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deathmetalunicorn1 · 2 months

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Nico Robin!Reader with Loki, Buddha, Tesla, Beelzebub, Jack, Ares, Hermes, Rudra, Hades, Hercules and Platonic Zerofuku

She fights against Athena or some brutish god that doesn’t care about destroying Human History, which angers her and she smiles as she reveals her ‘Devilish Side’ (Using Demonio Fleur, which horrifies her opponent and they’re begging for mercy, only for Reader to break their spine) when some random god says her win doesn’t count because she ‘Cheated’ she uses her power and… crushes his balls (I love Robin she’s my queen 💖)

she calls (Love) a Squirrel when he eats with his cheeks stuffed with food (She calls Loki adorable when he messes up with his transformations) and her dark sense of humor keeps people on their toes

-As you walked out, following Athena’s over the top entrance, many were a little disappointed, as you didn’t seem anything special, you weren’t dancing or doing any fancy moves, you weren’t even holding a weapon! How are you going to fight Athena of all goddesses with no weapons?!

-Athena smirked down at you, but she was a little surprised, seeing that you didn’t look at all bothered, as the humans cheered for you. It was a little odd, as you remembered, for most of your life, humans were hunting you, wanting the bounty on your head, believing the government that you were a demon and needed to be destroyed.

- As the fight started, you crossed your arms in front of you, “Mil Fleur: Gigantesco Mano!!” hands started to surround you, forming into something bigger and bigger, before two massive hands appeared and you controlled them, swinging out to open-hand strike at Athena who only barely blocked the first one, but was sent flying with the second one.

-Many were stunned, seeing your abilities, several were shouting that this ability was illegal- but Zeus did relent, as it was a part of you when you had died, it was legal, but that still didn’t please everyone.

-You and Athena traded blows back and forth and you were panting heavily, injured and you needed to wrap this battle up soon. Athena then smirked and changed her own form, to be one that towered over you, the same size of her statue in Athens as she smirked down at you, “How will you handle this?!”

-You just smirked, stunning her as you closed your eyes for a moment, gathering what strength you had left, “Demonio Fleur~” eyes went wide as your own body seemed to grow and grow, your skin turning to almost pitch black with a red tint, horns and wings sprouting from your body, making you look like an actual demon.

-Many were terrified to see this form, but so many were also stunned, seeing that you could transform into a demon, despite being a human.

-Athena was terrified of you, demanding you to get back, shocking so many, as she was regarded as one of the bravest gods, and many were shouting for you to let her go as you managed to grab her. She was still trying to insult you, trying to break free as you both started screaming, you from overexerting yourself, and her from pain as well as trying to get out.

-You then shouted out, “Gran Jacuzzi Clutch!!” and a sickening snap echoed through the arena, as you broke Athena’s back and she went limp in your arms, dying.

-Your demonic form faded as she fell to the ground and you were gasping for air, exhausted from the battle, but you couldn’t help but smile, hearing the cheers for you as you had won the whole tournament.

-Zues approached you as you stood, as he had promised, if humanity won this final match, he would grant your wish, and you stunned everyone by smiling, “Bring everyone back.” Zeus was surprised, hearing your wish, but he couldn’t help but chuckle, “Perhaps you’re not a demon at all, Y/N.”

-You just turned, walking away from him as everyone was reforming, as you needed to get to the infirmary, “No- others were the ones who made me like this. But I will wear the crown if it fits.”

-Another god, who couldn’t believe that you defeated Athena, shouted at you, “You cheated- that power of yours isn’t fair!!” you looked up at him and he froze as two hands appeared and everyone around him froze as you grabbed his balls, crushing them, making all men around fear you, or at least fear insulting you- you were quite cruel when you wanted to be.

-Your words stunned many, hearing that you weren’t a cruel person, but others deemed you one, claiming you were evil, and you remember a time in your life when you were, doing vile things , but after you met your captain- no… your family, you only did bad things to protect them and yourself. They had given you a second chance when nobody else would, and you wouldn’t let anyone who didn’t earn it take it from you.

-You were resting in the infirmary when one of the nurses said you had a guest and you opened your eyes, curious as to who was coming and when Zerofuku walked in, you couldn’t help but smile softly, welcoming him.

-Immediately he was across the room, lunging into your arms, which made you giggle softly, hugging him close as he sniffled softly, “I’m so glad you’re okay!” when he pulled back, tears streaming down his face, you couldn’t help but smile softly, brushing the tears from his cheeks, “I’m okay now, Zerofuku.”

-He sniffled again, “Pinkie promise?” you just smiled, knowing the truth behind pinkie promises, showing your more morbid sense of humor as you showed him both of your pinkies, “Which one do you want if I’m lying?”

-He froze, realizing what you had just said before he started wailing loudly, hugging you around his neck as you giggled softly before you heard another knock at the door.

-(Love) walked in, giving you a slightly exasperated look, “Really Y/N- you know you shouldn’t joke about things like that.” Your hand hid your lips as you giggled softly, Zerofuku pulling back to rub at his eyes as (Love) came over, sitting on the opposite side before he wrapped his arms around you, sagging into your embrace, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” You smiled softly, lifting a hand to stroke at the back of his neck, “I decided long ago that nobody was going to kill me unless if they earned it the hard way.” (Love) couldn’t help but chuckle- he knew that you were strong, you wouldn’t go down easily as your two boys, your lover and your adopted son, both doted on you as you were still recovering.

-Beelzebub, Hades, Hermes, Rudra, and Jack

-Immediately ran in and joined Zerofuku, hugging the both of you, crying loudly, “You’re okay!!” you couldn’t help but giggle, as he knew you were okay if you were making dark jokes like this, like normal. Seeing both of them crying crocodile tears, which did make you think of your old boss, Crocodile, crying, which was rather amusing to think about, you did try to calm them down, “You’re going to give yourself puffy eyes and cheeks- you’ll look just a like a couple of squirrels.” They both sniffled in unison, which you did think was adorable, a giggle rising out of you as you hugged them to you, happy that you won- you had them both in your arms again.

-Loki, Buddha, Nikola, Ares, and Hercules

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror zerofuku #ror beelzebub #ror hades #ror hermes #ror rudra #ror jack the ripper #ror loki #ror buddha #ror nikola tesla #ror ares #ror heracles

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crushedbyhyperbole · 1 year

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His Words

Summary: Bucky doesn’t know who he is or who he used to be, but he knows three things; he can’t get caught again, he needs to conquer the monster in his head, and he needs help to do it. He puts his trust in you, his fishnets and corset clad angel of mercy - Goddess Noir.

Words: ~4.2k

A/N: Sub!Bucky x Dom!Reader. Set after the warehouse scene in CACW, this is a canon-divergent story of how Bucky became free his trigger words (kind of). There’s mentions of hypnotism and sexual conditioning, reader is Goddess Noir - a seasoned dominatrix who cares for her subs. I’m far from an expert in any of this - it’s not written for accuracy though I try to be as informed as I can be.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy, and humbly request your feedback. I love hearing from you guys and appreciate all the love you can give ❤

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional distress/comfort, dom/sub, coming untouched, bondage, mentions of: past trauma/edging/conditioning.

***18+ content - please don’t continue if you’re underage***

His desperation had been unsurmountable. All that fear. All that hate. He had burned with it, even as he had come back to himself in that dingy warehouse with the weapon clamped in a vice. The memory of the dark place his mind went to when the words took over left him feeling nauseous. A tangy sour taste lingered in the back of his throat, bile and bitterness for all of the things they’d made him do.

Those two men weren’t any different, clamping him into a piece of equipment to take his choice away.

One had said he knew him. He had said he was his friend. The man from the bridge.

He didn’t have any friends. Only handlers and superiors. There had been something… once. A lifetime ago, when he wasn’t this thing they made him into. When he wasn’t a monster. He got flashes of it sometimes when, triggered by smells and tastes, he would recall something he forgot he ever had; family. They were all gone now. Lost to history.

The struggle to free himself had been short, shifting the plates of the weapon like an articulated track, he had slipped free and silently exited via the rear access. The two men had underestimated him, but he knew they would come after him as soon as they realised he was gone. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them, he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, but he would if he had to. All he wanted was to disappear and never be found. To go where the things inside him couldn’t get free ever again.

In the months since his escape, he’d seen his face on the news and in the papers of every town and city in every country he passed through on his trek across Europe and back. He knew he couldn’t settle but he had to find someone who could help him, someone who would help him. That’s how he found you.

Your black and silver business card had saved his life. The words “The Goddess” in silver swirling font on the glossy card, and a phone number on the back. Though he hadn’t realised how lucky he was then, he certainly knew it now. The lowlife who had passed it to him had smirked when, in desperate whispers, he had asked for someone who dealt in hypnotism and wasn’t afraid to break moral codes.

You weren’t even the first person he had tried, but you had been the last. He feared that his disguises weren’t good enough, that the Interpol would find him and turn him over to the American Government, or worse, HYDRA would claim him. There was constant hypervigilance and the crushing worry that one of the handful of people he had sought out would turn him over, get him caught. He was exhausted.

You had been different. So far removed from what he expected that he wasn’t sure he was even in the right place when he walked through your door. Your warm smile had drawn him in but your attire spoke of sex and desire. Behind you, an open door drew his gaze. The red glow did little to hide the contents; a cushioned table with restraints, a large cage, a wall display of implements you no doubt used to inflict pain.

He balked, turning hastily to leave.

“Bucky, is it?” Your voice was soft as you use the name he had given to you on the phone. He turned his head to watch you over his shoulder. He couldn’t fully remember if that was his name, but the man on the bridge had been so sure.

Hastily you swung a white robe around yourself, covering your tight black corset and plunging cleavage. The red glow diminished as you closed the door with a soft click.

He knew he should run but something about you told him to stay. He nodded, silently searching your face for any sign of deception.

“Do you want to sit?”

He eyed the dark leather sofa suspiciously. A curt nod and he moved cautiously to sit.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

He swallowed, a slight croak escaping his throat, little used for speaking. “W-water please.”

You smiled brightly and filled a paper cup from a water cooler in the corner. You set it on the table in from of him and stepped back, creating a reassuring distance between you.

“I think I know why you’re here.” You perched your bottom on the edge of your desk, fishnet clad legs crossed at the ankles where your glossy black shoes yielded heels sharp enough they could be used as weapons.

He swallowed. If you had recognised him, he might have to leave quickly. He didn’t want to hurt you but the people who would come looking for him might.

“This is a safe space, Bucky.” You said softly. “There isn’t anything that you can tell me that would shock me or make me judge you.”

“That isn’t a promise you can ever hope to keep.” It was the longest sentence he had said since his phone call to you when the words do you do hypnosis? and I need your help came tumbling from his lips.

“Can you help me understand? I want to help you, Bucky.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. If he told you everything he knew and everything he had done, you would call the authorities and he would have to disappear again. The reports in the news about him had started to fall away of late, the infamous Winter Soldier vanished without a trace. He would have to do it all over again.

“Would you be more comfortable somewhere less intimidating? I can tell you’re nervous about being here.”

“No.” He snapped. “No.” Softer but still fearful. “Here is fine. It’s just-” he clenched his jaw. “It’s just not something I can trust anyone with.”

“Then start with what you can tell me and see how we go from there?”

He nodded, resigning himself to the telling of his tale. You were a reassuring presence despite being a stranger. Your vibe good and supportive, a total contrast to the image he had gotten from the inside of red-lit room. He decided to trust you. His journey away from HYDRA and the words that made him their slave had to begin somewhere. One trusting step after another.

He started with the words, and what they did to him. Then he told you how they put them there, the torture and conditioning that took them years to achieve. Then he told you who, and that was where realisation kicked in. A brief flicker of recognition in your eyes, and a sharply inhaled breath, but that was all. You sat and listened to him tell you everything, all the while you watched him compassionately.

When he was done, glassy-eyed and emotionally exhausted, he looked up at you with big pleading eyes. “Will you help me?”

“Yes, Bucky. I’ll help you.”

He didn’t know why you decided to help him. He had told you he couldn’t pay you, at least not yet anyway. But you had agreed to help him anyway and he would be eternally thankful of any help you could give. The fear of you reporting him to the authorities was still there, stronger than ever when you sent him away and asked him to come back a few days later. You had needed to clear some time for him where he could be safe and undiscovered.

He had done as you asked, doing recon on your building in the time beforehand. Watching your clients come and go, some half-hourly, some hourly. He knew you were some kind of sex worker but that wasn’t what you had offered him. You had offered him hope.

The first session he had with you was just talking. You asked him questions and he tried to answer them honestly. You had sat by him, close enough to touch him but you hadn’t. You asked about the words, what they were and how they felt. You were not surprised that they were in Russian. You made notes, promising to burn them once your task was done.

You had learned those words over time, their meaning and their pronunciation. You called him Bucky, instead of The Asset or Soldat. Your touch was kind when he allowed it. Soon he began to crave it, if not for its gentleness then for its intimacy.

The hypnosis took time. Your voice was soft and warm. You felt safe to him, and soon, you began to feel like home. The more you progressed, the more willing he became, allowing you to delve deeper and create a warm spot in his cold mind. To give him comfort from the horrors that plagued him. Of course, they never fully went away. He would carry them with him always.

Bucky came to love the sound of your voice and the way you made him feel. Subconsciously relaxing when you spoke, feelings of care and support rising up above all else but no matter how hard you tried, the words still made him a monster. He would sink back into the darkness when the words claimed him, ready to comply.

+++

“I don’t know what else to try,” you sighed, sipping your coffee as you warmed your hands on the hot ceramic. Your feet were resting in his lap as he massaged them through your fluffy socks.

Bucky had been staying at your loft for several weeks now. It had been safer for him and more convenient for you to keep an eye on him. Some of the hypnosis you had done with him really took a toll on him and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were growing a soft spot for the man who no longer wanted to be The Winter Soldier.

“I feel good.” He said with a subtle smile. “You’ve done more for me than I can ever repay you for, but I understand, it was a long shot anyway. I’ll just have to make sure they don’t find me again.”

“There is still something, I can try,” you hesitated, “but I don’t think it’s something that you’d want.”

“I’m willing to try anything.”

“You might regret saying that.” You chuckled dryly.

When you explained that you could repurpose the words, he looked at you blankly. They were rooted so deep in his mind by the torment he had gone through that they could possibly always be with him, but they didn’t have to have the same effect. That complete loss of control caused by the painful torture and conditioning could be changed. The foundations were already there in his mind, all you would have to do would be to recondition him.

“So, you’re saying that I won’t be a slave anymore? I won’t have to kill people? I won’t lose control?”

“No, I’m saying that your loss of control can be redirected. I’m saying you can be reconditioned for another purpose.”

Bucky looked at you so fearfully that you regretted bringing this up at all.

“What purpose?”

“Some other relinquishment of control, perhaps. You would have to be willing to let it happen or it won’t take.”

“Would you have to torture me?”

“God, no!” You sat forward, shifting your feet from his lap and taking his hands in yours. “Pleasure over pain any day of the week, Bucky. I would want you to feel good no matter what.”

“So you could reprogram me to feel pleasure instead?”

“I could try.”

The moment he took to process your offer was fleeting. His eyes snapped to yours, resolute.

“I’ll do it.”

+++

The journey had been long. Months of conditioning him in your rooms. He had asked for blue lights instead of red; red reminded him of his past. The trust he put in you was unequivocal. He was no less than flawless.

Given his history, his willingness to submit to you was astounding. You worked hard to build a strong bond with him, never once straying from the agreement you had both set out, never once taking something for yourself, no matter how much you wanted to. Bucky was perfect, but he was anything but yours. You had to remind yourself of that when he called you by your chosen title, and in the throes of pleasure moaned so perfectly for you. Goddess.

You had made him climax many times before, edging him and reinforcing the pleasurable association between sensations throughout his body and the words. It had taken months of work, almost daily sessions. In addition to your regular clients, your work with Bucky ate into your free time but you didn’t care. Being with him this way was the most rewarding thing you have ever done. The way he mewled with pleasure when you touched him, the way his skin on his neck and chest flushed hot and red when he was about to orgasm. He still seemed innocent because you had never fucked him. You couldn’t. That wasn’t what he needed or wanted so you couldn’t and wouldn’t project that on to him.

Over time you had managed to repurpose all but his final trigger word, instead of relieving him of his free will, the words now built pleasure, anticipation. All but that last one. Ironic that the Russian word for freight car should thwart you when your goal was to make him come like a freight train.

This final word had eluded capture no matter how many times you made him orgasm whilst chanting it. And when you strung all the words together, that final one was always the crux. The words ya gotov otvichet would fall from his lips and he would await your orders, perfectly docile and emotionless.

You thought you had it this time though.

Bucky lay completely naked on your table, his muscles hard, his cock still soft. The deep blue lights in the room made you feel trippy, slightly dizzy even. It was disconcerting but you endured it for him.

Under your instruction, he tested the heavy-duty cuffs that bound his wrists and ankles. Bucky had insisted on them, installing them himself, before the very first attempt you made with his first word. They had never been needed but Bucky wouldn’t not hear any protests that they weren’t necessary. He needed this security, so you had bound him.

At your request, he gave you his safe word. A word he had chosen for himself. The only one he could choose for himself since the others were chosen for him. Hotdog.

You tapped into your alter-ego headspace without fully submerging yourself. This wasn’t roleplay, it was far more delicate and treacherous than that. Bucky’s mind could hang in the balance if this all went wrong. It was something you had wrestled with early on, whether it was morally right to do this, but he was low on options and you had wanted to help him if you could, so you quashed any qualms you had and concentrated on moving forward.

“Are you ready to begin?” Your voice was kind but firm.

Bucky nodded and mumbled “yes Goddess” as he closed his eyes and waited for you to begin.

Your chest bloomed with pride. He was so good, so patient, so trusting. “Good.”

Bucky took a deep breath in through his nose and out through quivering lips, readying himself as best he could.

“Zhelaniye.”

Breath quickening, bucky sighed heavily. The feeling of desire took hold, and he longed for release. His cock twitched as blood flowed into it, making it hard, laying solid and heavy against his abdomen.

“Rzhaviy.”

He stirred, eyes flickering behind closed lids as the muscles in his stomach clenched, his hips lifting slightly from the padded surface of the table. His cock twitched vertical, swelling more before dropping back against his stomach.

“Semnadsat.”

He moaned. Breath caught in his throat. Teeth catching his full lower lip and biting down. You hoped he wouldn’t be so far gone that he drew blood so when he released his lip, licking afterwards, you were relieved.

“Rassviyet.”

