Tony approached Y/N cautiously, his helmet retracting to reveal his concerned face. "I'm sorry about this." he said softly, before administering a knockout shot that sent Y/N into unconsciousness.

The last thing Y/N saw was Natasha's face, torn between duty and the bond they had shared. As darkness enveloped her, Y/N's mind swirled with unanswered questions and a profound sense of betrayal.

When Y/N woke up, she found herself in a sterile, secure room, her hands restrained. The cold metal of the restraints bit into her skin, a harsh reminder of her new reality. The stark whiteness of the walls and the faint hum of machinery around her brought back a flood of memories she had desperately tried to bury. Her hands were restrained, the cold metal digging into her wrists, making escape impossible. Panic set in, and her mind raced as she tried to piece together the events that had led her here. The fight with the Avengers, Natasha's betrayal— it all felt like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

Memories from her time in HYDRA began to resurface, unbidden and relentless. She could almost feel the cold, damp walls of the cells they kept her in, hear the echo of her own screams as they experimented on her, pushing her to the brink of insanity. The pain had been unbearable, but the psychological torment was even worse. They had stripped her of her humanity, treating her like a lab rat, an object to be used and discarded.

She remembered the countless nights spent in isolation, the darkness her only companion. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional distant scream of another unfortunate soul. Y/N had learned to dread the sound of approaching footsteps, knowing it meant another round of torture or experiments. They had tried to break her, to mold her into their perfect weapon, and for a time, they had succeeded.

She could still see the faces of the scientists, their expressions cold and detached as they inflicted unimaginable pain on her. She had begged for mercy, for death, but they had only laughed, their eyes void of any empathy. The experiments had been brutal, designed to push her powers to their limits, often leaving her on the brink of death. They had injected her with unknown substances, subjected her to electric shocks, and forced her to endure endless physical and mental trials.

Her mind drifted to the times when she had been restrained, much like she was now, unable to move or defend herself. She could feel the tightness of the straps, the helplessness that had consumed her as she lay there, vulnerable and exposed. The scientists would talk about her as if she wasn't even there, discussing their next steps in cold, clinical terms. They had stripped her of her identity, reducing her to a mere experiment number.

The fear and anger she had felt during those years were now mingling with the sense of betrayal and hurt she felt towards Natasha. The two emotions intertwined, creating a storm of confusion and pain within her. She had thought she had found a semblance of peace, a way to move forward from her past, but now it all seemed to be crashing down around her.

Y/N's mind shifted to the happier memories she had shared with Natasha, the woman who had seemed to be her savior, her light in the darkness. The way Natasha had smiled at her, the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her touch— all of it felt like a cruel joke now.

How could someone who had meant so much to her be the same person who had deceived her so completely?

She remembered the nights spent talking with Natasha, sharing their deepest fears and dreams. Natasha had made her feel safe, cherished even, something she had never experienced before. The bond they had formed had been real, or so she had thought. The betrayal cut deeper because of the trust she had placed in Natasha, a trust that had been shattered in an instant.

The memories of their time together played in her mind like a cruel montage. Training sessions where Natasha had pushed her to be better, moments of laughter and camaraderie, the quiet evenings where they had simply enjoyed each other's presence. Y/N had opened up to Natasha in ways she had never done with anyone else, revealing parts of herself she had kept hidden for so long.

But now, all those memories felt tainted. She couldn't shake the image of Natasha standing there with the Avengers, the look of determination on her face as she shot Y/N with her Widow's Bite. The physical pain had been nothing compared to the emotional agony of realizing that the one person she had trusted had been sent to betray her.

Y/N's thoughts circled back to her time in HYDRA, the endless cycle of pain and hopelessness. She had endured so much, fought so hard to survive, only to be betrayed by the one person who had given her a reason to keep fighting. The feelings of helplessness and despair were overwhelming, threatening to consume her once more.

She could feel tears welling up, but she refused to let them fall. She had cried enough during her time in HYDRA, and she had vowed never to let herself be that vulnerable again. But the pain of Natasha's betrayal was too much to bear, reopening old wounds that had never truly healed.

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories, but they came flooding back with even greater intensity. The faces of the scientists, the cold, clinical environment, the pain, the screams— it all felt too real, too immediate. She had spent so long trying to bury those memories, to move past them, but now they were resurfacing with a vengeance.

She thought about the other subjects in HYDRA, the ones who hadn't survived. She could still hear their cries for help, their pleas for mercy. She had been one of the few to make it out alive, but at what cost? The memories of those who had perished haunted her, a constant reminder of the horrors she had endured.

Y/N tried to focus on her breathing, to calm herself, but it was a losing battle. The memories were too strong, too overwhelming. She felt like she was back in those cells, trapped and helpless, with no way out. The room she was in now felt eerily similar, the restraints on her wrists a cruel echo of her past.

The memories of Natasha brought a new wave of pain. She had thought she could trust her, had believed in the bond they had shared. But now, it felt like all of that had been a lie. Natasha's betrayal was a knife to her heart, twisting with every recollection of their time together.

Y/N remembered the times Natasha had held her, comforting her during moments of weakness. She had felt safe in Natasha's arms, believing that she had found someone who truly cared about her. But now, that sense of safety was shattered, replaced by a void of distrust and heartbreak.

She tried to reconcile the Natasha she had come to love with the woman who had betrayed her. It was impossible. The two images clashed in her mind, creating a whirlwind of confusion and pain. She had fallen in love with Natasha, believing in the goodness she saw in her, but now she couldn't tell what had been real and what had been a façade.

The tears she had been holding back finally began to fall. The memories, the pain, the betrayal— it was all too much. She felt like she was drowning, unable to breathe, unable to escape the torment of her past and the heartbreak of the present.

Y/N's mind was a battleground, the memories of HYDRA and her time with Natasha colliding in a cacophony of emotions. She felt the weight of her past pressing down on her, the sense of hopelessness creeping back in. The fight to survive had taken everything she had, and now it felt like she had nothing left to give.

As she sat there, restrained and helpless, Y/N's thoughts drifted to the future. She didn't know what lay ahead, whether she would ever be able to trust again, whether she could find a way to heal from the betrayal. But one thing was certain— she would never forget what she had been through, and she would never forgive Natasha for what she had done.

The pain of betrayal was a wound that would take a long time to heal, if it ever did. But Y/N knew she had to keep fighting, to keep pushing forward, even if it felt impossible. She had survived HYDRA, she had endured unimaginable pain, and she would find a way to survive this too.

The memories of her time in HYDRA, the torment, the helplessness— they were a part of her, but they didn't define her. She was stronger than that, stronger than the pain and the betrayal. And as she sat there, tears streaming down her face, Y/N made a silent vow to herself. She would find a way to move past this, to find her strength again, and to never let anyone break her the way HYDRA had tried to.

With that thought, Y/N closed her eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos of her mind. The road ahead was uncertain, and the pain was still raw, but she was determined to keep fighting. For herself, for her future, and for the chance to prove that she was more than the sum of her past traumas.

Her closed eyes instantly shot opened when the door of the room opened, and Natasha walked in, clad in her black widow suit. Her expression was a mix of concern and determination. "Y/N, how are you feeling?" she asked, her voice soft.

What do you think? She wanted to spat but instead, Y/N sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to look at Natasha. The betrayal cut too deep, and the words she wanted to say were lodged in her throat.

Natasha took a step closer, her eyes pleading. "Please, Y/N, talk to me."

After a long, tense silence, Y/N finally looked up, her eyes filled with pain and anger. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "How could you do this, Natasha? After everything we've been through, everything you made me believe? Was any of it true?"

Natasha's face crumpled with guilt and sorrow. "I… I didn't want it to happen like this. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Then why?" Y/N demanded, her voice rising. "Why did you lie to me? Why did you pretend to care?"

Natasha struggled to find the right words, but they seemed to elude her. "It was my mission. But that doesn't mean what we had wasn't real. It was real, it was real to me!"

Y/N scoffed, bitterness lacing her voice. "Real? You were sent by someone who wanted me dead! Now tell me, Natasha, did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?"

Natasha's eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently. "No, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to protect you."

"Protect me?" Y/N's voice was filled with incredulity. "By lying to me? By using me?"

Natasha took a deep breath, her own eyes filling with tears. "I did what I had to do. But my feelings for you were real. They still are."

Y/N's voice was a whisper now, raw with emotion. "I would have died for your sins, Natasha."

The words hung in the air, heavy and damning. Natasha was stunned, her mind racing to process the depth of Y/N's pain.

Y/N continued, her voice breaking. "I loved you, Natasha. Every day, I fell deeper in love with you. And now… now I find out it was all just a goddamn mission to you."

"No," Natasha said quickly, her own heart breaking. "It wasn't just a mission. You mean so much more to me than that."

"But it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden, was it?" Y/N's voice was filled with hurt and sarcasm. "Once the truth was out, it lost its appeal, didn't it?"

Natasha shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "No, Y/N. Please, believe me. I… I love you too."

Y/N looked away, the pain too much to bear. "I don't know what to believe anymore. How can I trust you after this? You were the one person I thought I could rely on."

Natasha took a step closer, reaching out to touch Y/N's hand, but Y/N pulled away, the betrayal still too fresh. "I'm sorry, Y/N," Natasha whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so, so sorry."

The room was filled with the sound of their silent tears, the weight of their shared pain too heavy to bear. And in that moment, both of them knew that their lives would never be the same again.

