#at yet here he is. forced to fight and be a child soldier because that's what he is.

[epicfirestormer]

Me: I'm fine

Also me: Six getting his memory erased in "Six Minus Six" and Rex trying to make him remember is meant to parallel just how terrifying it must've been for Six and Holiday when Rex would sometime lose his memories before canon started. We know from what Tuck told Rex that he had lost his memories so many times, he would keep a notebook on him to make sure he would remember. How many times had this happen, for it to be a habit. How many memories did Rex lose when he was in Providence. How much of his own life does Rex actually remember during those years. Did Rex and Six bonded and got close before Rex inevitably blacks out and forgets everything again. How absolutely horrifying is it for Rex, a child in everything but title, to wake up with no idea who he is at a goddamn government facility and treated nothing more than a weapon. How heartbreaking had it been for Holiday, a mother figure who treats Rex like a child- how he should be treated- to see him not recall anything about her. How absolutely soul-crushing had it be for Six, who had taught this kid to survive and how to stay strong, to see that same kid act in fear. Did Providence did something similar to what Rex did, keeping a log of everything about him so he could know right away. How awful is that. How absolutely batshit, fucking insanely immoral it is that a child have to go through. To lose memories and be conditioned about waking up a military base. But in the eyes of Providence, he isn't a child. He's a weapon, an asset at best, and a monster at worst.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

sebek and the love of literature

HELLO, HI... PLEASE READ MY SEBEK ANALYSES, I BEG... HE IS A VERY GOOD BOY THAT IS DESERVING OF YOUR LOVE, I SWEAR HE IS... OTL

[ Sebek and internalized racism / Sebek and his place in the Diasomnia found family / Sebek and his capacity to love ]

YES... It is I, here with yet another Sebek-related ramble. Make yourself comfortable :)) *straps you into a seat and tapes your eyeballs open*

***SPOILERS for the book 7 part 12 (Heartslabyul - Deuce and Cater) update!!***

Okay, SO.

We already know that one of Sebek's hobbies is reading, as is stated in his official in-game profile:

... BUT I DON'T THINK YOU TRULY REALIZE HOW DEEP THIS READING HOBBY GOES. He has several voice lines declaring his love of books and reading. Several of Sebek's peers, including Yuu, Azul, and Jack, gift him books for his birthday. In his free time, Sebek chooses to read books on a variety of topics, including romantic tragedies and textbooks. He doesn't just read the book and then move onto the next thing either; other characters may joke that the only time he is quiet is when he is reading, but Sebek seriously absorbs the information he takes in and reflects on it. He thinks about what happened to the characters, what the lesson of the story is, what the author's intent might have been (in his Nightmare Suit vignettes). He wants to apply the techniques he reads about in books to real life, such as picking up new skills like badminton. This makes sense, as Sebek is the kind of person who is always striving to improve himself so that he may better serve his liege. Sebek is not a selfish reader. He loves books + picking up new knowledge and actively tries to share that with his loved ones. For example, Sebek has voice lines where he asks the player to share book recommendations so that he may read them tonight (aka basically as soon as possible). When we express confusion between dragons and longs, Sebek offers to visit the library with the player to show them "books suitable for beginners". (That of itself also indicates mindfulness towards people having different levels of proficiency at reading.) He is also shown being eager to fetch books for Silver from a higher shelf--though this is in part because Sebek loves to show off that he is taller--and directs Malleus to a book fair in Foothill Town so that his liege may find new interesting reads. According to Sebek, "It was [his] grandfather who taught [him] the joys of reading." Indeed, Baur has read to Sebek and told him (oral) stories since his grandson was a baby. He has continuously gifted Sebek book too, all of which Sebek has kept with him. It is implied that Baur thinks receiving a proper education is important, and even though he has complicated feelings about his one and only child marrying a mere human, he still wanted his grandchildren to be well-educated. Baur always made efforts to read and share stories with Sebek to that end. In book 7, this all comes full circle when Silver is wallowing in despair and Sebek talks some sense into him:

"If [Lilia] hated you, he didn't have to give or teach you anything. He could've just raised you into a dimwitted coward and made you a servant. But he didn't [...] Even trapped in the darkest despair, you kept on fighting! Who raised you to be so strong? LILIA DID! Why don't you see? Why do you doubt? You should have understood years ago! What can you call your strength, if not the direct result of Lilia's love?!"

From this dialogue, we can draw direct parallels with how Baur raised Sebek. In this analogy, Baur = Lilia and Sebek = Silver. Both Baur and Lilia initially have a disdain for humans, have served as soldiers in the royal guard, and have personally suffered due to humans invading their country and pillaging it for resources. Then they are also both forced into circumstances where they have a human child thrust upon them and they have to take some responsibility for said child. Despite that, Baur and Lilia were able to overcome their own prejudices and truly learn to love Sebek and Silver, respectively. Sebek is always in a rush to be better for others. Silver is always worried that he'll never be "enough" for the father that did so much for him. But the difference is that Sebek knows his grandfather loves him because Baur gifted him with knowledge--which is a strength and a power of its own. It's because Sebek is cognizant of Baur's love for him that he's the perfect candidate to call Silver out for being dense. Lilia DID teach Silver. Lilia DID value Silver getting an education. And because of that, Silver is strong. He is strong because of Lilia's love, just as Sebek is strong because of Baur's love and the knowledge that was granted to him. To Sebek, literature IS love. This is a core component of his character--and, additionally, it is a core component of how he understands, navigates, and communicates. (Please refer to the examples I gave in the earlier paragraphs!) Nowhere is this made clearer than at the end of Deuce's dream segment in book 7.

In the dream, Deuce gets into a brawl with some Octavinelle mob students in the NRC library. They chuck various books at each other during the fight, which deeply upsets Sebek. He falls to his knees (like, you can see his tall as fuck model lowering) to check on the books and laments at the damage they've taken.

What really sets Sebek off is when he happens to witness the contents of the thrown books. Simply put, a lot of information is missing. There are several blank pages, and what is there is riddled with errors or is written so crudely it's illegible. Literature, being desecrated in Sebek's presence? NOT ON HIS WATCH. He cannot hold himself back and lets it all out on Deuce, reprimanding his peer for wanting to be an honors student but not having the drive to properly absorb these materials (which, as you'll recall, is something Sebek takes very seriously himself).

Sebek has a very specific definition of what a "book" is. Simply having papers that are bound and have a cover is not a "book". Based on his anger, it seems he very much values the contents. He even alludes to the knowledge gained from reading as being a weapon Deuce can actually use in a fight (which, again, makes sense because of how Sebek often tries to apply what he learns from books to his own life) All of this shouting and scolding does lead to Deuce waking up, but I will be glossing over this part as this is an analysis focused on Sebek and not Deuce. However, there is something that I would like to discuss, and it happens after Deuce is fully awake. The two have a moment to bond over an anomaly of a book they found in the library—the only one that appears to have all its contents intact. It is “The Story of the Trump Soldier”, a famous children’s book from the Queendom. It has various short stories about the card soldiers (whom Deuce idolizes) that serve the Queen of Hearts.

Deuce tells us that, as a kid, he would beg his mom to read the book to him. When he got a little older and learned how to read himself, Deuce would read the book so many times that now it’s just stuck in his head. The fact that it was so perfectly reproduced in his dream is proof that the story holds great significance to him. SEBEK RECOGNIZES AND RESPECTS THAT. He doesn't insult Deuce or look down on him for reading what is "just a children's book". Instead, Sebek comments that something as simple as this can be what sparks one's love for reading. And do you know why Sebek says that... BECAUSE THIS IS PROBABLY TRUE OF HIMSELF 😭😭😭 It was Baur who got him books--probably including CHILDREN'S books--and read to him when he was small... so, as a result, Sebek understands how the mere exposure and finding that one book that hooks you can snowball into a real love for literature. It's not clear if Sebek himself is aware of this parallel since he kinda makes the remark off the cuff but BOY did I sure notice OTL

QEILRQEIYQEPPQEF AND THEN AND THEN AND THEN He suggests that Deuce try picking out a book sometime for his friends, something easy so that even Yuu and Grim can understand it. Sebek gives recommendations like this to Silver (one of the few humans he likes), who can never quite finish reading those books despite his best efforts... Sebek is advising that Deuce do this same thing 😭 THE THING HE DOES HIMSELF FOR A FRIEND, BECAUSE RECOMMENDING A BOOK IS ONE OF THE WAYS SEBEK SHOWS HE CARES.... . .. ..... . ..... . .... . . . . .. . .. .. At the end, Sebek even says that he will read "The Story of the Trump Soldier" when he's awake in the real world. THAT'S HIM ACKNOWLEDGING AND ACTING ON DEUCE'S BOOK RECOMMENDATION TO HIM... meaning that some small part of Sebek is coming to terms with Deuce as a companion... slowly opening up to the idea of having other friends... 🥺 The love for literature that Sebek got from Baur... is now being used as a means to bridge the great divide between Sebek and the peers he used to so brazenly snub and insult before...

If you look back at the voice lines for Deuce’s Birthday Jacket card, he says “Sebek gave me this reference book. He said he highly recommended it... Hey! This is CLEARLY for little kids! I can't believe that guy…” BUT DON’T YOU SEE???? With this context, you suddenly see it wasn’t meant as an insult. Sebek considered Deuce’s level of reading proficiency and purposefully picked out something that suited him. I have no doubt that Sebek actually puts a lot of thought into the books he recommends to others because—to him—to share literature is to tell someone “I love you, I care about you.” WEEEEEHEHHHHHHHH H HHHH H H H H H HH H H H H, IT ALL TIES TOGETHER SO WELL!!

[postersofleon]

Honey Has Value

In Leon's first mission, everyone warned him about the merchants that come every once in a while during dangerous situations. Nobody knows them. But everyone trusts them enough. Even Krauser, who was very sensitive in whom to trust with his weaponry. The merchants are the most chaotic neutral people who would sell to any person who had enough gold or anything in value. During one of his missions, Leon finally saw one of the merchants.

content: smut

notes: pre resident evil four; afab fem!reader; he forgot to socialize thanks to working in the military; reader is pretty femme by wearing a black dress; sexual frustrations coming from leon; small mentions of rotting flesh, leon is an awkward flirt; guys, even though i write smut, i hate booktok, does that make sense or i'm giltching in the system. smallish smut, little story.

taglist: @argreion

Leon could believe in Umbrella's cruel experiments. He had seen these monsters who are kindly called bioweapons, and even though Leon isn't forced to fight against them. He sometimes saw the creatures they turned into, and that was enough for a young rookie cop to see. He then had to mistrust his own government for wanting to harm a young child. Leon panicked and immediately a blackmail was tied around his throat.

A perfect noose around him. A traumatized man can't go back to his old life. Leon had to help a girl he barely saw in the tragedy of Raccoon City.

All because of his stupid want to help people. He was sinking in this damn hole depression, and he wasn't even allowed to go to therapy. When he was excited to talk to Claire, she wasn't there because she was still searching her missing brother.

Leon was alone. Leon didn't even have time with Sherry.

He believed in all of these faults of the world. It was a nasty cruel world that could barely be saved. Leon didn't even save Sherry. That was thanks to Claire. In that night, he didn't save anyone, and he trusted a bad person who fell to her death. Every inch of Leon's body knew guilt, the disappointment of the world, and bioweapons.

But why couldn't Leon didn't believe in this random ass Merchant? Merchants sounded like scumbags and fake to the bone yet everyone in his section of soldiers swore up and down that they are real and good enough.

They only appear in missions. The government doesn't pay for them to help. And none of them are the same person over and over. One had a handsome man with a bow tie; another had an elder woman, and lastly, Krauser even said he had dealt with a pair of twins. That's what made Leon struggle to believe this was real.

None of these people were truly scared to show their faces, but they all had the same name of merchant.

They had no true agenda. No sense of good or bad.

Leon hoped to never see them in his own missions. He didn't care if they had helped them before, Leon wasn't interested in them no matter how much.

His mission was down south. He had to learn Spanish in case the issues came to his language, but he knew the main part of the mission. A couple of normal soldiers came here, and we were murdered by a couple infected by the T. Leon was the next best option.

And Leon came ready. If a merchant was going to be there, he'll ignore them, no matter who it is.

Once he entered the place, it was a lonely village that was nearby an Umbrella lab, so he had already concluded who was going to be here. His heart beaten fast when he saw a person infected by the T. A poor woman whose skin was rotted away. Leon killed her without a second doubt. Even if Leon had the cure in his hand, he wouldn't want to use it on her, especially with the heat of the brutal summer.

Not only was her skin rotted. There was hole in skull that he didn't even make.

"How unfortunate," Leon immediately turned to whom it belonged to, "Seeing death is always unforgivable." A woman with a black dress was behind a desk of items. Due to the circumstances, she was hauntingly beautiful with the death surrounding her. It took a moment for Leon to realize it. She is a merchant.

"Hi, stranger." She smiled politely at Leon.

"Hi." Leon said firmly.

She played with string of pearls around her neck, "I'll be helping you with.... your situations." She seemed so nonchalant, her voice was relaxed as if the danger could never harm her.

"Situations..." Leon looked around her store of items. She had almost everything in this little place, a small box with a strange symbol planted on the center. "I'm sure you are betting for to get into those situations." Leon muttered. But she shook her head. It was almost automatic.

"Goodness, no!" She exclaimed loudly. "My services are here to help you. To assist you." She placed her gloved hand between him and her. "May I? Free of charge."

There was a silence between them. Begrudgingly, Leon handed his gun to her, "Careful with it." He muttered.

She grabbed the gun, "SG-09 R. Quite impressive." She clocked it and checked the modifications in the gun. "Fast, strong, and made by Kendo." She pointed the gun towards a section and shot a glass bottle. "But I can make better. Especially with the control of the government." She broke up the gun and grabbed a small bottle of oil to ease up the details of gun. "Do I permission to change the glock?"

Leon nodded his head.

The merchant got into work, she brought out the small tools to work on the gun, and changed very small details of the gun. After a couple of short minutes, she twirled the gun back into place. "Here you go, stranger." The merchant handed the gun back to its owner.

Leon lifted the gun and noticed the differences. She didn't change the drastic differences of the poor gun, but it made it functional for the monsters. He pulled on the trigger and shot the a piece of wood. The gun shot faster.

She grabbed a rag and cleaned her gloved hands. "It's easy as they come." She smiled. Her fingers returned back to her pearls, dragging the details bit by bit. "I love helping the new."

Leon wished he was normal. His dumb mind entered cave man for like three seconds. Maybe it was the small praise he got from her or how the merchant spoke to him without belittling him. He felt his cock twitch, "Yeah, thanks." He awkwardly put his gun back to its holster.

He promised himself the less impossible thing ever. Leon was spending a lot of time with the merchant, he saw her how her knife formed small knick knacks from wood. "Look." The merchang leaned to show him. It was small wooden figure of him. Leon took in a sharp exhale.

"Nice." He whispered softly.

"I give them to the other merchants so they can sell them." The merchant smiled. Her painting was very gentle, every brush was made with love. "Why sell them?" Leon asked. "It's like discount. If you have this." She lifted a small shield-like charm, "You'll have an upgrade with any merchant."

