#i'm holding her hugging her squeezing her until she pops like a water balloon

[invinciblerodent]

okay just one more post about this today and I'll shut up

I just really, really love how profound the change she went through during the game, is

like i just. i have to ramble about this once more.

when act 1 begins, she's barely a tenday out what's easily the most traumatic event of her life up to that point. it's a betrayal that cost her her home, her family, her friends, and all her possessions- just for being her immutable self, she was stuck fleeing with nothing but a sad, pitifully flat backpack and the clothes on her back to call her own, and a big, noticeable scar to show for it. she straight up had nothing to her name when she was nabbed by the nautiloid- the second life-upending traumatic event of the month.

at first, she's scared out of her mind, so she falls back onto what she knows best: lying, cheating, scheming, charming, trying to endear herself to everyone, and make herself indispensable to the ragtag band that sort of took her into its midst. you want me here, because I'm kind, and attentive, and sweet, and strong, trust me- I can take care of you if you protect me. which, it's not so different from her life until that point, only she's also dizzy with fear and drunk on freedom at the same time, as she's writing and playing her role all at the same time- which is difficult, but she does it well enough.

so she keeps up the charade. she keeps on playing the concerned friend, the charismatic leader, the kind and helpful adventurer. she can't think of anything better to do, so she just keeps presenting the face she knows others are going to like, and scraps her entire personality and identity up to that point in favor of inventing a new one practically from scratch. (which is more or less what Shadowheart and Astarion and even Wyll are also doing, with varying degrees of success and severity- and also Gale, to a degree, with his keep emphasis on his own usefulness. honestly everyone BUT Karlach and Lae'zel are kind of doing some variation of this exact thing.) (and yeah, so what if some cracks show in the facade- if they only show at night, then only Astarion is there to see them, and he seems to like the whites of her teeth and the sharpness of her tongue.)

only... soon, it kind of stops being an act. soon, she starts seeing that... these people, they just like her. yes, even the parts of her that are authentic.

and, what's more surprising, she likes them, too. and they get along, and care genuinely, and find mutual respect, and appreciation, and understanding in each other, and they don't even recoil from the uglier facets of her (her selfishness, her occasional harshness, her unwillingness to open up, her myriad of flaws), just like they're letting her see the uglier facets of themselves, and she finds herself not recoiling either.

and I feel like Karlach and her honest, genuine friendship (and their ability to clash on things without it costing them affection) may even be a bigger thing to thank for that than Astarion's willingness to open up and make himself vulnerable with her, while "yes, and"-ing her until they eventually improv themselves into falling sideways into love.

in act 1, Iona is constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting a dagger between the ribs, fangs at her throat, a boot at her ass, or worse, hands from the past reaching out and pulling her into death, or worse- back into the life she had lived before. act 1 Iona, in full possession of her raw powers, would strike to kill, if her old life ever came for her.

in act 3, Iona is her best possible self- which is her wry-affectionate, selfish-caring, strong-vulnerable, loyal-cunning, wise-silly, loving-loved, complex self that she has always been underneath the layers and layers of deception.

and act 3 Iona doesn't even think about Herric anymore.

i just

i love my sweet asshole weasel-woman so much

she fought tooth and nail for her happy ending, and she bloody well deserved it, damn it

post-game, you can't tell her NOTHING. she disintegrated a fucking netherbrain, dipped the fuck out of her own celebration (quite literally, right as night fell), AND she has a sexy immortal vampire quasi-husband???????? oh, she's living her BEST fucking life.

so far, every single one of my favorite OCs (and/or the characters they romance) seems to have fallen victim to the curse of "this is what happens when you fall in love with someone exceptional: they continue to be exceptional, and there is absolutely nothing in this world that you can do about that."

......... except Iona. she's just chilling over there, with her actual gremlin of a pretty-much-husband, getting into shenanigans, fucking in sketchy inn rooms they did not pay for, and having an absolute whale of a time being the slippery weasel-woman pseudo-wife to Astarion, the sopping wet bite risk of a rat-man.

good for her. good for her. cannot overstate how much I love all of that for her.

[the-only-villain-here-is-me]

The Aftermath

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: None

Warnings: Violence, Language, Very Very Sad.(You've Been Warned)

Note: I cried like a baby writing this because Marvel can't just let my faves be happy for once and now I'm the one making my babes sad, dark, and brooding.

Summary: After the snap, what occurs after such a catastrophic event? Will tensions rise between our heroes or will they break down their walls and invite each other in? This is the aftermath...

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The worst had happened and they were unable to stop it. With the snap of his mere fingers, the devilish Mad Titan brought half the universe to nothing more than wisps of dust.

They had searched; of course; they weren't ready to give up so soon on bringing back their loved ones.