A gasp. A sigh. They punctuated his thrusting hips as he sought friction against his erection. You longed to touch him, to give him what he needed but that would defeat the object. He needed to do this without being touched, with only the words to guide him on the journey you had spent months preparing him for.

“Pech.”

Bucky groaned heavily, his chest heaving as he panted against his growing pleasure. A pearl of precum beaded on his tip, growing in size until it dripped off onto the skin of his stomach. When his cock twitched it created a gossamer string of silken liquid in the gap underneath his risen cock. You licked your lips, watching him come undone.

“Devyat.”

He fairly cried out as soon as the word had left your lips, hands clenched into fists, teeth bared slightly. The skin on his neck began to flush deep pink and you knew he was starting to get close.

“Dobroserdechniy.”

A held breath escaped him as a drawn out moan that had heat pooling between your legs. The sounds of him were enough to soak your panties, want and desire clamouring in your chest. Bucky thrust his hip up repeatedly, fucking into the air as his cock throbbed relentlessly.

“Vozvrashcheniy na rodinu.”

Whimpering now, tears formed under his closed lashes, trickling forth from the corners of his eyes down into the hair above his ears. His chest was wracked with panting gasps, and the skin there flushed an angry red. He was just about there, right on the edge.

“Odin.”

All muscles taut, from his clenched jaw and straining neck right the way down to his arched feet and curled toes, Bucky clung on to the edge of oblivion. The glistening tip of his cock was so engorged it looked bruised, an angry purple-red that strained against the skin. He twitched violently, balls tightening, fluid leaking from his tip.

“Gruzovoy vagon.”

Bucky’s breathy cry echoed around the room like a chorus of angels. His release almost explosive as he spilled over himself in waves, pumping jizm out over his chest and stomach. He thrashed on the table, hips jutting up, back arched in unadulterated pleasure.

His grunts became whimpers and his throbbing cock slowed. You rushed forward an whispered his name, laying your hand gently on his sternum to let him know you were there. His eyes cracked open briefly and he licked at his reddened lips, gasping as he came back to himself.

You increased the lights so you could release him, rubbing his wrists and ankles to make sure the blood flow was good with a few pinched toes and fingertips. You wiped him down with a warm flannel cloth and took his hand to get him to sit. He went with you easily, still in a daze.

“Bucky?” You whispered and he shivered. You hoped beyond hope that he was alright. He hadn’t said the words yet but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

You wrapped him in a red plaid fleece blanket you kept just in case and stepped between his open knees, pulling the blanket closed around him. His breathing was still laboured and he looked thoroughly wrecked.

“Bucky, talk to me.”

His mouth started to turn upwards into a smile but didn’t make it that far before the dam broke and his mouth twisted. Relieved sobs and a river of tears flowed from him as the realisation set in. You had spoken his words and he was still there, in the light. The darkness hadn’t claimed him this time. He was free. Free of the pain. Free of the fear. Free of him.

“You’re ok. You’re ok.” You reassured him as he broke down in front of you. “I’m here.”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to you, resting his head on your shoulder as he wept, sobbing and sniffling against your hair and skin. When his arms tightened around you and held you closer, you couldn’t help but grin. It had worked. It had finally worked.

Cuddled against you, for what felt like an hour, Bucky finally settled. He lifted his head to look at you through bloodshot eyes. His lips were raw and swollen too but there was peace there under the evidence of his emotional experience. You stroked his hair back and looked up into his eyes. He hadn’t said a word since you had begun and you needed to know he was alright.

“Talk to me, Bucky.” You whispered, hands cupping his face gently. “I need your words.”

He blushed slightly, looking down coyly before meeting your gaze firmly. “Thank you, Goddess.”

The barked laugh that escaped you was full of delight. After all of that, he still managed to make your proud. “You had me worried.” You let out a relieved breath. “I’m going to get you some water, but I’ll be right back, okay? Is there anything else you want or need?”

“There is one thing, Goddess.”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you, Goddess?”

Your heart jolted in your chest. This was something you had wanted for quite some time but had been unable to cross that line. Now that Bucky was asking, could you really deny him this one thing? Normally you wouldn’t kiss clients, rarely would you have sex with them either unless it was a part of their experience.

“You would like to kiss me? Is that right, Bucky?” That was exactly what he had asked for and the distinction was important. He wanted to kiss you, not he wanted you to kiss him.

“Very much so, Goddess, yes.”

You searched his face looking for any sign that there might be something wrong but all you could see was adoration and bliss behind the puffiness of his eyes and mouth.

“You’re going to drink some water first.” You said, cupping his face in your hands once more. “And if you want to kiss me when you’re done then, yes, you may.”

Bucky grinned brightly, a flash of brilliance before his face relaxed again. He took the cup of water and downed it without hesitation, handing the paper cup back to you with a shaking hand.

When his eyes met yours you froze. Bucky had submitted to you willingly but it wasn’t his natural state. The glint in his eye as he reached out to pull you forward between his spread legs once more, was intoxicating.

He stroked his fingertips across your cheek, sliding them into the hair behind your ear, his metal hand rested on your waist. “Is this okay?” He asked in a whisper. Your preferred title forgotten in the moment but you didn’t mind, not for this.

“Yes.” Breathy and needy.

Bucky leaned in slowly, allowing you time to stop him if you needed to. When his lips met yours it was in the lightest touch. He grazed his lips back and forth, coaxing yours apart slightly before sealing the kiss gently. There was no tongue, no teeth, just a sweet pressing of his mouth to yours as he held you there for a while, savouring you.

When he parted from you, a sigh left your lips and he grinned. Resting his forehead on yours he held you as he had before, stroking his thumb where your cheek met your ear.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while but I didn’t think you would let me.” He confessed.

You chuckled. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while but didn’t think it was appropriate.”

“Can I do it again, Goddess?”

“Yes, Bucky, you may.”

He claimed your mouth in a sensual kiss, mouths open, his tongue licking into you like you were a delicacy to be savoured. Bucky slowly devoured you and it felt amazing. You closed your eyes to the world and sunk into the feeling of his lips on yours, his taste mixing with yours. This thing between you was evolving into something new. What it would be, you had no idea but that in itself was exciting. Who would have thought that meeting the world’s most wanted assassin would prove to be the most fulfilling experience of your life. Things were still dangerous for him, for both of you, but from this moment forward you were both in it together. You and Bucky against the world.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes sub #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes needs a hug #bucky barnes recovering #sub!bucky #bucky barnes fluff #Winter Soldier #bucky smut #bucky needs help #cloudy's writing

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missshezz · 1 year

Text

Title: Lost & Found

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: None apply

Tags: Angst, Drama, Follows Here’s Negan (TWD tv universe), grief, shock, parental suicide, you POV (2nd person narration) as a kid. Negan is not a bastard here. Deals with death.

Word Count: 1300 words

Summary: Negan finds you after burning his house down

The flames greedily consumed your house. You stood there as everything you owned in the world was consumed in the blaze.

You were only gone a few hours.

A quick run into town to search for baby wipes, formula, and diapers for Mikey.

You couldn’t help the Vipers were out on the prowl and needed to hide.

How your mom managed to get around the block you setup in case she took notion, you didn’t know.

Somehow, she had, and managed to get into the garage where all the gas dad stockpiled when things started getting bad was.

I should’ve waited for Mrs. Hinkley to get back from her mercy mission.

I should’ve waited for nighttime to go scavenging.

I should’ve given her the last of her medicine so she’d’ve slept the whole day.

So many should’ve’s you could’ve done.

Things you would’ve done had somebody told you to do them.

Nobody was there, though.

It’s just you and your eleven-month-old brother, Mikey.

Your cousin, Ashley took off with Mrs. Hinkley’s granddaughter, Nina after the government instituted worldwide lockdowns to slow the spread of the disease.

Not that it worked.

Your older sisters got sick and were taken to the hospital.

Neither of ‘em got better.

You overheard Grandpa Joe tell Mrs. Hinkley that their bodies were taken to the crematorium.

You figured he told her the truth given the cloud of smoke always in that vicinity.

Grandpa Joe, Uncle Ed, and Auntie Barbara took sick then and also went to the hospital.

They never came home.

Your other cousin, Raymond got himself killed by the Vipers when he refused to give ‘em the medicine he bartered for.

And your dad?

Well, he either went and got himself bit while he tried to get your mom’s medicine or he got killed like Raymond by the Vipers.

You didn’t for one minute believe what Mrs. Hinkley said.

Your dad wouldn’t’ve left you to take care of your mom and Mikey.

He might’ve been a jerk at times but your dad always took care of you and your siblings.

Nope, far as you were concerned, your dad got killed. It was the only reason you’d accept for why he didn’t return home when he told you he would.

There was a loud groan a split-second before the roof of your house caved in.

Plumes of smoke and ribbons of bright orange flame billowed up towards the moonless sky in an almost hypnotic dance.

Burning plastic, wood, metal, and another, foul stench stunk up the air.

You didn’t dare think ‘bout what that last smell was.

You’d be sick if you did.

A twig snapped behind you.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you imagined it being one of them.

You didn’t know if that was the right word to refer to them by. You’d heard ‘em called loads of things: infected, biters, walkers, creepers…

To you they’re just the unfortunate.

A buncha people who hadn’t figured out they were dead.

Your dad told you the only way to kill one of ‘em was to either shoot ‘em in the head or stab ‘em between the eyes.

You hadn’t had to do that.

Until now.

How you’d accomplish it, you didn’t know.

Your dad took the only guns your family had with him when he left, your knife wasn’t sharp enough to cut paper, and you had your baby brother — who you wisely decided to take with you rather than leave home with mom — strapped to your back.

You slowly turned, terrified of what — not who ‘cause the unfortunate weren’t people anymore — you’d find.

A guy with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire wasn’t what you anticipated. Eyes as dark as yours stared first at the flames devouring the last section of your house before shifting to you.

“What happened, kid?”

Shame smothered your fear and panic. What kid wanted to admit their mom burned their house down ‘cause the voices inside her head convinced her too?

Your mind works feverishly on an answer he wouldn’t call out as a lie. You settle on, “It was an accident,” because it seemed safe enough.

He doesn’t believe it, though.

Not for one minute.

And he ain’t afraid to let you know he doesn’t buy your story.

“An accident, huh?” He pointed to a large red can in the middle of the yard. “That gasoline pour itself out? Light itself?”

Your shoulders droop.

Your eyes lowered to the ground.

Tears blurred your vision.

You tried to hold ‘em back.

Be a grown-up.

You aren’t an adult, though.

You’re a kid.

You shouldn’t be dealing with any of this.

You should be somewhere safe, protected by your folks, and doing everything you can to help them as they struggle to survive in this strange new world.

There wasn’t anybody else there, though.

Just you.

“My mom,” you mumbled into your chest. “She got real sick after she had Mikey. Heard voices that told her to hurt herself. They told her to do it.”

“What the fuck?” Shock and other things you couldn’t identify vibrated in his voice. “You saying your mom is in there?”

You nod as another groan pierced the silence. You looked back just as the walls of the house tumbled inwards.

More smoke and flame billowed forth.

Mikey, quiet throughout everything, whimpered.

He’d start fussing for feeding or changing before too long. Thankfully, you found formula, diapers, and some clothes in the house you hid from the Vipers in.

You just had no bottles to put the formula in or a way to warm it.

Mrs. Hinkley probably has a few bottles in her place I could take, you supposed as you murmured softly to Mikey to quiet him.

It wasn’t lost on you that an infant depended on you for his sole survival.

A twelve year old kid shouldn’t be raising one.

It wasn’t fair.

Not that life was, you realized as the man released a heavy sigh.

No, it was cold and cruel.

Much like this world.

“C’mon, kid.” He placed a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder. “Time to go.”

“I don’t got any place to go.”

“Nobody around here will take in a couple of orphaned kids?”

“Mrs. Hinkley probably let us stay with her but she’s off on one of her mercy missions. Don’t know when she’ll be back.”

If she’d be back.

This world taught you there was no guarantee on people coming back.

From the corner of your eye you spotted a few ramshackle figures coming up the street.

Attracted by the fire and the smell you refused to acknowledge.

The man must’ve caught sight of ‘em, too, because he said curtly, “You’re coming with me then.”

Every lesson you were taught about strangers screamed through your head.

Don’t go with ‘em being first and foremost.

Something, though, convinced you to trust him.

“Where we goin’?”

“As far from this shithole as we can get.”

He led you over to the motorcycle parked in your best friend’s driveway.

Kylie and his family got sick same time as your sisters.

Were probably taken to the crematorium with them, too.

“Mister?”

“It’s just Negan, kid. And this?” He indicated the bat he slid into a special pouch. “This is Lucille. And she is awesome.”

You didn’t know why a baseball bat was so awesome, but given you had a knife about as useful as a pencil against a gun, you figured it made sense.

Nothing else did.

“Hop on,” Negan told you. “And hold on tight.”

You did as told.

Wasn’t like you had much choice.

You were just a kid, after all.

A twelve year old one.

With a baby you now gotta raise.

‘Cause your mom burned your house down.

#the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #negan x reader #Reader is a kid #twd negan #twd fanfiction #twd fandom #here’s Negan #Scorp writes fanfiction

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oldnready · 5 months

Text

Hamas LIES

s Hamas fighters rampaged through Israeli villages outside Gaza on the morning of October 7th, killing roughly fourteen hundred people, some paused to take videos of themselves with Jewish children at Kibbutz Holit. In one piece of footage, a fighter in an Adidas T-shirt vigorously pats the back of a crying baby who is pressed against his shoulder—the same shoulder carrying his Kalashnikov. Another fighter, wearing a camouflage uniform, bandages the foot of an Israeli boy of toddler age, then puts the boy on his lap while jerking the crying baby back and forth in a stroller. A camera zooms in on the confused face of the boy as an unseen fighter, speaking broken English, instructs him to repeat the Arabic word meaning “in the name of God.” “Say bismillah,” the fighter says. The boy complies, in a soft Hebrew accent.

Hamas released the bismillah video on a Telegram channel six days after the attack. At a moment when the Western news media, and some major Arab outlets, were full of reports about the many civilians who were slaughtered, and Israeli officials were likening Hamas to ISIS, the footage was apparently Hamas’s rebuttal. At one point in the video, a masked fighter holds up the two children and addresses the camera: “Look at the mercy in our hearts. These kids—we didn’t kill them like you do.” (At least six children died from rocket fire on October 7th, and Israel’s Channel 12 has named at least nineteen others killed by militants.)

If Hamas meant to humanize its fighters to audiences in Israel or the West, the video was stunningly counterproductive. The group’s propagandists hid the identity of the fighters by blurring out their faces and, in most scenes, distorting their voices. The resulting faceless growls made them look and sound only more monstrous. The Kalashnikovs next to the children, the ungentle pushing of the stroller, the Jewish child goaded into Muslim prayer, the absence of the boys’ parents—the whole scene was alarming. (The children turned out to be brothers: Negev, who is three, and Eshel, who is about five months old. Their mother was killed in the raid, and their father was away. Hamas brought the children into Gaza, but released them almost immediately.)

Michael Milshtein, a retired Israeli intelligence official who specializes in analyzing Palestinian media, told us that the bismillah video “demonstrates Hamas’s arrogance toward the West—that they think all Westerners are stupid, that, if they show images of these barbarian terrorists holding babies and hugging them, people in the West will say, ‘Oh, they are so sweet. We were wrong about them!’ It’s ridiculous.” Many Israelis have observed that their government’s vulnerability to the October 7th attack showed a profound failure to understand Hamas. Milshtein argued that Hamas’s release of the bismillah footage, which displays little comprehension of the audience in Israel and the West, proved that the misunderstanding was mutual.

Yet to Palestinians and other Arab viewers—a very different audience, and one that is more important to Hamas—the awkward bismillah video served its purpose. It was posted to Al Jazeera’s Facebook page for Egypt, and has been viewed more than 1.4 million times. Nearly seventy-five thousand viewers have liked it, and nearly three thousand have left comments, many of them admiring. One commenter praised “the morals of the fighters of the Islamic resistance.”

Source: Qassam Brigades / Telegram

Three days later, another surreal video appeared, this one from an Israeli hostage who identifies herself as a twenty-one-year-old named Mia Shem. In the footage, her dazed eyes seemingly dart to read cue cards as she delivers a statement about the medical care that Hamas has provided for a serious wound to her arm. “They are taking care of me and giving me medicines, everything is fine,” she says flatly, avoiding the subject of who caused her injury in the first place. Since then, Hamas has released videos showing a few handovers of released hostages—including one in which an elderly Jewish Israeli bids “shalom” to her Palestinian captor.

However unpersuasive or ham-fisted such propaganda might seem in the West, Ghaith al-Omari—a former adviser to the Western-backed Palestinian Authority and a longtime opponent of Hamas—told us that such videos had convinced many Arabs that the group’s fighters, unlike ISIS, “are humane and respect Islamic laws of war.” He added, “It has resonated throughout the Arab world. This is now the line you see not only in Hamas media but in most Arab media, in Jordan, Egypt, and North Africa. The dominant narrative has become the narrative of Hamas.”

Hamas began shaping that narrative moments after its fighters streamed through the breached barriers surrounding Gaza. As the assault unfolded, a split screen on Hamas’s Al-Aqsa TV network juxtaposed footage of burning cars in Israeli towns with a video of a cluster of young Israeli men whose arms are tied behind their backs. A news anchor, addressing Palestinians everywhere, declared, “This picture is your picture, this might is your might, this flood is your flood, and this blessed action is for all of you!”

A review of Hamas’s propaganda on October 7th makes clear that a major objective of the group’s assault was to spark a broader uprising among the Palestinians of the West Bank. After the news anchor delivered the “blessed action” soliloquy, the network cut to a recorded message from Saleh al-Arouri, the bellicose deputy chief of Hamas’s political bureau, who explicitly urged Palestinians to rise up against both the Israeli settlers in the West Bank and the soldiers protecting them. The Israeli military “won’t be able to attend to confrontations on other fronts,” Arouri said. “After today, no one can hold back his rifle, bullet, pistol, knife, car, or Molotov cocktail.” Similar calls for an uprising in the West Bank were made in statements released during the attack by the Hamas military commander Mohammed al-Deif and by the masked Hamas spokesman Abu Obeida. The statements were broadcast repeatedly on Al-Aqsa TV and on Al Jazeera.

Although no West Bank uprising materialized, Hamas propagandists were still revelling days later in a triumph measured in bloodshed. On October 9th, as Israel was successfully repelling the last remaining Palestinian fighters from its territory, Shadi Asfour, a reporter for Al-Aqsa TV, announced from a hospital inside the Strip that “the men of the resistance are still clashing right now on the lands usurped in 1948, in the occupied interior, and reports coming from those lands are that the morale is very high.” Israeli officials at the time had confirmed the deaths of more than seven hundred citizens. “We know that these numbers are certainly false,” Asfour said. “It will soon be acknowledged that the numbers are rising!”

