#lets send some 16 year olds out on the battlefield

[crqelsummer]

yall. i have some Concerns about the hpsc

[kadeeesworld]

War of hearts

Chapter 1: MIA

I just wanna say I don’t much like this maybe it’s because it the first chapter or whatever who cares it’s proofread but not really enjoy!

Also it’s my first time writing for COD and I know some people are much better at writing their accents but I’m so American it’s painful so stick with me here!

Okay and trigger warning I suppose: mentions of drugs, and abuse, mentions of a gun and kidnapping, child abuse and rape.

the task force was in the middle of a briefing Laswell breaking down the facts for them as everyone got a vanilla envelope.

“She’s a 16 year old girl highly trained and she’s escaped”

“Escaped? Escaped from where?”

John spoke up his brows furrowing as he took in the little bit of Information they had of the girl.

“A top secret facility buried deep in Russia, they kidnap young girls and boys train them into killing machines and send them out onto battlefields with our soldiers just to have them killed.”

Gaz looked around the table.

“How’s she only 16 though—“

“She was taken at 10 actually from the states right out of her front yard.”

Ghost flips the folder closed and tossed it to the middle of the table

“Bloody fucking ‘el as if we don’t have enough going on now little brats are being snatched?”

“She’s not a brat anymore, shes dangerous and she’s trained almost as well as you guys be careful.”

“She’s just a girl how hard could it be?”

The team suits up and gets ready to get on a flight to the states it was going to be a long 8 hours.

“Remember lads this isn’t a vacation this is a mission treat it as such, we get in we get this girl and we bring er’ home.”

“What if she doesn’t wanna go?”

“She doesn’t have a choice.”

A few days pass.

“Who’d ave thought that finding one bird would be this hard we haven’t heard or seen anything.”

“Speak for yourself mate I’ve heard about this underground club where the company is exceptionally young, think our girl could be there?”

“Wouldn’t doubt it Kate did say she was only 16 and we haven’t found her yet it might be worth a shot.”

After a 45 minute drive to a part of town that seems all to sketchy they walk down into an alleyway and bang on the door the eye hole slides open and a man with a nasty scar over his face peeks through and then open the door and the file in.

Once inside it looks just like a normal club expect for the fact that only girls younger than 19 are the ones on poles and serving drinks it’s disgusting and quite frankly sad.

“This is beyond fucked up.”

“I know lad but it’s part of the job, let’s look around for our girl yeah?”

They break off and find places to sit they make conversation and eavesdrop on discussions all for it to amount to the owner has some of his specialty girls in the back they cost pretty penny though.

With a nod to the others price heads off to the shiny leather door and the back and knocks on it another eye hole opens

“The fuck do you want?”

“We’re er’ about uh your specialty girls.”

The man smiles it’s sick makes your skin crawl.

“Of course gentlemen,” he opens the door wide for them, “right this way.”

They all file in and sit down on a plush leather couch the girls scattered about the room and each of them takes them in

“Aren’t they beauties? I paid good money for them these are the youngest ones I have…”

John speaks up

“Have you got anybody new…maybe someone you’ve got recently I’d prefer…well we’d prefer someone fresh if you don’t mind.”

The man’s face lights up

“Oh of course of course only the finest! For my new guests and you can call me jimmy by the way.”

He holds out his hand to John and John shakes it with a faux smile.

“Price.”

“Right, I’ll be right back.”

Jimmy steps away and walks further into the back room coming back with a girl her hair was matted and he body covered in dark bruises some lighter and in different stages of healing and on her arms multiple needle marks her veins are definitely shot, the icing on the cake though was the way she seemed completely out of it her eyes glazed over looking off into space the looked so hollow…so empty.

“This is the latest that we have, picked her up a while ago I just saw her walking the streets it’s was late one night and I just knew I had to have her. I had to know what she smelled like, what she tasted like and let me say she didn’t disappoint.”

He pulled her down onto the couch by her arm and into his chest petting the back of her head and cooing at her.

The boys looking at her could tell this is the girl they’d been looking for but she certainly wasn’t the trained girl Laswell had spoken of…

Jimmy got up and walked around the large glass table and sat her down on prices Lap.

“She’s good right? You like her, all of you?”

Price looked into her face and a just for a moment sympathy and pain was etched into his face and his eyes told everything he couldn’t say in that moment ‘I’m sorry this is happening to you’

Price turned his head back to Jimmy

“She’s perfect…”

“Great! Now it’s 10 an hour!”

Soap looked almost surprised.

“Dollars?”

Jimmy spoke up with a joker like grin.

“No mohawk man, grand!”

John spoke up again before anybody could make a fool out of themselves.

“That’s fine we’ll take er…”

“Yes, she’s new hasn’t been with anybody but me yet she’s still fresh now if you’d like I could bring you another girl that would drop you down to about 5 grand an hour.”

Jimmy spoke as if they were conducting to most regular business transaction in the world he spoke as if he didn’t just bring out a 17 year old girl to four grown men knowing that if these weren’t good men she’d probably be getting fucked and all other manner of things.

“I don’t think so mate.”

“Mate? Well aren’t you funny sounding, where’d you say you’re from again you don’t sound American…”

“We didn’t say…”

“Right of course…”

Jimmy looked as if he’d just seen a ghost and deep down it’s almost as if he knew he was caught and it was only a matter of time—-

Jimmy hopped up flipping the table towards them and making a run for the leather door they had just come in soap being the closest hopped up after him tackling him to the ground they got what they came for na snow it was time to call it in and get authorities and ambulance here to help the girls.

While gaz and Simon did crowd control of the rest of the club ensuring nobody got away so they would be able the face what they’re down the way they deserve John sat with the girl in his lap he’d wrapped her up in a blanket and he held her.

“You know lovie we don’t even know your name…you didn’t have one on file it was almost as if you’d been completely erased from existence…even when we looked back to when you were taken and reported missing, nothing. It’s almost as if someone wanted to hide you away from the world forever.”

Simon tapped on the door

“Ey’ cap the coppers and medics are here, let’s get her situated yeah?”

Price looked back down at her and sighed

“Yeah.”

About a week passed and finally she’d woken up came out her drugged state and she was clear now the boys didn’t know what that would mean for them but for now all anyone else was worried about was the fact that she wouldn’t eat or drink anything she’s just lay there…

“I really am worried about her gentlemen, she hasn’t spoken a word or eaten a thing she’s losing what little weight she had and she keeps muttering something I can’t understand. I don’t know what’s going on or what was happening to all those girls in there but if this keeps up we’ll have to sedate her and push a tube down her throat to make sure she doesn’t die.”

Well that wasn’t fucking good.

“We’ll see about er’ ma’am thanks for the report.”

“Sure thing.”

The nurse walks back behind her station and the boys face her hospital room and walk in there’s one of the standing table trays over her legs a plate of food on top completely untouched and she eyed them when they walked In like predator does prey once they’ve decided you’re who they want for dinner.

“Hey there…heard you weren’t eating a thing lovie…why’s that?”

Silence.

John just smiled at her and tried again.

“I know it’s shit bird but you’ve got to eat somethin it’s not healthy for you to starve like this, we need you healthy so we can take you back—“

Before he could even finish she up holding her fork to his eye trying To push in further down she’s is pretty strong but without eating for days price easily overpowered her pinning her down to the bed and she lost it. Screaming. Yelling. Kicking and scratching. The nurses rushed in and sedated her and slowly she calmed down her hands gripping onto John shirt before she fell unconscious.

It was hours later when she had woken up and her room was empty she sat up and threw the covers off of her sitting for a moment to gather herself before pushing off the bed and walking over to her window there was a single nurse behind the station and the men seem to have gone.

She quickly slipped out of her room and down a hall but before she could turn a corner soap and gas were standing in front of the vending machine staring at her and she right back at them. Nothing was said she just bolted and had and soap were hot on her tail yelling after her, she cut corners and pushed people down and out of the way to put distance between them and finally she caught a break and slipped under a sheet what was on a gurney after a moment or two she heard them run past but she kept still after a moment or two the gurney started to move and when it finally stopped she was in the basement morgue the room was empty safe for a few black body bags.

She got up off the gurney and started looking around for anything she could use to help her get out of there after a bit of searching she found a clear bag with a name on it something she couldn’t quite understand and inside was a gray hoodie and back jeans and a dirty pair of sneakers a wallet, a bus card and a photo of people she didn’t know must be the family of the deceased.

The hoodie had blood splatters and the so did the sneakers but clothes were clothes and this isn’t fashion week. She found a rag and wet it scrubbing the blood off best she could as to not stand out she didn’t need anyone stopping her asking if she was okay she just needed to get away from the hospital but first she needed a weapon.

She used the stairs to get back on the patient floor looking for anything when she was passing a room she overheard a doctor talking about a patient needing sedation in a nearby room and telling a nurse to get everything ready she watched the nurse ready the tray and take it into room setting it down before she left again to go get gloves with quick precision she slipped into the room grabbing the syringe and getting out after roaming the halls for a bit longer she found exactly what she was looking for. Security and because this is America of course he had a gun.

She backed into a room finding a medical waste bin and sticking her hand in to cover it in blood making sure to not wet her sleeve before pulling it back down and walking out she started up the the harsh hospital lights until her eyes started to burn and water then she walked over to the guard.

“Sir could you help me please my friend she’s a patient here and she passed out in the bathroom I think she hit her head she’s bleeding!”

She pulled him into the nearby women’s bathroom and once he rushed down to the other end with his back turned she stabbed the syringe into his neck pushing all the milky liquid into him before snatching it back out and watching him fall helplessly to the ground once his eyes shut she reached his body grabbing his gun and slipping it into the back of her pants before grabbing his wallet and taking out over $50 bucks shoving it into her pocket before heading back down to the basement it would be the easiest way to get onto the street without walking back through the entire hospital and risk being caught.

Once she got out, an open exit though the ambulance bay she stepped onto the just New York street finally breathing some fresh air but that didn’t last long before she knew it she heard a familiar British accent her eyes snapped open and there they were running after her, she ran right through the oncoming traffic dodging cars and running the sidewalk till she came across a lone man about to get out of his car she pulled the gun from her pants and pointed it at him.

“Woah! Lady what the fuck!”

“Give me your fucking keys and your wallet right now!”

The man tossed his keys and his wallet her feet and move she picked them up she hit him with the butt of her gun and sped off. Once price and the others finally caught up all they saw was her burning rubber hitting a corner and a man with his forehead split open.

“Clever girl she is…”

“Bloody fucking fast too, I don’t even run like that in PT!”

Gas grunted before hunching over his hands on his knees trying to clam his breathing.

“I guess Laswell was tellin nae lies bout’ the bonnie lass she’s quick.”

“Lots of stamina still for someone who wasn’t eaten in days she must be starving by now.”

“She is, that’s where she’ll head next.”

After some terrible driving and almost killing two civilians she finally parks the stolen car in an alleyway two blocks away from a Waffle House and she gets out she finds another parked car by the side of the road and steals the tag off it and switching them out before heading to eat she was in fact starving so much so it hurt.

Once she got in she seated herself and a waitress brought her a menu. She smiled so sweetly down at her.

“Do you have any idea what you might want?”

“What can fifty bucks buy me?”

“Oh! Well…”

A pile of plates later, and the cook and waitress watching her eat like an animal with her hands she had finished wiping off her face with her sleeve and wiping her hands on her pants and left the bill on the table and walked out, she walked the two blocks back to her stolen car and slid into the back laying down on the seat.

The rain came down hard hitting the roof of the car like pellets it kept her up she couldn’t sleep she just looked out of the window watching the raindrops race and how the city lights shined through as of giver her, her own private show of color.

The solitude though was short lived and she was napped out of her trance by a knock at the window it’s them.

“Alright now lovie that’s enough running for now right? You come with us you won’t have to sleep in a cold car tonight.”

Soap pushed past pulling the door open.

“Ye know for someone whose name we don even know you’ve given us hell since we’ve gotten ye!”

[chairteeth]

Random story revision commentary #1

Here be my revision commentary for chapter 1 of the third book in a post-apocalyptic fantasy trilogy I wrote when I was 16. You have been warned.

“Guards! This is the person who stabbed me, seize her at once!”

Page 3 and we're already here huh.

“I want to see a doctor.”

Having written this book when I was 16, I frankly didn't think 19-year-old Alice (for context, that's the MC and the speaker here) would want a doctor rn. Heck I'm not sure she'd want one if she got her arm torn off.

Okay, there's this scene where after waking up from three years of coma, Alice just has no reaction to that information and just asks the doctor what she has to do to get her atrophied muscles back to normal, and one of my beta readers left a comment that was like "3 years is a huge deal, she seems way too composed, it's not realistic" and at this point I think I should roll up a newspaper and write "THEY HAVE A MENTAL DISORDER" on it in really big letters and bonk people with it. Affectionately! It's not that obvious in the trilogy but like. Please. Two of seven people who read the story with much more explicit mental health dealings (not this one) actually got it and that's horrifying.

“As for you…” “Please don’t send me to war.”

How instantaneously courageous of you, Alice.

Sighing, she picked up the first book of the pile, expecting to find something related to strategy, logistics, battlefield medicine, or anything she’d assumed a princess of this very militaristic empire would have to know. Instead, she quickly found out that all of the books for this day focused on things such as elegance, public speaking, decoration, and manners.

I will relish your suffering, you little shit.

That's all this time folks, need to do some other stuff now. I will probably binge the rest as soon as I can... Let's see how many sessions it takes me.

[thegreenmetblue]

I wrote you a song

Tom’s story with his guitar and the Asylum are to blame for this 🥰

6 years old Peter having a crush on Iron Man, making his aunt and uncle buy him anything Iron Man themed, and thinking he was gonna marry him one day. 

10 years old Peter, watching every interviews and reading all he can on Tony Stark because yeah of course Iron Man is cool but have you seen the man inside, May??, still wishing to marry him, even tho he knows now it’s never gonna happen, even wrote a love song about him, just because he can dream about marrying him, its okay

14 years old Peter getting bit by a radioactive spider, becoming Spiderman, and that leads him to meet his hero, Tony Stark. And this is the best day of his life. Not thinking his kid crush on the genius was gonna catch up with him this hard. 

15 years old Peter having the biggest crush on Tony Stark and can’t help but feel so broken because Tony seems to not care about him.

16 years old Peter, being the happiest boy ever ‘cause he gets to work weekly in the lab with Tony, who also became his battlefield buddy. Jerking off everynight on the thought of him. Not realizing his crush is growing to something bigger and bigger everyday. 

17 years old Peter having the shame of his life when one day, May sends Tony a copy of that love song he wrote for Iron Man when he was 10, trying to explain his mentor without stuttering too much that this was just a stupid kid thing, I was dumb mr stark, forget that please but his heart stammering hard in his chest because everything he wrote at 10, he still wanna scream it to Tony now.

Still 17 years old Peter, reappearing in space after what seemed like a second for him but what has apparently been 5 years. And Tony’s right in front of him, hugging him hard and Peter doesn’t wanna ever let go. This feels so nice. 

....Only to lose him right after.

18 years old Peter, realizing a little too late he was deep in love with Tony Stark. But now Tony’s gone and Peter is left alone, empty and broken. And his self-destructions habits never were this stronger. 

19 years old Peter sobbing, the day Strange tells him he brought Tony back to life. And he finally can breathe again when he first sees him, getting lost into Tony’s arms and warm chest. Trying to stop crying and feeling like it’s home. fuck i love him he thinks.

20 years old Peter having his first heartbreak after getting rejected by Tony. what did he think? how could he even thought Tony could have wanted him? and it hurts so much.

22 years old Peter trying again and getting completely shocked and speechless when, this time, Tony kisses him hard in response. Feeling a warm feeling he never felt before in his chest.

25 years old Peter, starring at Tony with a blank look in his eyes. did he just propose to me? his heart beating hard all over his body. « Oh my- fuck- i mean, sorry I didnt wanted to swear, I- yes. Yes of course I wanna marry you Tony! Yes, yes and yes.» he says, a happy tear rolling down his cheek.