Y/N's heart ached with the weight of her emotions, "I want you to leave, Natasha."

"Y/N, please…"

"I SAID LEAVE!"

Natasha left the room, her heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. She wanted to stay, to explain herself further, but Y/N's shout had left no room for argument. As she stepped into the corridor, the weight of her actions pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside her.

The mission had seemed straightforward at first: locate the escaped HYDRA experiment and bring her in. It should have been simple. But Y/N had become so much more than a mission. She had broken through Natasha's defenses, seen her vulnerabilities, and made her feel things she hadn't thought possible. Y/N had become her person, the one exception in her life of secrecy and deception.

Natasha walked through the sterile halls of the Avengers' facility, each step feeling heavier than the last. She made her way to an empty room, seeking solitude to process everything. She couldn't shake the image of Y/N's face, the pain and betrayal in her eyes. The girl she loved, the one who had seen her at her weakest, was now lost to her.

"Natasha," a voice called softly. She turned to see Steve Rogers standing at the door. His expression was filled with concern.

"Steve, I—" Natasha began, but her voice faltered.

Steve stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I know this isn't easy for you."

Natasha shook her head, tears threatening to spill. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was just a mission, but she became so much more."

Steve nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Sometimes, the lines blur. You can't help who you care about."

Natasha sank into a chair, burying her face in her hands. "She hates me now. I don't blame her. I lied to her, used her. How can she ever forgive me?"

Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Give her time. She needs to process everything. And you need to be honest with her, even if it's painful."

Natasha looked up, her eyes filled with anguish. "But what if it's too late? What if I've lost her forever?"

Steve's expression softened. "You haven't lost her. Not yet. But you need to fight for her, Natasha. Show her that your feelings are real, that she's more than a mission to you." squeezing her shoulder softly, he added, "Who you are is not what you did."

Natasha nodded, though uncertainty still clouded her mind. She knew Steve was right, but the path ahead seemed so daunting. She had to find a way to bridge the gap she had created, to make Y/N understand that her love was genuine.

The days that followed were torturous. Natasha threw herself into training and missions, trying to distract herself from the ache in her heart. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape the thoughts of Y/N. Each night, she lay awake, replaying their conversations, the laughter they had shared, and the tender moments that had made her feel alive.

Natasha sat alone in her quarters, staring at the ceiling, trying to wrap her mind around everything that had happened. The sterile, cold walls seemed to close in on her, echoing her isolation and guilt. She had replayed her confrontation with Y/N countless times in her mind, each time feeling the knife of betrayal twist deeper. The mission had been clear-cut, simple even: locate and capture. But then she had met Y/N, and everything had changed.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the first time she had seen Y/N. It had been a rainy night in a rundown part of the city. Y/N had been fighting off some low-level thugs, her powers crackling around her in a wild display of raw energy. Natasha had been struck by her ferocity, her determination, and the deep sadness that seemed to emanate from her. She had been assigned to neutralize Y/N, but instead, she found herself captivated by her.

Natasha's heart ached as she remembered their first real conversation. It had been awkward, filled with mistrust and guarded words. But over time, they had grown closer. Y/N had slowly let her guard down, allowing Natasha glimpses into her world, her pain, and her struggles. They had trained together, laughed together, and shared stories that had created a bond Natasha had never expected.

But now, all of that was shattered.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Weeks passed and Natasha still feel the weight of her poor decisions pressing down on her like a heavy, unyielding burden. The guilt gnawed at her constantly, making it hard to focus on anything else. She had tried to compartmentalize, to push the feelings aside, but they refused to be ignored.

Because now, her person— Y/N— was filled with anger and betrayal, emotions that Natasha herself had caused. Every time she saw Y/N's face, the pain was still evident, a constant reminder of the trust she had shattered. Natasha had made a series of poor decisions, each one leading them to this moment of intense suffering.

In the quiet moments, when she was alone with her thoughts, Natasha's mind would wander to a life that seemed like a distant dream— a normal life with Y/N. She imagined lazy mornings in bed, laughing over shared breakfasts, evenings spent watching the sunset, and a future filled with love and happiness. But those dreams felt like they were slipping further and further out of reach.

She often found herself in a spiral of doubt and regret. Was what she did worth it? Was there any way to redeem herself in Y/N's eyes? The questions were relentless, and the answers were elusive. Y/N had become her everything, the one person who had seen the real Natasha and still loved her. And now, that love seemed impossible to salvage.

Natasha's thoughts often turned dark, filled with self-loathing and despair. It was a losing battle in her mind. On one hand, she was a hero, an Avenger dedicated to protecting the world. On the other hand, Y/N saw her as a villain, a betrayer who had shattered their trust. The dichotomy was tearing her apart, and she didn't know how to reconcile the two.

Everywhere Natasha turned, she was haunted by the decisions that led her to this point. She recalled the moment she first saw Y/N's file, the cold detachment she felt as she read about the mission's objectives. Y/N was just another target then, another task to be completed. But then the mission parameters blurred, and Natasha found herself drawn to Y/N in ways she hadn't anticipated.

She was not even supposed to tell and share stories, let alone her past life when she was still under Red Room.

But Y/N's strength, resilience, and vulnerability captivated Natasha, breaking through her professional detachment. She remembered the first time she saw Y/N laugh— a genuine, carefree laugh that lit up her entire face. Natasha had felt something stir within her, something she hadn't felt in her entire life: hope. Hope that there was more to life than missions and deception. Hope that she could find redemption through love.

But now, that hope felt like a cruel joke. Natasha was left to grapple with the reality of her actions. She had deceived Y/N, played with her emotions, and shattered her trust. The look of betrayal on Y/N's face was seared into Natasha's memory, a constant reminder of her failure. It haunted her dreams, turning them into nightmares where Y/N's eyes bore into her with unspoken accusations.

Natasha tried to lose herself in her work, but it was no use. Every mission, every fight, felt hollow without Y/N by her side. She replayed their last conversation over and over in her mind, dissecting every word, every gesture, searching for a way she could have handled things differently. If only she had been honest from the beginning. If only she had found a way to protect Y/N without betraying her trust.

The guilt was relentless, gnawing at her insides. Natasha found herself questioning her very identity. Who was she if she could betray the one person who meant the most to her? Could she still call herself a hero? The lines between right and wrong had become so blurred, and Natasha felt like she was losing herself in the murkiness.

She sought solace in her training, pushing her body to its limits in an attempt to silence her mind. But no amount of physical exertion could quiet the storm of emotions raging within her. Each punch, each kick, was a futile attempt to fight against the guilt and regret that consumed her.

In her quieter moments, Natasha allowed herself to imagine a different reality, one where she and Y/N were living a peaceful life together. She envisioned a small, cozy home, filled with warmth and laughter. She saw herself waking up next to Y/N, their fingers intertwined, the morning light casting a gentle glow on their faces. She imagined sharing quiet moments, stolen kisses, and whispered promises. But as beautiful as these fantasies were, they were also a painful reminder of what she had lost.

Natasha's mind was a battlefield, torn between the desire to make things right and the fear that it was too late. She replayed every interaction with Y/N, every smile, every touch, trying to decipher where she went wrong. She questioned her own worthiness, wondering if she deserved forgiveness, if she deserved Y/N's love.

Her nights were the hardest. Alone in her room, Natasha would lie awake, her mind racing with thoughts of Y/N. She would reach out to the empty space beside her, imagining that Y/N was there, her presence a comforting balm to Natasha's troubled soul. But the emptiness only served to deepen her sense of loss and regret.

Natasha's heart ached with a longing she couldn't quell. She wanted to reach out to Y/N, to beg for her forgiveness, to prove that her love was real. But she was paralyzed by fear— fear of rejection, fear of causing more pain, fear of facing the truth of her actions. The vulnerability that Y/N had awakened within her was both a gift and a curse, leaving Natasha exposed and raw.

In her moments of despair, Natasha would recall Steve's words: "Who you are is not what you did." But it was hard to believe those words when the evidence of her betrayal was so clear. She had hurt Y/N. The guilt was suffocating, a constant reminder of her failure.

Natasha's mind would drift back to their time together, to the small, intimate moments that had defined their relationship. She remembered the way Y/N's eyes would light up when she talked about her dreams, the softness in her voice when she whispered Natasha's name. She remembered the warmth of Y/N's touch, the comfort of her embrace, the way she made Natasha feel like she was worth something, like she was more than just a weapon.

But now, all of that felt like a distant memory, a beautiful dream that had turned into a nightmare. Natasha was left to grapple with the reality of her actions, with the knowledge that she had destroyed the one good thing in her life. The weight of her choices was crushing, leaving her feeling hollow and lost.

In her darkest moments, Natasha would wonder if it was too late to make things right. She questioned whether Y/N could ever forgive her, whether there was any hope of salvaging their relationship. But despite the overwhelming doubt, there was a small, stubborn part of Natasha that refused to give up. She clung to the hope that, somehow, she could find a way to prove her love, to show Y/N that she was more than her mistakes.

Natasha knew that the road ahead would be long and difficult. She would have to face her own demons, confront the parts of herself she had kept hidden for so long. She would have to earn Y/N's trust, step by painful step, proving that her love was real and unwavering. It was a daunting task, but Natasha was determined to try.

As she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Natasha made a silent vow to herself. She would do whatever it took to make things right with Y/N. She would fight for their love, for the future she had once dreamed of. It wouldn't be easy, and it might take a lifetime, but Natasha was willing to give it her all.