Observers on all sides of the conflict agree that Israel’s launch of a brutal air campaign against Gaza has rallied sympathy for the Strip’s beleaguered residents and buttressed Hamas’s story of heroic resistance. Talal Okal, a columnist in Gaza for the Ramallah-based newspaper Al-Ayyam, said of the media war, “Honestly and objectively, Israel defeated itself.”

But Al Jazeera, owned by the rulers of Qatar, has done the most to disseminate images of the devastation caused by the air strikes. The network, which has more cameras in Gaza than any other news outlet, has repeatedly broadcast footage of bodies trapped in rubble and of anguished parents clutching children wrapped in shrouds. The network’s anchors and reporters have hewn closely to Hamas’s preferred vocabulary for the conflict, speaking about “resistance fighters” battling against an “occupation army.” One of Al Jazeera’s most prominent journalists, Majed Abdulhadi, celebrated Hamas’s attack as it happened by reciting a kind of prose poem: after rhapsodizing at length about the astonished surprise of an Israeli soldier who was captured in his tank, Abdulhadi concluded that, “in one fell swoop,” the assault had “wiped away dark layers of despair.” The video clip is still circulating on Arab social media, where it has been viewed by hundreds of thousands of people.

Al Jazeera’s Gaza bureau chief, Wael al-Dahdouh, has covered many conflicts between Israel and Hamas, and the group’s leaders have sometimes saluted his coverage for conveying their perspective. In an interview on the network in 2021, Dahdouh, who is Palestinian, said that about twenty members of his family had been killed in clashes with Israel. (At least four relatives belonged to the militant group Islamic Jihad.) Dahdouh continued, “Perhaps this is among the difficult moments in the life of a Palestinian journalist—when he goes to report on an incident and discovers the incident is his brother or cousin.”

On October 25th, Al Jazeera broadcast footage of Dahdouh on a Gaza rooftop, shrieking in agony while receiving a phone call telling him that an air strike on a refugee camp had hit his family. (It killed his wife, a sixteen-year-old son, and a six-year-old daughter.) A video posted on social media captured him moments later, at a hospital, still wearing his blue press flak jacket, as he cried over the shrouded body of his son. “Are you taking revenge through our kids?” he asked, staring into the camera. “They are child killers, no more, no less. . . . The army of occupation must be driven away!” On Friday, Dahdouh was on the air again, telling viewers that he saw “no escape” from his duty to report on Palestinian suffering.

The other pan-Arab networks—Al Arabiya, which is controlled by the rulers of Saudi Arabia, and Sky News Arabia, which is controlled by the rulers of the United Arab Emirates—initially appeared to resist Hamas’s story line. The Saudis and the Emiratis loathe Hamas and its Islamist allies. The U.A.E. formalized diplomatic ties with Israel in 2020; Saudi Arabia has signalled that it expects to do the same. Al Arabiya and Sky News Arabia both started off broadcasting critical reports about what they called the Hamas attack. On October 8th, the Sky News Arabia journalist Nadim Koteich appeared to justify Israeli retaliation by comparing Hamas’s slaughter to Al Qaeda’s attack on the United States on September 11, 2001. The Hamas assault, Koteich said, was “a premeditated coup against the Arab-Israeli peace plan.”

But as the Gaza death toll has climbed, and as Arab opinion has swung toward Hamas, the networks have seemingly capitulated to the feelings of their viewers. Putting aside “the Hamas attack,” newscasters now increasingly refer to the Israeli “war on Gaza.” And the networks have joined Al Jazeera in carrying extensive footage of suffering and carnage in Gaza. “Residents of a neighborhood in Gaza, most of them women and children, lying under the rubble,” an Al Arabiya headline declared, on October 26th. At the same moment, a chyron repeated a report, by the Hamas-controlled Gaza Health Ministry, saying that in the preceding hours another four hundred and eighty-one Palestinians had been killed by Israeli air strikes.

When referring to dead Palestinians, both networks still appear to favor the relatively neutral term “victims.” But at one point Ahmad Harb, an Al Arabiya reporter in the Gazan city of Khan Younis, briefly spoke of eleven casualties as “martyrs”—the term that Palestinian groups invariably use to describe those killed in the conflict. Harb, apparently being interrupted by a producer speaking into his earpiece, quickly corrected himself, reverting to “victims.” On October 24th, the clip of his gaffe went viral on Arab social media, where it was portrayed as a glimpse of the effort by the network’s overseers to check the sympathies of their journalists in the field.

Israel’s military dominance grows more evident by the day; according to officials of the Gaza Health Ministry, Israeli forces have killed more than eight thousand people. Yet Israeli, Palestinian, and Western analysts all told us, emphatically, that in the Middle East the winner of the propaganda war is Hamas.

Ghassan Khatib, a political scientist at Birzeit University, in the West Bank, and a former official in the Palestinian Authority, told us that he plans to release poll results showing a jump in support for Hamas among West Bank Palestinians. “Hamas is getting more popular because it is perceived to be standing up to the oppressive Israeli occupation, and because of the brutal retaliation by Israel,” he said. Americans and Israelis, he added, sometimes assume that the current war began on October 7th. But Arabs, and especially Palestinians, had been paying closer attention in the preceding days and decades. Khatib told us that this audience sees the Hamas attack as retribution for decades of “piecemeal repression,” including the expansion of the Israeli settlements in the West Bank and the increase in settler violence against Palestinians. He noted, “People here accept a message that what Hamas did was a response to something that Israel has been doing every day for years and years.”

As Arab opinion shifts toward Hamas, Arab leaders are growing more reluctant to buck it. A statement from the Arab League on October 11th—which condemns “the killing and targeting of civilians on both sides,” including by Hamas—surprised many in the region. But on October 24th, at a United Nations meeting on the conflict, that evenhandedness evaporated. Arab foreign ministers from across the region took turns fulminating against the human cost of the Israel air strikes; all avoided discussion of the ghastly role Hamas had played in setting off the latest round of conflict.

Mahmoud Abbas, the President of the Palestinian Authority, recently spoke by phone with the President of Venezuela, and an initial readout released by the authority’s news agency describes Abbas as having said that Hamas’s actions and policies “don’t represent the Palestinian people.” Just a few moments later, however, this account of Abbas’s criticism of Hamas disappeared from the news site. Current and former officials of the authority told us that Abbas had demanded a retraction.

Nasser al-Qudwa, a nephew of the late Palestinian leader Yassir Arafat and a former foreign minister of the Palestinian Authority, has long condemned Hamas. But in a phone interview he told us that he could no longer do so in public. “I’m not willing to criticize them now,” he said. “How could I while bombs fall on people’s heads?”

For Israel, the growing embrace by Palestinians and other Arabs of Hamas’s self-portrayal—of outgunned resistance fighters revolting against an unjust occupation—compounds the difficulty of finding any path forward. Israeli leaders have vowed to “destroy” Hamas, but have declined to elaborate on what that means in practice. And how could Israel’s goal be achieved when the idea of Hamas is gaining more support each day of the war?

Shibley Telhami, a political scientist at the University of Maryland who studies Arab public opinion, said that Israeli and American talk of destroying Hamas was playing into the group’s hands. Telhami told us, “When people in the Arab world hear ‘destroy Hamas,’ they think, ‘destroy Gaza.’ ” Telhami argued that unflinching American support for Israel’s retribution had now firmly tied Washington to the losing side of the propaganda war, adding, “In the Middle East and across the Global South, Joe Biden has become the same as the George W. Bush of the Iraq War. And, right now, there is no way around it.” ♦

#israel #terrorism #hamas lies #hamas evil #hamas terrorist #feedom #love #hate

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madamebaggio · 6 months

Text

Notes: Previously...

Another WIP that has been here for a while...

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

***

Chapter 3

“We’re still looking for a cot, but you can leave your…” Scarlett’s eyes dropped to the single backpack on Katia’s hand. “Your bag there.”

“Thank you.” Katia said softly. “I’m sorry you have to share your space with me.”

Scarlett cleared her throat. “Those were orders.”

“Right.” Katia dropped her bag by the corner. “So… Now what?”

“Here.” Scarlett passed her a watch. “You have to keep this on at all times.”

Katia analyzed the object in her hand. “They ran out of collars?”

Scarlett pressed her lips together, because she didn’t want to show her amusement at Katia’s silly joke. There was something about the other woman that made her seem so fragile.

By Katia’s own admission, she wasn’t some delicate flower that needed protection. Alongside her brother, she had killed a shitload of people, but… She seemed lost, anxious, tense…

Yes, she had come to a strange place and surrendered herself, putting herself and her partner at the mercy of the Joes. However, Scarlett felt as if this wasn’t the problem, exactly. Katia just looked like she was permanently scared, afraid of the world.

“Is he…” Scarlett cleared her throat. “Is that guy threatening you? Is he forcing you to…”

“Oh no.” Katia was quick to assure her. “He isn’t. He’s not the nicest guy around, but he isn’t a complete asshole. Very annoying sometimes.” She cleared her throat, realizing she was rambling about 47. “But he isn’t forcing me. It’ll probably sound strange to you, but he set me free.”

Scarlett frowned. “How?”

“My whole life was spent running.” Katia scoffed, clearly at herself. “I was always paranoid, scared, afraid to stay too long anywhere. I never understood why I needed to do that, just that I did. I was looking for someone, not knowing why…” She paused. “Then he came in. And everything became crystal clear for the first time ever.”

“Are you…” Scarlett trailed off. “You and him… Are you…”

Katia’s expression grew alarmed. “No. Ew!” She shook her head like the mere idea was disgusting to her. “No way. I don’t think that he has in him to even consider something like that, but even if he did… No.” She shuddered.

“If you’re sure…”

***

Great. They put him with the ninja.

At least 47 didn’t have to worry about conversation.

He worried about Katia. Which felt odd.

He wasn’t used to worrying about anyone -he hardly worried about himself. However, he couldn’t stop this… Thing. Somehow, along the way, he started caring about Katia, and he didn’t know how to… Not.

His mind was usually a calm place, where plans were made and then executed in perfect order. There was no space for fear or uncertainty, because that was how agents died. 47 had been raised and trained to do a single job, and he could do it very well.

Now he was a little worried he might not be able to do it anymore.

Doubting himself was also new to him. And it wasn’t that he was doubting his training or his abilities; he was a bit concerned about his motivation.

He’d never considered the idea of ‘freedom’. 47 only knew one way to live, and not being an agent never crossed his mind. He was made for it -quite literally -and the idea of just leaving ICA had never occurred to him until recently.

As in, last week.

The point was, 47 knew how to do one thing. He did it very well -exceedingly so -but it wasn’t the type of skill that the so called ‘normal people’ had. If he left the agency, what was he supposed to do?

Mercenary work sounded painfully boring, and he wasn’t about to start working for some government.

Even he had his limits.

“Yo, Snake!” A black man stopped by the door. “Is your new roomie all settled down?”

Snake Eyes turned to the newcomer, and so did 47, but neither of them deigned to reply to the comment.

“Wow…” The man drawled. “There’s two of you now. Great. I hope Scarlett is luckier with her roomie.”

That was true. Katia had also gotten a guard, a redhead by the name of Scarlett.

Original.

“I want to see Katia.” 47 said to the man that could actually answer him.

“In a minute, Ice Cube.” The man threw back. “First you need to put this on and promise not to take it off.”

47 caught the watch thrown his way and eyed it. “And you’ll take my word for it?”

“No. After it’s on, it can’t be taken off. Otherwise it’ll explode.”

47 scoffed, but put the watch on. He couldn’t care less about their juvenile tactics, he just wanted to make sure Katia was okay.

She was probably very stressed about being in this closed space. He needed to talk to her before she decided to dismantle a jeep or something.

“I’ll take you to your Katia now.” The man continued. “I’m Ripcord, by the way.”

“I don’t care.” 47 informed him.

“Right…” Rip drawled. “You’re really one of those silent, tough types, hm?”

47 didn’t even reply as he started following the man down a hallway.

From the other end of it, the redhead -Scarlett- was coming straight at them.

“Scarlett.” Rip grinned at her. “Iceman here was looking for Katia.”

“Yeah… Actually, I wanted to talk to him for a minute.” Scarlett turned her attention completely to him.

47 arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to say whatever she wanted to.

“Scarlett…” Rip frowned. “Are you sure? This dude is… Weird.”

She sighed. “Yes, I’m sure, Rip.” She gave him a look. “I’ll take him to Katia after I talk to him.”

Ripcord obviously wanted to argue against leaving her alone with him, but eventually decided to just go. She waited until Rip was out of sight before turning back to the agent.

“I’m Scarlett. Katia said your name is 47?” She frowned.

“Yes.”

She was clearly waiting for him to say something else, but she realized it was pointless. “I’m not exactly sure what’s the connection between you and Katia.” She was clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. “She just told me it wasn’t romantic.”

47’s eyebrows went up. “It is not romantic.”

“Right. I know it’s none of my business…”

“I’m glad we had this conversation. May we go?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “But…” She pressed. “I think she’s very tense. I don’t know her well, but to me it looks as if she’s one step from a full panic attack.”

“She doesn’t like feeling trapped and cornered and we’re under the desert. There are no windows, no exit points. She’s probably feeling very anxious right now.”

Scarlett frowned. “Is there any way to help her?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “But she looks like she could really use some help, so…”

47 hummed. “There’s one thing that calms her down, but you’ll probably need to ask permission for that.”

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amaranthinewilliamsauthor · 2 years

Text

Writing Short #6

When they blamed Muslims we said nothing.

When they blamed black people we said nothing.

When they blamed immigrants we said nothing.

Now, with the world on the brink of change or collapse, we stand above the fiery wreckage and survey all that has been destroyed by our complicity. By our hubris. By our cowardice.

Men have seized power, they always do if given the chance, and they are howling for total control. “The good old days” are brought up more and more, female politicians quietly removed from current elections with little fanfare or explanation. I can feel the shackles, once constrictive until suddenly removed, tighten more bit by bit.

I grew up free, free to make my own decisions, free to choose my own destiny, and free to live my own way. We are no longer free, but now asks the question: were we ever free to begin with? How free were we with staggering student debt? How free were we with stagnant wages and increasing cost of living? Is the world we left behind, where men were men and women had no say, really that bad?

I have lived to see the world become better, the ideals of our forefathers begun to be realized, and now I will live long enough for all of it to come crashing down. We didn’t want to fight, we didn’t want to yell, and we didn’t want to argue. Now our voice is gone, snuffed out by those in power, and our rights taken away because we didn’t want to be mean.

We changed the world once, making it a little brighter and a little better, but now the darkness is snapping at our heels and threatening to plunge the world back into the darkness of ignorance and malice.

===================================

“The new executive order,” a man droned on the news channel, “has commanded government contractors to fire all female staff effective immediately. Outcry from women has been intense, picketing at factories and outside political offices has been broken up by police arresting all who refuse to disperse, but the President has indicated that there will be no mercy for any women who violently oppose this order.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

“The 119th congress was sworn in yesterday, with Republicans making up a supermajority, it is a historic victory for Evangelicals who petitioned and politicked to ensure that no women or female presenting individuals were elected. The majority leader Evan Smith of Utah stated, “Our first priority is to ensure that the rights of men, to lead their households or to care for their children in event of divorce, is protected to the highest order. God has ordained men as the heads of their households, and not even feminists could challenge the word of the almighty God without suffering his divine retribution.”

“Divine retribution? Is that what they call domestic terrorists?” Stacy’s voice was full of unconcealed malice, “You bomb a few Pride parades and suddenly it’s “gods will” that women’s rights be revoked?”

We all stared at the television, and each one of us fervently prayed that this was a nightmare that we would wake up from soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------- “Tonight the world has dimmed as 38 states ratified the constitutional amendment that will revoke the voting rights of women, and the amendment that also makes it illegal for women to work in any gainful employment. Odd jobs, like babysitting or elder care can be monetarily compensated as long as it doesn’t exceed $2400 a year or $200 a month.” Margaret Atwood’s world of religious persecution of women has now come to pass.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fierce division within the Republican party as many Mormon members introduced new legislation that would allow polyandry within the United States and would legitimize any children resulting from polyandrous marriages,” The newscaster droned on and kept his eyes fixed on the teleprompter, “The legislation would allow marriages of multiple men to a single woman or multiple women to a single man. Same sex marriages are still illegal, and all previous same sex marriages have been dissolved. The age of marriage would be raised to a minimum of sixteen, and judges are not allowed to issue marriage licenses to anyone under the age of sixteen for any reason.”

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short-circuit-the-great · 4 months

Text

Dying Sun / A Hundred Thousand Stars / Ch 1

Seeing the way Cybertron looks down on the racers of Velocitron, Warp Drive has always dreamed of a better future, and she became Velocitron's ruler to make that dream a reality. But there's a problem: Warp Drive can't speak, and no one knows how to interpret the EM signals she emits to communicate. She has more ideas than she can count, but no one will even try to listen. She quickly begins to desire something more than a new Velocitron: someone to hear her, something that might be called a friend.

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Warp Drive/Windsnarl

Set: Before Velocitron's revolution in the Dying Sun timeline

Warnings: violence and gore, major character death

Read the first chapter below!

Chapter 1: The First Senate Meeting Is Always the Most Boring. Just Kidding. They're All Boring. It's the Nature of Government. Sigh.

No one knew where she came from, and she didn’t know either. No one knew her original name, and to her too, it was lost to time. “Lost to time” was quite an achievement for the name of someone who was only a few hundred years old—young for a giant robot that turned into a car.

Of course, Warp Drive didn’t turn into just any car. No, she turned into the fastest car that ever was—and that was how she ended up here in this incredibly lackluster meeting in the Basilica, the senate’s meeting room at the heart of the Delta Citadel. She’d won the race for First Senator of Velocitron—something that was not an election, but quite literally a race. No rules, no mercy, one winner, and as many dead and injured as it took.

And she won.

Now she sat in a room with the senators she ruled over, each representing one of Velocitron’s moving cities. The First Senator automatically represented Delta, the largest city, and around the table were the senators of Neo, Umbra, Catalyst, Glare, Havoc, and Mourn. Warp Drive was still learning their names. She was still learning everything about the senate.

She was an outsider.

On Velocitron, the faster you were, the more power you could hold because you were more likely to win senate races, whether it was the individual races for leadership of a city or the Speedia 500 for control of the entire planet. Still, Warp Drive questioned the speed of some of the senators around the table—one of them was named Slow Dancer—and wondered how big of a role cheating had played in their wins. Everybody cheated, but if you had the right connections and the right political leverage, you could cheat in ways that guaranteed your success.

