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winters8child · 3 months ago

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It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 65

I stood rooted to the spot, my breath catching in my throat as I stared at the framed photograph of Steve and me. It was as if time had slowed, the memory rushing back with startling clarity. Nat had captured the moment at the party, a candid shot I hadn’t even realized she had taken. In the photo, Steve and I stood on the balcony, wrapped in each other's arms, the soft glow of the evening light casting a golden hue around us.

I could almost feel the warmth of Steve's embrace again, recalling how he had confided in me just moments before, his voice tinged with a vulnerability I rarely saw. He had admitted that he felt like he was always in Bucky’s shadow, a constant second best. My heart had ached for him, and I had reassured him with everything I had, telling him that I would love him until my very last breath.

The picture captured the aftermath of that confession. We were both smiling, a shared secret in our eyes, our lips still tingling from the kiss we had just shared. My cheeks were flushed with emotion, the intensity of the moment lingering between us.

Bucky had been right, we did look happy—radiantly so, as if nothing else in the world existed except for us in that fleeting moment. I barely had a moment to process the weight of Bucky’s final goodbye when a deafening crash shattered the air, followed by a thunderous roar that reverberated through my very bones. The ground seemed to tremble beneath me, a sense of urgency igniting in my chest.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my gun, the cold metal familiar and reassuring in my grip, and bolted toward the lab where Tony and Bruce were working feverishly on the Cradle. My heart raced as I dashed to the elevator, jabbing the button repeatedly as if sheer force could make it move faster. The ride felt agonizingly slow, each second stretching into an eternity.

When the doors finally slid open, I rushed out, my breath hitching as I caught sight of the scene unfolding before me. Thor was crouched atop the Cradle, his mighty hammer crackling with fierce lightning that arced directly into the device. The lab was bathed in an eerie, flickering glow, the air thick with tension. Every eye in the room was wide with horror, frozen in the face of something terrifying and unknown.

It was then that I noticed Steve had returned, flanked by the two talents he had brought back with him. My gaze locked onto the girl’s face, and in an instant, a torrent of anger surged to the forefront of my mind—rage I had tried to bury, now burning with renewed intensity.

Suddenly, the Cradle burst open with a deafening crack, sending shards of metal and glass flying. From within the wreckage, a figure emerged, shrouded in an unsettling, almost otherworldly aura. Its skin was a deep, blood-red, gleaming eerily under the flickering lights. At the center of its forehead, an orange crystal pulsed with a menacing glow, catching the light with a hypnotic brilliance. That must be the gem Dr. Cho had warned us about.

The figure’s gaze swept over us, its eyes sharp and calculating, as if assessing the situation with a mix of caution and latent power. Slowly, it began to straighten, rising to its full height with an air of quiet, ominous authority. The tension in the room thickened, each of us holding our breath as we stared back, uncertain of what this new and terrifying presence might do next.

Without a hint of warning, the figure lunged forward with blinding speed, a blur of red streaking directly at Thor. But Thor was ready. With lightning reflexes, he caught the figure mid-charge, his powerful hands gripping its shoulders. With a mighty heave, Thor hurled the figure across the room, sending it crashing into a glass panel. The impact was brutal, the glass shattering into a cascade of jagged shards that exploded outward with a deafening crash.

The figure halted abruptly in mid-air, hovering just inches from the shattered window. It seemed almost mesmerized as it stared out at the world beyond, where the night had settled over the city, leaving the skyline aglow with a sea of shimmering lights. The figure's gaze shifted to its own reflection in the fractured glass, its expression unreadable as it absorbed the sight.

Steve tensed, ready to spring into action, his muscles coiled like a loaded spring. But before he could make a move, Thor extended a hand, halting him with a firm grip. Thor’s eyes were locked on the mysterious figure, a mix of curiosity and caution etched on his face as he watched, waiting to see what the next move would be.

The figure slowly turned to face us, and as it did, its crimson skin began to shift and ripple, transforming before our eyes. The red hue gradually faded, replaced by the sleek appearance of a grey suit that seemed to form seamlessly over its body. With a controlled descent, it landed in front of us with a solid thud, the sound reverberating through the room.

Thor, sensing a change, set aside his hammer and stepped forward, his gaze steady as he approached the figure. The tension in the room was palpable as we all watched, unsure of what would happen next.

The figure looked at Thor with an expression that seemed almost human, its eyes filled with something akin to gratitude. "I am sorry. That was odd. Thank you," it said, its voice startlingly familiar. The words carried a calm, measured tone, and the unmistakable voice of Jarvis echoed in our ears, leaving us stunned by the realization of who—or what—this figure truly was.

Thor sighed, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing as if a great weight had been lifted. His eyes remained on the figure, watching as it stood in silent contemplation, processing something deep within. Then, without warning, the air behind the figure seemed to shimmer, a subtle ripple passing through the space.

As we watched, a cape materialized, unfurling like a flag in the breeze. The fabric was rich and flowing, reminiscent of Thor’s own, and it draped gracefully over the figure’s shoulders, completing the transformation.

Steve approached cautiously, his posture tense and his eyes locked on the figure. “Thor, you helped create this?” he asked, his voice edged with a mix of disbelief and stern authority. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had transpired.

Thor turned to face Steve, his expression grave. “I’ve had a vision,” he began, his voice carrying a somber tone. “A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life, and at its center is that.” He extended a hand, pointing directly at the glowing gem embedded in the figure’s forehead.

Bruce, who had been watching from the sidelines, suddenly stepped forward, his face paling as he processed Thor’s words. “What? The gem?” he stammered, his voice tinged with nervousness.

"It's the Mind Stone. It's one of the six Infinity Stones. The greatest power in the Universe, unparalleled in its destructive capabilities.", Thor explained his eyes wandering over us. Steve's face darkened, "Then why would you bring..", Thor interrupted him before he could finish his question. "Because Stark is right".

Bruce’s eyes widened in disbelief at Thor’s explanation. The realization that Thor had just confirmed Tony’s concerns sent a ripple of unease through him. The gravity of the situation was clear—if Thor was acknowledging that Tony was right, it meant we were facing a threat of unprecedented scale.

“The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron,” Thor continued, his voice carrying the gravity of a dire warning. His eyes met ours with an intense urgency.

Before any of us could fully absorb this, the figure spoke its voice a smooth, almost soothing contrast to the tension. “Not alone.”

I stepped forward cautiously, my brow furrowed in confusion and suspicion. “Why do you sound like Jarvis?” I asked, my voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The familiarity of the voice, so eerily similar to Tony’s trusted AI, only deepened the mystery of the figure before us.

Tony’s eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and apprehension as he gestured toward his creation. “We reconfigured Jarvis’s matrix to create something new,” he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of nervous excitement. The figure before us stood tall and enigmatic, a new and unsettling presence in the lab.

We all eyed the figure warily, each of us grappling with a swirl of suspicion and uncertainty. Could we trust this entity? Was it merely an extension of Ultron, despite its vehement denials? The questions lingered, casting a shadow over the room. In these unprecedented times, I couldn’t help but long for the clarity and simplicity of the 1940s.

Steve stepped forward, his face set in a determined frown. “Are you on our side?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt.

The figure remained still, its expression inscrutable. The witch, her eyes dark with foreboding, interjected with a shiver in her voice. “I looked into its mind,” she said, her gaze flickering to the figure. “All I saw was annihilation.”

The figure turned its gaze toward us, its eyes reflecting a cold resolve. “I am on the side of life,” it said, the words resonating with a chilling clarity. “Ultron isn’t. He will end it all.” The gravity of its statement hung heavy in the air, the weight of impending doom was palpable.

"What is he waiting for?", Tony asked getting impatient for the figure to simply reply with "You".

If Ultron was waiting, we had to confront him and end this madness once and for all. The figure's demeanor shifted, an almost mournful expression crossing its features as it spoke. “I don’t want to kill Ultron,” it said, its voice heavy with regret. “But given what Ultron has planned for our planet, there’s no other choice.”

It paused, letting the gravity of its words settle over us. “There may be no way to make you trust me,” the figure continued a note of urgency in its tone. “But we need to go.”

Before we could react, the figure moved with unexpected speed and grace. In one fluid motion, it grasped Thor’s hammer, lifting it with ease before walking over and handing it to him. The gesture left us all stunned, our mouths agape as we watched the hammer, a symbol of Thor’s immense power, pass from one hand to another.

Thor surveyed the room with a knowing smirk, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Right,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of approval and resolve. He clapped Tony on the shoulder with a firm pat, his gesture both reassuring and congratulatory. “Well done.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the exit.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of what was to come pressing down on us. Steve broke the stillness, his voice cutting through the tension with a commanding edge. “Three minutes,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Get what you need.”

The urgency in his voice was palpable, fueling our resolve. It was time to put an end to this nightmare.

Tags: @capswife

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#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #marvel #steve rogers #marvel fanfiction #the avengers #fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

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monsterkong · 3 months ago

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youtube

Letting Go of Gear: The Path to True Photography

Why do we let gear define our craft? Photography is about so much more than the tools we use. It’s about capturing the essence of a moment, telling a story, and expressing our creativity. Yet, many photographers are caught in the cycle of obsessing over the latest equipment. Let’s explore why this focus on gear might be misguided and how we can shift our attention back to the true art of photography.

⚙️ The Gear Myth

When I first began my photography journey, I believed that the right gear was the key to becoming a great photographer. I walked into camera stores, my eyes wide with excitement, convinced that the latest camera model, the most expensive lens, and all the gadgets would make me a master photographer.

And, to some extent, it worked. My photos were sharper, the colors were more vibrant, and the dynamic range was impressive. But there was something missing—my images lacked soul. They were technically proficient but artistically hollow.

This is the myth that many photographers fall into. We’re constantly bombarded with advertisements, reviews, and updates on the latest gear. It’s easy to believe that the next piece of equipment is the secret to success. But the truth is, no amount of gear can replace creativity, vision, and experience.

🖌️ The Heart of Photography

Photography is about seeing the world in a unique way and capturing it in a way that resonates with others. The gear is just a tool—a means to an end. The real magic lies within the photographer. It’s about seeing something extraordinary in the ordinary and capturing it in a way that tells a story.

Great photographers like Henri Cartier-Bresson, Annie Leibovitz, and Sebastião Salgado didn’t rely on advanced equipment to create their masterpieces. Instead, they focused on their vision, creativity, and ability to tell powerful stories through their images.

🧠 Learning from the Legends

Consider Henri Cartier-Bresson, known as the father of photojournalism. He used a simple Leica rangefinder with a 50mm or 35mm lens for most of his career. For Cartier-Bresson, the magic wasn’t in the equipment but in the decisive moment—the fleeting instant when all the elements of a scene came together perfectly.

Annie Leibovitz’s iconic portraits aren’t about the gear she uses; they’re about her deep connection with her subjects and her ability to capture their true essence. These photographers remind us that the true essence of photography lies in the story, not in the tools.

🌍 Embracing Creative Freedom

Rather than getting caught up in the latest gear, embrace the simplicity of your current equipment. Use it as a creative challenge. Some of the greatest photographers in history worked with far less advanced gear than what we have today. Their creativity blossomed because they focused on their perspective, imagination, and storytelling.

If you’re just starting out, focus on learning the fundamentals of photography—both the technical and artistic aspects. Understand the exposure triangle, composition, lighting, and storytelling. Then, practice, practice, practice. The more you shoot, the better you’ll understand your equipment and your own creative process.

🎨 Shifting Back to the Art

In a world where technology is constantly evolving, it’s easy to get distracted by the latest gadgets. But true photography isn’t about the gear—it’s about your vision, creativity, and ability to see the world in a unique way. By shifting our focus back to the art, we can create images that are not only technically proficient but also deeply meaningful and impactful.

Remember, the gear is just a tool. The magic lies within you—your vision, your creativity, and your ability to see the world in a unique way. Embrace the tools you have but never let them define you. Focus on the craft, hone your skills, and tell your stories with passion and intent.

Experiment, make mistakes, learn, and grow. But don’t hide behind the equipment. Stand alongside it and utilize it to create something extraordinary. The magic is not in the gear; it’s in you.

Thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to see the incredible images you create. Until then, take care and happy shooting! 📷✨

#photography #camera #blog #art #photography tips #Youtube

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wintervvidow · 3 years ago

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apricity pt. five

apricity- the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, violence

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 3,556

A/N: yes, I did purposely reuse the flashback sequence lol enjoy! feedback is welcome! 💕

MASTERLIST

The air held a palpable tension, red lights reflecting off of the walls and casting red-hued shadows. Florence’s footfalls were quiet, stepping with precision and purpose. Steve and Sam stalked behind her, their eyes ghosting over the path of bodies the Winter Soldier left in their path.

Florence was trained for this: the moments of chaos. She knew how to disappear, how to take out any threat without a trace. She knew the art of managing her emotions, how to go cold like a switch. Yet all of the training that was beaten into her flew out of the window the second the lights went out. Bucky was her number one priority. She was scared, terrified of what awaited her, her heart hammering in her chest as she ran down the dimly lit halls.

The self-proclaimed therapist laid on the floor in front of Florence, anger swimming in her eyes at the sight of him. She grabbed him by his collar, hauling him against the wall with force, face inches away from his, a snarl on her lips, “What do you want?”

“To see an empire fall.”

Florence shoved the man against the wall harder, hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt, opening her mouth to speak again. Movement behind her made her turn, seeing Bucky throw Sam down the hall. Steve threw a punch to his ribcage, the soldier barely feeling it and throwing his own. As Bucky stalked him like a wolf hunting its prey, Steve jerked backward, a dangerous look in his eyes. Florence looked down the hall at Bucky and Steve, watching as Bucky threw Steve down an open elevator shaft. She bolted to Sam, her fingers meeting his neck, making sure he was alive before she took off running up the stairs after Bucky.

She found him in the open seating area of the building, fighting off Sharon’s flurry of attacks. He took the blonde down easily, tossing her head over heels into a table, splintering off. Florence threw a punch to his abdomen, Bucky doubling over before moving to tackle her. She used their height difference as an advantage, moving behind his outstretched arm and flipping over him onto his shoulders, thighs around his neck. Her elbow struck his head repeatedly as he tried to throw her off to no avail. Bucky stumbled forward, his hands grasping her waist and throwing her onto a nearby table.

Bucky's metal hand found Florence's throat in an instant. The Winter Soldier showed no mercy, squeezing his hand tighter and tighter. Florence felt her face heat up, her blood vessels threatening to burst if the soldier continued to apply pressure. She writhed in his grasp looking up at him with pleading eyes, black dots dancing across her field of vision. Tears stung her eyes, her throat burning from the crushing weight of his hand, feeling her windpipe constrict as she rasped out the only words she could muster up, "You could at least recognize me."

Florence wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to look at her as Bucky, but also as the Winter Soldier. The soldier was looking at her, her legs wrapping around his neck, not giving him any way to not look at her, but he wasn't seeing her. Not in the way Florence needed, otherwise he was going to kill her.

In the clutches of HYDRA, Florence was the only one that could calm the soldier down when he would have a panic attack or had an episode of anger brought on by the confusion, brainwashing, and torture of their captures. Even in the moments when Bucky was the farthest thing from himself and became the dark machine HYDRA created, he immediately softened at Florence. He would stop whatever he was doing, whether it be loosening his grasp around an agent's throat or dropping his aimed weapon, his eyes would soften and he would become putty, only made to be molded by Florence. Even in the moments where Bucky’s attack was set on her, metal and flesh hands clutched around her throat, a flash of recognition would always wash over his face and immediately let go, falling to his knees at her feet in forgiveness.

HYDRA caught on very quickly about the Soldier's fondness of the redhead and used that to their advantage; always looking for a way to control. If only they had learned of the relationship the two assassins had before the war and before Florence slipped away into the winter night.

Bucky wasn't seeing what he was really doing to her. He was causing her the most imaginable pain, and in turn, hurting himself. She needed him to see her, really truly see her. She needed him to see her as Bucky, the love of her life and not the machine he was made out to be, otherwise, this was all for nothing.

The Soldier's hand left Florence’s throat, being thrown off her by the Black Panther. Florence gulped in air, her throat burning in pain, her windpipe bruised from the weight of Bucky’s grasp. She laid on the table she had been thrown on by Bucky, taking a minute to collect herself and her breath, gasping for air as tears unwillingly fell down her face and into her hairline. Years of emotions threatened to spill, the dam threatening to burst completely. She couldn't do this.

Florence could barely handle the constant up and down of adrenaline anymore, every day was a gamble whether something was going to go wrong or not. Lately, every day had been hell, each passing minute worse than the last. She needed a minute to breathe.

By the time Florence had made it to her feet without falling over, both the soldier and the king had disappeared up the staircase. Florence bounded up the stairs two at a time, a loud commotion outside accelerating her heart rate. Her hand threw the door open, bouncing back against its hinges. She rushes out of the building, eyes locking on Steve who had an iron grip on the helicopter Bucky was attempting to take flight in from the helipad.

Before she could move, Bucky slams the chopper into the helipad, Steve flipping and dodging the attack narrowly. Florence ran towards the scene, hand reaching for Steve’s bicep to help him up as Bucky’s metal hand flew through the windshield and grabbed Steve’s throat. The girl pries at Bucky’s hand around Steve’s throat to no avail, the helicopter tipping further and further over the edge towards the water below. Feet skid against the concrete as Florence and Steve were continuing to be pulled. Bucky’s grip remained on Steve, Florence trying her best to do anything to get him to let go, her hand going from the metal to reaching into the glass towards the brunette, flesh hand finding her outstretched one easily.

Florence squeezed the flesh tightly in her hand as they continued their slow descent towards the edge, her voice betraying her by cracking, “Bucky, please. Let go, we’re trying to help.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears as she was yanked forward by Bucky, her body colliding with Steve as the helicopter finally tipped over. The trio dived into the icy water at the same time, Florence’s vision blurring and fading at the impact.

The redhead was vaguely aware of the arm around her waist and the warm body next to her. Steve secured both Florence and Bucky in his grasp, pulling them out of the frigid water. Her legs kicked helplessly in the water, failing to ease Steve’s rescue swim. Once they made it to dry land, Florence coughed up the water in her lungs, eyes trained on Bucky’s unconscious body on the ground. Neither of the two friends spoke, too preoccupied with moving Bucky to a secure location.