With that thought, Natasha finally felt a small sense of peace. The guilt and regret were still there, but they were tempered by a newfound determination. She would prove to Y/N that their love was worth fighting for, that she was worth fighting for. And maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the window, Natasha sighed and stood up, pacing the small room. She knew she had to try to explain everything to Y/N, even if it seemed impossible. She couldn't just leave things as they were. She owed Y/N the truth, even if it hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha left her quarters and walked towards Y/N's room. The halls were quiet, the soft hum of the facility's systems the only sound. As she approached the door, her heart pounded in her chest. She hesitated for a moment before knocking softly and entering.

Y/N was sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes red from crying. She looked up as Natasha entered, her expression guarded. The sight of Y/N in such pain made Natasha's heart ache even more.

"Y/N," Natasha began, her voice trembling. "I know you don't want to see me right now, but I need to explain."

Y/N's gaze was cold. "Explain what? How you lied to me? How I was just a mission to you?"

Natasha shook her head, tears welling up. "No, Y/N. You were never just a mission. Not to me. Let me tell you everything, from the beginning."

Y/N crossed her arms, clearly skeptical but willing to listen. "Go on then."

Natasha took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "When I first found out about you, I was assigned to the mission. It was supposed to be simple— locate you and bring you in. But from the moment I saw you, I knew it wasn't going to be that straightforward. You were different. You were fighting off those thugs with such determination, and I saw something in you that I couldn't ignore."

Y/N's eyes softened slightly, but she remained silent, letting Natasha continue.

"I watched you for a while, trying to understand you," Natasha said, her voice filled with regret. "I saw the pain you were in, the loneliness. I couldn't just complete the mission and hand you over to people who would hurt you. So I made a decision. I approached you, and I tried to get to know you. And the more I got to know you, the more I realized how special you were."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears, but she still didn't speak.

Natasha took a step closer, her voice pleading. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. My feelings for you are real, Y/N. They always have been. I love you." Natasha continued to confess her feelings, her voice raw with emotion. "Y/N, I know I hurt you. I know what I did was unforgivable. But please, believe me."

Y/N finally spoke, her voice trembling with emotion. "How can I believe you, Natasha? After all the things you did?" Y/N's eyes blazing with anger. "Is this the goal, Natasha? Breaking me? Rusting me?"

"No," Natasha answered quickly, shaking her head. "No, that's not it at all. Let me explain everything." Natasha felt a lump in her throat. "I know I've given you every reason not to trust me, but I'm begging you to believe me. I couldn't just let you die, especially not at HYDRA's hands. They're still after you."

Y/N's voice was filled with bitterness. "I just died inside. And it's because of you, Natasha. You killed me, you sleeper cell spy."

Natasha flinched at the harsh words, feeling the weight of her guilt. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted any of this to happen. If I could go back, I would change everything. I'd never do this to you and… and I'm not what I did. Believe me."

Y/N's laugh was cold and sarcastic. "You are what you did, Natasha."

The words echoed in Natasha's mind, clashing with Steve's voice reminding her that who she is isn't defined by what she did. But Y/N's words felt truer in this moment, cutting deeper than any physical wound.

"I'll forget you, Natasha, someday," Y/N said, her voice chillingly calm. "But I'll never forgive."

Natasha's heart shattered at those words. She had known that repairing their relationship would be difficult, but hearing Y/N's definitive statement felt like a death sentence to her hopes.

Y/N continued, her eyes cold and unforgiving. "You're the smallest woman who ever lived."

Natasha stood there, speechless, the weight of Y/N's words pressing down on her like a physical burden. She wanted to fight back, to prove her love and remorse, but the pain in Y/N's eyes told her that it's a bit too late.

three days in the making!! ( became four since i added a few things today, lol ) how was it? was it worth it? i think so. i love tsmwel soooo much!! been playing it over and over and over again. i mean, isn't it obvious? ( 9.361k words… ) let me know what you think and enjoy reading!

if i said best ttpd song, you say what??

[dokidokitsuna]

The Diary of Penny Polendina

The other day I was inspired to try working on a different NeverFell Projects installment, one that would probably be a lot shorter and quicker to write, because it's not like I care that deeply about Penny, right??

Well, I was incredibly wrong. ^^; So wrong that I'm actually having trouble with this story now...essentially, Penny goes through a bit of a 'rebellious phase' (gross oversimplification, but that's all you get for now) and there are, surprisingly, a lot of aspects of that character arc that I want to explore. Plus, a pivotal connection with Pyrrha, the climax of which I haven't quite figured out yet...

God only knows if I'll be able to finish, or if I'll just write the first 2/3rds of the story and leave it at that. But I figured I might as well warm up by talking about the designs. ^^

Penny's new look is basically 'Disney's Pinocchio, color picked from Arthur Watts' character design'~

I didn't necessarily want her to look evil, just...bolder. Like she specifically picked 'daring' items that maybe her father or Ironwood's PR team would rather she didn't wear, at least not compared to the more innocent frilly pastels she had on before. Between the chest window, midriff, and short sleeves, she's actually showing a lot more skin than before, despite still being 90% covered up. ^^;

Those multicolored wrist accessories are prototype weapons invented by Dr. Watts, that mix and pressurize Dust from the cartridges to cast "artificial magic". This way I get to do a bit of the 'Winter Maiden Penny' stuff in this Vol. 3-locked AU~

Penny's magic usage is one of the things that stumped me when writing this story...In NeverFell, magic isn't just glowy rainbow lasers or weather powers-- it essentially allows the user access to any conceivable semblance at any time; its potential is limitless. Being a beginner, Penny would probably just come up with one signature 'spell' to use in tandem with her Floating Array...but I can't decide what I want her to do. ^^; I think I'd like for her to do something connected to dance, because I feel like that's something unique to her, the way she dances with her weapons before striking. Nobody ever points out how the "robot" in the cast is the one who chooses to spend energy on unnecessary movements that aren't even used to maneuver around an enemy; they're just cute and fun. ^^ I think that's a great encapsulation of who Penny is~

Redesigning Pyrrha is always super difficult, because her original design is so perfect. But I like this end result a LOT. ^^ I may need to adjust the pant legs a bit, but overall it feels like a very believable alt outfit that keeps the spirit of the character.

Pyrrha is another one of the stumbling blocks in this story, because I'm now forced to create at least one malleable personality trait for her-- i.e. one that isn't intrinsically tied to Jaune and/or the plot. Something that she could actually take into a meaningful relationship with a different character... I had the idea to expand her "I'm sorry!" gag into a real guilt complex, where she has trouble letting go of instances where she's made mistakes or hurt someone. In this case, dismembering Penny 1.0 and essentially ending her life. :T She seeks out 2.0 in a desperate effort to make things right, and ends up helping her with ...things, and growing as people or whatever, and all that other stuff I have yet to write. ^^;

I just realized that Pyrrha could use her polarity semblance to pull Penny towards her in a situation where they need to reach each other...that's so cute. ^^ I gotta remember that~

[zara-renata]

Control | ao3 | the Sylus series

Summary:

You are feeling a bit depressed after completing a mission that didn't go 100% the way you wanted. Mephisto, and then Sylus, pay you a visit to cheer you up.

Notes:

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, a little Sylus POV This is not actually strictly part of the Sylus series, but rather a bit of an interlude outside of the series I'm writing because it doesn't advance the plot and I don't know where I'd fit it in. I was having an awful day earlier this week and wrote this purely to make myself feel better. I hope it does the same for others. It doesn't contain all the same triggers as the series (but I'd still advise checking the CWs) and can be read as a standalone if you'd like. This story contains: sfw, pure self-indulgent hurt/comfort for overachievers who, despite doing their very best, still feel like they didn't do enough, fluff, banter, tender Sylus, clingy Sylus, still-bit-of-a-jerk-Sylus, CWs: grief, discussion of the realities of law enforcement and innocent civilian death as a result of criminal activity, violence typical of the game and Sylus's criminal tendencies, mention of slight depression and feelings of emptiness.

Here you are, again. It has been a long day, a long week, a long month. You’ve been called out almost every shift to counter an increased spurt of wanderer attacks, while also trying to execute a carefully orchestrated undercover mission to stem the tide of illegal modified protocore weapons that recently flooded the black market by arms smugglers.

No, not Sylus. He’s too clever to put himself on the Association’s radar for his arms dealing in a way that could result in a trap being set for him.

No, the idiots you were going after couldn’t hold a candle to Sylus.

But their activity resulted in civilians being caught in the crossfire, and you had spent the last month seeing firsthand the carnage left behind after a gang battle erupted on the outskirts of Linkon City. You forced yourself to look at the broken bodies and broken families of the people affected, boots crunching on shattered glass, trailing bloody footprints on the cracked tarmac of the street. You would not allow your… situationship with Sylus to blind you to the reality of what his line of work could do to people. People just trying to live their lives, make their rent, raise their children–to survive a life that’s already painful and short enough already, without people like the assholes you just finished bringing down tonight arming other assholes with weapons that no one should be able to access. Weapons designed with one purpose in mind: maximum damage, minimum finesse. Weapons designed as if collateral damage is a feature and not a bug.

You’re tired. Days like this have always happened to you, even before you became a Hunter. The lethargy seeping through your body, the disinterest in doing anything that normally makes you happy. You lie on your bed, staring blankly through your gauzy curtains, the autumn wind driving the intermittent raindrops against the glass of your window. Each one a crystalline jewel, splattering, liquid diamonds trailing down the pane like tears. 