Still 25 years old Peter, seeing Tony crying for the first time of his life. The man is in this wonderful gorgeous wedding suit. And Peter thought it was a good idea. He decided to rewrite that weird love song he wrote the man at 10, took some guitar lessons and sang it to the man in the middle of the wedding. He didnt mean to make Tony cry. But the looks he gives him just make Peter’s heart explode in his chest. « I love you, Peter. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. »

And when Peter finds out Tony is using the first letters of every words from the last sentence of this song as his phone password, he smiles, only half surprised.

[xuyaa]

Age gaps

Ahh... I dread this but I'll speak anyway. I keep seeing people have a problem with big age gap couple in fandom. Now before your nostrils all fluff up let me say this, if you can't have an open mind or too fragile for my input please take your leave. This would be wasted on you.

About age gap on fandoms couple (canon or crack) I personally have no problem as long as both parties consent (without child grooming or forced relationship aspect) and considered legal at the start of their relationship and the legality here is not referring to our modern standard but on the couple's world and time. I'll try to explain but it might get long and boring but if you're still okay, continue.

I'll give an example, during the age of samurai if the situation permits like Uesugi Kenshin they can join battle at age 13 and there are still other examples of other famous child samurai. We call it child now because time change but during that time they were considered an adult once they enter battlefield. Why? They already trained years prior to kill and to protect their lord. Example of this in anime would be Himura Kenshin from Rurouni Kenshin. His first marriage was when he's around 16 and that was an acceptable age at that era since he was considered adult at age 14. So even though I find it icky if modern day teenager marry at that age, I can understand Kenshin's situation. If I'm still okay reading about him killing people around at even younger age I'm not gonna complain about him wanting to marry (although it's not that simple white and black for him).

You get what I'm trying to say?

More example of the acceptable norms in past era. During certain era in certain place like for example Victorian England and prior, 14 year old boys and 12 year old girls are passable for marriage depends on whether the family want it or not as it's more political than anything else. Same in China for example during the Manchurian Dynasty 14 year old girl is considered adult enough for marriage. And usually the age of the husband is always older by few years up to few decades (officials and emperor). But of course over time all of the above would change. Not by much maybe? Depend on the country I say.

Still we can't just hold the old days custom and norms on our modern day standard that would be akin to the present you calling your two or three year-old self a moron for defecating and not wiping your own ass. Or like when you do something stupid at your young age (pick whatever stupid situation that you have take as a lesson. Done?). You just didn't know better back then but now you do and from your failure you learn, although it would be better if you learn from other's lesson but I say pain is an effective lesson for oneself. Would you rather have that memories of your lesson be removed or ignored? I wouldn't. I don't know if I might do the stupid thing again just to find out whether I can or not. Same as this this whole age gap, young age marriage in the past and present in some customs thing. Don't erase the fact, don't gloss it over because people have and can still learn from them. My grandma married at young age and I came to be as the result of her choice.

Have you ever seen high schooler called Robert D Jr handsome? I've seen it recently on youtube. They call him very handsome and another video talked about cool and handsome senior male models. I've scrolled through the comments and no one seems offended that these high school girls simping for male old enough to be their granddad. These girls called them daddy and commenting how hot they are and the comments either agree or saying the girls reactions are cute. Huh... reverse the situation if these old models commenting female korean idol for example and calling them cute or hot what would people think? "creepy" "pedobear" even though senior female might think the same lines, heck maybe even we think the same lines. See the double standard people use? Maybe not everyone, but the loud ones are there. They're so loud I don't even know if they're majority or minority. I have celebrity crush too when I was young and as it happen, he's my father's age and to be frank, I would not mind an older partner if said partner is compatible and emotionaly mature. My sister is 17 years younger than her husband and they turn out well because her husband is matured enough to understand her ups and downs emotion back when they're dating, even before. Are all men mature emotionally as they became older then? No, just as not all oranges is sweet. My sister is 10 years my senior but she's more bratty than I am sometimes. Is it wrong of my bro in law to be with my sis?

Oh you're just trying to defend pedophilia anywayヽ(`Д´)ﾉ.

No stupid, I'm trying to make you think. I don't accept pedophilia, shotacon or lolicon. My sis is old enough to be called spinster when they go out. Anyway, when you follow a certain series, try to see it from their era and custom's perspective. Some era is okay with 16 year old marrying. Some tribes in Asia allow marriage between cousins while others and the majority of the world frown upon them. That's just how they see and do things. For me as long as both side consent without pressure and not in the case of 'parents sending their child for marriage without their input' thing I'm okay to leave that alone, I'm pretty much sure we're on the same page there. I hope.

So, just as when you come to another country, you adhere to their rules and norms or you have no right to complain if they deport you out for not learning beforehand and breaking their rules. Or when you have a guest come to your home and they suddenly start demanding you to do stuff their way, you should kick them out if not slapping their face. Or if you want to be kind, explain how you do things in your home and hoping they would understand and respect it.

I'm jumping around but see what I'm trying to say? I'll get to another anime example.

In Naruto for instance, they became genin at 12 and killing people left and right. People are okay with that right? Yeah well, since it was soo popular I suppose... besides it's pretty glossed over in both manga and anime. But the same people that's okay with children killing left and right, would they be okay if suddenly the mangaka put in story about one of the chara going on seduction mission? If it's carried out well as in the chara being bamf, maybe no problem. But if things went south for the chara? I'm sure there will be outrage, especially if that's a female chara or worse if it's one of the main like Sakura. See? People hold the characters, the series and the mangaka to their own convenient double standards. Back to the age gap when shipping, I pick Naruto as example because apparently Sakura was just so shippable that people actually ship her with Kakashi and even Madara and she makes easy example. Don't ask me why she's shipped with Madara and I don't ship any of the two with Sakura. Anyway, if Sakura is mature enough to choose to kill as a teenager (and don't give me crap about Sakura never killing on screen. Their line of work involves lots of death and she's been through war) she's mature enough to decide her romantic partner even if it's suddenly Orochimaru(ㆆ_ㆆ) (did they even exist?). You can say her taste is terrible because he's an asshole but don't say it's gross cause the age difference because apparently Orochimaru can just rejuvenated to new body and be as good as a babe (I wish I could too). Anyway saying it's about age on these kind of chara is just straight up lie on people's part. Another example I can think of atm is snk. I've seen people against pairing the 104th with the veterans because of age gap. Now I'm not trying to be rude, but hear me if you please. The whole 104th are trained child soldiers and they're killing titans and even humans. You're all okay with that? If you still follow the series far enough and liking it maybe you enjoy seeing the action sequence, drama and intrigue? The fact that you still come back to the series after this long proves that you're still okay with all the gores and blood spilled with all the glorious child soldier most of all. They become soldier because of circumstances you say? I'm glad you think so too! Although I must point out, the 104th did CHOOSE to be soldiers (just as Naruto and co choose to be ninja). They could be farmers or thugs for all we know. All the soldiers in snk choose their occupation, thay all trained and decide to join the Survey Corps, in fact the only one that join reluctantly in the first place is the former thug although he continues in the end. That aside, their circumstances certainly are different than us don't they? They don't even know a car and blip exist before Marley... They must have a whole lot of different mindset and norms than ours too for a civilization whose life are about survival against titans that's 100 years behind than other civilization in their world. Ever think of that?

Seeing modern day teenage in romantic lights are indeed hard as I'm sure the majority can't even survive without their gadget and parents' money. I certainly can't at that age. Immature. Even those in their twenties and thirties are immature these days. But now when one of those child soldier who have a whole lot of different mindset and maturity level is being shipped with older chara, you're against it. Okay. Maybe it's indeed easier for you to see 15 year olds regardless of their profession to commit act of violence and even kill than to love... (does that sounds okay to you?)

...I'm not saying killing mindlessly is alright because it is NOT. But that would need a whole lot different threads and time to spare and maybe someone else can do it or already done it before me.

But here's the good thing, even when the ship starts when they grow and at the modern legal age of 18 and 19, or even far above like centuries, it's still not okay for some people to ship them. I don't mind if it's your preference and you don't go disturbing other's corner when they don't even enforce their ship as words of god and even acknowledging that 'yes, maybe it's not canon and just our bits of fun' but sometimes it got to the point of belittling those who do ship age gap couple and treat them like a criminal in need of help or wishing them death. Seriously? Yes. People are that immature.

If you don't like a ship because you think your own is better, fine. Do your thing in your corner but don't go to other people's corner just to talk shit without even knowing why they ship what they ship. Most of this ship is just in our head in the end, and even if your ship is canon it does not make you any greater in real life.

I can't think of anything else to say now, but thanks for reading with open mind. ◝(⑅•ᴗ•⑅)◜..°♡

Now before anyone waste their time typing out comments, I refer to my first paragraph. Here's some imaginary flower for you all🌷

Apparently I'm not clear enough so I fix my wording. I'm here not defending minor and old people relationship but age gap couple who happen to be aged up to acceptable age despite their profession. Here's some choco🍫

[szivtalan]

otp questions for endhawks.........will u kick me if i'm greedy and say ALL OF THE NUMBERS

I WILL NOT but this might take a while tho!!!!

1. Who is the most affectionate?

hawks is more physically affectionate - he'll link their arms together, cuddle to enji's side in public, climb in his lap when they're home, hold his hand, initiate kisses more. but it's enji that people notice sending fond looks for his boyfriend so many times it becomes embarrassing - tabloids will have a whole article on endeavor's "heart eyes" ("my eyes are not hearts" enji frowns at the magazine in hawks' hands, who just shrugs and grins "seems like they are for me") so i would say, deep down the big man's a softie too

2. Big spoon/Little spoon?

enji/hawks. unless enji has a nightmare, because in that case, hawks is more than happy to be his lil jetpack.

3. Most common argument?

ah they fight about the most useless things but one of my favorites that must come up often is enji thinking that hawks deserves better than him, and hawks insisting that he's everything he ever wanted.

4. Favorite non-sexual activity?

kicking villain ass and family dinners. hawks likes to eat, and enji likes to eat with his loved ones all in one place. he wonders why hawks gets along so well with his children, and then he realizes - he forgot (again) how insanely young hawks is, and that he's merely a few years older than his youngest son, too. ngl natsuo glares daggers at his old man for having a boyfriend half his age ahahaha

5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

given that enji could swing hawks around like a yo-yo, i think it's him ADJGSGH

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

hawks likes everything about enji. he's really into his body, but also his dry sarcasm, his occasional goofy jokes, and most of all, his heart. hawks will watch enji kneel down to a couple of children at a battlefield, his own face and hands dripping with blood, grunt out "are you alright, kiddos? come here, i'll get you somewhere safe" and see him do exactly that, scoop the kids up in his arms and carry them on shaking legs that could barely keep himself up, and then he will see him let his eldest burn the world, his second eldest scream at his face, his youngest treat him like dirt and know that he still cares so deeply for them, know that he loves them and wants the best for them and if the best is torment their father until he dies or worse, he'll let them without so much as a complaint.

enji, on the other hand, loves how easily hawks can lift the mood. he's learned to see through facades, and he'll call him out if he senses that it's hurting hawks to put on a mask, but hawks joking around and mouthing off makes our atlas feel like the weight of the world is a little lighter that day. he loves him for how driven he is, how graceful and hard-working and focused he seems in a fight, and thinks about how those traits were most important to him in the past but now he can see hawks use them to create a world where they can rest, and he realizes... that's not so bad an idea after all.

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

enji speeds up the process of divorcing his wife lol. also he becomes more nervous around hawks, because shit, he likes him too, but he shouldn't be liked, why does hawks even like him? when hawks learns that enji likes him too, he gets shamelessly flirty. he doesn't make a move, of course - enji is still a married man, but he'll laugh at his nervousness, play with his own hair for enji's viewing pleasure and send suggestive winks his way like the damn tease he is.

8. Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

enji calling hawks birdie is pretty obvious. hawks alternates every petname imaginable for enji when he learns that he's never been called one (he figures it out when he jokingly calls him darling once and enji blushes to the roots of his hair), his favorite is "sweetheart" and "baby". enji also calls hawks his angel, but only when he's being very soft for him

9. Who worries the most?

i mean..... both? enji tends to worry more for hawks' safety and hawks worries more for the crushing guilt enji lives with.

10. Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

hawks - claims he does, but the truth is, he says a different thing each time and enji's happy to try new things as long as hawks will beam at him proudly after ordering

11. Who tops?

depends. they both do. enji topped more at the beginning because hawks was really into it and he was kinda insecure about asking for anything else, but hawks once offered and found out that he has a delicious bottom bitch on his hands.

12. Who initiates kisses?

hawks. height difference doesn't really matter when you have wings to fly up to your boyfriend's face and kiss him stupid

13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

enji does. he wants to feel that hawks is by his side all the time, safe and sound.

14. Who kisses the hardest?

again, enji. his kisses get desperate, his hands rough. his temperature goes up despite his will and he just wants hawks to melt against him

15. Who wakes up first?

enji does! he's used to working out in the early morning before going to work

16. Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

hawks does!! deep down he's still a rebellious lazy teen and whenever he has a day off, he likes to sleep until 12. he swears he considers breaking up with enji the first time the man wakes him up at 6 to ask if he wants to come work out with him

17. Who says I love you first?

surprisingly, enji does. hawks is way too protective of his own feelings to let them flow out so soon, but enji is desperate, he wants hawks by his side for ever, and the first time he says it is the first time he realizes it's true. they're out eating dinner one day, and enji watches hawks chew around the food in his mouth, downing chicken like his life depended on it, and he watches the last rays of sunlight hit his golden hair, his golden eye, paint his wings blood red, and he knows he hasn't seen anything more perfect than that sight. he tells him he loves him, and hawks laughs so much he almost chokes on food. "pretty fucked up to tell me that while i'm deepthroating yakitori" he tells him, giggling

18. Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

hawks!!! it usually says cheesy things like "good luck at work, endeavor-san!" or "don't forget to eat ur vegetables!" when there are zero vegetables in the lunches hawks packs for him

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

i mean hawks doesn't have much connection to his family, or has many friends, but enji is kind of pressed to tell his family all about his relationship since, you know. the news would reach them sooner or later anyway

20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

mirko is THRILLED that hawks is dating endeavor. the todoroki family, i mean.... shoto is confused, natsuo is mad, fuyumi and rei are both supportive and say they both want the best for enji. but mostly they just all think that he's really. Really young lol

21. Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

hawks!!! he likes to dance around the kitchen while enji is cooking or doing the dishes, and sometimes manages to seduce enji into his arms too.

22. Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

hawks is a better cook, but he never tells enji about that. he just lets him suffer and teach himself how to cook because it's so much fun

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

hawks, but he says nothing he would ever say can beat enji calling him his angel. that's the cheesiest it can get, and it's also only because of his wings, like shut up enji omg that's so embarrassing

24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

hawks gets bored on important meetings. then he looks over to enji in a suit and gets horny. one of his favorite hobbies is watching enji squirm and struggle to keep it together after he's stroked his thigh under the table and whispered filth in his ear

25. Who needs more assurance?

enji does. he really, honestly thinks he doesn't deserve the love hawks has for him.

26. What would be their theme song?

my dude every song on ur playlist could be but this one in particular takes the cake for real

27. Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

in an au where enji's kids are still kids instead of grown adults, hawks would definitely read to them (sometimes legit tales, sometimes just colored-up and censored versions of their dad's missions) and cuddle them to sleep while he hums to them softly. in a non-au, enji catches him with shoto sleeping all wrapped up in his arms and wings, right after comforting him when he had a nightmare, trying to keep awake but slowly dozing off holding enji's youngest, most precious son, and enji kind of falls in love a lot more.

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

text, call, videochat. hawks makes a show of wearing some of enji's clothes, but really, you can't keep these assholes away from each other.

29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

enji will never think he deserves to have hawks by his side

30. one headcanon about this OTP that mends it

hawks will never grow tired of showing enji how much he deserves him.

[minzart]

How Yuu joined the Star Warriors, the not yet Star Trio of Meta Knight, Jecra, and Garlude, group and the not yet Star Trio became the Star Quartet.

(Yuu, Meta Knight, Garlude, and Jecra dialog.)

"PLEASE SIR, LET ME JOIN YOU IN THE FIGHT!"

Those were the words a young, 14 year old Yuu said to Arthur, leader of the Star Warriors.

"And why should I let a child join us on the battlefield? You're young, and I do not want the death of a child not even 16 on my conscience." Those were the words of rebuttal Arthur said, not knowing of the iron will of said child to join.