This put unqualified senators in charge of the cities.

If you aren’t fast enough—

Warp Drive glared at Slow Dancer’s heat signature across the table at the Neo seat.

—you should be left behind.

But these people were never left behind. They ensured they lifted themselves higher than those more deserving, the true Velocitronians who lived for racing as their people had for eons.

Of course, now that Warp Drive was First Senator, she could change that.

She could change everything.

The first topic of the meeting was how to improve Delta as a tourist attraction—Velocitron itself was a vacation destination for many worlds across the galaxy, Cybertron among them. Everyone wanted to visit the “Speed Planet,” though when they arrived, they always took care to be as nasty as possible to the inhabitants. Cybertronians thought Velocitronians were shallow. Insufferable. Annoying. Frivolous.

Warp Drive had raced so she could fix that.

She was going to make sure Cybertron never thought less of Velocitron again.

We are going to grow stronger.

So much stronger.

And the way to start is to get rid of the weak.

She looked at Slow Dancer’s heat signature again. People like you.

“First Senator Warp Drive?” said the voice of Override, the former First Senator who Warp Drive had beaten in the race. She’d conveniently raced for the senate seat of Catalyst a few days after losing, so she was back in the Citadel and still with some power.

Warp Drive turned her attention to her. Silent. Faceless. Unnerving. She could feel how uncomfortable Override was, and Override’s temperature rose as the tension in her body increased.

“You have not yet offered any thoughts on the issue at hand,” Override said. “The First Senator is the one who is to lead every discussion.”

YOU LOST THE RACE, Warp Drive snapped at her. REMEMBER YOUR PLACE. YOU WILL NOT TALK DOWN TO ME.

But no sound ever came out.

Warp Drive was forged without a voice box.

The senate didn’t know, and she didn’t want them to know because they already had a multitude of reasons not to take her seriously. She was young, she wasn’t a cheating politician, and her only connections were the wires in her joints. If they knew they could not only talk down to her, but also over her, any hope of changing Velocitron the way she envisioned was gone.

“Are you going to respond to me, or are you going to shake the table?” Override said, and Warp Drive remembered that every time she tried to talk, what happened instead was the release of electromagnetic pulses. They had a meaning. They were a language of their own. But no one spoke it.

No one she knew could read them.

“First Senator Warp Drive responded,” said one of the other senators, Burnout of Umbra. “She says you lost the race and you will not speak to her like that, as you are no longer in charge.”

What?

Warp Drive turned to Burnout, confused that she, this random robot she’d never even met, could apparently read the pulses, and Override settled down in her chair. Her heat signature was angry, brooding, but Warp Drive didn’t care. Good. Be angry.

You aren’t the leader anymore.

“First Senator Warp Drive demands respect,” Burnout said, “and if you do not regard her as holding the office she rightfully won, she will have you severely punished.”

Warp Drive didn’t say that. But she liked Burnout’s embellishments, and she looked closely at her heat signature, trying to figure out more about her. Of course, there wasn’t much she could learn from a heat signature in that respect, but she very much wanted to know how Burnout could understand her.

When Warp Drive felt they had discussed enough—the other topics weren’t worth mentioning in the conclusion, and she decided the Cybertron issue was the most important—she dismissed the meeting. Burnout found her afterwards, just as Warp Drive was beginning her exploration of her new home. She’d been in the Citadel for a week or two, but it was so big and so much different from her rundown apartment in Mourn that she was still checking it out.

“My sister Dustbrawl,” Burnout said, “she communicated the same way you do until we got her voice box fixed. That’s how I can read you.”

She took a sip of the Energon punch she was carrying, a drink Warp Drive could not stand. “Most people on this planet do not bother to learn alternative methods of communication. You will need my help if you are going to succeed as First Senator.”

Warp Drive stared back in silence.

“You can refuse my assistance,” Burnout said, “but without me, you are nothing more than a pretty face.”

She left after that, and Warp Drive was alone in the shiny marble hallway, suddenly very cold. She suppressed a shiver and walked further down, heading the opposite direction of Burnout.

Nothing more than a pretty face.

Warp Drive wasn’t going to stand for that, and so she accepted Burnout’s help. At every senate meeting, Burnout spoke for her, often mistranslating what she said. At first, the mistranslations could be passed off as a result of paraphrasing, but it became more and more evident Burnout was putting her own words in what Warp Drive supposedly said. Her own words, her own ideas, all backed by Warp Drive’s supposed approval.

And Warp Drive couldn’t argue.

Because the only one who could hear her was Burnout, and Burnout wasn’t truly listening.

Without me, you are nothing more than a pretty face, the words repeated over and over again, day after day, month after month, year after year.

Without me, you are nothing.

Nothing.

Through all her years as First Senator, Warp Drive wanted many things. A better Velocitron, one where it was a strong and proud planet and not a tourist destination where Cybertronians would scowl at them. A better senate, one with real racers and not old cheating rich robots. A better-tasting Energon punch recipe.

Above all, Warp Drive wanted someone else who could understand her.

I want everyone to understand.

I want everyone to hear.

Then I can make Velocitron what it needs to be.

But only Burnout could understand. Only Burnout could hear.

There has to be someone else.

Warp Drive didn’t pray. She didn’t believe in Primus and all that. But if she did, she would have asked for that someone else, that someone else who understood, that someone else who heard.

She would have asked Primus for a friend.

#transformers dying sun #tf fan continuity #transformers fanfiction #transformers #maccadam #transformers oc #WarpSnarl #ooo a ship tag #writers on tumblr

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elidokie · 9 months

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i’m so scared that i’m faking being happy but at the same time i know i’m not because happiness is a choice (and also not a destination) and i choose it every day.

even though right now i have to urge to go, i know it’s all temporary. i keep imagining myself. when i die, all my stuff will go to Mar. even my 3DS, and even my copy of soul silver.

yikes. i hate feeling like this. i feel so icky and gross whenever i do. cmon eli! this isn’t you! you’re supposed to be happy and full of joy on the time! think of all the tender mercies! you fucked up bad yesterday, and God still let you get another chance! mom made breakfast! dad went out to buy us a drink at the new gas station they built down the road! and Mar is in the living room waiting for us to go outside and tell her about the new book we are reading!

cmon! think of how much you love being alive! because you do.

i have a hard time accepting the bad feelings as feelings of my own. my brain is so frustrating sometimes. it feels like it’s not mine.

i miss being little. i miss being 14. my parents were mean, and i didn’t have any friends, and i had the ugliest hair cut in the world — but i was 14 and i played my favorite video game for the first time, and all Mar n I had to worry about was our stupid Government class that we were taking for college credit.

Mom was really happy when we told her that we got accepted into the dual enrollment program, even though she didn’t understand that dual enrollment was for the students that were smart enough to be looked at as a waste. It’s a school in south Texas, with only 15% of the students actually going on to get a degree after graduation. Even if it was only for the numbers, it really did help out.

I didn’t think I was going to go to college. I get frustrated when people say that a Bachelors is the same as a HS Diploma. I didn’t decide I was going to college until my junior year. At most, I thought I was going to just finish off whatever I had left of classes at the community college I was already attending during high school. But then during the state exams, Mr Austin looked at Mr Sowell and went, “You are looking at the two brightest minds of the 21st century.” (referring to me and Mar), and even though it’s not true, because I’m just a 19 year old girl, it still gave me a sense of hope.

Mom never went to middle school (secondary school I guess) and has a 5th grade education. I do everything for her. We told her about World War 2. It’s crazy that she doesn’t know anything about it. Then we tried telling her about outer space, she doesn’t know much, but she knows about planets! we told her that there is a myriad of planets, and we told her what galaxies are, and how galaxies can collide, and how stars can die beneath their own weight.

i feel like that sometimes.

she says it’s too late for her, but i don’t think so. i’ve been trying to teach her english, but she doesn’t care to learn. she can order at the drive thru by herself and she can have a conversation with Bailey’s parents. that’s enough.

dad first told me he loved me during graduation. he hugged me too. i miss the feeling of dad being proud of me like that. i know moms always proud of me, but it’s in a different way.

i like seeing dads face light up. i hate the stigma that i have to take care of my parents once they get older, or that children of immigrants live for their parents, but it’s so true. dad always looked so happy after i performed.

when i passed my drivers test (after going to the DMV like 4 times) he hugged me and was like “i’m so proud of you!” and i think about that a lot. i told him how i was planning on going to UT (my literal dream school and i’m so glad to God that i even got accepted) for aerospace engineering. and he was so happy. then i ended up “following my dream” and going to liberal liberal arts school in Texas for fucking ENGLISH. and he still was so happy. i cried when they dropped me off at my dorm, and i still cry thinking about it.

andrew was so right when he said that moving away from your parents for college is some white people shit. i’m still grateful to the universe for the experience though.

when i came back home during the winter break, i think he could tell that my depression was coming back. maybe that’s why he was so supportive about me dropping out. i had 4 days left until i had to move back to Denton when i had decided to withdraw. fuck, i was so scared. i remember asking him over and over what he thought i should do, and he just went “whatever you want mija, it’s your life not mine” until i ended up actually withdrawing. i know that he knew i was scared.

the next day he took me to dallas to pick up my stuff. a 6 hour drive, 2 hours to pack, 6 hours back — and he didn’t complain. i was so miserable the whole spring, which sucks because it’s my favorite season.

we would take Mar to class 2x a week (Mar can’t drive, she’s too scared to, so dad would take her and i would tag along) and then sit in the Circle K parking lot for two hours until her Latin class was over (the drive to her uni was 45 minutes, so it made more sense to just wait there). He’d buy me an horchata and a hot dog, he was always like “these are good today!” and i would agree, i never told him that i don’t like hot dogs, but it’s okay because i think he was always trying to convince himself / trying to make me feel better about not being in school.

sometimes we would go to Taco Bell, or to Costco. it was always the same thing. me being miserable about having to be at a uni i don’t attend, and him trying to make me feel better without knowing how. i’m grateful though.

i told them i was going back to school in fall. they never asked me about it. that’s the only thing i’m jealous of white people for, that their parents know how to do all the college stuff. they wouldn’t check up on if i was caught up in the paperwork, or if i had talked to the school, or if i did my financial aid — they just assumed that i would do it on my own. and i did do it on my own, because i knew that they wouldn’t know how to help me.

i pushed myself.

after finally doing all the stuff for the school here, and finally setting up my classes and everything (thank god), i told dad how i was thinking of switching my major. i told him i was gonna switch to architecture. his only response was “that sounds like a reliable degree!”

i always switched up what i wanted because i want multiple things. but the one thing that i know for a fact i want, is to write. so he was still as happy when i told him that i was going to keep doing english, but i’m dropping the education courses. im switching to creative writing.

then we talked about grad school for a bit and i told him that i was planning on going to Utah or Minnesota near Juni. i think he’s more supportive of Utah, just because it’s closer to Cali. Mar is going to Cali for law, she takes all her law exam shits later this school year, and then is probably going to talk to grandma about moving in to the little studio in the back. grandma is obviously going to say yes.

dad also didn’t care that i stopped working. i mean, i know a part of did, but he never said anything. i like to think that i did a good job hiding how i was doing mentally, but every week dad would ask if i wanted to get a slushee from Sonic, which i know is his way of trying to make me feel better.

i stopped with the TEFL program i was doing. i know i’ll pick it up sometime later. right now i have to worry about getting an internship, grad school, applying for the study abroad program, and this upcoming semester. the fact that i’m graduating next winter feels like a sin. i just started college. maybe i should be more appreciative of the fact that i’m finishing early early.

also getting a job. but i have confidence that God has something better for me planned. i have enough money to pay for my car bill next month, and just barely enough for the one after that (i might have to ask dad to help a bit). the only reason i feel bad leaving the school in dallas, is because i was on a full scholarship. i think my parents paid like $1000 the whole semester and that was for the room i was staying in.

i don’t expect mom and dad to pay for this semester, especially since it was my choice to move back home. so i know i have to pay for it on my own. i’m okay with working 24/7 if it means they don’t have to worry about it. but, i know how dad is. he’d go into debt if it means i get to go to college.

Mar and i are on our own for grad school though, they made that VERY clear LMAO. i might check out that women’s only university that Ms. Burger told me about. she got her M.F.A there and said she loved it. she was a crazy woman, talking about how she lived in London, how she’s okay with being 57 and single because she has her dog, how she wrote her thesis on Little Women.

anyways, i feel like i’ve written enough. even though nobody reads this. it’s like i’m bothering my future self for whenever i do reread this. i talk a lot. i only really took notice of it because of how often i keep YAPPING to 26y/o. he said he doesn’t mind, but i’m scared that he does. because why would he want to hear some stupid 19 year old vent about stupid shit. either way i’m appreciative of it.

yesterday we played fortnite. he’s really good lmao. we won most of our games! it was really funny. the dynamic of our relationship is really funny. there’s like a 7 year (about to be 6!!) age gap between us which for the most part doesn’t really matter. but he’s experienced so many more things than me, and it’s very obvious at times. like when i talk about uni and my future, and then i realize that this mf already has his shit figured out. like, he’s GROWN. it’s really funny though. i made this grown man play fortnite with me. and it was fun!

ugh, i said i was gonna stop this text post but i always have to much to say. i miss juni. so so so very much. he’s literally my soul partner. i dream that im at his house sometimes. in the living room, i’m laying sideways on the couch and he’s laying on the recliner. his parents in the kitchen making dinner. his younger sister in her room playing roblox. i always feel at home when i’m there, as strange as it sounds. i’m eternally grateful that his family accepted me so easily. and that his mom loves me. it’s july there too.

i miss mn. i’m not going to be going there anytime soon, because juni is coming here in september. so i probably wont be there until december. which sucks because it means that i’m going to have to get a new job. since i’m taking 2 weeks to go to mexico, 1 for mn, and then 1 to go to georgia to visit Cav. so that’s like, the whole month! i’ll stress about it later.

none of these things are permanent so why stress? im just 19 (ugh i’m gonna keep saying this even after im 20.).

20 is so close and its scary. i feel like a baby. my dad still has to drive me around the city, and mom still eats dinner with me.

i think mom knows that my eating is getting worse again. she’s not very (i forgot the word but it has the same meaning as “slick with it”), as she’s always calls me during her lunch break to go “oh what did you eat for breakfast?”

that’s the only reason i have lunch with her sometimes. to ease her worries i guess. juni is more normal about it, he ask “did you eat?” like once every few days. i’m glad he’s like that but it also upsets me. i don’t think he understands my mental health issues, or my issues in general. he told me he didn’t care to learn about it because i’m a human and not an animal. which i understand. but also like, this is a part of me that isn’t going away.

i feel like we are at two different places sometimes. which is crazy because of how close we are, literal soul ties. i’ve known him all my life.

anyways. i think i’ll end this here. i’m sorry if there are any typos or inconsistencies in my writing here. i use this as a diary, i guess. i graduated with a 4.3 and got so many scholarships to write (because woo! there’s a lack of representation when it comes to latin authors getting published in the US! especially women!) so how jarring would it be for me to say that i never paid attention during english class. i don’t know what a preposition is, i don’t know how to properly structure sentences sometimes, but that’s okay!

i lied again. i did pay attention to english class. i just forgot almost everything i learned.

i’m getting hungry. i think i’m gonna get boba later. anyways. goodbye, i love you.

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animebw · 2 years

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Reading One Piece: Chapters 762-763

-It’s so unnerving seeing the Doflamingo family just sitting around a table and eating dinner like this. They may be monsters, but they actually are a family for each other, and you can tell that even in the smallest moments.

-The story of Flevance is everything I expect from One Piece backstories. A town blinded by riches, they didn’t realize their prized good was poisoning them until it was too late. And the world government was all too happy to keep them ignorant as long as it kept the cash flowing. But once the truth came out, Flevance was cut off from the rest of the world and left to wither and die. So the only option left was war... and the deaths just continued to pile up. From lead poisoning, from battle, each generation cursed to live shorter than the last, abandoned by everyone who was supposed to protect them. I suspect Oda took inspiration from real life asbestos poisoning, maybe even from how terribly 9/11 first responders were treated once they started developing symptoms. The tragedy here is all too real for comfort.

-And, of course, Law was caught right in the thick of it. Cursed to die by poison passed down through generations. Forced to watch his family, his home, everything he cared about, go up in flames. No merciful hand of salvation to protect him from the horrors of human cruelty. No wonder he was so ready to die when he wandered into Doflamingo’s clutches.

-FUCK. And now we know what twisted Doflamingo into the person he is today. Once his family was no longer protected by the title of Celestial Dragon, they became targets for the wrath and vengeance of every ordinary person the Dragons wronged. All the countless sins enacted by this cabal of monsters, the unspeakable things done by those in power... at long last, those who suffered those evils had a chance to return the pain they were dealt.

-You know what the truly tragic thing is, though? I can’t blame these people one bit. They didn’t know that Homing and his family didn’t consider themselves superior to humans. They didn’t know the Don Quixotes left the Dragons because they knew living as oppressors was no way to live. Hell, would you just let former Nazis walk among you, even if they had left their former ways behind? At the very least, you’d be very cautious before trusting them not to be a danger to you again. And when you’ve suffered as much as these people have, that patience and understanding would be nearly impossible to come by.

But it’s Doflamingo who’s the true tragedy of all this. He was just a kid indoctrinated by the Dragons’ propaganda, already poisoned to think himself king of the world. And with the commoners against them from the start, he never got the chance to unlearn those biases. He never got a chance to understand what it meant to live as a normal human. All the outside world gave him was hurt, and hunger, and misery, and all the excuses he needed to turn into a being fueled by hatred. Hatred for his father, for abandoning their “deserved” life. Hatred for the common people who ripped his family to shreds. Hatred for the entire world that let his misery occur. Is it any wonder he felt he had no choice but to return his suffering right back, continuing the cycle of hatred?

Doflamingo could have been the crack in the chain of oppression woven by the Dragons. He could’ve grown up into someone capable of unraveling his biases and standing against the people who were once his kin. But he was never given a chance to banish that poison from his veins. So it could only fester, like the white lead of White City, until he turned out just as monstrous as the Dragons he left behind. And now, all of Dressrosa is paying the price.

-But here’s one last piece of the puzzle: Corazon. Dofy’s brother suffered all the same hardships as him, and yet, he chose a different path. What path exactly, I’m not sure yet. But instead of ratting Law out for stabbing him, he protected Law giving him a second lease on life. Somehow, this Don Quixote didn’t let the world kill his compassion. And I’m fascinated to see what lies behind his quiet facade.