You have the evening stretching before you, and you want to enjoy it, you do. But you can’t seem to make yourself get up, as your mind drifts to the images you made yourself engrave in your brain. The least those people deserved was you to bear witness, and ensure that you never forget, since your work as a Hunter came too late to help them, in the end. 

You turn your gaze away from the gloomy late afternoon, let it wander over the riot of plants hanging from your ceiling and along the shelving in your room. Life continues. Proof of it is right here in your bedroom, the plants turning carbon dioxide into oxygen for you to breathe with your healthy lungs. You’re fine. You’ll be fine.

Before, you might have dropped in on your grandmother, making her a meal and sharing it in quiet companionship. If Caleb weren’t on a flight mission, you might have asked him to go on a run or to the gym with you, worked off some of this jittery aggression on the mats or by pushing your lungs past their capacity in an effort to leave him laughing in your dust.

But they’re gone now, of course. Victims of the same type of assholes you took down today.

You should be reveling in the success of your mission, but all you can see is the still form of one victim in particular, a snapshot in your memory of their slender wrist, their half-opened hand, lying in the street amongst the glittering shards of glass and scorch marks on the asphalt.

This empty feeling will pass. You know that. You have enough life experience to understand that feelings like this, moods like this, ebb and flow like Rafayel’s tide. So what if it’s harder now, to pull yourself out of them when you find yourself drifting in this sorrowful sea, because your support network has been washed away? That doesn’t mean you’ll feel like this forever. Only that it might take a little longer to drag your tired body off the bed, to refill your empty tank and survive and maybe enjoy another day.

Suddenly, you hear a tapping. You turn your head back to the window. Mephisto is perched on the other side of the glass, gently pecking the pane. He tilts his head and regards you with one glittering red eye.

You haven’t seen Sylus for several weeks now, both of you busy with your respective occupations, and you, doubly busy with the undercover mission. He has sent photos, here and there–blurry pictures of a black cat, a flock of birds in flight against an evening sky, the setting sun’s rays the color of fire and blood. He has asked how you’re doing, and you’ve lied and said you’re fine. He sent you a photo of a glass of wine on a low table near a roaring fire. “You should be here,” he’d captioned it.

Despite all of your complicated feelings about who he is, who he was to you when you first met him, what he does to afford his huge open hearth fireplace and all the finest things in life, you wished you were there with him too.

But you weren’t, and you haven’t been for awhile now. Over the past few weeks, you’ve seen Mephisto in the trees, heard his grating call over the sounds of traffic. But he hasn’t approached you, until today. Normally you would play your typical cat and mouse game with him, or rather, crow and worm, and you’d grab your paintball gun and see how good your aim is as he flaps outside your window, or you’d lure him in with a treat and lock him in the bathroom and wait and see how long it takes Sylus to send Luke and Kieran to set him free. You like to think of it as enrichment activities for both the crow and his owner–you’re not going to make it easy for Sylus to stalk you. He might get bored, after all.

But you just don’t have it in you, today. You slip off the bed and pad to the window, throwing it open. Rain mists your face, drawing goosebumps up your bare arms. Mephisto watches you, and caws softly. You’d call it a coo, if it wasn’t such a horrible sound. Much like his owner’s attempt at a lullaby. You back away, slip back onto the bed. If he’d like to come in, he’s welcome.

You return to staring at your bedroom walls. After a while, you hear the flapping of wings, and suddenly Mephisto lands next to you on the duvet. He shakes his mechanical feathers, and water droplets are flung onto the fabric and the mountain of pillows.

“Thanks, buddy,” you murmur, watching as he uses his beak to groom himself. It’s uncanny, sometimes, how alive-acting he is. Like a real bird. You’ve always wanted a pet. You know that Sylus insists that Mephisto is not a pet, but you really can’t see the difference. Mephisto clearly likes his owner, and does his job dutifully, and sometimes you think, with great pleasure. He drops little destroyed bits of surveillance hardware at Sylus’s feet on occasion, like a real crow bringing something shiny to a human who was previously kind to him. 

Curiously, but without much expectation, you extend your hand to the bird. He hops backward, away from you, but remains on the bed. “May I pet you?” you ask.

He cocks his head, makes soft little chirruping noises in his mechanical throat. You let your hand fall to the duvet, palm up, and close your eyes. It’s nice to have company, in any case.

After a while, you feel him hopping again, and then something cold and smooth hesitantly nudges your palm. You open your eyes. Mephisto is gently pecking your palm. He nudges it, then bobs his head, observing you with his beautiful ruby eye.

“Is that a yes?” you ask. In response, he sits down, nestling into your duvet. You lift your hand, and he lets you run your fingertips along the top of his head and along the smooth, cool metal feathers along his back. 

Every few minutes, he ruffles his feathers and readjusts his position, slowly inching his way closer to you on the bed. Finally, he is resting against your thigh, within easy reach of your hand, head tucked into one of his wings like he’s ready for a nap.

The open window lets the brisk, rainy autumn evening in, and the light slowly fades. Eventually, you manage to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

And this is how Sylus finds you, towards midnight. He lets himself in through your front door, using the fingerprint scanner he reprogrammed to accept his own as well as yours. He enjoyed seeing the look on your face, when you figured out that’s how he had gotten into your apartment without the key you had offered and he had refused. Your angry facial expression is worth more than all of his dragon’s hoard of wealth, in his trustworthy opinion.

He notes that the temperature in your apartment is surprisingly cool, even through the warm wool of his thick black coat. He had sent Mephisto to check on you, but he hasn’t managed to get an update since the bird was tapping at your window, sending back images to Sylus’s phone of you lying on the bed in your sleep clothes, awake, but not looking at your phone or watching your wall-screen, even though it hadn’t even been dinner time yet. He had told himself not to worry, that you were probably just tired after the past grueling month. But now he is worrying. He slides off his black monk strap shoes, and places them neatly along your entryway wall. Despite the faint worry edging up his spine, he takes the time to neatly line up your own hastily kicked off boots next to his, because he also worries that you’re going to trip and break your neck one of these days on all the shit you just leave scattered around on your floor, too exhausted to immediately tidy them up and put them away.

He makes his way through your dark apartment, picking up discarded clothing and folding them over his arm to put in your laundry basket, and quietly steps into your bedroom. 

No wonder it’s cold in here–your window is wide open. It’s no longer raining, but the chill night air drifts into your bedroom and stirs the leaves of your indoor plants. You’re buried in your duvet, curled around an equally nestled Mephisto, who deigns to lift his head from where he had it tucked under his wings. He caws softly, as if to tell Sylus to be quiet and to not wake Sylus’s sweet little Hunter.

“This is dereliction of duty,” Sylus quietly scolds the bird, lifting the lid of your laundry basket next to your closet and neatly putting the clothes inside. He goes to the window and shuts it, and then draws the gauzy as well as the blackout curtains against the night outside. He returns to the living room, hangs up his coat, and brings a glass of water back to your bedroom.

He leans over the bed and pokes Mephisto. “You’re in my spot.” The bird puffs up his feathers a little in indignation and caws quietly.

“Nope, out. You’ve had your turn.” Sylus prods him again, and finally Mephisto ruffles his wings, hops to his feet, and flaps off to the living room, making disgruntled noises as he goes. Sylus sympathizes, but doesn’t feel guilty at all for dislodging him from your side. It’s Sylus’s turn now.

He slips out of his slacks, pulls his sweater and undershirt over his head, and slides under the blanket next to you. You sigh in your sleep, frowning a little, and Sylus runs his finger between your eyebrows, smoothing the furrow there. If he could, he’d reach into your dreams and crush anything that would cause such an expression on your face in his bare hands. Unfortunately, that’s not one of the perks of the aether core in his eye. He settles for plastering his body against your back and wrapping an arm around you, running his nose along your neck and inhaling the scent of your hair. The distance between Linkon City and the N109 zone is getting harder and harder for him to handle gracefully.

While you’ve been busy taking down the low level morons playing at being arms smugglers, Sylus has also been busy for the past few weeks, negotiating deals, consolidating his power, tightening his grip in his efforts to acquire a monopoly on the illegal protocore arms trade in both the N109 zone and Linkon City. He’s making progress, but his work is not yet done. He’s tired, and he has spent every day of the past month missing you. Now that he knows your latest mission is over, he intends to soak in your presence for as long as you’re available, before he has to head back out into the cold gloom without you again.

Sylus closes his eyes. Just for a moment. He’ll check in on some online auctions in a few minutes, review the stock market moves of the day and reconsider investments, but for just this moment, he’ll hold you in his arms, and warm your cold hands in his warm palms.

And that’s how you find yourself waking up in the early hours of the morning, a big warm body pressed against yours. You blink, note the time of two in the morning. You reach out and feel around, setting your bedside lamp to its dimmest setting so that you can see in the pitch-black room. You turn your head, and find Sylus’s sleeping face on the pillow next to yours, looking more peaceful than he ever appears when awake. The furrow between his brows is almost nonexistent, and his mouth is soft, plush lips parted a little. In this moment, you can imagine him as a little boy, angelic in sleep, mischievous while awake. Your heart hurts a little, imagining what kind of life that little boy had to endure to become the sleeping panther next to you tonight.

You turn fully, brush your nose against his, and then cuddle into him, head tucked into his neck. You breathe him in. He smells like warm, sleepy Sylus, a little sweaty under the duvet. You resist the urge to lick him.

“This is the best way to wake up from a nap,” his hoarse, sleep-filled voice vibrates through you.