"Because my mother gave birth to an even younger child three years ago, and I don't want Nightmare to come to our planet and take away their childhood. Morgan is young, they should concern themselves with petty squabbles and making friends, not fearing that an ancient being of litteral nightmares coming and destroying everything in his path like my childhood was. I want to give them a happier one. One were they can laugh without the ever looming threat of Nightmare Enterprises." Those were the words of the child, unbreakable conviction strong in their eyes. Their stolen too big rapier was held awkwardly, but not without skill in their hands, and they were clearly fully prepared to do anything, no matter the task, to join and give their younger sibling such a childhood they spoke of.

None of the other Star Warriors were expecting such a young child to have such strong convictions, and Arthur just gave a weary sigh. "Fine. But the moment you act as more of a burden than any of the other Star Warriors occasionally do because of your young age, you're being sent home. And someone! Get this child a properly sized weapon! They'll end up hurting themself if we don't! And you there! Go alert whoever is available to make the kid some armor to do so! We can't send them on the battlefield without proper armor!"

And so Arthur, but not before placing a star locket into Yuu's hand, and the other Star Warriors turn and leave, some going put of their way to give the kid a pat on the shoulder or back. All except for three.

"Well wasn't that quite the show! Can't believe I've met someone, much less a kid, that managed to out stubborn that old man!"

"Jecra."

"What? Garlude I'm not lying, you agree with me on Arthur being an old coot somewhat stuck in his ways right Meta Knight?"

"......I wouldn't word it like that, but yes." "Ugh, why do I put up with you two."

Those were the first words that Meta Knight, Jecra, and Garlude spoke both to and around Yuu, and they couldn't help but smile and say "I have to agree with those two on two thing Ms. He was quite old and stubborn."

"Jecra, you didn't even wait a day to corrupt this kid! And speaking of, kid, don't call Sir Arthur that!" "Hehe." A quite chuckle from Meta Knight was let loose as Garlude let out some admonishments.

And that was the start of a beautiful, and tragic, friendship.

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[heyyyharry]

Chapter 16: Night Before the Battle

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry accompanies Y/N to meet the other queen.

Word count: 3.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N aka Peach)

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Y/N and Harry arrived at the southern border at dawn and found a single tent with two horses outside. Calanthe and whoever had accompanied her must have camped here overnight. Y/N assumed it was one of The Monks; however, she’d never met any of them, except for the one who had been sent to kill her at the market last year.

Y/N dismounted Thunder, unsheathed the dagger at her side and tucked it into her riding boot. They would be asked to submit their weapons before Calanthe received them, and even though Y/N doubted Calanthe could hurt a single fly, it was still better to be careful.

Mary had come to see Y/N the other night, and if the witch had been honest, Harry’s and Lance’s speculations had been true. It wasn’t at all shocking to Y/N that The Monks were only using Calanthe as a chess piece in their game. Calanthe didn’t seem like the mastermind behind this elaborated plan, starting with the attacks at the borders and Harry’s capture. Calanthe was desperate and angry, but she wasn’t vicious enough to want to take over the world.

Hearing Y/N’s and Harry’s arrival, a tall dark man with a thick beard emerged from the tent, dressed in a large black cloak – the signature look of The Monks. He swept his fierce eyes over Y/N with his thick eyebrow arched. Her heart thudded violently as she held her breath in fear of him acknowledging the weapon hidden inside her boot. Thank Gods, he didn’t.

His dry lips spread in an attempt of a smile, which didn’t look at all genuine and less intimidating. He put a hand on his chest and took a bow before Y/N. “Queen Y/N, my queen was expecting you.” His gaze flicked to Harry’s sword. “You must submit all weapons. And your servant is not allowed to enter.”

“That’s my commander,” Y/N said.

The man gave Harry a scornful smirk as he told Y/N, “If you say so, Your Majesty.” Y/N glanced at Harry to see her lover have his fingers wrapped around his sword-hilt. It must take everything for him not to say something when being disrespected by the enemy.

“If Harry is not allowed to enter, he must keep his sword,” Y/N said.

The man held her stare thoughtfully before another eerie smile transformed his long face, sending chills right down her spine. He didn’t ask Harry to hand in the weapon anymore as he told Y/N to come with him.

The inside of the tent was dimly lit by firelight. Calanthe sat in her chair in her riding clothes, her hair tied up in a braid at the back of her neck. The shadow on the wall looked as though it wanted to engulf her. She looked small and young and helpless. Without Y/N’s uncle’s crown on Calanthe’s head, no one would be able to tell that Calanthe was a queen and not a young maiden being held captive by the evil man in the black cloak.

The inside of the tent was dimly lit by firelight. Calanthe sat in her chair in her long golden velvet dress with her hair tied up in a braid at the back of her neck. The shadow on the wall looked as though it wanted to engulf her. She appeared small and young and helpless. Without Y/N’s uncle’s crown on Calanthe’s head, no one would be able to tell that Calanthe was a queen and not a young maiden being held captive by the evil man in the black cloak.

“I thought I told you to come alone,” Calanthe spoke once the man had left.

Y/N took some time to study the Queen of Theros. A lot had changed about Calanthe since the last time Y/N had seen her in person. She looked sick with her bony physique, lifeless eyes and pallid skin. What had they done to her? What had she done to herself?

“Harry’s my commander,” Y/N said, keeping a straight face. “It’s not safe for a queen to travel that far on her own. And didn’t you bring someone as well?”

“Vossler’s my new consultant.” Calanthe rose from her chair, eyeing Y/N with contempt. “Since you killed the old one.”

“I’m not here to be accused of murder. I wasn’t in the castle that night.”

Calanthe tilted her head and pouted with feigned innocence. “Who should I complain to then? Your husband?” Her face turned cold. “Let me remind you why you’re here, Y/N. I asked for the witch. Where is she?”

Y/N’s expression remained unchanged. “I told you I came with just Harry.”

Calanthe’s eyebrows knitted. It wasn’t until now that Y/N realised how quiet it was. There was no sound but the crackling of the fire and the sighing of the wind. She wondered if Harry was still waiting for her outside. He wouldn’t leave her by choice. She could take down Calanthe, and hopefully, Harry could handle Vossler, unless this was a trap and they’d just walked straight into it. Y/N doubted it, though. The reckless little girl who’d been forced to put on her dead husband’s crown would probably have Y/N and Harry murdered tonight. However, Calanthe wasn’t playing this game. The Monks were.

“The witch belongs to me,” Calanthe said, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. “You return her to me, and I will spare your life in the war.”

“I don’t ask for mercy in a war I’m not losing.”

“Even if it means you’d get to keep the North?”

“Get to keep the North?” Y/N scoffed. “The North belongs to me. I’m the rightful ruler and heir to the crown. My family is the oldest family that’s ever lived–”

“Said the only family member survived,” Calanthe cut her off. It was a jab in the heart, still, Y/N didn’t let it show. “The first High King angered the Gods,” Calanthe went on with a smug grin. “His bloodline would end with your death.”

“Is that a threat?” asked Y/N.

“I never threaten.” Calanthe’s brows were drawn together. “I guarantee that you won’t live to see your people bend their knees to me.”

Y/N chuckled. “Should it be easier if you kill me now, though?”

“And become the villain in the story? No, darling,” Calanthe asked with fake surprise. “I must win on the battlefield, my dear. But if you give me the witch, I’ll let you live to be a sad loser. You can keep the North, marry your handsome king and live happily ever after in your winter castle. But if you keep the witch, I’ll have to declare war against the South based on the fact that your brother murdered my husband, and you murdered George Wallace.”

“There’s no proof for either of your accusations.”

“Trust me.” A corner of Calanthe’s red lips lifted. “It’s so easy to convince the other kingdoms that you’re just as mad as your brother.”

Y/N swallowed hard, balling her fists. She wasn’t going to let herself be provoked by Calanthe’s harmless words. This woman wasn’t the real enemy.

“If you declare war with the North,” Y/N said, “you declare war with Attwell, too.”

Calanthe rolled her eyes and smirked. “With Rouxvania’s support, I would surely win.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. “The East is on your side?”

“While you were too busy looking for the cure for your lover, I was busy nurturing my allies.” Calanthe turned her back to Y/N, facing the fire. Y/N caught a glimpse of two long scars on Calanthe’s right palm. It seemed like she had been learning to wield a sword. Y/N guessed The Monks was going to send Calanthe onto the battlefield where they’d make sure she would not return. They wanted all kings and queens to fight to the death so they’d take over one hundred kingdoms.

“They’re just using you,” Y/N broke the silence. Calanthe glanced over her shoulder, her eyes troubled. “They’ll kill you like they did to my brother and the first High King,” Y/N went on, keeping her voice as quiet as possible. “Egon and Lokesh also believed they were ‘the chosen one’. You’re their next victim, Calanthe.”

Calanthe whirled around as she snapped, “And why should I trust you?”

“Because I don’t want the South for my own,” Y/N calmly said. “And I’m not standing here as your enemy. I’m here as a woman who doesn’t want to see another woman suffer from abuse from men.”

Calanthe’s eyes squinted with doubt. “You’re only saying this because you fear you’re going to end up like every single one in your family. Dead.”

Y/N clenched her fists, now highly aware of the existence of the dagger in her boot. Still, she kept her composure. “I know you hate me because of what my father did to your family and kingdom. I am sorry. If I could go back in time and stop him, I would. But I can’t. I’m trying to help you now by telling you the truth–”

“You don’t know what the truth is,” Calanthe cut her off. “You think you’re so special huh? Just because you found the lake and survived the North Forest, it doesn’t make you special, Y/N. You’re just as twisted as the men in your family. Lokesh sold his baby’s soul for victory, didn’t he? And we both know you didn’t just ask a witch to bring your friend back to life for free. You killed you ba–”

Y/N didn’t wait for Calanthe to finish. She shoved Calanthe into her chair, drew the dagger out of her boot so fast that Calanthe could barely gasp when the shiny blade was held at her throat.

“Your Majesty, is everything all right?” asked Vossler as his shadow towered over the entrance of the tent.

Y/N applied a little bit more pressure to her dagger as she leaned in and whispered into Calanthe’s ear, “I’d cut your throat before he could set foot into this tent.”

She could see that Calanthe was trying her best to look calm while her big blue eyes were showing the opposite. “Everything is fine,” she told Vossler.

Y/N looked back over her shoulder and saw that Vlosser hesitated before he left. He probably suspected something was off but had no choice but to obey the command.

“I know you can’t kill me,” Calanthe said through gritted teeth.

Y/N turned back to her. “I can. I just chose not to because I’m not stupid.” Her fingers relaxed around the hilt of her dagger. “But as you can see, it’s very easy for me to kill you. And we’re not even on the battlefield, Calanthe.”

When Y/N pulled away, Calanthe let out a loud sigh as she immediately reached for her throat as if to make sure her head was still attached. Y/N thrust the dagger back into her boot, smiling.

Calanthe gave her a dismissive wave, too embarrassed to even make eye contact. “You may leave.”

Knowing there was nothing she could do to change this foolish woman’s mind, Y/N kept her thoughts to herself and walked out without a single glance back.

Outside, Harry was waiting with the horses while Vossler was sharpening his blade by the tent. Y/N could feel Vossler’s dark eyes following her as she exited the tent and padded straight toward Harry. His eyes stayed fixed on Vossler as he asked her, “So?”

She shook her head and mounted her horse. “Let’s go.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he knew this wasn’t the right time to have this conversation. Giving Vossler one more glare, he got onto Lightning’s back. Together, they rode away.

When they came across a river, Y/N suddenly stopped, got off her horse and walked straight to the riverbank. She stood there in silence, just gazing out at the water.

Harry came up from behind her. “Peach, what happened back there?” He sounded worried. It made her feel bad.

She sucked in a breath and put her arms around herself. “I had a dagger at her throat, and she still wouldn’t surrender.”

There was a pause. “Peach, you can’t do that. She’s still a queen.”

Y/N whirled around to face a concerned Harry. “She’s an idiot. Now people are going to die. I can’t stop this war from happening.”

He sighed and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control everything.”

“Everything is my fault.” Her head drooped as her voice cracked. “This all started with me running away. I killed my father and my brother, and my uncle was murdered because of me.”

“You did what you thought was right at the time. You couldn’t have known.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “You’re not responsible for their deaths. If I were to die defending you, it wouldn’t be your fault, either.”

Her heart stopped. She looked up into his green eyes. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. You won’t die.”

A knot lodged in her throat as his eyebrows sloped. “When someone dies, they die, Peach. You cannot stop it. But no matter how or when it happens, it will not be your fault. And you will not waste one moment on guilt.”

Tears blurred his features. Y/N couldn’t even think of something happening to Harry again. Losing him once was already too much. Other than Lance, Harry was the only person in her life who knew what kept me up at night. He knew her more than her own family had. It would be like losing her mother all over again, but she’d known long before her mother’s death that it was going to happen. Her mother had been sick. If Harry died under the hand of the enemy, it would happen suddenly. How could she ever recover?

“Tell me you understand that.” His voice shook her back to reality.

She didn’t want to understand, but she nodded nonetheless because that was what he needed to see. She slipped her arms around his neck, and he hugged her tightly. She never wanted him to let go.

“Your father and brother weren’t good kings.” His voice thickened. “But you are a great queen. You’re the chosen one, Peach. You’ll lead your army to victory. I believe in you..” Stepping back, he squeezed her shoulder once more and offered a smile to fool her into thinking everything was going to be okay. At least it worked. “Come.” He kissed her forehead. “It’ll be a long trip back to the castle.”

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It was official. There was going to be a war.

Two days after Y/N and Harry had come home, the news had travelled to all high and low courts that The High Queen of Theros had declared war against Isolde to avenge the deaths of her husband and her consultant. Y/N had faith in her well-trained army as well as Lance’s for they had all expected this outcome. Her father had been well-prepared for this. Nevertheless, this wasn’t at all what Y/N wanted.

The night before the battle, it snowed thickly outside. The castle was too quiet. It was as if the universe was holding its breath for the bloodbath tomorrow.

Y/N rose from the soaking tub. Jo helped her slip on a thick robe, and she padded on her bare feet across the fire-warmed stone to the lone mirror. Using her palm to wipe away a bit of steam, she tilted my cheek and observed the faintly red and bruised skin along her chest and the corner of her mouth. She’d got them from the fall off the cliff; they were barely noticeable now. Sometimes she missed that feeling of free-falling to her possible death. If it hadn’t been for the people she’d leave behind, she would have chosen the easy way out.

Was it easy, though?

Death.

It sounded easy if the choice was given to you. However, her death would only prove Calanthe right. That she was destined to receive the same fate as the men in her bloodline. And she didn’t want to be associated with their crimes and weaknesses. If she were to die, she’d die brave and honoured, holding her sword.

Blinking, she caught Jo’s dreadful eyes looking back at her in the mirror. “I’m scared, Y/N,” Jo muttered as she twisted the towel she was holding.

Y/N turned around. “Don’t be scared. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t know that for sure, but she’d say anything to put her friend at ease. It didn’t work, though.

“If they took the castle, what would happen to me?” Jo asked, her forehead creased. “I’d surely die. I cannot protect myself.”

“I won’t let them take the castle.” Y/N mustered an encouraging smile as she took Jo’s hand. “And you can protect yourself, Jo. I’ve shown you how to use a dagger—”

“Being shown the basics of how to use a blade and using it on another living person are two different things.” Jo pulled her hand back. “I would’ve stood there and screamed.”

“You would’ve defended yourself,” Y/N said, this, she genuinely believed. “I’ve seen how vicious you get when Harry ate your last piece of pie.”

The skin around Jo’s eyes crinkled as she giggled. “I would duel him to the death for that delicious cake.”

A short laugh burst from Y/N. “Just imagine all the attackers as Harry trying to steal your last piece of pie and you’ll be good.”

They laughed about it together and pretended that it was just a joke. In reality, Y/N knew Jo had a good reason to be scared, as was she. She’d failed to save Jo once. How could she be sure she could succeed this time? There was no witch to help her. She’d have to do this on her own.

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Sweat dampened Harry’s skin as he dipped down and kicked out. Caught off guard, Lance staggered to the side and froze before he could start striking back. His gaze dropped to where Harry held the dagger to his throat. The corners of his lips lowered.