"Oh, that's great." Leon eyed her face, "So, if another merchant sees it, they'll automatic give you that help."

The merchant smiled, "Exactly." She continued the paint and Leon was just looking at her, "So, what perks will I get if I buy my small keychain?" He whispered softly. The merchant sighed softly, "Mm, well, how about 30% off when I fixed that knife of yours."

Leon nodded his head as he continued to look.

As time passed and such, Leon did his job and then immediately went to her section to 'buy' stuff. All that time of bothering the merchant, he finally got what he wanted as she pumped his cock.

She was on her knees as she pumped his cock into her mouth, Leon's hips moved up, "Fuck." The merchant rubbed the red tip and sucked it gently. He needed this after so long. Leon's hands covered his face, his cheeks were red and he was ultra sensitive over everything. The merchant rubbed Leon's tip around her lips and left his pre cum around them.

He chewed on his lips trying to keep quiet in case an infected could find them. The merchant's hand pumped his length, "I do the first time free." She teased him. Her hand slide down his cock and massaged his balls. He didn't know if she spoke the truth, but he was willing to pay for this again. The merchant's tongue dragged against his shaft and kissed the tip. "Just fuck me. Please."

The merchant shook her head, "You'll need your energy for the fights." She looked at his cock and placed his needy self inside of her mouth. She gagged weakly, his hips weakly moved against the merchant's mouth. He needed to cum and go back to work. His hands traveled around his pecs and squeezed them, he noticed the merchant noticing those details. Leon blushed but didn't stop himself as he played with nipples.

Flicking them a bit trying to help the simulation. She bobbed her head faster and he groaned. "Fuck, fuck-" His cum erupted into the merchant's mouth and it slowly fell out, she licked the mess without an issue. Leon groaned loudly feel his body relax bit by bit. His eyes completely soften and gently caressed her face, "Mm, thank you."

When Leon was back on his feet, he felt her hands smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. He felt too easy, but he liked her touch.

As the sun set above him, the merchant waved politely a goodbye to Leon; He simply nodded his head, his legs were a bit weak, but he had to go back to his job.

The next time he was with the Merchant, he was between her dress. He licked her pussy, his hands opened her thighs to shove himself deeper. Her cunt was keeping him sane after the brutal fights, her hands grabbed his hair and pulled his straight blond hair. Leon growled weakly, "Please, I just need your cum." No extra steps, he wanted it. His tongue moved around her clit and once he heard the merchant's moan he focused on it more.

His fingers shoved inside of her pussy and pumped them in and out. His tongue licked the wetness that poured into his hand. His finger curled up and fucked her up. The merchant's legs squirmed around Leon. He licked up the pretty hole and removed his fingers again, her thighs clenched around his face as he fucked her with his tongue. Flicking it over and over, he pulled it out and sucked her clit. She groaned loudly, her legs opened a bit, and Leon kissed her thighs over and over. The merchant released, Leon's fingers rubbed gently her cunt and licked the mess.

He was thankful for the merchant's services.

[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *12*

Phantom knew that all of this would end badly, really. But as soon as he heard that Skulker was trying to get the pelt of the Superman he knew that he didn't really have a choice.

So he flew to Metropolis to rescue the struggling hero. When he reached them, it was worse than he thought.

Skulker was wrecking havoc without regards for the civilians, while he tried to catch Superman. The hero on the other hand was at least still standing and evading the ghost. But he also couldn't land a single hit. If Danny would let them be, this fight would go on forever or till Superman tired out.

So while Skulker shot another Missile at the Kryptonian, Danny flew invisible behind him and shot an ectoblast in his back. After a short fight with a lot of banter, Skulker found himself in the thermos and Danny and Superman landed on a rooftop.

"Thank you for your assistance! I don't think I recognize you, but I'm glad that you came to my aid against this unknown enemy", the Man of Steel smiled at him and really, Danny should have just nodded, gone invisible and fly of. But... Superman was a real life alien! A founder of the Justice League! Someone who had been to space missions! So yeah, he was a little starstruck.

"No problem, really! It was somewhat my fault... We just talked while fighting and somehow you came up and he just flew straight here, because he wanted to add your pelt to his collection. Normally he only really hunts me...", and his brain to mouth filter didn't work again, great Fenton.

Superman looked concerned for a moment, before he hid it behind an awkward smile. "I suppose he is one of your rouges then? I'm glad to see that someone with your abilities uses them to protect humanity like he should."

And that was enough to shift his expression of Superman. Just because he had these powers, didn't obligated him to protect anyone, except his own hunt and subjects! And Skulker was more of a friend nowadays, he just had become to excited because of a super rare alien and his obsession had kicked in in full force, because they hadn't really found a healthy outlet yet. Just hunting Danny every few weeks when the young adult had time between college classes wasn't really enough.

"You should consider joining us and show us how to defend ourself against a rouge like this", the superhero said, without realizing the shift in Danny's demeanour.

"He isn't really a rouge anymore... It's just a bit of a work in progress still. I also wouldn't really qualify as a member for you little team, since in terms of my species I'm still a literal baby. And I don't think that all of you will still be around when I'm considered an adult or even a teenager. So the answer is No, I won't be a child soldier for the League, nor will I tell you how to hurt my friends", Danny huffed with crossed arms, just to turn invisible then and fly off, not caring for the fact that the other hero seemed to be blue screening.

[theloganator101]

The Great BNHA Review: We Live in a Society

The world of fiction! The place where everything in the story happens. So when you're worldbuilding there are many things to take into consideration to make the world of your story feel alive.

From the people that inhabits it, the cities, towns, villages, and locations the characters live in. And even having a set of rules to follow to avoid plot holes and help the world they live in make sense.

Much like how despite technology being more advanced compared to real life, yet still not being able to have flying cars or advanced robots. Those kind of things can sometimes break immersion in the story, and as a writer you would want to avoid that as much as possible.

HOWEVER! The world BNHA takes place in doesn't make a lick of sense when you think about it for more than thirty seconds, and the foundation of the world breaks the more you think about it.

Case in point, UA!

I think at this point we all can agree that UA wasn't an actual school and instead a glorified boot camp to train child soldiers to fight. And for a series called MY HERO ACADEMIA!! There's hardly any academia in it at all.

Apparently Hori didn't wanna bother with that part of the series and being forced to write "boring" scenes and just get back to the exciting battles. Like where're the scenes of the class studying for their latest tests? Where're the scenes of the kids doing their favorite activities? Where're the scenes of them bonding with their superiors?

WHERE'S THE FUCKING ACADEMIA PART OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN SERIES!?!?!

You can't just name it My Hero Academia and only give us 20% of what the show is called! It just feels like false advertising at this point!

Also about the whole child soldier thing? Yeah let's go deeper into that.

Why are we relying on TEENAGERS to fight in these big battles and save the world when they've only been in hero school for a single year? That's literally like forcing teenagers to discover a cure of a disease when they've only taken a year of biology class!

And yeah, I get it, it's an anime so it's expecting you to suspend your disbelief, and they already had experience with fighting villains before so it would make sense to recruit them. But again, these are fucking teenagers and we shouldn't be relying on them to fight battles the adults should be able to handle!

This is one of the biggest problems of having your story take place in a world similar to modern real life, because here adults actually gives a shit as to what children go through and knows it would be fucked up to send them to fight in war! And the excuse of it taking place in Japan and thus how they do things is different compared to most countries is NOT GOING TO CUT IT!

These grown ass adults should KNOW bringing kids to fight in a war is fucked up and should NOT be encouraged! But since they're so desperate they choose to get them involved! The only exception to this is Rock Lock since he already knows this!

Okay, let's step away from the whole child soldier thing and focus on something the story never gave us introspection of... the fact that we never got to see how quirkless people are really treated.

It's explained that 20% of the population is quirkless, so almost a quarter are born without it. And from what we saw of Izuku's life with it, discrimination must be a common thing in their society. So it would make sense to explore that since it's tied to the main character's backstory and how he's going to make things better for others like him.

... Except that's not how it goes.

We never get to see how the life of a quirkless person is like, we never get to canonically see Izuku interacting with someone like him with the only exception being Melissa. But the thing about her is that she grew up on an island and her father a respected scientist, so it's kind of difficult to tell how the quirkless life is like if this is the only example we get... and it's not a good one.

But wait! There is a canon major character that was also quirkless like Izuku! And it's Yuga Aoyama. And how did the story treated him?

Oh it was revealed real late into the story with no awareness and treated him like shit for being an unwilling traitor, then replace him with Shinsou who whined and complained his way into the Hero Course.

Uhh, what the fuck?

And the worst part about all this is that Izuku has no reaction or acknowledgement whatsoever! He doesn't sympathize or feel less alone, he doesn't comment or say anything about this! So it's like what's even the point!?

Oh don't worry, we'll come back to this whole Izuku not acknowledging his past later in the review! But there's one more thing I wanna talk about in this world.

Is how blatantly biased society is to the Heroics occupation.

From what we've seen and learned, people are not allowed to use their quirks in public. And that the only way would be able to legally use them is to have a provisional license... which is only obtained if you're training to be a hero.

Uhh, but what if you don't wanna go into heroics? What if there is a person who wants to be a comedian? A layer? A construction worker? What if they have quirks that they think would help them in their jobs? Would they get in trouble if they tried using their quirks on the job? Is the Provisional License exam the only way to be able to use your quirk freely? Is there another test people can take to get one if they don't want to go into heroics?

Yeah you see what I'm trying to say here?

Since Hori's so focused on getting to the next big battle that he barely thinks about the world BNHA takes place in and leaves holes in the process. The world of BNHA feels more like a dystopia where heroics is all that matters and that anything else is boring and not as interesting. And since the world itself is so flawed, that I don't feel immersed into it at all and all I have are these questions on how things are run.

So in the next part, we'll be taking a look into the themes and messages the story tries to tell it's readers... but oh boy, did it really fumble with it's messages.

[cryptidcr3ature]

Saw a post by @verdemoun about Kieran childhood Headcannons. (Super good post. Go check it out.) So inspired by that, here’s my own childhood Headcannons about Charles.

Charles’s parent’s relationship was secret at first. His mother didn’t know how her tribe would react to her with an outsider, and his father didn’t want to upset them because they took him in. Soon enough, they were open about their relationship before deciding to start a family together

His father’s assimilation into the tribe was rough at first, but he showed he cared about learning their culture, and the tribe elders really took him in as one of them.

His mother was more worried about the world her baby was being born into, and his father assured her he’d do anything to protect the two of them.

His mother’s tribe spoiled him rotten as much as they could. They gave him so many hand made toys and blankets and spent hours telling him stories that he would never remember but he was entertained anyway.

He was a very curious kid. As soon as he could, he was off exploring the woods and in everyone in the tribe’s business. His parents always thought it was both hilarious yet exasperating chasing him down when he was on his adventures.

Despite everything, his family was so happy. They shared so many laughs and happy memories together when Charles was young. It almost felt as if the world wasn’t against them.

When the three of them were about to live on the run, Charles’s uncle gave him his first bow and taught him how to use it just in case he needed to.

After they left, Charles asked his parents when they were going back home. That was the first time he’d ever seen his mother cry and his father angry. He was less curious after that day.

His mother taught him everything she could in the short period of time she could. He didn’t understand why, but he knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer.

He was only 8 or 9 when they were finally found by the government. He begged the soldiers to let his mother go, as his father attempted to fight the soldiers. Both of them were left disappointed.

His father took it hard. He promised the tribe and his wife that he’d protect her, but he failed.

Charles sort of forced himself to be “the strong one” after that. The curious, happy child he once was gone too soon.

Charles started hunting more to get out of the house. He was still just a kid, so he couldn’t find work so he started selling pelts to the butcher to earn money. This is where he earned his work ethic.

Charles’s sympathy for his father turned to resentment the more his father fell apart.

They’d argue so much the neighbors would intervene on occasion.

One night their fights got more intense than ever before, and Charles decided that he was gone. Charles’s last words to his father were “I wish you died instead of mom!” Even though he didn’t regret leaving, he regretted his words.

[ladytie]

more of my nat & peter in gotham brainrot bc i can not elp it:

it took natasha romanoff three days to find suitable housing conditions for herself and boy spider. it took three hours for red hood to take note of the newest occupants of crime alley. and yes, while natasha would have preferred an area with less issues going on, it was cheap and no one asked questions. and well she alone can take care of herself and the kid, not to mention the kids own prowess.

she was walking down the street, a baseball hat covering her auburn hair and her hands in her trench coats pockets when she heard grunts and pleads. she wasn’t supposed to be doing the whole hero thing here, not yet at least. not until she had more information on where here was. but of course the kid had other plans, his sense pointing him in the direction of the obvious punching noises.

“pete!” she called after him, taking a slight jog before sprinting when she realized he wasn’t going to stop nor slow down.

when she rounded the corner she saw a man in what seemed to be a bat costume flung into a wall, and peter, the sweetheart he is, helping up a young woman dressed as a cat(?). she had heard of this bat from a few neighbors. he was some crime lord or something around town, because whenever someone had a bruised something they’d always end up cursing the bat for it. before she could go towards peter to help, a young thing, perhaps eleven years old ran to peter. clearly prepared for a fight?

“woah there!” peter said, easily evading the attacks with a sword. peter caught nat’s eyes and she could tell they were thinking the same thing. he must be a child soldier for this bat-thing. her head snapped to the man, she pulled her hat a little lower, trying to conceal some type of anonymity.

“robin,” the man’s voice was far too gruff and gargled to be real. it sounded like he was calling the young child off, but the feral thing wouldn’t or couldn’t stop. she remembers being in the red room, when they’d tell her to stop as a test. when she did, she’d be punished for showing mercy. and when she didn’t, she’d be punished for not obeying her betters.

something inside her burned.

she headed towards the man, there quicker than he had anticipated. clearly the man was trained, and clearly he hadn’t expected her to be. it took her thirteen seconds to learn his fighting style. to use it against him. and it seemed to have taken him fifteen to get used to hers.

one minute she was twirling around him, producing punches with quickness rather than strength, trying to tire him out. and then, she’d be planting her feet firmly on the ground, forcing him to use his strength to try to move her. when he finally landed a blow, a solid right hook to her left cheek she laughed. this was the most fun she had since coming to Gotham.

“misses widow!” she snapped her head to see the young boy had peter cornered, along with another girl dressed in spandex. she blinked a few times before sighing. peter would not hurt the clearly young children, not even if one was around his own age. not even to save his life. maybe hers, but he knew she had herself handled.

playtime was over.

a quick maneuver, one bucky had taught her, using the own man’s weight and weapons against him had him pinned to the wall of the dinghy alley way. “call your child soldiers off” she growled, threatening to break his arm.

“you. first.” he said back, his arm being twisted further and further and yet he made no sound of discomfort. “i don’t think you’re in the position to make demands,” she whispered near his ear, her breath hot against it.

then she heard the specific sound of a gun clicking to the back of her head.

“you sure about that, doll?”

[padfootagain]

The Last Ones On Earth (IV)

Chapter 4: An Age

Hello, hello! Here is a new chapter for my Darkling series!