You laugh softly. “Good, because this is the only package we offer tonight. No refunds.”

“I wouldn’t dream of returning this experience.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You both lie like that for a while, the sound of the wind outside and your combined quiet breathing the only sounds filtering through the room.

You had fallen asleep feeling empty, but waking up with this elusive man in your bed has you feeling sated. Refueled. Full. You sigh. How is it possible that a man who is responsible for the same things as those assholes you apprehended yesterday can make you feel like this? You remember that person lying in the street, eyes that will never see again, a parent who will never come home again. As if they were just sleeping. But as you stood over them, you knew better–your heart was the gravity well of a black hole, and you felt like you would fold in on yourself from the weight. If only you had been a little quicker, a little cleverer. If only you could disintegrate another human being like Sylus can, with just a gesture. You could have disappeared the assholes who were responsible for this person’s death, an entire life, someone’s baby at some point, brought into the world with love and effort and surviving each and every day, right up until the day you found yourself standing over them, as they lay broken in the street. And they died, for what? For some senseless, stupid feud over money? Turf? A feud they had absolutely nothing to do with. Fuck . You’re feeling sick again.

You burrow deeper into Sylus’s warmth.

“Speak,” Sylus says.

You pull back slightly and look up into his sleep-bleary face.

“Speak?”

“Are we a parrot tonight?” He smiles, eyes heavy-lidded.

“A parrot?”

“And a comedian, ladies and gentlemen,” he leans forward, nuzzles your nose with his.

“Don’t get too close, I probably have morning breath,” you murmur.

“Ah, so you can formulate your own thoughts.” He nuzzles the side of your mouth. “Do I look like a give a fuck if you have morning breath? I probably do too.”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then you yawn, widely. 

He runs his hand down your side and pinches your hip. You yelp.

“Don’t change the subject,” he commands. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I can hear it racing from here–I’m pretty sure it’s what woke me up from my pleasant nap.”

“Oh, did I disturb his royal highness’s beauty sleep?”

“Yes, so you owe me. The compensation is telling me what had you staring into the void yesterday, and what made you sound so sad just now while enjoying being wrapped in my extraordinary arms. Many people would pay a lot to be in the position you’re in right now,” he says smugly.

“Yes, in order to slit your throat.”

He huffs. You note that he’s wrong; you’re probably the only one with morning breath. He somehow manages to just smell good. Toothpaste and mouth. You want to lick his teeth. “You’re probably not wrong.” He pauses. “Please talk to me. I’ve gotten used to hearing your worries. You can shut everyone else out, but I don’t like it when you shut me out too.”

You roll away from him, but his arm around you prevents you from going far. You glance at your windows, but the blackout curtains block even the city lights. 

“I’ve just. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things over the past few weeks.”

“Uh oh. Nothing ever good comes from that,” he teases. You swat him in the chest. His body shakes with quiet laughter.

“Do you want to know or not?” you gripe.

“It’s not my fault that you didn’t make it clear that you won’t be accepting editorial commentary at this time. But I’ve learned my lesson. Continue.”

You throw your arm over your eyes and laugh. You can’t help it. Even when you’re feeling at your worst, this man manages to make you laugh. But you feel guilty for laughing, because the person you can’t get out of your head, this stranger who you were unable to save, will never laugh again. You hate it.

You sigh. “I’ve always struggled with the fact that my evol seems to have only a support function. Like, I often need a partner in order to be optimally effective in battle against wanderers, because otherwise it’s just me and whatever my physical talents are. Which, though amazing,” you sniff, “are often just, not enough when dealing with the kind of creatures that I often have to deal with.” You fall silent, imagining if you could set shit on fire like Rafayel without resorting to a flamethrower, or freezing a swathe of enemies all at once like Zayne. The battles you would wage would be epic.

“And I’m obviously competent at eliminating wanderers–I can usually arrive before the damage occurs. I can actually help people. And wanderers, they’re not like human perpetrators. They have no ill intent. They’re like animals, driven by instinct. Even when I do arrive too late, it feels more like a natural disaster than a malicious injustice. Of course, it’s still awful when someone dies for something so senseless, but that’s been the case for all of humanity’s history in the face of stronger predators.” Your mind races. You’re trying so hard to articulate what has been weighing on you. “But that’s only one part of my job. The other side of it, the side that involves going after humans with ill-intent, that’s a lot more complicated. So often, I arrive after the damage has already been done. I feel like the cleanup crew, completely useless to the normal people who just are trying to get through the day who get caught up in other peoples’ cruelty. It’s not like evil assholes announce their arrival with a metaflux fluctuation like wanderers do. I’m just.. too late, too often.” You try to imagine everything you’d do if you had Sylus’s power. You’d probably turn into a supervillain too, to be honest.

You fall quiet again. Sylus props his head on his hand and runs a finger along your clavicle with his free hand. You enjoy the feel of his calloused fingertip along your skin.

“And what else? I’m sensing there’s more to this story.”

You don’t want to hurt him. But you also don’t want to lie to him. “I just can’t reconcile the fact that I spent the last month tracking down the arms smugglers that I managed to catch yesterday, and I’d have gladly killed them if given half a chance. If I could snap my fingers like you, and just fucking annihilate them. But here I am, lying here in bed, with you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the face as you say this.

You feel Sylus’s fingers begin to trail up your forearm and gently encircle your wrist, pulling your arm away from your eyes. You turn and look into his face. 

“I’m certainly glad you’re not in bed with them now, sweetheart,” he says drily. “I don’t think there would be room for all of us, what with your army of plushies and my impressive physique.”

You groan.

“So let me get this straight. You’re upset because you feel like your skills aren’t sufficient to protect every single person who is in need of help. You’re upset that you can’t kill with a thought. And you’re upset because you would have killed these guys, who are in the same business as me, but you refuse to do the same to me?”

It sounds so simple, succinctly listed like that, for how heavy your heart feels. For the emptiness you felt, instead of triumph, after successfully protecting a lot of people over the last month, and getting a few more petty dealers off the street so they can't contribute to hurting anyone else in the future.

The bit about Sylus being the same as those criminals, without meeting their fate, on the other hand. That doesn’t sound simple at all.

You nod. “Instead of feeling like I did well, and taking the free time I have after I’ve completed a job to enjoy myself, or do something that makes me happy, all I can do is think about all the ways I failed, or how could have done it better, or how I’m still not doing everything I should be doing to help people. That’s why I was …staring at the void, as you put it. I couldn’t imagine one thing that I wanted to do with the free evening I had.”

Sylus pokes you in the forehead. “I knew you were arrogant, and greedy. I just never realized how much until this moment,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

You jerk back from his touch. “I pour my heart out to you, and you call me arrogant and greedy?” He lifts his eyebrows at your outburst. “The fuck, Sylus?”

“Quiet, or you’ll wake Mephisto.” He drapes an arm back over you and pulls you back into his warmth.

“Oh nooo, wouldn’t want to wake your mechanical murder bird,” you bite out, but quietly. You feel like you have a new understanding with Mephisto now that he let you pet him and you shared a nap with him. It’s not his fault that his owner is an insensitive asshole.

“No, we wouldn’t,” he agrees placidly. “Would you care to know why I am rightfully pointing out that your attitude about what you 'should' be capable of is arrogant and greedy? Or do you just want to stay upset about it for a little longer? I can wait.”

You scowl at him. “Oh, I’m happy to wait if you keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

You put your palm on his face and push him away. He rolls away with a soft laugh.

“Just tell me,” you grumble. “And then go home. I’m suddenly not feeling like company anymore.”

“Hmm,” he props himself back up on his hand. “You have an incredibly powerful aether core in your heart, one that is coveted by countless people.” He rests his other hand over your heart as he speaks. “You've recently increased its power by absorbing the power of another aether core. You can heal other evolvers, resonate with them to exponentially increase their power, and probably do a lot more than you’re aware of yet. You’ve probably not even scratched the surface of what it can do for you.” 

You look away, but enjoy the press of his palm against you.

“You have extraordinary physical capabilities–I’m not just patronizing you when I said that I’d rather have you at my back than anyone else I know, even without your evol.” He reaches for your cheek, and gently tilts your head to look at him again. His wine-dark gaze drifts over your face. “And you’re not the only Hunter in the Association. If only one person were capable of doing your job, there would be no Association at all. You can’t expect to be one-hundred percent successful, one-hundred percent of the time. Not even I am greedy enough to feel like I should be able to have that kind of success rate. And I’m also not arrogant enough to expect that of myself. I can’t run Onychinus alone. I rely on many subordinates and competent people to take care of the business when my attention is elsewhere.” He looks at you pointedly, as if you’re the elsewhere slurping up all of his attention.

You blow a raspberry at him.

More quickly than you thought he could move, he snatches your tongue between his thumb and forefinger and gently wags it. His skin is salty. “Da thuck, Thylus?”

“Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want me to take it,” he wags it once more, as if to emphasize his point, and then lets go. “Next time I won’t give it back.”

You suppress the urge to just slobber all over his face in retaliation.

“So yes. I find the expectations you have for yourself to be arrogant and greedy, and entirely excessive. Do you think that your colleagues are failures, or haven't done enough, when they return from missions that went tits up, or when they failed to protect one hundred percent of those threatened?"

You scowl. Of course not. You know that they work their asses off to the best job they can. You'd never think less of them for having a bad day, or a bad mission. For people dying on their watch. But they're not you.

