#and like. i just fear i am so far-off base with the reality of what the show is and is trying to be
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I worry that like, i want lc to be more than it is
#text post#i think a lot of fans have similar problems w their expectations#but for most ppl it seems like the disappointment comes from s2 being so different from s1#which is not my problem#mine is like#i want this grand story of lg trying over and over to save cxs#and like. i just fear i am so far-off base with the reality of what the show is and is trying to be#ah well#still a fun ride either way
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so in my new never-ending quest to try and determine "does it make sense for dick grayson to have grown up poor despite the fact that he was the son of two famous, extremely skilled circus perfomers, actually?", i thought to myself. hey, maybe i'm taking too much of a modern lens on what circus performers make. maybe back in the day, performers *were* super exploited and were not paid well. and in my my quick search engine search i did not get linked to descriptive income tables, unfortunately, but i did come upon the following:
the first is this wikipedia article..."delightfully" 😑😑😑...entitled "freak show", in which i am reminded of the incandescent white hot rage i feel whenever i hear the name pt barnum, but it also says that he paid one of his most famous acts $150.00/week (which in today's terms would probably be about $4500/week based on inflation from 1840 to now) which. as i hold tight to the anger of the dehumanizing way that pt barnum treated his acts, i remind myself through gritted teeth that my question today is not "why was pt barnum a bag of shit who deserves to burn in hell" it is "what was pt barnum at least willing to pay his famous & well known acts despite the above question". which, according to this, is not the 2 cents a week i feared and at least seems to be. *something* significant. really, what i'm looking for here is a willingness of these terrible, terrible people back then to pay their named, famous acts. which. i guess he did. (still hope he's burning in hell tbh). the article does say that some of the acts made what some sports stars make today. just with more dehumanization and exploitation. ugh.
the other was an interesting excerpt from the magazine the saturday evening post (which i hope is not secretly a terrible source. i did some google-fu to make sure it wasn't secretly a front for fascist ideology since i had never heard of it, but it appears to mainly just be a magazine that does in depth articles on american life a few times a year), which i will quote below
“I resent having people come to my tent, stare at me as though I were a freak and then turn away laughing, as if they’d seen some wild animal,” the famous aerialist Lillian Leitzel told the Post in 1920. “They seem to assume that circus people have not got beyond the primitive stage of the cave man and are an aggregation of unlettered louts wholly devoid of the commonest sense of social amenities.”
Leitzel was indeed rich in social amenities, and she was also just plain rich. According to historian Janet M. Davis, the performer was making up to $200 a week in 1917 with Ringling Brothers (worth more than $4,000 in 2020), and it wasn’t uncommon for female circus stars to rake in more than their male counterparts. She had her own train car that contained a piano, and at each stop she would dress in her own private tent. By the 1920s, she was pulling in $500 per week, according to John Culhane in The American Circus.
-100 years ago: the women who ran off with the circus, nicholas gilmore
the article later goes into detail that she did a lot of private entertaining for other elite performers, businessman, children & later had a celebrity marriage with another trapeze artist. and this one is a lot more interesting to me because it's far more akin to how dick may have been conceptualized in his creation in 1940, in that. his parents were probably pretty celebrity, given they were a named and very skilled circus family--they were performers and entertainers of the time. now, also keep in mind his creation was right as the great depression was letting up--seeing a circus would likely have been a luxury for people, so john and mary were notable for keeping their job as entertainers despite the reality of the great depression and that many circuses did struggle more during those times. & for many years (especially during bob kane and bill finger's childhoods in the 1910s and 1920s) circuses & circus performers were a huge entertainment draw & named performers were stars & i feel that may have contributed to the decision to make dick's origin a circus performer. it allows him an unconventional skillset that's perfectly suitable for crime fighting & it also has a bit of aspirational shine as 'famous entertainer' kid, especially as written for kids who would read for escapism.
but like given their skillset, would the newspapers have followed john and mary's escapades?
anyways, also in my research, i found out about the "flying concellos". i am fascinated. i think i need to re-evaluate how i conceptualize the flying graysons and their likely financials during dick's childhood in my head.