-”Trafalgar D. Water Law.” ...motherfucker of course he’s also got the Will of D thing going on

-OH SHIT. And Corazon knows exactly what the Will of D means. Folks, I think we’re about to get some answers for questions that have been a decade in the making. I am... not ready.

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #one piece #one piece manga #luffy #monkey d luffy #zoro #zoro roronoa #nami #usopp #sanji #tony tony chopper #chopper #nico robin #franky #brook

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

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PREQUEL ARC: PART 2 - THE HOUK

A/N: Part 2 is here! First and foremost, can I just say thank you so much for the reception Part 1 received and to those who (gasps!) actually want me to tag them for updates??? I don’t know how to react??? I’m so touched??????? It’s so motivating and has reminded me why I love sharing my scribbles!

There’s a greater focus on world/character building in this chapter so if it feels a bit rambling or description heavy, I do apologise! Like I said, I’m trying to build some context to the reader-insert before we get to the smut, and I hope that I’ve kept her general enough that she doesn’t cross the line too much into OC territory and becomes unrelatable. As always, constructive criticism is welcome! My style of writing leaves much to be desired so I would love to know if something doesn’t make sense so I can improve and fix it. But enough of that, on with the show!

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Language and slight injury detail.

Plot: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

8 ABY, Mynock, Dandoran.

The second time you met him, he had dislocated his shoulder after a nasty clash with a Houk.

Your dealing with the Mandalorian on Klatooine had moved to the back of your mind and you rarely, if ever, thought about it. It was merely another encounter with a rough character that needed some medical attention. You wouldn’t have been able to hazard a guess at how many similar characters you saw in a week while you worked at the clinic. Even more so when you’d left Klatooine after becoming disillusioned that the New Republic were actually trying to make a difference.

You had heard stories from the Core and Mid Rim planets. Stories of the investment and progress being made to rebuild after the tyranny of the Empire, of the billions of credits being poured into the development of new ship building centers on Corellia and large, extravagant residencies for government members on Coruscant. Things, you were sure, that were not actually urgent necessities as they were desires. Especially given that the funds you received from that same government to sustain the clinic thinned before drying up completely a few months after your encounter with the Mandalorian.

…Hemorrhaging more credits than is justified for the benefits we’re seeing in return.

The busybody politician with a colorful title and even more colorful robes waxed poetically, hiding the sentiment of disinterest in ways only a politician could. Half-heartedly trying to distract you by his explanations with empty praise and gratitude for your service during the Rebellion and your humanitarian work now, a true embodiment of what the New Republic stands for. He crowed like the colorful bird he looked like, dressed as he was with fine feathers lining the lapels of his robes.

You bristle at the memory of the hologram’s eyes flickering to look at anything besides you, running down the time you had spent weeks trying to get.

That was when the memory of the Mandalorian surfaced, surprisingly. How the day after you treated him you arrived at the medical center and saw a familiar pouch of credits sitting innocently behind the check-in desk. When you enquired with the receptionist, she told you it was sitting there once she opened up earlier that morning. The only note left being on one of the datapads behind the desk, the scrawling font reading; to help with your work. You had let out a chuckle to yourself as you checked your schedule, wondering if the brutish male you had treated last night really was as cold as he portrayed himself to be.

The memory had incited a righteous anger that a bounty hunter was more willing to support a voluntary clinic than the government that set it up in the first place was.

I thought the Empire were the ones who put a credit limit on what a life is worth. You had hissed in return, interrupting what you were sure was a well-rehearsed and well used speech, before hanging up. You pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes, taking a shuddering breath as you tried not to be nihilistic in thinking that you had spent nearly half your life thinking you could make a difference, when, you were just serving the Empire in different clothing.

It wasn’t a fair comparison; you knew the New Republic was neither as cruel nor as tyrannical and oppressive as it’s predecessor, but you had been made so dreadfully aware that in places like the Outer Rim, people would always be overlooked by those in power because they simply didn’t offer enough to be worth looking at.

The realization was a raw wound to your soul. You had lost brothers and friends to the fight for liberation, but it didn’t seem as though the grass was much greener on the other side. Maybe elsewhere in the galaxy it was, but where you were needed most, the grass was dehydrated and dying under the relentless sun.

With the clinic penniless, your meagre pension from the Rebellion was not nearly enough to keep it functioning. Add to that the reluctance of the other medics to run the clinic alongside you out of their own pocket and the intergalactic beacon for medical aid that alerted anyone in the parsec of where to go being disengaged, traffic stopped. The native Klatooinians preferred their own healers and very rarely, if ever, sought out medics from the New Republic.

For the first time in your life, your path wasn’t clear. If you even had a path anymore.

That was how you found yourself on Dandoran, flying off a week after the last of the medics left Derelkann to the first planet that was habitable to humans. But by the Maker, it was even rougher than Klatooine. The temperate climate and lush greenery were more comfortable for you, but the city you found yourself in, Mynock, was to say the least, undesirable. Having once been Hutt Space, there were still several illegal operations active that kept the city going and you learned early on what areas to avoid and to always carry a blaster with you. But at least where there was activity, there was work for you.

***

You met Biran Sonter the very day you arrived, asking directions to the nearest medical facility, hoping they could use another medic. He was an elderly Mirialan male with a wealth of history behind him, his facial tattoos creased with deep wrinkles and a kindly smile that reminded you of your grandfather.

You were flabbergasted to learn that during the time of the Galactic Republic, he acted as the royal physician to the palace on Naboo.

As you choked on the tea he had kindly made for you at that revelation, you couldn’t ask him quickly enough how he ended up here? On an Outer Rim backwater skughole of a planet and his tale had been sobering. When the Republic first fell, anyone who did not immediately surrender to the rising Empire was terminated. Biran had, at the time, only heard word of the death of the beloved former Queen Amidala and blamed the Empire vehemently. Escaping on one of the last shuttles from the Mid Rim planet before legions of clones descended, he arrived on Dandoran where no one, not even the Hutts cared enough to notice him. All they knew, was that he was an excellent doctor who charged little for his services and kept to himself. That was good enough for them. While he treated a vast number of criminals ranging from thieves to bounty hunters, he was not wholly merciful. He somehow managed to avoid or talk his way out of treating anyone in the organized crime syndicates or known traffickers and killers. It may have gone against a physician’s code to do ones best to save every life, but he like many, made their own code in the Outer Rim.

You fell into a fast and easy friendship with the Mirialan after that, your similar histories of working in the medical field despite being decades apart giving you plenty to talk about. The practice Biran ran in Mynock was always busy and he was only too grateful when you offered to take the weight off his old shoulders and gradually, his clients began to expect to see you most of the day and Biran for a few hours in the early morning. You were never short on work between cantina brawls, accidents and the downright attacks that took place in Mynock and the next eighteen standard months seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, Klatooine a distant memory, as was the Mandalorian you met there.

The night you saw him again, was no different to any other you spent enjoying a quiet drink before heading back to turn in for the night.

You had been in the process of leaving the cantina, recognizing that the later it grew, the rowdier and aggressive the clientele became. You could handle yourself as well as anyone who made their home in Hutt Space, but you knew better than to be blatantly reckless when you were on your own. It wasn’t like you had the squadron you stayed with throughout the Rebellion for backup as you once did, and your closest ally would probably break in half if you pushed him too hard. So no, you were not staying late with Mynocks newest resident of a Houk warlord and the company he seemed to attract.

The Houk in question was a cruel and belligerent brute, a former local warlord by the name of Gappo Teff. His reputation for inflicting punishment disproportionate to any slight committed against him or the Empire was one of the many echoes of the former imperial rule that was still being felt in the galaxy nearly three years after its collapse.

The stories of the chokehold he held over Sullust would make even a hardened soldier’s stomach churn. How he managed to escape the liberation of the planet without being dragged to the noxious surface of Sullust to suffer for the pain he had caused so many, was a mystery. But there he was, sitting like a king in the cantina you found yourself in, bellowing laughter ricocheting obnoxiously throughout the space, not a care in the world that he was a wanted felon.

It might have been to do with the fact that he was at least seven and a half foot tall, with a mass that could easily fit three of you side by side across him and still not be seen. It might have been to do with the cold, milky blue of his small eyes, sunk into a skull so large it could probably shatter ribs and rupture organs if one were to be headbutted with it. The last thing anyone wanted was those eyes focusing on them. It could have been the heavy artillery modified blaster he kept laying on his lap; the weapon more of a cannon for those of a more regular stature. Whatever the reason, very few bounty hunters and even fewer New Republic guards came to collect him. He was probably one of the most easily found quarries on all Guild registers and New Republic wanted lists and yet, he languished in Mynock as if the Empire had never fallen and his reign was still assured.

Making your way to the entrance, you came up short as someone walked in, your nose coming abruptly close to a reddish-brown durasteel chest-plate. Taking a step back, your eyes did a double take at the familiar unpainted beskar helmet. Subconsciously, you had stepped to the side, the Mandalorian continuing to walk without a word as if you hadn’t nearly walked into him. Mandalorians were a rare sight these days, so you could be forgiven for staring. Though, you were most likely staring for entirely different reasons compared to everyone else in the cantina.

The armor was the same, if not a bit more worn, as was the dark boiled woolen cape and pulse rifle strapped to his back. But it was the gait; how could someone walk both gracefully and arrogantly, almost cocky in his self-assurance that he was in control wherever he went. It explained why he was so determined not to let his injury be known by his walk the last time you saw him. Because you had seen him before, there was no doubt in your mind that this was the same irritable reek of a Mandalorian you met in Derelkann years ago.

He stood in the middle of the cantina, assessing the place as his helmet scanned the area. If you didn’t know any better, you say he was…

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” You muttered to yourself when the helmet stopped on Teff. When you said bounty hunters didn’t bother to come after him, you should have been more specific. Smart bounty hunters didn’t bother hunting Gappo Teff, which explained why the one you knew of was right there looking for him.

A choice lay before you. Leave now and lock your doors until morning… or wait. For what, you couldn’t be sure. But if the Mandalorian wasn’t killed tonight by Teff, he was going to wish he was with the injuries he would probably sustain.

You let your head fall back on your shoulders as you exhaled. Why were you so soft for lost causes and wayward souls?

The Houks bodyguards left much to be desired, crumbling to the ground before they had even drawn their blasters, smoke rising from the blaster wounds inflicted effortlessly by Din.

The bodyguards weren’t what worried Din. Their boss hardly needed protecting, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The groan and screech of the metal table being shoved away by Teff as he stood to his full height made Din grit his teeth, arms open as he boomed, “Ah Mando, I was wondering when you’d try your luck at me. Your reputation is becoming rather infamous throughout the parsec.”

A guttural, wet laugh left the purple skinned quarry as Din remained silent and kept his blaster aimed. Damn, but the piece of bantha crap was big. He quickly scanned his peripheral, but it seemed the residents of Mynock had more self-interest than to trade blaster fire over one warlord, the barkeep casually making his was into the backroom of the bar to keep out of harms way.

“Why don’t you hang up that Guild work and let me make you a better offer.” Teff boomed, taking a swing of his drink, streams of the yellow fluid running down the sides of him mouth as those frosty eyes stayed trained on the bounty hunter.

Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet; negotiations by the quarry were his least favorite reaction to being caught but he knew better than to think he had captured the colossal male yet. Until Teff was either dead or frozen in carbonite, he was a danger. Luckily, the orders were to bring him in dead or alive. Seems the New Republic were fed up with him still breathing. He couldn’t say he blamed them.

“No?” the Houk pushed when Din didn’t respond, “Too bad, you’d have made an excellent addition to my collection.” And with more speed than Din had anticipated from the large male, he charged.

You had the good sense to leave the cantina as soon as the first blaster shot was fired, pulling the hood of your dusty grey jacket over your head while you made your way back to the practice to gather a few things. Things that would be completely obsolete if he died but you wouldn’t think that far. You were a realist, not a pessimist. The Houk might have had the advantage of height and sheer strength, but the Mandalorian was quicker, possibly smarter, and decked with enough firepower to make a starfighter pilot drool.

So, you put the odds about sixty forty in favor of the Mandalorian. Not that you would ever tell him that.

Teff roared in anger as Din rolled out of the way again, shooting his grappling hook to latch onto the Houks shoulder and yanked hard enough to throw the male off balance. Despite his large size however, Teff was able to slide his foot back to catch himself, putting him in direct line with Din.

He was on his feet in no time as the Houk charged at him, lowering his head so that on contact, Din’s left shoulder was thrown back into the wall of the cantina. His breath left him as the impact winded him, a dull but growing pain throbbing from his shoulder before Teff’s vile breath permeated even his helmet and a large hand wrapped around Din’s throat. He could feel his feet leave the floor and the weight of his body pulling downward made the pressure on his windpipe all the heavier.

“Oh well, at least you tried.” Teff gloated, his head leaning closer as if to peer into the visor and that distraction was all Din needed to lift his hand and engage his flamethrower, engulfing the Houk in flames. Din gasped in a breath when he was dropped, the squeals of pain coming from Teff disconcerting as he staggered around the cantina, desperately looking for something to extinguish the inferno his clothing and more vulnerable tissue had become.

Din waited a few more measured breaths before lifting the blaster and shooting the quarry in the vulnerable side of the neck, satisfied with the resounding bang the body made as it fell to the ground, flames still burning bright until he picked up the half-drunk tankard on Teffs table to douse the fire lest he be completely unrecognizable upon delivery.

Din looked around, the cantina was empty; the silence suddenly deafening as he looked back down at the body.

Now, how to get him back to the Razor Crest.

Din sighed.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

You held up your hands unsurprised when the Mandalorian spun on the ramp of his ship, blaster raised and aimed right at you. He tilted his head slightly, taking you in and you tried not to fidget under the gaze you could feel raking over you despite not being able to see his eyes. What you could see though, was how limp his left arm was hanging to his side.

“The demon medic from Klatooine.” He muttered, finally placing your face and lowering his blaster slowly while you lowered your arms.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You snorted before nodding to his arm, “And you’ll probably be calling me a lot worse when I tell you that that arm needs tending to.”

He shifted slightly, turning his body so you wouldn’t be able to see. You just crossed your arms across your chest and stared at him pointedly. He held your gaze and was still as a statue. You could play the silence game too if that was how he wanted to do this. It was only a matter of time before one of you broke and you weren’t the one with a dislocated shoulder, so you’d say that the odds were in your favor.

It seemed like time dragged on before, without saying anything, the Mandalorian sighed and turned towards the ship.

You bit down on a smile, but you could still feel it creeping upon your lips as you congratulated yourself on winning. Two nil, you tallied in your head, not bad girl.

The ship… well the ship was a fossil and that was being generous. But it was clean and obviously well taken of, if the tidy hull was anything to go by.

Apart from the charred corpse lying in the middle of course, but those were just details. Easily overlooked. The smell however… that was a different story, but you held back any comments. You still couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to drag a fully grown Houk through the town one-handed, but then you knew that the strength and discipline of the Mandalorians was unrivalled. He could have done it through sheer determination and honestly, you were lucky to have found him at all. But people in Mynock liked to talk, so following the rumors' had let you there relatively easy.

A sigh broke your train of thought, “Let’s get this over with.”

The warrior seemed resigned to his fate as he stepped over the corpse and you followed suit, mind instantly running through the correct procedure and treatment.

“We have to get the bone in the upper arm into the correct position before it slips back into joint, otherwise the force will just break your arm.” You explained as you moved to stand in front of the large warrior when he sat back on one of the many crates pushed against the wall of the ship. You could barely hear the short exhales coming from the modulator and you could only guess that he was holding back speaking, whether in pain or frustration that you had strong-armed him into accepting treatment again.

“But hey, look on the bright side.”

His visor tilted slightly to look at you.

“No droids needed.” You shrugged a shoulder and sent him a grin when he said nothing. When he looked away, you focused your attention back on the problem shoulder; it wasn’t immediately clear that it had been dislocated, the pauldron he wore hiding the jutting ball of the joint that was no doubt pressed uncomfortably against his flesh. What you could see was that his left side was hanging just a bit lower than his right, and the inability to move the arm was a dead giveaway.

“Are you just going to stare at it or actually do what you said you would when you barged onto my ship?” The rasp was closer to you as he turned his head, the rumble of his voice decidedly deeper than you remembered last time. Or perhaps it always had been, and you just hadn’t been paying enough attention, more focused on the very real threat of having a dead body on your hands as the poison spread. You rolled your eyes; or it was all the short and biting commands he only seemed to know how to give as opposed to actually speaking that made you forget the voice. The man could be attractive, if he wasn’t so frustrating.

“I can’t see it properly.” You replied, agitated with him again. He got under your skin too easily, and ruined your cool demeanor.

“You dealt with the problem just fine before.” He snapped back, pain making him cranky.

“You didn’t have a bone out of place last time!” You stopped yourself, sucking in a breath before releasing it to prevent yourself from snapping again.

“At least,” you bartered, “let me remove the pauldron. I can feel around the duraweave to get an idea. I won’t see any more of you than I did last time.”

He didn’t say anything again for a time and honestly, he was the slowest person you’d ever met at receiving emergency medical care. Half the men you treated during the Rebellion would yell until you’d taken care of the worst of their injuries before they even considered if it was what they wanted or not.

“Fine.” Was all he responded, making no move to remove the offending piece so you took that as your cue to feel around the curved metal cautiously, feeling where it attached to his duraweave and releasing it into your hands before placing it down on a separate crate.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” A warning growl echoed in the hull, turning you back to your task with a hum.

It seemed the joint had popped forward, no doubt from caving in as Teff collided with Mando’s shoulder. You leaned forward, your fingers feeling around the area as gently as you could while his breathing came out a little shorter. You sent him an apologetic smile.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stay still, okay? Usually I’d have someone to hold—”

“I can keep myself still, just do it.” He snapped finally, turning to look at you before he looked away again. You said nothing more as you took his gloved hand in yours, turning the forearm over and feeling the hand clench in yours when he hissed.

“Shh, nearly there.” You soothed, moving your hand under his elbow to lift it so it was aligned with Mando’s shoulder. You stood, keeping the arm in place and twisting yourself to stand facing his side.

You were definitely out to get him. There was no other explanation for why he only seemed to be seriously injured in your presence. Din tried to tell himself he was being over-dramatic and irrational, that you hadn’t even been on the same planet when he was injured the first time, but then you opened your mouth and he felt justified in his petulant thoughts.

“On three.” He heard you warn and all he could offer was a single nod; the sooner he got this over with the better.

“One…” You jerked the arm forward and slipped the joint back into place quickly with a sickening crack and searing pain took his breath away before it began to ebb immediately.