"Kitten, you’re doing your best, with everything you have in you. The world is cruel, and so are the people in it. You can’t control that. But you can control what you do about that cruelty. You're already fighting as hard as you can--too hard, if you want my valuable opinion."

"Trying as hard as I can with as much hardware and bodywork I can exploit. But it's just no the same as having your evol," you grumble. You might be slightly jealous of Sylus's power. Just slightly. 

Sylus huffs, sounding a little impatient. "If it's not enough for you to be a walking grenade launcher, and you're frustrated that you can’t disintegrate those you want to eliminate with a snap of your fingers, just bring me with you. You can control me, and I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

You just stare at him, mouth hanging open a little. He lifts his hand and chucks you under your chin with his thumb to close it. “Why so shocked?”

“Aside from the fact that you just offered to murder for me?” you ask, shaking your head a little.

“I already have murdered for you. I’d do a lot more than that, for you.” He pulls you into his side again and rests his head on your shoulder. “So don’t be too greedy. You're already very talented at what you do. You have control over the most powerful person in the N109 zone. The people you work to protect every single day are lucky that you are on the Association’s side, and not anyone else’s. You can’t save the entire world from injustice. But you can continue doing your best, with your already impressive skills, to protect as many people as you can. And if anyone tries to tell you that what you’re doing isn’t enough, you can send them to me. Including yourself. I will take care of them for you.”

You turn your head and rest your cheek in his silky hair. You breathe deeply and feel your heart settle in your chest. You notice that he hasn’t addressed the fact that he’s involved in the same business as the people you took down yesterday. But you don’t care. You know, somehow, in the calm beating of your heart, that he isn’t anything like them. He isn’t anything like them at all.

Your thoughts drift to a slender wrist, to an open palm. You will never forget this person. Hopefully you can honor them, in some small way, by continuing to force yourself to look, and not surrendering to the horror of it. You will keep going. Maybe next time, you'll arrive in time. You hope it is enough. And you'll also try to hear what Sylus is telling you. All you can give is your everything. No one can ask more of you than that, even if it's you who is asking.

As you continue rubbing your cheek in his hair like a cat, he speaks again. "And as for you not arresting me... or taking advantage of your position and slitting my throat." You freeze. You thought maybe you could just pretend you hadn't expressed this worry tonight. "Have you ever considered the possibility that, in order to treat an infection, it's not sufficient to just address the symptoms?"

For a second you feel like you can hear Zayne coming out of Sylus's mouth, and you're totally weirded out. "What do you mean?" you reluctantly ask.

"Sometimes, the only way to destroy a rotten core is to work from the inside out. It's not enough to desperately amputate the affected limbs. And that kind of work requires getting your hands dirty."

You feel like he just told you something very important. But you can also sense that he won't explain anything else tonight. This is the closest the two of you have ever gotten to actually discussing the substance of his work, and you're satisfied with that. The certainty you felt before, about him being utterly different than the others, settles deeper into your bones. You relax into him again.

“And your last worry. About not knowing what to do with yourself when you’ve completed something extraordinary, and find yourself with some free time on your hands… just call me. We can figure out what to do together.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything. If you do, you might start crying and not be able to stop. He is everything you needed tonight. You just press closer into him, hoping he can hear everything you can’t say out loud yet.

“So, still not feeling like company anymore?” Sylus asks, after you’ve sat in peaceful silence for a few moments. “Or am I allowed to stay?”

“Would you go even if I asked you to?” You reach up and run your fingers through his soft hair, and he makes a pleased noise deep in his throat.

“If I thought that was what you really wanted, sweetheart.”

And you believe him.

[diejager]

Only Human

Pairing : Monster Task Force 141 x reader

Cw : canon-typical violence, bodies, death, blood, cannibalism?, wounds, trauma.

Wc : 3.2k

Note: the designs for the Monster 141 came from @bluegiragi

Only Human masterlist

When Laswell, a known figure in the Intel gathering ranks of the CIA and military, had called you for your new transfer, you were ecstatic about it. You showed up casually, still in your vest and whole attire from your deployment, you were told that Laswell was waiting for you in her office once you took your first step. You only had time to drop off your weapons in the armory before going straight to her office.

You were personally asked to join a Task Force, not another squad or team under a Captain, which you hadn't expected; an international Task Force to boot, it shocked you, even more, to have been asked to have you on a Task Force that spanned nations wide. The radar must've been wide for it to be an international one, important and specialized soldiers were probably the ones who were invited - green berets, if you guessed.

You were excited, though, to have the honour of joining specialized soldiers with only being a corporal.

"Which Task Force, ma'am?" you asked, back straight with your hands crossed behind your back.

"The 141, Hunter."

Your composure almost slipped, your mind buzzed with excitement and confusion at the notice. The 141 was a reputed group, having members from the United Kingdom to the Americas and allies in the south, around Urzikstan, and perhaps farther. They took down Major Hassan, killing the heart of Al-Qatala and weeding out traitors like General Sheperd and Graves' PMC, the Shadows. A closed group with secrets only they knew and would take to the grave, a tight-knit Task Force.

You've heard of some members, none being human. The Ghost - or Ghost - a wraith hybrid of some sort, as dangerous as he was respectable. He was the better known one, a popular topic from one's lips to the other, gossip and rumors about him being more monster than human. While some were harmless, others were made to be racists - or xenophobic in some rarer cases - most were gossip, exaggerated depictions of the man people feared and admired.

You were jumping under your skin for the day to pass faster, for your transfer to happen more quickly. You couldn't wait to meet your new teammates, you've heard good and bad things about them. Some were sociable, others shy or downright menacing to look and interact with (perhaps they specifically meant Ghost).

You've always wanted to work with monsters, the majority of the military was made up of human men and women with a low, low (around 5%) being monsters, creatures of the night that made them stronger, faster, and better than humans, but they were often hunted until the last decades.

You, however, expected that half of the Task Force was made up of humans, and the rest monsters. You were wrong, really wrong. The moment you stepped out, you realized how unfortunate - maybe fortunate to be stuck with broad, strong, and handsome men - you were to be the sole human. Perhaps it was the shock or the honour that made you freeze and shy away, but neither of them could make you feel as prepared as you should be for officially joining them.

"Welcome to the Task Force, Hunter!" Price yelled over the beating blades of the helicopter, blue eyes staring at you with a - sinful, you found it sinfully handsome - smile hidden under his beard. He also had a green tail that followed behind him, a long, strong tail, you mustn't forget that.

The first ones you talked to were Soap and Rudolfo, two jokesters within the group. Soap was cute, having almost a puppy-like excitement at meeting you with the way he greeted you, smiling and laughing boisterously. He was loud and warm when you first talked to him.

Rodolfo, or Rudy as he told you to call him (you stuck with Rodolfo, feeling too intrusive to call him by his lovely nickname), was Mexican, a special forces, just like everyone else in the TF. He was as warm as the Mexican sun, funny, and soft-spoken.

They had an accent, one a light Mexican and the other a deep Scottish slur in his words. Rudolfo incorporated Spanish words in his sentences, easily understood but adorable nonetheless. Soap's Scottish accent was thicker, deep with his jargon that you sometimes questioned if he was even speaking English.

You only found out that they were monsters when they were training outside. You watched Soap turn from under the shades, eyes keen on his rippling muscles and cracking bones. His jaw shifted, it grew longer and his ears pointed up, light brown fur sprouted from his skin and his mohawk traveled farther, turning into a mane. You could hear the whines and grunts from his transformation.

A werewolf, you learned. He had enhanced strength. He became more durable and agile. He had accelerated healing, almost ten times the speed of regular men, and his senses seemed to have heightened significantly. It looked painful, you concluded so from the bodily sounds and his moans. The heat he exhumed was searing hot, it turned the air around him into mist, burning the water in the air and turning it into gas.

Soap had heard you gasp and awe at his form, broader and taller, he towered over you when he stood on his hind legs. His eyes glowed a vibrant blue when they met yours, waiting and gauging your reaction, but he could only see awe and admiration, perhaps a dash of excitement beneath your gaping expression.

He padded towards you, lurching forward and sending you tumbling on your back as his tongue lolled to the side and hung from his panting maw. His shoulders shook, abdomen flexing rapidly, it looked like he was laughing. At your reaction, or you, you didn't know, all you had in kind wa the urge to touch him. He looked so soft.

It was ironic in some sense, for the man - now creature - who feared dogs to be a werewolf, a larger, more dangerous, and fantastical counterpart to the domesticated dog.

"Can I pet you?" the words fell from your lips before you knew it, your face flushed and your body seized in embarrassment.

Soap huffed and pushed his snout to your shoulder, lowering his head in approval. He would let you pet him, and you took it without complaint. His fur and mane were soft, maybe the softest you've ever touched (you grew up hunting with your father, you knew for as well as any other hunter). It was soft and silky, he had taken great care in his grooming.

He let out a satisfied rumble when he saw you smile, a childish wonder in your eyes. You were so captivated by Soap's looming form over you that you almost forgot about Rudolfo - keyword: almost. Something wet had nudged your elbow, you turned and saw a smaller dog, ghostly pale with glimmering, blue gems for eyes. It looked like a mix of a lab and a shepherd, the combination making this white dog adorable.

Your eyes observed the whole length of it, from its head to its tail, a long whisp-like swirl that turns blur at the end. It connected the dog to Rodolfo. You didn't know what the dog was. Was it a spirit? Or was it a familiar?