Harry smirked. “I win.”

“It’s not about winning.” Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s about surviving.”

“Isn’t that winning, though?” Harry lowered the dagger and stepped back.

Lance shot him a glare and sheathed the dagger at his hip. “The battle tomorrow isn’t a game.”

“I know that.” Harry put away his blade. “But I still won.”

“Boys, can you stop being boys for a moment?”

They both whipped around to find Y/N standing on the steps in her white fur coat, staring out at the yard.

“She’s talking to you,” Harry and Lance said to each other at the same time

Y/N marched up to them. Her face scrunched up like an angry teacher as she regarded them both. “You two are aware that we’re heading to battle at dawn, right?”

Lance’s eyes widened as he aggressively pointed his hand at Harry. “I’ve been trying to tell him!”

Y/N crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who put on a grin. “I’ll be in serious fighting mode at dawn.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lips arched faintly. Harry knew that she knew he was just trying to keep everyone calm and in good spirits. Deep down, he was a bundle of nerves. He hadn’t been sleeping since they’d returned from the border. Whenever he closed his eyes, he’d see death. He wasn’t afraid of dying. But if he died, he couldn’t protect her. There would still be Lance, but he couldn’t count on anyone else but him and herself to keep her safe at this point.

The three of them headed back inside. Y/N stopped Lance when he was about to retreat to his chambers. “Come to the throne room and drink with me,” she said. “Both of you.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to get drunk before a battle,” Lance said.

Harry and Y/N exchanged the same kind of look. To Lance, Harry said, “We’re not drinking to get drunk. Besides, this might be the only chance we get to drink together.”

Lance flicked his gaze between Harry and Y/N before throwing his head back and exhaling sharply. “You two are unbelievable.”

Y/N laughed as she slipped her arm around Lance’s and tugged him along. Strangely, Harry felt fine with it. Maybe knowing this could be the last night of his life had made him more sensible. He would think about what she’d said on the night she’d asked him to marry her. About how she loved Lance even though it wasn’t the same way she loved Harry. He would look out for Kenny, too, even though Kenny and Stefan were married and had a baby together. While Lance’s feelings were not reciprocated, Harry knew he’d still jump in front of an arrow for Y/N.

“Here’s to us staying alive,” Y/N said, raising her cup. “Long live the Queen.”

Lance chuckled as he lifted his. “Long live the King.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Long live Harry.” And chugged the wine from his cup.

Y/N sat on her throat while Harry and Lance sat on the step on either side of her. She stared thoughtfully into her cup as she took a deep breath. “I want you to promise me one thing.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m proposing, Lance.”

“Well, I have a feeling that I won’t like it,” Lance said and poured himself some more wine. Harry gestured for Y/N to continue anyway.

“If you see me having trouble on the battlefield,” she said, “just know I can get myself out of it. I want you to mind your own business, watch your own back unless I scream for help. Do not try to help me and get yourself killed.”

Lance shook his head. “Y/N, you know I can’t promise you that.”

“You must.”

“You’re not giving me orders. We’re equals.”

Y/N let out a soft breath. “I’m not giving you orders, Lance. I’m asking you.”

Harry could see Lance softened at once. The King averted his eyes and stared down at his cup. “I promise,” he replied weakly.

It was enough for Y/N. She turned to Harry. Forcefully, he nodded and gave her his word.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms Anniversary Special

Today on Fate and Phantasms we celebrate our 1 year anniversary! If it wasn't for all our fans we'd probably have given up ages ago, so we're going with a fan-picked character! (Don't worry if yours didn't get picked this time around, we'll hold onto them for another day)

Now we're building Romulus-Quirinus, the divine ancestor of Rome and King of Nation Building!

They're an Order Cleric to make civilization building easy, and an Astral Self Monk to make clearing the way even easier.

Check out their build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

Next up: Fear leads to hanger. Hanger leads to hate. Hate leads to... pocky??

Race and Background

Despite ascending to godhood, you start as a Human, which gives you +1 Dexterity and Wisdom, proficiency with Religion for obvious reasons, and the Fighting Initiate feat for unarmed fighting so you can punch real good.

You're also an outlander because it's hard to be anything else before the country's built. You get proficiency with Athletics and Survival.

Ability Scores

Everything should be 40, but we're going with the standard array to make arguing with your DM a bit easier. Make your Wisdom super high for a better time ruling people and smiting them, follow it up with Strength because you really like that fancy gold armor. Your Dexterity is also pretty good, because that armor is optional. Charisma helps with ruling people too, so keep that above average. This leaves your Constitution lower than we'd like, but we're dumping Intelligence. You are by no means dumb, it's just the score that affects the build the least.

Class Levels

1. Monk 1: Starting off as a monk is pretty much mandatory so we have a martial weapon for the feat we just took, but this also means you start off with your first ascension's Unarmored Defense, adding your wisdom modifier to your AC while you aren't wearing armor.

Also while not wearing armor you can use Martial Arts, which lets you use dexterity instead of strength for your punches and you can attack as a bonus action if you attack with your main action. It also gives you a d4 martial arts die, but your fighting style is better, so...

On top of all that, you get proficiency with Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as History and Insight. You kinda are history.

2. Monk 2: Second level monks get Unarmored Movement, making you a little bit faster without the giant gold platemail. Aside from that, you get Ki points equal to your monk level per short rest, which you can spend to attack twice, dodge, disengage, or dash as a bonus action. You get something next level that is way more useful though.

3. Monk 3: Third level monks can Deflect Missiles as a reaction, rendering arrows and slingshots slightly less effective. You also gain the Arms of the Astral Self, letting you beef up your arms as a bonus action. Your anchor arms last for 10 minutes, and while active you can use wisdom instead of strength or dexterity to make attacks and strength saves/checks. You also get a long range on your unarmed attacks, and they deal force damage instead of bludgeoning. I'd love it if it was radiant, but force is kind of an upgrade, so I'll take it. The cool part is you can totally use this with armor, which will be useful in a bit.

4. Cleric 1: Oh hey it's useful now. As an Order Cleric you get proficiency with Heavy Armor, as well as Persuasion to make getting those pesky zoning ordinances in order a bit easier.

You also become a Voice of Authority, meaning that if you cast a spell targeting one or more allies, one of those allies can use their reaction to attack, because there's nothing more romantic than giving your all on the battlefield.

Speaking of, you can cast and prepare Spells now using your Wisdom. For cantrips, grab Thaumaturgy for religion funnies, and Resistance to make yourself a bit tougher than is reasonable. You also get the cantrip Hand of Radiance for a shinier punch. It's a melee range spell that deals 1d6 radiant damage if the target fails a constitution save. It's not as powerful as your punches, but it ignores armor!

You also get first level spells, and your freebies are Command and Heroism, great for when you need to build Roma from the ground up. Some other good city-building spells are Ceremony, Create or Destroy Water, and Purify Food and Drink.

5. Cleric 2: Second level clerics can Channel Divinity once per short rest. You can either use the classic Turn Undead to wig out any undead who fail a wisdom save, or you can issue Order's Demand to charm nearby creatures for a round. You can also force those creatures to drop whatever they're holding.

6. Cleric 3: Third level clerics get second level spells, like Hold Person and Zone of Truth. You can also use Continual Flame to make eternal torches, Calm Emotions to settle disputes peacefully, and Spiritual Weapon to not settle things peacefully.

7. Cleric 4: When you finally get your first Ability Score Improvement, bump up your Wisdom for a better unarmored AC, Astral Arms attacks, and spells. You really like wisdom, it's good to you.

You can also use Guidance to make yourself a little better than everyone else at ability checks.

8. Cleric 5: Fifth level clerics see their Turn Undead turn into Destroy Undead, instantly destroying undead of CR 1/2 or lower who fail their wisdom save. You also get third level spells, like Mass Healing Word and Slow. I'd also suggest Clairvoyance for a bit of omniscience, Daylight for the aesthetic, and Spirit Shroud for a bit of power building. It's fine, beating up a god needs power building, so it's in character.

9. Cleric 6: This level lets you Channel Divinity twice per rest, and you become an Embodiment of the Law, letting you cast enchantment spells as a bonus action instead of an action. You can speed things up this way Wisdom Modifier per long rest. Now you can hold someone down and slap the shit out of them in the same turn!

10. Cleric 7: Continuing the trend you've probably figured out by now, seventh level clerics get fourth level spells, like Compulsion and Locate Creature. You can also use Control Water to make your harbor more or less hospitable.

11. Cleric 8: As an eighth level order cleric, your Divine Strike lets you add psychic damage to one of your attacks each turn. Since this applies to a "weapon attack" and not a "melee weapon attack", your fists qualify. Yes, they are a melee "weapon attack", not a "melee weapon attack". Makes perfect sense.

You also get another ASI, which will let you max out your Wisdom for so many good reasons. Punching, spells, AC, they're all a bit better.

Destroy Undead also kills creatures of CR 1 or lower now.

12. Cleric 9: Ninth level clerics get fifth level spells, like Commune and Dominate Person. You can also use your Noble Phantasms on the offensive thanks to Flame Strike, or on the defensive as Mass Cure Wounds or Hallow. The former is basically a giant laser, the middle one is Cure Wounds But Multiple People, and the latter will turn an area into a great spot to build a city. As long as you aren't building a city for Celestials, Elementals, Fey, Fiends, or Undead.

13. Cleric 10: If you're tired of slapping people around with a hand of radiance, you can just use a Word of Radiance instead! It's literally the same thing as Hand of Radiance, but it uses a holy symbol instead of somatic components.

That being said you can also use Divine Intervention now, letting you call up your god (read: you) for a favor once per day. It only has a 1 in 10 chance of succeeding, but if it does the DM's the limit on what kind of help you'll get. After getting help you have to wait a week for it to recharge. You’d think you’d be willing to call in favors for you more often, but I’m not a god, so I wouldn’t know.

14. Cleric 11: Eleventh level clerics get sixth level spells, and sadly we're out of freebies. That being said, you could use Sunbeam for a reusable Per Aspera Ad Astra, or create a Heroes' Feast for a good time on the town.

Also, your Destroy Undead bumps up again to CR 2.

15. Cleric 12: This ASI will bump your Strength up, both so you can have stronger attacks when your Astral Arms are down, and so you can wear full plate armor without an issue.

16. Cleric 13: With the advent of seventh level spells, we finally get the only cleric spell in the game that actually lets you build a structure. Temple to the Gods lets you build a temple of your own design within a 120' square, and while it normally ends a day later, casting the spell in the same spot for a year makes the spell permanent. Honestly 1 building a year seems a bit slow for a city, I'd suggest just building them the old fashioned way. You can also use Divine Words to send extraplanar creatures back to where they came from, and you weaken other creatures with status effects dependent on how many hit points they have left.

17. Cleric 14: Destroy Undead kills CR 3 creatures now. Not fancy, but at least those skeletal owlbears will leave you alone. Also your Divine Strike is better now.

18. Cleric 15: Eighth level spells are always fun. You can now do stuff like Control Weather, cause an Earthquake, shed a Holy Aura to protect allies, or use a Sunburst to launch a big blob of light at enemies.

19. Cleric 16: Use your last ASI to become Tough for an extra 38 HP. The one problem with cleric; super squishy class.

20. Cleric 17: Your capstone level is surprisingly busy. Your Destroy Undead hits CR 4 creatures, and you can invoke Order's Wrath on creatures when you hit them. If you hit a creature with your Divine Strike, you can curse them until the start of your next turn. If an ally hits the cursed creature, they take another round of Divine Strike damage!

And that's not all! You also get ninth level spells! None of them particularly scream "Romulus" to me, but I mean you're a god, you can use whatever you want.

Pros:

You might only have one attack per round, but you really make them count. Each swing deals 3d8+5 damage per hit, and they deal psychic and force damage, two of the hardest types to avoid. And that's all before you get into spells to buff yourself like Spirit Shroud. It's not flashy, but it is consistent.

You've got a maxed out casting modifier and plenty of charming spells, meaning you're pretty good at controlling others.

Embodiment of the Law is huge, it lets you buff and debuff as a bonus action, freeing up your main action for direct support or combat.

Cons:

With only three monk levels, you don't have a lot of Ki to go around. You'll probably have to save all of it for your Astral Arms, as you're a lot weaker without them.

On a related note, multiclassing the way we did is also pretty awkward. The 20th level of cleric is super powerful, and if we spent two more levels as monk you could attack more often per turn and get more ki points.

Your constitution isn't great, meaning you can drop concentration easily and you're kind of squishy for a god. That's especially not good considering your main form of combat is slapping people in the face.

[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 25

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

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Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

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Massaging her daughter’s hair with her fingers, Tori hummed a cheerful tune as Frieda was sitting inside the bathtub, splashing water with both her tiny hands. With two candles lighting up the room, the guest bathroom had a sweet scent, which comforted the clone commander.

Curling herself inside the warm, foamy bathtub was a privilege that Tori had, and it would be the last time she could enjoy a bath like this. Usually, she had to take an open shower with Frieda and her sisters and she had to be quick about it. Now, she could take as much time as she needed without rushing through her relaxation.

It was difficult for her to sleep through the night, despite the long journey from the base. She found her queen bed to be soft, unlike her stony bunk bed. Tori and Friedahad to share with Rex, who does everything he can to drive her crazy. She could even recall the time where Rex placed a dead spider on her pillow, which pissed her off the entire day. He apologised eventually, but that didn’t stop her from cussing at him.

It’s been a while since she felt peace, though she’ll have to go back to Anaxes once the mission was done, where she had to deal with Rex and the rest of the 101st Battalion, who always created chaos whenever they had the chance. Flover, especially, would put a dead rat in Dipper’s helmet, which caused him to scream until the other units could hear them.

Flover was also the reason Tori would get a headache whenever they’re in the battlefield, as the blue-haired clone would rush towards the enemies, which unfortunately became her hubris in the Battle of Coruscant. Tori wasn’t there, but she wished Flover was still alive. As mischievous as she was, the commander felt odd without her presence. Even Dipper missed her.

“Mama,” Frieda spoke, holding a rubber ducky in her hands. “Are you okay?”

“I am, baby,” Tori replied, focusing on her daughter. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“What are you thinking about, Mama?”

“I was thinking about your Aunt Flover. She would have loved you very much if she was still here.”

“Who’s Aunt Flover?” the little girl asked. “And where is she?”

“Well, Aunt Flover was one of my vod’ika, and she had blue hair and loves to joke around with the others, especially Uncle Dipper. She and Uncle Dipper were like cheese and crackers. Unfortunately, Aunt Flover died in a fight six months ago, and I miss her very much.”

Frieda hung her head low as her smile disappeared. “Mama, what will happen if you die?”

Tori blinked as she hugged her knees, wondering what she could answer. She was no stranger to her daughter’s odd questions, but this one struck a chord in her mind. There were many speculations about life after death, but the commander wasn’t sure what to believe in. But she can’t leave her daughter hanging. Frieda will feel as if she had done something wrong.

“There are many beliefs about what happened after death,” Tori tried to answer. “Some believe that you become one with the Force, some also believe that you either go to the Garden or the Pitfire based on your actions, and some believe that you’re resurrected into another life. The truth is, there is no right or wrong answer to what happened after death. There’s just many possibilities for you to believe, that’s all.”

“Well, what do you believe, Mama?”

“I believe that if I die, then I just fade into oblivion, that’s all.”

“Will you be forgotten, Mama?” cried Frieda. “I don’t want you to disappear forever. I can’t live without you.”

Tori stroked her puffy wet cheeks, smiling. “As long as someone keeps my memory alive, then I’m never truly dead. I wish I could live forever, but that would be impossible. We all have to go, eventually.”

“Do you know when you will die, Mama?”

She shook her head. “No one knows when our time is up. That’s why we shouldn’t take life for granted. In order to be happy throughout your life, we should appreciate every moment we spend with someone we love, whether it’s big or small.”

“Then I will never forget you, Mama,” Frieda promised, as she climbed on Tori’s lap and hugged her. “I’ll do everything I can to remember you.”

Tori hugged her back with tears in her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to make Frieda an orphan. The latter had survived in the streets for a while and Tori does not want her little girl to go through that hardship ever again. Tori had to make sure she lived to see the last day of war.

As she cradled Frieda with her arms, there was a thunderous knock on the door. “Are you done?” Fox shouted. “You’ve been in there forever.”