“DANK…. FERRICK!” Din yelled as his good arm reached across to grip his left, bending forward as he breathed through the flash of pain. You moved out of his way, waiting for him to look back up at you through the helmet, deep pants making his chest heave. You cocked your head to the side when his eyes found yours, a clear question there.

He groaned as he sat back, leaning his head against the hull, “It… doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” He admitted, thinking that the smile you gave him was somewhat worth the knock to his ego at having to admit such a thing in the first place. And like last time, before he could even worry about the concerning direction that thought had led to, you were fluttering about opening crates and bins as if you owned the place.

“What the hell—” he made to stand indignantly.

“Do you have any spare cloth?” You interrupted, “Your arm needs to be bound for a few days. If you have bacta it might reduce the healing time a bit but honestly, I don’t think dislocations can be rushed despite recent studies. Rushing back to heavily lifting or activity for at least six weeks is a sure way to hurt yourself again.”

You were rambling now as you set a pile of disused yet clean cloth you found on your lap, sitting across from him as he just blinked at this enigma of a woman. Giving him orders in his own ship, were you daft?

Your eyes sharpened and shot to his and he was suddenly glad you couldn’t see behind his mask. His eyes had widened guiltily at the thought that you had read his mind.

“You will do what you’re told, understand Mando?” You warned as your fingers tied a loose sling from strips of cloth you’d pulled apart without even having to look at it, deft fingers looping the material and strengthening it with several more layers woven in for good measure.

“If you insist on getting injured so often, you live with the consequences. And the consequences are doing what you’re fucking told and being happy about it, got it? Sulk if you want, so long as you keep the arm bound and don’t take on any jobs for at least two months.”

He opened his mouth a few times at the audacity, did she have a death wish? He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him as if he were no more than a child and it made his blood boil. But just as quickly as the anger arose, it simmered as she muttered while watching her fingers tie off the sling,

“You don’t actually seem like a bad guy, and the galaxy can’t afford to lose anymore… not bad guys.” She seemed unsure of giving out even this level of praise but then again, she only had their first encounter to go by.

He grunted; not sure how to respond. And when Din was uncomfortable, he resorted to silence.

You got to your feet once the sling was suitably strong enough to support the weight of his arm without unravelling or breaking and you indicated to him, “May I?”

He jerked his head up in affirmation and you maneuvered the sling to sit correctly under his elbow and forearm, coaxing him to lift it slightly with a tap before you looped the tied end over his helmet, adjusting the length slightly to fit against him.

“You left Klatooine.” the statement rose from the warrior, his tone quieter than you’d heard him all day. Was he... trying to make conversation? Din told himself that it was merely out of curiosity from seeing you by chance on two totally different planets.

Blinking in surprise, you sat back on the crate in front of him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back on one of your hands, “New Republic stopped funding the clinic and I realized that they’re all the same when it comes to the Outer Rim.”

He snorted in agreement, honestly, he wasn’t surprised to hear the New Republic had cut their losses on charity. It wasn’t in their nature to funnel money away from the Core planets.

“But it’s not all bad,” you continued, “I work with a doctor here. He’s old now so he should be enjoying his retirement. I’m kept busy and…”

He watched you while he waited for you to finish, surely there was more? But when you just shrugged and sent him a tight smile, he felt an uncomfortable niggle at the back of his neck, a familiarity that made him almost want to smile back even if you couldn’t see it. Almost. But not quite. He was unnerved at the… empathy he had for your situation. He too just… kept busy. It wasn’t towards any end beyond supporting the covert and the foundlings there. But for himself, he just kept working towards some translucent, non-existent goal, one job ended, and another began.

Something in your eyes told him you were doing the exact same thing. It unnerved him to think about.

“Echoy’la…” the word left him without knowing and you blinked,

“Hm?”

He shook his head and stood, grunting a bit at the ache in his shoulder when it jostled a bit, “Nothing. It seems I owe you my thanks again, demon medic.”

“I do have a name you know.” You snorted, letting the previous topic go as it seemed to just make him more awkward and grumpy than he already was. You packed away the medikit and replaced the unused cloth back where you found it.

“Somehow I don’t think it’ll be as fitting.”

“Whatever, sunshine.” You looked over your shoulder at him, the sling looking so out of place as he hooked a thumb in the utility belt he wore. It was amazing that he could still look as intimidating as he did. You gathered your things and started down the ramp leisurely. He followed you silently until he was standing at the entrance to the ship.

“Demon or not… thank you.” He called out as your feet hit the dusty ground of Mynock once again. You looked back over your shoulder and gave a single wave, calling something back to him that did make him smile behind his helmet this time.

As you disappeared into the streets of Mynock, he tested the name you had thrown back to him, rolling the syllables, and testing the vowels as he repeated it to himself.

Pity, he thought. He hated being wrong about anything, but somehow, your name was a much better fit than demon medic.

Not that he would ever admit that to you, of course.

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#the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #din djarin imagine #mando imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

All This Hassle, and What For?

Pairing | Loki Laufeyson x reader

Summary | getting taken hostage, along with Loki, is far more amusing than ever intended to be, despite it leaving your captors anything but impressed.

Warnings | kidnapping, mentions of depression, swearing, implied smut, innuendos

Based off this tiktok. All original rights to the plot go back to the creator.

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your aching eyes, you found yourself to be in a large room, there were plenty of feet stood at your eye level, and such a sight made you frown. You certainly didn’t remember being knocked out, but who would, the exposure to unconsciousness was most likely sudden.

But nevertheless, you raised your head, glaring up at those whom had captured you. As your eyes scoured the room, your eyes landed promptly on the god of mischief, who had his hands bound and shackled in chains, and by Odin, did he look good.

However, your attraction the man who once reigned terror down upon New York wasn’t the focus now, and so you licked your lips, and kicked the nearest guard in the leg. He stumbled, the noise loud enough to draw the attention of all others, and you were pleased to stifle a laugh. Loki frowned at your behaviour, knowing that this was not the way that you were trained to be an avenger, but it was clear that you were no longer on earth, so human pleasantries did not apply here.

“And by the gods, who in the galactic council’s name do you think you are?” The closest asked, wrapping his large hand through your hair, and tugging your face up to stare up at him, wanting you to be treated as the lesser being he thought you as.

“Actually, he’s the god.” Tilting your head, you diverted it towards Loki, who squinted feebly at your answer. “But I think you already knew that, since you have him rattled in metal. Just a word of advice, rumour has it that he likes to be restrained in such ways; really, you’re doing him a favour, and you may just earn yourself a big tip.”

You sent a wink up at the commander, watching with inward joy as he grimaced at your development within your speech. “Quite a nice sight, to see him so vulnerable and at someone’s mercy, so thank you general.”

Sending him a smile, he huffed, whilst Loki tried his darnedest to contain an amused grin. It wouldn’t be the first occasion that you had made suggestions regarding the new troop of the avengers; even when he was around causing mischief, (which he still tended to do), there were always words said that gained the god’s intrigue.

Tony at the time, and to this day, despite him being a part of the heroic team, which Thor was ‘inclined’ to drag him into, thought nothing more than disgust at your meaningful jokes. In his words, ‘you two may as well screw so we don’t have to listen to anymore of this dirty banter, you in regards to reindeer games’.

How you wished right now, preached silently even, that Tony could bare to listen again, so that he could send in the team whom could deal with these aliens that were keeping your imprisoned. But all communications were cut, and that just left you and Loki.

By no means did you doubt if Loki got the chance to escape, he would leave you. It was in his nature to do so, but if you could pose a lack of threat, they may loosen up on their efficiency in guarding you. After all, Loki was the one they wanted, not you. And then, both of you could get away from this galactic nonsense.

“Humans.” The general huffed, causing you to grimace as the stench of his breath wafted through the air, and hit your nose. “You all think that you are so special, but when it comes down to it, those who are not from your planet do not care. Loki here, this god, does not care about you little one. And he never will.”

“That’s okay with me, because I don’t care about him either. It’d called self preservation.” You informed your captor, noticing Loki staring across at you with an icy gaze. Who were you kidding? Of course you cared about the god, but right now, you would do anything to get out of this predicament.

“Aw would you look at that.” The feet moved back towards the main reward of their capture, staring down at the green eyed trickster with mocking eyes. “This woman has attitude just like yours, if either of you cared, I’d call it a match made in Asgard.” A laugh bellowed from the wide chest of the being, finding his own comedy quite humorous.

“Excuse me, I’m way out of his league!” You pretended to be offended, bringing your hands that were free of restraint to your chest. They thought not to tie you down as they did to him, after all, you were nothing but a midguardian. That was their mistake. “What’d you want with old horse shagger over there anyways? Don’t be alarmed, but he actually does some kind of good now, even if it be out of his own self interest.”

A heavy sigh fell on deaf ears, as the protector of space glanced unsurely between the pair of you. “He has the tesseract, and I wish to take it from his slippery hands, he cannot be trusted with such a powerful source of energy.” His words bellowed a laugh of absolute surprise from your mouth, earning a frown from those keeping you hear, and a cock of the head from the god of mischief.

It was clear that not only was he confused by your supple, yet somewhat pleasant burst of amusement, but he was also in the dark about what in the Hela this predominant being was speaking of. Yes, he had had the tesseract at one point , however, no longer was it in his untrustworthy grasp.

Thanos had taken ownership over it, after killing many of the people that he had saved from the events of Ragnarok. It was not just some energy source, it had been an infinity stone all along, tricking the eyes of elders and the young to believe that it was nothing more than a harbouring of power. But it had indeed been the space stone, and it was taken from him, in exchange for saving Thor’s life.

The Guardians of the Galaxy had found the pair of them upon the aftermath of the wreckage, taking them in, amongst plans of taking Thanos down. It had been a failure, up until the avengers went back in time, going to their past that would not affect their future, so that they could reverse the affects the Titan had brought upon earth and everywhere else.

During that time, Loki had nurtured his brother, watching as he fell apart with the responsibility of their people, and collapsed into a spiral of depression. You had also been there for Thor, doing your best to take the drink away from the bulky god, but to no avail did you manage to succeed. And so, during those tormenting five years, you and Loki would sit side by side, both basking silently in your failures.

“I thought you guys’d know everything, but I guess that you and your highness are stuck in one time line; all of them. But for us humans and every lesser being, there are multiple, and that Loki that stole the tesseract, yet I say again, is one much different. And we are on the search for him, to stop his disruption and crossing over of the times!” An exonerated, and audible exhale of air left you after your little speech.

Loki smirked, at the premise of you protecting him with the admission of the truth. But he couldn’t help but feel a feeling of warmth flutter within his immortal insides, it was rather a nice feeling he realised. “He is quite difficult to catch, we have been tracking him since the time heist went sideways.”

“That’s because he’s you!” You pointedly exclaimed, unable to pin some of the blame upon the god himself. Sure, in recent times he had changed, and was much different from back when he wanted all mortals to kneel before him (which you’d willingly do if it ever came to that, though you’d never tell him under which circumstances that would be), but at the end of the day, that had been him once!

The tricks and the lies still remained, but he had found a reason to thrive, and a long and enduring career that he was well at tackling. Often, he made out being an avenger, despite the government’s rouse of concern, to be a bore, and that he had far better things to do. But he stayed, with a light in his eyes, and continued following along with the heroic traditions, breaking a few rules here and there.

“Dear, why do you always have to put the blame upon me? I was not the one who decided to put that green dye within your shampoo, but I’ll have to admit, did you look so enrapturing.” He was running a ploy, dragging out the time that you spent bantering in hopes of something happening.

Unlike Heimdall, he did not have foresight, but it was a requirement whilst the pair of you were on your expediting mission, that you check in with the base, via the comms that had cracked under brutal feet. And so, he spoke, with the promise that you’d return the conversation and leave all others in the room confused with your meaningless discussion.

“I did, didn’t I?” You asked, to which he hummed in reply, lightly nodding his head, as his feline eyes ran up your body, paying ample attention to how your limbs were free, unlike his own. “But I’d say fine sir, that the blame is down to Clint, and if I’m correct, may we kick his ass as soon as we get back home?”

“Of course we can my beloved-“ you froze at his choice of words, and it appears that he did too, suddenly realising his mistake. Gulping for a second he went to speak again, but the commander felt much inclined to but in, and stop the headache that was bubbling in his large head.

“Shut up; the pair of you!” His scolding made you feel as though you were in school over again, it was impossible not to drop your head down and try to contain your laughter. Loki too found such enjoyment in this predicament, sporting a cheshire grin to emit his emotions.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again? Maybe a just a tad louder?” You pinched your thumb and forefinger together to show how much, and it was clear that you were pissing this primal being off. He began towards you, and you were prepared to fight him, you were never one to back down, which was one feature upon the various reasons that Fury had initially recruited you.

Awaiting the first strike, you stood despite the others around you, your eyes wide open as you bravely stared up at your opponent. But before the fight could begin, a distant crash assumed preference in your ears, causing you to turn your head in the direction it had came from. And then, all of a sudden, a ship crashed through the dock, guns blazing from its side.

“What are you waiting for?” The distinct voice of Rocket asked, and obediently you ran through the terror, finding Loki already upon the ship, but then, he appeared behind you also. “Quill, get ready to go!”

Taking glances, you stared between the two practically identical copies, a light frown on your face. Both were restrained, yet the one that was seated beside Groot, whom was playing a game on some nineties device, was glaring up at the pair of you.

“An avenger, really?” The seated one laughed, mocking his once future self, as you felt the ship steer clear away from the scene. Your Loki quirked his brow, smirking at his self that had avoided the wars that he had chosen to fight upon earth.

“Yes, an avenger.” He responded, causing his other to languidly scoff. An ‘I am groot’ came from the tree, and it was uncertain in your spoken languages of what he had said, but either way, you were more intrigued by the conversation that was happening between the Loki’s. “And I’ll have you know, that she is infinitely more brave than you, you cower-some fool.”

“Oh, so we’re going there?” You asked, causing the pair to snap out of their mutual rivalry, and stare haphazardly at you. “No, don’t mind me, feel free to continue.”

“We’re not going to be unable to unbind your until we reach earth.” Gamora cut in, speaking to the Loki that you knew to be the original.

“That’s fine.” He nodded humbly, before casting his attention back at his alternate reflection. “And this woman, is not only an avenger. She was there for your brother when you were not.”

“Aw.” The other Loki smirked, almost cruelly. “So she’s your beloved?” He remarked rudely, and it seemed to break something within Loki, him wishing not to listen to the other version of himself. He decided he did not like him, and understand how you must have felt upon your initial meeting.

“Yes.” You went to speak, but instead, Loki stood before you, powerlessly pulling your face to his own, and colliding his lips upon yours. On impulse, you ravenously replied with much affection, clasping his jaw and allowing him entrance into your mouth. It earned a disgusted groan out of the Loki that had caused all this hassle.

“I hate to interrupt...” Rocket returned, after putting his gun down and having gone to the front of the ship with Quill, so that he could contact Stark. “But these may get those off.” He held a pair of golden pliers, that were far larger than his body. At the sight , you pulled away from Loki’s face for a moment, raising a brow.

“It’s fine, I think I want to keep them on.” You smirked, earning another sound of disapproval from Loki’s identical rival, pulling him back to your face. Wildly, he hummed into the cavern of your mouth, as the pair of you stumbled around on the spaceship.

“Bedrooms are down the hall to the right.” Nebula informed you, her voice monotone, and in turn, you dragged the god towards said direction, finally releasing all the tension that had been pent up through the years.

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@nickkie1129

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

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Dream SMP Recap (March 17/2021) - Ranboo’s Story

Everyone is building on the Dream SMP today. Phil works on his projects in the Arctic, Foolish continues construction on the massive mansion, Niki works on her underground city.

Ranboo takes some time to do something else: tell his entire story as it stands so far, in preparation for what’s to come.

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VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Hbomb94

Foolish

Tubbo

Philza

Ranboo

Hannah

Niki

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- Ponk meets Niki at the Community House. She notices his red eyes.

- Niki leads Ponk to her haven city for a tour. Ponk thinks it’s a pyramid scheme. Maybe a cult.

- Ponk asks if there’s a jail in this city.What happens if someone does something bad? Niki explains that they just get thrown out. She’s friends with some powerful people.

Ponk: “Look. With friends come conflict, Niki. Just remember that. Wilbur was Tommy’s friend, look what happened! ...So I’d be careful who you trust. But I may be coming back here soon, maybe to join you.”

- Ponk says his goodbyes and leaves the city. Definitely a cult.

- Tubbo visits Michael and decides to plan out what rooms he wants for the mansion. He speaks with Foolish to discuss the layout.

- Tubbo and Foolish work on the mansion

- Hbomb logs in and chats with Niki as she works on the underground city.

- Phil works on the Syndicate room.

- Ranboo shows Phil the infested stone he collected

- Quackity whispers to Phil “Look Gorgious” and leaves

- Phil keeps working. Foolish calls him over to Snowchester.

- Foolish tells Phil the mansion is for Michael and Phil points out Michael is tiny.

- Foolish shows him the list of requests

- Phil gives Foolish “fool’s gold” (honey)

- Phil visits Foolish and puts on his canonical glasses (shaders)

- They go back to the Prime Path and put on creeper heads to become Sam.

- They briefly visit L’manhole and Phil tells Foolish he used to live there.

- They go scouting around Eret’s castle and then head back to the Arctic.

- Before Foolish can come into Phil and Techno’s territory, Phil asks Foolish how he feels about government. Foolish says he’s neither pro nor anti. He’s never been a part of a government, since all that ended before he joined the server.

- Foolish does his shift dance. Phil throws him some real gold.

- Foolish leaves and Phil continues working

- Phil does acid (shaders) in L’manburg

- He explores the bottom of the crater. Phil feels no regret about what happened.

People can’t be replaced, but things can. As someone who’s been around for a long time, who’s seen people pass over hundreds of years, people are so much more important than possessions as a result of that.

- He’s lived for so long he’s forgotten for how long, but at least hundreds of years.

- Phil’s known Techno since Techno was young.

- Foolish returns to the mansion. He speaks with Tubbo about the layout again.

- Foolish commits arson on James

- Niki accidentally dug into the Kinoko Kingdom library while working on her city. It will either be the spark of a beautiful friendship, or a war.

- Her Syndicate name is Nemesis

- After more work in the Nether, Phil goes to Niki’s underground city for a visit.

- Niki gives him a tour, and Phil drops off the quartz

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Ranboo’s Lore Recap: The Story So Far

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Ranboo logs in at Spawn. He went outside, punched some trees, got killed by Dream a couple times (non-canonically), got a tour from Niki.