Along with Sam, Steve and Florence secured Bucky in an abandoned warehouse, metal arm braced between heavy machinery. The redhead’s eyes never strayed away from Bucky’s unconscious form for long, wanting to make sure he was okay. Bucky groaned as he came too, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the old building. Sam called for Steve behind Florence, wanting to have a second super soldier in case Bucky remained the Winter Soldier.

Bucky peered at his arm between the vice and then settled his gaze on Florence who stood mere feet away in front of him, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Steve jogged to where the others were, eyes darting to the man in the chair, eyebrows furrowed.

Bucky groaned as he sat up further, “Steve.”

“Which Bucky am I talking to?”

Florence whipped her head to the blonde standing next to her, hand coming up and swatting him on the shoulder, “Steve!”

Bucky made no reaction, instead, he gazed vacantly ahead before he spoke again, “Your mom’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Bucky chuckled fondly at the newfound memory.

Steve smiled softly, his lips barely turning up, “You can’t read that in a museum.”

Bucky looked from the ground to Florence, eyes softening as he took her concerned features in, “Your mom was Anya, dad was Viktor. We used to have dinner every Sunday. And you were my best girl.”

Her face broke out in a pained smile. If Steve hadn't been standing next to her, Florence would have been on the ground. Waves of memories washed over her and threatened to pull her in, each one more grueling than the last; happiness, dances in the moonlight at 2 a.m.-, their bare feet barely gliding across the kitchen floor. All throughout time, he called her his best girl. Then there were the darker ones, them huddled together on the chilled floor of a HYDRA cell, using each other for warmth as they whispered memories of their past to one another. Always his best girl.

The memories were fleeting, Sam scoffing behind her, “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Florence turned her head curtly, glaring at Sam. He didn’t know.

The smile fell, Bucky grimacing, “What did I do?”

“Enough.” Florence’s voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke, she was still drowning in the past, fighting for air before the current took her under, dragging her by her ankle.

“Oh, God,” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, greasy hair hanging around his face and shielding his eyes, “I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

Steve spoke, “Who was he?”

Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Steve continued to pile on the hurt, “People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.” It was Steve’s turn to be glared at by Florence, her ferocity to protect Bucky knew no bounds, even if Bucky deserved whatever it was Florence was trying to shield him from.

Bucky took a moment to think, his words tumbling out before he spoke clearly, “He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I- we were kept.” Florence’s heart dropped at Bucky’s correction from singular to plural. Siberia. No fond memories were made in that place, Florence shuttered at the thought of remembering being kept there with Bucky. She listened closely as Bucky further explained, “He wanted to know exactly where.”

Steve wasted no time to ask questions, his invisible clock was ticking, “Why would he need to know that?”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, “Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

The December air was cold as it blew through Florence’s hair, her arms circling Bucky’s waist as they rode down the dark road on Bucky’s motorcycle. The soldier steered with one arm, free hand coming down to rub circles on the redhead’s calf as they pulled behind a cluster of trees, hiding them from onlookers as they waited. The pair of assassins were unthawed and reset only hours ago, immediately given their latest mission.

Florence remembered the screaming. Without fail, HYDRA always made her watch Bucky be reprogrammed, his screams echoed in her brain even days after it would happen. That night was no different, even the cold air from the motorcycle speeding down the road did nothing to numb the pain she felt.

A car came into view, red tail lights illuminating the air around them. Bucky flipped the bike’s headlight on and pulled onto the road again. The soldier revved the bike, catching up to the side of the vehicle as Florence sunk her butterfly knife into the tire, causing the car to swerve off the road and crash into a building.

Florence’s choice of close contact weapon had always been a butterfly knife; Bucky had taught her for hours on end in the Red Room how to use it. There had been a few training mishaps, an accidental slice to Bucky’s rib cage that sent Florence into a fit of fear, her past nursing skills coming to light, her fingers working quickly to bandage the wound all while Bucky merely peered down at her nervous hands with a smile. That had been the first moment the Winter Soldier and the Winter Widow were not the machines they were training to be in the Red Room, they were Bucky and Florence. They just didn’t know it at the time.

Bucky parked the bike ahead of the crash, Florence stepping off the bike, Bucky behind her, and approaching the car. She flipped open the trunk to reveal a large silver briefcase, opening it to see five bags of blue liquid; exactly what they were looking for.

Bucky briefly explained the use of the liquid, HYDRA used the serum to experiment and create more super-soldiers; better ones. Bucky’s handler and head of the Winter Soldier Program, Karpov, made sure of it.

Steve stood with his arms crossed over his chest, “Who were they?”

“Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

Sam leaned against a beam, looking to Bucky, “They all turn out like you?”

Bucky lifted his head, eyes hollow, “Worse.”

Steve spoke, “The doctor, could he control them?”

“Enough.” Bucky’s head fell.

Florence took a small step forward, lessening the gap slightly between herself and Bucky, “He said he wanted to see an empire fall.”’

Bucky lifted his head again, “With these guys, he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.”

Sam steps up to Steve, nodding at Florence to join before he began speaking, “This would have been a lot easier a week ago.”

“If we call Tony-”

Florence cut Steve off, “No.”

Sam shook his head, “He won’t believe us.”

Steve shrugged, looking to Sam, “Even if he did-”

Sam interrupted, “Who knows if the Accords would let him help.”

“We’re on our own.”

Sam thought in silence before looking between Florence and Steve, “Maybe not. I know a guy.”

A few phone calls and a handful of hours later, the quartet was packed into a small car, parked under an overpass. Steve stepped out of the car to greet Sharon, another favor that was called in, retrieving their gear. Sam sat in the passenger seat in silence, while Florence was huddled into the driver’s backseat, knee unwillingly brushing Bucky’s much larger frame.

Bucky had a scowl on his face, whether it was from the seating arrangement or the situation they had found themselves in, Florence didn’t know. Bucky stared ahead at the back of Sam’s head, “Can you move your seat up?”

Sam snapped back monotonously, “No.”

Bucky shifted slightly towards the middle of the seat, further invading Florence’s space. Although she wasn’t complaining, she hadn’t been this close to him in decades.

The trio looks on in a mixture of shock and proudness as they watch Steve and Sharon share a kiss, Steve sauntering back to the car with a smug smile with gear in hand.

A cramped car ride later, they arrived at the airport, Steve’s choice of car rattled and squeaked through the parking garage. They parked next to a van that contained Sam’s favor that was called in. Clint and Wanda stepped out of the van as Florence squeezed out of the car behind Steve.

Sam stepped up next to Steve, conversing with Clint and Wanda, Florence staying by the car with Bucky. They watched as Clint slid the van door open, a highly caffeinated Scott Lang appeared.

Steve stood with his arms crossed, “They tell you what we’re up against?”

Scott shrugged, “Something about psycho-assassins?”

“We’re outside the law on this one. So if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.” Steve was giving Scott his last way out, not wanting him to be involved with something he didn’t want to be.

Scott merely raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, well, what else is new?”

Beside Florence, Bucky spoke as he leaned against the car, “We should get moving.”

Clint spoke, “We got a chopper lined up.”

Speakers began to blare overhead in German, Florence translating in her head as Bucky translated for the others, “They’re evacuating the airport.”

Sam looked to Steve, “Stark.”

“Stark!” Scott looked at Steve with his eyebrows raised.

A frown etched itself on Steve’s face, “Suit up.”

Later, the team took their places around the airport with their gear on. Florence was with Sam and Bucky, watching through the terminal windows as Steve and Tony talked amongst themselves along with Natasha with Rhodey.

Florence shifted uncomfortably, standing between Sam and Bucky. She was nervous for what was about to happen, antsy to get Bucky out of here. She knew he was a wanted man, both by the government, T’Challa, and now by Tony. She didn’t want to have to fight her friends, but for Bucky, she would do anything.

Sam was busy using Redwing to find their Quinjet, Bucky standing in silence. Neither Florence nor Bucky have had an opportunity to have a proper conversation, too busy not getting captured or killed.

Chaos ensued below, various Avengers fighting amongst themselves. Florence took off with Bucky and Sam running through the hanger. Spider-Man appeared on the window, Bucky turning in confusion as he ran, “What the hell is that?”

Sam groaned, strides falling behind slightly, “Everyone's got a gimmick now.”

The spider swung through the window, breaking it as he kicked Sam. Bucky and Florence halted, turning to the attacker. Bucky threw a punch, the spider’s red-gloved hand catching it with ease. Both Bucky and Florence stared in horror at how was able to easily stop Bucky’s punch.

“You have a metal arm? That is awesome dude.” The spider was taken down by Sam, grabbing him and flying up with him. Bucky and Florence resumed running, watching as Sam dropped the kid as he webbed himself up. Bucky threw a beam at the spider, trying to knock him down. He and Florence took cover, weighing their options of escape. Spider-Man throws the object back at Bucky, Florence yanking the man away from the crash.

They take off running again, Sam temporarily distracting the attacker. The distraction is short-lived, Sam being webbed down to the balcony railing. Bucky and Florence run across towards Sam, the spider crashing into both of them and sent them crashing through the glass railing to the floor level below. Florence, Sam, and Bucky land with a thud, the spider quick to web their hands to the floor with no chance of escaping the unusual restraints.

The spider sat on top of a kiosk, looking down on them, “Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job here today, and I gotta impress Mr. Stark, so, I’m really sorry.” Sam managed to tap a button on his suit, Redwing appearing and dragging the spider through the air and through the window.

Bucky groaned, “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”

Sam snarked back, “I hate you.”

Between the two men, Florence could only laugh. The situation wasn’t funny, but if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry and her training made crying a weakness. Neither Sam nor Bucky commented on the redheads' theatrics, only looking at her oddly. Bucky couldn’t help the minuscule smile he had as he watched her laugh.

They eventually freed themselves from the webs, jumping to their feet and outside to join Steve, along with Wanda, Scott, and Clint. The group ran toward the jet as fast as they could, impending doom settled itself in Florence’s chest as she ran between Bucky and Sam.

Vision hovered overhead, casting a line of heat in front of the running group, causing them to come to a halt.

Vision remains in the air, speaking, “Captain Rogers. I know you believe what you’re doing is right.” Tony and Natasha joined below him, “But for the collective good, you must surrender now.” Black Panther, Rhodey, and Spider-Man join, all standing together across from them, divided.

Both groups faced off against one another, Sam breaking the tension, “What do we do, Cap?”

Steve took a breath, “We fight.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please reblog!

Tag list: @tanyaherondale @lilyviolets @jckie94 @badgernix @geek-and-proud @ginger-swag-rapunzel

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years ago

Text

Purple Lilacs

ayooo it me! Here is jasonette july saturday challenge: Hurt no comfort!

Maribat Masterlist AO3

word count: 3.1K

Warnings: mentions of body fluids, sickness, vomit and death.

without further ado:

Jason stumbled into the gas station restroom on shaky, unsteady legs. His chest ached and his vision swam, blurry with unshed tears. The dirty mirror and pale blue light couldn’t capture how disgruntled the fourteen year old boy was. He was still wearing his Robin suit, dirty and sweaty from breaking up fights and catching would-be criminals. His skin felt flushed but his blood was chilled to the bone. The fluttery pressure behind his ribs was a painful reminder of why he was here. He took a haphazard inhale of air and choked on it when he exhaled. His throat itched. The tears were beginning to fall behind his mask. The infallible Robin was unrecognizable in his reflection. His domino mask shielded himself from the agony that clouded his eyes. His mind was racing a thousand miles a minute, thoughts fragmented and disoriented. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. God, why couldn’t he breathe?

He ripped off his mask, tossing it without caution and splashed water on his face. He scrubbed at the sweat and exhaust that caked his skin, hoping, praying to wash this burning sensation away. He still couldn’t breathe.

He felt his stomach churn. He felt the bile clawing just beneath his adam's apple, desperate to escape. He barely had the strength to lean over to the nearby toilet before emptying his stomach. The smell burned at his eyes as the taste burned at his throat. He was left dry heaving for a moment, but that was all his body needed to expel what was clogging his airways. The petals floated pathetically in the waste in the toilet bowl; they were small and pale and stood out against the disgusting mix of vomit. Purple lilacs, first love. How fitting.

He had wished that the best week of his life wouldn’t end this way. He had wished, wished upon the stars in the skies and wished upon every dandelion he found in the manor gardens, that he could have something, someone, that was entirely his own. But her heart belonged to another and his heart was sick because of it.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her name was a breath of fresh air, a spring breeze in early May. He had met her on a Monday, her class was taking a tour of Wayne Tech. She was the cute yet clumsy class representative with an iron will. She was alluring and charming and Jason was swept up in her eyes of ocean tides. He never spoke a word to her that first day. Choosing to just observe her joke and laugh with friends. He didn’t dare interrupt her. He saw her again Tuesday. She was in a teahouse that was close to her hotel. She was with her brunette friend, Alya, he remembered from when he overheard her chastising the girl for saying something embarrassing. That was when he found out about her crush on the model boy. Jason didn’t think much of it. He didn’t think he would have to. His sudden attraction was only fleeting, he reminded himself.

The first time he actually spoke to her was Thursday night. Her class had stayed out later than expected so he watched them from a distance during patrol, making sure she got back safely. Making sure they got back safely, he corrected. He didn’t plan to stop by her window when she was safe inside and he definitely didn’t plan to strike up a conversation. She had a quick mind and a sharp tongue to match. It was striking and it seeded something deep within his lungs. They spoke for hours, time lost to conversation, that it wasn’t until Agent A called into his ear that he realised how long he’s been strayed from his patrol route. He had bid her a good night and she wished him a safe one. He had found a friend in her and the joy carried him throughout the night. He hadn’t expected to fall hard and fast for her within the week. By Saturday his instinctual attraction had grown into sweet yearning. The weight in his chest as he waited for her class to gather in the Botanical Gardens grounded him in his spot. He had to remind himself that she spoke to him as Robin and that Jason Todd-Wayne was nothing more than their sponsor’s recently adopted son. He couldn’t speak to her about her favourite novels as he technically shouldn’t be privy to that knowledge. He wasn’t deterred by that, however. In fact, it spurred him on to get to know her more. It granted him the opportunity to relearn her interests all over again and watch her eyes blaze with passion.

He never got the chance. Her attention was divided between the garden’s attractions and the blond that stuck close to her like a burr. He watched her giggle and swoon as the boy complimented her. He watched as Adrien, he had learned, plucked a flower and tucked it gently behind her ear. It was a purple lilac. The colour complimented her midnight black hair and made her pale blue eyes shine. He felt his throat go dry as he watched on, his words withering on his tongue. The scene was truly adorable, straight out of a movie with a happy ending. He was happy that she was receiving the attention she deserved. But it still hurt that it wasn’t him lavishing her with it. He was the outsider lucky to be watching. Their tour ended with an exchange of business-friendly smiles and memorized platitudes.

Now it was Sunday night and he was gazing at the products of his foolish heart. He could count how few the petals were that mocked him in the toilet. He could taste them in the mix of bile that sat on the back of his tongue. He could breathe easier now; his lungs were no longer heavy but his heart was still so. How cruel, his first love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had died. He hadn’t remembered much of what came before or of what came after. It was all tangled and fractured. He remembered fighting with Bruce a lot and threatening his new ward. Jason was awful, a danger, but he was also angry and confused. He was hurt and lonely. It took awhile to find some common ground with his family again. It took awhile for him to feel normal again. It was hard work but it was worth it.

A lot had changed in Bruce’s nightlife. The Justice League Jason remembered and the Justice League that he returned to were worlds apart. It was jarring and he continued to long for some familiarity in his life. It was genuinely a surprise when he was invited to join their ranks, after years of struggling, but he accepted the offer with a tearful hug and grateful smile in the privacy of the batcave. He was introduced to the other new recruits, taken aback at how the community had grown during his absence. One figure stood out to him the most.

Her name was Ladybug, a Parisian heroine with some connection to Wonder Woman. Her personality was bright and bubbly and she looked like the poster child for the Justice League. She and Jason had hit it off quite well, slipping into easy banter and trading battle stories like old-age friends. Their time spent together left him feeling light and free. It was casual and comforting. Until it wasn’t.

One night after patrol, he stood staring at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He was running through a checklist in his head of all the mundane things he had to do in the coming days. A trip to the drugstore for some cough drops, a couple cases to report and file here, some League meetings there. It was his new normal. He liked it. The thought of the Justice League led to the thought of Ladybug. Ladybug and her laughter at his jokes. Her half-hearted sneer at his puns. Her going on rants about fashion and the little twitch in her nose when she was frustrated with something. It was endearing, and enticing. It was always a delight watching someone who flung cars for a living lose their patience over mundane things. He was lost in thought when a coughing fit took over, bringing him back to the present. When his shoulders stopped shaking with the force of the coughs he felt something in his mouth. It felt like a piece of paper, thin and small. Thinking nothing of it, he spat into his sink and felt his heart clench. It was a single flower petal. A daffodil, meaning rebirth and new beginnings.

The melancholy was instant, the resignation almost stopping his heart. How cruel, his second love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had decided to ignore the signals his body was sending him. He ignored the scratchiness of his throat every time he thought of her signature pigtails. He ignored the ever growing collection of petals that would decorate his toilet, or his bathroom sink, or his kitchen sink, or his shower floor. He ignored how blood had started to appear every now and again. Ladybug was his friend and he valued her friendship. He wasn’t going to let some biological imperative prevent him from making any meaningful connection with her.

It was a random conversation one day, the topic of little importance, but it had drifted to a discussion of identities and living the double life. He remembered telling her his real name, secret identities among League members being a matter of personal discretion at this point, and the flash of faint recognition in her eyes made him curious. She told him how she recognised the name from a school trip she took years ago. Apparently they had met once or twice during her time in Gotham. Her name was Marinette, she had said, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

It was as if the air in the Watchtower was being siphoned out the room as the seconds ticked by. He remembered that name, and he most certainly remembered the pain that name had brought him. He died with his feelings for her trapped between his ribs but they were long forgotten, withered after his resurrection. That is, until they crashed into him at the mere utter of her name. The longing came back in full force and he felt it weigh heavy on his tongue as his nose started to burn with the effort to breathe. He didn’t remember much after that conversation beyond a hasty excuse of himself. He made it into a restroom on some random floor and all but flung himself into an available stall. His mask was ripped off his face and the room echoed with the sounds of him hacking and heaving.