After the snap, they gazed upon the destruction he brought about and the only corpse they had to bury; the Vision. His lifeless image stayed with them; kept some of them up at night even.

Steve had sunk to his knees in the place where his best friend; the man he had just finally regained back from the brink; had perished. He was just a pile of ashes and nothing more.

No one dared bother the mourning man, even after they lead him back to his quarters to stay. The sobs of their leader were just background fuzz to their own traumas; they were shell shocked, angry, frightened, and struggled to hold back their own tears.

Natasha threw herself back into the gym the second they walked through those doors; anyone who tried to talk with the eerily quiet assassin were met with a grunt in acknowledgement or mainly, silence; aside from the repetitous thumps of her bare, bruised and bloody knuckles against the leather bag.

They were broken; but tried their hardest to piece themselves back together. No one had been able to locate Tony in those days after the snap and they had unanimously voted to stay in Wakanda to help with the clean up; it gave them something to focus on.

Bruce blamed himself; for not being able to do more, although he knew in his heart that the Titan wouldn't have been felled by the Hulk alone. He locked himself in one of the labs, basking in the silence as he researched tirelessly ways to recover his friends. He was sure it just had to be science and he knew science. He wouldn't stop until he unlocked the truth.

Shuri would occasionally hover in the doorway, jumping in to assist wordlessly when he needed help with some variables. She would bump him out of her way gently and examine the problem, pretending for just a moment that her brother would stop by and urge her to return to her room for some much needed sleep.

She, of course; knew that wouldn't be the case and so she didn't sleep, at least until Bruce banned her from the lab.

They had gotten into quite the fight over that; tensions already high and boiling over into things that usually wouldn't matter so much.

"This is my lab; you don't get to tell me what to do!" She had screamed, a big fat lump sitting in her throat as her voice cracked on the next part, "You're not my brother!"

Bruce had apologized profusely, but she ignored him as she decided to return to her room in order to avoid speaking to anyone further.

Okoye never was far from the Princess either; although she did keep a little distance as instructed.

She felt guilty, that T'Challa had slipped through her fingers as dust as he tried to help her rise. She knew she couldn't have changed the outcome; but that didn't stop her from wanting to protect his sister with everything she could muster. Sort of as an unofficial last request to her King.

Thor had become the rock, of sorts. He still mourned his brother and friends, but his facade was much stronger; the cracks sealed with a layer of wisecracks and reassuring pats on the backs of his quiet comrades.

When he retired to his quarters, though; that was a whole other story. His dreams were plagued with the dull, emerald eyes of his mischievous brother. Every time he attempted to picture his brother back at his trickful ways, all he saw was his pale corpse devoid of any breath.

In his nightmares, he watched as Thanos squeezed the life from his brother; helpless.

"Br-rot-ther...h-help me!" Loki would choke out, his eyes pleading.

When the Mad Titan released his grip, his body would tumble to the floor like a rag doll; his limbs splayed awkwardly.

Slowly, his brother would turn to face him and with nothing but distaste in his dull eyes, would utter, "You let me die!"

Thor woke up in cold sweats after these and took to staring out the window the remainder of the night; glaring up into the stars as he plotted the slow and painful ways he would bring Thanos to his knees.

The day Tony returned, with Nebula in tow; Rocket had rushed in; hoping to see the rest of the Guardians.

"They're gone," She had deadpanned before storming off.

Bruce had pulled Tony into a bear hug when he saw the man walk in. The broken man hadn't reciprocated the action; his eyes dull and glassy; as if he was stumbling through a haze.

Steve had taken that exact moment to exit his room, his eyes still red and cheeks swollen, his lips set in an unmoving line.

They met eyes, from across the room and Steve pulled away from the intense staring match first, flicking his head to look at a spot on the wall.

"He's dead too, isn't he?" Tony had questioned, the first sentence he had let slip past his lips ever since they arrived.

Steve merely nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly.

The others steeled themselves for an outburst, their bodies rigid as they waited for the two to explode at one another after being thrown back into a still smoldering fire of anger.

Then Tony did something unexpected; he stepped forward and placed his hand on the Captain's shoulder, nodding his head slightly.

"We're going to get that purple son of a bitch, even if it's the last thing we do Cap," He muttered before taking off soundlessly down the hall to the lab to fix up his wound properly.

He met a tired Rhodey at the end of the hall, still fuming after having had spoken to General Ross.

General Ross had been spewing an angry tirade about how the Avengers had let down the world and this is not how a team acts and blah blah blah.

"With all due respect, sir; half of the team you're talking about were considered fugitives by you five minutes ago and now you want to complain that they weren't doing their jobs?" He had scoffed angrily, ending the call before he could really let the man know what he thought.