"Cadejos, Hunter," Rudolfo answered your silent question, smirking at your petting the spirit with one hand while the other scratched behind Soap's twitching ear. "Dog spirits. I'm their vessel."

That meant he was more human than Soap was, perhaps almost as you. You still gave him an awed look, amazed by the possibility of becoming a vessel for mythological beings and spirits.

You only truly found out whether or not Ghost was human or a monster on a mission. You were sent along with a team led by your Lieutenant to capture a standing AQ cell, one of the few that still stood without their leader.

You were, along with other sergeants, corporals, and privates, separated into two teams, Alpha and Bravo, one led by a sergeant and the other by Ghost. He had you follow him close, a way to watch how you did on the field. You made quick work of them, they were weak, disorganized, and fought with each other when they had no one to lead them. A pity for what used to be a big problem.

You were left on your own, Ghost having gone north to search for something. You had taken down the surviving men, pouncing on them in the dark. When you were done, you wiped your blade on your forearm, cleaning it from the iron stench of blood.

"Could've left one alive, Hunter," Ghost's deep growl made you jump, twisting to meet his dark eyes. They seemed endlessly black, like a void of darkness. "I'm bloody hungry..."

He crept closer, steps slow and purposeful, as if trying to spook you. He stopped before a fresh body, one you muffled and stabbed. The body was still warm, blood pooling from the wound and eyes glossed over with death.

"Hungry, sir?" you asked, unsure of what he meant or if he had muttered it to himself.

He hadn't replied, head turning to examine the rest of the corpses, strewn around you like a gift. A growl rumbled in his chest, mist rolling off his body like a crashing wave. It filled the area around you and tickled your feet in its cold, dark embrace. You watched the fog cover the laying corpses, dissolving and swallowing them into its murkiness.

When he meant by hungry, he actually meant eating humans, you shouldn't have been surprised, a was a wraith hybrid. Spirits of the dead that hate and haunted the living. It made more sense when he told you to let one alive, wraiths preferred living souls, dead ones were still filling but tasted lesser.

"Clean kills, " he finally spoke, his voice a timber lower than it was before his dinner. "Good job, corporal."

You nodded at him, stomach fluttering with his compliment, a praise from such a man - monster - was a prize, something he rarely gave to other soldiers. You smiled under your gaiter, you wore it for better protection in the sandy deserts of Al Mazrah.

"I'll remember leaving some alive next time, L.T."

He craned his head to look at you before he left, eyes squinted in what seemed like a smirk - devilish, you hoped - and gave you a firm nod. You scrambled to follow him, watching his broad, dark back as you walked a few steps behind him. He hadn't spoken a word to you since you got to exfil, but once you landed at the base, he motioned for you to follow him with the jerk of his wrist.

Ghost wasn't so bad if you got past the glaring image of danger he portrayed and the growls he gave. You couldn't wait to work with him again or with the others.

Gaz was a harpy, a very interesting and useful monster to have on your team. He was nice, not as chatty as Soap was, but he talked to you and smiled your way. His caramel-dipped smiles were to die for. He was easy to talk to, by far easier than your lieutenant had been at the start.

You saw him a lot in the rec room, sipping on tea or scrolling through pages on his phone. He was comfortable with you as you were with him, he let his talons out, lounging with his wings across the couch or over your lap as you cleaned them for him. The ever-so-teasing gentleman had a way with his words and his wits, often leaving you flustered or annoyed at his jabs.

Being a harpy meant he was light, bones hollow yet sturdy enough for a human body fitting his strong and slimmer frame. He could fly, and he became much more agile, more so than Soap's werewolf form (birds were naturally more graceful than canines) and he had a telescopic vision, razor-sharp and precise, more than any humans or monsters could have, it rivaled the falcon's keen sight.

If he was so light, agile, and all-seeing, without forgetting he could fly, how did he manage to fall from a helicopter not once, but twice? That question bothered you often, lingering at the back of your mind like a ghost (more so than the wraith himself that kept appearing at random and old moments behind you).

"You can fly, right?" you stared at his face, blank of any expression after finally mustering the courage to ask him.

"These wings aren't just for show, " Gaz hummed, leaning back into the chair that he brought out to watch Soap and Ghost spar. You would have your turn with the wraith after their matches.

"Then how do you manage to fall from a heli twice?" you shot, brows scrunched in a frown, confused.

His wings jerked, black feathers twitching at the reminder - an embarrassing one - of falling out, smiling sheepishly. He simply shrugged, every limb stretching, his wings lengthening to his whole span and toed talons stretching and curling. You were struck by its sharpness, his long nails and claws could cut a man in half, or completely sever a limb off.

You guess you'll never have an answer to your question, he could keep his pride and you could keep your question to yourselves. You wouldn't mind doing so, he let you preen his wings, you could touch those soft feathers and pluck dead or broken ones from his perfect plumage.

Alejandro Vargas, an unmarried and very eligible bachelor with a smooth tongue and a growl of a Mexican accent. He seemed almost too real to be true when he smiled charmingly your way, his perfect, white teeth glimmering under the yellow bulbs and his shiny, sweat-coated skin glowing golden after a mission.

Alejandro's a chivalrous person - and they said chivalry was dead - he's caring and protective. The Los Vaqueros, cowboys, were his team in Las Almas, a family that grew with every new batch of recruits and men and women devoted to the small village they grew up in. Mexicans were a tight-knit community from what you've seen in Alejandro's and Rudolfo's stories.

He was good, handsome, and strong, maybe too perfect to be human, and human, he wasn't. He's a shifter, like Soap, a full-bodied shifter from human to monster. Not unlike his human side, his Nagual side was mighty and honorable, a greater man and an even greater Nagual.

Although solitary by nature, Alejandro was a sociable character, the life of the party if he could, but he was also a responsible man. He was tall, but taller when shifted, claws sharp and a tail helped him balanced.

Once, you'd seen him shift, yellow and brown-dotted fur sprouting from his skin. His lower jaw had protruding canines, standing proudly over the ridge of his nose. He looked like a jaguar hybrid, wearing his golden fur like a crown

His other one, a panther, a jaguar born with more melanin than the usual one, was just as majestic. His fur was a darkened grey with black spots dotting his back and tail. He tended to use this form in darker places, or at night, hitting for efficiency and silence.

Captain Price, you knew he was a monster since your arrival, his long, green tail dragging behind him. You never bothered asking whether he was a lizard or a dragon, you only knew that his scaly tail was reptile-like in origin.

His smoking habit, girthy cigars burning and smoking at the edge, his chapped lips wrapped around the base of it as dark smoke leaked from the sides of his lips, curling in the air and around his beard.

Sometimes, there would be smoke without his cigar being lighted, a dry and unlit stick that still smoked. Charred gas, too dark to simply be cigar smoke. It came from him, inside, you concluded. Dragons could breathe fire and smoke, create it from within and push it out. Stirring around the mass of heat could feel overwhelming, warm, and uncomfortable without a release.

"Why cigars?" Price coccked his head, bro lifted at your question. "Helps me curb the need to burn." He breathed out another cloud, watching it swirl around his golden eyes. He explained it well and simply. Though he also liked the taste of it, an authentic, earthy texture.

Other than the occasional scales here and there that popped out, you've never seen his shift. Did he turn and grow like Soap and Alejandro? Did he change like Ghost and Gaz? Or did he have a dragon spirit? You were, albeit worried about prying, curious about your Captain's change.

Your chance appeared when he called you to his office, wanting your help with something related to his wing- wings? You weren't expecting much, maybe seeing a glimpse of the tip of his wings or the sharp edge of his horns.

He was leaning against his desk when you knocked on his door, letting you in with a sharp grunt. He was hunched over his desk, his wing, green and wide, stretched out. His bucket hat laying on his table, letting his horns grow out and curve upwards, both green and shiny. His tail was violently and anxiously swishing back and forth, hands and arms overturned with scales. His fingers turned green and callused, his nails became sharp claws and tinted green.

"You've got softer hands than any of those blokes, Hunter," Price said, his reason for calling you was for your talented hands, skilled at massages and with the knife. "Lost it in a crash, 's fine."

Although for a reason, you still got to see every part of him, hear the story behind his missing wing, and share a few pleasantries. He groans and grunts during your sessions, but the muscles on his back were less tense and strained.

Price wasn't one to brag about himself, tell his exploits to others, but yours, he did, how skilled your hands were at loosening the knots on his back and shoulders, turning them putty under your palms. Soap had come rushing, following your scent until he found you, for a massage like the one Price got.

You sighed, this wasn't what you signed up for, the sudden rush of adrenaline or scares they would cause, popping or jumping out of nowhere when you had your back turned. Some - Soap, Rudy, and Gaz - were mischievously childish, loving pranks as much as they did them. You'd get white hair before you hit your late 20s.

Fortunately, the three others were far more mature, one charming, one broody, and one proud. You don't regret joining, even with being the weakest and only human in the Task Force, the 141 was your family, a dysfunctional one with an occupational hazard, but still a little family.

After all, big, broad men working by your side on a daily had its perks, and brought a big, horny problem.