His heart was a cacophony of emotions; the feelings of teenage infatuation for Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the mature adoration of Ladybug blended into a concoction of purple lilacs and daffodils. Tears pricked at his eyes as he felt his throat get burned raw from his emotions. It was stifling and all-consuming. He felt like he was drowning and free-falling all at once. Unable to breathe. His face was flushed and sticky and he felt shivers begin to creep up his spine. It was disgusting how his own feelings would betray him like this. Peeling himself off the floor was herculean. Jason felt weary and his bones ached with the burden of his own body. Superman was already waiting for him outside the stall, a water bottle in hand and silent condolences smeared all over his face. A silent agreement was forged between them. How cruel, his one love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jason was younger he never associated love with pain. Love was always warm hugs and soft touches. It was gentle words whispered in the dark and saccharine sweet smiles. Love made flowers bloom in spring and the sun shine bright. How foolish he was. Now he knew. Love was a deep ache in his chest that pulsed in rhythm with his heart. It was a strangled gasp as he tried to breathe and it was tears that won’t stop falling. Love made flowers bloom, sure, but they bloomed in the deepest parts of him that he wished he could rip them out and everything attached straight from the roots. Love burned and festered and invaded everything that made Jason himself.

He couldn’t drown out the sensations no matter what he tried. A masochistic part of him was convinced he was addicted to the pain. Addicted to the reminder that he could love so strongly, so deeply. The idea that someone as callous as he could love someone so much that it could tear him down physically and mentally. Have the force of his own heart mold him into nothing but a garden of devotion. There was a part of him that didn’t want to lose the feeling of having feelings. The immediate times after his resurrection were wrought with nothing but mind-numbing emptiness so much so that his subconsciousness convinced him that he would settle for suffering as an act of love.

The tulip petals were beautiful, but worrying. He choked up an entire bud this time. His throat was still itchy and his fever had yet to be broken but the head of the flower in his hand was a distraction to all that had ailed him. Tulips, meaning opportunity and adjustment.

The voices on the television called his attention. It was some celebrity gossip channel and he couldn’t remember why he was watching it in the first place. He moved to change the channel when he saw her, Marinette, on the screen. She was attending some red carpet event and she looked beautiful. He wondered if she had made that dress; a memory of teenage ambitions floated to the forefront of his mind. A smile crept to his face against his will. He couldn’t help it, red was truly her colour. Then he saw him, her blond partner, waltz up beside her like he belonged there. He did, he reminded himself. The blond was her childhood crush turned boyfriend of a few years. She had told Jason stories during one of their many talks about him. He was funny and smart and a real casanova, she had said. Jason had pretended like those words weren’t thorns puncturing his lungs as he listened along. She looked at the model the same way Jason knew he looked at her. He was happy for her, truly.

His fever was back tenfold as he watched on and he was sweating a puddle into his couch. He couldn’t finish his meal and the coughs had returned. His shaking had overturned his food that was in his lap and it made a mess on the floor. He keeled over and added the contents of his stomach to the pile. Petals of lilacs and daffodils and tulips were pouring from his lips in clumps and he momentarily couldn’t breathe. He was becoming too accustomed to holding his breath during these fits. Becoming too accustomed to the lightheaded feeling inside his brain, the numbing feeling in his toes and the burning feeling in his heart. How cruel, his true love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She was supposed to get her happy ending. She was supposed to grow old with her boyfriend turned fiance while Jason buried himself with his feelings. He cradled her close, feeling her faint exhales on his neck. He felt her body tremble and writhe beneath him. He was crying over her, gasping his breaths and gagging on emotions. She stared, eyes unseeing beyond him. She was speaking but he couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of his pulse in his ears. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was a simple job, a covert job that was only information retrieval. Everything was planned to perfection and every deviation was accounted for. Everything was accounted for except his body failing him. He was attacked with a sudden coughing fit that he couldn’t get under control and it drew their target’s attention to them. Guns were aimed and fired at them and he couldn’t get his own body to cooperate with him. Ladybug had taken to shielding him until he recovered but she was overwhelmed too quickly. Her suit wasn’t bullet proof, she was still vulnerable and the shot was in a critical place. She was bleeding profusely. He. Still. Couldn’t. Breathe.

He gathered what little strength he had and dragged her body behind a wall. He was hunched over her struggling to control his breathing and the situation. He couldn’t leave, too weak to carry her. He couldn’t fight back, too dizzy to focus on any targets. He couldn’t think, too lightheaded from the lack of air intake. It was a bad situation that was only getting worse. He was crying and heaving and she laid beneath him bleeding. The flowers in the back of his throat were choking him without remorse. He took off his mask and tried with all his might to breathe in. It was scratchy and rough and it felt more like a wheeze than an inhale but it was something. With this moment of clarity, he had an idea. It was really a last resort that Ladybug had told him about. He reached for her yoyo that was held in her hand and pressed the center dot that was actually a hidden button. It was a distress call that would signal to her partner and doubled as a homing device. It was a call for help. He didn’t know how long it would take for aid to arrive but this was all he could do at the given time. His lungs were still stuffed and his throat was overflowing. The petals were stuck between his teeth, their earthy taste rooting him. His limbs were growing heavier by the second and his vision was getting hazier.

He watched as the light faded from her eyes. As the shimmering blue dimmed permanently. He watched her rosy cheeks grow pale as blood poured out from the wound in her chest. He tried to cradle her closely, to offer her some form of comfort in her last moments but he could barely move. Another coughing fit racked his frame and involuntarily had him doubling over. The petals were flowing freely now, unrestricted from his relaxing airways. They were beautiful in colour as they joined the ever growing pool of her blood, only tainted by the dark red tinge of his own.

A new petal had joined the ones he had grown so familiar with. Yellow chrysanthemums, neglected love. In France, he thought, his mind muddled by a discordance of feelings, chrysanthemums also meant death; they were given as tokens of grief and comfort. How fitting.

Oh and how cruel, his last love.

#jasonette #maribat #jasonette july 2021 #saturday challenge #tw: death #tw: bodily fluids #tw: sickness mention #this is my first time doing hurt no comfort #be gentle on me #mlbxdc #mlxdc #onesided relationship #hanahaki disease

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

Photo

Hey guys! Many, many apologies for the delay in this two-part update to the POTC AU! I won’t bog down this with too many notes, as I know I left y’all on a cliffhanger last time, sooooo...

Previous part is here! Full tag is here! Rakepick’s hair here is modeled off the outline of a Lion’s Mane Jellyfish! Zephyr (or Zephyrus) was the name of the deity of the West Wind in Greek mythology, just as Calypso was a Greek nymph of the sea that first appeared in The Odyssey! And MCs referenced in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier; Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws and Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts!

x~x~x~x~x

It had started to rain. Aboard the Clearwater, the tide of battle had turned in the pirates’ favor. Even though Charlie was injured, he was able to rally the crew of the fallen Phoenix against the Navy, beating them back so they could take over the ship. Many Navy men were so afraid that they defied orders and fled to the jollyboats in an attempt to escape the pirates’ onslaught. Charlie was perfectly willing to let them go -- he consistently ordered his crew not to retaliate, if the soldiers surrendered or retreated. After all, the ship was all they wanted -- they didn’t necessarily need to kill, in order to get that.

Everything was going right when all of a sudden, one particularly brave Navy soldier with a blond ponytail -- upon surrendering -- abruptly changed his mind, unsheathed his sword, and charged at Charlie. Charlie was able to block him with his own dragon-hilted sword, but because he was too injured to properly stand, he was unable to dodge or step the way he normally could have, so he was immediately put on the defensive.

Charlie clenched his teeth, trying to power through the pain in his leg, and blocked all of the soldier’s next five blows. It wasn’t easy to try to sword fight while staying stationary -- the form almost required being able to weave around and lunge toward your opponent, if one wanted to win.

The blond soldier, clearly wet behind the ears but determined to win, took advantage of Charlie’s injury by kicking him right in his broken leg.

“ACK!”

Charlie collapsed onto the deck with a pained hiss.

Samantha, who’d been just tossed another soldier overboard on the other far end of the ship, heard Charlie fall and hurried to try to help, but she was too far away. Charlie just barely managed to keep a hold of his sword and was able to block the blond soldier’s next blow, but struggled to push the other blade back away from him.

“This ends now, pirate!” said the boyish soldier in a show of misguided conviction.

THUNK.

The soldier instantly froze up, his eyes going wide and his head falling forward in response to something having collided with the back of it. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed.

Standing just overhead with his sword hilt where the blond soldier’s head just was a freckled young man dressed in a blue and white captain’s uniform and a damp white-powdered wig.

“Percy?” gasped Charlie.

The third-eldest Weasley was very pale as he stared from the hilt of his sword, which was smeared with some blood, to down at Charlie.

“...I reckon I may have hit him a bit too hard,” he said rather weakly.

Wiping the blood off on the inside of his coat, he then quickly sheathed his sword and hurried to grab onto Charlie and help him to his feet.

“Charlie, I’m -- I’m so sorry -- I never should’ve let you and Bill go without me -- I’ve been such a - ”

But Charlie didn’t need to hear any more. In an instant, he’d thrown his arms around his younger brother and squeezed him in a huge hug.

“It’s good to see you too, Perce,” he said lowly.

Percy’s eyes prickled with tears as he squeezed his brother in return.

“Charlie, I think Carey’s in trouble,” he confessed.

Charlie pulled back enough to look Percy straight-on in the eye as Samantha reached them at last. “She is. Davy Jones plans to commandeer her into his crew.”

“What?!” Percy was scandalized.

“Bill and Jules are on the Revolution right now, with Carey’s brother -- ”

Charlie indicated the Revolution and Flying Dutchman, which were still hotly engaged in battle.

“The only way we can stop him from taking Carey and get close enough to capture Beckett,” the second-eldest Weasley explained, “is if we can take him out.”

“If we can capture Beckett, we’ll have enough leverage to force the Navy to surrender,” said Samantha. “We don’t have enough firepower to stop the fighting any other way.”

Percy’s brown eyes too faced the sea, instead flicking over to the HMS Lion. His eyes widened when he took in what he saw.

The jollyboats were being lowered...?

He darted over the railing, taking out a telescope to look out.

“Perce?” asked Charlie. With some help from Samantha, he joined his brother at the railing.

“They’re evacuating,” said Percy, dumbstruck. “Everyone’s heading for the HMS Swallow.”

Charlie’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“But why?” said Samantha. “If they wanted to retreat, couldn’t they use their flagship to do it?”

Percy shook his head. “Not if the flagship was going to be used to signal the rest of the Navy...”

He combed the jollyboats with his eyes through his telescope. He saw Beckett lingering on the deck of the ship overlooking the jollyboats, but there were no familiar manes of ginger red hair.

Percy gave a start. Suddenly Carewyn’s words from before made sense.

“Don’t try to protect me or my reputation -- those things won’t matter much longer anyway...”

“...Carey,” breathed Percy. “Carey’s leading the retreat. She must’ve openly rebelled against Beckett’s orders -- ”

Charlie’s face went a lot paler. He understood the gravity of what that meant -- after everything she’d done to stay with the Navy, Carewyn had thrown away her safe position with Beckett at a chance to stop the fighting...meaning that she now also effectively opened herself to being tarred with treason.

Percy lowered his telescope, his jaw clenching anxiously as he looked out at the Revolution and the Flying Dutchman. The water under the two warring ships was burbling and swirling ominously.

The ginger-haired Navy captain bowed his head, looking very solemn.

“There’s no way that Beckett will let her get away with that,” he murmured. “He’ll do anything he has to, in order to destroy all of you. If we give him the chance to contradict Carey’s orders to the ships out here and rally the HMS Swallow and the rest of the fleet in a counterattack, then it’s all over.”

His brown eyes narrowed as he looked from Samantha to Charlie.

“If you need Jones out of the way in order to get at Beckett,” he said firmly, “then we’re taking the Clearwater straight to the Flying Dutchman.”

Underneath the Flying Dutchman and the Revenge swirled a terrible, turbulent current -- one that bent back in on itself in a demented, sickening spiral. It soon ensnared both ships in a slowly circling, deepening, descending whirlpool, illuminated largely by the cracks of violent white lightning that crashed through the sky.

Calypso was clearly not pleased about the Dutchman’s new captain.

Meanwhile, on the HMS Lion, Beckett had Orion and Carewyn cornered in the hull of the Navy ship, standing in front of the one and only staircase they could’ve used to quickly escape.

“I didn’t think I could dislike you any more, Admiral,” said Beckett with a icy cold smile as he quickly reloaded his pistol to shoot again, “but for the second time today, you’ve served to only give me more reason.”

His eyes flickered over to Orion, darkening with even further hatred, as he raised his pistol again.

“Don’t do it, Beckett,” Orion said, his voice very low in his throat with both solemnity and disapproval. “Destroying us would only destroy yourself -- ”

“You may skip the philosophy lecture, Amari,” said Beckett, pointing the pistol right at his head.

His eyes swept over the scene, analyzing it.

“If you’re here...I daresay you’ve sabotaged this ship -- just like you did my fleet of slave ships, several years back. Given your tenseness about me using my pistol, I can only fathom it’s something explosive -- I’d most assuredly have to get back in the jollyboat quickly, to escape that. And since the Admiral and you are in league with each other, it’s only logical to presume that she sent my crew away because she knew of it and didn’t want any harm to come to them. Your nobility truly is unparalleled, Carewyn Weasley. It’s just a shame you place men at such a higher value than property -- or your own self-preservation.”

His eyes flashed at Carewyn, looking if possible even colder than before as he took a few steps backward up the stairs.

“Truly, this is nothing personal,” he said in a very unconvincing voice. “Making sure that both of you can’t get in my way again...is just good business.”

His pistol, which had been pointing at Orion’s head, abruptly changed aim toward the barrels behind him. Carewyn lunged forward, but her lack of height made it so her strides were too short to reach Beckett fast enough, and since Orion was so focused on dodging, he wasn’t able to shift gears to follow Carewyn’s lead in time.

BAM.

The Clearwater had just come up on the Flying Dutchman inside the swirling maelstrom when the ship’s crew’s attention was drawn to the huge, flaming explosion that within minutes overtook and consumed the HMS Lion.

The sight alarmed Percy and Charlie, who were both convinced Carewyn was still on-board. Charlie, refusing to believe that Carewyn was dead, nonetheless harried Percy into action. They had to defeat Jones and capture Beckett to stop the battle -- it was the only chance they had at getting to Carewyn, since the maelstrom’s current was now way too strong for them to pull out of.

“Calypso wouldn’t drown you, though, would she?” asked Samantha loudly over the pouring rain. “You two get on, don’t you?”

“She was my friend when she was human, yeah,” granted Charlie with a weak smile, holding onto the railing so as to keep himself upright on his broken leg, “but remember, she sees things as a goddess now! Her anger’s clearly on the Dutchman and the Revolution -- I’m probably the size of an ant right now compared to her, I can’t assume she’ll be able to pick me out in this whole mess!”

He shook out his tricorn hat, which had gathered a puddle of water on the brim, and then slapped it back onto his head.

“I reckon the best way to save ourselves and the Revolution is to help deal with what’s gotten her so pissed off! Ready the lines -- prepare to board the Dutchman!”

At the exact same time, as either luck or fate would have it, the pirate called “Behemoth Ben” Copper had been trying to convince the soldiers aboard one of the other Man O’Wars, the HMS Royal, that he’d been sent with orders from Lord Beckett that they were to evacuate to the HMS Swallow, as the HMS Lion’s crew had. When the Lion blew up, Ben, in a rather brilliant move, took advantage of the flaming wreck to bolster his ruse.

“You see?”the tall blue-and-white-disguised pirate shot at them harshly over the pouring rain. “The Lion was compromised! That must’ve been why it was evacuated! And that’s why we’re being ordered to evacuate now as well -- the Lion is not the only one! Now stop stalling, or you’ll lose a lot more than just your rank! Abandon ship! To the HMS Swallow! NOW!”

Once the Navy officers had left in the jollyboats, Ben and the rest of the ex-Navy pirates easily commandeered the HMS Royal, following along behind the Artemis as the smaller white sloop headed for the remains of the Lion. McNully had not seen either his Captain or the Admiral escape the wreckage -- Ben prayed with everything in him that they somehow had.

When Percy left the wounded Charlie and Samantha in charge of the Clearwater and swung over to the Dutchman, he found Bill and Jacob hotly engaged in battle with Patricia Rakepick. The pirate-turned-privateer did not look like herself at all -- there was no light in her dark blue eyes and her long ginger hair flowed loose around her, the strands flicking at the air like tiny tentacles that seemed to crackle with unnatural electricity. Her blouse also gaped open at the chest, exposing a long-sealed up scar right over her rip cage, and she bore down on Bill and Jacob with ferocity, slashing at them with the intent to kill. Percy immediately yanked out his own sword and blocked Rakepick before she could land a blow on Bill, his brown eyes flaring and his teeth bared in an oddly fierce expression.

“Stay away from my brother,” snarled the Navy captain.

Bill’s face lit up in shock and delight. “Percy?”

Rakepick, however, didn’t give the two any time for a proper reunion -- instead she immediately engaged Percy, beating him back with her sword while also holding off Jacob, who continued to cut at her with his own blade.

“This sibling is not the one you should be protecting, boy,” said Rakepick very coldly.

Once she’d successfully fended off Percy and Jacob for the moment, she went after Bill again, hacking in the direction of his head with her sword.

Percy was about to chase Rakepick, but just before he did, another voice called his name over the rain.

“Percy Weasley!”

Percy turned, to see an unusually striking, clean-shaven and well-dressed pirate with brown eyes and a brown ponytail fending off about three different fishy members of the Dutchman’s crew. When their eyes met over one of the cursed pirates’ shark-shaped head, Percy felt like the clean-shaven man was somehow able to see right through him, and yet it was an oddly relaxing feeling, rather than anything intrusive. The man’s eyes narrowed upon Percy, as if he’d determined something important just by looking at his face.

“You’re needed here!” Ashe said firmly. “Come here, now!”