He was the only person left to deal with the hellish late night calls from pissed off U.S Government Officials who knew jack squat and it had been taking a toll. Not to mention that the press couldn't stop ringing him for juicy details about the catastrophe.

"Good to see you in one piece Tony," He chuckled at the man, pulling him into a brief one armed hug.

"Have you heard anything about Pepper?" Tony questioned him, his eyes wide in worry over the fate of his fiance.

"She's fine Tony, we got her set up in a safe house," Rhodey had murmured.

"The kid- he's gone," Tony added, his voice cracking.

"We'll get him back Tony," Rhodey had promised; knowing good and well he was in no position to be making such promises.

Two years since he had made that promise.

Things still hadn't changed.

Tony headed back to New York eventually, noting the city streets were nearly empty as he made his way down them; watching the clean up crews fixing the destruction.

He and Pepper pushed the wedding as he searched day and night for Thanos.

One such night, he found himself staring up into the sky littered with stars due to the drastic transformation of New York City's skyline due to less emission.

"Man up asshole; I want to talk!" He screamed up into the night as a cool breeze tickled his face.

The balcony remained quiet, and he had shaken his head at the half hearted try.

He should of been happy that night; when Pepper announced she was pregnant. He should of been ecstatic at the news.

He just felt, oddly empty. Thanos had taken the one thing he had longed for and turned it into runner up to getting Peter back to his distraught Aunt May.

"Morgan Parker," He offered, gazing into her eyes as tears welled up in his.

She had pulled him into a hug and he felt safe. Safe had usually taken on a new meaning for him, but this; this was safe.

Steve got himself an apartment in Brooklyn for dirt cheap with all the real estate popping up seemingly over night.

It was a one room studio; all he had was a bed, a bare kitchen, and a table with three chairs.

He had a stack of sketch pads under his bed, tucked into a rusted metal box. Page after page was filled with the images of his dead friends.

Bucky, Wanda, Sam, Vision. He was almost obsessive as he tried to draw them into beautiful scenes.

Vision and Wanda with their heads tossed back, frozen in mid-laughter. Bucky curled up in a raggedy arm chair, feet slung over the side as he read, brows furrowed; To Kill A Mockingbird. Sam rolling his eyes jokingly or paused in a sort of still as he threw a water balloon.

He refused to take them out when anyone came over; locking the box and hanging the key under his shirt, close to his heart.

Natasha came over a lot; more than anyone else had. Mainly, she visited between missions.

He would often wake up to find the woman passed out against the wall in a sitting position, snoring gently as the cuts all over her body spilled over and bruises painted her pale skin.

He would pull the blanket from his own bed and lie it over her lap, attempting to ignore her strangled cries that erupted as she slept fitfully.

She also had a lot on her plate as she helped Clint out; as Laura and Lila had perished in the snap; leaving him to care for Cooper and Nathaniel.

Clint was pissed, to say the least, that even after he retired; his old life still pulled him back in like a moth to a goddamn flame.

He couldn't exact his revenge; his kids were his number one priority. Instead, he entrusted Natasha with being his eyes, ears, and legs.

She would go out and bring him back information on Thanos, all while balancing bedtime stories and dinner time.

Clint would have envied how strong she was if he didn't know how hard she was trying to keep it together in the first place. He knew she was just as broken as he was, no matter how hard she tried to mask it.

"You know; you can cry Nat," He had told her one day after a fight over her well being.

"Crying doesn't get your family or our friends back Clint," She had huffed back pointedly, storming from the house.

She had went to see Bruce at the compound, wanting to talk.

Bruce resided at the compound with Thor, Nebula, Rocket and Rhodey, but he rarely talked to anyone as he chose to throw himself into his work.

"Nat," He greeted the woman with a nod as she stormed in, fluttering the papers around her.

"Why did you leave?" She deadpanned, although she could still feel the unfamiliar sensation of a lump in her throat.

"Nat- I- I really don't know," He had stammered.

"BULLSHIT!" She broke down, slamming her fist against the glass table, sending it through.

Her hand was cut up, skin shredded and pain dulled as adrenaline coursed through her veins, as she took out her rage at the shitstorm that had erupted in their lives those past couple years; that tore them apart, pulled them and molded them into people she didn't recognize.

Bruce wordlessly patched her up as she stared out the window with angry tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

He pretended not to notice.

That was all any of them had been doing.

Pretending.

Pretending it didn't hurt.

Pretending they were moving on.

Pretending they were tough enough to contain it.

Pretending they weren't self medicating.

With booze...

With love...

With obsessions...

They couldn't think of the consequences during battle; they had to fight.

This was the battle that was littered with the consequences and choices.

This was the inner battle.

This was the aftermath.