“Damn you, Foxy,” she cursed, as she got out from the bathtub, with a five-year-old in her arms. “I was having a wonderful moment just now.”

“Whatever, just get changed,” ordered the Marshal Commander. “We have a mission to complete. Also, it’s Fox, not Foxy.”

“Oh please. I bet you were also soaking in the bathtub with Riyo too.”

Silence filled outside her bathroom door. As Tori and Frieda wrapped themselves with a fuzzy towel, Fox finally spoke after a few minutes. “Just hurry, goddamit.”

She snorted, draining the tub. If he can have a nice, romantic moment with Riyo, then I’m also entitled to have a bubble bath with Frieda as well. God, what a sly, cunning fox.

Walking out of the bathroom door, they headed inside their room and changed into the same outfits they wore yesterday, except it was dry cleaned by Padmé. Despite sweating underneath the pink dress, Tori felt as if she had just bought them from a store.

She also wore the same white ribbon as well and applied makeup on her face to look pretty. Those makeup set belonged to Padmé, but the latter was happy to let her use them. Her foundations and powders, however, don’t match her skin, so Tori just put on her eyeshadow, eyeliner, and a hint of lipstick instead.

Her cat eyeliner may not be perfect, but Tori could raise her head as she glanced at her reflections in the mirror. Who the hell gave me permission to make me this beautiful?

“Tori, are you done?” Fox banged on the door. “Come on, we have to get going.”

“I’ll be there, Foxy,” she complained. “It’s not like I’m late, anyway.”

“5 minutes or I’m leaving you behind.”

“I hate you,” she blew a raspberry, as she lifted Frieda with her arms and rushed towards the living room, where everyone was geared up for a stealth mission.

[kyber-crystal]

lost in space || s.r

summary: post-IW in which you’re stuck on the ship with tony and nebula. knowing you didn’t have much time left before oxygen levels ran out for good, you decide to send a final goodbye message to the man you’ve grown to love over the past several years.

words: ~2.1k

warnings: angst in the beginning, fluff, major feels, worried steve ;-p

a/n: i took inspo for another oneshot like this that i read but then i got a bunch of new related ideas, so here we go!

22 days.

22 days of drifting through empty space with Tony and Nebula.

After day 16, you began losing hope in returning home. Nobody had to say anything for you to put two and two together and realize you didn't have much longer before what little was left of your oxygen supply ran out. So this had the three of you accepting you wouldn't make it through, opting to make the best of the time you had left. Your breathing became more heavy and labored, as the act of taking a single breath had now grown more difficult with each passing minute.

While she didn't want to admit it, Nebula thought having you and Tony by her side was much better than imagining being alone. It was an unspoken agreement that you all enjoyed each others' company; seeing you were all you had now after losing almost everything.

You exhaled as you sat in the cockpit of the ship, chin resting in your hand as you gazed out the glass dome and took in the eerie yet beautiful sight that space had to offer.

Feeling a rough hand clasp your shoulder, you turned around to see Tony standing there.

"Hey," he smiled softly, holding his remaining granola bar out to you. "You haven't eaten all day. Why don't you take the rest of this."

"No, I can't do that," you shook your head. "You need to eat, too."

"Your health is just as important, Y/N. You've lost too much weight in these past three weeks."

"Haven't we all."

"Just take it."

Knowing he wasn't going to stop arguing, you mumbled a 'thank you' and took the bar from him, taking a small bite.

You pushed yourself out from your chair and took a seat next to him, lowering yourself to the ground on the steps as he leaned his helmet against the wall.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving them a message. In case things go wrong, and...we don't make it," he replied as he took in a deep breath and began fiddling with the helmet, flicking a switch inside it before tapping its' side, projecting a blue light over you two.

"Tony...we're literally going to die. I don't get why you're doing this, Steve and the others probably think we're already dead..."

"Might as well say a last good bye, then. And, recording...is this thing on?" He tapped the side of the helmet again. "Hey, Miss Potts...Pep. If you find this recording, don't post it on social media. It's gonna be a real tear-jerker. I don't know if you're ever going to see these. I don't even know if you're...if you're still...Oh, god. I hope so. Today is day 21, uh..."

"22," you corrected as you leaned back against the wall. “Or 23. Wait no, 22.”

"Yeah, 22. You know, if it wasn't for the existential terror of staring into a void of space, I'd say I'm feeling better today. The infection's run its course, thanks to the blue meanie back there."

"You’d love her. She’s very practical," you added, "Only a tiny bit sadistic."

"Anyway...some fuel cells were cracked during battle, but we figured out a way to reverse the ion charge to buy ourselves about 48 hours of time. But it's now dead in the water. We're 1000 light years from the nearest 7-11. Oxygen will run out tomorrow. And that'll be it. And Pep, I...I know I said no more surprises, but I was really hoping to pull off one last one. But it looks like...well you know what it looks like. Don't feel bad about this. I mean, if you grovel for a couple of weeks, and then move on with enormous guilt. I should probably lie down. Please know that...when I drift off, I will think about you. Because it's always you."

You both fell into silence afterwards and you quickly looked away, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to try and stem the flow of tears that threatened to spill. Tony must've noticed the look on your face, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as you stared blankly out ahead.

This really was it. When you imagined dying, you saw yourself going down on the battlefield, maybe jumping into the crossfire to save someone. Or simply passing in your sleep, dying of old age, anything but being unable to breathe.

You didn't think you'd meet your demise by running out of oxygen as you drifted mindlessly through space.

"Why don't you talk to Capsicle," Tony finally spoke up several minutes later. "This might be your only chance to get the closure you've wanted for so long."

"I'm not...it's not like that," you sighed, running a hand down your face. "He's just a friend."

"Don't bullshit me, Y/N. I know you're in love with him."

You let out another sigh, staring at his helmet blankly for a moment before opening your mouth to speak.

"Hey, Cap. You know, for the longest time, I was stuck trying to figure out what I was really meant to do, why I was ever placed on the earth to begin with," you spoke, looking out the glass at the darkness of space again, "When Fury first recruited me to the initiative, I was...I was in a dark place. And I didn't know how to get out. I felt stuck, frustrated...lost. I felt like I wasn't worthy or even the slightest bit prepared to take on the responsibilities of a hero because of all that I'd done in the past. I'd committed my fair share of sins, and...it all came down to a point where I almost lost the will to keep going, to keep living. My demons held me back from the perfect life I so desperately wanted and followed me everywhere I went. But then you came along, and for the first time in a long time, I started to hope, to...feel things again. You taught me that there was such a thing as second chances and forgiveness, that it's okay to make mistakes, and most importantly, I was meant to feel things; to love.

"You taught me that I was meant to feel happy, to allow myself the chance at living that burden-free life. That I didn't have to feel so doubtful when something good happened because all I'd ever learned was to feel suspicious when an event occurred in my favor. God, I really do owe you, huh? I honestly don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you. Maybe spiral down into an endless pit of despair and destruction? But really, I'm grateful that you walked into my life. I don't know how I'm supposed to repay you for all that you've given up for me.

You chuckled lightly and sniffled, hastily wiping at your eyes. "I know you're still out there. I hope you are. Because I know Captain America would never go down without a fight. This fight, though...you don't need to keep fighting. I've already accepted my fate. I'm going to die in less than two days...and I'm not bitter or mad at all. Death is inevitable, you know? If there's anything I took away from my torturous days in the Red Room, it was to never fear death because every girl would eventually meet her end. I'll be completely honest with myself here, I don't mind dying alongside these two...Tony and Nebula are some pretty great roommates. Who knew an alien could be so good at paper football?

The helmet flickered and you knew you didn't have much time left. "Steve...I don't want you to look back at all this in pain. I want you to live your best life...one that isn't filled with regret. And if this means moving on, starting anew...then do it. I want you to be happy. Be happy...for me.

Another tear fell, but this time you didn't bother to wipe it away. "I guess since my days are now numbered, I should let this weight off my chest...I love you, Steve Rogers. More than you'll ever know. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember and I can only hope you feel the same but I guess I might never know that answer now...we can't always get our happy endings, can we?

"I'm so sorry I didn't get to say goodbye one last time, I love you," you choked out as the recording finally powered down and you let your head fall into your hands, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. The ache of longing to be with him echoed through the marrow of your bones; a chill wind trapped inside your heart and a million little glass shards tearing at your guts. Nausea swirled around in your stomach, head swimming with thoughts as your blood felt like tar, struggling to flow steadily.

Reaching over, Tony carefully grasped your hand, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently. "It's gonna be okay," he muttered, eyes closed as you trained your gaze on the glass. "It's gonna be okay."

It could've been five minutes or five hours later, but suddenly, a vast white light illuminated the space surrounding you, forcing you to shut your eyes again.

As you focused on the bright ball of light, you could make out several features of a woman, though you initially thought you were dreaming. This couldn't be real. Was it?

"Hang in there, guys, I've got you," her voice flooded your ears, before she disappeared from view.

You opened your eyes a second time to see you were speeding towards Earth, the ship slowing down slightly as the familiar outline of America came into view.

Then, a steady jolt of the Benatar indicated you'd hit solid ground, in the middle of the field in the Avengers facility.

Nebula helped Tony up first, then you. The entry hatch opened, and you carefully stepped down the ramp together onto the grass.

It was pitch-black out, the only sources of light coming from the lights that projected from the compound, but it didn't take long for your vision to adjust. A small smile found its way onto your face as you saw six familiar figures came running towards you.

"Oh my God," Pepper cried, throwing her arms around Tony's neck and holding on as if her life depended on it. "Oh my God."

You smiled wistfully as you observed your surroundings, lowering yourself onto the ramp's last set, arms crossed over your chest as you realized just how cold it actually was.

A sudden warmth enveloped you and you felt someone's leather jacket being draped over your shoulders. Seeing Steve's familiar tall figure out of the corner of your eye, you moved over slightly to allow room for him to sit.

He looked over at you in concern, taking in your pale and malnourished figure. His chest ached at the sight.

"I'm okay," you found yourself saying, "don't worry about me."

"I've been worrying about you for the past twenty-two days," he replied, hands in his pockets, "I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," you swallowed hard.

Steve let out a shaky breath and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you rested your forehead on his shoulder.

"I thought you were dead," his voice cracked, "and if you really were, then...I don't know what I'd do."

“Me neither,” you breathed out. “God, I missed you so much.”

Then all of a sudden, the whole word seemed as if it was on standstill as his sapphire blue eyes bored into yours with such an intensity that sent a chill down your spine, keeping you firmly locked in place. And it utterly terrified you because you’d never felt something so intense like this before and he was the reason why you even felt this way to begin with. 

And before you can protest against your own thoughts, you closed your fists around his shirt and gently tugged him towards you, closing the gap and kissing him. The sudden action took you both by surprise but Steve doesn’t waste any time in reacting, moving a hand from your cheek to the nape of your neck to kiss you back. 

Everyone’s too exhausted, too busy feeling relieved at the fact that you returned safely to make a teasing comment towards yours and Steve’s relationship. They’ve secretly been betting for a while that you’d finally get together, though not in this exact way. 

Until Rocket breaks the silence. “Nice welcome back gift, Agent.”

"You cockblock," Nebula flicks him in the head. "Let them have their moment, geez."

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (12/16)

In which Death Watch take prisoners and make friends. Zombie Savage AU | 3.4k

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Clank, clank, clank. Rook kicks her armored boot against the main hold’s wall, again and again.

She can afford to lose control now. All prisoners are sedated and shackled, and Maul, Savage and Ventress are still mysteriously asleep. All prisoners: the Entralla encampment and ship are smoking rubble and most of Sidious’ five-hundred-strong battalion are tied up over on the second dreadnought, with only fifty of the soldiers wearing cheap fucking imitation beskar over on her ship, along with the unhelmeted red-bearded human man that might be a commander of sorts. Or he might be Sidious. But she’ll only find that out once the ‘Alor wakes up. Commander Sid or whoever is tied up extra carefully and gagged with the nozzle of a soporific weedkiller tank that’s turned up to full blast for good measure, and Gar has stationed snipers with slugthrowers all throughout the ship. That should suffice. Besides, Rook has bigger problems.

Savage’s injured. Horrifically maimed from the looks of him, tortured with techniques utterly unfamiliar to Rook—but he’s alive and he’s stable, Hens had reported after a short examination. She couldn’t tell Rook anything more: she’s a specialized battlefield medic, and besides—Hens just muttered that with the head injury alone he should be dead—besides, this reeks of weird force shit. Which means they need Lord Maul to tell them what’s going on, only, again, Maul’s still snoring quietly, half atop of Savage on the cot. (“Lord Maul does not like to be touched,” Rook declared when she gave the order to evacuate, after she’d stormed into the room two minutes after her Mand’Alor and eyed the weird way the plan had gone boots-up. Everyone asleep, really?

There was sedative gas everywhere, of course, but… Rook knew that Maul’s gas mask worked. She’d tested it herself. “Just put him on—I’ll heave him onto the cot next to Savage, and you’ll carry—I ordered you to leave the jetpacks on our ship, but I know some of you brought ‘em. That should give you the thrust to carry that cot. You! Take Ventress. I’ll take beardy. Hurry! Hurry out!”)

The ‘Alor is snoozing, and so is Ventress who Rook wouldn’t trust as far as she can toss her—not just because Rook’s sure she could get at least a few meters—but who knows about the force and the Republic and Sidious and all that crap, and in a pinch she would have done. It’s better than going in dark.

Rook has bigger problems than anger or sleeping Mand’Alors or tortured Mand’Alors’ brothers. She thought she could do this, but she knows nothing. She grew up on Concord Dawn and then she went to Mandalore to fight and she’s been flitting around Mandalorian space ever since, but life there made sense. The people made sense. They had honor. Clan rivalries, factions, battles for the soul of Mandalore—that’s what she knows, but she’s never even truly met any outsiders except for Maul and Savage, and they don’t count. Ventress is on Rook’s turf. There was that Republic jetii showing up for Duchess Satine—may her memory be a noon shadow—but Rook wasn’t even there for that, and all Gar would say is that the ‘Alor sure hated him.

Rook knows nothing.

She knows about the Republic from her mother’s songs and an old man’s stories. She knows about the Annihilation, and she remembers. She knows Mandalore will rise again.

She knows to hate the Republic for its past atrocities.

But how earth could she have predicted the presentones.

Those soldiers—the soldiers that Ventress recognized as Grand Army of the Republic when they touched down—those soldiers are wearing armor made to look like beskar’gem.

Beskar.

Cheap fucking plasteel fucking imitation fucking beskar.

The Republic dressed their soldiers up in the armor of Rook’s ancestors.

The Republic that shelled and annihilatedMandalore seven-hundred years ago is dressing its mooks in a mockery of sacred armor. Rook would have preferred it if they’d pissed on her mother’s corpse.

They’re dead. All of them, they’re fucking dead.

Jagrub’s hand is tousling Rook’s hair, but where usually it would be a conscious act to keep Rook from more committing grievous bodily harm than necessary, right now her hatred burns just as hot. Neither of them can bear the sight of the defilement of Mandalore. They’re not the only ones either.

Discipline in the face of a dangerous mission and the life of the ‘Alor’s brother hanging in the balance had kept the Death Watch commando on the ground tightly focused on their objective. The need for speed had made them manacle the armored pretenders and move on. The order to evacuate, including prisoners, had made them carry their bodies onto the dreadnoughts.

Now, though—right now adrenaline-fueled Death Watch commandos are pacing all round unconscious Republic mooks adorned with a hateful mockery of Mandalorian beskar, and there’s only one thing left stopping them—stopping Rook, too—from tearing them apart limb by plasteel-clad limb.

Gar keeps his bleeding heart well-hidden. He’s strong and dependable and a great fighter and a lummox and a massive pain in Rook’s ass on a good day, and on a bad day—

On a bad day Gar faces down livid supercommandos and says, “It’s for the Mand’Alor to decide what we do with these prisoners. We started the mission on his lead, and so we will end it.”