Percy wasn’t sure why he followed that direction, but he nonetheless dashed over and helped Ashe beat back Jones’s old crew members. Once he’d reached that side of the deck, he found Jules knelt down on the deck behind Ashe, holding a very familiar wrought-iron Chest with a heart-shaped lock in her lap and a make-shift lock-pick in one hand.

“Percy!” breathed Jules.

Percy immediately bent down beside her, his freckled face very pale. “Charlie and I came to help -- Jules, I’m s -- ”

“It’s all right,” said Jules very quickly, almost dismissively. “Percy, we have to get the Dead Man’s Chest open -- Rakepick’s heart is inside, it may be the only way to stop her -- ”

“Rakepick’s?” said Percy with a start. “What happened to Jones?”

“He’s dead!” said Ashe very curtly, having to project his voice to be heard over the rain. “But now Rakepick’s got it in her head to tear down both our and your fleet, with the power she’s accrued! Worse still, that shark-headed feck threw the Key overboard, and there’s no way we’ll get it back in the middle of a raging storm! You know this Chest, don’t you?”

Percy had no idea how Ashe knew this, not knowing anything about the merfolk’s ability to sense the emotions, desires, and memories of humans, but the Navy Captain looked down at the Dead Man’s Chest with a rather surly expression.

“Yes -- Beckett asked Carey for help in opening it, since she’s great at picking locks! She and I were able to manage it after a while, once we’d tinkered with it enough...”

Percy reached up into his coat, tearing one of the ornamental buttons off and bending the hook into a long wire, like he’d seen Carewyn do once before when she didn’t have a lock-pick on hand.

“I think I remember how she did it -- Jules, help me!”

It seemed like the new captain of the damned was more focused on Bill than anything. Even though she obviously loathed Jacob and was clearly being given a run for her money by him despite her immortality, she still seemed to be actively trying to get around Jacob in an attempt to kill Bill.

Meanwhile, Cutler Beckett and the crew of the HMS Lion had just about reached the HMS Swallow in the jollyboats when all of a sudden, something massive lurched out of the raging waves. The crashing of the dark waves that slammed the jollyboats aside was so violent and large that the ocean seemed to roar almost as loudly as the monstrous mass that had emerged from its depths -- one so large that one could really only make out tentacles and a black-hole-like mouth framed with about a hundred rows of sharp teeth.

It was the Kraken -- brought back to life one final time by Calypso, to take its revenge.

Beckett very shakily clutched onto the overturned boat he’d been riding in a moment ago. His tricorn hat had fallen off and his powdered white wig was drenched, but he barely even seemed aware of it. “This -- this is impossible,” he breathed. He looked out at the other overturned jollyboats and the fleeing soldiers being yanked aboard the HMS Swallow and other ships a good ten miles away, with an endless, thousand-mile stare. His face was pallid and as blank as a doll’s as he very, very slowly turned his gaze up onto the wide-open jaws of the Kraken bearing down on him.

“Seems my little pet remembers you.�� Beckett’s eyes widened. He whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice, but instead of being faced with the barnacle-encrusted, octopus-bearded Davy Jones, he was face-to-face with a very tall, translucent, glowing cloud of mist -- like a shadow, if it were made of light instead of darkness. Its form was nebulous enough that it couldn’t be considered solid, but one could still barely make out the face of a pirate with a slash-like scar over his eye and a cold smile framed by a beard. It hovered leisurely over the ocean waves, occasionally slipping in and out of the blackened water with ease. “He’s come back one last time just for you, Beckett,” said Finn McGarry’s spirit, his eyes flashing with satisfaction. “You should be flattered.” Beckett’s mouth hung open slightly like a fish. He seemed unable to speak as he looked from Finn to up at the Kraken’s open jaws. “Wait -- you -- you can’t -- ” Finn began to laugh. It was a very loud, harsh sound. “Calypso has made my soul one with the air, Beckett,” he spat in intense satisfaction, “transforming me into Zephyr -- the West Wind over her raging sea. Neither you nor your precious stooge Rakepick hold any power over me now.” In an instant, the incorporeal white light that was Finn -- now the West Wind itself -- exploded, encompassing Beckett in a concentrated dome of swirling air. The head of the East India Trading Company tried to move, but Zephyr was so strong that he rivaled a hurricane and he held Beckett down in place against the overturned jollyboat with little effort, so he couldn’t even try to swim away. “And since you have nothing to offer me that I could possibly want -- money -- status...hell, my own life -- you can hardly expect me to have any reason to spare you,” Zephyr’s voice breathed cruelly. “‘It’s just good business.’” No one on the HMS Swallow, the HMS Royal, or any of the other neighboring Navy or pirate ships nearby, heard whether or not Beckett screamed before he died. The Kraken’s jaws and tentacles ensnaring the jollyboat and pulling it down into the depths in one gulp blocked out any possible sound he could’ve made.

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thompsborn · 4 years ago

Text

the portal closed—a concept scene

Peter can’t stand still.

How could he? There’s an alien space ship that just landed in the middle of Central Park, and no one else is here to do anything about it. Hell, Peter shouldn’t even be here—he was only nearby because May’s birthday is in a few months and there’s this shop that sells the really nice jewelry and he wanted to see how much more money he needed to save up for that necklace he wants to get her. Still, he can see Avengers Tower glimmering in the distance, and yet there are no Avengers in sight to investigate the foreign craft.

Lucky that Peter always has his suit with him, shoved into the bottom of his backpack for any necessary emergency use. Like aliens. In the park. On a Wednesday.

Or, he assumes that they’re aliens, because this definitely doesn’t look like any sort of, like, normal human plane, or whatever. It’s a weird, giant hunk of metal, a bit rectangular with odd angles and various different colors, like it was made with scrap metal and there wasn’t any time to paint it before taking off. He only made it over here as the thing was settling into the grass, but it had sounded clunky and loud, so maybe not a highly intelligent alien species, then, or one with few resources and no access to anything better.

He reaches up, adjusts his goggles nervously. Maybe they’ll be nice aliens. Not like the ones that attacked New York back in 2012. Peter had only been eleven at the time, but—still. A terrifying ordeal he’d rather not repeat. especially since there’s still no sign of the Avengers or any other of the various small time New York heroes to save the day.

Peter is strong. And sticky. And has that weird sixth sense thing that has saved his ass from bullets more times than he can even count, but—stopping an alien invasion all by himself? He’s fourteen. It doesn’t matter that his birthday is only a couple weeks away, because fifteen isn’t much better, really. He could try his absolute best to fight them off, but he probably wouldn’t get very far, that’s for sure.

Before he can ponder the likelihood of him defending the city from a fleet of some kind of spike-covered slime ball (his imagination may or may not be running wild with the idea of aliens), the ship in front of him makes a sudden clicking noise that almost echoes around him. Even more nervous, Peter shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking over his shoulder at the vacancy of the park—people had been quick to run away once the space ship had been spotted in the air, and by the time Peter made it here, there was no one in sight. Even focusing his hearing, the nearest heartbeats are no where nearby. Smart of the people to do, and makes it easier to avoid innocent people getting hurt if this turns into a fight. Looking back, Peter watches warily as the ship makes another clicking noise, and then—a door, creaking loudly as it suddenly opens.

The sound of metal grinding against metal fills the air as the door slowly starts to lower towards the ground, making Peter flinch as it grates against his ear drums. He almost reaches up to cover his ears, enhanced hearing despising the way it almost screams at him, but it stops before he needs to, the noise replaced with what sounds like something breaking and the door suddenly drops the rest of the way like a heavy weight, making Peter flinch again at the echoing impact. In the aftermath, silence.

Until.

Until Peter sees a being that looks human stumble out of the ship, tripping down the ramp that the fallen door has created and landing on the grass with a pained grunt. He can’t make himself move, still wary, hands twitching at his sides, unsure, waiting—waiting—waiting—

The being—the person—slowly looks up, squinting through the sunlight. Peter feels every muscle in his body tense, his eyes going wide, jaw dropping as he recognizes that face. Of course he recognizes that face. Anyone in New York would in an instant. Anyone on Earth.

Tony Stark blinks, slow and lethargic. His skin is pale, looks like it hangs off of him, lips chapped as he parts them and breathes in deeply. Smacks them together, exhales through his nose. Peter takes a timid step forward, feeling as though he’s looking at a dead man, because, as of the Battle of New York, everyone said that he was. The step draws the man’s attention to him suddenly, sharply.

Peter swallows. “Uh... M-Mister Stark?”

The man blinks again, just as slow. He’s looking at Peter, but doesn’t seem to really see him. When he speaks, it’s a quiet croak—Peter only hears it because of his enhancements—and all he says is, “I... I made it?”

And then his eyes roll back into his head and he falls onto his back, landing in the grass, unconscious.

or: after flying a nuke into a wormhole to save the city of new york, tony doesn’t make it back. the portal closes on him. instead, he’s captured by thanos and his army. for four years, he’s in space, just trying to make it back home.

when he does, it’s peter parker that finds him.

(not sure when i’ll get to this, but i got the idea for this fic last night and haven’t stopped thinking about it since, so i wrote a concept scene that will probably be the introduction when i eventually write the rest of the fic.)

[any st*rkers that interract will be blocked]

#irondad #my writing #does this sound like it’d be an interesting fic #genuinely curious bc im debating making it a long one #the portal closed

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damn-stark · 4 years ago

Text

I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)

Chapter 8 of Dark Temptations

A/N- oh my gosh I love this chapter and I’m also so excited to finally write the next one!! Like I’ve been looking forward to writing it since I thought of this series! It’s going to be a banger! Anyway I hope you all like this one :) let me know what you thought?! Also this chapter was inspired by the song ‘Won’t say (I’m in Love) by Susan Egan’ and these gifs are not mine, so credits to who made them :)

Warning- swearing, Poe being Poe ;), slow burn, angst, violence, dark rey, slight talks of bullying but just so slightly (just needed to add cause I know it can be triggering for some people) fluff! Long chapter..

Pairing- Dark!Poe x Skywalker!reader

(Let me know if you wanna be tagged)

————

“Hurry up and blow out the candle,” Jacen insisted as he walked into the room and let his hand hover behind your head; showing Ben his intentions with a wink behind you. “And then tell me what you wished for.”

You snort, “I’ll tell you now. A better brother.”

“Y/N.” Your father warned in a soft voice.

You shrug not being sorry for your comment before swatting Jacen’s hand away. Hearing him groan and seeing him sit across from you with half of his face hidden behind the candles burning flame, trying to insist you to blow out the candles again until you pointed something out first, “isn’t Poe coming?”

Ben answers behind you before Jacen could, sounding somewhat disappointed. “He would’ve been here already, so no, I don’t think so.”

You sigh and for a moment you’re as disappointed as Ben and Jacen. Or even more so. But it’s only for a moment as you manage to pull your smile back on and concentrate on the candle waiting to be blown out.

Grinning wider as you saw your family waiting (ghosts included) in front of you; smiling and singing the usual tune sang at one's birthday. Happiness overfilling the premises of the room for the single event of something so small yet significant; Clapping joyfully as you finally inhaled a puff of air and then happily blew it out to put out the single burning flame. Unknowingly blowing out the last moment of happiness and the only fire you would ever be able to put out.

Because as night crept along, so did the horrors of a raging fire crawl along. Bringing burning misery and leaving nothing but the ashes of the happy moments.

——

Deafening silence transpired in the space of the room, as from the depths of the couch your eyes captured every dancing color painted in the nubla clouded outside the transparisteel of the room. Noting the beautiful crimson light reflected on the warm skin of your hand and the entirety of your resting and slouching body. Feeling a salty taste kiss the corner of your lips as wretched tears rolled down the curve of your cheeks; trying to ignore the somber fact however as you admired the blue and green colors from the rest of the nubla parading around and basking the entirety of the room in its hues.

Feeling an almost vacant mind while you tried to numb the emotions that connected to this day, regretting even accepting Poe’s offer to accompany him wherever it was he was going to.

You should’ve just said no and let him have a fit instead, all you felt like doing today was nothing but sit in the echoes of your silence.

You didn’t even feel like getting up to open the door as a soft knock sounded on it. But it was a problem quickly resolved as the familiar swooshing sound hit your ears, signifying that someone opened it. Someone that basing off the soft footsteps on the floor, was Finn.

And identifying that, you wiped the tears off your cheeks, managing a small smile before turning around on the couch to face him, noticing right away an obvious mischievous intent written on his grinning face and hidden hands behind his back.

Your eyebrows pinch together and you fly up to sit up straight and instantly question him. “What? What’s going on? What are you doing?”

Finn says nothing and only gets an almost boyish grin as you follow him all the way until he comes around to stand before you, making you more nervous than sad now.

“Finn—”

“Happy birthday!” He sang as he swung his arm back around in front of him, revealing a small white round cake with a single candle on it.

“Oh stars, no,” you muffle out as you hide your burning face and wet cheeks in your hands, unable to contain the giddy smile on your lips. “How did you find out?”

He chuckles proudly and you feel the empty spot beside you sink down. “I have my ways.”

“You stalked me.”

“Researched!” He corrects you, moving the hands away from your face to show the cake in front of you.

You smirk and meet his gaze. “Same thing, stalker.”

“Whatever.” he huffs before the same excited grin grows on his lips; noting at that instant as the blue and green hues of the nebula clouded outside basked his face, how handsome he really was and much kinder his grin looked. It was truly admirable just like his kind gesture. “Happy birthday y/n.”

“Thank you Finn.” You finally say softly, blinking down as he lit the candle and pushed the cake closer.

“Make a wish and blow it out.”

“Oh jeez,” you sigh, “I haven’t done this in seven years. How do you do it again?”

Finn chuckles and plays along, “you inhale a little bit of air and then blow it out on the candle. Just don’t spray it out.”

“Gotcha.” Sharing one last smile you inhale a little bit, hesitating for a moment as you actually thought of a wish for his sake...and maybe yours. Watching the single dancing flame on the candle and feeling it captivate you as your memories began to flash in your mind for a fleeting moment. A single second before you forced yourself to blow out the candle and smile.

With a wider grin Finn then puts down the cake to face you and ask the usual, “What did you wish for?”

You scoff, “I can’t say or it won’t come true. You do know that's an unspoken rule right?”

“Come on just a little snippet.”

With a sigh you choose to say it, knowing it wouldn’t really matter as the real sad wish you thought of would remain hidden in the depths of your brain. “I wished to be a jedi Master.”

His eyebrows knot together in confusion, “aren’t you...one?”

“Nope. Not yet, my father never had the chance to grant me the rank of master. I’ve been doomed to be a Jedi knight for the rest of my life like my grandfather was.” You share. The last sentence added as more of an inside joke between Ahoska, Master Kenobi and said person. Knowing that only two of the three would’ve gotten a good laugh and it would’ve been great. And as much as you longed to live through that moment now, all you could do was imagine such a scene.

Finn blinks, not understanding a word and choosing to continue without going deep into it. “So, I know it isn’t a lot but it’s done with a lot of love, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it, I love it.” You smile before moving to wrap him in a much needed embrace. “Thank you Finn. You’ve got a good heart.”

At those words, his hold tightens and he lets out a slow breath of air, responding with nothing but a slow building tension that was broken as the door slid open. Revealing as expected, Poe.

He froze by the door and he gave no reaction at first, not until he collected himself and let his gaze narrow on what he caught; hiding his weird, bothered emotions as he walked inside. Letting the door close behind him before speaking up once Finn and you broke apart. “Good morning you two.” His eyes drift to the table in front of the couch and then to Finn and you again. “What’s the occasion?”

Just as Finn was going to open his mouth, you cut him off. “Nothing. Finn just wanted cake this morning.”

“Hmm,” Poe walks over to sit on your other side, suppressing his threatening smile and instead leading with something different. “Well we’re leaving soon, so do what you need to do before then.”

You shoot him a pointed gaze and turn your back to him before huffing out as softly as you could, feeling your pout but hiding it as you took a piece of cake on a paper plate and began to eat it in your unwelcomed and sudden anger.

Poe knew what today was. You knew you told him multiple times before—roughly seven years ago, but still, it’s something you doubted he forgot.

Or maybe he did. And it shouldn’t matter! It didn’t!

Yet you remembered his birthday even after the passing years without seeing him. Why didn’t he remember—no it didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Yet your eyes began to water as if you did care and he fucking noticed—“hey Princess are you okay?”

“Don’t.” You hiss as you stand and sit on Finn's other side, hearing Poe instantly remark back.

“Here I thought we were making progress.”

Another huff escapes you and you ignore him, feeling your anger burn more. Knowing at that instant that it did.

It did matter.

——

If there was a prize for rotten judgment you would be the sole grand winner for choosing to care so much about something so minuscule like remembering a birthday you haven’t celebrated for so long until this day because of Finn! But it's not like you were choosing to actually care, you didn’t want to at all. Who cared, right? Who cared about Poe remembering. Not you, nope.

Yet it felt so aggravating!

Like you wanted to grab him by the collar of his shirt and punch his nose, or just cry. Either choice—but he wasn’t even worth all this anger you felt boiling inside, or the crazy knotted up mess that was your thought process right now. He wasn’t worth you getting worked up. He wasn’t, and thinking so, you finally chose to expel out all the negativity and...other, with a deep breath in and a deep, relaxed breath out.

“Y/N.”

Fuck.

You grumble, “what?”

Poe stays silent for a second at the sound of your response whilst he studies your face and then tries to suppress a smug smirk; instead distracting the temptation by pulling out a blaster from his holster and holding it in front of you. “Since we’re not really in a safe place I want you to take this for just in case.”

You glance down at the black blaster and manage an amused grin and a scoff. At that instant and only for that shared instant forgetting your anger for him. “What?”

“Take the blaster.” He explains bluntly.

This time a snort escapes you, “a blaster?”

“Yes.” Poe deadpans.

You quickly frown, “you’re serious.” Rubbing the bridge of your nose you sigh, “I can’t take it.”

“What? You don’t know how to use it?” Poe asks smugly.

“No, I do, but it’s just not me….blasters are just so….” your face scrunches up and you pick up the blaster with the tip of your fingers in an almost disgusted manner. “They’re just so—can I use my lightsaber instead?”

Poe shakes his head, “no, I don’t trust you with them. You’re too good with them, you could cut my team without blinking and then leave, so no, sorry Princess, you get what you get.” He then follows by leaning closer and maneuvering your hand to the parts of the blaster. “And if you don’t know how to use it; hit the trigger and then shoot with this end pointing at the enemy.”