I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

****

Pairing: The Darkling x reader

Warnings for the series: mentions and depictions of violence and warfare, mentions of trauma

Warnings for the chapter: None

Summary: You and the Darkling are a team, even if no one knows it. Beyond being a team, you are the only one he trusts, and he's the only one you care about, and you're each other's true love. But if you've kept your secrets hidden for a long time, now that the Sun Summoner is fighting against you, it's time to reveal who you are, and what you are capable of...

Word Count: 2744

Masterlist for the series – The Darkling’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Alina stares at you as if you were a ghost. Or perhaps a dragon. Or a strange mix of both.

You give her a minute to register your words, you can almost call them a threat. You doubt that she’s weighing her options, though. You reckon she simply tries to understand what your words mean.

And then it’s back. The pride in her gaze, the rise in her chin, the tightness in her jaw.

Stupid girl who believes herself important…

“You say you want to talk, and yet you use threats already.”

“Who was put in chains to see you again?” you reply with amused sarcasm.

“And we were clearly right to mistrust you,” Zoya crosses her arms before her chest, her beautiful features slightly distorted by anger.

“Indeed!” you shoot her a smile. “It was pretty reckless to let me see all of you so easily.”

“David vouched for you,” Genya replies in a grim fashion, and David averts his eyes to stare at the carpet.

But your smile softens as you turn to him.

“Thank you, David. That was very nice of you.”

You turn towards Alina again. You notice that her hands ae touching.

Your smile grows, this time, more threatening, almost predatory.

“Child, let’s not make a mess. I simply want to talk, I haven’t come to hurt anyone.”

“Say that to the soldiers outside.”

“Collateral damage, I’m afraid,” you shrug. “I’m not going to hurt anyone in this room, I promise.”

“If you side with the Darkling, is your word worth anything?”

You raise a surprised eyebrow.

“If you truly knew him, you’d know how foolish that remark is. The Darkling is a lot of things, but he does stay true to his words.”

“And by ‘a lot of things’, you do include mass murderer, of course,” Nikolai points out.

“Coming from a man whose main occupations are pirating and inventing mass-destruction weaponry, I do find the remark particularly ironic.”

But you heave a sigh, tired of losing time you don’t have. There is too much work to do. Grisha to rescue, friends to bury, a whole nation to lead…

“Now, please, Alina. Again, I will not hurt you, so come sit down so we can talk.”

“I’ve never liked you,” the girl mumbles under her breath, her hands slowly moving, and you can see glow coming from her fingertips.

You roll your eyes.

“If I fought every person I didn’t like, only three people in this room would still be alive, including me. And you would not be breathing anymore, Starkov. But as I can’t choke you to death with my bare hands the way I truly long to, please, don’t do anything stupid and sit down.”

With a frustrated sigh, Alina closes her fists, but lets her power subside, and at long last, joins the gathering around the wooden table again.

“We will not yield when it comes to destroying the Fold,” Alina stubbornly declares.

“I am aware of repeating myself, but it will not work without the Fold,” you reply.

“You cannot destroy entire villages!”

“You cannot force people to change if you give them a chance to remain as they are.”

“People can change.”

“They can,” you nod in agreement. “But most of the time, they don’t want to. Why would they? If what you are asking for goes against their own interest, why would they change?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You snort at that.

“Please… Don’t be so naïve. Of course, some people have enough compassion to not hurt Grisha. But the majority will take centuries to reach this kind of tolerance. And in the meantime, people are dying. Our people.”

“We are all Ravkan,” Nikolai argues.

“Are we? Because when I was arrested by your men a few weeks ago and kept in a cage without water, food, or anything against the cold for three days, waiting to be executed that more Grisha were captured because, and I quote ‘it would be a waste of energy to set up the gallows just for a couple of them’… without any sort of trial or justice whatsoever, I did not feel very Ravkan… but I did feel very much Grisha.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer, instead he looks guiltily at his hands.

“I don’t care about Ravka,” you answer in honesty. “I don’t care about Shu Han, I don’t care about Fjerda, or any other nation. At the end of the day, we are all humans. And we are Grisha, and otkazat’sya. The Fold is not to be used as a threat against Ravka alone, that’s the whole point. It’s the only weapon in our possession that is powerful enough for all Grisha to be safe, no matter where they come from.”

“I do not condone what has been done to you,” Nikolai finally speaks, his voice slow and measured. “But if people are turning against Grisha, it is because of the Darkling’s actions.”

You roll your eyes at that.

“This has been going on for centuries, it is nothing new, they simply have an excuse to do as they please without any repercussion, and they enjoy their newly-found freedom to slaughter all the Grisha they want. It happens again, and again. We have tried to be useful, we have tried to prove people we are no threat, we have tried working hand in hand with kings, and it doesn’t work. The Fold is our last chance.”

“You speak as if you had done all of that, but you are barely older than us,” Zoya spits in a venomous tone. “Who do you think you are, Maeve?”

“Y/N,” you interrupt her.

The girl frowns.

“What?”

“My real name is Y/N. Maeve is only my latest identity, I’ve had many of those before.”

Suddenly, Alina’s eyes grow round, and she finally seems afraid of you.

At long last, some intelligence…

“Are you a spy?” David asks, taken aback by your statement.

But you shake your head.

“Not exactly.”

“You are like him.”

All turn to Alina as she speaks again, her voice uneasy.

“You said you are a powerful Durast.”

“Incredibly powerful,” you correct her.

“You are like the Darkling.”

“Aleksander. That’s his name.”

He’ll hate you for saying it out loud, for revealing something so personal about him.

Aleksander. His first name, his true one. The one only you and Baghra know. The one that tastes of the young man you met all these years ago, unconscious in the snow somewhere near Fjerda…

 All around the table frown. As if they never wondered what his name was. And perhaps they truly never cared to wonder. Perhaps the title was enough. It’s easier, anyway, to stare at a man you send to die on a battlefield and see only a rank, a title, and not the human wearing it. It’s easier too to kill an enemy if he is but a shadow, a symbol, and not an actual breathing man.

You lean a little over the table, your forearms resting on the hard surface, your fingers intertwining together.

“Aleksander and I are extremely powerful Grisha. Just like you, Alina. Just like Baghra. Just like Saints.”

“I don’t understand,” Mal admits.

“Grisha draw great strengths from using their powers. The more powerful you are, the better your health. Some of us are so powerful, we are virtually immortal. Or, well, if you smash my head with a sword, I will die. But I barely age at all. I can leave for thousands of years.”

“Bullshit,” Nikolai curses.

“I’m afraid not. It is a great curse, indeed. But power always has a cost.”

“Some would consider themselves lucky to never age. Especially my mother, considering all her efforts to hide her true age…”

“Well, my dear prince, your mother has not seen people dying for hundreds of years.”

Again, Nikolai looked away.

“You said that Alina was like that too…” Mal insists, and you don’t fail to notice the way Alina flees his gaze.

“Indeed. She will without a doubt outlive all of you, and your descendants on many generations.”

“If it’s so unbearable, why are you still alive? We wouldn’t be in this mess if you and the Darkling had given up,” Zoya adds bitterly.

But when you turn to her, your stare is filled with a cold fire that shushes her.

“Many powerful Grisha kill themselves, after a while, after it’s too much to see all the people you love die over and over again. Aleksander and I were lucky, we found each other. And don’t forget that without our efforts, the Little Palace would not exist and Grisha would have never known any type of safety. We were the first to manage to live for longer than a couple of years at the same place, while using our powers, and remain safe.”

“You speak as if you were there when the Little Palace was built,” David frowns.

“I was there,” you correct him. “I built the place. Literally. I am a Fabrikator, after all.”

“You do expect us to believe you?” Mal scoffs, but Alina shushes him quickly. And you can see on the faces of the others that their opinion of you changes as they realize that Alina does, indeed, believe you.

And rightly so. After all, you are telling the truth. The way you had planned to do.

You choose your next words carefully.

“I have seen the same pattern again and again. I know what will happen, because I have seen it before. I have tried every other way to help Grisha: hiding, fighting, being useful, being tamed, being strong… it doesn’t work. It never works, because otkazat’sya are afraid of our power, because they feel different and thus frightened. You ask me to wait, that we are in no rush to change the world, but I have been working towards that goal for hundreds of years. I am not in a rush, I am patient, indeed. But things must change, eventually. And we have an opportunity here that will never present itself again for things to finally go the way we want.”

You heave a sigh, and you seem tired now. Despite your face untouched by the many years you have spent on this earth, there is something new in your gaze, a sadness that doesn’t fit the youth of your features. It seems ancient, brought by a pain too great to have occurred in only a lifetime.

“If you want proof, I can tell you everything you want to know. I’ll tell you how Aleksander and I met. How we ran. How we hid. How we fought. All the things that we tried to help Grisha and how it always failed. How we were betrayed and how we survived. If it can prove my point, then so be it.”

“How old are you?” Alina asks after a short silent.

Her voice is cautious, slow. As if she’s afraid of your answer. And perhaps she is. She should be. After all, it shows how powerful you are, how much of a threat you can be. To her, who is doomed to a deathless life as well, it also means facing the truth about her lover.

Your smile is smug when your lips curl upwards and you answer.

“I’ll turn 889 in a couple of months.”

Over 400 years ago

Os Alta – over the grounds of the royal Palace

Your hands moved relentlessly in those days. There was so much work to be done. You had help, of course, from otkazat’sya workers but also from other Fabrikators. It was the name that was chosen for the Grisha sharing your powers, along with a colour: purple, like the petals of flowers, like berries, like poisons…

But on this room, your work was to be done in solitude. No one could know about the changes you were bringing to Aleksander’s War Room. It would protect you from eavesdroppers, fire, and many other threats. It would be a safe room. Even if Aleksander’s plan in the army seemed to be working for now, you reckoned you couldn’t stop being cautious. You needed safety, as always.

“You are working too late, my love.”

The warm voice filled your heart with something both peaceful and excited. You couldn’t refrain a smile as you turned to your husband, who was walking inside the room and closing the door behind him.

“You must rest,” he insisted, but you shook your head.

“I am perfectly fine. Besides, I can’t work on this room during the day, it’s too risky.”

Of course, he knew you were right. Still, he wished you could rest more, he wished you could be safe and wouldn’t have to hide…

Soon. He hoped it could be soon. With this safe haven you were building together, it could be the answer to everything. Perhaps it could even be a home…

You chuckled fondly as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

“You’re distracting me!” you complained in faked annoyance, and Aleksander knew perfectly what you were doing.

“You love it.”

“I do not! I am busy!”

“And I am tired and long for a good night of sleep in a comfortable bed with my beloved wife.”

“Is it not too risky?”

“We are safe for now, let’s enjoy it, while it lasts.”

“Do you think this could be it? That we could finally remain safe?”

“I do not know. I hope so.”

“But we’re both too old for foolish hopes, huh?”

You exchanged a sad smile.

“We should not be seen as a couple,” Aleksander went on, and he knew he was breaking your heart a little by saying that, the same way he was breaking his own. “It would be too dangerous.”

“I agree. We are both powerful, we will live long lives… It would be too frightening for the otkazat’sya.”

“Build us a room where we can be ourselves, my love. We will pretend the rest of the time.”

You turned in his arms to face him, and his hand immediately raised to rest over your cheek.

“I’ll make you pay for that,” you warned him, and he raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Really? Will you? And how could I repay this debt towards my favourite Fabrikator?”

“An awful lot of kisses will be required. And some cakes. Lots of sweets.”

You both laughed at that, despite your shared tiredness, despite all the things you had been through. A bright laugh made of bright hope, a fool’s hope perhaps, but hope all the same. The sounds filled up the empty room, and echoed in its blank space.

“So, we’ll hide that we are married?” you asked after growing quiet again, and Aleksander nodded, although you could see it pained him to do so.

“It’s safer this way. If I am to step up, I will have many enemies.”

You nodded, tugging your head on his chest, so he could rest his chin on you.

“We’ll make it work,” you reassured him, feeling the tension in his body, the fear too. “We’ll make it work, Aleks.”

“I know. I’m just… worried that you might… that I might lose you.”

“You won’t lose me. I’ll be right there. And I’ll steal an awful lot of kisses in this room.”

“Is it safe already?”

“Safe enough for us to have this conversation, yes.”

“Can you lock the door?”

“Already done it.”

He chuckled.

“You’re getting good at using your powers without moving your hands.”

“I still had to move a finger, but my hands didn’t touch.”

“That’s my wife. So powerful.”

But he felt you tensing in his gentle hold.

“It will be worth it, right? All these moments together we’ll have to sacrifice, all this fighting, all this work… tell me it will be worth it. Tell me we’ll make it.”

He took your face in both his hands to force you to look up at him.

“It will be worth it,” he assured you, and in his dark eyes, you saw no lies nor doubts. “We will make it through. You and me, the way we have planned. The way we promised each other we would.”

“Until we’re the last ones on Earth?” you still asked in a trembling voice, even if you didn’t doubt him.

He nodded, a smile on his lips as he pulled you in a tight hold again.

“Until we’re the last ones on Earth, my love.”

*****************************************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic @budugu @sayumiht

[marvelstars]

Anakin´s tragedy

When I saw TPM for the first time I wondered why George Lucas made the choice of making Anakin/Vader a slave, instead of bassically anyone else, this was hinted but never focused on in the OT but when you add how that experience shaped his mind and pov, it makes a lot of sense and helps to integrate, Anakin the noble slave child who helped free Naboo, Anakin the angry padawan, Anakin general of the clone wars, Anakin the fallen dark lord of the sith and Anakin the risen chosen one of the force.

You can see how Anakin´s pov relates to Vader´s mental logic coming from all those experiences.

Anakin was born a slave first to Gardulla the Hutt and later Watto and while he was a child he resented watto but could not get truly angry at him because he didn´t beat him too often and he was a bussines man after all, even if his bussines was owning him and his mom using a bomb inside their bodies.

Anakin as a child is noble, self sacrificial, resourceful, with a deep wish to make the galaxy better with good actions and maybe someday, become a Jedi to be able to free his fellow slaves, because Jedi are the warriors of peace and justice right? yet he still sees himself as property to be owned simply because that´s how he was born.

But then this kid was told by a Jedi master, well we didn´t come here to rescue slaves but we may rescue you because you are the chosen one and can help the Jedi in their fight agaisnt the Sith and Anakin still helps him and Padme because it´s the right thing to do and then he has to make his first compromise, leave his mother a slave to become a Jedi.

The Jedi brought Order to the galaxy and were it´s guardians even if they mostly do missions for the Senate right? therefore he should not hold agaisnt them the fact they never helped free his mother. He sacrificed his life with his mother and later lost her to be a Jedi and he was free in exchange, more or less. He still can´t help but be angry about it.

Anakin marries the love of his life and feels guilty for his votes towards the Jedi but after losing his mother he doesn´t care much for his Jedi title but he wants to stay and help Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order during the clone wars, this leads to him becoming one of the greatest jedi war generals the Jedi Order ever saw but it distanced him further from his Jedi peers because they saw him as a war mongering unstable man, which ironically he would not be if he wasn´t send to mission after mission in service of the Jedi Order and the Republic.