#i actually don't really like circuses#reading about pt barnum gives me hives#the things i do for self study
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Worst Case Scenario
Echo x Reader
Summary- After an ambush from the Empire, you, Echo, and Omega must escape by yourselves. Hunter and Wrecker sacrifice themselves to let you three live. Based on Season 2, Ep. 16
A/N- This is angst angst angst! But semi-sweet ending. Always open to constructive criticism, thank you!
Word Count- 1,837
"You know... I tried to look out for you boys... You too." Cid said, turning her gaze from Wrecker to you.
You immediately got an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Well, more than you had since Tech's fall. Tech's death... Tears threatened to prickle at the thought, but you had to stay strong. Especially being Omegas role model...
Echo had once called you her mother figure, you remember turning red. You dismissed him jokingly, but it gave you that warm feeling in your chest. You certainly loved Omega like a daughter. You don't think there is anything you wouldn't do for her.
"You've just got too much heat on you... and you brought it here... at my place of business... I had to make the best out of a bad situation..."
You didn't even listen to Wrecker's response, as you took off for Omega's room. Blaster sounds and lasers erupted.
With a hand on your side blaster, you turned the corner and slid into Omegas temporary room.
Hunter was already standing, eyes wide.
"Call for Echo." He instructed.
You had never felt so much fear. You had all been in tight situations like this before- only now you were all beaten emotionally and physically.
"Yes sir." You mustered, out of pure habit.
"What's happening?" Omega started, standing at the blaster effects.
"It's the Empire- You two take the mining tunnels to the space port and find Echo." He looked at you, understanding the reality of the situation. "I'll get Wrecker." No, he was going to stall and buy us some time. Hunter was a smart clone, he knew what he was doing.
You tried to check the comms while Hunter pushed out a box, revealing the tunnel entrance. All you heard was static on every channel.
"But you're injured! You can't fight them alone!" She pleaded.
"You two need to go, that's an order." Hunter always commanded with authority, but there was a hint of pleading in his voice.
Omega jumped to hug Hunter, squeezing his side strongly.
"I love you." She whispered.
"I love you too, Omega."
After an exchange of glances that spoke a million words, Omega started down the tunnel. You stopped for a second, turning, and rested a hand on Hunters shoulder.
"Protect her." He insisted.
"I will... And we'll find you..." You tried to stay hopeful, but it was difficult with the past few days you had.
He gave a glance down the tunnel, Omega was too far to hear his next words.
"No, you need to get her out of here." You had never seen him so demanding.
"But-" He interrupted you.
"Now. Don't look back."
You simply nodded and headed down the tunnels.
Omega stopped on the bottom platform, you jumping down behind her.
"I can't do it.." Omega started, followed by your name. She sniffed- "We already lost Tech."
"And I am not going to lose you Omega." You said, at a loss for any word of comfort. You did though, step closer.
"No, we are going back." She tried to climb up, you blocked her way.
"Let me go!" She yelled, getting more frustrated.
"Omega!" She stopped struggling and looked at you. You crouched down to be level with her.
"We have to leave and find Echo." You gently grabbed her hands in yours. "He will know what to do. Us two, we can't take on the Empire by ourselves"
"We can't leave Wrecker and Hunter!" She yelled, arms pulling back. You inhaled deeply, you didn't want to leave them either. But you couldn't help anyone if you were all dead. You knew they were after Omega, and nothing was going to stop them.
Better three dead siblings than six, you thought gruesomely.
She looked you dead in the eyes, "If it was Echo you would go back!" You bit your bottom lip. Maybe she was right... but it wasn't Echo. It was Hunter and Wrecker, the people who would be pissed if I let her try to be a hero.
"Omega, Hunter told me to protect you. That's what I'm doing." She looked up at you with big eyes, filled with tears.
"It's not fair!" She hissed, tears falling angrily.
"I know honey, but if we don't get to Echo. We will be dead." Your breath shook at your own words. They were harsh, but not far from the truth.
She let out a small sob as you enveloped her in a hug. She clung to you desperately, almost as if it would change the circumstance.
"It's not fair.." She repeated to herself in a whisper.
You did nothing but pet her hair and hold her. After a minute you gave her a light squeeze. "We have to move before the Empire finds the ship."
She sniffled but nodded in understanding.
The two of you quickly made your way out of the tunnel exits. It was just a short run to the ship yards.