You frown and anger boils up again, watching him shoot you a smirk before his face was hidden behind the features of his black helmet, waving you over to follow him and his squadron; that was surprisingly made up of more of his black armored stormtroopers this time.

But as he did instruct you to follow, you didn’t and just fell by Finn's side. “What are we doing on Navarro anyway?” You question the only person you talked to outside of Poe and the only one you weren’t currently upset at. “I doubt we’re here for the Twi’Lek healing baths.”

“Nomad is here to meet with someone.”

“Who?” You interject rather quickly.

Finn shrugs, “a collector and bounty hunter; some Mandalorian. I don’t know he was being cagey.”

You hum and think out loud, “I didn’t know they existed anymore.” But then come to another conclusion, “but why did he bring me? There's no need for me here.”

“You prefer being in your room?” Finn counters.

“Well...no, but I just...nevermind.” Expressing one last huff you don’t finish what you’re going to say and instead focus on the tavern you were guided too, noting right away the few people inside all minding their business until Nomad and his pack of plastic followers walk inside disrupting the peace. Building a thick tension in the small area that only thickened as in the corner sat a single Mandalorian in red and white armor, it’s head lifting to most likely look at the man it was waiting for; following his movements as he turned back around and walked towards Finn and you.

“I’ll be back, I need to handle something, stay here while I’m gone.” Nomad instructs, his helmet facing Finn and then turning to face you. “Use the blaster if you need it, okay?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest while you look away and hear him and his squadron leave through a back door, leaving only a selected few to patrol the area. Leaving Finn and you to sit on the bar in silence that he was quick to break with an enthusiastic question. “Birthday drinks?”

A smile even if you tried can’t help but spread on your lips.You weren’t much for drinking, only on rare occasions, but you knew he was excited and his gesture was meaningful, so you had no choice but to accept. Being left alone, or well not really, but since none of the other troopers were even close or paying attention, you were basically alone while Finn went to get what he offered; a poor and unintentional choice on his behalf since you were quick to get lost in your loud thoughts. Still absorbed by the stupid anger Poe’s forgetfulness left you in.

Unaware of the fact as you fought your thoughts and feelings that someone beside you was eyeing you, recognizing you straight away and speaking out loud in a voice that both startled you and sounded so familiar. “Y/N?”

Your eyes widen and with one hand you try to reach for your blaster, but freeze as from the corner of your eye the face registers in your mind. “Uncle Lando.”

“Kid, what are you doing here? Your—”

“Shh,” you breathe out, dropping your hand back to your side and picking up your guard—only not for the man sitting beside you, but of who could walk through those doors at any moment. “You know I would’ve loved to catch up any other time, but as of right now I’m sorry to cut this meeting short.” Snatching a napkin left on the bar you then have to ask, “do you have something to write with?”

He blinks but takes out something, handing it to you as he asks. “You’re with the first order aren’t you? What can I do?”

You glance around and shake your head, not hesitating even for a moment to jot down the old and new piece of information you had collected; “I want you to take these coordinates and transmit them only to C3PO or Artoo, no one else. They can give it to Ben or my aunt Leia.” You smile as you pass the piece of information to him, having to look ahead as to not give him away. “Don’t try and fight these people, just take it okay?”

He hesitates at your instructions, wanting just like his group of his friends to break the rules. But unlike them he was more rational and did what he was told. Thank the force—“okay I’ll do it now.” He stands up to leave, but before he does he walks behind you and hastily as well as briefly wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Happy birthday, junior. Hope we cross paths under better circumstances soon.”

You grin and want so badly to leave with the man next to you, but knowing if you did you'd put his life in danger. So for now all you had to do was wish and watch him leave—“we will. Thank you, uncle Lando.”

Before he leaves he places a very gracious amount of money on the table in front of you—A present you quickly came to recognize. And like all the times before, an expensive one.

“Hey, sorry I took forever. I almost had to fight some women for these drinks.” Finn finally returns whilst explaining in an annoyed tone.

“No worries,” you dismiss him, turning your head to watch him place the drinks in front of you. “Now I won’t have to think of my escape.” You feign a laugh, seeing him hesitate as he saw the money before you.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Oh,” dragging the money off the table, you shove it into your pocket and offer him a reassuring smile. “Poe gave it to me. I was just counting it.” Avoiding having to explain further, you take a big gulp of your drink and feel the tension rise again. This time it was something that lasted until you finished your blue drink, slamming the cup down and shooting Finn an innocent smile he didn’t find a meaning behind. Instead drank his own blue drink, making a distasteful face as the liquid hit his tongue. Beginning to mutter something until he stopped himself and put his helmet back on, staying seated and making you anxious at the sudden drop in mood and raise in tensed silence.

Silence broken by a blunt, “we have to go.”

Having no other choice, you follow Finn and the rest of the left over stormtroopers out, finding it strange right away as they were all sent back to the ship. All except for the both of you that kept walking deeper into the small town and then out, walking on grey stone and feeling the blaze from the distant lava that scattered around the planet. Seeing nothing for a couple of miles but sad, grey scenery; both in land and above. Spotting a couple long minutes later of endless walking, Nomad and two others behind him; in front of them the Mandalorian that you saw before, it’s helmet turning to face you, tilting slightly too whilst stopping its words it muttered to try to step towards you. It’s attempts stopped quickly as Nomad blocked its path.

“Tell you what, General, new deal. The girl for what you seek.”

Nomad doesn’t even take time to think of his answer, snapping back in an intimidating modified voice. “No. That was never the deal.”

The Mandalorian lets out a loud huff and places its hands on the handles of its blasters. “There's a bounty on her head worth more than your pounds of gold placed by her family. Do you know who she is or need I inform you?”

“She wouldn’t be with me if I didn’t know,” Nomad countered, his own gloved hand going to the handle of his vibrosword. “And she’s not some prize you can just take, or fight for. She was never the deal. We have our deal. Take it—”

“I’ll leave it.” The Mandalorian snaps back, in a blink of an eye, pulling out its blasters and shooting the two stormtroopers behind Nomad before threatening said man with its loaded blasters. Both pointing at one another with their weapons. Leaving Finn and you still in the same position as before, your own weapons ready just in case. “I’m taking the girl. Deals off whether you like it or not.”

“No.” Nomad argued sharply, “I need what you promised!”

The Mandalorians head tilts and it clicks its tongue under its helmet. “And I said, deals. Off. Tell your master that if he wants it he can come get it himself.”

Nomad’s hold tightens around his vibrosword, his head turning to face you for a moment that seemed like it was forever when in fact it was only a minute. One minute he took before he spun on the back of his heels to pull out his other blaster and shoot a man that had jumped out of hiding. A sudden action that caused you to gasp and be left in a silent surprise; an expression that lasted only seconds as a cascade of unfortunate events unfolded because of who Nomad shot.

Forcing you to hide after your blaster was shot out of your hand, not noticing Finn knocked out until he fell unconscious next to you.

“Finn?!” You suddenly cried out, catching the approaching gang of scoundrels rush towards you with determined and raging glares. Causing you to jump to your feet and look beside you to notice the blaster consumed by the small lake of lava. “Shit.” You look ahead again and see the gang approaching fast, but in the chaos that the day turned out to be, you also saw the freedom you craved as Nomad was weaponless on the ground just feet away.

Leaving him to get killed by the Mandalorian would make everything much easier, make your own goals be accomplished, make these people, even if it was for the money, take you back to the family you missed, closer to feel the force flow within you again.

Nothing would be easier than to give yourself in. But again as your eyes fell on Nomad your mind fought the battle that brewed inside you too, outweighing the choice to leave and leaving you with nothing but your own morality and despair to reach him in time. An insistence that made you break into an adrenaline packed sprint, feeling as the hot wind hit your face like you were running almost in slow motion, feeling like you were unable to reach him in time to stop the Mandalorian. Feeling utterly helpless without the force you needed, feeling the inkling of the same feelings you felt that night seven years ago.

But unlike that tragic night, this time you ran fast enough, you managed to reach Nomad before he was killed. Managing to pick his vibrosword off the ground and sliding on your feet to land perfectly in between the two, redirecting the blast the Mandalorian shot with the blade in your hand, hitting his unprotected throat and seeing in a matter of seconds its body fall lifeless to the warm ground.

The sight made you smirk just as you got to your given height and faced the now stunned gang, their bravery even if you couldn’t feel it through force, dwindling and burning away as they saw their leader dead by your feet. Some daring to come after you, but stopped as Finn awoke from his short unwanted slumber and shot them down in an act of surprise. Leaving the weak to run away before they could be killed too.

“Are you okay?!” Finn yelled out from where he was, wobbling as he struggled to get back to his feet.

You shot him a thumbs up as a response before turning to face a helmetless Poe struggling to get up. His brown eyes slowly lifting to notice your hand out in front of him before they locked with your own gaze. Noticing the small assuring smile that hid the sizzling anger you still felt towards him.

——

“Do you need help?” You ask Poe hesitantly. Not because you didn’t want to help him stitch his wound, but because for the past ten minutes after returning to the ship, you’ve fought yet another battle inside your mind on whether you should come help. Feeling the anger never leave, poisoning your mind more and more the deeper you thought of him forgetting a fact that he most likely didn’t care about.

Thinking about it now still made you boil over.

It was stupid and annoying, but it admittedly hurt the deepest chambers of your heart. Your uncle Lando’s comment only cured so much.

Why? Why did it have to be like this?

“I,” Poe’s eyes go from the needle in his hand and then lift up to you, sighing out his response as he pushes his hand out to you, “yeah, could you please.”

You offer a quick nod and wash your hands before walking towards him, swallowing thickly as you tried to ignore the sight of his exposed upper body, or the feeling of his warm skin under the tip of your fingers. Concentrating instead on the bad stitching on his still very much open wound that bled on his shoulder. “H-how were you even trying to do this without a mirror?”

His head lowers and he shrugs his right unharmed shoulder, sighing deeply while his head rises again, wanting to look over his shoulder to look at you, but deciding to keep his eyes on the wall instead. “Why did you come back? You could’ve let them take you back to your family, away from where you’re heading back to. Why did you even save me? I thought you hated me.”

You stop what you’re doing at his questions, leaving one of your palms resting on his smooth back, while your other hand held onto the needle, hearing your heartbeat suddenly pick up its rhythm inside your chest. Your mind hesitating for a moment to answer with the responses you had no time in coming up with. Truthfully it was a surprise you were even going to answer him the way you were—“because it was the right thing to do.”

“What? Come back to your cell?” He interjected.

You sigh, choosing to continue with what you had been doing as you continued to explain. “No, go back and help you. It was the right thing to do, I couldn’t just let you die; no matter what you’ve done. I wasn’t raised like that.” You let silence surround the small room for a brief moment to really piece your answer for his last question, feeling tension grow between you both the longer you remained quiet. Answering abruptly only before he could utter a word. “And I don’t hate you.”

Another brief pause takes place, this much quicker to break than the other. “I don’t hate anyone. Hate doesn’t lead you to anything good, I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Poe responds with silence, his head once again lowering after you finished, his body remaining still with only his eyes following your figure moving around the room until you stayed leaning by the cot across from him, speaking just above a whisper. “Well, thank you.”

You sigh and force a smile, “yeah.” With nothing else shared, you push your body off the cot and only take one step before Poe stops you.

“Wait, don’t go just yet.”

Your eyes flicker up to him and your heart races all over again.

“Now that we're alone, I wanted to give you something.” Poe reaches for his coat, digging his hand into a pocket hidden inside the clothing to pull out a small square silver box.

You scoff, “if it’s a pack of cigarras, thank you but I told you I don’t find them appealing.”

A small smile tugs on his lips as he shakes his head to turn down your comment. “It’s not that, just open it.” he extends his hand out to offer you the small box; making your face burn hotter than the lava that surrounded Navarra, causing your stomach and heart alike to do all types of flips inside you. Making your attempts slow as you took the box from his hand, feeling your fingers brush against his, but that particular feeling so small and unmatched to the feeling exploding within you now as you held the box in your hands.

“Okay,” you words tremble, glancing at him and then back to the box to pull the top off. Hesitating for a moment as you notice a small white silk cloth covering what was underneath; thinking at that instant, fuck, fuck, fuck—but continuing nonethless with shaky hands and a shaky breath that was suddenly sucked in as your eyes finally captured what the box contained.

Stars. Stupid…

“Poe…” you gasp, “what is this?”

He grins shyly, but also smugly. How did he do that?—“it’s a bracelet. I was going to give it to you in the morning, but Finn was there so I chose to save it for later.”

You try to swallow back a lump that had been quick to form in your throat as you studied the silver clasp snake chain charm bracelet inside the box; but you were unable to fully contain what threatened to show. Feeling your chest tighten more as your eyes stung with annoying tears the moment you also noticed the two silver star charms that were already decorating the bracelet. Poe’s continuing comment breaking you from your trance.

“I know you like admiring the stars from the room, and liked to do so even before, so now when you can’t see them outside you need only look down.” His voice softens and you swore by everything that you could hear his smile in his voice. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

No, no. Fuck, he can’t make you feel any type of warm and heart fluttering, exploding kind of way, no, no way. You were just angry at—fuck. Who were you kidding….

Finally being able to break away from the thoughts that barged through your mind, your eyes blink up to meet his already intent and soft gaze, hiding your watery gaze by going to him and wrapping him in a sudden embrace that caught him by complete surprise. Leaving him utterly clueless on what to do for a couple of seconds until your tightening hold snapped him back; letting him finally return your embrace with a hesitant hold at first, but soon tightening it around you just like you had with him. Hearing your words whispered by his ear that sent shivers down his spine—“thank you, Poe. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Poe smirked and remarked your comment to try and hide what he felt brewing inside him. “You thought I forgot, didn't you?”

You scoff and break away instantly, lying straight through your teeth. “No, I didn’t actually.”

Poe snickered, “you did, I noticed you’ve been mad at me all day. But don’t worry I never forgot about you, Princess.”

Unable to give a coherent response you choose to scoff instead and choose to spin around to leave, not getting far as Poe caught your arm in time and whispered by your ear. “I’ve never forgotten about you,” he turns you around to face him again, the current position you were in making you squirm under his hold, unable to meet his eyes like you had moments ago. Hearing his lips part to add more instead—or rather nothing as he closed his mouth, not sharing what he planned and instead tilting your head up with his knuckle, making your eyes meet his dark ones. Letting him lean his face closer to you. Feeling his hand that was wrapped around your arm, slowly travel down to your hand, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise and your skin to grow goosebumps as his warm hand snaked past every inch of it.

The gentle touch almost felt in some ways euphoric or like that feeling when one drinks water in the middle of the night. It made you want to pull away but let him touch so much more. But he didn’t touch anything else, or say anything, he only smiled sweetly and began to gently caress your cheek.

“I-I” you stammer out before your eyes roam down to his lips, getting the strong temptation to just lean in and really, truly feel what his lips felt like, what they taste like and not having to only imagine it, or relay off a dream.

Every part of your body screamed at you to do it, nothing was stopping you; no sudden interruption or nagging thought to run away. You could and wanted to do it like you needed it to breathe—So you did it. You leaned in to close the gap without saying anything more, feeling your cheeks burn and your heart hammer inside your chest. All of it albeit brushing off as your lips brushed against his, but only that as he swiftly swerved you and kissed your cheek instead. Leaving you stiff and confused while he uttered words you barely caught. “Happy birthday, baby.” The teasing fuck then pulled away and moved around you, stopping as he reached the ships hall to throw back one comment you heard him say through gritted teeth, “Oh and Snoke wants to see you.”

First, fuck Poe; the anger you felt for him before had left your body, but now it returned with more raging fire. Second, great. This was going to be absolutely fantastic.

——

“Skywalker, it’s been some time.” Snoke greets coldly, not even acknowledging Poe on his knee next to you. “Truly your presence has been missed my friend.”

Ew.

Taking your silence and glare as a response, he proceeds by standing from his seat and walking down to be just a couple feet away to then wave someone over from behind you. His pale face soon thereafter decorated by an ugly wicked grin that you identified was caused by the brunette that walked to his side with a long hovering object at her side, and a sly smile shot at you.

“I have two gifts for you. One will be shown tomorrow in the form of a ball, or party, whichever term you may like to call it. But today my faithful apprentice and I both wanted to gift you something...special for such an important day.” Snoke continued proudly and with malicious intent, glancing at Rey to give her a knowing nod. “If you would.”

Rey doesn't hesitate and Poe stands to his feet the moment she lightly pushes the hovering object in front of you; glancing at you behind her hood to share a mischievous smirk as she uncovered the hovering object to reveal a box.

“Go ahead, Skywalker, It’s for you.” Snoke urges.

You hesitate to do as Snoke, glancing at Poe; the only person you trusted here. Someone who noticed your hesitance and shared an unsure but assuring nod. It didn’t precisely make you at all excited to actually do as instructed, but you did so because you knew it wasn’t really a suggestion.

And in that moment you began to reach the box to unveil what was hidden within you got a horrible gut wrenching feeling and felt a cold chill slither down your spine.

Feelings that horrifyingly intensified and became much greater the moment you threw the top back and identified the object within. Darth Vader’s burnt helmet.

——

(Ben’s P.O.V)

“If it’s a fight you want Ben,” she uttered confidently, pressing the button on her lightsaber to reveal the double blades that emitted from her hilts, and that almost blended with the blood red background. The only thing that distinguished the two was the humming sound coming from her lightsaber.

“It’s a fight you’ll get.” She finished, forcing Luke to summon his own lightsaber from his side and welcome it to his open hand, pressing down the button to activate the lightsaber and show a steady humming bright blue blade.

Upon noticing the changing fact, Rey smirked, twisting her lightsaber in a fluid movement as she watched Luke begin to walk behind her, trapping her between Ben and him. Causing a change that should’ve knocked down her confidence a notch or two, but that did what appeared to be the opposite, as she confidently lunged at Ben first.

Causing Ben to react quickly, hastily avoiding her blade by moving to the side—Rey then without a fault spun around and tried to surprise Luke by swinging down, but he was too skilled and caught her actions, avoiding her swing and looking at her with a disapproving look that made her grip onto her hilt with both hands and swing her other end at him. Her shoulders visibly stiffening as Luke again maneuvered out of the way.