Anakin swears on his mother grave to use his force powers to stop people from dying in her memory. He uses it to try to keep his fellow padawans and soldiers from death, it helps but it isn´t enough.

The very virtues that helped shape him into a great general and warrior who cared for his troops and helped the citizens of the republic to the best of his habilities, which was exactly what the Jedi Order needed in times of war, were the reason why he became even more isolated from the order, no matter how much he helped them and how much they needed him, there was just something wrong with him from the beggining from the Jedi pov and they can´t trust him.

Anakin can´t believe how they can still mistrust him so much because most of what he did in the war was to help and please the Jedi council and the Order, his mother was killed over his choice of becoming a Jedi and that isn´t enough for them? he is half fallen for his anger over losing her and his guilt keeps him from talking to anyone about this except Padme and Palpatine.

Anakin went from being a noble, sweet boy who didn´t mind making sacrifices for what was right to a person who had to accept you had to make compromises in life, after all, he made the compromise of leaving his mother as a slave to become a Jedi right? and during the war the jedi keep making more compromises, like accepting a slave army with a chip on their head to keep them obedient right?

It isn´t hard to see Anakin going from this, believing it will matter at the end, to making the compromise of well, for Padme and for peace, the only other thing he asked Palpatine "Will we have peace?" before going to attack the Jedi temple, he will have to sacrifice the Jedi Order after they almost did a coup by trying to kill the Chancellor of the Republic.

The Empire brings order to the galaxy even if it goes overboard sometimes.He can work with that, just like he did when he was a slave or a jedi. Vader wants to bring order to the galaxy. Vader belives in bringing that Order by any means neccesary, another compromise he made but one that makes sense for him, after losing everything, his old childhood dream of making the galaxy better can be made with the Empire if he only tackles enough of whats wrong with it, with Luke´s help.

Palpatine may punish and torture him sometimes but it´s alright, he rescued him from mustafar and he is his master, the closest person he has to a father and he loves him, he has the authority to do so even if by all purposes he is also his slave.

Vader only truly starts to strike back at Palpatine´s authority and ownership over him until he wanted to own Luke or kill him and forced him to accept that decision as his only two options, only then the Anakin as he used to be starts to come back and he does it fully when he realizes he can free all the slaves(subjects of the Empire) from his master and that he doesn´t completely own him body and soul, he just has to die with him, his mission was to stop the sith and he is a sith so he must die as well but it will be worth it, to keep Luke alive and maybe paid his debts.

It´s quite hard to see Anakin going this same path if he wasn´t born a slave and joined the Jedi Order in the circunstances he did but Lucas wrote the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker and that´s how things happened.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Lack of Conviction

Episode five of Ahsoka really hammered home how goddamn ridiculous the entire Clone War situation truly was. Watching Ahsoka on the front lines of that Geonosis battle, a fight where she was canonically fourteen or fifteen, was ludicrous back in the original show, but seeing the character in that situation portrayed by the age appropriate Ariana Greenblatt was f*cking jarring. Greenblatt is sixteen years old, splitting the difference of Aksoka’s age range throughout the Clone Wars. She’s as close to a real, teenage, Tano, that we’re going to get and it is wildly apparent that she is a CHILD. The goddamn Jedi Order, was sending child soldiers to fight in a trade war against an analogous Sith overlord and his army of drones. I don’t care how good at space wizarding your teenager is, they are still just a goddamn teenager! And Ahsoka wasn’t the only one. Barris Offee immediately comes to mind! The age you become a Padawan Learner to a Master Jedi is around twelve. That means there were children as young as twelve taking laser shots to the face, not to mention the wholesale slaughter of these cats during Order Sixty-Six, because of a goddamn trade dispute. How f*cking ridiculous is that? Anakin even said the quiet part out loud when addressing Ahsoka’s hesitation. He told her that Obi-Wan trained him to be a peacekeeper, but Anakin was training Ahsoka to be a soldier. That sh*t was the intent. That was the plan. That was the whole dynamic; Train an army of child astro-sorcerers in the ways of war, by throwing them headlong into one. From anyone’s point of view, that’s f*cked up and lends credence to everything Poppa Paps was talking about. Imagine trying to convince the ludicrously powerful Chosen One you’re in the right, when the only other person outside of his mom and wife whom he genuinely loved, was put in his charge to turn her into a weapon. And then when she turned out to be a fantastic one, they cast her aside the second someone gets murdered in those hallowed Council halls. Cats give Anakin sh*t for slaying them Younglings but how are the Jedi any goddamn different? They literally use children until they are used up. I can only imagine the trauma the kids who survived will have to endure. Hell, we’ve seen a few of them already. Ahsoka, Cade from those absolutely dope games, Hera's dead baby daddy, and that one chick from Kenobi; None of who are healthy, well adjusted, stand-up adults! Absolutely emotional train wrecks, the lot of them!

More than that, this episode proved to me just how much of Anakin is in Ahsoka. They mirror each other as much as Ahsoka and Sabine. It's wild to see in live action, especially getting that from Hayden who finally got to play a complex version of Anakin. Clone Wars went a long way to redeeming that character but seeing him actually force a catharsis in Ahsoka was rough. I've seen them cross lightsabers before and it broke my f*cking heart. I've spoken at length about that, but seeing it here? Knowing this is training from a fully fledged Jedi Master Anakin? I cannot articulate how amazing that is. He pushed Ahsoka to her limits. Forced her to confront the grief and guilt she had for being a weapon, for abandoning Anakin. Hayden gave this role so much depth, so much emotion, it was just breathtaking to witness. Seeing him flit between Vader and Sky Guy was almost too much but it very necessary. It was necessary for Ahsoka. She had to see that, to come to terms with that, in order to move forward. She is everything Anakin is, even Vader, as demonstrated by those Sith eyes when she contemplated the unthinkable. Interestingly enough, even channeling the Dark Side like a champ, you can tell Anakin was concerned for his Padawan. Not that he would be killed, Anakin is beyond even that at this point, but that his Padawan, would fall like he did. Ahsoka did not. She chose life and Sky Guy gave her that smirk, telling Snips there was hope for her yet. F*cking everything. That last exchange was f*cking everything. Especially when you take into account that Anakin pulled her into the World Between Worlds to save her life. As a goddamn Force Ghost. What the f*ck does THAT even mean??

[highfantasy-soul]

maybe I'm just projecting my own stuff onto The Acolyte, but it's kinda frustrating seeing people take Qimir's "I don't wanna follow the jedi's rules" and see that his interpretation is "I can do whatever I want even if it hurts people" and stop there. Safe and comfortable in their bubble of "so that means anyone against the jedi are like him and the jedi, once again, are prefect and above reproach!"

Qimir is the person who chafes against the Jedi's rules that we see - because those without power or strength have already been crushed underfoot.

It's similar to the whole idea of "Why are all the gays so angry and mean? Because you killed all the nice ones, so us angry mean ones are all that's left"

Just because what Qimir is doing is wrong, doesn't make what the Jedi do right. There's nuance here. There's ethnic cleansing here. There's re-education and generational trauma here.

We NEVER see the witches do anything remotely evil. Yet the Jedi chased them out of the galaxy and forbade them from teaching their culture to children. Do you know what that's called? Ethnic cleansing. It happened to indigenous children all over the world, and you can see it specifically in boarding schools for native american children. Tribal cultures were squashed - their children stolen and re-educated to fit the white standard and forbidden from speaking their native language, wearing their hair in their indigenous ways, and worshiping they way they had for generations. (Notable here is the fact that due to WHITE people's over-hunting of bison and whales, indigenous people were legally barred from hunting them as well - something that was very integral to their practices. White people caused the problem and indigenous people's cultures suffered all the while white people get to act all holy and 'eco-friendly' about it)

To place your culture above that of others and force everyone else to either adhere to your ways or do their thing quietly in the dark where no one can see them - and no children can exist - is BAD. The point is to remove a culture from existence as no new members can be taught traditional ways. That is a part of ethnic cleansing. (Stealing indigenous babies from their families and placing them with white, christian families where they'll never see people from their birth culture again is a whole ass thing)

This also causes a lot of generational harm where those who have been 're-educated' from a culture sometimes look down on their native family and see them as 'less civilized, savage, backward, and less-than' the white culture they were indoctrinated in as children. That's the point of getting children so young - they're malleable and raise them with enough propaganda, and you can get them to look their own family in the face and denounce them.

Many will not have the power to fight back, so they'll have to abide by the new rules and everyone will say "see? they're still alive! That means we're not oppressive!" But others will speak truth to power and try to stand in defiance of those rules - many peacefully, just by embracing their native traditions. Did the witches attack the Jedi? No. They removed themselves from the Republic sphere of influence and bore children. Yet the Jedi still came and told them they weren't allowed and forced them to 'present' their children for Jedi judgment.

Does that mean every aspect of a culture that's not the majority is automatically going to be good? No. But NO culture is 100% good. Why do the Jedi get to work towards being better while no one else gets that opportunity? Why are minority cultures held to an impossible standard of perfection while the majority gets to skate by training child soldiers, stealing toddlers, and enforcing their religion on the whole galaxy?

When you push other cultures down, the ones who rise up in violent opposition aren't going to be nice about it. But note how even though Qimir's actions are awful, he only ever has killed enemy combatants. The Jedi are soldiers, cops, invaders. They are able to perform state-sanctioned violence against anyone they choose (not sure if it was intentional, but look how they treated those arrested for crimes in episode 1 - none of those people had gotten trials yet, none had been proven guilty, but they were treated as guilty without a second thought).

We understand Frank Castle's motivations even if we don't condone them - because he's fighting back against incredible systems of power that hurt people and he doesn't see another way to hold them accountable. To me, Qimir (and Mae and the witches) fall closer to that category than Vader or Palpatine.

Look at how quick people were to scream that the witches were brainwashing Osha, yet ignore how the Jedi do practically the same. Now imagine if the witches went around to children only 4 years old throughout the galaxy and tried to get them to come join the coven - never to see their families again. It'd be horrifying. Yet the Jedi do the same, but because it's the 'majority', it's 'the norm', we assume it must be right because "Hey, the Jedi are the good guys!"

Idk, I think the Acolyte is doing a wonderful job of 'not taking sides' and just presenting each side's arguments without judgment rather than saying 'so they're right and you should side with them'. To me, NO side is 'right', they're all just people and the situations are messy. Qimir might be wrong, but so are the jedi - just because Qimir is wrong, doesn't mean that the jedi are automatically right and above reproach.

There are others suffering under jedi rule that have long been snuffed out or subjugated so fully that it will take the rise of the empire in order for them to have the space to stand up again. And I think dismissing those people because 'Qimir is worse' is a disservice to the message and discussions the acolyte is trying to promote.

[barbarianbookhoe]

Hi!! ♥️🌻

I saw your requests are open and I just read the one you just posted from Aleksander.

I wanted to see if you wanted to write a story that came to mind when I read your story (it's okay if you don't feel like writing it because it seems repetitive to you)

What if it goes back to the time when the Darkling created the fold.

Aleksander is married to an inferni and they both have a small child, so when the king's men find him in the cabin by accident they end up hurting his son and he dies.

The reader and he are devastated and the Darkling, seeing his wife on the verge of collapse, decides to corrupt himself and create the fold against Ravka.

And that is the villain origin of The Darkling and his wife

(Maybe you could put in a bit of Baghra talking to Aleksander or the reader about her grandson)

Hope you have a nice day and I'm excited to read the stories you post ♥️🤗

Christ on a stick, you thought about that a lot at night? It's an insanely good request (and I might just believe it that if he had a wife, this might've been one reason for him to become a villain)

A/N: Again, thank you for your patience love!

The end feels kinda rushed and cringe-y, but meh, I tried my best

What you made me

TW: character going slowly mad with grief, child death (2), assault, angst

(Some of the things in the story are really not for the weak!)

They came without warning.

It was a peaceful night, nothing out of the ordinary, the fresh midnight air easing his exhaustion that seemed to follow him for the past weeks.

His wife wasn't that energetic either, but at least they knew her reasons for being tired all the time. Growing another life inside their body tends to do that to women.

Aleksander couldn't wait to finally get home to his family. His wife, one of the most cunning Infernis he's ever met, their three year old son, who seemed to look like his exact replica, and their unborn daughter, who they were excited to meet in just a few short months.

As soon as he opened the front door to their home, Aleksander heard the quiet footsteps hurrying to him in the candlelight. His wife hugged him with such force, he had to take a step back to fully balance both of them.

When he slightly let go of his wife, she didn't hesitate to give a weak slap to his face. Aleksander looked bewildered. "What was that for?"

"For not informing me about you coming home later than usual. I've been worried sick for the last four hours, wondering where the fuck you are!"

Y/N whisper shouted at him, so as not to wake their son. Her gaze could've melted stone right in that moment. Aleksander didn't like to be on the receiving end of her furious glare.

Then she pulled him by his neck and kissed him as if he had been away for not four hours, but four years. Her kiss was tender, yet commanding. Aleksander didn't stop until she pulled away first.

"And this, is for coming home to us." Y/N pressed her forehead against his, as he put a hand over her bump. It wasn't that big yet, but it was enough for anyone to know she wasn't alone in her body.

"She's been kicking a lot today. Drives me mad," Y/N said and her husband laughed. "I bet she's just excited to meet you."

"Just four more months and she'll be here." She smiled a little at the thought. Aleksander kissed her again, and she melted into his hug.

There was an urgent knock on the door, which made the couple turn towards the door. Aleksander gave Y/N a look, and she immediately went into her son's room, out of sight.

They came without warning.

Aleksander just put his hand on the doorhandle, when suddenly it busted open and soldiers of the Army dragged him out of the house and kicked him onto the ground.

Aleksander could hear muffled sounds from his home, then his son was shouting and sounds of a fight could be heard. Then he saw the soldiers dragging his pregnant wife out the door, with their son crying into her neck as she held him, a gun pointed at her head.

Y/N was an Inferni. One of the best. Actually, if Aleksander was honest with himself, she was the best of the best. More trained and in control of her powers than anyone he's ever seen. Before he could ask himself why didn't she use her powers, he quickly reminded himself that if she did, it would cause more trouble than what they were in right now.

Y/N slowly walked with the soldier beside her, the gun still at her temple, and got stopped in front of Aleksander. She didn't let her fear show, but her husband knew that she was terrified. Their son was in lethal danger, and they both knew that if the situation got out of hand, they could lose their unborn child too.

Aleksander tried to remain calm, all the while counting the guns pointed at him and his family. The soldiers began arguing with him, listing crimes he did never commit, connecting every single one of them to the fact he was born a Grisha. Not just an ordinary one, but a Shadow Summoner at that.

The shot came without warning.

He could see the war behind their hateful gaze, they admired him just as much as they feared him. And nothing is more powerful than fear. Even the slightest second, the tiniest bit of dread can make you lose everything you hold dear.

Aleksander tried to reason with them, calmly at first. Doing everything they said, trying to make them see he is not the monster the rumors make him appear to be.

Then he tried playing mind games on them, manipulating them, pointing their fear towards something else, convincing them with everything he could.