Next

[awzominator]

Day 30!!! AAAAHHHH WE MADE IT!!!!!! THIS EVENT WAS SO FUN AND EVERYONE DID SO WELL!!!!! ❤️💜🧡💙

These designs were a Meet the Robinsons AU that I fumbled Bc I got overwhelmed w options fjsjjd Mikey was Goob (kinda?) and RaMona kids went back in time to hunt him down to make their fam whole again. It spirals Bc the hat (Doris) still exists and was invented by Donnie. She still wanted revenge on Donnie (and Leo and Raph) Bc they tried to “kill” her. Alas I got lost in the details and plot so I had to drop it 😔 anyways more info on the kids below

Jennika: Just as Raphael was his father’s son Jennika is her father’s daughter. Both the good and the not so good qualities jumbled together to make him go Gray as he had done for Splinter. I love seeing the analysis where ppl show Raph and Splinter were near copies of eachother and wanted to play on that with Jennika. The story will be diff obvi as Jennika won’t be a raphael clone that’d be boring. She has her own dreams and destiny which conflict w Raphael’s overprotective parenting and worry which went overdrive after Mikey’s disappearance.

Venus: imagine living in the shadow of someone ya never even met and ur constantly second guessing if ur acting in such a way in order to keep ur fam happy or if u r truly living as urself. Rip to Venus she is a ray of sunshine and optimism with a flair for rustling up good natured trouble which often invokes her loved ones to draw connections to Mikey. Venus is a people pleaser to a drastically toxic point where she’ll ignore all of her own issues and worth so long as her loved one(s) are doing ok. Shes learning magic from Shinigami and is killing it ✨

Y’thann: most likely to plan and win an all out war! He’s very analytical and quick thinker however he’s the most arrogant little shit you would ever meet. No one would ever believe you tho as he’s also an incredible lair and a momma’s boy. Often found hanging around Uncle Donnie’s lab learning and building tech and weapons. He prefers salamandrian stuff and loves training with his mother. He gets away with so much Jennika loathes him for it as she is constantly thrown under the bus for it.

Koya is their cool/insane older cousin. Sorry Koya fans she isn’t a mutant but she does have a pet falcon named Koya JR.

April/Donnie/Casey have a kid that Casey found and took home but never designed her rip

Leo has the highest honor of being AroAce w no children Bc he’s got a hoard of nieces and nephews to train and care for

Not the best description but that’s the jist my notes on this are all over the place as I slowly lost my mind and plot

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

[dovesdreaming]

At his worst

Summary: Reader stays by Logan during his worst and is unable to be pushed away by him

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: negative self talk

-

The night was cold, unusually quiet for the dingy apartment Wolverine had holed himself up in. After all these years, Logan was used to the silence, comfortable with it even. But something was different tonight. His mind, normally sharp, was dulled by memories that felt like jagged knives cutting through his thoughts. Jean. Rogue. Charles. All the people he had failed. All the people he had lost. The city buzzed below, lights flickering against the darkness, but Logan didn’t care. He slumped against the couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of whiskey, his usual attempt to drown out the pain. But even alcohol couldn’t numb the guilt that weighed on him. He was a weapon designed to hurt, to destroy, and now it seemed like everyone close to him suffered the same fate. A quiet knock broke through the silence, so soft it might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else, but not him. Logan’s senses were always on high alert. He sighed, part of him wanting to ignore it. He didn’t want company tonight, didn’t deserve it.

Another knock, a little louder this time. Persistent. “Logan?" A familiar voice called softly from the other side. Your voice. His chest tightened. You were the only person in his life now who didn’t seem to fear him. The only person who could look past the claws, the rage, the blood. Why? He could never figure it out. He didn’t deserve you. Heaving himself up, Logan tossed the whiskey bottle aside and trudged to the door. He didn’t bother with a shirt, his muscles tense beneath the scars that marked his body, a roadmap of violence. Opening the door, he looked down at you. You stood there, bundled in a jacket, worry etched on your face. “Hey” you said gently, eyes scanning his face like you could read everything going on inside. “Shouldn’t be here” Logan growled, his voice rough, hoarse. “Ain’t a good time”. You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head, eyes soft but unwavering. “When is a good time with you, Logan?”. That made him pause, and for a moment, he almost smirked. Almost. But he was too tired for that tonight. Instead, he stepped back, silently allowing you in.

You didn’t hesitate, walking past him and into the small apartment, your eyes trailing over the chaos. Half-eaten meals, broken furniture, and the unmistakable stench of whiskey lingering in the air. You turned to face him, crossing your arms. “You’ve been drinking”. Logan let out a low grunt, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. “What else is new?”. “You know, you don’t have to push me away every time things get bad” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You’re not alone, Logan”. A sharp laugh escaped him. “Ain’t that simple. People around me... they don’t stay for long. They get hurt. Or worse”.

You took a step closer, closing the space between you. “I’m not them. I’m not going anywhere”. Logan’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words pressing on him. He wanted to believe you, but he knew better. He’d seen it too many times, the look in people’s eyes when they realized just how dangerous he was. How broken. “You don’t know what you’re talking about” he said, the edge in his voice returning. “I’ve done things... terrible things. You don’t wanna see me at my worst”. But you didn’t flinch. You never did. Reaching out, you touched his arm, and for a second, Logan almost pulled away, afraid of your kindness, of the warmth in your touch. But he didn’t. “I’ve seen enough, Logan. I’ve seen you fight, seen the pain you carry. And guess what? I’m still here” you said, your voice unwavering. “Because I care. Because I know that, no matter how much you try to push people away, you deserve to be loved. You deserve to be understood”.

He shook his head, fists clenching at his sides. “I ain’t someone you can fix. I’m not someone who’s ever gonna be... whole”. You stepped even closer, eyes locking with his. “I’m not trying to fix you. I’m here to stay. I’ll take the good, the bad, and everything in between. Even when you’re at your worst”. Logan’s throat tightened, emotions bubbling up that he hadn’t let surface in years. He hated how vulnerable he felt right now, how exposed. But at the same time, there was a small part of him that wanted to believe you. That wanted to trust that you wouldn’t leave like the others.

“Why?” The word slipped out, raw and filled with the pain he had been holding back for so long. “Why would you stay?”. You smiled softly, your hand sliding down to take his, your fingers warm against his cold skin. “Because I see you, Logan. The real you. Not the weapon. Not the Wolverine. Just... you”. For the first time in what felt like forever, Logan didn’t know what to say, he had no comeback. His heart pounded in his chest, his walls crumbling down around him as he looked into your eyes, seeing nothing but honesty. No fear. No judgment. Just... acceptance. A shaky breath escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. You didn’t resist, wrapping your arms around him, your head resting against his chest as you stood there in the middle of the mess, in the middle of his chaos.

For the first time in a long time, Logan felt something other than anger, other than pain. It was small, fragile even, but it was there. A flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be alone. Maybe, with you by his side, he didn’t have to be afraid of his worst anymore. And for the first time in a long time, Logan allowed himself to believe that.

-

Thank you for reading!

[indierpgnewsletter]

Playing Rabbits in an RPG from 1976

(This continues our 2024 series, 10 Games From The First 10 Years. First published in the Indie RPG Newsletter)

It is genuinely surprising to me that in 1976, within two years of D&D coming out, someone published a game about being rabbits. It makes a little more sense when you realize that it was inspired by Watership Down and the designers were, I believe, zoologists or something similar. But having read it, the premise is the least interesting part of this game. It has so many fascinating little ideas.

Bunnies & Burrows is a game about rabbits … but these aren’t just rabbits, they fight, explore, gamble, study herbs, see the future, parley with beetles, find love, have children – and the list goes on. The end result are characters that ironically feel more human than you’d imagine.

As I play more games, I learn about games, sure, but I’m also learning a lot about myself. And a rule of thumb has slowly emerged: I want to play games that lead to interesting, surprising, unique things being said by the players. I’ve sometimes phrased it as “people want to say cool shit at the table”. I’m people.

Bunnies & Burrows starts with D&D as a jumping off point – there’s that old, familiar rolling 3d6 down the line to get your stats. But that’s more or less where the similarities end. You have rules for fighting but it’s not D&D combat – this game is often described as having “the first martial arts system” but what this means is that fighting is mostly weapon-less and involves declaring actions that flow into each other as patterns or c-c-combos. Basically, some actions set up other actions – you can’t Rip into another rabbit unless you already pulled off a Bite & Hold in the last turn. Some actions like Run aren’t possible if you’ve just done a Pin or a Rip in the previous turn and so on. I didn’t actually get to play out a fight but these rules got me grinning.

And the whole thing is like that. The study and application of herbs is meant to be a little puzzle where through trial-and-error and dice rolls, you slowly figure out what’s good for you and what isn’t. The languages and persuasion rules mean that certain characters can become envoys to other species. Because a language can mean the difference between things turning violent and a peaceful negotiation between rabbits and a mother scorpion that has accidentally wandered into their warren.

Don’t get me wrong. Most of these little pieces are eccentric and inelegant – always more convoluted than you’d like but still a major leap forward in playability because in the end, it’s a d100 roll under a target number. All the fiddliness – and there’s a lot of it – lies in the absolutely esoteric ways this game invents for calculating that target number. But I find it easy to forgive this in an old game, especially when the most interesting part of the game doesn’t lie in the mechanics but the negative space the rules seem to create.

The donut hole in the centre of this game – fruitful void? uncrowded centre? – is the question: What is rabbit society like? This is a setting question – or rather, a system of relation question – that is never asked but it must be answered. The mechanics have some opinions. For example, every player picks a profession when they make a character – Empath, Seer, Storyteller, Scout, and so on. Some of this comes from Watership Down, which can, of course, be your ready-made answer – it’s the unstated but obvious setting sourcebook for this game. But if you don’t go down that route, you’ve got a juicy problem: What do we value? What do we despise?