On a bad day Gar sends his slick-haired boytoy Ja Goos over to the second dreadnaught and gives him command, promotes him to Mand’Alor’s Counsel, parsecs above his current rank, on a whim, except Ja Goos is charming enough that he might just make it work… Might be the one time when it’s actually useful, as much as Rook dislikes charm. It’s cheating. But Ja Goos commands the other dreadnaught now, just because he listens to Gar implicitly and is therefore the only one who’s also hell-bent on those fake-beskar soldiers surviving, and even if he was as angry as the rest of Death Watch—if he wants the chance to keep wooing Gar with wine and late night athletics, Goos needs to follow Gar’s lead. And he’s got his heart stolen real bad…

On a bad day Gar pulls Rook aside and whispers, “Trust me, please, if you calm down you’ll admit I’m right,” before he swans off to instruct his anti-Sidious snipers.

So now Rook is here in the main hold of the stolen ship, with Jagrub and twenty other pissed of Death Watch supercommandos, and fifty Republic soldiers in white cruel plasteel styled after the armor generations and generations and generations of Mandalorians fought for the right to wear, and an unconscious Ventress, and a mysteriously asleep Mand’Alor clinging to his sleeping, tortured, should-be-dead-according-to-all-info brother, and a Republic commander who may or may not be a demagolka Sith Lord. Rook’s in command here, and this isn’t just a battle anymore. It demands careful strategy. Rook’s in command, Rook who made Mand’Alor’s Counsel three months ago, and only because the most seasoned members of Death Watch followed Bo-Katan to the Nite Owls and her and Gar were the first ones to stand up and swear allegiance to Maul as Mand’Alor. She’s never left Mandalorian Space except for incursions like this one, and all her knowledge of the Republic is from seven hundred years ago. She’s got more intel about the Sith, at least, but all she learned was from Maul’s traumatized recollections. She knows nothing.

This is more than a fight to the death now.

Rook’s a brawler playing at general only because no-one else was stupid enough to volunteer.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If only Lord Maul would wake up.

He doesn’t, though; instead it’s one of those ancestor-besmirching Republic troops startling awake and tensing their arms and legs against the manacles. Well, Rook promised Gar she’d let them live… but she never said anything about venting her horror, just a little. Besides, as Mand’Alor’s Counsel she should interrogate these impostors. There, she even has an excuse ready.

It’ll be hard to keep her cool staring at that monstrosity of a fake beskar helmet, though. Rook pulls it off, and… “Fett?!”

Jango Fett blinks up at her, most of his head shaved clean with only a stripe of dark hair running from his forehead to the nape of his neck. He has twin tattooed lines in semicircles under his eyes. He looks weirdly young, but still, it’s definitively Jango Fett, Jaster Mereel’s son, claimant of the Mand’Alor title, enemy of Death Watch, last survivor of the True Mandalorians. He disappeared twenty years ago, occasionally surfacing as a bounty hunter far from Mandalorian Space, and now he’s working for the Republic? A True Mandalorian, wearing plasteel armor?! And who then are all the others… It can’t be true. But Rook’s seen holos from just before he left. Jango Fett looks exactly like this. He… he looked exactly like this, twenty years ago. What—

“Fat’s over in the Wolf Pack,” Jango Fett says after a long pause. He shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying.

Well. That makes two of them. “But you’re Fett,” Rook says. “You look like Fett.”

Jango Fett stares at her. Rook gets the distinct impression that he wants to call her stupid, but also doesn’t want to die. “I’m not Fat,” Jango Fett says. “I’m Taxi.”

“You look exactly like Fett.”

Not-Jango Fett swallows a series of what must be incredibly strong expletives, because his reply to the heavily armed Death Watch supercommando who drugged and captured him is still, “Gold star, fucking genius! That’s how it works when you’re kriffing cloning!”

“Clones?!”

“For fuck’s… Take off Eel’s helmet it you don’t believe me,” Jango—Taxi explains, still looking at Rook as if he’s never met anybody as dense as her.

Rook does as instructed. The unconscious Eel looks exactly like Taxi, except for his full head of hair and three scars on his left cheek, two small and round and the middle one long and curving to the ridge of his nose.

“There,” Taxi says. “Clone troopers. The Clone army of the Republic. Clones versus clankers. That’s us. Glad you caught up.”

It doesn’t explain half as much as he obviously thinks it does, and what little Rook can glean from his answer is bad. Horrifying. Worse than the fake armor on its own. Much, much worse. “The Republic cloned Jango fucking Fett!?”

Taxi nods.

“Jango Fett, last Man’Alor of the True Mandalorians?! Remade his beskar in plasteel to dress you up?! Just absorbed you into its army?”

“We are the Grand Army of the Republic. There’s no-one else, except some Jedi.”

“The Republic is using cloned Mandalorians to fight its war,” rumbles Jagrub from behind Rook’s shoulder, loud enough for every supercommando in the hold to hear and freeze in shock. “Cloned Mandalorians in imitation beskar’gem! The Republic is using Mandalorians!”

Taxi smirks. “There’s a war on, haven’t you heard? Clones versus clankers. Didn’t know there were rocks so large a whole gang could live under them.”

Rook studies his face. “You’re not at all scared, are you?”

“You went through the hassle of tying us up,” Taxi says. He sounds bitter. “We’re not usually taken prisoner.”

If she wasn’t already furious enough to die of a stroke immediately, this would have done it. “The Republic is using Mandalorians as discardable fighters?!”

“Don’t have a choice.” Taxi shrugs. “They make and train us up on Kamino, and then we get shipped to the Republic and sent to the front and die.”

No-one has ever survived as high a blood pressure as Rook’s currently sporting. She breathes in and out and in until she can be sure not to scream in anguish, because Taxi deserves better. Eel does, too and so does Fat and all the other Mandalorians enslaved by the cruel Republic. She silently thanks Gar’s instincts. She could have killed this brother. But she didn’t. She’s seen him as he really is. And now… “You have a choice, now, Taxi. You are Mandalorian. We are Mandalorians, too. We are Death Watch. We leave none of our siblings behind, ever. We fight to the death for every single one of us. We do not rule over each other, either—we give our trust to the Mand’Alor and if we deem it necessary, we fight for a new leader. We work together, but we are equal. We’ll fight the Republic for your freedom. Join us. Join Death Watch. You are a child of Mandalore. Join us.”

Rook looks back down, expectant, but Taxi has shed the angry ironic detachment that characterized his mien thus far. His eyes are wide, slightly glassy, and he’s breathing too fast.

Panic attack.

Jagrub’s recognized it as well, and she hands Rook one of the paper bags she keeps stowed in her hip pockets. Then, she carefully unbinds Taxi’s hands and legs, while Rook kneels and holds the paper bag over Taxi’s mouth to prevent hypocapnia.

Slowly, his breathing evens out. He doesn’t regain his control straight away: he clings to Rook and she runs her hands over his hateful plasteel armor, over and over, vowing not to let a single building in the whole Republic stay unbombed if this is what they would do to her brother. If a single offer of free choice and equality could melt him down. They would use children of Mandalore as disposable weapons, and if Death Watch wasn’t already at war with the Republic over what this Sidious did to Savage they would declare it this second, a thousand times over.

“I—yeah,” Taxi whispers eventually into her ear, still completely sagged against her. “I want—I don’t want to desert my brothers, but I want that.”

“We’ll make the same offer to your brothers,” Rook promises. “All of them. You don’t have to answer now, either, Taxi. Free association. We’ll let you leave if you don’t join Death Watch, you’re free to become a Nite Owl or even… even a True Mandalorian if you must, though we might have to rescue Jango Fett first to revive them. New Mandalorians are history, but you wouldn’t have liked them anyway. Sanctimonious pricks.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll tell you what they are. I’ll tell all of your brothers, or one of my friends will. They’re all Death Watch, like me. They want you to be free.”

“Yeah,” Taxi mumbles, his young angry bravado all used up, and he stays wrapped up in Rook’s arms.

“If you feel comfortable, you should tell your brothers when they wake up. They’ll trust you more than us.”

“Yeah, okay, yeah, yeah,” Taxi mumbles, and Rook just keeps running her hands over his shoulders and down his back. She’s a brawler who made Mand’Alor’s Counsel three months ago because there was no-one more senior left in Death Watch. She knows nothing. The depravity of the Republic, to clone and use Mandalorians as cannon fodder, is so much above anything she expected to face, but she owes it to Maul and to Taxi and to Jagrub and to Gar and to Death Watch and to Mandalore and to herself not to give in now.

“You’re free now, Taxi, you’re Death Watch,” she keeps repeating, gently butting her helmeted forehead against his bare one. She keeps repeating her words, only pausing to whisper orders—“Comm Ja Goos and inform him the soldiers are enslaved Mandalorians,” and “Tell Bo-Katan Kryze what the Republic did. We have a common enemy. Death Watch wants to parlay”—until the tell-tale scuffle that informs her Ventress is finally awake.

She looks unnerved, is all Rook can deduce from her vantage point kneeling on the floor, still holding up Taxi. Something about the way she’s uncuffed and the way Savage’s chest is rising and falling faintly over on the cot seems to displease her greatly. But Rook’s got bigger problems.

“Do you know when Lord Maul will wake up?” she shouts at Ventress.

“What—how would—no, I do not.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is this Sidious?”

“How would I—” Ventress glances at the red-bearded unhelmeted commander that Rook’s pointing at. “Kenobi?!”

“So you do know him!”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi’s a Jedi Knight. Great flirt, decent fighter, regrettable morals.” Ventress is exaggerating her grin, as if she’s worried about something.

Taxi, though, mutters, “Yeah, that’s General Kenobi. He’s decent,” and that’s all the corroboration Rook needs.

“Let’s wake him up then! I have questions. Turn off the soporific, Lerl. Stick him with that antidote, and bring him here,” she shouts, with a manic burst of energy that should probably worry her. Just in case, though, she asks Jagrub to prod the muzzle of her slugthrower against the back of his skull. Maul’s paranoia has been rubbing off on Rook, even if the strategizing hasn’t. Can’t have everything.

Kenobi blinks and groans in pain, and then his eyes focus travel up Rook’s stolen armor and come to rest on her face. He grinds out, “Obi-Wan Kenobi. General, commanding officer of the 7th Sky Corps. Krill-Esk-Nern-Osk-quadruple zero-one.”

So he agrees he’s Kenobi, then. But the answer… “Save your serial number, we’re not at war.” Not formally. Not yet, anyway.

Kenobi stays quiet, though his expression probably intends to tell Rook something.

Absent-mindedly, she runs her left hand down her right vambrace. If she was less stressed, she might be better at this interrogation lark—if she was less stressed, it would be because the Mand’Alor’s awake and in control and she’s only running support for him, but Maul’s still asleep… She traces her fingers down to fiddle with the familiar shape of the backup ignition of her whistling birds, but it’s not there. The vambrace is wrong. Of course it is. It’s the stolen disguise vambrace, after all. “Shit,” Rook mutters, “Shit. Shit. Shit.” The ruse. They can’t lead Sidious or the Republic back to still-weakened Mandalore. They’re dressed up and pretending to be Separatists, and Rook just kriffed the plan. “I mean—yes, we are at war, yes. We’re totally Separatists. Absolutely. Thanks for the identifiers.”

Kenobi’s eyebrows are climbing. He doesn’t seem to believe her. Why is Ja Goos never there to smooth things over when Rook needs him?

To Rook’s relief, Ventress comes swaggering over, sans helmet now. She doesn’t bother hiding her amusement, but she also immediately distracts Kenobi into shouting out her name.

“Let me take this, Rookie. You’re atrocious. Yes, it’s me. Strange times, strange bedfellows.”

Kenobi quirks up an eyebrow. “You’re slumming it with the Separatists again, I see.”

“This? No, this is just a disguise.” Ventress stretches languidly in her CIS armor, cheerfully, as if she hadn’t just mocked Rook for inadvertently revealing the same thing a second ago. “To keep Sidious off our trail when we went after Opress. Only if you’re there, it’s not Sidious after all, is it?”

“You know about Sidious?!” Kenobi looks utterly shocked.

“Maul’s Sith Master?”

He sighs. “Dooku’s, too. And… and ours, in a way.”

“Kenobi—”

“Palpatine,” Kenobi says. “Sidious is Palpatine.”

Several things happen then. Ventress starts laughing hysterically, Taxi just howls and curses and howls again, and Rook is just utterly lost. “Hey! Hey!” she shouts, but no-one reacts. She starts poking Taxi. “Hey, Taxi, calm. Calm. You can do it,” she mutters until he settles back into her arms, eyes wet but responsive again. “Hey Taxi. Who’s Palpatine?”

“Who’s—the kriffing Chancellor of the fucking Republic!”

Rook shudders. She knew the Republic was evil, but… “The Chancellor of the Republic enslaved and tortured Lord Maul?!”

“The Chancellor of the Republic is Dooku’s Master,” Taxi howls back at her. “Dooku leads the Seppies. Which we’ve been fighting. For the Republic. In an… in an utterly pointless fucking meatgrinder.”

“Yes,” Kenobi says. “All of that is true.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Rook bites out.

Kenobi laughs tiredly. “That is the plan. I was about to return to Coruscant and challenge him when you interrupted. I wouldn’t mind a lift. Ventress?”

“He killed my sisters.”

“Lord Maul wants to kill Sidious, too,” Rook says. “We can plan our course of attack while we fly.” Maul will join them. He’ll join them, definitely—he hates Sidious, and besides, just as Death Watch joined his quest to retrieve his brother, so will he help them rescue their enslaved kin. She’s still in over her head, but this alliance feels right. He’ll agree.

As soon as he wakes up…

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

The Triwizard Tragedy

summary: a collections of moments between Rachel & Cedric before his death. Also her coping with his passing afterwards.

warnings: depression, ptsd (maybe), death

October 25, 1999 - The Present -

Rachel was constantly wrong, about a lot of things. For one, she was not the first person to ever feel the pain of lose. Second, she would eventually heal. But it didn't feel that way. Not to her. Not now.

In the dawn of war, Rachel had returned to her alma mater to fight against the very person who had taken away the love of her life. Cedric Diggory had died years ago, leaving a cocky, lovable Hufflepuff sized hole in her heart. For the last few years of her schooling, she had distractions from the pain left, right, and centre. In the midst of war she never really had time to grieve.

Of course, she never had any direct contact in battle with Lord Voldemort, but sending a few death eaters to their graves was enough. But that didn't make her feel better, instead the reminder that she had taken lives, even on a battlefield, had her waking up screaming in the middle of the night, traumatized by the memories of the past. The ghosts roaming her mind. It was like a constant stinging reminder that the pain she felt over losing Cedric, someone definitely felt about the men she'd hurt during the war. She knew she was on the right side, and those men were evil. But it still felt as though there was no coming back from ending a life.

Her best friend and roommate (until he moved in with Angelina Johnson, but that has never been truly talked about) is the only person that Rachel was really close with. Everyone else she knew was left at arms length. Never getting close enough to hurt her.

George knew what she was feeling, probably worse. He had lost the most important person in the world to him. And he'd never be the same. But he was managing. He had the legacy of the Wheezes, and he had his family. He had his fiancée and his best friend, who he was deeply worried about. He'd tried to talk to her about the clear PTSD and grief she displayed, but like a switch she would shut off whenever the conversation would start. Once she shut off, she was a robot for days, and he couldn't risk doing that too much for fear that something horrible would happen to her. He was afraid he was going to lose her to herself.

And he couldn't lose her.

You see, after the war, after feeling like nothing would ever be okay again. Rachel pounded on the door to the closed shop of the Wheezes. When George continued lying in Fred's bunk bed, she broke in. She climbed into bed with him and they stayed there for days. Leaving only to use the bathroom and eat. Then she snapped her fingers, and said, "let's get this baby back into business."

And just like that, they had a distraction to focus on instead of dealing with their pain. The difference between the two was that George would frequently talk to his siblings, and reach out to them when he needed support. Rachel was like a brick wall, and wouldn't say a word even as she wept alone in her room.

George couldn't let it go on forever, soon she'd die of a broken heart. So he did what any confused, young man would do. He ran to his mother and asked for help.

"I think that maybe I'm not the one who's going to pull her out of this, mum. I've tried but I think I'm too close to it to see what she needs."

Molly only smiled slightly, and took a day - with the help of Hermione, to head to the Wheezes and try and talk to Rachel. The store closed early on Sunday's, giving both Rachel and George the afternoon off. Ron took the entire Sunday since the mornings were slow anyway.