You gave a quick prayer to anyone listening before trying your comms again. The Empire scrambled the channels, but hopefully a short-range signal worked. With you and Omega crouched behind The Marauder, you tried contacting Echo.
"Echo, Omega and I are by the ship. Open the ramp." You whispered quickly. You got no response. "Echo?" You tried again.
With a loud steam, the ships doors opened. You and Omega rushed in, closing it quickly.
"Echo, we need to get out of here now!" You ran to take the Co-Pilot seat.
"What's going on, where is Hunter and Wrecker?" Echo questioned, starting up The Marauder.
With a glance behind you, you saw Omega bundled into a ball in her bunk. You still kept your voice down for your next statement.
"We were ambushed, Cid sold us out. Hunter and Wrecker gave Omega and I a window to escape." Your own eyes filled with tears at the guilt. "I had to take it." You sobbed. "I had to protect Omega." You stood true to your words, but broke down into tears.
It was a lot to process for Echo. He wanted to comfort you, but had to think logically first.
"I'm going to go back, you two need to get to Pabu." Echo stated.
"No, you don't understand Echo! That's a suicide mission!" You gasped out.
With a deep swallow, you continued- "It's the Empire!"
He snapped his head around, "We've gone against them before."
"Not this many Echo..." You let out another sob. "There are too many for us." You pulled forward, both hands cupping Echos head. "Hunter and Wrecker are already dead by now." Tears flowed freely down your face. "What do we do Echo....?"
Just as you finished, blaster noises arose. You both called for Omega, feeling much safer with her in the cockpit with the two of you.
While Echo pulled the ship up to fly, Omega was already sat in the shuttle's gunner's seat. She had a twisted look on her face as she shot freely at the Empire troopers that attacked.
You took in a deep breath, one that painfully refilled your lungs.
You viciously wiped your tears away, grabbing the handles to the front blasters of the ship. With a white-knuckled grip you shot furiously. You lost your perception of time as you fired and fired.
Echo expertly dodged most of the Empires bombs and shots, but not as well as Tech would have. Another painful reminder. Three dead. Three brothers are gone. Not to mention Crosshair was probably dead as well...
The thoughts clouded you, your grip tightened on the blaster, but you stopped firing. Your breath quickened, hyperventilating. Adrenaline was starting to lose its effect, you were crashing and burning.
Echo called your name out, you didn't move until he shouted it for the third time.
You faced him slowly, hands not moving. Your eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape.
"Hey, hey." He got up out of his seat, putting his hand on top of one of yours gently.
"It's okay, they're gone... It's over..." He pulled your hands off the handles slowly. He then cupped your face with utmost care.
"We're safe... You're safe..." With his words, you looked out the glass pane. Echo had managed to launch into hyperspace. The three of you were out of danger.
Your chest still heaved, desperate for oxygen. You shot around, looking for Omega.
She was sat in her make-shift room, clutching her stuffed toy.
You looked back at Echo, locking eyes. You embraced him strongly. He was still slightly confused on the situation, but he did what he had to keep the last of his family safe.
He pulled away to press quick kisses over your face. You were still in shock and didn't kiss back- but you leaned into his touch.
He wiped tears from your face with his hand, everything felt numb. How was he still composing himself? You questioned to yourself.
With sad eyes, you looked down, a deep breath filling you.
You reached a hand up to place on him, feeling between his breast-plates. The feeling of his chest rising calmed you.
"I'm... I'm gonna go check on Omega." You choked out, hand swiping off any last tears, quickly. He nodded, hand coming up to rest on yours. You smiled half-heartedly and slowly lowered your hand.
It was a long night of holding and rocking Omega. After the high of battle drifted away she was hysterical. Her cries were only muffled by your chest, which she clung to. You held yourself together, somehow.
When she had finally cried herself to sleep, you laid her down. Making sure that Lula, her Tooka doll, was close by.
You returned to Echo with a shaky breath. He held his arms open, an invitation for you to join him in his seat.
You took it and lowered yourself into him, melting with his touch. His arms closed around you, hand resting on your hip.
"What the hell now..." You commented, void of any emotion. You were worn out.
He thumbs the skin around your waist. "We can head to Pabu. Get resources, contact Rex, maybe even stay."
Your face scrunched up at this, you hated Pabu. Everything and everyone had a happy-go-lucky attitude. But, it didn't matter what you thought anymore. All you and Echo needed to think about is what was best for Omega.