Ben couldn’t help the pride build within himself at the scene in front of him, almost wanting to smirk at the fact that Rey seemed to be getting angry at Luke’s dodges. But that was the keyword, almost, because Ben took the opportunity Rey was distracted and strided closer to her; lifting his lightsaber to jab down on her back. Only getting surprised as Rey spun on her heels to clash her red blade against the blue just in time, lifting her leg and kicking Ben back.

Said man remained in balance and slid on his feet, glaring at the determined girl as she strode towards him, swinging her double blades but being met every single time with a clash, or quick dodges that ticked her off more each time. Enough so that she let out an angry bellow and dug her heels to the ground before running towards Ben. Turning her lightsaber in her hand to go for a high swing.

Ben quickly blocked her and was about to retaliate until her voice interrupted his action. “I can help you, show you the ways of the dark side,” she put out, her gaze consumed by the red lights below, narrowing her gaze on his currently unmoving stance, “you could join your cousin. Be stronger. The three of us could be stronger together.”

Ben blinked, “three? What about your Masters pet?”

Rey ignored that specific question and chose to continue with her plan on distracting him, her gaze unwavering unlike Bens; whos eyes searched her face, causing the reflection of the lightsabers hues to change from red and blue as he searched deeply to find the lie or the truth on her face—or really to take a second to debate her offer. “Think about it, Ben, more power than you have now. The anger that clouds you, I can help you with. You can be better than Darth Vader. We—”

“Ben!” Luke bellowed, stopping her words and letting Ben’s eyes snap over Rey’s shoulder. Distracting him from the move Rey began to play out, letting her continue to move back and fake a high swing that she swiftly switched up as Ben’s attention went on her again.

He moved his lightsaber to block her until she deactivated her blades and hastily dropped her hilt to catch it with her other hand. Smirking as the red blades reappeared again and she swung up in intents to slash his torso. Failing nonetheless as she didn’t count on the force Luke used to pull her back to hit the ground and only letting her blades cut Ben’s black tunic.

“Sorry.” Luke shrugged nonchalantly, his hands clasping in front of him as he watched Rey’s face turn red out of anger. “I’ll tell you what I would tell Ben. Breathe, anger doesn’t do you nothing good.”

A small growl left Rey’s lips as her hand clutched on her hilt, parting her lips to talk back, but not managing to say much as Ben stomped forward, spinning his lightsaber and lifting his blue blade over his head to try and impale Rey.

But right as he was going to complete his action, Rey lifted her legs and kicked him back with all her pent up anger; knocking his breath out of his lungs and causing him to fall to the ground with his lightsaber now several feet away from his hand—Rey used this advantage to swiftly push herself back to her feet and fluidly spin back to face Luke, swinging half of her red blade at him, but not surprisingly, creating bright sparks as the red blade clashed with the blue. The colors mixing and creating a purple hue that basked their faces as they remained still while Luke spoke out words that caught her off guard.

“It’s not too late,” he spoke, her glare faltering, “I could help you, teach you the ways of the Jedi. Take you away from the anger that clouds you and the master who manipulates you. It’s not too late, you can change, I can sense it.”

Rey stiffened as she remained struck with flooding emotions, trying to unscramble Luke’s words as she heard Snokes echo and the dark side pull back stronger. Only creating a silent waiting tension that broke as “reason” hit her again—“no. You can’t manipulate me! I will not fall!” She seethed, moving back and gripping onto her hilt with both hands again to fight back, throwing an angry remark beforehand. “But your daughter will! And she’ll be the monster you’ll fear the most.”

Luke remained unphased and spoke as so. “My daughter is stronger than you think, than your master thinks. She won’t fall.”

Rey cocked her head slightly to the side and grimaced, “we’ll see.” And then in a brisk move she stepped forward, swinging one red blade to meet the blue before her jaw clenched and she swung the other end; catching him before he could block her by closing the extended hilt and trapping his blade between hers.

Her confidence overcame her, thinking she had won before the fight was over, before Luke skillfully turned around to her other side. Twisting her lightsaber along with him and leaving her disarmed and steaming with anger. Something that caused her to throw her hand out and summon Ben’s lightsaber to her hand, gasping as she felt a force pull it back, fighting against her.

Rey turned around and saw Ben on his feet, his hand out trying to pull his lightsaber to himself as well, creating a tug of war against each other that increased in intensity as they both fought harder. Creating the same scene from the force connection; both groaning and grunting as they fought. Only this time not to push each other away, but to reach for something that shouldn’t have even been fought for in the first place, something that was just fought for because of the anger they both had. Blinding both and adding a tension to Ben’s lightsaber that was unknowingly making the kyber crystal within crack.

“Ben, let go! Leave her!” Luke tried to reason, but it was only going in through one ear and shooting out the other. “Ben! Listen to me, let go of your anger! Breathe! She isn’t worth it let go!” Luke bellowed again, dropping Rey’s lightsaber and trying to make Ben understand without wanting to intervene with the battle in front of him. “Ben, y/n still needs us! Let go! Ben—”

Luke’s words suddenly cut off as something red flew through the room and hit Rey’s shoulder, sending her flying back and the hold she had on the lightsaber to be dropped out of a sudden.

Both Ben and Luke looked back and by the entrance stood Mara with a blaster in hand and a determined expression set on her features. Leaving Ben stunned and amazed.

“No more time to gawke, it’s time to go.” She explained, waving both men over; making them both listen and rush towards her to then run out of the room and down the same halls to get back to the Falcon. Leaving a moment of just silence that made Ben wonder out loud.

“Why did you go back? I thought my uncle Luke took you back to the ship?”

The man in question responded with nothing in his defense and instead focused on getting out, letting Mara answer instead. “He took me halfway and I decided to go back because I knew something was going to go wrong. You’re welcome.”

Ben’s mouth was left open, unable to speak any words, just let silence take over instead all the way until they reached the already started up Falcon, with Chewbacca waiting by the ramp, his shoulders dropping at the realization of the missing person.

He expressed his concern and Ben answered hesitantly as he climbed inside and walked past him. “She-she’s not here.” Not waiting for another question, Ben hurried to the cockpit where his father was waiting, his face like his mother’s dropping their excitement, as like Chewbacca they noticed the missing person they were here for in the first place. And before they could question the absence, like Ben knew they would, he interrupted their thought, “she wasn’t here, we have to go before they blow us up.”

They said nothing, but look at one another and then at Luke walking past Ben. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh when he answered, but he didn’t have the time or patience. All he could think about was letting his cousin down, failing and falling for the trap Rey had supposedly laid, the anger that he felt built more and more inside him, towering to a point it felt like it was going to tumble over and bring his composure down with it. Nothing felt like it could calm him down, not his family, his old master or Mara. Not the thought that he could save his cousin because he was failing at that. His anger was becoming overwhelming, clouding him. The only thing that seemed to distract him from imploding was the sudden violent shake on the Falcon.

“Oh no,” his father expressed, removing his hand from the hyperspace lever.

“Oh no what?” His mother questioned wide eyed.

“It’s not wanting to jump to hyperspace.” He stressed, his hand jumping all over the control board, avoiding another blast that threatened to hit the ship.

“What do you mean?” Luke followed, “I thought you were here fixing the ship the whole time?!”

“I was!” Han snapped back.

“Then?!”

Han turned to look back at Luke to point his finger at him, his annoyance for the situation clear as day. “I’ve got it handled.” He turned around quickly and began to give Chewbacca instructions, demanding answers for the problems, but receiving nothing but another hit that shook the whole Falcon.

“If we don’t get out of here, they’re going to blow us out of space.” Ben added to the tension.

“Not exactly,” Mara spoke up in an excited tone, a grin spreading on her face before she rushed out of the cockpit. Reappearing moments later through Hans headpiece, her intentions instantly explained as blasts from the Falcons gun began to shoot out at the TIE’s after them.

“At least someone’s thinking.” Han quipped, his attention wavering from flying, to helping Mara and trying to fix the Lightspeed problem. Causing Ben to move along and distract himself with that, going all around the boards, pushing, pulling and changing anything he could think of. Turning out that the stress this was causing was not the best for his already building up anger. Just as he was going to complain, his mother’s voice broke through.

“I did it.” She smiled, making Han turn to her stunned, in slight awe and admiration. “Maybe it’s time to retire, flyboy.”

Han scoffed and smirked, turning back to focus his attention on leaving, “Punch it, Chewie!”

This time the action came out successful; seeing the blue and white streaks of hyperspace fly past them. Dropping Ben back to his anger as well.

——

“Think about it, Ben, more power than you have now...”

No.

Ben grabbed his lightsaber from his side and set it on the table, taking it apart to see the blue kyber crystal that was once complete, cracked and unable to give full life to his lightsaber as it did before. Now it sputtered as it activated, steamed almost, like at any moment it was going to explode. All because of Rey.

“The anger that clouds you, I can help you with…”

No.

He took a deep breath and tried to find a solution to heal his kyber crystal, unaware that his hand was clenching so tight under the table that his nails broke his skin until it bled. Unaware of the pair of eyes carefully watching him from across the room.

“You can be better than Darth Vader...”

No.

“Ben.”

Said man clenched his fist tighter, flinching slightly at the sudden call of his name from the girl approaching.

“Mara,” He uttered deeply, meeting her gaze only briefly before he focused on his cracked crystal again. “Are you still mad?”

Mara sat across from him in the booth and rested her arms on the table, shaking her head, “I understand why she had to hide her real identity, but I just don’t get why you guys didn’t trust me enough to tell me...or atleast her.”

Holding the crystal between his thumb and pointer finger, Ben sighed, “don’t take it too personally, my cousin isn’t good with people, she prefers talking to ghosts or family. It takes her time to get comfortable around some people.” his eyes slid to the side to meet her dark ones, “she used to get bullied by the other kids in the temple when she was younger because of who she talked to that's why...just don’t tell her I told you. She’s never talked about it.”

Mara hummed in comprehension, folding her arms over the table and admiring the crystal in Ben’s fingers—“what’s wrong with it?”

Ben shrugged, running his hands through his long hair, “it’s cracked and unstable now. I need to fix it to make my lightsaber work...but I haven’t found a way yet. If you have any, I’m open to hear them.”

Mara giggled, “I know nothing about lightsabers just that they’re actually heavier than I expected.”

Ben smiled slightly, feeling his anger subside for a moment, but not enough. She wasn’t enough.

“I can help you find jai—y/n.” Mara continued, making Ben frown.

“No,” he shook his head, putting the crystal back into his lightsaber, “the only clue to where she could be ended up being a trap.”

“So, you’re going to give up?”

“No.” Ben snapped quickly, a sharpness in his tone he didn’t mean. “She’s still out there. As long as she is, I'm going to look for her.”

Chewbacca from where he sat in the Falcon, added to Ben’s statement, making Ben agree. “Chewbacca is right, we only know she might be in another star destroyer. No where. She could be anywhere in this galaxy. It could take months to find her. Months my mother and you don’t have time to keep looking. You both need to get back to base.”

“What about you?”

Ben only briefly glanced at her as he responded, “I told you already, as long as she’s out there I’m going to look. She needs me.” He looked into the depths of the crystal on the table, once again clenching his fist, breathing in deeply and exhaling out slowly. The topic he was talking about made his fist shake and his jaw to clench tightly. Made him roll his head to the side to try and cool his anger. The darkness that seeped through, biting down on him and not wanting to let go, trying to drag him down completely with no trace to be left.

No clarity…

“Ben!” His mother suddenly called, pulling his gaze to her entering the room with a hopefulness in her eyes. “It’s a message from Lando...from y/n.”

Ben instantly dropped what he was doing and rushed to follow behind his mother, hearing Mara and Chewbacca trial behind as well until they returned to the cockpit where the first thing he noticed was a small hopeful smile on his uncle Luke’s face, as he like Ben’s parents gathered around the comm with C3P0’s voice speaking out.

“Oh I feel so honored that master y/n, would trust me with such important information. I do hope she’s well—”

“Threepio.” Ben’s mother cut off the blabbering droid sharply. “The information.”

“Oh right,” the droid exclaimed, “Master Calrissian sent a personal message to me from Master y/n that only reads “05251977-05251983, Wing B”. It looks to be some coordinates. Oh, by the force what could it mean?”

The group inside looked at one another to try and understand the small piece of information, not grasping right away until Mara pointed it out. “It coordinates to the star destroyer she’s on.”

“Exactly,” Leia added excitedly, “and the last piece of information is where she is on the ship.”

Han chuckles, “that’s my girl! Smart like her uncle.”

Luke scoffs from where he sits but adds nothing but a narrowed gaze shot at Han.

“Okay, goldenrod thank you so much for your help,” Han shouted out to comm as his finger hovered the button to turn it off after adding one last thing before the droid could speak up. “bye!”

The cockpit falls in silence for a long tense moment that Ben breaks seconds later with a final happy smile, “we found her.”

A/N- a little drop of jealous Luke because Han called Luke’s daughter his girl 😌 lmao anyway hope you all liked and be ready for what’s to come :)

Tagged- @thescarletknight2014 , @softly-sad , @golden-guide , @abysshaven , @a-dorky-book-keeper , @kit-jpg , @mybarnesmyhero , @zoeyangels, @algenforthewin, @leilei-draws

Permanent taglist- @ms-dont-care , @commondazy , @paintballkid711

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ikeservant · 4 years ago

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Hello!!! Hope you are well! Uwu can I get some hc for Kenshin, Ieyasu, Hideyoshi, and Masamune with an Mc who is a photographer? (Lol idk how the battery and stuff will survive but oh well😂😂) thank you have a great day!

Intro: Mc is a photographer who just got done doing a photoshoot with her friends for practice, bringing both her regular good camera and her cute polaroid with some extra packets of its lil photo cards. She sees Sasuke at the shrine, wormhole, and BOOM! Sengoku time! Sasuke meets up with her and gives her a makeshift charger with some oranges, salt, and sanded copper (idk how science works but each of these things could probably be mixed with other stuff to make currents to conduct and charge stuff. It just WORKS.)

Kenshin: “What weaponry is this?” “A camera. It shoots stuff, but not in the way you think.” Mc explained how the camera worked, showing him the pictures she’s taken in the past. Is impressed with how it can capture a moment forever in a world where life is fleeting. When he expressed this, mc got an idea. “Just sit still and smile.” Seeing mc excited to take a picture made him feel warm and fuzzy so of course a nice smile would be in order. After a click of the polaroid camera, a small square came out. It took a little bit for him to notice that the image of him smiling was developing. “Now I can carry this with me wherever I go and see your smile even when you’re off in war.” He IMMEDIATELY snatched the polaroid camera and demanded/asked mc to smile so he could do the same and always have that image of her smiling captured in time, giving him reassurance that the memory of her smiling was consistent in the ever-changing world of war. If mc didn’t keep a close watch over him, he’d probably use the rest of her stack of film on taking pics of her so he could admire all the moments of her.

Ieyasu: When Ieyasu first introduced mc to Wasabi, mc was determined to capture a beautiful image of the cute deer in the courtyard setting. Ieyasu was nervous at first when mc brought it, afraid she was going to do something weird/harmful to his baby deer, but mc realized how odd a camera must look to someone in the 1500s (duh), and showed/explained how photography works and uses her good camera to shoot a pic of Wasabi sniffing flowers in front of the beautiful sunset. He was in shock that beautiful image was captured in an instant. “Does that image just stay in the camera?” “It can unless I go somewhere to develop the pictures, but I can’t do that here. I DO have this though! Say cheese!” Mc whipped around with her polaroid, clicking it as Ieyasu looked both surprised and flustered. As the film came out and began developing, showing his candid stunned face, mc had to run and hide it before Ieyasu could snatch it out of her hand out of embarrassment. He’s super camera shy so the only other pic she was able to get was him feeding Wasabi. “This isn’t fair.” “What? You want to take a picture of me with Wasabi?””…” Reading his mind that he wanted a pic of his love too, she let him take/keep a few pics of her and Wasabi and also some of just her, including a goofy photo that makes him smile and go “Look at this photograph. Every time I see it makes me laugh.”(Nickelback reference). Keeps them in a hidden drawer but when going to battle/going away for a while he secretly brings a photo of mc and tucks it in his clothes so it feels like she’s actually with him and gives him hope and light.

Hideyoshi: When he finally realized mc was NOT going to kill Nobunaga, he decided to go to her to apologize. When he entered however, he saw mc fiddling with a mysterious box with a weird circle on it, making him worried it was a sniper weapon for assassination. “HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, MISSY!” Mc about dropped her precious camera and became furious at HIM, causing him to go into shock. She sat him down and told him about cameras and how they work. He was still confused, but he thought it was very neat how it could capture and preserve a scene in time. He then remembered why he came there to apologize. As forgiveness, mc bestowed on him the beauty that was a polaroid picture of Nobunaga (Hidemama was #blessed). Likes seeing the sights that mc takes pictures of but is embarrassed when she takes pics of him. He decides to try his hand at photography, which at first he looked like a clueless dad with his thumb on the lens taking blurry photos. But, like his tea ceremony skills, he became quite steadyhanded and skilled, making mc lowkey jealous but also intrigued and excited what he finds photo-worthy and his vision. Would love a polaroid photo of mc and would put it on a stand next to his bed so when he’s not with her he can still be blessed by an image of her face.