He saw the soldiers leave her wife and son alone, now focusing more on him. He swallowed down the relieved sigh that was about to escape him.

But it only lasted a few seconds, before their leader began yelling, figuring out he was using them to leave them alone. It soon turned into an argument where Aleksander still tried to hold back himself from killing every one of them for putting a hand on his family.

It turned into a fight. Aleksander still refused to use his powers, no matter the urge he felt to do the exact opposite.

One second the soldiers were crowding in on Aleksander. One of them tripped with their gun still in hand.

The shot came without warning.

The next second all he could hear was the painful shriek of his wife. He turned his only a second but it was enough to make him lose control.

Their son's blood all over Y/N's face and hands as her whole body seemed to tremble, her eyes looking at the ground. Her face was full of shock and nothing else, as if her thoughts ceased to exist.

Another scream left her, more painful than the first as she slowly collapsed on her knees and cried for their son.

Aleksander couldn't look at the scene anymore. His focus was on the soldiers now. The urge he felt before, the urge to destroy, it came back with full force. And he let it out.

The shadows consumed everything and for a split second there was nothing except darkness. The sound of a blade whoosing through the air could be heard and all of the soldiers were dead.

Aleksander quickly dropped down in front of his weeping wife. He tried to get her up, to escape somewhere they won't find them, but she was still in too much shock to focus on anything else than her son.

"Please, my love, I beg of you, we need to get out of here." Aleksander begged with tears in his eyes, not wanting to lose her too. Y/N looked up at him with eyes full of pain, the blood a horrifying reminder on her face.

"This-this is, it's just, it's just paint," Y/N stuttered, trying to make a coherent sentence, then she nodded, as if confirming something. "It's just paint." She nodded again, and Aleksander watched her with a sad face.

Eventually he was able to help her up from the ground and he quickly gathered some of their stuff from the house, most of them being clothes and their son's blanket. He gave the blanket to Y/N, who immediately wrapped their dead son in it, as if it could warm him up. Aleksander didn't have the heart to explain to his grieving wife their son was dead, when she was in such a shock. It would do more damage than good.

They made their way through the forest, only stopping to drink or for Y/N to rest a little. They finally arrived to a small cottage on the edge of the forest, and the sun was just about to come up. Baghra rushed them inside, her face full of worry.

They sat down at the small table in the kitchen, Aleksander and Baghra constantly talking about what happened, when Y/N spoke up.

"We need warm water," she whispered and Aleksander turned to her. "Of course," he said and grabbed a bowl to get some water for them. Baghra looked at the blood on her face and her grandson in Y/N's arms, wrapped in a blanket that had bloodstains on it.

"I need to wash it off. It's just paint." She said and Baghra looked at her with concern. Aleksander was about to tell her to leave his wife alone, but Baghra gently lifted the blanket from her grandson's face. Seeing his lifeless eyes, his pale skin and the dried blood on the back of his head, Baghra had to muffle a cry.

"It's just paint." Y/N whispered again, and began to rock her son gently, as if he was upset.

As if he was still alive.

That's what Y/N's been saying ever since that night. Whenever Aleksander or Baghra tried to take her son out of her arms, to check up on her properly, or to get her to sleep at least a few hours, she would say it.

He was just sleeping.

Her grip would tighten around the boy, out of protection, as she'd say he's just tired and he just needs to sleep. Sometimes she would rock him gently, or humm a lullaby to him, or even tuck him to bed, as if he was still alive.

Y/N was more like a ghost, never seeming to eat, never seeming to sleep, to talk, to move, or do anything beside taking of her son's corpse.

Aleksander was begging her to eat, day and night, never getting more than a few bites down her throat. He tried to reason with her, if not for herself than do it for their unborn daughter, who quite literally won't survive without her mother.

That made some life return to Y/N, and she began to eat a little more every day. Eventually she didn't even notice when she started to eat four or five times a day, always too caught up in her thoughts that never seemed to stop.

There was a small part of her, a voice in her head trying to get her back to reality. Make her see that if she tries to bury her pain it will slowly destroy her. Make her see that she needs to take care of her well-being.

It was as if her brain was trying to keep her awake, so as not to relieve her pain in her nightmares. As if she was trying to block out reality and slowly create her own world, where her son was still alive and smiling and running around.

He was just sleeping.

But it was grotesque just looking at herself: she was getting bigger and bigger as she came closer to giving birth, meanwhile her son remained still and pale as a ghost, never growing anymore.

She tried to bury her pain, alter her grief in a way it would hurt least, create a aworld inside her where none of it happened, where her sweet boy was smiling at her.

One day she was tucking her son to sleep in the late afternoon, the sun not setting yet, when she touched her son's face and noticed the dried blood. She's been touching her dead son for months, but today was the day when it felt real.

When she finally realized that this was not her son anymore, this was not the little boy she loved, this was no more than a cold body, a corpse, waiting to be buried.

Aleksander practically burst through the door when he heard his wife's painful scream. He quickly held her close to his chest as she cried over her son's corpse. These past few months he'd been on edge, waiting for Y/N to finally snap out of her head.

It hurt him to see her in so much pain the first time. He did not imagine it would be just as painful the second time.

Y/N wailed, screamed, sobbed, eventually she even began to burn the coat off Aleksander's arms, but he didn't care. He soothed the flames a little with his shadows, but let his wife let it all out. He wasn't going to stop her from grieving.

Aleksander didn't imagine it to be just as painful as the first time. He had soon realized it can be even worse.

Blood was dripping on Y/N's legs as she cried. Her head was throbbing from all the screaming and crying, her chest was getting tighter and tighter from the pain, and she felt like she was burning.

She felt the blood slowly dripping from between her legs while Aleksander was shouting something to Baghra. In her painful cries she realized what was happening.

She began sobbing even more.

Baghra had to deliver the baby, even though she was coming nearly two months earlier. Y/N had to push the baby out, even though she wasn't in active labour yet. If she waited too long, the baby would get stuck, and both of them would die.

The girl was born still.

Y/N was still holding her dead newborn weeks later. She was rocking her, humming lullabies for her, changing her, even smiling down at her and holding her little hand, talking to her.

She began to alternate her pain again. This time it became a lot worse a lot more sooner. It wasn't just the baby anymore, she brought her dead son into her made up world too. She would act as if both children were alive and happy, one time even sitting with them in the garden and talking with them.

Her son was sleeping, because he was running around all day.

Aleksander and Baghra could only watch her descend into madness. Whenever they tried to get her back to reality, to let her grieve her children properly, as soon as she realized she would have to leave the imaginary world behind, she acted like nothing was wrong.

After another month of his failed attempts, Aleksander had enough. One day he stood in front of his wife, who was about to get their son from the bed, and he stopped her.

Her daughter was sleeping, because babies sleep a lot during the first months.

"This has to stop." He commanded, and Y/N looked at him playfully. "I know I shouldn't smolder him this much, but he's just-"

"He's dead!" Aleksander told her. "He's-," His voice cracked and he had to swallow down the lump in his throat.

"Our son is dead, Y/N. Our daughter too. Both of our children are dead." He whispered, not hiding the pain in his voice while grabbing Y/N's face between his hands, trying to make her understand.

"That's not funny. They're just sleeping, you know how kids are-" Y/N reasoned with him, but it made him snap at her.

"Our children are dead for fuck's sake!" Aleksander shouted, the tears evident in his red, sleepless eyes. "Our son was shot right outside our home, and our daughter was born dead." He said as if stating facts. They were facts, but he had to tell them to her face to get her to realize.

"I beg of you Y/N, please, don't bury your pain any deeper. I cannot see you drive yourself into madness." He shook his head, not caring how desperate he sounded. He was willing to do anything at this point to get a reaction out of her.

Y/N looked at him worriedly, but it soon turned into a knowing look, a look that screamed of pain, grief and fear.

"They're just sleeping." She whispered and tears streamed down her face. She remained neutral, though her voice was filled with agony. "They're just sleeping."

She kept saying those words as recognition filled both of their eyes.

Aleksander realized she's been aware of her loss, but she refused to believe it, hoping it would take away her pain if she tried to erase the facts from her mind.

Y/N realized her children were gone, dead. Her husband has been trying to keep the last piece of her sanity still in tact, hoping she wouldn't succumb to madness, or depression, or worse, suicide.

Baghra helped them make a grave and thombstone for both their son and daughter. Y/N and Aleksander stayed at their graves long after Baghra went inside to give them privacy. They just stared at the graves in silence, the tears dried on their faces, with sore eyes and probably empty gazes.

Y/N grabbed Aleksander's hand and gave him a tight squeeze, as she spoke up.

"I want to kill them." Her voice was no louder than a whisper, filled with agony. Aleksander looked at her as she turned to look at him.

"I want all of them to feel the pain that I have to feel." Her voice wavered as her gaze lit up in anger. "I want the world to burn."

Aleksander looked at his wife without surprise, without guilt, without any kind of remorse about what he was going to do.

"Then we destroy them."

Y/N and Aleksander stood side by side in their beautiful keftas, the black and red colors foreshadowing the soldiers' fate.

Aleksander let go of the reign holding his powers, therefore he began creating something that would change their lives forever.

Y/N was true to her words: she burned everything that came across her way. They didn't call her the best of the best just because of the title. Her power had the ability to improve itself, to evolve into something far bigger than she ever would've imagined.

She only needed the least bit of heat, wether from nature or from the human body itself, for her to conjure her fire.

She burned them. All of them.

Her hunger to avenge everything she had to lost, became far greater than she thought at first. She told herself she wasn't a killer, she wasn't a monster.

But what is a monster, if not the one who enjoys inflicting pain without remorse? And enjoying it, Y/N did. She smiled as she watch the last of the soldiers scream for mercy, the mercy she was not allowed to have.

Baghra tried to reason with the both of them as she watched the Fold slowly divide Ravka. She argued with them what the consequences of their actions are, that power like this has a price they might not be willing to give.

Y/N stepped closer to the woman, the emotions gone from her eyes.

"Do you know ehat it feels like to watch your own children die?" She asked and Baghra didn't know how to answer. She looked at the girl with grief, opening her mouth to convince her of stopping, but Y/N grabbed the collar of her dresd and yanked her closer.

"Watching your children, your own flesh and blood, their lives slowly slipping away in your own fucking hands, all the while knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it." Y/n said, her voice a mix of anger and sadness, with a hint of madness creeping in.

Aleksander put a hand on her shoulder, silently telling her to stop and just go, but she didn't stop.

"You think I wouldn't avenge their death? Did you seriously believe that I wouldn't bring justice in their name?" Y/N chuckled silently, but it sounded like a madman's laugh, slowly slipping into insanity.

"Every single one of them, every single person who believes, or even thinks about Grisha as the enemy, as the monster, will pay the price for my children's death. Was it not for them, they would still be alive. And I will not stop, not until the last person against Grisha is dead, burning under my fingertips." She threatened and stepped away from Baghra, who now had a very concerned look on her face.

"And I will look them in the eye and laugh, and laugh, as they die." Y/N told her at last, and turned to walk away from her. Aleksander had a firm hand on her back, his belief in her not wavering for one second.

Together, they will create a new order, a better Ravka, where Grisha will no longer be the subject of the world.

Where Grisha are no longer a threat.

Where Grisha can live like Kings and Queens.

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Read on AO3

Lythra froze in the operating theatre, her blood turning to ice in her veins. All the sudden all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears and all she could smell was the copper tang of blood, just like back in her mother’s laboratory. She was once again small and scared and made stupid with venom, not sure whether to pray to survive, this time, or to die, and let it finally, finally be over.

It never mattered either way, because no Gods were listening. 

She cried out as one of the undead Sharran nurses sunk a blade into her thigh. Karlach pushed her off, glancing at her from beneath furrowed brows. 

“Come on soldier, get your head in the game!”

Lythra nodded—or she thought she did. She was still half in that awful tower, half chained to that vivisection table, half a scared child who hadn’t yet learned not to cry for her father. 

She—she had a sword in her hand, or a dagger. She was in the Shadow Cursed Lands, she was Above, she was fighting—supposed to be fighting. Something tore across her chest and she whirled, reeling away, her blade falling from her hand in her haste. She stumbled, falling flat on her face. She flipped over, panic constricting her throat, only to see the Sharran doctor above, smiling at her in false benevolence. He jammed—something—into her stomach, something like a thousand needles, and it hurt. She tried to lash out with her magic, not caring about the consequences, but it it sputtered impotently as he drained her of blood more efficiently than any vampire. 

The room spun nauseatingly above her, growing darker with each stuttering heartbeat. This was it—all those years of running and she’d still die at the end of some lunatic’s scalpel. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to watch her dismemberment.

“Get away from her!” Someone yelled above her, and there was the twang of a bowstring maybe, but she couldn’t, everything was muffled and she, and she—

Something was smacked against her teeth, a hand roughly grabbing her by the scruff of her neck to force her into a sitting position. Liquid poured down her throat, scalding it.

Her eyes fluttered open only to see Astarion glaring at her, furious. 

“Get up,” he snarled, and her stomach roiled, even as the room ceased spinning. She tried to listen, she tried, but her legs wouldn’t support her. They gave out and she smashed her knees to the tile of the floor, the impact knocking the breath from her. 

He looked at her, disgusted, before he turned and disappeared into the shadows, focus back on the nurses, on that monstrous doctor. 

She needed to get up. She needed to or she would be left here to die—or worse, to live as they took her apart, again and again. She scrambled back, pulling herself up with a bookshelf, letting it support her weight as she dug with shaking hands for her crossbow. She managed to load it just as one of the nurses leapt at her. She fired and missed, only hitting her in the shoulder as she rushed her. She prepared for the impact, the pain, but before she could reach her, Astarion was back, ripping his dagger across her throat. The nurse dropped lifeless to the ground. 

He didn’t move this time, instead he stood, half crouched in front of her, daggers drawn. He glanced back, brows drawn together before turning back to the fight. 

She wretched up the healing potion, sliding back down to the floor. Her head was pounding, her mind slow, stupid. She watched as Karlach and Lae’zel felled the doctor, making quick work of the last remaining nurse. She expected Astarion to begin picking through the corpses, but instead he turned back to her, kneeling at her side. He dug through his pack, pulling out a Greater Healing Potion. 

“You need to drink it, you’re still bleeding like a faucet,” he said, uncorking it.

“I don’t—I don’t—“

“You have to. Now,” he spat, grabbing her jaw and forcing her mouth open to pour it down her throat. It burned and she choked on it, but he only dug for another, doing the same. 

She felt the worst of her injuries knit back together, felt the bleeding slow to a trickle before she was forced to wretch the potions up. She sat back, pushing tangled hair out of her face. Astarion still stared, furious.

Karlach crouched down, giving her a once over. She made a face

“We should get you back to camp. The doctor didn’t have much on him, just an amulet and this,” she said, showing her an old battered lute. She squinted at it, noticing the initials carved into the face.

AC

“Can I have that?” She asked, reaching a shaking hand for it.

“How about we wait until after we get out of the blood-soaked murder-hospital before we start learning a new song? Hmmm?” Astarion said exasperatedly. 