Rachel didn't notice at first that this was a gentle intervention, and put on a cup of tea for both of her guests. Hermione casually strolled around the shop, giving some space to Molly and Rachel.

Rachel served the tea.

"How are you doing, honey?" Molly asked, trying to sound as light as possible, not wanting Rachel to shut her out.

"I'm fine, store could use a little cleaning tonight, and I might get a head start on the inventory night for tomorrow."

Molly suspected she'd be filling her time with distractions this week. Saturday would've been Cedric's birthday. Molly thought for a moment, and decided to just go for it, and fill Rachel's head with Cedric before Molly could be shut out.

"How old would he be?" she asked. She knew the answer, but she needed to talk about Cedric. That was the root of Rachel's pain.

Rachel quickly went as stiff as a board, as her head filled with images of the boy she loved so much. The boy who took her heart and died with it still in his possession.

"What is this?" Rachel asked, standing from the table. "How dare you?"

"I just want to help you, Rachel. You're wasting away in here. We're worried about you," Molly said, "We love you and we want to help."

"Who's we? You and Hermione?" Rachel asked, Molly stayed quiet. "Did George put you up to this?" Rachel sighed. "Of course he did. Well if I'm causing this much stress maybe I should just get out of his hair then."

Rachel left the room, and climbed to her bedroom. Angrily, she threw clothes into a trunk, crying and repeating how everyone should just leave her alone. She sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets in her hands until her knuckled turned white. She had pushed Cedric out of her mind for so long, and his memory was like a dam bursting, filled her head until she was drowning in her pain.

November 16, 1992. - Fourth Year -

Rachel held her potions textbook tight against her chest, willing this git Marcus Flint to give her back her essay. He persisted in trying to get a kiss from her.

"Come on, who says Gryffindors and Syltherins have to be enemies? We can be sweethearts instead," he said, grinning.

Gross.

She rolled her eyes, and once again told him to just give it back. She didn't have time for this, it was almost dinner time and she had plans to meet her friend afterwards to play chess. Also, she just didn't particularly care to be harassed.

"I'm not giving it back until I get a kiss, love."

"Not happening," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, then I guess I'll keep this. I don't need it but I bet I could sell it to someone in your year. Last chance, love."

"Give her the parchment back, Flint," a boy said, approaching the pair. He was a Hufflepuff prefect, and absolutely stunning. She knew him as Cedric Diggory, all the girls did. He was in the year above her, so there was no way he knew who she was. She felt her cheeks heat up as Cedric came to save her homework. She could've turned into putty right then and there.

"Who's gonna make me? You? You've got no power over me, Diggory."

"No, you're right about that. Except I am a prefect, and I would hate for Snape to hear about this, I really would."

"He'd take my word, he wouldn't believe you."

"He'd believe her, top marks in his class you know. Above all the Slytherins," he said, smirking. "And he'd know you definitely didn't write that. All the words are probably spelled right."

"And if I rip it right now, burn it even. How are you going to prove it?"

Rachel saw Snape rounding the corner only a few feet away from where they were standing. He had an extra sour look on his face, the kind of face he made when he knew he'd have to discipline someone from his own house. Marcus hadn't noticed him approach yet.

"I won't have to."

"I'll take the essay, Mr Flint," Snape said, putting a hadn't on Marcus' shoulder. Snape unrolled the essay, skimming over it briefly. "You disappoint me, Mr Flint. Five points from Slytherin, and an essay on why stealing is wrong to be on my desk by the end of tomorrow."

Snape looked at Rachel and scowled, before giving her back to essay and leaving. Marcus huffed off as well.

"Thanks, I really didn't want to do that twice," she said. She wanted to ask how he knew she had top marks, but she figured he was bluffing. Good thing Marcus hadn't called it.

"No problem, Rachel. Happy to help," Cedric said, walking off.

She took a breath and began walking towards the Great hall, before stopping dead in her tracks and turning around in time to see him turning the corner, out of her sight.

He knew her name?

October 25, 1999 - The Present -

The pain in her chest was agonizing. It was like her chest had been set on fire, while her mind filled with water and froze. The tears continued to fall, as her white knuckles began to fall numb. She was suffering. She'd never really let herself grieve over Cedric. She stuck to distractions, and numbing herself.

Turns out she couldn't stop the pain, only postpone it. And today it was coming back with interest.

Rachel heard the door open, and relaxed her hands, letting the blood flow return, making her hand tingle with pins and needles.

She looked up and saw Hermione peeking her head in. The girls used to be a lot closer than they were today. That was how it was with pretty much anyone that used to be close with Rachel. After Rachel's sixth year, aside from Fred and George, she'd pushed away everyone, and shut them out. Refusing to give anyone the power to leave her.

"He would've been 22," Rachel said, her voice no louder than a whisper. Hermione said nothing, but continued to look at Rachel. She'd never seen her look so weak. It was always hidden. Suffer in silence.

"Not to say you're wrong to miss him, and hurt over the fact that he's gone. But we've all lost people. And we've survived by dealing with it. That's all we want for you, we just want you to experience life again." Hermione sat down on the bed next to Rachel, and put a soft hand on her shoulder. Rachel genuinely couldn't remember the last time she'd been shown physical affection from anyone. She hadn't hugged anyone since Fred died. “We miss you.”

“I think I miss me, too.” Rachel sighed. “But I miss him, more.”

February 12 - Fourth Year -

Rachel crossed paths with Cedric Diggory again, less than a week later. He was standing in front of the Great Hall, talking to a friend of his – Jon, she thought his name was. And she was passing by, trying to escape without having to make eye contact with him. She knew that if she saw his beautiful smile, or the way his grin made it up to his eyes, letting you know that everything about him was genuine. It made her sick. Made the butterflies in her tummy jump to life, like a toddler was running through and disturbing them.

“Hey, Rachel!” Cedric said, thwarting her plan. “Wait up.”

She had no choice to, there was no way to pretend she didn't hear him. She turned around with a forced smile. Small talk is easy to fake, just get through it.

“You okay?” he asked, his grin fading into concern and he put a hand on her arm, immediately setting it on metaphorical fire.

“Yeah, uh, I just need air.”

She ran away.

From the cutest boy in the world.

She ran.

Was she ever embarrassed.

She made it to the entrance of the school, and sat on the top stair. Putting her head in her hands and trying not to cry of embarrassment. When the guy you develop a crush on touches you... don't run away, maybe? A couple of deep breaths later, and someone joined her outside. Cedric had followed her out here? Why? He didn't even know her.

“You're pretty quick,” he said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. She said nothing. “You want to talk about anything?”

“How'd you know my name?”

“Uh, we met last year.”

She shook her head. “No, why didn't. I would've remembered that.”

A blush crept onto his cheeks, and he looked away from her. Now she was really confused.  “I might have asked your friends about you.”

“What? Why? They never said anything.”

“I kind of lied to them, and said I was just trying to learn everybody's name. They pointed out like forty people before they got to you. Funny thing is, I don't remember any of the other names. I was just anxious to get to yours.” His grin was back on his face, but his cheeks still held the ghost of a blush.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Because I think you're beautiful,” he said without skipping a beat.

Rachel blushed, her eyes growing wide. He chuckled when she looked away. Between the pair of them the only pattern was a 'blush and turn.' Casually, Cedric slide closer to her, so their thighs were touching, and from the corner of her eyes she saw him drumming his fingers against his knee. With a relax face, and natural smile she looked over at him, and tried to find an ounce of a lie in his features. When she couldn't find one, she settled for just smiling at him. He smiled back. When she thought the moment was ending, he was planning to start a new one. He moved his hand up to her neck, and ever so gently guided her closer, giving her every opportunity to move away. When she started moving with his advances, he smirked. Drawing her in for the final collide of a kiss. They both knew they were goners, right then and there.

Hogwarts was truly magical.

October 25, 1999 - Present Day -

“I can't think about it anymore, Hermione. It hurts,” Rachel said. “It hurts so much.”

“I know,” she said, tearing up. Hermione felt pain in her chest watching Rachel breakdown. Was t weird for her to admit it was better to see her breakdown than shut down? Felt like they were having a break through. “Tell me about the day.”

“Which day?”

“The day he died.”

“No, no, no, no...” she kept repeating no, but Hermione stood her ground.

“You need to talk through your feelings. I have all day. Just start stalking and if you need to stop and cry, or collect your thoughts. Fine, that's absolutely fine. But I'm afraid if you wait any longer your going to permanently stunt your emotions.”

“It hurts...”

It felt like Hermione was forcing razors down her throat. Felt like she was fighting against drinking a lava smoothie. If she recounted the day, after all these years. She could no longer deny he was dead. Could no longer hope that one day he'd walk through the door as if he hadn't missed a day. Could hold her and tell her everything would be fine.

June 24, 1995 - Fifth Year -

She sat crossed legged on the bleachers, on edge just as everyone else was. She was so hoping that Cedric won. She'd be so proud of him. Her boyfriend, the Triwizard Champion. Even thinking the words made her excited.

“I thought you hated the idea of the whole thing,” Hermione said, eyeing her friend.

“I've come around to it,” Rachel said, smiling. “He's been so proud of himself. And I've been proud of him. And I'll admit, every time he completes one of those challenges, and he's all proud and sweaty... it's pretty sexy.”

“You're shameless,” Hermione said, laughing.

“Maybe.”

Then someone appeared back at the start of the maze. Harry came back first, he won! Rachel got ready to cheer, happy that at least Hogwarts won if not Cedric. But then she noticed something else.

“Is he knocked out?” Hermione whispered, talking about Cedric.

There was a commotion down there, and immediately Rachel was fighting and shoving her way down the the area. She hopped over the wall and made it, staring at the body of her body, lying lifeless on the grass. She heard things going on around her, but she couldn't make out details. The air around her felt thin, she couldn't breath. She felt dizzy, and confused, and upset. What was going on? What happened? It's okay, he's just petrified she kept repeating in her head. But she knew that wasn't true.

On her arms she felt two cool, firm hands. She looked and saw Professor McGonagall gently shaking her, and telling her not to look. The words, Do you hear me? Rachel, don't look! Don't look! Didn't even register with her. She kept staring at Cedric's face. His beautiful face. Frozen.

Cedric wasn't going to wake up. He died out there. The air got thinner. And her throat got tighter. But she didn't even realize she was dizzy – she just kept staring at Cedric until tears streamed down her face. But it wasn't even crying, she just hadn't blinked in so long. She couldn't stop looking at her recently deceased boyfriend.

“What's happening?” she asked, but it came out in a wheeze. And only a few seconds later, Rachel passed out, falling onto the ground like a ragdoll.

October 25, 1999 - Present Day -

After recounting every second of that day, Rachel wept for another twenty minutes before the tears finally stopped.

“I never got to say goodbye. There was so much wee were supposed to do. So much I had to say. So much left,” she said. Hermione still hadn't spoken. “I was so mad at him, Hermione. For weeks I was so mad at him. I kept thinking, I knew this tournament was going to be a horrible idea. And I begged him not to enter. I begged him, but he did it. And I supported him – like a girlfriend is supposed to. And then he died. And I was mad.” Rachel didn't start crying again, but her throat tightened and she felt like it could start at anytime. “How am I supposed to move on from perfection? From someone who loved me so genuinely, and selflessly? From someone who didn't break up with me but is just... gone.”

“You don't move on,” Hermione finally said. “He's never going to leave you. He's always going to be a part of you, you have to know that by now. I get that you feel guilty for living when he isn't, but you have to remember he wouldn't want you to waste your life. He wanted more for you than anyone. You don't move on, you don't forgive and forget. You forgive and carry on his memory, because that's all you can do. And one day, when your kids, or my kids, or George's kids... someone, asks you about your first love. You tell them. You tell them that you fell in love with a beautiful guy who was a perfect gentleman. And you tell them that you still love him, and you will always love him. But love doesn't stop because a heartbeat did.”

Rachel sat unmoving during Hermione's whole speech.

“Did you rehearse that?” she asked, smiling.

Hermione laughed. “Yes I did.”

For the first time in years, Rachel thought she might be okay one day. She just needed to let them in. Let her friends back in.

June 1, 1995 - Fifth Year -

“Not still mad at me, are you?” Cedric asked, sitting between his girlfriend's legs, propping his elbows on her knees and sinking back into her chest. Even, yes, she was still mad – she loved when he tucked himself close to her. She continued reading her book without answering him, letting go with one hand to get comfortable. She raised the book above his head, and set her now free palm on the grass, feeling the blades between her fingers. “C'mon, babe! Dumbledore wouldn't let anything happen.”

She sighed, and closed her book with one hand, making sure to use enough pressure to let it slam with a clap. “They cancelled these games because people kept dying, you realize that?”

“I'm not going to die,” Cedric said, stretching himself up to nuzzle his nose against her neck. She sighed contentedly at the softness of his hair, brushing against her sensitive neck. He laid a few gentle kisses on the skin there, before slacking back down to his original lazy posture. “Cute that you're so worried about me though.”

“It's not cute,” she said, rolling her eyes. She set her book down and wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing the side of her head against his. He laughed, and turned to kiss her cheek.

“I love you, always and forever.”

She sighed happily. “I love you, forever and always.”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Field of Poppies Part 16

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 16: Some news comes to Amelia and she’s not sure how to handle it without Tommy by her side. 

            Two more months went by. Amelia heard often from Tommy. Every week or two she received a letter and replied immediately. She told him about everything she could think of. Anything that might bring a smile to his face, to ease his burden. Whatever she could do to remind him of home and give him hope for the future. She told him the funny things Max did, the little quirks in his blossoming personality.

            He refuses to go to bed unless I’ve checked under his bed for monsters. I think Finn might have been telling him some stories.

            He’s fascinated by baby Wilbur. I don’t think he believes me when I tell him he was a baby once. His reasoning is, if he can’t remember it, it never happened. I showed him the photograph of when he was a baby, only six months old. He couldn’t be convinced that it was him.

            It’s strange. It feels so long ago, yet, it only feels like it was yesterday. I often wonder where all that time went.

 ~~~~~~

            “Breakfast, Mel?” Martha was in the kitchen when Amelia and Max came into Six Watery.

            She went to answer that, no she wasn't feeling very well so she didn't have much of an appetite. But instead, she was immediately hit with a strong smell. Her stomach turned and she dropped Max’s hand so she could rush upstairs to the bathroom.

            Polly heard retching from down the hall, so went to investigate. “Oh, heavens.” She found Amelia at the toilet. “Easy.” She soothed and pulled the young woman’s hair back away from her face. Dread came over the woman as she realized her earlier intuitions were confirmed. “Dear, I think you and I need to have a talk.”

 ~~~~~~~

            “Letter, Tom.”

            Tommy took the letter from the passing soldier and felt relief wash over him. The same relief he got every time Amelia’s letters arrived. Despite being in the middle of trench warfare, he had her letters to keep him sane.

            Tommy,

            I must admit it hasn’t gotten much easier these last few weeks. I still miss you more than I can ever describe. Everything reminds me of you. Max always asks for you. It’s hard to bear sometimes. But I manage to get through every day.

            I have news. I want so desperately to be happy but I’m so heartbroken that you aren’t here so I can tell you in person. But Polly believes I’m pregnant. It may be too early to know, but I don’t want to question her either. The signs seem to match up with the timing.

            I don’t know how to feel any more if I’m being honest. I need to hear back from you as soon as possible. I hope you and everyone else is safe. I miss you all. I will write you a longer letter when I've gathered my thoughts. But for now, I needed you to hear the news. 

            Love, Amelia

             Tommy wasn’t sure what to say as he stared blankly at his wife's handwriting. The urgency he felt to return home was only heightened. He carefully folded up the letter and put it in his rucksack.

            “Tom?” Arthur was sitting nearby, his back up against the wall of the trench.

            “Mel’s pregnant.” He replied before his brother even needed to ask what was wrong.

            He frowned and passed his brother a cigarette. “You think she’s going behind your back while you’re away?”

            “No.” Tommy shook his head adamantly. He took the cigarette and lit it with a match. “She’d never do that. Never. It makes sense, I suppose.” He mumbled to himself. “She’d be about three months along.”

            Arthur nodded. “Well, guess we can try to get you back by the time the baby’s born.” He smiled slightly, trying to give his brother hope.