Masamune: Mc was going through her camera memory when Masamune barged into her room, sword at her neck asking if she was from the future. Instead of being scared, mc was MAD that she almost deleted an important photo of her friends and lectured him on why this camera is important and why he shouldn’t be horsing around while she’s using it. He put his swords away and decided by the camera alone that she is definitely from the future. He would be intrigued by all the photos from the future and what certain objects, clothing, animals, and buildings he didn’t recognize, making him think the future was cool, especially the pics of food he doesn’t recognize that he wants to recreate RIGHT NOW. He wouldn’t understand the purpose of photography at first because he has more of a live in the moment philosophy versus trying to capture the moment/reminisce the past. However, he learns to appreciate the moments captured on camera as time goes on. Always carries a wholesome sweet pic of mc or a hawt pic of mc when away from her on dangerous trips or battle and has to fight the urge to show the pics off to everyone he sees to HYPE UP HIS LASS cuz looking at the pics helps him visualize how much mc means to him and he finally understood the beauty of photography. Loves the pics Mc takes every two weeks of Shogetsu so she can create a slideshow of how big the tiger cub has been growing like life in fast motion. Would hang polaroid pics up on the wall for the futuristic art aesthetic and its like a wall of his own lil family that he’s finally been blessed with. With his literary gift in poetry and mc’s visual gift of photography, they’re the ultimate art duo that’s both wild and has drunken their philosophical juice.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen headcanon #ikesen hc

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thebeautyofdisorder · 5 years ago

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Dangerous Game ~ BBC Dracula, Gate Scene AU

@festering-queen Requested a “what if” scenario if Agatha stepped over the line a bit during the convent gate sequence, and Dracula was able to get his hands on her. This could have gone MANY different ways, and the first couple days of thinking about this were literally just me debating the many options I had on my hands, but this is what I settled on - hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: blood, threat of death, vampirism, nudity, you know - everything that applies normally to Drac

Word Count: 3,118

It happened in an instant, far quicker than she could react. For all his snarling and threats, Agatha had the vampire keening like a starving pup - helpless, angry, feral with hunger as her hand outstretched in an offering of her blood to his seeking tongue. She observed him with sudden calm appreciation as his eyelids hung heavy, feeling a fleeting swell of power that she nearly got to appreciate, even. But just as her grip lessened on the handle of the knife, prepared to drop it and back away and cease to taunt the beast while she was ahead of the game, those blackened eyes shot open and met hers with such mocking clarity that it halted her in her tracks, the triumph in her eyes faltering into sudden, heart-stopping dread.

It was too late, then. Agatha was too close, she’d known it, and had trusted that in his blind desperation for sustenance that the Count wouldn’t take note. She had been very wrong. Without so much as a growl, his hand shot out and grabbed for the knife and her hand all in one grip of his gigantic fist, yanking her over the ephemeral threshold, her feet barely skimming the ground with no chance of catching traction.

The screams and gasps from her sisters rose up behind her in chorus of panic, but even in all that chaos for a fraction of a second Dracula didn’t even acknowledge that he’d gotten the nun into his clutches, too occupied in using her hand as a vehicle to better press the sharpened steel to his tongue, licking it clean. It was only when she stepped back towards the “safety” of the iron gate and tried to yank herself free did she feel more than hear him chuckle in dark, mocking glee, and a gasp was torn from her throat, her world spinning as he pulled her into his grasp. Her back might as well have hit stone for all his bloodied chest gave on the impact that she felt rattle her own bones, both her upper arms suddenly constrained in a bruising grip. The knife lying useless on the ground near her feet, Agatha found herself forced to watch her sisters cower in terror and worse - look on her in pity.

“It seems fortune doesn’t always favor the brave, does it Sister?” He leered from behind and above her, grinning down at her in a manner that might have passed for charming had his teeth not been forged into sharp, jagged points. His breath smelled coppery and disturbingly sweet, and cringe from it though she did, for a strange, mad moment she almost wanted to ask him about it, before remembering that there were definitely more important things to worry about at the moment than understanding the vampiric anatomy. Currently the fact that she was forced very snugly against said anatomy and was probably about to die a very painful death for the luxury.

His focus left her quickly though, watching over her shoulder as the Mother Superior tried to force a brave face, her short frame standing in front of the gaggle of girls as though she could actually forge a barrier between them and danger. All but her.

“Well? What’re you waiting for, ladies? Your sister’s been captured, you’re all ‘armed and ready.’ You outnumber me, clearly.”

“Honestly, they’re nuns not idiots,” Agatha scoffed at him, before addressing them directly - just in case, seeing some of them start to stir antsily. “Stay back!”

“Come now. Not even one of you? What righteous warriors you make,” he continued to mock with disappointed laughter, laying out his lure as Agatha watched helplessly as her anxious sisters looked more unsure by the moment.

“Isn’t that what that god of yours is always going on about - self-sacrifice for the greater good, defending the helpless, blah blah...blah. You are knights, you have your swords, the frightened princess is seconds away from being eaten…”

“Oh please,” Agatha mocked, turning her head to glance between his self-satisfied smirk and the faces of her friends in frank disbelief.

“Who’s going to slay the dragon?” Dracula challenged in that melodious whisper, tightening his hold on her visibly, causing her to hiss as what could only be described as claws began to dig into her flesh through the thin fabric of her habit.

“Do not rise to his bait - he’s only trying to lure you out,” their matron, having gathered her wits, echoed her earlier sentiments, but with the authority to actually enforce them, and despite the sinking feeling in her gut, Agatha looked at her with genuine thanks as the girls began to slink back. She would not be the reason for their deaths, and that at least she could make peace with.

“Give it up, dragon - I’m the only nun you’re getting out of there tonight, so just kill me and get it over with,” she exclaimed stubbornly, turning her head to look up at him where he still stood behind her, watching the sisters retract with an exaggerated pout.

He laughed, throaty and low, turning her in his grasp to look her in the eye.

“Oh no one likes a martyr, Agatha - isn’t it?” he purred, and her eyes widened a margin at hearing her name on his lips.

“So you heard,” she persisted, squaring her jaw, not falling for any more of his intimidation tactics. How much worse could her circumstances really get, anyway?

She was armed, as well, to be fair. The wooden stake was in her pocket, and if he would just not grip her arms so tightly, she might have been able to put up some kind of fight - but as though he genuinely could read her mind, his grip on her left arm tightened to the point of bruising while his hold on her right turned feather light and faltered as he shifted his hold from her upper arm to her wrist, pulling her palm up to his mouth.

She had entirely forgotten she was still bleeding, but clearly the vampire had not, and the split flesh gave a sudden throb at the reminder, just before she felt him drag his tongue over the seeping wound, a hum of pleasure that was nothing short of obscene reverberating against her hand. She hissed, her fingers flinching in fruitless effort against his hold, though the sensation wasn’t exactly pain, even if it wasn’t far from it. It was a bizarre tingling that made her squirm, though there wasn’t anywhere to go. She cursed him under her breath in her native tongue and she was surprised to hear him chuckle, drawing back from her hand though he still held it aloft, never far from his lips.

“Ooh. You’re really not very good at this nun thing, are you, Agatha?” He asked mockingly, before looking up at the stars thoughtfully and licking his lips, her eyes drawn to watch his throat work and swallow in the firelight.

“Agatha Van Helsing where in the world did you come from?”

“You seem to know everything else, why don’t you tell me?” She shot back bitterly, fighting off the panic in her voice. So that’s all it took, a few drops of blood and her inner workings were laid bare to his prying eyes? Frightening, sure, but mostly infuriating.

“Holland, right?”

She glanced sideways at her sisters for a fleeting moment, and gave a nod to Mother Superior, hoping she would take his pre-occupation as a sign to begin to bring the other girls to safety, but she didn’t dare let her focus stray from the vampire long enough to watch.

“As I’m sure you heard in my accent. I know detectives that could volunteer twice that information in half the time. Surely you can tell me something more interesting than that.”

“Are you challenging me, Sister Agatha?” He asked, though despite the hint of a growl that still lingered in his voice, he looked wholly entertained by her open defiance despite the fact he could have killed her already. “You do enjoy dangerous games - you must be bored to tears in this place.”

“As though you don’t enjoy showing off,” she challenged dryly, looking him over with clear accusation, though her eyes didn’t stray past his chest before retreating upwards once more. “Come on. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Agatha watched as he took a moment to process what she could only assume were her own memories, seeing multiple small reactions flit over his features. She should've rightly tried to use this distraction to her advantage, feeling his grip on her lessen a hair - but she knew deep down it would just end in a quicker death for her in the end. She still wasn't sure if that would be her best option.

Surely it was the most Catholic choice she could make - but if she were going to sacrifice herself "for the greater good" as he had so quaintly put it, now was not the time. Not when she could learn more, and not when she was so sure to fail any attempt she could make to destroy him or even save herself.

Count Dracula's mouth suddenly broke into a wicked grin, ripping her from her thoughts. Not a good sign.

"And? Still waiting." She pressed, impatiently.

"Well, if it makes you feel better Agatha, your "training" might do your sisters some good after all," he stated musingly, watching a few of them retreat back within the walls of the convent, clearly unconcerned now with slowly but surely losing his audience.

"And why is that?'

His brows rose as he looked down at her almost fondly.

"Well, you left undead Johnny in the same room as his bleeding fiance, of course. I can't imagine his appetite taking long to surface. If you think I'm a fright when I'm hungry…"

Agatha had to fight back the urge curse again, if only because it would entertain him too greatly. Stupid stupid stupid…

"Jonathan Harker would sooner stake himself than harm Mina, you know that. Apparently it's all that moralistic willpower that made you so fond of him in the first place," Agatha dismissed him stubbornly.

The Count sighed, looking over her head towards the upper level of the nunnery.

"Mm. Truer words never spoken, I'm afraid - it'll distract him for a little while I suppose."

"What do you mean? Surely dying twice is enough," She asked, no longer hiding her concern.

"Curious little thing, aren't you?" He mused, almost inwardly, using his hold on her to drag her further back from the gate, so they were standing far out of earshot from the other nuns and they could see the flickering light in the window where Agatha had last abandoned his 'bride'. He held her fast against him with one long arm while he pointed up at the window. She might’ve seen a shadow pass just below her eyeline, but she couldn’t be sure.

"He tried. And failed. The undead cannot commit suicide. Call it a curse, if you will. He'll be out for a little while, definitely wish he were dead, but unless little Mina drives the stake in herself, he will wake up and when he does...he will be weak and he will be hungry. Now if you trained your troops well enough, maybe they'll be prepared…"

His head tilted, studying her face, which she was sure was full of many things for him to appraise, hating herself for it but far too distracted by her own thoughts to mask them. If she didn’t know better, his smirk almost retained a hint of pity.

“Or perhaps Johnny will surprise us both, he is a lively one. Now - “ he immediately led off from his passive attempt at comfort, turning her in his grasp so quickly, Agatha wondered if he was really so unaware of his own power or if he was still delighting in showing it off to her alone.

“I would ask you to invite me in, but we both know very well even if I promise not to slaughter your family that you won’t. Even if it means a rabid infantile vampire may tear a few of them limb from limb, you are far too stubborn to ever do anything that I ask of you, nor would you believe any promises I make,” the vampire began, sizing her up seemingly as he spoke with a chuckle as mocking as it was appreciative.

“Who would?”

“And threatening your inevitable death will get me nowhere, you religious types are always far too keen to sacrifice yourselves.”

“Trust me, Count Dracula, in comparison to hearing you babble nonsense for another half hour, it would hardly be a sacrifice,” Agatha spat out before she could help it, fruitlessly trying to create some distance between them despite his grip on her - she about cursed herself once more, but apparently instead of angering him, all she’d done is amuse him again.

He’d let out a surprised laugh, melodious and loud, so she was sure the others would’ve heard it from downwind. Wonderful, now if she ever did get back (unlikely) she’d have ‘consorting with the devil’ to deal with - more than usual.

“Agatha Van Helsing, what am I going to do with you?” He breathed, and she realized with mounting dread that he really didn’t even know himself.

“Honestly, you didn’t even have a plan when you showed up here, did you?” She couldn’t help but ask, furrowing her brows. Why was he so calm?

“I typically don’t need one, but it seems you wanted to make it difficult for me,” he stated softly, the accusation clear in his eyes, though it was almost playful in nature now.

Without the growling, bestial thing that had met her at the gate, she was just being held by a bloody, naked aristocrat staring down at her with a fondness that was completely foreign, and she found herself more disturbed by his approval than his threats. Those she had expected, this...she wasn’t sure how to navigate.

“Do you think your sisters would be so brave without you? Should I find out?”

Even seeing that he was baiting her, Agatha knew there was literally nothing stopping him. He could kill her now, just to get her out of the way. Probably preferable, because otherwise he could just disable her. Knock her unconscious, break her leg, rip out of her tongue - whatever would stop her from stopping him. And the sad truth was that she didn’t know. Most of those girls were young, helpless things, just there for intimidation in numbers. They would crumple in the face of genuine threat, no matter how strong their belief or their wills.

“Leave them alone, and I will come with you willingly.”

“Who says I want you to?” He returned too quickly, his face a mask of indifference, though the curiosity twinkling in his eyes was a dead give away to his intention. He just wanted to see how she would respond. To see if she would show desperation, or weakness. He was toying with her, just like she had toyed with him. God help her, for her sisters’ sake, she was going to have to let him. For now.

“You have a long way to travel, Count Dracula. And while I’m sure you can manipulate Jonathan into doing whatever you like, having a half-crazed ‘infantile vampire’ in your charge for a long voyage would only draw attention to you and fail to provide you any sustenance. Besides, no one in there would be any use to you. Most of them have spent their entire existence locked within those walls. Their lives are hymns and prayers and chores and guilt and nothing else whatsoever. Take me and you might actually learn something.”

“Perhaps. But you would also try to kill me the first chance you get,” he accused in a whisper, that hint of wicked amusement still never leaving his voice. Apparently attempted murder was a novelty to for him.

“Are you saying that actually frightens you?” She accused, quirking an eyebrow, turning his challenge back on him.

“Careful,” Dracula warned, eyes narrowing as his grip on her tightened a hair, apparently capping his amusement at being called a coward, though he didn't disagree directly - information she decided to retain for later. If she would see later.

He was silent for a long moment, enough to begin to worry her that he'd refuse her entirely. But slowly his lips twisted up into a satisfied, if resigned smirk, taking one last look up into that window before returning his focus to her fully.

"You drive a hard bargain, Van Helsing, but I suppose you do have a point. The devout do always leave a bit of an...aftertaste."

He let loose one of her arms, at least, though immediately reached up and pulled at the ties of the white fabric that was serving its purpose, blocking her throat from his view, yanking it and her wimple from her head in one swift motion, that pulled at her hair and made her yelp slightly. His lips twitched, but he seemed to choose not to acknowledge it.

“But you nuns tend to draw a lot of attention in your own right, especially while unconscious…”

“I’m sorry?” she clarified irritably, still narrowing her eyes as she used her free hand to push her hair from her face. She considered using it to slap him with instead, but considering she would likely just end up with a broken hand for her trouble, she resisted the urge.

“Oh, I’m not going to have you straggling along behind me out in the mountains, Agatha, that would be positively uncouth. You understand…” he drawled, his gaze having dropped from her eyes and now locked onto the column of her throat with that same heavy-lidded intensity she saw at the gates. Feeling his large hand tracing her collarbone, she swallowed, forcing herself to be still as he loomed over her, now even more so than before it seemed.

“How kind of you,” she snarked, though her words were no longer registering to him at all, and she watched in the lantern light as his eyes clouded with red once more, and those long, cold fingers curled around the base of her neck, making her shiver.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to make you last,” he assured her with finality, that bestial snarl thickening his voice once again, and the last thing she felt before sinking into a hazy sleep was the sting of sharp teeth sinking into her flesh, followed by that same tingling she’d felt earlier, until she felt nothing at all.

------

I’m just going to tag all the people I normally tag when I make Dracula stuff, or anyone I think MIGHT want to see it based on your interests, feel free to ignore me if you’re disinterested.

@hoefordarkness @allis143 @punk-courtesan @dracula-s-bride @charlesdances @chrsitophwaltz @vlladtepes @bellamortislife @fuukonomiko @serindiyoza @alma37 @profiler-in-courage @lamourcommecesttoujour @hyacinth-meadow @guardianbelle @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @claesbang @undead-notunreasonable @bangtheking @vissidarte213 @mood-adlock @onyxthevampire @the-sign-of-tea @feralstare @leah-halliwell92 @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @girlonfireice @chelsfic @imagineandimagine @the-last-legs-last-leg @moonwalkerkari @river-soul @drsherlockmoffat @dwacuwa-is-baby @mysticaltimemachinewench @hopipollahorror @beyond-antares @bloodspatteredprincess @pullthedamnlever @ss9slb @gatissed @mitsukatsu @le-fay-87 @flyingleapdisco @desperatefrenchwriter @crowley-needs-a-hug @crazytxgradstudent @garlicbreakfast @kandomeresbitch

Okay, if I didn’t tag you it’s just because I got tired of scrolling my notes before I reached you, haaa. My bad. Or tumblr won’t allow me to tag you for some reason.

#bbc dracula #dracula bbc #dracula 2020 #dragatha #agatha van helsing #claes bang #dolly wells #my writing #requests

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calebdumes · 4 years ago

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this is something I wrote while I was bored at work today. I’ve been reading @bedlamsbard ‘s On the Edge of the Devil��s Backbone a lot (as in I finish reading it and then start rereading it immediately after) and the concept writing that goes with it and was kind of inspired by a scene from the fic (and some bits from the concept writing) and I wanted to take a stab at Inquisitor Kanan. And this is what I came up with! It’s short and rough and takes place in the middle of the story and cuts off abruptly because you know, work and I don’t actually have anything else written and all that. I might keep going with it but only after I finish my Kanera fic.

anyhoo

If you haven’t read On the Edge of the Devil’s Backbone, I highly (HIGHLY HIGHLY HIGHLY) suggest you read it

1.5k under the cut!

Ezra slowly hedged away from the tight cluster of arguing Twi’leks, inching closer to the cracked door of the private room. He could feel a tugging in the back of his mind, pulling him toward the doorway. It was not unlike the feeling he had when he was around Ahsoka, like there was a gentle thread of something that connected their minds. Only what he was feeling now was no gentle thread. This felt more like a heavy durasteel chain wrapping around his conscience and pulling.

He ducked inside the room and blinked at the sudden darkness. The only source of light was coming from the dim glow of the bacta-tank. Ezra approached the tank with hesitant steps, his eyes fixed on the figure suspended in the thick healing goo.

Locked away in the tank, the Inquisitor didn’t look much like a threat. His dark hair floated in the gentle current, obscuring the man’s haunted face. The eerie glow made his tanned skin look pale and the multitude of scars that littered his body, ghost like. Ezra stopped a foot away from the tank, his hand reaching out to brush against the smooth transparasteel.

The instant his fingers touched the cool surface, a jolt ran through his body causing him to gasp and stumble backwards. In the tank, the Inquisitor’s body twitched as if he had been electrocuted.