The next day, he got a tour from the President of L’manburg, who asked if he was going to run for President. Ranboo decided to live in L’manburg. He shaped Ranboo’s beliefs at the beginning, that L’manburg was good. They went to the Nether and found Michael, and put him in a boat.

Then, they were approached by Tommy, who told them about his plan: to grief George’s house. As they walked over, Niki and Puffy (on their date) were there. Ranboo and Tommy asked for Niki’s armor and went over to George’s house to do it. They ran off after burning it down by accident.

Niki and Puffy knew it was them and asked, but Ranboo realized…he didn’t remember.

Dream started building a wall around L’manburg, and they didn’t know why. He showed them George’s house. It got blamed on Tommy.

During the trial, Tommy stood up for Ranboo and so Ranboo didn’t take the blame, as he had bad memory.

They decided to meet with Dream and created the Meeting Hall, and for the meeting, Ranboo became the minutes man of L’manburg.

There was a pig guy watching them during the meeting.

The meeting didn’t go well; Tommy used Spirit as leverage to get Dream to take down the walls, but then Dream stopped and told them he didn’t care about Spirit, only the discs.

There was another meeting set up. Ranboo realized writing stuff down to remember it was a good idea, so he created the first “Do Not Read” book.

He watched from the ground as the cabinet met with Dream on the wall. Ranboo saw Tommy being taken away for some reason — he’d been exiled. Ranboo felt guilty.

Back in L’manburg, things were going great! Ranboo had a house now, pets…but the guilt remained. Ranboo visited Tommy in exile a couple times, and things seemed off, so Ranboo wrote letters to him to try and help.

One day, while writing in his book, starting an ice cream shop with Fundy…he was approached by this fellow named Quackity. Quackity told him about this wanted pig guy, Technoblade, the reason everything was gone — Techno was a traitor, and Quackity had plans to get Techno and bring him to justice.

The first Butcher Army meeting was held. Ranboo was a bit confused, but decided to help, because betraying someone’s pretty bad. So they all went off to fight Technoblade. Quackity got a horse named Carl, and Techno surrendered, and though Ranboo thought there’d be a fair trial, there was just an execution. Techno miraculously survived, ran off, and Quackity was killed.

While this was happening, Phil — who had saved him from lava one time when he was trapped — was apparently helping Techno, the traitor. So L’manburg put him on house arrest, and he wasn’t happy about that. Ghostbur called Ranboo an “Aaron Burr” and went with Ranboo on a trip to then snow…to Techno’s place.

Ranboo still had Techno’s armor, Techno tried to kill him, then Ranboo gave all his armor back. Someone else was there was well — Tommy.

Ranboo wrote all of this down in his Memory Book and returned to L’manburg, told them that he had no idea where Techno or Tommy were…at which point Ranboo realized…he’d just betrayed the entire Butcher Army.

The next few days, Ranboo kept seeing Techno and Tommy around with a lot of dogs. He continued to write things down, being kind of on both sides. Ranboo decided he couldn’t choose and instead would help everyone.

Things were going fine. L’manburg was planning a Festival to kill Dream, as Dream would finally respect the laws of L’manburg and attend with no armor. Ranboo made a trident game.

At some point, Ranboo created a fake memory book that got burnt by Skeppy around Christmas during Skeppy’s sister’s visit.

Before the Festival, Ranboo realized he’d lost his Memory Book. He found it in a chest…but that wasn’t where he’d put it. How did it get there?

Ranboo created a panic room out of obsidian, a place to reckon with his morals, a place to think. The water created white noise that helped him think. It was there that he decided to stop choosing sides, and start choosing people.

The day of the Festival, Ranboo secretly met with Techno and Tommy in Purpled’s Skull Base. Dream arrived and started building the wall again.

Dream led them all over to the Community House, and they all saw that it was completely destroyed. It was apparently Techno and Tommy, who shortly arrived. Tommy and Tubbo fought, Dream asked for Techno’s help to blow up L’manburg the next day. Then, Dream told them that Ranboo was a traitor. He gave Tubbo a little book — the first Memory Book.

Ranboo thought he had the Memory Book on him. How could it have been switched? He opened up the one he had, but…all that was left was a smile. And that smile symbolized his betrayal. This was the second Memory Book, the replacement.

At the announcement of Doomsday, everyone somewhat banded together. Ranboo gave a speech, that if they kept trying to save L’manburg, it would just keep causing problems. People were looking at Ranboo, the eye contact made him aggravated, he lashed out at his friends.

He went back to the Panic Room, started talking to himself, thinking about what he would do. Would he help or not? It was at that point that he began to hear something — something that was Ranboo…a voice. A voice that sounded like Dream. It told Ranboo the last thing he wanted to hear: that by trying to help everyone, he’d betrayed everyone. Ranboo didn’t believe him, thought he’d only given the armor to Techno. The voice left, and Ranboo decided the best thing he could do was help. Help the people who helped him: L’manburg.

He was still missing something: the first Memory Book.

It was time for Doomsday. The dogs, the Withers, the explosions all started, and L’manburg went. The people who’d been for L’manburg suddenly switched. But out of all of this, Ranboo heard something. He heard Techno ask, “What’s this ‘Do Not Read’ book?”

Ranboo ran to Techno, who gave it to him and told him to run. Techno showed him mercy.

Ranboo talked with Fundy after, he’d hurt Fundy. Ranboo talked with Quackity, who seemed to forgive him, because he’d read Ranboo’s Memory Book. He’d been the one to have the book, and he read it.

Ranboo visited the Panic Room, not knowing what to do…

Someone came and asked if he was okay: Phil. Phil offered him a home with himself and Techno, and they got along.

He thought he was safe, and everything was good, and that’s when he heard a disc: Mellohi, from someplace very far away. It was from the Panic Room, so he went back. He took out the disc, and an old friend came back: the voice. This time, the Dream voice told him that he was more of a traitor than he thought. It told him that he’d been helping Dream this entire time, he just didn’t remember. It told him he blew up the Community House. But the voice wasn’t Dream, Ranboo figured it was just a voice trying to fill the gaps between his memories. It told Ranboo to mine a block, behind which were two pieces of TNT.

Ranboo kept chilling with Techno and Phil, build himself a place to live. It was at this time that Tommy and Tubbo were planning on trying to get their discs back.

For a while, Ranboo lived in solitude. For the first time in a while, he was happy. He decided he was done living in fear of the Dream voice, and went to confront it, to tell it that there’s no way he helped Dream. The Dream voice told him he had one of the discs. Ranboo thought there was no way, so he went back to his house and searched, and dug up a chest with the Cat disc inside.

Ranboo realized that something was going on. He realized he’d been sleepwalking, of sorts.

Something happened: Tommy and Tubbo were going to fight Dream. Everyone thought they were probably going to die, and…what happened after that?

Dream was put in prison, Ranboo started to be able to pick up blocks, and Ranboo decided to call this state: Enderwalking.

Everything seemed fine, besides the giant Egg. The prison was open for visitation, and Ranboo had a good idea: what if he visited Dream? Everything went normally, except Dream told him exactly what he didn’t want to hear: that apparently, he and Dream had been talking in his Enderwalk, and Ranboo was one of Dream’s best friends. Dream handed Ranboo his own Memory Book. The entire chest was full of Memory Books. The prison started to crumble, Dream disappeared and then…Ranboo guessed the entire visit had just been the Dream voice but…worse. He decided to keep his head down for the time.

Ranboo needed to visit the prison again, but for real this time, to actually get closure. He went up to Sam, made his way to the lobby, and told Sam it was his first time visiting — which he thought it was. Sam thought he was joking around. Sam told him that he’d visited before…the Enderwalk. Sam showed Ranboo the books, and they were written in Enderman.

Sam told Ranboo he had a book on him — Ranboo now had a third Memory Book, but there was nothing in the books about any visit.

There must have been a fourth book.

Ranboo, to this day, still does not know where that fourth book is. This fourth book…it wasn’t a Memory Book. It was a book of the Enderwalk.

So for the time being, Ranboo tried to work against the Enderwalk, but nothing worked. So…he was just kind of living. His beacon disappeared, his tools kept getting to low durability randomly. He didn’t know why. He just decided to stop getting involved in things and just keep living.

Ranboo visited Snowchester, he did cool things with Techno, he was happy.

Then, he got married for tax reasons and decided to build a hotel to rival Tommy’s with Tubbo.

Then, one day, after saving Michael, after everything, they received news: Tommy had died. And Sam had just let it happen.

Another day, in his house, Ranboo decided he should just relax. He saw Niki outside and wondered what she was doing there. Techno offered him a place in an anarchist organization called the Syndicate. Ranboo decided to join, he told them that Tommy died.

Then Tommy was alive. Somehow he was alive.

Ranboo was brought to a room with two shrines and a hallway with a place for everyone's treasured items. He started to remember, started to hear things. Dream had a revive book. Tommy and Tubbo didn't die because everyone went there and saved them, but Ranboo didn't remember this.

Ranboo realized that Dream had to be stopped before he brought back the villains, and...then he'll finally be happy. He has Michael to protect now.

He was hanging around with Tubbo when they were approached by Tommy, who had the same idea. Ranboo agreed. They began to build a watchtower, Ranboo spoke with Ghostbur, who didn't seem like he wanted to go.

And now? Ranboo is trying to figure out a way to kill Dream. But there's also a larger issue to figure out.

He figures that Dream gave him a set of instructions while he visited the prison in the Enderwalk, and Ranboo needs to find a way to stop the Enderwalk.

It hasn't happened in a while, right? Maybe he already has.

So now, Ranboo is figuring out the Enderwalk and protecting Michael at all costs, even if he might have to lose a little bit of life…

And that is the story so far.

[This story was told as c!Ranboo — not really, but if Ranboo could collect his entire story and tell it. So some things have been left out.

For example, Sapnap giving Ranboo the message…]

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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drwcn · 3 years

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《 Without Envy 》 storyboard 10 - concubine/sleeper agent!wwx & prince!lwj

Other snippets and storyboards can be found on [Master List]

Exactly 851 days - 2 years, 4 months and 11 days - after Wei Wuxian arrived at Gusu and began his mission as a sleeper agent, he was activated.

That chilly morning, he walked into the pastry shop - a front maintained by a decade-long Wen spy - a walk he'd done hundred of times on hundreds of mornings since he arrived. He breezed past the packaging counter, skipped through the faded cotton drapes, and rounded behind the back staircase to the room where Xue Yang always waited for him. Only this time, it was not just his candy-obsessed, murder-happy shidi, but a face he hadn't seen in many, many months. "...Shifu?" Wen Zhuliu's visit meant the end of his carefree days. It's time. That night, Wei Wuxian did not look at either Lan Wangji or Jiang Yanli when he bid "dianxia" and "Jiang-zhuzi" good night. He pretended to retire to bed early, after washing himself of his servant's exterior and donning his robes of night-black. He laid in the dark, waiting for time to pass, and reminded himself of his true purpose. He was never meant to care about these people; love these people. Jiang Yanli was not his doting foster sister; Lan Wangji was not his beloved wangye. I am Wei Wuxian of the great Qishan Wen. Nevernight is my home. I am a spy. Gusu is my enemy. Wei Wuxian kept his eyes closed, his breathing even, and his heartbeat slow. In the lonely quiet, he waited, and waited, and waited. Until the candlelight around the princely manor dimmed to nothing, until the night grew still and the moon shone bright and high in the dark, dark sky. Reaching under the floorboard beneath his bed, Wei Wuxian retrieved his life-long companion from its hiding place and released it from its sheath. "Hello, old friend." He whispered, stroking the blade edge. Suibian's steel glistened with cold malevolence in the stark, pale moonlight.

It would be another year before WWX's identity is discovered. During that time, he lived a double life. In the day, he was Lan Wangji's precious Wei Ying, and at night, he was the blade in Wen Ruohan's hand, stealing, killing and destroying on command. His assignments were not always murder; sometimes it required him to break into secure facilities and obtain copies of certain documents. He was never alone on these jobs; there was always someone convalescing with him from within. Slowly, he began to realize just how deep Wen Ruohan's spy network had infiltrated Gusu's foundation. In a way, it excited him, to know that the posturing and pretending would soon be over, that in the near future a quick war would sweep across the land and unite the two nations. In another way, it frightened him to the bones.

Wei Wuxian killed 37 individuals within the span of a year, 37 men and women of different ranks, status and stations. He did not always know why these people needed to die; in fact, he often didn't and preferred it that way. If he didn't know the motive, then he couldn't argue against the reason, and thus could go on believing that what Wen Ruohan did was ultimately for the betterment of everyone. The men of Gusu were weak - Wei Wuxian was always told - they were not fit to rule. The people of Gusu would be better served under a united empire. He repeated this statement to himself before every job, but over time, the mantra on his tongue began to lose its flavour.

In the meantime however, Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli quickly formed a strong plan on how they wanted to live out the rest of their lives. Lan Wangji never quite enjoyed laying with women, but Jiang Yanli had just enough wickedness behind her demure exterior that things were... well, interesting. In any case, it was not long before she came to him all smiles and whispered the good news over luncheon .

"Truly?" Lan Wangji set down his chopsticks. "Hm uhm." Jiang Yanli dapped her mouth delicately. "Now, perhaps it's a good time to discuss how dianxia should go about winning A-Xian's affection. He's under the impression you've cast him aside on taishi's orders and has been giving him the cold shoulder." "I wasn't." Lan Wangji defended himself, distressed and slightly offended. "It's just, huangshu's been watching me like a hawk. I was afraid any further attempt to be closer to him would give my uncle reason to remove him from my household entirely." Jiang Yanli was sympathetic. "The summer hunt is in two week's time, and afterwards, since bixia always likes to finish the night on the river with fireworks, perhaps...." She let the sentence dangle, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Lan Wangji felt hope.

Unfortunately, a little hiccup happened before the hunt could take place. Jin Ziyan falsely believed that Wei Wuxian had fallen out of favour with Lan Wangji and was itching to show him his place. Poor Mo Xuanyu was caught in the middle. Jin Ziyan knew Wei Wuxian was an audacious one, but not so stupid that he could be easily goaded into committing a grave offence. Thus, Jin Ziyan planned to cause an incident in the garden whereby poor Mo Xuanyu would unwittingly "offend" him, and he would publicly announce a punishment that was harsher than necessary. He made sure that Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian were near by, as they usually took a mid-afternoon stroll after lunch. True to his predictions, Wei Wuxian could not stop himself for interfering on Mo Xuanyu's behalf. Then in their altercation, Jin Ziyan would fall into the pond, making it seem as though Wei Wuxian was the one who shoved him out of anger. Oh but a lowly servant shoving Hanguang-wang's deputy consort into the pond??! He was as good as dead. What's more, everything happened on the same afternoon that Lan Qiren was scheduled to visit Lan Wangji to discuss matters of court. If it was only Lan Wangji, Jin Ziyan knew Wei Wuxian would suffer little consequence, but taishi tolerated no insubordination or churlish behaviour of any kind.

Lan Qiren was incensed, livid, but he was not hasty to deal the punishment. Instead he turned to his nephew and asked, whilst fully knowing the answer, "Wangji, your household follows the regulations that govern all princely manors, does it not?" "It does, huangshu." "Then tell me what is the punishment reserved for a servant for daring to lay hands on a deputy consort and to cause physical harm to said consort?" "It....I - huangshu -" "What is the rule?" Lan Wangji knew very well that the punishment was death for any servant, maid or eunuch who dared to harm any member of the harem. But Wei Ying, his Wei Ying... "Wei Ying is very precious to Yanli and to Yunmeng-hou. As well..." Lan Wangji hesitated. "Yanli is with child again. It is still very early so we thought it best not to announce it lest we have a repeat of last time. It would not do to upset her at this time." Lan Qiren was extremely dissatisfied with his answer, but conceded for Jiang Yanli's sake. "I'm glad, Wangji, that you've found your way back to your proper companions. This Wei Wuxian clearly has been spoiled to the point of impropriety. His actions today are utterly unacceptable and cannot be allowed to go unpunished or else others would surely follow his example. Guards!" "Detain Wei Wuxian. Have him strung up on a post in the servants' courtyard and give him fifty lashes. No food nor drink. Sun or rain, he is not to be let down until dusk tomorrow." "Huangshu!" Lan Wangji's head buzzed, as though someone had struck him squarely in the temple. His chest felt tight, and his heart ached where it rebelled inside him. "Please -" "He has his life. That is mercy enough."

Wei Wuxian was stripped down to his trousers only and tied up to a post, his hands bound together above him and his bare feet never finding purchase on the ground no matter how he struggled. This fucking suck ass. Jin Ziyan you're a dead man. When all fifty lashes were dealt, even the guards were sweating through their robes. They left him dangling there in the blistering summer heat. A young maid dared to try and sneak him some water but was thwarted by an older momo. "What do you think you're doing, lassie? Did you not hear taishi, no food or drink until dusk tomorrow. Do you want lashes too? Go on! Go!" It rained hard all through the night, only easing up at dawn, but the aftermath of the storm left the air muggy and humid. Combined with the heat, it felt as though he was being steamed alive like a wheat bun. At some point during the second day, Wei Wuxian finally lost consciousness. He was not aware when Lan Wangji barged into the courtyard against Lan Qiren's explicit orders and cut him free.