"Or not stay, we will see what happens." He practically read your mind.
"I don't care what we do, as long as Omega is happy and safe." You glanced back at her, still sleeping.
"You need to be happy and safe too." He said, thinking about Omega and you.
You swallowed, looking down at the floor.
"So do you..." You raised your gaze to meet his. "What would make you happy, Echo?"
"Don't worry about me, you've got your hands full already." He kissed the crown of your head.
"You take care of me, I'll take care of you." You said snuggling closer to his chest.
"And we'll both take care of Omega."
A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I've never written any kind of angst or wump before, thanks for bearing with me!
Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss
#fanfic#clone force 99#bad batch#star wars#the bad batch#tbb#star wars the bad batch#echo x reader#echo#tbb echo#arc trooper echo#bad batch tech#sergeant hunter#tbb omega#wrecker#echo the bad batch#echo x you#echo x female reader#tbb x you#tbb x reader#tbb fanfiction#star wars tbb#tbb hunter#tbb tech#established relationship
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Everyone's Fate Is Up To The Saints, Except Hers - Tolya Yul-Bataar
Prompt: “If you wish to keep your fingers, I’d take your hands off her.”
Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat
This is really just a drabble but what can ya do.
Not proofread because "no beta we die like men"
Had anyone asked, Tolya would have made it very clear that he 'never doubted her for a moment', that 'her capability was easily beyond that of the task at hand' and he knew, given the opportunity, 'she would've likely taken it on alone'. But Sturmhond, in a brief moment of clear insight, had drawn the conclusion that Tolya would have been very little help carrying out his duties if his mind had been following someone out on the mission. Waiting, wondering and worrying were three things not very conducive with carrying out duties to their requirement. So Sturmhond sent the both of them. No one questioned him, everyone else because he is the captain, but Tamar because she held the same knowledge that Sturmhond had based his call on: her twin for all his openness and cheer, was not letting on quite how deep the river of his care flowed when it came to one particular crewmate.
The she in question, had picked up a pace while Tolya had been somewhat lost in his thoughts.
"Falling behind there sesh?" You ask, turning around with a wicked grin, continuing to walk in the direction you both were headed, but now watching Tolya instead of the path. Walking backwards was something you had gotten very good at with the years of sword training, if you lean to step back with balance enough times, learning to follow the pattern is easy. Yet now, it was certainly more to show off than for practical use.
"You're still not using that correctly," Tolya smiled, an abundance of laughter in his voice. His shadow was being cast by a far off light and the distance made the silhouette looking deceivingly small, compared to the reality. Tolya was just as tall as he was handsome, which is to say more so than anyone really hard the right to be.
"Well if you gave in and told me the word I am looking for," you tease, the sentence hung in the air, feeling unfinished and incomplete. But the years have taught Tolya that sometimes you spoke in half, and it was up to the one hearing the words to decide if it was their turn.
"I will not teach you words in Shu just so you can mock me," he means the words he is saying but his tone is far from mean.
"I'm not mocking you," you defend. "I'm attempting to describe you."
"Describe me in your own language," he pulls his graze away, hoping that maybe if he stops staring, you might start looking where you're going, but to no avail.
"So you'll read me poetry in a language I do not know, but you shall not teach it to me?"
"Not when I know your interest lies in different intent, if you wish to understand the poem I'll happily explain it-" he is suddenly silence by a quiet and quick whistle, a signal that stops him in his tracks.
You look on edge, looking around the dim lit street with such concentration and apprehension that Tolya notices how small it makes you look, the fear. He isn't used to seeing you look afraid.
"Sorry," you say pulling yourself back in, raning it back and composing yourself. "I didn't mean to interrupt you when it's about poetry."
"I don't take it personally," he says. "You know Tamar well enough."
"Exactly, I try to let you talk about it as much as possible when there is no one to tell you to stop," the comment is offhand and absentminded, you hadn't meant much by it. It was a truth, and you did not choose to shy from the truth often, but it wasn't something you had meant to declare in any kind of way. Yet the look in Tolya's eyes makes you run the words back, trying to find the secret of the universe, the strangely powerful compliment that had to be hidden in the words you'd spoken without a second thought.
"Thank you," he says, his voice so soft, it hits like whisper.