            But there was little hope left in the trenches. In those damn tunnels. At that point, Tommy could only hope he found his way back to Birmingham alive. Asking for anything else would be wishful.

   ~~~~~~~~~~        

            Around five at night, Polly closed up the betting shop. The other girls had gone home but Martha and Amelia remained.

            “Well, Pol, you did say she could have the next baby,” Martha said, trying to keep the atmosphere light. In all other times, the news of a baby would be such a happy occasion. But those days, nothing seemed to be good news.

            Amelia tried to laugh but she couldn’t even muster a smile. Every muscle in her body felt heavy. There was no use trying anymore. “I feel like such a monster.” She mumbled.

            “Why?” Her sister-in-law asked.

            “Because I don’t want to be pregnant.” She put down her pencil to rub her tired eyes. “I don’t want to be pregnant without Tommy here. I’m not ready to raise two children alone.”

            “You’re not alone.” Polly insisted as she walked over to the table, setting the keys down.

            “You know what I mean.”

            Martha looked to Polly, sharing a concerned look. It would only be a harder pregnancy if Amelia fought herself the whole time. They couldn’t make it any easier for her though. They couldn’t magically wish Tommy home. If they could, the war would’ve ended weeks ago. It never would have started to begin with.

            “You told him?” Polly asked, sitting down.

            “I sent a letter two days ago. I haven’t told Max. I don’t know what to even say.”

            “You don’t have to think about it right away. You have plenty of time.”

            Amelia nodded but she disagreed. Six months wasn’t enough time. She hoped every day that she’d get the news Tommy was coming home. But for whatever reason, maybe common sense, she didn’t see him home by the time six months was up. With every passing day, it felt like more and more time would pass before she saw him again.

            Tears flooded her eyes as the worst scenarios came to the forefront of her mind. “What if it’s years?” She let out a quiet sob. “What would I ever say to the child? What if he never comes home?”

            “Hush, now.” Polly wrapped an arm around her. “There’s no need to think of such things.” She soothed even though she knew these things were not outside the realm of possibilities. “You know that stress will only make things more difficult for you. You need to remain optimistic. You have a family that will be with you the whole way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

            Amelia’s image kept invading Tommy’s nightmares. This would be startling alone because he never associated her with terror. She had always been a dream come true. But in the trenches, she joined his worst fears.

            He saw her face on the soldiers who he’d seen die. He heard her voice screaming for him from the depths of the tunnels. The worst one came after a few days of little to no sleep. He finally got a chance for shut-eye and his worst fears descended upon him.

            Amelia had come into view, looking as she normally did back home. But in her arms, she was carrying Max.

            Help

            Max was torn apart, almost as if he was mauled by a wild animal. Blood poured down Amelia’s arms as she carried their son to him.

            Help

            Tommy couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything to save his son.

            Help

            As she got closer, Tommy could see Max was still alive. His eyes were open and he was breathing.

            Daddy?

            Tommy awoke in a cold sweat, screaming. It took both Jeremiah and Danny to quiet him and stop him from thrashing around. From that point on, Tommy never wanted to sleep again.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

            “Hold still, Max.”

            “Mummy, I want to see it!”

            “No, love, this isn’t our camera. We can’t break it. Now, please stay still.”

            “Mummy, I won’t break it, I wanna see it!”

            “Max.” Amelia looked up from the camera lens with a stern look. “I said no. Now please, stand still. If you’re moving all over the place then the photograph will come out blurry.”

            The little boy crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. His mother raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that what you want to send to daddy? You want to send him a photograph of you making a face?” It was difficult to be frustrated with him. Such a sweet little boy with chocolate-colored waves of hair and lovely hazel eyes. Even when he made such a face, he was precious. Truly, he was the apple of Amelia’s eye.

            Max pulled a pout for another few moments before deciding to smile.

            “There’s a good boy. Now, stand still for just a second. I want to make sure it comes out perfect for daddy.”

            It had been a week and she had yet to hear back from Tommy regarding her letter about the pregnancy. But Amelia was trying to stay optimistic. It usually took a week for the letter to get to Tommy, and another week to get a response, should he write back immediately. Usually, he did. But she figured that maybe this time, he would need some time to think. It couldn’t be easy to process such information. Amelia was still having a hard time thinking about the baby and she wasn’t in the middle of an active battlefield.

            She had already sent a picture of herself and Max before but they were ones she already had. The one of Max was only a few months after he was born. She borrowed a camera from a friend to send a more updated photograph.

~~~~~~~~~~

            A couple of days later, as she tucked the photographs into an envelope along with a letter, Amelia thought about what Tommy might do when he opened it. She longed to see the smile on his face when he saw the picture of Max doing his best to stay perfectly still for the camera. Maybe he would show the others around him. She longed to see the pride in his eyes when he told the other soldiers that was his son. His Max. Maybe he’d tell him the news. His Amelia was pregnant again. He’d be having another child. Perhaps he’d speculate. Wonder if it was a girl this time or another boy.

            A teardrop fell onto the envelope as Amelia sat at her desk in the betting shop. If she couldn’t be there for him, to comfort him, then the least she could do was try to put a smile on his face. Even for the briefest of moments.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe​ @evelynshelby​

Tag list: @shelbyblinded​

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[everyoneprotector]

Forest SMP Backstory (my character)

They were hungry. It’s the first thing they noticed, waking up that morning. Of course, they’re used to the hunger that eats at their soul, driving them further from the safety of their pond. They’re worried, they don’t want to eat the dead. They are the last of their siblings, the only survivor of their family. They have to leave the pond. They have to find food that isn’t the bodies of siblings who were not strong enough to survive the hunger.

They drag themself out of the pond, shivering in the cold air. They don’t like it, above water, but they suppose it will have to do. They have to leave, they have to find a place to stay. Somewhere with enough food to sustain them. Somewhere safe. 

Deeper. A cave lower will have more fish.

----

The lower caves don’t have more food. It gets colder and colder as they move down, and the thin shirt and pants that their parents had left (the only thing their parents ever gave them, they bitterly think). The clothes are too big for them, but the clothes are theirs. The pants fall over their feet and are held up by glow lichen, and the shirt sleeves are rolled over several times but still fall over their hands.

They clamber over a block of deepslate, having to pull themself up. They naw on a piece of rotten flesh that an enderman had given them, though they don’t know where it had gotten the meat from. They’re too small to just walk over the block, so they have to climb. They can’t help it, they’re only a foot taller than the block.

An arrow plants itself firmly into the stone wall, and they bark softly, in shock. The eight year old scrambles down the block, running deeper into the tunnels. They panic as more arrows are shot at them. Hostile mobs have never liked them, either because they are an easy meal or because they’re a player.

They don’t know.

But they still flee, barks erupting from their throat in panic. They turn, running into a deep cavern. The cold is painful here, making their limbs freeze up, but they can’t stop. They have to continue.

Something echoes through the cavern, erupting from the ground where their feet land. The ground is soft, although slightly slimy, and every time they bark a little glowing line falls from their mouth and goes to the other sensors. They bark softly, letting the light from their noise guide them deeper into the cave.

A skeleton shoots them, and they scream. Hurts. Hurts hurts hurts, their arm hurts so much.

A roar cuts off their whimper, and then they see it.

The light from the candles disappear for a split second, and then the skeleton is gone. Standing on top of a pile of bones, the skull caved in, is a large creature. Possibly 8 feet tall, maybe taller. It’s chest is hollow, except for the souls that float around in it, and it has two antenna that wiggle as they move.

They bark at it, and it walks towards them. They back up for a moment, but their axolotl half relaxes. Safe. This eyeless thing is safe.

It picks them up, gently holding them, and takes them to a room, lit with candles and filled with chests and a bed. It sets them down, growling gently at them. They bark, stubbornly, before entering the room. They rummage through the chests, pulling out a bottle that is bright pink and smells like sour candy. They drink it, curiously, and watch in amazement as their wounds disappear. They pull out some warm clothes - a black jacket with a delicately embroidered rose on the back, and they throw it on. They begin to layer up clothes until they are warm, and then they pull the thick blanket off of the bed, wrapping it around themself as they walk out to the large creature.

It warbles at them, picking them up and cradling them. They bark, weakly, before falling asleep. Safe. This warden is safe.

----

The warden kept them in the deep dark for almost five years, teaching them to fight and to survive, but both of them knew it would not last for long. 

There wasn’t enough food for the young axolotl, and though the warden hunts it is never enough. Hunger pangs, something the child is used to, is not something the warden accepts. There were fights, small barks and loud roars shaking the cavernous walls as the child tries to allow the only parent they ever had to let them stay, let them stay home with them.

Inevitably, the choice was made for them.

A group of players, wearing armour that glows purple, though it's made of a grey metal, enters their cavern. The child’s parent hides them, in that original room that their clothes came from, as the fight goes on. 

Two players fall, but the final one cleaves the wardens head off. 

The child barks, running out from the room. They bite the player, crying as the long haired one frowns at them. They’re picked up - still so small, so weak from the malnourishment of their childhood - and she walks out with them in her arms, humming a song.

The woman walks with the small hybrid, climbing out of the cave system. A bright light blinds the child, and they bark weakly before they pass out.

Though, a lone rose dances on the wind.

---

They don’t know how to feel about the players on this world.

They seem kind, kind enough to help them choose a name, kind enough to teach them to speak, to read, to write. Kind enough to feed and house them, to teach them how to make farms and how to hunt.

But they killed their parent. They kill so many kind mobs. They use them to heal their wounds, and ask them to fight in battles against drowned and guardians.

Protector doesn’t like fighting.

They’re 14, and they’ve fought battles against players and mobs alike. They know that they have a name on the battlefield ‘The angel of healing’. That's what their allies call them, at least. 

‘Demon from the deep’ is what their enemies call them.

They don’t know why they have to fight. They don’t know what they are fighting for. The players who stole them claim that the fight is against evil people, but these players always seem so scared. 

They are small. They are young. They remain a healer until someone threatens their makeshift hospital. They wont fight unless it is needed. They heal. They heal. They ignore the screams of the players that were captured. Of those that the commander has deemed important enough to hold information. They don’t have to heal those players. They want to heal them.

They aren’t allowed to.

----

There are moments, where they are forced to fight. They hate it, they hate the fear and the blood that coats them. It’s always painful, always hateful. They don’t want to kill, they don’t want to die. They have to kill, or they will die.

The priest stands in the middle of the field, calling the void to the battle field. They’ve seen the injured after the void infects them. After a priest of acolyte sends the void to fight them. They know what they have to do, what they must do, to stop their allies from melting. From disintergrating into the void.

They run up to the priest, and stab him clean through the heart. The void falls to the ground around them, and the battle ends.

----

It’s night, when they leave. Darkness envelopes the camp, but they were raised in caves, and they were raised by wardens. They know how to disappear, silently, into the dark.

They hide their gills in a dark beanie, and they wear their black jacket, the rose on it kept clean even after all these years. They wear dark pants and fingerless gloves. Taking a deep breath, they escape through the portal and into the world hub.

A single player world will keep them safe.

Maybe now they can live up to their new title. Maybe now they can be Protector, saving themself first so that they can save others. They are 16. They will be safe. They have to.

[profishionals-have-standards]

Y’all, I actually did it! Meet the Outlaw!

(there’s still a lot to make for her, especially her weapons and other gear, but it’s a start)

The Outlaw

Name: Emilija Vance (ehm-eel-yah)

Origin: appx. White Oaks, NM

Age: 30

Class Role: Offense

Weapons: dual revolvers (primary), lever-action rifle (secondary), bullwhip (melee)

A New Mexico native, who hardly ever left the Badlands, Vance had up until recently been very busy enjoying a life of relative quiet and mundanity, apart from all the murder. Her father being a bit touched in the head, see, meant she had been raised isolated enough that she, from a legal standpoint, did not exist. No birth certificate, no papers, not so much as newspaper subscription. Left with a paid-off house in the middle of the desert, bills accounted for thanks to a string of favors, Vance was free to live her best life.

This, for her, largely meant terrorizing the unsavory sorts in the greater Badlands area. Obsessed with the idea of frontier justice, she provided her services not to rich and powerful clients but the common man. Whether it was hunting down an abusive husband and beating him within an inch of his miserable life, protecting a struggling family from a particularly ruthless debt collector, or stealing back the wealth of a boss who didn’t feel like paying his workers a fair share, she took them all on in exchange for practical favors and some under-the-table cash. She took special preference towards targets who thought they could escape the admittedly incompetent and corrupt local law, and prided herself on cleaning up when the so-called justice system failed. Operating somewhat anonymously out of the local saloon, a relic fittingly called “No Scum Allowed”, she made connections far and wide across the post-boom, dried-up communities of the New Mexico wastelands.

Vance has leveraged her peculiar background into making herself a formidable opponent on the battlefield. Her family were old-fashioned Western show performers by trade, and as a result she’s one of the last remaining expert whipcrackers in possibly the entire Southwest. Combined with her uncanny aim with a revolver, she’s a force at close-to-medium quarters. If all else fails, the big family rifle helps clean up the rest, although she’s honestly a terrible shot with it by comparison. She’s also deceptively strong--years of slinging a heavy leather whip will do that--and can throw a decent enough punch, although it’s rarely her first choice. Used to working alone, she leans on speed and agility, and ambushes when necessary.

Not content to rely on having years to do nothing but practice her aim, Vance bartered her soul to a demon (he’s cagey about stating his affiliation, and Vance isn’t sure if he’s the genuine satanic article or he’s made it all up for show) named Jacovy when she was around 16. In exchange for some measure of improvement to her skills (not so measured that they’d draw attention or demand a higher price), they came with the obligation to send a few wicked souls down to the black pit every now and then. Turns out demons are much less inclined to waste time with temptation when there are plenty of future victims who could just hurry up and die already. Jacovy pops up around crossroads from time to time to bother her, but she lives otherwise fairly free to enjoy the benefits of her deal.

It did have the unfortunate effect of making her more noticeable to some of the local Peculiarities one finds in the Badlands. While lack of a soul might sound like an advantage, a gaping void in the shape of where a human is supposed to be can still attract unwanted attention. Obsessed with the mysticism of the desert her whole life, Vance is well used to dealing with the strange things that come out at night to roam under the stars. She maintains that dealing with them is actually pretty simple if you keep your head. Be respectful, don’t touch what isn’t yours, mind your own business but don’t let your guard down.

It was neither a magical mishap nor a community contract that brought Vance in touch with the REDs. After “rescuing” Miss Pauling, who had stopped while passing through town at the No Scum Allowed for a well-deserved drink, from a sleazy bar-goer, Vance kept the suspicious secretary’s number and thought nothing of it before heading out to a heist job the next town over. She returned to the burned-out wreckage of her lifelong home, thirty years of her life collapsed in a charred ruin.

Incensed, she hunted down Pauling, who denied any involvement until Vance revealed the only clue she had found: the casing of a flare gun round, distinctly Mann Co. make. Vance’s friendly neighborhood arms dealer knew only one company desperate enough to regularly be buying Mann munitions: Pauling’s supposed employers, Reliable Excavation & Demolition. At gunpoint by a murderous Vance, Pauling realized she had, in fact, been responsible, though not directly. There had been a job near White Oaks that night, at a derelict industrial facility in the shadow of which had sat Vance’s home. It had to have been a stray shot from the Pyro’s gun that by some fantastically poor stroke of luck landed close enough to the old building to ignite it.

Devastated, but satisfied enough with Miss Pauling’s explanation to let her go, Vance was left with few options. Most of her money had been stashed throughout the house, and while a few things had been salvageable (she’d never been so grateful for all her paranoid father’s old lockboxes being so sturdy), she had very little left to her non-existent name. Unable to afford a new property or to restore her old one, and too dangerous a houseguest to be willing to inflict herself on any acquaintances, Vance was facing a very long and unpleasant camping trip. It stung her pride and went against every instinct that screamed in her gut, but having determined the true nature of the RED company’s work, she asked Pauling for a job. While moving into what seemed to be a mercenary frat house and taking orders sounded hardly ideal, it beat homelessness in the face of the oncoming desert winter. With the optimistic promise of decent pay and a roof over her head weighing heavily on her uncertain heart, she packed her last possessions onto her motorcycle’s trailer and drove out to the coordinates Pauling had left her...