Really tho, i just want this scene to happen (╹ڡ╹ ) "I'm sorry." Wei Wuxian blinked at Lan Wangji's hunched figure sitting at his bedside. "Whatever for? You saved me, dianxia." Lan Wangji, "But it was my attention that put you in such a position in the first place. Huangshu was looking for a reason to punish you since that day he saw us in my study." Wei Wuxian, "dianxia..." "I find you... lovely, Wei Ying," confessed Lan Wangji with a heavy sigh. His ears burned red not only with the embarrassment of a youth in love but with shame. "I wish for your company, even when you have no desire to be part of my harem. Now I know my mistake. I should have respected the boundaries. I should've known my attention on you would incite jealousy from the others, and as a servant, you have no means of protecting yourself. This is entirely my fault." Wei Wuxian's heart fluttered despite himself. He quickly shook his head. "No dianxia, please don't blame yourself -" Lan Wangji, "perhaps I should send you back to Jiang-fu; I'm sure Jiang-xiao-gongzi would be delighted to have your company back. You would be safe there." Jiang Wanyin had come to visit his sister the very next day after Wei Wuxian was sentenced to whipping. He was one of the most accomplishment young men of his generation, anticipated to be a great general. Nie Mingjue had thought highly of him and had expected great things from this youth. Though perhaps what the late feng-jun found truly commendable was Jiang Wanyin's complete lack of pretense and his short-fuse temper. That is to say, he did not hesitate to get in Lan Wangji's face. His sister would have chastised him, had she not been so preoccupied by her tears. Wei Wuxian, "Jiang...Jiang Cheng was here?" "He was, and he was very upset about your condition. He left many fine medicine and ointments for you." Lan Wangji sighed again. "I shall speak with Yanli. If she is amenable, then I shall make arrangements for you to go back to Jiang-fu. You would not have to put up with me any longer." Lan Wangji stood up. Wei Wuxian grasped his sleeve immediately. In that moment, he could not tell if his panic was derived from his worry that he would not be able to complete his assignment if Lan Wangji were to send him away or if he simply did not wish to part with the prince. "Dianxia - I - I don't want to leave. I - it's true I had once rejected you, but...would you think less of me if I said your attention … hasn't been unwanted for a while, that I have come to enjoy them." At Lan Wangji's widened eyes, Wei Wuxian continued quickly. "You need not give me anything, no elevation, no rank. I don't care about any of that. I am a man, I have no ability to give you children. Nor do I have any family who would benefit from your continued favour of me. I am an orphan, dianxia, I have no place to go. I just....don't send me away. Please let me stay! I'm not afraid of Jin Ziyan, or taishi, or anything!" Lan Wangji sat back down. His hand trembled when he laid it on top of Wei Wuxian's. "Wei Ying...?" Wei Wuxian smiled, still radiant despite his pale complexion. "Dianxia -" "Lan Zhan. No more dianxia, I only want to hear you call me by my name." Wei Wuxian flushed pink. The blush was real, as was the pleased little smile he tried to hide. "Lan Zhan, Wei Ying is yours, if you still want him." The worst part of that was that he meant it. Just the mere thought of being held by Lan Wangji, of being kissed by him, of... so many other wonderful possibilities, made Wei Wuxian want to hide his flaming face into his pillow. Lan Wangji smiled. Quietly, he lifted Wei Wuxian's hand and pressed a kiss to the inner side of his wrist. "Rest, I will be right here." Wei Wuxian felt his treacherous little heart soar: oh no … oh no no no no ….. (Xue Yang's voice in narration: and it was in this moment, that Wei Wuxian knew, he fucked up.) The cruellest thing Wei Wuxian ever did was give Lan Wangji hope knowing that one day he would take it all away.

#cql #the untamed #wangxian #without envy #corie fics #cql ficlet #i posted it and then immediately deleted it. I wanted to add some stuff

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 3 years

Text

NILANJANA BHOWMICK

The message to women was clear: Go back home. Since November, hundreds of thousands of farmers had gathered at different sites on the outskirts of the Indian capital to demand the repeal of three agricultural laws that they say would destroy their livelihoods. In January, as the New Delhi winter set in, the Chief Justice of India asked lawyers to persuade elderly people and women to leave the protests. In response, women farmers—mostly from the rural states of Punjab, Haryana and Uttar Pradesh—scrambled onto stages, took hold of microphones and roared back a unanimous “No!”

“Something snapped within us when we heard the government tell the women to go back home,” says Jasbir Kaur, a sprightly 74-year-old farmer from Rampur in western Uttar Pradesh. It’s late February and Kaur has been camping at the Ghazipur protest site for over three months, only returning home once. She was stung by the court’s suggestion that women were mere care workers providing cooking and cleaning services at these sites—though she does do some of that work—rather than equal stakeholders. “Why should we go back? This is not just the men’s protest. We toil in the fields alongside the men. Who are we—if not farmers?”

Questions like this have rarely been asked by women like Kaur, long used to having their contributions to farming overlooked as part of their household duties. But this wave of protests—the world’s largest ongoing demonstration and perhaps the biggest in human history—has prompted thousands to make their voices heard. Indians of all ages, genders, castes and religions have been united by a common goal: to roll back new agricultural laws passed in September by Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government. The laws, suspended in January by the Supreme Court but not yet repealed, would allow private corporations to buy directly from farmers, which they say would leave them at the mercy of buyers and do away with the traditional wholesale market system or mandis, where they are assured a minimum set price for certain crops.

Women, who form the backbone of Indian agriculture, may be particularly vulnerable to corporate exploitation. According to Oxfam India, 85% of rural women work in agriculture, but only around 13% own any land. “Women are not seen as farmers. Their labor is immense but invisible,” says Jasbir Kaur Nat, a member of the Punjab Kisan Union, who is mobilizing farmers in Tikri, the protest site at the border of Haryana and Delhi.

“This law will kill us, will destroy what little we have,” says Amandeep Kaur, a farmer from Talwandi in Punjab, whose husband died by suicide five years ago, following a bad crop that landed him with a debt of around $7,000. As well as farming, Kaur works as a community health worker to support her family; she and her two daughters only got rights to the land after her husband’s death. She lost out on compensation of almost the same amount that the Indian government gives to families of farmers who die by suicide because she did not secure a post mortem of the body to certify the death as suicide. “I didn’t even know the procedure to claim compensation from the government for my husband’s death,” she says. “How am I going to negotiate with businessmen?”

The U.N.’s Food and Agriculture Organization has urged action on the gender gap in agriculture, saying women’s voices must be “heard as equal partners” to ensure both agricultural development and food security. And at the protests in India, women are speaking up. Before now, some women had never stepped out of their homes without a veil, let alone spoken onstage in front of thousands of men. Many arrive at the sites in tractors, a powerful—and previously male—symbol of farming in India. “Women are changing women here,” Nat says, praising the spirit of protest among these women. “They are claiming their identities as farmers.”

All of this is happening in India’s deeply patriarchal heartlands of Uttar Pradesh, Punjab and Haryana. Changing mindsets in states where femicide, sexual violence and gender discrimination are rampant has been a persistent challenge for activists. “We have been working to bring about gender equality in these parts for so long—but the process has been slow,” says women’s rights activist Sudesh Goyat. During the first few days of protests in Tikri, she says, she was the only woman from Haryana there. But after the court suggested women leave, they “started to pour in. They came with their families. They came with other women. They came alone. It’s no less than a miracle,” she says.

It’s also a unique opportunity to address the gender imbalance in Indian society, says Gurnaam Singh, state secretary of the Punjab Kisan Union. At the protest sites, men and women from different cultures and communities must live side by side without much privacy and under harsh circumstances.

Taking advantage of this rare situation, activists hold frequent discussions on women’s work and their contribution to the rural economy. Regular announcements from the stage about treating women as equals echo around the protest sites throughout the day. “I like this India,” says Harsharan Kaur, a young IT engineer who left a job in Dubai to volunteer at the protest site.

At the Ghazipur site, 29-year-old Ravneet Kaur, a law student from Bangalore, has successfully normalized conversations around a taboo topic in India: menstruation. She set up a women’s store at the site with the help of the women protestors, where they displayed sanitary napkins openly. “The men got used to it soon enough,” she says. “Now these conversations are normal around here. Men don’t flinch when they say sanitary napkins anymore.”

Whether such sentiments will spread beyond the protests is unclear, but for now, female farmers are being seen, heard and acknowledged—offering a new vision of what gender equality might look like for the country. “We have looked upon them as mothers, sisters, wives,” says Sukh Deep Singh, a young farmer from Punjab. “But now we see them in a different light.”

The women see themselves differently too. In Tikri, Sudesh Kandela, a 55-year-old farmer from Haryana, watches a play being staged by a local theater group, enraptured by the spectacle. “I didn’t know what I was capable of beyond the expectations of me as a woman, a wife and mother,” says Kandela, who had never before been to a protest or taken her veil off outside her home. “But I am here now,” she says, clenching her fists, “and I cannot be oppressed. I cannot be intimidated. I cannot be bought.”

#this made me cry but i am hormonal to be fair #radfems please interact #radfems please touch #radical feminism #radfem #terfs please interact #terfs please touch

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jabbagabba · 3 years

Text

La La Land

Read Prologue

Warning ⚠️

Triggering subjects: disassociation, manipulation, mind control, grief. (READ AT OWN RISK)

Wandavision: spoilers (up to episode 6 - just to be safe), violence

———

Pools Of Despair

You weren’t sure how long it’d been, the drive feeling as though it had taken a lifetime. It might have been just down the road and you wouldn’t have been able to tell; time seemed to move torturously slow under Wanda’s control.

She tried to keep herself calm besides your frozen body, already thinking of a way out as she turned the steering wheel. But it was too late to go back.

‘No other way. No other way.’ The words replayed over and over in her head as she finally made it to the front of the building, and it was the first time she fully looked at you. Your face was stoic, the only sign of life being the soft breaths escaping your mouth. You couldn’t look at her - even if you wanted to - and as she reached a hand to your face, the feeling of complete numbness returned.

During the drive there had been small moments of clarity; moments where for the first time you felt in control. It was almost euphoric being able to push through the fog.

But then, as quickly as it had subsided, she would crawl her way back in.

Even now as she turned you toward her fully, you tried to swim through the heaviness, but the black swirls of grief and anguish just got tighter the harder you fought.

Wanda sighed in annoyance. “You can’t go in looking like that.” She pulled at a strand of her hair with a small huff. “Need glasses.”

You were sure if you had control of your body, the pain of your neck would be unbearable, the awkward angle surely making every muscle strain as you were forced to watch her pull apart the car.

This had to have been owned by the only man on the planet that didn’t carry sunglasses in their car. Wanda almost laughed, a punishment for stealing it? She couldn’t be sure.

“Well...” Wanda pulled the blue and white baseball cap by the brim from under her seat. “Better then nothing.” She gave a small smile as she adjusted it on your head, pulling back and grabbing your hand and letting it rest in her lap. “If there was any other way, I swear, I would let you go. But... I just... I can’t live without him.”

You said nothing as she cried.

———

“Head down, get Vision. Leave.” Her voice plagued your every step, each word carved into your brain as you finally reached the front desk.

‘Sword’ was a nice place - or at least had nice flooring - and from the bright light that filled each and every inch of the glossy tile, you knew there had to be a lot of glass. It was a government building after all.

“Can I help you?” Her voice is chirpy, a polite smile painted on her lips, you don’t need to see her eyes to know it wasn’t anything but genuine. She lets the wheels of her chair carry her forward, her computer forgotten besides her as you near the desk.

“Do you have... a meeting?” She smiles again, more forced and you’re able to see the golden pin on her chest that proudly says ‘Mary’ and try once more to float above the darkness.

“I -“ The word leaves your lips aprubtly and the fight drains from you just as fast. “I’m here to inquire about some of my father’s equipment. I’d like it back.” You let the darkness swallow you whole.

“And who are you again?” Mary is quick to pull her deskphone to her ear, hand hovering over the numbers.

———

The name that fell from her lips made Mary freeze. She looked up with wide eyes, both fearful and exited.

Starks were top priority at ‘SWORD’ - she was sure they were top priority everywhere - and as she desperately tried to recall if her boss mentioned anything about Stark equipment, the girl’s patients quickly wore thin.

“Can you please just tell me where to go? I have a long drive ahead of me.” Her voice was a sharp contrast from her apparance. The girl’s voice was stern and loud while her body was scrunched in on itself, eyes glued to the desk. Mary took a glance over the desk and saw the dark fabric of a dress, the hat didn’t even match the girl’s shoes.

“Right.” Mary said. “I’m sorry, just a little... starstruck.” She tried to keep her cool, turning again in her chair and started typing as fast as possible on her little keyboard. The atmosphere was thick with uncomfortable silence and Mary had to make sure not to shiver in the girl’s presence. She scrolled down the list of names and let out a small “ah” when she found your name. Just as quickly as she clicked on it, a pop up window filled the screen

STARK - Access Denined. Call Security

She felt sick; her nerves making her skin pucker as she tried to keep calm. When Mary finally found the courage to move, bile reached through her throat as she saw red eyes looking back.

“Ahh!” Mary was quick to jump out of her chair.

“Fine.” The girl sighed, hand flat on the counter as she took long strides around it. “If you won’t help me.” A red trail flowed through one of the doors; slithering like a snake as it wrapped around the shell shocked receptionist. “I’ll do it myself.”

———

Wanda’s mind had warped, grief and anger become one as she ripped through each and every room of the building. No one was safe from the witch’s wrath as she swung them through various glass panels and equipment. By the third turn she took, guards had given up, opting to instead try desperately to get out of her way.

She had left you at the desk, too transfixed to care and as she heard the various shouts of alarm from down the hallway, she was glad you weren’t in her way.

———

The group of four man were shocked; watching as the two guards dropped their guns and put their hands up for mercy.

“We’ll give you what you want. Please!” One of them - Felix - cried as the woman barreled through the double doors.

Wanda simply flicked her hand and he was sent flying to a wall, his partner following.

“Where is he?” Her accent was thick and the youngest tech almost asked her to repeat herself. “Where is Vision?” The stunned silence only fueled her anger. “You.” Red swirled under one of the men’s feet and lifted him from the ground. “Where?”

If the man could have, he’d be shivering in fear right about now. His life was in the hands of a deranged woman who with a simple flick of her wrist could send him plummeting down ten floors.

Wanda tightened her hold on him in warning and he knew he had to speak.

“Behind us.” He said. “There is a set of double doors, turn left and there’s an examination room.”

“He should be there!” A colleague on his left was shaking as she turn to face him. “He’s not lying.” Wanda let her power swim under him once more beofre gently letting him go.

“Thank you.” She gave a small smile. “Now, go.”

They didn’t have to be told twice.

———

Wanda felt as though she couldn’t breathe, the sight of her dead lover on the table was crippling. Vision was a dark grey; his eyes blank as they stared into her. If it wasn’t for the table itself she would have probably collapsed on to the floor as sobs took over her.

“I cant. I can’t. I -“ The words fell from her lips like a mystical chant. She couldn’t look at him anymore, his body was nothing but an empty shell of parts.

When her body turned to ash; Wanda was ready to die, her last shred of humanity died with Vision. The battlefield would be her final resting place. She chose to spend her last moments hoping that If there was a God that they’d be merciful, that she’d be allowed to spent her afterlife in blissful ignorance.

But instead she woke up.

Five years had passed and she was still there, only now she was alone. It was only after the death of Tony Stark that she let the floodgate of loss fill up her veins. While Thanos was alive, she had a mission; kill him and reverse the snap.

Wanda never imagined the pain that followed. She should have died that day, why couldn’t she have died that day?

Grief had a knack for turning the strongest people into helpless pools of despair.

Vision deserved better. That was what go her up, got her to calm her tears and push herself up. She wasn’t going to let them win. Vision was hers to mourn, to love, and hers to take care of.

She had a new mission, one that was stronger then her need to submit to pain.

But... she needed help carrying him.

———

Your body moved through the halls, following the tethered rope of energy that wrapped around your waist. If it wasn’t for your boots, your feet would have been covered in cuts from the sharp edges of the broken glass that filled the hallways.

The fog had cleared more then before and if you tried hard enough, you might’ve even been able to pull free completely. Wanda was exhausted and the fight had been ripped from you So you let her pull you, let the fog seep through every inch of you.

And as you entered the small room, you forgot you were suppose to care anymore.

“I need you to hold onto his legs.” She said softly, hand stroking his cheek. “Easier to carry both of you.” Your body moved again and you placed a gentle hand onto vision’s ankle.

Wanda wiped the last of her tears away, grabbed onto his arm, and all three of you were lifted off the ground.

———

Hot air blew through Wanda’s hair making her hands continuously push back strands from her face as she walked. The afternoon sun was unrelenting and she had to take several short breaks.

The car was too dangerous to return to - a swarm of agents was not something she wanted to deal with - and controlling someone for almost 24 hour straight took a lot out of her. Her hold on you was weak enough for you to sometimes fully take over, her control turning into a dull ache at the back of your brain.

As she walked in front of you thoughts of running flooded through your brain but the walking had tired your body out, and you were sure that if her little pushes weren’t there, you’d have already collapsed. Even if you had the strength to do it, the empty roads had long ago turned into tall trees and bush. You were in the middle of nowhere and getting loss in the woods with a heartbroken witch was not something you wanted to deal with. So, like a trained puppy, you followed silently behind Vision’s dragging body. It wasn’t hard to keep up, she was as slow as she could be while Vision’s body left a dirt trail.

“Break.” Wanda breathed. Who knew an empty little spot of grass would be so inviting? “Sit.” You felt a small push and follow it down to the ground. You let your fingers grip the direr under them, the cool breeze making you sigh.

“Where-“ The sound of your voice startled both of you but she stayed still. “Where are we going?”

She said nothing, choosing to instead turn on her knees and pull Vision forward by the arms.

“When I was little-“ Wanda smiled to herself as she stared down at Vision. “- I use to dream about this field. Me and Peitro went past it everyday during the summer. It had all these small flowers growing.” You listen intently as she giggles, eyes losing focus as she is hit with the memory. “I always tried to sneak past the fence... but, I was alway stopped by someone.” Her mouth twitches and you feel the pulsing return in your neck. “It’s probably nothing but dirt now, like everything.”

“Where are we going, Wanda?” You try to keep your voice soft, afraid of ruining the small moment as you reached out for her but she was quick to stop you, hand glowing red and inches away from your face.

“Don’t.” She warns. You nod in silent apology.

“We’re not far from a road.” Wanda let’s her hand fall back to her side. “I want you go and call whoever you need to.” You’re almost startled when her control leaves fully from your body, it almost feels empty. “Tell them what I did, or don’t, I don’t care. I have what I want.”

“Wanda -“

“Please.” The crack in her voice makes tears pool in your eyes. “Just go.”

You stand on shaking legs. The world was spinning and you felt as though you had just gotten off a rollercoaster but you tried to steady yourself. Unsure of where to go, you turn to her once more for guidance and she simply points behind you.

Your conscious wouldn’t let you leave. Wanda was tired and you were afraid of leaving her alone. Regardless of what she did; you knew you couldn’t blame her, she had lost everyone.

In a way, so did you.

“I’m sorry about Vision.” Wanda looked up again and gave you a small nod. “About Pietro, about everyone. I wish it was different.”

“Me too, Stark.” She let her fingers wrap around your hand and squeezed. The warmth from the dock returned and you couldn’t help but give her a small grin of gratitude. “I meant what I said at the funeral.”

Both of you were so wrapped up in your own little bubble, you didn’t even question why the birds stopped.

————

Tag list (open, just ask)

@white-wolf-buckaroo @y-napotat

All my stuff is open, and I’m always happy to hear from people so feel free to let me know what ya thought. I always get stuck halfway through writing but I hope it wasn’t too hard to read.

Next chapter will be fun.

#wandavison x reader #wandavision imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #stark!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #teen!reader #daughter!reader #dark!wanda #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #Wanda vision

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