"There's no need, there are few ways to show someone how you matter to them, and this is mine," if you had to break it down, the moments before, the reasons that this moment unfolds, you could lay out each factor in pieces. The light being so low. The quietness being so rare that sound is a welcome visitor and therefore can lull into a false sense of security. Maybe even your own foolishness, having not turned around despite your previous scare. But if you were honest with yourself, truly honest, it was not your ego or your environment that betrayed you in this small moment. It was your heart. Had you not been searching for something tangible in the unspoken distance between the two of you, there was no way someone could have gotten close enough to place a blade into the small of your back before you reached for your weapon.
"I wouldn't try it," the blade is pushed closer as you move for the weapon, the voice is dark and quiet, but the accent isn't from around here, and there's a gruffness that shows the man's age.
"I am guessing you are exactly who we are looking for," you reply. Tolya reached for his own blade the moment the assailant had stepped out of the dark, he holds it tight and his eyes are fixed over your shoulder. "We aren't here for a fight."
"Tell that to your friend," the man replies.
"Tolya," you say calmly. Tolya is reasonable, Tolya is smart and above all Tolya knows better than most, much better than his twin, when there's not a need for a fight. But he doesn't look willing to backdown.
"Perhaps I might be more inclined to step down if you remove the blade from my friends back," Tolya says slowly.
A hand grips your shoulder tight, and the blade moves from your spine to your side. A much more defendable position, but a still a threat. "Better?" The man asks.
"If you wish to keep your fingers, I’d take your hands off her.”
You watch him and your heart, against your practiced calm, races in your chest and his eyes flicker to meet yours. It dawns on you why he hasn't calmed the situation, why he is defensive and not quite like his normal self. He senses your confusion, your fear and he is not used to that in you. He isn't paying attention to the man's heartbeat or his emotions because he is still fixed on you. And that realisation makes your heart jump in a way you should know better than to let it do, and Tolya feels it. "He won't repeat himself," you tell the man, and he drops the blade to his side. "We were sent to get you, alive was the preference."
"Who sent you?" The man asks.
"Sturmhond," Tolya explains, listening to his heart now, sensing the fear, the anger, the loss. "We are here to help." Tolya's expression softens, he has been in the world and really seen enough of it to know that there's danger in the most unexpecting of places, but one of the many things about him that is never unsurprising, is how he still sees the opportunity for kindness and grace amongst them.
Sturmhond stares at the two of them and is quick to dismiss Tolya, who walks out on the deck and is soon shoulder to shoulder with Tamar.
"You seem tense brother," she muses, eager to hear what had happened.
"I shouldn't have gone," he thinks aloud. Tamar frowns.
"How did you come to that ridiculous conclusion?" She asks, pulling at a piece of the bread she is eating.
"Because it was my presence that made her vulnerable," he explains. "She was scared, I've not seen her scared before."
"Are you sure it was fear, and not anxiety?" Tamar asks nonchalantly. "Besides, Everyone's fate is up to the saints, is it not?"
"Not hers," Tolya says without pausing to think. Tamar gives him a side glance and he shoves her shoulder.
"Not hers?" Tamar echoes. "Not if you can help it."
#shadow and bone#grishaverse#grisha#tolya x reader#tolya yul bataar#x reader#six of crows#tolya#imagine#prompt fic#tolya and tamar#Spotify
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can you write something where optimus is in a car crash
my brain needs something like that lol
Oh this should be good. I have wanted to write something like this for months.
Optimus's First Car Crash
Optimus has always taken every precaution when on the road with human drivers. Driving laws on Cybertron were seen as guidelines at best. No one could really stop a bot from driving or flying where they wanted, it would have been like herding cats (although by primus the cops did certainly try). As such Optimus and his team were used to having to push their way through just about everything, not caring about speed limits or traffic laws. Of course arriving on earth changed that for them and Optimus spent an enormous amount of time boggling over the many many rules regarding driving around the world.
Ratchet and the team ended up seeing the earth driving laws as a suggestion more than anything else. The Autobot medic has been forbidden from driving in city landscapes due to his blatant disregard for anything resembling a traffic light or a stop sign. The rest of the team are barely permitted and only because Agent Fowler forced them to go through rigorous driving lessons. This left Optimus, ever the gentle giant, as the only member of the team who actually gave a frag about driving properly. He has always taken driving among the humans very seriously and with extreme caution, never daring to stray from any laws. One wrong move on his part could lead to a crash, one that he would walk out of unscathed but would likely kill whoever he crashed into.