Ok, Ezra thought shaking himself out. That was weird. All around him the air hummed with a sound that made his skin buzz, his bones echoing with the resonance. He had heard this sound before, when he first saw Ahsoka’s lightsabers, the crystals in the singing with the Force. As Ezra reached out to touch the tank again, the humming got louder.

Logically he knew that he should probably go get Hera or find Ahsoka. He shouldn’t be anywhere near a darksider – let alone the person who was sent to kill him – but the pull he felt towards the Inquisitor was too strong to ignore.

“I must be out of my mind.” He said aloud as he slipped down to the floor onto his knees. Resting his hands flat on his thighs, he took a breath and closed his eyes trying to focus his mind on the connection he could feel radiating from the Inquisitor.

When he opened them again he found himself standing in a long cavernous hallway. Golden light spilled in from the tall windows making the elegantly tiled floor glow with jewel tones. There were people of all different species scattered around the space, most of them clad in thick brown robes and gathered in small clusters. But there were children too, running together in groups with their cheerful voices echoing off the high walls.

Ezra was in awe. He had never seen such a beautiful place or felt the Force as purely as he did here. He was itching to explore but there was something he had to do first. He wasn’t sure what it was but it called to him. A group of children ran by, Ezra turning as they rushed past, watching as they darted out into a brightly lit courtyard.

He followed behind them, his steps soundless on the polished floor. Outside the air was warm and the blue sky was crossed with organized lanes of air traffic. He could make out the tall outlines of buildings that stretched onward for as far as the eye could see. But what he found more interesting was the tree that stood in the center of the courtyard and the figure sitting on the ground beside it.

There were trees on Lothal but none quite like this one. This tree seemed to glow from the inside out, a slight shimmer that outlined the branches and the green waxy leaves that danced in the light breeze. For a moment, every worry that Ezra ever had vanished. All he could feel was the bright, pure light pouring from the tree. But then the figure sitting on the sun dappled grass moved and Ezra froze.

The Inquisitor was looking at him with those strange green blue eyes. He didn’t look surprise to see Ezra standing before him, wherever he was. He regarded Ezra for a moment before his gaze slipped away, falling on two people sitting on bench not far from the tree.

Shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets, Ezra inched closer to the seated Inquisitor against his better judgment. But the Inquisitor didn’t flinch. He just breathed deeply from his nose before saying, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t even know where here is.” Ezra responded. The pair that had captured the Inquisitor’s attention was standing now, a young boy maybe a few years younger than himself and a woman with dark skin and hair that was braided into elaborate twists at the back of her head. They were moving in harmony, arms and legs going through slow but deliberate movements. The Inquisitor didn’t or couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

“You’re in my head.” Was all the Inquisitor said.

“Well I didn’t mean to. I just felt – I don’t know what I felt – I just closed my eyes and somehow I ended up here.”

The young boy over balanced nearly falling to the ground before the woman caught him, a playful smile growing on her lips. The Inquisitor mouth tightened.

“You’re strong with the Force. It allowed you to connect with me.”

“Why?”

At that, the Inquisitor turned his attention away from the woman and child to land on Ezra. “You tell me.”

“Are you going to kill me?” He blurted.

“Kind of hard to kill someone when you’re not even conscious.”

“That’s not an answer.” Ezra pointed out shifting from the heaviness of the Inquisitor’s gaze.

“I’m not going to kill you Ezra.”

“Were you going to kill me?”

The Inquisitor looked away. Panic began to climb at Ezra’s throat. What was he doing? Hera and Ahsoka and even Zeb had told him specifically to stay away from the Inquisitor and here he was, in the guy’s mind of all places. The Inquisitor might not kill him but the others? Oh they were definitely going to kill him.

“That’s what my master wanted.” The Inquisitor finally said.

“But is that what you wanted?”

The Inquisitor looked out to the woman and child. They were seated now, their eyes closed in meditation. The Inquisitor’s brows drew together, a crease forming on his forehead. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I didn’t want to do and before this is all over, I’ll do more. But I don’t – I didn’t – want to kill you Ezra.”

Ezra bit at his lip, sitting down across from the Inquisitor. “Are we connected?” he asked. “Like in the Force?”

The barest hint of a smile touched the Inquisitor’s lips. “For some kriffing reason, yeah we are.”

“But why? I mean, like no offence but you’re an Inquisitor and I’m just me. Why would the Force connect us?”

“I gave up trying to understand the ways of the Force a long time ago. Your guess is as good as mine kid.”

Ezra picked a blade of grass, rolling it between his fingers. “Do you know what’s going to happen to you when you wake up?”

The Inquisitor sighed. He looked tired. Nothing like the fierce warrior he had seen fighting off the throng of Inquisitors as they tried to take the bridge or like the caged animal that he had been when he was captured by Free Ryloth. There were bags under his eyes and a weary set to his shoulders. He looked completely and utterly human. “Nothing good I imagine.” He mumbled.

Ezra blinked in surprise. “Why would you say that? You just about saved everyone in the fleet! You killed the Grand Inquisitor! Why would you think something bad is going to happen?”

“It doesn’t matter what I did.” The Inquisitor said looking up into the branches overhead. “One good deed can’t wash away a lifetime of evil.”

“But you’re not evil.” The words fell out of Ezra’s mouth before he could stop them. But they still rang true to his ears. Just as he was sure Lothal had two moons, he was certain this Inquisitor was not evil.

The Inquisitor smiled, the gesture unexpected on his somber face. “I don’t think your friends out there would agree with you. I’m not sure I agree with you.”

Ezra opened his mouth to protest when the ground beneath them shook. The Inquisitor jumped to his feet, the neat organized line of speeders and shuttles began falling from the darkening sky. Electricity hung thick in the air, the temperature dropping and the gentle breeze swirling into a persistent wind. He reached out a hand for Ezra to take, pulling him up. Warmth spread through his glove onto Ezra’s hand.

“What’s happening?” Ezra asked. The stones of the courtyard began to crack and the miles and miles of buildings disappeared into a thick fog that was fast approaching.

“Nothing good.” The Inquisitor responded. “It’s time for you to wake up Ezra.” He placed a hand on Ezra’s chest and pushed.

Ezra snapped back to the present with a gasp only to find himself being hauled to is feet by Zeb’s familiar purple arms.

Inside the bacta-tank, the Inquisitor trashed.

#star wars: rebels #swr #swr fanfic #star wars rebels #star wars #look at me write #shleby writes #am i going to regret posting this #yes yes i am #lost in the dark tag

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luninosity · 4 years ago

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Okay, I’d already had the idea, so I couldn’t resist! One final @whumptober2020 ficlet (so...extra completion, I guess? :D ) for theme 30 (because I’d forgotten I’d already done that one!) NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? prompt: Ignoring an Injury

This one’s in the Character Bleed universe! It’s a Sam/Leo story, set sometime in the future...

Sam had seen a decent amount of television, and a decent amount of science fiction. He’d even seen a few episodes of this particular show, though not one in which Leo’s amoral space villain character popped up.

He waited very quietly where he’d been told to wait, out of the way behind cameras. He gazed at the movie set. They were filming in Ireland, in a wild jumble of dark rocks and crashing waves that’d stand in for an alien planet. Sam had never been to Ireland, or on a movie set, before.

Before Leo Whyte. Before kisses like rainbows, and brightly-colored teacups appearing in the morning, and the way Leo’s eyes warmed, green and brown shifting like shyly happy sand, every time Sam took his hand.

Dating an actor wasn’t without complications. Leo spent more money on new couch pillows than Sam had spent on an entire couch, and generously offered to pay for Sam’s whole family to visit London, and genuinely had no idea how to navigate a supermarket. Leo wasn’t Colby Kent levels of famous, but was recognizable enough that cameras popped up at airports and restaurants, and only the day before Sam had stepped to the side while Leo smiled and took pictures, as requested, with a group of fans who’d spotted them in a Reykjavik bookshop. That’d taken at least twenty minutes.

He watched Leo and the other actors get into position, crashed spaceship behind them. The male lead, the counterpart to Leo’s delightfully over-the-top petulant wickedness, said something that made Leo laugh, a joke or a comment. They were all dressed in tattered post-crash versions of science fiction extravagance, colorful and quirky. Leo’s long coat billowed in Icelandic wind; he glanced across rocks and cameras toward Sam, and waved enthusiastically before flopping down into rubble.

Dating an actor might be complicated. But dating Leo Whyte made Sam’s whole world more wonderful. Bigger. Way more full of rainbows. He wouldn’t be anywhere else.

He stayed out of the way. No one minded him being on the set—in fact, the director had been enthused about Leo’s photographer boyfriend dropping by, especially after Sam’s portraits of Colby Kent and Jason Mirelli’d had such an impact, and had said it’d be an honor if Sam wanted to document some of the filming process—but Sam was also very aware that he knew next to nothing about the intricacies of television production.

He had been capturing moments all week, and he’d happily contribute to a behind-the-scenes book. He was honestly amazed to have been asked, and asked in that tone of voice. He was still getting used to people knowing his name.

They began rolling. Leo’s character woke up first, struggling upright. He’d been responsible for sabotaging the ship, of course; but he had not planned for an outright crash.

He gazed around: at broken rocks, at a split-open ship hull, at flung bodies of companions. His expression changed; his whole posture changed. So many emotions ran through hazel eyes, lingered in the tip of his head, the set of his shoulders. He could escape. He could finish off his sworn enemy. He could try to contact his evil minions, back with the fleet.

Leo was so good at embodying a character, Sam thought. So brilliant. So talented. So much nuance. So amazing.

And his chest and body and even fingertips glowed, despite chilly wind: that was his boyfriend, being a genius.

Leo—clearly still shaken from the crash—staggered to the body of that adversary, that equal. The hero. Injured—badly so, a skewer of metal through his stomach—and bleeding, unconscious. At his mercy.

Leo, in character, dropped to both knees. Looked at the hero; looked at the blood; looked at the rocks, his own hands, the pouch at his belt that held poisons, communications arrays, sonic weapons. They’d fought each other and challenged each other and taunted each other for years, in the course of the show, on and off: a relationship fraught and crackling with intensity.

Leo’s character had studied energy transference, vital forces, psychic powers. He put out a hand. Rested it on the dying hero’s chest. No other characters, no companions, had stirred yet, though they would momentarily, on cue.

Special effects wizardry would transform the moment, Sam knew. But he looked at Leo’s face: calm, making a choice, no hesitation.

The wounds should fade. Vanishing. Healing.

Transferred.

They did not cut—the visual effects would handle the vanishing—but let the scene play out. The hero gasped in a breath, woke, sat up easily. Took in the situation with rapid-fire intellect. Spun to glare at Leo’s villain, who was now leaning back insouciantly against a broken piece of spaceship, arms crossed.

Leo just smiled. The hero demanded, “Don’t just stand there, be useful!” and pushed himself to his feet. “Shouldn’t expect anything else, should I…”

“No.” Leo didn’t move. “Why would I help you?”

“You’re still here. Why didn’t you run?”

“Perhaps my plan requires my presence. Shouldn’t you assist your minions?”

“They’re companions!” But he was, even as he scowled at Leo some more. “Just stay out of the way.”

Leo gave an ironic small salute. The main cast pretended to come to, waking up, groaning, checking on each other. Discussions began happening: where they’d landed, repairs, what to do next.

Leo, with no one paying him any mind, slid a hand inside his shirt, between fasteners. His fingers came away red; he looked at them for a moment, then buttoned his coat, dark and tight, over the shirt. Hiding the wound. Concealing the layers of emotion.

Sam, watching, felt his heart speed up. Of course it was the character, of course he felt for the character—but it was Leo too, his Leo, beautiful and wounded and exhausted, and nobody’d ever know how much he’d just done, the pain he’d taken, for a man who’d sworn to fight him…

Leo’s face was aware of all of that, in that second. And Sam, despite knowing it was fictional, ached for him. Hated everyone who’d ever made him lonely. Loathed the blood on Leo’s hand, under the shirt.

Leo looked up as the good characters all turned his way, and said brightly, “Come to a glorious optimistic decision, have we?”

“Be quiet for once,” grumbled the angriest of the companions, “prisoners don’t get to talk. We’re taking you to the Time Authority.”

“Ah, a plan. I shall look forward to seeing how you’ll manage it, with no working transport or communications.” Leo held out both wrists for binders, ironic. “Lead on.”

They began to walk, just enough for the shot; Leo stumbled. Caught himself, bound hands lingering against a chunk of ship for support, for an instant. “Sorry, just a rock, terribly treacherous, aren’t they?”

“You’d know about treacherous,” said the hero, quiet and frustrated and not knowing anything of what had happened moments ago; and he caught Leo’s shoulder. “Come on.”

They took a few more steps. And cut there.

Sam sagged into his chair, worn out by emotion. And he was only watching. Christ.

They did it all again, and again. Four times. Five. Leo was brilliant every time: dry and clever with dialogue, and silently profoundly compassionate, in a complicated and selfish way, when kneeling beside his adversary. Transferring the injury, letting himself bleed for the man he loved and battled and hated and was drawn to; and saying nothing about it, knowing they’d all believe he simply didn’t want to lift a finger.

Six times, and they were done; they’d have a bit of a break while moving to the next location, the corner of a fortress in black rock and whipping winds. Leo wriggled hands out of prop binders, waved at cast-mates, and ran over to Sam. “What’d you think?”

“I think you’re amazing.” He caught both of Leo’s hands, laughing; he leaned into the kiss. “So much emotion. Your expression—I mean, wow.”

Leo’s whole face brightened. He loved compliments, and rarely believed them, Sam knew: a hell of a lot of self-doubt hid under on-set pranks and kitten-adoption events. “It worked, then? I did think it went well, but then again I never feel like I know for sure. And it’s been some time since my last appearance. I was worried about getting back into the rhythm.”

“I felt it all. And I’m not even caught up with the show.” Sam glanced at Leo’s fingers, at a smudge of fake blood. Some of it had soaked through his shirt, and the coat. “It felt…real.”

And for a second, a split second, it did. He knew it wasn’t—he knew—but he’d said it aloud, and he could see the red, and he’d just watched Leo stumble and trip and stagger with pain, and it’d looked so…

“Oh, Sam.” Leo’s hands tightened around his, grip made of fingerless gloves and affection. “Thank you for the lovely praise, and I shall try not to let it feed my ego? What does one feed an ego? Is it like an eagle? Sort of carnivorous, and rather dangerous? I expect it could be, if one pushes the metaphor. Would you like tea?”

Sam, who knew exactly how Leo’s brain worked by now—the steps might not be obvious but made perfect sense, from bashful deflection to silly word-association to surprisingly insightful philosophy to making sure other people were taken care of and well-fed, both in terms of comfort and tea—said, “I love you, you know.” He did.

“I love you, and I love it when you say nice things to me.” Leo batted eyes at him, long-lashed and weightless. That was a joke, one that covered up absolute sincerity. “I’m glad I managed to make it believable. I’m obviously not at all presently being skewered by a spaceship section, not even a magically transferred invisible one, so it’s a bit difficult to act, in that sense.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’m glad you’re not being skewered.” He held Leo’s hand; they wandered toward craft services and a tea break, over scattered rocks, through slicing wind. Sam’s own coat was cozy and thick; he nearly asked whether Leo wanted it. That outfit couldn’t be very warm.

A personal assistant ran up. Thrust a blanket, large and woolly, Leo’s way. Leo took it and managed to transform it into a swooping fashion statement, a bundle of plaid and protection, and thanked her as she bounced off to continue blanket-deliveries elsewhere. Sam relaxed a little more.

Leo said, watching his face, “They do keep us warm, you know.”

“I know.”

“Are you having thoughts about ways we might warm up back at the hotel? Scented oils in a bathtub? A massage? Fabulous sex while I give you a massage in the bathtub with scented oils?”

A passing pair of extras, dressed for guard duty at the planetary fortress, froze mid-step and turned wide eyes Leo’s direction. Leo put up a hand and wiggled fingers, a wave. “I’ll see you in a few moments, and you can menace me with those laser spears! Looking forward to it!”

The taller extra opened his mouth, closed it, and managed, “Us too!” Leo beamed, saluted them, and kept walking.

“You’re not actually going to die, though,” Sam said. Leo’s fingers were still too cold, in his. He despised the invention of fingerless gloves. “I mean, on the show. They love bringing you back. Though—are you allowed to tell me? Don’t, if you’ll get in trouble.”

“You and I are such different people,” Leo said cheerfully, and stopped walking just to kiss him. “I love spoilers. I love knowing everything. Especially when no one else knows. But, sadly, it’s not a secret, at least not here on set. No, I’m decidedly not going to die. He’ll choose to let me go. So I can show up again later on. Everybody lives. It’s marvelous.”

“I like that,” Sam said. “Everybody lives. It’s a good ending.”

“Even the villain of the story,” Leo said. “Yes.”

“You’re not the villain. Antagonist, yeah. Anti-hero. But not a villain.”

“Really?”

“You save people. Yeah, it’s what you want too, it’s because you need him alive, you’re obsessed, all that. But you still save him, and then you help him, because you know he won’t leave his crew behind, and you want him to be…not happy, exactly, but…out there. Free. For you to find again. So, yeah. Not a villain.”

“Yes,” Leo said, “yes. That’s what I—thank you. For that.” His eyes were green and brown and pleased as spring.

“I get to give you a massage later,” Sam said. “And warm you up. You know. While you recover from magically transferred skewerings.” I love you, he meant. I want you warm and happy, underneath me, on top of me, whichever you want, as long as you’re here and laughing and probably making terrible jokes about the size of someone’s laser spear, in bed. I’ll make tea after, if you want. That blend that reminds you of home.

“All of that sounds splendid,” Leo agreed, clutching a fold of blanket as it started to slip, other hand still in Sam’s. The wind tugged at his hair, ruffling dramatically spiked blond strands. “You know how much I love your hands on me. All over. Every…inch of me.”

Sam had to grin. Leo Whyte, he thought again. His Leo. Finding a way for Sam to fuss over him, guessing Sam might need to affirm that every last bit of red was only fake, just in case, just to know; and then flipping it all into a sex joke. Ridiculous. Adorable. Perfect.

He said, “Sounds like a plan, then. I love all your inches.”

#whumptober2020 #no.30 #now where did that come from?#ignoring an injury #fic #character bleed #sam/leo #my fic #original characters #sort of?#fic for my published novels?

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