“We should take the Waypoint back to camp. This one is in no condition to travel,” Lae’zel said in her usual harsh cadence, though her eyes flicked to the blood that had pooled in her wake. 

“A fine idea,” Astarion said. “Can you stand, darling?”

“I—“ she said shakily, voice barely more than a whisper. “I need a hand.”

“Of—“ Astarion began, but Karlach stooped and picked her up with hardly any effort. 

“There you are, Tiny. Let’s get you back,” she said, and Lythra couldn’t help but lean into her warmth, shivering. 

She hadn’t realized just how cold she was before she’d felt it.

Karlach set her down gently as they arrived back at camp. The others that had been gathered around the fire, leapt to their feet, eyes wide.

“Hells—I thought you lot were merely going on a scouting mission!” Wyll said.

“We were. That town is overrun with malevolent undead,” Lae’zel said. “It will take us another day to scout the path to the Towers.”

Shadowheart immediately cast a mass Healing Word and crossed to her side. Lythra couldn’t help but flinch.

“These aren’t healing right,” Shadowheart said, examining the wound on her stomach. “I can try—“

“I’ve had enough Sharran medicine for today, thanks,” Lythra retorted, sharper than she meant. Shadowheart shrunk back slightly, though she glared at her. Lythra opened her mouth to apologize but then just shook her head, limping off to the river to clean away what she could. 

She still couldn’t shake off the dregs of her trembling, the fear that constricted her heart. Just seeing such instruments had been enough to render her fumbling and useless, but having them used on her again—

She’d thought she’d outgrown such foolish childhood fears. She wasn’t a child anymore, wasn’t strapped to her mother’s vivisection table any longer.

It had been years. She should be long past it.

And yet, she’d frozen, useless, subjected to more of their horror for her weakness. 

~~~

Halsin looked up to see Lythra push through the door of the infirmary, limping heavily and looking even more deathly pale than usual. Her hair was wet from bathing and she wore no armor, only loose camp clothing. He could smell the iron tang of blood on her, even through the soap she’d used to try and wash it away. He crossed quickly to her side as she swayed slightly, her eyes taking a moment to focus. 

“What happened?” He asked, helping her to a cot. He could feel thick bandages wrapped around her abdomen, under her shirt. He sank a powerful healing spell into her skin, frowning when it hardly seemed to make a difference. Black blood started to run from her eyes, her nose, like when she used her dark magic. He sunk another into her skin, and she flinched away, swiping at the blood on her face. She opened her mouth, a haunted expression flickering across her face, but just shook her head. 

She dug into her bag, pulling out an old, battered lute.

“I think this belongs to him,” she said quietly, nodding at Art in the bed. “Maybe—m-maybe it might jog his memory.”

“By all means,” Halsin replied, hope warming in his chest for the first time since he’d begun trying to rouse Art from his stupor. Perhaps playing would calm her, too, from whatever horrors she’d just faced. Lythra looked at him a moment before swallowing hard, shaking her head as she passed him the lute. 

He couldn’t help but note how her hands shook.

Halsin strummed a few notes. Art woke with a start, shouting for Thaniel.

“Calm, breathe,” Halsin said, his heart catching in his chest. This was it—this was what he’d been searching for, longing for, for a century, a way to find his lost friend. “You’ve been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century. Take a moment to clear your mind.”

“A century,” he said, eyes far off. Surely he was thinking of his old life, of everything he’d ever known, now long dead. He turned to peer at him, brows furrowed. “You’re Halsin. Thaniel said to find you. You must help him—please.”

“I will,” he swore. “But I need to know where Thaniel is. If I venture into the Shadowfell blind, I will never find him.”

“I’m not sure I can put it into words. The landscape there shifts and changes,” Art replied slowly. 

“Was—was there anything that didn’t change?” Lythra asked softly. “Anything that could act as a marker?”

“Lavender. Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled lavender.”

“I can work with that. Rest, now,” he said. Art settled back into bed as Lythra pulled herself back to standing by a bedpost, no doubt to slip away again, just as she’d done the last time she’d handed him a break in his quest, just as when she’d rescue him from the goblins. She forced a smile, giving him a nod. 

“Let me know, what you will require. I—I’m afraid I must rest, now. We were meant to scout the Towers today, but were waylaid. Tomorrow, hopefully, we will have a better handle on their plans,” she said, making for the door, but she was slow, still limping. He crossed to her side, wrapping an arm around her to alleviate some of the weight on the injured limb.

“I’m alright, Halsin. You have much more important—”

“I will see you back to camp, and take a look at your injuries. They are not responding to healing as I would expect. Now tell me, what happened?”

“It was bad,” she said quietly, looking down. “I—I froze. It was my fault.”

“It’s not your fault somebody hurt you, little one. That’s never your fault.”

She didn’t respond and he knew she didn’t believe him. The walked in silence back to camp where he lead her to take a seat outside his tent while he fetched his medical supplies. 

“Did Shadowheart attend to you?” he asked as he took a look at her bandages for the first time and found them spotted with blood. It should have been a bright red color, but it was closer to black, like what she coughed up after spending too long in the Shadow Cursed Lands. 

“I—she tried, but I—I was rude to her. It—they were undead Sharrans we fought.”

Halsin nodded. He didn’t blame her—it was exceedingly uncomfortable, traveling with a Sharran, especially through the lands blighted by her god. He kept it to himself as much as he was able, but it was grating, to say the least. He was far too familiar with their cruelty, with the destruction they wrought and he’d lost too many of those dear to him to their number. 

“Where?” He asked.

“In Reithwin, in the House of Healing,” she replied, nearly spitting the last word. “They were—the Sharrans were killing people there, killing survivors. We found records before—“ she broke off, looking away. 

Halsin’s heart clenched. He was sure the experience had brought up no small number of bad memories, especially after unwrapping her bandages. Her wounds all had the same odd surgical look as her scars, no doubt created by similar tools. 

Tools that were meant to heal. 

He tried another, stronger spell on the the wounds on her abdomen, they knitted back together slightly, but not as they should. Lythra made a face, taking in a sharp intake of breath.

“Did that hurt?” He asked. It shouldn’t have, it could be uncomfortable, sometimes, but not painful. The worst side effect he usually saw was itching. 

“It’s fine,” she said, turning her face away to try and sneakily wipe the blood trailing from her nose. He caught her hand, gently. 

“Answer me honestly.”

“It’s bearable.”

“Then it does pain you. And it’s not working nearly as well as it should. Is this new, since we arrived in the Shadow Lands?”

She shook her head. “It’s just worse.”

So the whole time he’d forced her to sit still and allow him to heal her—he’d just been hurting her too. 

“And potions—?”

“They’re worse. I—I can’t keep them down.”

Halsin furrowed his brow, reaching out with his magic to try and determine what could be causing such a reaction. The potions—it could be an allergy, though he hadn’t heard of anyone developing one before. The spells though—

That had implications that were uncomfortable to consider. 

~~~

There was blood in his mouth, but it held none of the delectable sweetness, only a nauseating film of copper over his tongue. There was pain, so much that he could begin to place is source and the light around him was too bright, washing out the features of the figure standing above, cruel silver instruments flashing in their hands. He knew they were a mage but didn’t know how he knew.

It was only then that he realized that he was tied down to stone slab, that he couldn’t move as knives were dug into him, as he felt fingers inside of him, felt his organs being prodded and examined and shifted about. There was another pang of shock when he saw the mirror hung above the operating table, a mirror that reflected back the horror happening to him on the table. His flesh flayed open as if he were a corpse, his skin ashen and flecked with crimson, the white of his hair soaked in it, but it couldn’t be him, he had no reflection—

And besides, the figure on the slab was so small, diminutive, even. He tore his eyes from the horror of the torso to find the face, only to freeze, eyes widening. 

It was a child tied to the slab, a tiny elven girl with a crude gag shoved in her mouth, tears streaking down her pale cheeks even as her eyes burned with fury, with murder. She couldn’t have been more than ten, but her eyes held the weight of lifetimes, familiar, pale eyes, though here they looked almost green—

He awoke with a start, sitting straight up as he attempted to catch his breath. His head ached in a now familiar way that let him know the dream had been the tadpole’s doing, though even without it he would have known. It wasn’t the first time they’d connected the lot of them without anyone meaning to, wasn’t the first dream they’d intruded on. Usually they were boring, scraps of faces and voices that meant nothing to the rest of them, a swirling mass of nonsense, but this—

Lythra never spoke about her past. They hadn’t even know she was a drow until she’d let it slip when sweet talking their way out of a tight situation on the way to the goblin camp, something she hadn’t taken kindly to him making light of. 

Her reaction today, in the operating theatre, now made horrible, awful sense. It must have been like walking into that nightmare and they’d just torn into her. 

He got up before he realized what he was doing and pushed out of his tent, eyes searching for the familiar spot of moon-bright hair besides the fire. She wasn’t curled up in her usual place by the far side of camp either, her bedroll empty. He stood a moment, wondering where she would have taken off to. 

Only then did he hear the near-silent sound of short, panic-quickened breaths which he followed to find her crouched at the far edge of camp, well out of sight from camp, her skin ashen and slick with sweat, tears cascading down her cheeks. 

“Lythra, darling—“

“Just—just go away,” she croaked out, not bothering to look up. Part of him wished to heed her, to retreat back to his tent and forget what he’d seen, forget her terror, terror that felt all too familiar. He remembered how it felt for terror to make him sick, remembered when it would fill him so wholly it made his teeth ache. He’d never thought he’d meet another that might understand, another that wasn’t one of the poor sods that made up his ‘brothers and sisters.’ 

He crouched down, offering her what remained of his wineskin. She hesitated before taking it and finishing it in one go before handing it back, squeezing her eyes shut. She took a shuddering breath pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

Astarion hesitated a moment before speaking, trying to dredge up the right words, the sort of words people were supposed to say in these situations.

“I—if you wanted to talk—“

“Don’t,” she shot back, voice sharp. 

“Don’t what?”  He snapped, annoyed. He was trying to be nice, after all. She just never let him.

She laughed, the sound strained and humorless. “Surely that must have been but a Tuesday with Cazador. I don’t want your pity, pretend or otherwise. ”

She wasn’t wrong—Cazador was oh so creative in his cruelty. He stared at her and she avoided his gaze, wringing her hands in her lap, brows furrowed. 

She’d been so small, in the memory.

“How old were you?” 

She was silent for a long time, long enough that Astarion had begun to think she wouldn’t answer at all. When she finally spoke it was so quiet he might not have heard it, but for his heightened hearing.

“Do you mean the time you saw, or when it started? Because I don’t remember when it started, I was too young, but I know she didn’t start flaying me proper until I was nine. I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.”

Astarion balked at her. “Grateful? Grateful? I can hardly imagine you and your bleeding heart doing anything to deserve that. Whatever that was, anyway.”

She stared hard at the ground, intent on avoiding his gaze.

“What do you want, Astarion? Do you want all the gory details, how I’d get slashed and sliced up and put never quite back together? How she’d make sure to only use paralytics that didn’t numb the pain? How it was my fault, for being a girl and a szarkai, and an utterly talentless sack of skin? How I’ve been free for five years and I never grew out of being a terrified, useless little thing?” She replied, and he knew the words should have been sharp and angry, but they just came out flat and tired. She took a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring unseeingly into the darkness. 

It was easy enough for him to see the effort it took to keep her breaths level, to clock the tension in her muscles, the way she balled her hands up in fists to disguise the shaking. 

He stared at her, his undead heart lurching painfully. He hesitated before reaching out to pull her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, and he thought she was going to pull away, but instead she buried her face in his chest, a sob ripping itself from her lips before she could stop it, as silent as those he’d seen by the river. 

“Oh, darling,” he said, pulling her closer in a way he prayed was comforting. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her breaths coming too fast. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, repeating it over and over as he smoothed a hand over her back, doing his best to comfort her. He wasn’t used to comforting anyone, but it didn’t feel as foreign and uncomfortable as it should. He didn’t know how long it took, but eventually she calmed, her breaths evening out, her body falling limp against his as she drifted off to sleep, tears still wet on her cheeks. He sighed, relieved before he was faced with a dilemma.

He couldn’t very well leave her out in the brush. Well, he could, and it’d be the easiest thing to do, but it felt—wrong, he’d guess? She was that fragile thing tonight, the thing he’d seen by the river. 

He swore to himself and picked her up, surprised at just how light she was. He thought about setting her back in her bedroll, but that too sat poorly with him. Instead he carried her into his tent and settled the both of them into his bedroll. 

It would be fine, for one night. 

She pressed closer to him, snuffling pathetically in her sleep. He ran his fingers through her hair—beautiful hair the color of starlight with perfect waves even though she barely even ran a comb through it some days. 

Another infuriating thing about her, to add to the pile. 

Still, he tightened his hold on her, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. It would be alright, for one night.

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

Saw a post about Rhys being insane for going after Illyrians who worked with Amarantha while he also worked for Amarantha which reminded me very strongly of a bit that I've been casually working on in my notes app because I have Amarantha’s Takeover Rule Brainrot

Loosely connected with my ficverse and featuring entirely OCs but -

The Illyrian had his hands up. He was speaking - the same word over and over -

"Sanctuary. Sanctuary. Sanctuary. Sanctuary."

Martialis kept his hand raised in stay, but did not lower his short sword. "Who are you? Identify yourself at once!"

"Azeneth of Ironcrest," said the Illyrian. His long hair was a tangled nest of black, a few braided pieces around his pallid, terrified face. He was young, Pyrrha realized with a start - no older than she was, if even that. "Sanctuary. I mean you no harm."

"Liar," someone spat, to her left.

Azeneth's eyes widened; his head whipped to the sound, so Pyrrha got a close look at his eyes - the pupils large as saucers, the whites stark, tears pricking at the corners.

"Its the truth! Please - they'll kill me if I don't fight - the High Lord has gone completely mad -"

"And how do we know you were not sent here to spy on us?" asked Martialis calmly.

Azeneth looked pleadingly at the captain. "They will kill me," he repeated. His fear was genuine; he reeked with it. The green siphoning stone on his chest shone ominously as his emotions flared.

"How did you manage to escape?" Martialis continued.

Azeneth wet his lips. His wings twitched and there was a shift, a series of clanging sounds, as the soldiers behind him lifted their spears and poised to throw. At once, he raised his hands higher, demonstrating his surrender.

"The general is missing," said Azeneth. "We believe that he has been killed - and my unit commander raised this concern with the wrong person - he was executed, and while they were all distracted, I ran."

"And the wards? How did you pass through unscathed?"

"There is a hole on the southeastern segment of the city wall," Azeneth confessed at once. "It hasn't been repaired yet, and its high, so only someone with wings can break through. We know all the weaknesses in the wards - I came through that point, and the others will be coming through after me. They are planning to send a small force to the main gate as a distraction while the Illyrians break through the weak spot. Then the rest of the army will follow."

The south wall - the school, Celestine, was there. Pyrrha's blood ran cold, and it was clear that she wasn't the only one. Martialis's expression was grave, and he ordered, "Tell Keeper Darnic to warn his counterparts, and send a message to Otho and the general."