He has always been paranoid about driving among the humans, and so when his biggest fear regarding the roads became reality, he very nearly broke down. It wasn't his fault in the slightest, but being in the middle of the busy highway, one human driver got a little too eager to get ahead and ended up skidding directly into Optimus before he could even register what was happening properly. His first instinct was to try and blast the driver into oblivion, assuming it was an attacker. He was only barely able to stop himself and come to a steady stop on the edge of the highway alongside the car that had hit him.
The human driver got out immediately and started swearing up a storm and screaming at Optimus to "get out and talk". While Optimus had learned what he was supposed to do in such a situation, he still ended up freezing for a hot minute as the human driver continued to swear and call up police. It took around fifteen minutes of the driver demanding that Optimus get out before the police arrived, leaving Optimus in a bit of a panic. As the officers spoke with the driver who was exclaiming something about Optimus's unwillingness to exit his vehicle, Optimus hastily began creating a holoform. Having never done it before on such short notice, Optimus hurriedly threw together the only holoform he could conceive at the time and stay as calm as possible as he rolled down his window and spoke.
The officers heard and came over, only to immediately scream in terror and hold up their weapons. Poor Optimus being far too stressed to understand what the issue was, panicked at the possibility of being attacked and took off down the highway. It did not take long for the police to begin tailing him, lights and sirens blaring as they chased him. This only prompted Optimus to panic even more as humans are WAY out of the realm of his expertise. And assuming they had somehow figured out that he wasn't human, he drove for his life while hastily calling Ratchet.
Optimus: *in a panic* I need a ground bridge, quickly!
Ratchet: *looking a little shocked at Optimus's tone* I am locking onto your coordinates. What is going on over there?
Optimus: I got into a collision and now human police officers are in hot pursuit!
Ratchet: Alright, hold on.
Thankfully Optimus managed to turn around a corner and drove straight through the ground bridge before the cops could catch up to him. But upon entering base, he was met with many confused stares and an incredibly displeased agent Folwer who muttered something along the lines of "now we need to change your license plates". Once Optimus calmed and was asked about the situation and just what triggered the violent reaction from the police, everything became clear. It took him a moment, but as he winced as reproduced his holoform, there was no denying that any normal human being would have found the abomination terrifying.
In his panicked state Optimus had thrown together the most uncanny valley looking thing known to mankind. It was a strange mess of male and female proportions, it had blotchy discolored skin, an extra limb, and a terrifying smile. Not to mention the thing was huge compared to the average human due to just how unsettled Optimus was at the time. It was no surprise the humans were terrified. Even the team looked at the holoform with mild horror.
Fowler: *chocking on his coffee* What the hell is that!
Miko: *looking at the holoform in mixed fear and awe* It looks like a zombie!
Jack: *trying not to gag* How is that even supposed to be human?!
Rafael: *taking off his glasses and cleaning them again just to be sure that he is seeing correctly* How did you even make something like that?!
The Team: *looks at Optimus judgmentally*
Optimus: ...
Optimus: I may have panicked.
Optimus didn't go driving in any cities or highways for a while after that, too paranoid of dealing with the same situation again. He was also given a very stern lesson by June on what human anatomy should look like. And since then he has a prepared holoform ready to go and several scripts to read from in case he ever gets pulled over again. Still, he can't help the slight nervousness that pokes at his mind every time a cop passes by.
#maccadam#transformers#transformers prime#optimus prime#my dude panicked alright#I would too#he may be a powerhouse but cops make anyone nervous#i hope this turned out alright
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When You Met Her pt. 7
A/N: I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me– anyways, enjoy my subpar return. MINORS DNI
Word Count: 1k. AO3 LINK
____________
"You're…marked."
The statement is indigestible. It's a sharp bone stuck in the back of your throat. You fear you'll choke on it from pure shock. Based on the numbness prickling all over your body, perhaps you already have.
You somewhat welcome the thought. It offers a faux sense of peace.
You stare down at your hands. They're littered with tiny cuts and shine with ointment. Ashen knuckles grip your knees with a slight tremble. Your entire body is stiff. The silence is unnerving.
Viktor is taking far too long to reply, and you can feel his eyes on you. He's waiting. He's watching. He's observing you.
Unsurprisingly, his relentless gaze doesn't help ease your nauseousness.
You want an explanation. You don't want him to speak at all. Is it fear or hope? What was the name of this sensation? You hate that you don't know.
Eventually, Viktor speaks. It's anticlimactic.
"Yes." It still feels like a bullet to the chest. Hurts like one too.
He's marked, rings on and on in your head. Was it really a lie? The mere prospect makes you breathless, reeling back involuntarily. An omega just like me. Marked.
Your heart is a hummingbird beating against your ribs. It takes an effort to calm it down. No matter what lay before you, you'd grown accustomed to reminding yourself of reality.
It was always too early to entertain hope. It was always reckless to believe others. It was always dangerous to forget what you were…
…and it was never too late to expect yourself to suffer because of it.
"But you used to be a…" Slave felt like an insult to the clearly successful omega. How could you bring him down to your level? You didn't dare say the words, instead letting them linger on your lips like a dirty secret. However, Viktor scoffs with a shrug.
"A "bitch in heat" that "deserved" to be treated like property? I was. For a few years, actually. My alpha saved me."
What? Alpha's didn't save omegas. They only took from them. But then again, what about Sevika?
She had taken you away from that prison and seemed like a kind master. She wanted to be called by her name. She didn't yell at Viktor when he snapped at him. Sevika hadn't taken anything from you, at least not yet. Whenever her stormy eyes met yours…
It feels safe. Warm. Protecting…
You force yourself to focus back in on the conversation, cheeks warming up as you speak.
"C-can I, uh, ask about–is it a–are you…?"
"Not bonded. This is a claim. But I'm showing you this precisely because it is a claim. That…tactic they used didn't work against my claim, so it doesn't stand a chance against a bond. You can still have a mate, y/n."
"Oh. I see. I can…" you trail off, numb to the news. This should make you happy. It somewhat does. But it's a distorted feeling of happiness. It's plagued with fear.
You're property.
Panic festers in your heart. It reminds you of the consequences.
A tool. A product.
It was dangerous to forget. A single mistake could cost you your life.
You do what you're told. You take what's given to you. You don't complain.
It was easier to survive that way.
The giddiness shimmers down. Reality is a winter breeze freezing over your heart.
It's tethering you to the anchor of your past. You let it.
Nothing changes with or without the ability to mate. Regardless, you don't have the right. You have to get permission. You doubt your new alpha will allow it.
What alpha would willingly let go of their omega?
You shut your eyes. It would be foolish to lose sight of your place and forget how little control you had over your own wellbeing.
"I can't…I'm not allowed." Viktor frowns, bushy eyebrows knit in confusion. You lick your lips, continuing with an anxious jitter.
"W-wouldn't Sevika be angry? She is the alpha that owns me…so I am hers." Immediately after speaking, it's sour. Viktor sucks in a sharp breath, and his voice is remarkably steady.
"Y/N. What does Sevika smell like to you?" The question throws you off. You wonder if the truth isn't something you should say aloud. However, you aren't too naive to lie. No matter how nice Viktor is, he's the one with access to authority in this situation.
Besides, he already knows something. It's evident enough in those amber eyes of his. He's asking for confirmation…and who would he inform, should you lie?
Who would come to rip the truth from you instead?
The thought makes you shiver. Punishments from lying differed greatly from telling an awful truth. You'll gladly take the latter.
"L-like…spices and cinnamon." Viktor nods encouragingly.
"Good, thank you for telling me y/n. Now…what does her scent make you feel?" Huh? Did such information matter? Viktor's serious gaze says it does, and you swallow.
"...I…I feel nervous. It's warm?" You mumble, and Viktor nods, smiling softly as he slowly speaks.
"Y/N, I'll be frank. With the environment you've been exposed to…it should be impossible for an alpha's scent not to instill you with fear. Unless…you are a bonded pair."
What? Your wide eyes make Viktor grimace.
"Why the hell am I the one doing this part…y/n, I started talking about bonds because it's clear you have one with Sevika. You've been scenting her because her smell calms you down, right? Such an immediate connection like that…that only happens with bonded pairs."