There was a flurry of movement as one of the priestesses broke free from the group and rushed off. Pyrrha did not dare take her eyes from the Illyrian, who was noticeably trembling.

"Thank you for your information," said Martialis. "For your contributions, a quick death."

Azeneth let out a whimper, but before the captain could attack, Lucretia raised her voice.

"You do not dare spill innocent blood in the Mother's sacred hall!"

Martialis spared the old priestess a glare of indignation. "He's an Illyrian spy," he said, as if she were too stupid to have figured it out. "Illyrians are trained to kill from the womb. We cannot let him live."

"How dare you?" Lucretia's voice, though throaty with age, was still powerful. "The Mother loves each of her children and lifts them when they stumble!"

"We don't have time for sermons!"

"You are right," said Lucretia, lifting her chin. "I am merely reminding you - this is *my* temple. I am the Reverend High, by age and by decree. And if this child claims Sanctuary in the arms of the Mother, then I grant it without hesitatation. Those who would tarnish the Mother's sacred hospitality and compassion have no place here."

Martialis colored with fury and shame flashed across his eyes. Pyrrha understood at once what he must be feeling - not only had Lucretia just threatened to upend their war plans and throw Martialis to the literal wolves at the door, but the old woman had a special talent for enforcing discipline. Serapion slacked off on chores and argued with his parents, but he'd always known better than to sass his grandmother. They all did.

"Disarm him!" The captain snapped the order, but it wasn't directed at anyone in particular and nobody moved at first.

Pyrrha raised her spear and relaxed out of her stance. Her feet carried her - one step, two steps, three steps, four steps - until she was within arms length of the Illyrian.

She held out her hand.

Azeneth began pulling black stone knives from his person - long, curved blades strappedno to his chest, and four daggers strapped to his waist, and another, smaller one in his boot. He dropped them all to the floor one by one, letting them clatter and clang against the tiles. The last thing he removed was the leather strap which held the green stone, and this was the only thing he handed to Pyrrha, placing it gently on her palm.

Her fingers closed around it as she took a step backward. It was warm, and seemed to have a faint heartbeat.

"Search him!" Martialis commanded.

Two male soldiers stepped forward and did so, roughly yanking on his leathers and slapping their hands hard against his body. Azeneth winced, but did not protest.

"Clean!"

Azeneth slowly lowered his hands. No one lowered their weapons.

Martialis broke the tension by sheathing his blade, and turning to face the old priestess.

"Where can we keep him?"

Lucretia's mouth pursed and she said, "He is a guest, not a prisoner."

"Be that as it may," said the captain flatly. "We are at war."

Lucretia looked at Pyrrha, who stared back at her blankly. She was still holding the stone out; she realized she was somewhat afraid of it, and then chided herself as she forced her body to stand normally, arms at her sides. Illyrian siphons were powerful, but they were only stones once they'd been removed from their wearers. Azeneth was harmless.

"My grandson could use some help with organizing our medical supply," suggested Lucretia. "Perhaps our guest might be willing to help?"

Azeneth lowered his chin as a few soldiers snickered to see his expression.

Pyrrha said, "Sure. I'll take you to him. This way."

She looked at Azeneth, who eyed her a bit warily, but followed when she walked. She felt every single eye - her peers, the other priestesses - and only paused when she reached Lucretia's position by the doors.

"Keep your eyes open," the old priestess advised.

Pyrrha nodded. That would be wise indeed.

[missvelvetsstuff]

With Friends Like You, Who Needs Enemies?

Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Natasha, Reader x ????

Reader is a mutant with the ability to turn sound into light who was 'adopted' aka stolen as a child by Baron Von Strucker to use for experimentation. She was given a form of the Super soldier serum so in addition to her mutant abilities she also has super strength, enhanced senses and healing. When he starts experimenting on his volunteers, the Maximoff twins, she tries to convince them to escape with her but they tell the Baron that she's planning to escape so he doubles her cell security. Steve and reader met when the team recovered Loki's scepter from Strucker.

She falls in love with Steve and becomes good friends with Nat but they aren't the friends she thinks they are.

Notes: Here I go with a new idea because I'm stuck on my wip's. Reader has powers like Dazzler from the X-Men, plus a form of the serum.

Steve and Nat are not great people in this.

This story is canon adjacent except that Thanos never happened.

Warnings: none yet

Prologue

Starts at the beginning of AOU

Steve looked around the room, seeing a woman who disappeared behind a wall. "Second enhanced, female. Do not engage"

A tall, beautiful woman in raggedy clothing approached him with her hands up. "Captain America? Are you here to help us?"

Steve noded but kept his guard up "We're here for Loki's scepter but I can help you. Do you work for Strucker?"

She shook her head "No, he kidnapped me when I was young. He helped me learn how to control my abilities but also experimented on me. He wanted me to be a weapon. I just want to go home"

While they were talking Wanda snuck up on them and forced Steve into a memory. Y/N created a light bright enough to shock him out of it.

Steve shook his head and once it cleared stared at her "How did you do that? What abilities, exactly?"

She shrugged "I'm a mutant. I can turn sound into light. It used to be random but I've learned how to make a laser and how to hypnotize people. Strucker made me learn how to break people out of the witches hex, in case she ever turned on Hydra."

Steve nodded "Well let's get you out of here" into his comms "Third enhanced, female. Not hostile. I'm bringing her with me." He looked at her "I'm Steve, what's your name?" She told him and he nodded "Follow me"

Tony nodded, breaking out of Wandas hex "I have the scepter, let's get out of here."

When they made it to the quinjet Y/N was quiet and stayed out of the way while they worked on Clint. She hoped the Avengers were better than Hydra, they couldn't possibly be worse.

Once they arrived at the tower, Y/N was taken to medical to be checked after Clint was being treated but was only found to be exhausted, malnourished and dehydrated. Dr Cho advised starting with a bland diet and rest for a few days, then a check up before starting on other foods and light exercise.

Nat introduced herself "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself before but my friend....."

Y/N nodded "It's ok, all of you were coming down from a fight. I know how that can feel."

Nat looked at her warily "Thanks. Let me show you to your room. You can take a shower while we get some food for you. There are some sweats in the dresser that you can wear until we get you some clothes. We will be in the conference room. in 30. We need to debrief you and Nick Fury wants to meet you. He's not here today but will probably drop in soon."

Y/N looked surprised "I'm no one but I'll tell you what I can."

Nat showed her the room "If you need any help you can ask Jarvis. He's Tony's AI and helps run things here. Just ask him for directions." Nat looked at her, concerned "You're safe here and we'll help you figure everything out."

Y/N looked around the room, more like a suite and more luxurious than she had seen in many years. Strucker kept her in a small, cold cell that had been made so she couldn't use her powers to get out. She hadn't had a proper shower in ages, usually they just blasted her with cold water once a week.

The shower was heaven and the hot water never ran out. There were some high end toiletries and plush towels, she hadn't felt so good since she didn't know when.

She dried off and put the sweat shirt and pants on, they were so soft and felt wonderful on her skin. She found a pair of slippers in the closet and was ready to face everyone. She looked up at the ceiling "Jarvis?"

"Yes, miss?" She jumped at the disembodied voice.

"How do I get to the conference room?"

"Exit this room, turn left and follow the lights"

"Thank you"

"Of course, miss."

Y/N found the conference room with Jarvis help and could hear the team talking quietly, her name came up more than once which made her nervous. She entered the room and everyone stilled, which made her more anxious.

Tony looked over at her "Come on in, we'll see what we need to do here. I have to say you look much better now. I've never seen anyone look so good in sweats. Natasha can take you shopping for some clothes when you're up for it."

Y/N shook her head "Thank you but I don't have any money."

Tony smirked "Don't worry about that, it's taken care of.

Please have a seat. There's food coming for you."

She sat down where he pointed and looked around nervously. She didn't know much about the Avengers and could only hope they were better than Hydra. A plate of eggs and toast with a glass of Apple juice was set in front of her. She picked at it for a minute before diving in. Strucker almost never gave her real food, just some high protein paste that did the job but tasted awful.

Tony clapped his hands "Alright kids, lets get this started. Y/N would you like to start?"

She looked up at him, wide eyed with a mouth full of food.

Tony grinned "Right, sorry. Go ahead and eat and we'll come back around to you."

Y/N listened carefully to everything they said and tried not to eat too quickly. When they came back around to her she had cleaned her plate and wanted more.

"I'll get you more after we're done here, don't want to shock your system too much." Tony told her softly.

"Can you tell us some about yourself and what Strucker was up to?"

Y/N nodded "Like I told Captain Rogers, I'm a mutant. I can turn sound into various forms of light. I can hypnotize, make lasers or just a pretty light show when I sing. I was 10 or so when Strucker kidnapped me and started experimenting to see how my powers work. He also gave me some kind of serum that made me stronger, heal faster and enhanced my senses. Taught me to fight hand to hand. He insisted he was my father but when I got older, he did things to me that no decent father would do to his daughter.

Last year he brought the scepter and two people that he enhanced with it. Wanda can mess with your mind and her twin brother Pietro moves very fast. I tried to tell them how awful he was and talk them into escaping with me but their hatred for Tony Stark and the Avengers was too much. They told Strucker I wanted to escape and he locked me in a cell I couldn't get out of for the last few months. He released me when you showed up, hoping I would help the twins fight against you but I couldn't. I didn't want to be under his control anymore"

Tears were running down her face as she finished.

Nat rubbed her back gently "Do you know where you're from? Where your family is?"

Y/N sighed "I don't remember much. Strucker tried to erase my memories and they are pretty scattered now. I see flashes of another life but they are blurry and vague. I know I wanted to be a singer, taught myself how to make light shows to go with my songs. I remember when my mom saw me doing that and freaked out. There's not much after that except for Strucker and his experiments."

She sat back looking a little dazed "I'm very tired. Is it ok if I go rest?"

Tony nodded "We can talk more later. Once you're fully recuperated you'll have to come to the gym and show us your stuff. Captain, would you like to escort the lady to her room?" He saw how Steve was looking at her so wanted to give him a little shove.

Steve and Y/N were both quiet on the way to her room. She started humming without even realizing and a soft colorful haze surrounded her.

Steve looked at her in shock "That's so beautiful" his cheeks flushed "I mean you're beautiful, you know your voice and the lights"

She stopped "Sorry, it's a habit and how I comforted myself in my cell."

"No, no, don't be sorry. You don't have to stop, it just caught me off guard" they stopped in front of her door. "Get some rest and ask Jarvis if you need anything" he gently touched her arm and felt sparks which made him pull away quickly. "Yeah, uh, good night"

"G'nite Steve"

Chapter 1

[ikeromantic]

Keiji - Red Thread of Fate

This is a gift piece for @scruffymctee featuring the lovely Tomoyo. Approx. 4K words.

Keiji felt like an idiot. This wasn’t a new sensation. More like an old scar that tore open from time to time, bleeding shame instead of blood. He shoved his feelings down into his chest and ignored the bitter bile taste in his throat. “Of course, my lord. I will stay back with the reserves.” His voice was cheerful, his expression the same. “It’s an honor to be given any position in your forces.”

Nobunaga’s carnelian gaze pinned him to the spot, as if he could see straight past the smile and into the roiling darkness of Keiji’s heart. “Do not disappoint me,” was all he said. His expression was too flat to read, his tone expectant and regal. 

The wild child bowed low, knowing this was not the time or place to demand more. He hadn’t earned it. Not yet. One day though . . . one day he would be at the head of a mighty force. His name made legend in song and poetry. And his uncle would be no one and nothing, finally made to eat his words. That thought made Keiji’s smile widen.

Two days later, he and his reserve troops sat idle at the Oda camp. They could hear battle in the distance as Masamune brought a rogue daimyo to heel. It was impossible to tell from here if they were winning or losing, but the signal for the reserve had not been sent so there was nothing for it but to wait. 

Sweat ran down Keiji’s back, and the harsh hot sun beat down on him and the other soldiers, all dressed in their armor and ready for a fight. But the only action in camp was the steady hustle of the medical tent where Ieyasu and his strange assistant treated the wounded. He could not help but watch the action there, bored as he was. 

Ieyasu wore a stern, disapproving expression as he moved between the wounded soldiers. He would pause to assess their condition and determine treatment. His assistant - the girl - followed in his wake, lingering to dispense medicine or check bandages. For the more serious injuries, she would work right alongside Tokugawa. Blood up to her elbows, a look of focus on her face as she helped him remove bullets and stitch sword-wounds closed. Her name was Tomoyo.

It annoyed Keiji that he knew her name. She should be outside of his concern. One of Nobunaga’s playthings. But he couldn’t have ignored her if he wanted to. She’d shown up several times for training in spear and staff. As if she were one of the conscripts and not a princess. She came to war council. And she came to battle. She was . . . strange. 

He caught himself watching her again. The graceful curve of her neck as she bent to inspect a closed wound. The smile she gave the injured soldier. He said something to her and Tomoyo laughed. Keiji forced his eyes away. He didn’t need to be distracted. Especially not by such an odd woman. 

“Think we’re gonna stand here like this all day?” One of his men, a rugged soldier who’d spent most of his life as a bandit, spoke up. 

“Nobody told me serving the Oda meant sweating in my armor all day with my thumb in my arse,” another commented.

A third agreed. “At least when I was doing mercenary work, they let me swing my sword.”

“Shut up,” Keiji growled, his own annoyance burning in his tone. “Following orders is more honorable than just hitting whatever’s in front of you because it’s harder to do. Are you saying it’s too hard for you? You’re too weak?”

There was a murmured ‘no’ in response, barely audible.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of some whining little boys?” Keiji cupped his hand to his ear.

“No!” Came the roared response. 

Keiji grinned at them. “Good. I’d hate to think I wasted my time in all that training. Now, we’re gonna stand here ready and waiting because that’s our job today. And it’s an important one.” He tried to make himself sound sure, even though in his heart he too wanted to be out in the thick of it, making his name. 

“Is everything ok over here?” Tomoyo’s voice startled Keiji.

He spun to face her. She’d taken advantage of his distraction to walk over from the medical tent and now stood less than an armslength away. “Everything’s fine, lady.”

She smiled at him and something in her gaze made his heart lurch, it’s beat suddenly too fast and a bit uneven. “Good. I brought some water for you, if that’s alright? You look hot.” Tomoyo gestured to a large clay vessel at her feet. 

Keiji’s eyes fell to it. He hadn’t even noticed. “You carried this over here? By yourself?”

“Yes?” She laughed lightly. “It’s not as heavy as you might think. And I’m used to helping Ieyasu lift the wounded so this is nothing.” Tomoyo bent and lifted a ladle of water from the urn. “Here you go.”

He shook his head. “Let my men go first.” He thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in her face but she just nodded and held the ladle out to the first man in line behind him. The soldier took the ladle from her hands and got a drink. 

Keiji studied her face as she handed each man the ladle. Tomoyo smiled and laughed and chatted with them. Every soldier walked back to his place with a lighter step, taking more than water from the interaction. It should have cheered Keiji to see the improvement in morale, but it only irritated him. Clearly she was faking it. No one could be so happy in the midst of a battle. 

“Don’t look so sour,” she laughed, catching his gaze. “I offered to let you go first and you said no.”

“I don’t look sour,” he snapped. Then forced a smile, swallowing his sudden surge of annoyance that she’d read his mood so easily. “I am just eager to join the fight!”

Tomoyo’s grin widened. “Hm. If you say so.” She winked and tapped his nose before going back to handing out water.

Keiji prickled with irritation where she’d touched him. Definitely irritation because the little shock that raced up his scalp and down his neck couldn’t be anything else. He liked refined women, not . . . girls who read poetry and sang. Not women willing to get their hands bloody in a warcamp.  

He turned away from her to watch the horizon, still awkwardly aware of her presence at his back. The sound of her voice coming to his ears whether he wanted it or not. Keiji ran a hand through his hair. If only the reserves would be called, he thought. He could prove himself in battle. And with a victory to his name he could start to smile for real. Then, perhaps . . .

Tomoyo’s fingertips brushed the back of his neck and Keiji nearly leapt in surprise. He could feel the cool, silky touch vibrate through the nerve endings of his back, a pleasurable jolt that turned his face hot. He spun, sputtering. 

“What! Don’t - you - don’t go surprising random men, you weirdo!” He snarled at her. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and he felt a surging warmth in his chest hotter than the afternoon sun. His thoughts were a confused snarl.

She tilted her head, regarding him with an emerald gaze as deep as the sea and as calm and still as a forest pond. “You are hardly random, Keiji Maeda. And I tried calling you several times but you were just staring into space.” She laughed. “I thought you might still want a drink but if not, I can go?”

Keiji blinked as Tomoyo lifted a ladle full of cool water toward him. He was thirsty, and . . . he didn’t want her to leave. Not like that. Not after his bitterness revealed itself again. She had a way of seeing past his mask, of forcing his true self out into the open. Keiji wanted her to believe he was the wild child, the cheerful, boasting buffoon that could fight as well as he could talk. Not the small, angry soul he hid beneath that persona. 

He bent his head toward the ladle, his warm golden eyes flickering with a mix of heady emotion as they remained fixed on her. His lips touched the smooth wood of the ladle as she tipped it toward him. Keiji drank in the sweet water and the peace in her jade gaze. He felt as if his lips touched hers and it was Tomoyo’s soul he drank from. His anger ebbed away, the tangle of his emotions eased. The moment felt intimate, the world around them distant. 

Keiji felt his mouth curve up in a gentle smile foreign to a face normally stretched in false boast or true rancor. “Tomoyo -”

Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile, but then her eyes slid past him, going wide. The ladle fell from her hands as she let out a wordless shout.

Before Keiji could turn to see what she was looking at, one of his men stumbled into him. An arrow stuck out of the soldier’s throat as he clutched at it, blood seeping between his fingers. Keiji stared for a moment, fixed on the surprise and horror in the soldier’s eyes. Then everything sank in at once, as if the world around him sped up. “We’re under attack! Form up! Let’s go!”

To their credit, the soldiers scrambled back to formation, following Keiji’s shouted orders. That first arrow was followed by a whole flight, piercing ground and flesh alike. He darted a glance toward Tomoyo, but she was already moving toward the medical tent. Unhurt. Good, he thought, his focus moving back to the battle sweeping through camp.

After the arrows, figures rushed into view, steel flashing in the afternoon sun. Their faces were twisted with ferocity, ready to fight and die, ready to kill. Keiji grinned fiercely, exultantly. This was his chance. He hadn’t been called to the front, but the front had come to him and he was going to make the best of it. He drew his sword and charged forward, giving his men the signal to join.

Despite having surprise on their side, the attackers didn’t make much ground. Keiji and his men engaged them at the outer ring of tents. The enemy used the fabric to mask their movement, darting between and around the taut fabric. Keiji laughed wildly as his opponent tried to dodge behind a tent, as if that was barrier enough. The Maeda wild child went through instead of around. The cloth billowed around him as he slashed and cut the enemy down.

For a time, Keiji’s world narrowed. There was him, the men beside him, and their foes. Sweat and blood and shouts of anger and pain. His soldiers fought as hard as they could, but they were outnumbered. For every opponent felled, two more took his place. And Keiji was getting pushed back, back to the center of the camp. 

They had to keep the enemy from making it to the command tent, the weapon stock, and the wounded. “Fight your hardest,” Keiji shouted, encouraging his men to push even harder. Whatever it took, he couldn’t lose. He would not fail. “Let’s show them what we’re made of!”

His soldiers shouted in response, a roar that shivered the air and put fear in the eyes of their opponents. For a breath, it seemed like their courage might turn the tide. But there were just too many enemies, coming from all sides. Keiji and his men converged in a circle around the camp center, pushed to this last, defensive formation.

“We can do this!” He called out. “This is our strongest position!” It was true - and not. The fact was, this was their last position. If the enemy forces broke them here, there was nowhere to run. Keiji felt no fear in this knowledge. Only a grim determination.

Ieyasu pushed into the line beside Keiji. “Are we going to fight or just keep yelling about it?” Grumpy, even in the face of terrible odds, his calm disaffection gave the soldiers heart in another way. 

“Guess we’re gonna fight.” Keiji grinned at the frowning warlord. And that was all the time they had to talk as the enemies surged forward again. Soldiers fell to the ground around Keiji, friend and foe alike. The battle was balanced on the edge of a knife, swaying between the ferocity of the cornered and the confidence of the antagonists. Any one element could swing the fray in favor of one side or another.

Keiji and Ieyasu fought side by side, the eye in a storm of blood and fury. The wild child had reach and strength on his side, while the heir to the Tokugawa had technique and an almost clinical viciousness. It seemed like no one could even get close, but numbers count. 

Ieyasu cried out in surprise as a blade he didn’t see coming caught in the gap of his armor. Keiji was quick to knock the enemy back, but not before the warlord took a wound. Cloth and flesh gaped around the bloodied gash in his side. He exchanged a look with Keiji, both knowing this was likely defeat. 

Their opponents knew it too. They rushed forward, sure now that the Oda forces would crumble. But their attack stuttered as a new fighter entered the fray. 

Tomoyo launched herself into combat, wielding a light spear. She slammed the butt into the chest of one enemy, and slammed another with the shaft, and slashed at a third. She was a whirlwind of bladed chaos, pushing the attackers back. Her fury was palpable, her gentle smile turned into a feral grin, eyes flashing with green fire.

Keiji was almost as surprised as the rebels he fought. Tomoyo was no fragile flower, and for the first time, that left Keiji in awe of her. Every lesson he’d taught her showed in her skilled attacks. She had a flare and passion in battle that went beyond learned technique though. Like a goddess of war, he thought. Brave and ferocious. His heart thumped in his chest, adrenaline and a lust for something other than battle.

Beside him, Ieyasu gave an exasperated shout. “You better not get hurt!” There was a fierce affection in his blue eyed gaze. 

Tomoyo only laughed in response, as if injury was the furthest possibility. And maybe it was. She seemed unstoppable. Several enemies lay down in surrender, while others broke and ran. The remaining Oda forces took heart from her and rallied, chasing after. 

Ieyasu held himself up, shaking from the effort of staying standing. His skin was pale and clammy from bloodloss, his breathing pained. Keiji stayed beside him, calling out orders. Though the tide had turned, victory was a canny bitch, able to slip your grasp the moment you were sure. 

His soldiers knew what they were about, obeying his commands and pulling the defenses back together as they chased the enemies out or captured them. The relief was palpable. A joy that felt all the sweeter after coming so close to defeat.

“We did it,” Tomoyo shouted, hoisting her spear over her head. She turned to flash her smile to Keiji. “We -” Her words ended in a sharp gasp of pain. An arrow jutted from her chest, the sharp barbed end coated in a sheen of her blood. She looked down at it with an expression of disappointment. Her spear clattered against the stones. Then her legs gave way.

Keiji lunged for her, his body moving faster than his thoughts. He caught her in his arms before she hit the ground. “Tomoyo!”

She sighed, the fire in her eyes dimming to embers as she looked up at him. “Well,” she breathed, “this was not how I imagined ending up in your arms.” Her laugh was choked. 

“You imagined ending up in my arms?” Keiji raised an eyebrow, trying to cover the way her words struck at his heart. He shook his head. “No, don’t answer that you idiot. I can’t believe you went and got yourself shot. How am I gonna explain this to Nobunaga?”

Tomoyo gave a weak shrug. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Hey! Hey! None of that. Tomoyo!” Keiji felt a jolt of fear that if she shut her eyes now, she might never open them again. He might never see her beautiful emerald gaze, playful and teasing, brave and kind. He couldn’t stand it. 

“Stop shouting and bring her to the medical tent,” Ieyasu hissed. He was hobbling toward said spot, and did not pause to look back at them as he spoke. 

Keiji cradled Tomoyo to his chest and stood. 

She gasped at the motion, her lips pressing to a thin, pale line.

“You’re gonna be ok,” Keiji told her, trying to force confidence he did not feel into the words. He set her down on her side atop one of the mats in the medical tent but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her completely. Keiji reached for her hand and grasped it. His warm, rough palm encompassed her small, cold fingers. 

Ieyasu cut through the layers of her clothes and peeled them back to reveal the wound in her back and chest. “I need you to stabilize the arrow while I remove the head. Can you do that?” His voice wavered as he spoke, as if he were barely able to hold himself up. The wound in his side seeped scarlet, dripping to the floor beneath him. 

“Yeah. Can you though? You look half dead.”

The warlord grimaced. “I’m fine. A little blood loss.”

Keiji thought it looked like more than a little, but he just nodded. With his free hand, he gripped the arrow tight, keeping it from moving while Ieyasu cut the head from it. 

Tomoyo squeezed his hand as the arrow head fell away. Her eyes did not open, and her breath remained shallow. 

“O-ok. Good. Now -” Ieyasu clenched his eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus. It was clear he was struggling to stay conscious. “I - I need you to pull the arrow out the way it came in. When you do, it’s going to start bleeding. A lot. You - you -” His jaw clenched but despite his will, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the side.

“Ieyasu? Hey! Tokugawa, come on! That was only half the instructions!” Keiji shook the warlord, but there was only a muted groan in response. It looked like he was on his own. “Alright. I can do this. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” They could both die, he thought, and it will be my fault. “No. No.” He shook his head, forcing the venomed pessimism away. If he did nothing, both would likely die. So there was only really one choice, to try. 

Keiji tried to release Tomoyo’s hand, but she wouldn’t let go. Her cool, slim fingers grasped onto him as if his touch was all that held her in this world.  “I’m going to be right here with you,” he told her. “But I need to let go of your hand to get the arrow out.”

He wasn’t sure if she understood or if she’d fallen unconscious, but he was able to prise his hand from her grip. Though as he pulled away, he felt something tug at him. He looked down to see what had tangled him. A single crimson thread had wound its way around his hand, weaving between his fingers and hers. At first he was confused, wondering how this kimono thread managed to catch them both but then he saw where the cord led. 

A binding strand ran up his arm and ended at his heart, and the other end sat just below Tomoyo’s arrow wound. He felt a rush of heady emotion. For a heartbeat, he could only stare. This woman was his fated love. His soul mate. There was no other like her, no one else for him. And she lay at death’s door. It felt like the luck he’d always had.  

He nearly gave up then. Better to endure the sorrow than to hope. But Tomoyo would never give up on him, were the tables turned. And so, Keiji pulled his hand away from hers with the most gentle of motions, and set about removing the arrow shaft. The next several minutes felt like hours. 

Keiji’s hand shook as he pulled the arrow free and staunched the scarlet flow with linen bandages. 

Tomoyo arched and gasped. A cry of pain escaped her pallid lips before she collapsed. But she was still breathing. Her pulse still fluttered in her wrist and neck. 

He wished Ieyasu were still conscious, to tell him what came next when the bleeding stopped. But the warlord was out cold, and likely to stay that way. Keiji did his best to bandage him, though he feared the blood loss was too great. Only time would tell if either Tomoyo or Ieyasu would wake. 

Keiji, exhausted and nursing wounds of his own, fell into a dead sleep between them, his arms wrapped tenderly around Tomoyo. 

When he woke, he was bandaged and lying on a mat alone. The tent was dark, though there were sounds of life from outside. The laughter of soldiers, the crackling of dinner fires. He carefully sat up, feeling every strike from the battle echoed in his flesh. Bruises and strained muscles, cuts and tears he hadn’t noticed. The crimson thread was gone, but Keiji could still feel the gentle tug of it. His heart ached more than any of his physical hurts.

He left the tent, following that taut, invisible cord. 

Tomoyo was sitting at the edge of camp. Her back pressed up against some crates, a mat piled with cushions beneath her. She glanced up as Keiji approached. Her smile was as lovely as always, even if she still held the pallor of her near-death.

“I didn’t think they’d let you get up and around yet.” 

She laughed. “It’s been three days. And I told Nobunaga if I didn’t get out of bed, I was going to start stabbing people.” Her laughter turned into a sharp, pained breath. 

Keiji plopped down next to her. “Well, it sounds to me like you should still be in bed. What are you, a petulant child? You can’t rest when you’re supposed to?”

Tomoyo gave him a side-eye glare. “The fresh air is good for me. And Ieyasu is up and around too so -”

“So you’re gonna push yourself just as hard as he does, even if you don’t have to.” Keiji raised an eyebrow. 

She had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but wouldn’t admit it. “Anyway, why are you here? Don’t you have soldier things to be doing?”

“Sure.” There was reporting to Nobunaga, checking on his men, cleaning his armor and checking his blade. But none of that felt as important as - “Tomoyo. Do you . . . feel something?” Keiji put his hand over his heart, where the ache sat heavy in him. 

She looked down, no quip ready for once. 

“Because, look - I don’t, I don’t know if I believe in fate and all that. A person makes their own future. But. I feel - I saw -” Keiji struggled to explain, feeling more foolish as he went on. 

Tomoyo stopped him with a look as she lifted her head. There was so much warmth and passion in her brilliant green eyes. A depth of affection Keiji knew he had not earned and did not deserve. “I’ve always felt it. Some . . . connection to you.” She sighed. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to, though.” Keiji scooped up her hand in his. He pressed a kiss to it. “You lived and I - I want to take it as a chance. Maybe you’ll end up hating me. Or one of us will die and it won’t even matter that we tried. That we took this chance to -” Keiji’s throat locked up as the word bubbled up from his heart. “To love. But I want to try anyway.”

Tomoyo leaned against him with a sigh. “That wasn’t the most romantic proposal. But I think it will do.” 

Keiji found himself smiling. “You want more romance, huh?” He tipped her chin up to face him. “Tomoyo. When you nearly died, I thought a part of me was dying too. I cannot lose you. I love you.” And then he pressed a kiss to her lips, gentle and sweet and slow, and full of heat. 

When he pulled back for a breath, she grinned up at him. “Better. You might have to give it a few more tries though. Just to make sure.” 

He laughed, the tightness in his chest easing as his heart filled with warmth. “Alright. I can do that. A proposal a day?”

Her eyes were alight as she kissed him back. “Only one?”