You listen, but can't process the words. You, bonded? To Sevika? An alpha that seemed more dominant than any you'd met before? How was something like you supposed to be…meant for her?
"N-no, there must be a mistake. I can't–it's impossible. I'm not fit to be hers, o-or anyone's–!"
"I don't…need a "fit" omega." Her soft, low rumble of a voice makes you jump. Sevika leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Her unreadable, gray eyes fixate on you, and you swallow.
"...Just rest." A beat of silence follows before Viktor coughs, and Sevika's jaw sets.
"You…fuck. Make a list. For the house. After you're discharged, you'll be staying with me…" Sevika finally meets your bewildered stare once again, and an overwhelmingly…beautiful scent fills your nose.
"...and I know how important nesting is. I won't make you feel like a goddamn stranger in your own home." With the harsh words, Sevika leaves as quickly as she appeared. You're left to soak in her words, stomach flipping when you realize what she meant.
You were going to live with her.
#sevika x reader#sevika x you#arcane sevika#arcane x reader#arcane headcanon#sevika headcanon#arcane viktor
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Religion in Relation to Jesus Christ Superstar
(CW: Religious trauma, slight stream-of-consciousness, imposter syndrome)
It's no secret now that I love Jesus Christ Superstar. The music, the way the story is presented, the history of the musical, and the talented actors are what drew me to it and kept me interested. Hell, it even made me download TUMBLR just so I could interact with others who enjoy the show (which is lovely, you're all lovely and I'm having such a good time).
Sometimes when I'm doing my wholely unnecessary research on JCS, I find a bad review from a devout Christian, claiming it to be blasphemy of the highest degree. This doesn't particularly bother me, as I am no longer a religious person, and I can easily brush these reviews off as extremists finding things to complain about.
I've found myself researching the book the rock opera was based on. You know the one. It's a fascinating story; I don't think many people disagree with that regardless of what religion they align themselves with. However, as with most things on the internet, it's hard to find information that is unbiased (unless I choose to read the full Bible, which I'm not interested in doing at the moment). I see how passionate these people are about their faith, and how many use that as an excuse to belittle and isolate others. This is something I've always been aware of, and it's something that's affected me personally.
When I come across these kinds of things online, I start to feel a pit of anxiety growing in my chest. I respect anyone of any religion so long as they do not use it as a means to harm others (physically, mentally, psychologically - in any way). But when I am presented with a Christian explaining why everything I believe in and stand for is inherently wrong, I begin to feel as if I'm still a young girl being berated for going against the Lord. To make matters worse, I am queer, though I am well aware that any accusations that this is a shortcoming are without truth.
Part of what drew me into JCS is what I and some others believe to be queer undertones. The intense relationship between Judas and Jesus is captivating to me, and I find it healing to examine the story of Christ this way. I had been avoidant of all Christian-related media for such a long time after I decided to detach myself from the religion. Any mention of it brought back years of shame and fear that, in my opinion, do not align with the morals the Bible depicts. If that is not what I am meant to feel when presented with the power of the Christ, then why should I subject myself to it? But when I found this musical, I was so intrigued that my inhibitions became insignificant. I only notice now how unprepared I was for the feelings that arose within me when re-introduced to my experience with religion.
I think the main issue comes with Christians believing they are entitled to the words and story of the Bible. Against my better judgment, and due to my past, I feel sometimes as if I'm intruding on an aspect of human culture that was not meant for me. In reality, I recognize that all I'm really doing is enjoying a story that I relate to and that inspires me to create and live my life as I want to live it. My learned instinct is to feel repentant when any person says I am wrong, especially when it comes to my experience as a queer woman. I read the relationship between Jesus and Judas in JCS as romantic. I have seldom seen such an intense portrayal of homosexually-charged angst, even if that is not how it was meant to be read. And I relate to it. And it heals a part of me. And I may be reading way too far into this, but I'm already devoting so much of my time to this property, so I may as well get something useful out of it.
I wonder if any other fans of JCS have felt this way. Like we are not allowed to enjoy something simply because it is not a story that is meant to be heard as we are hearing it.
My mother wonders why I haven't since converted back to Christianity after watching Jesus Christ Superstar. But this is the furthest from Christianity I have ever felt. And it the most at peace with Christianty I have ever felt.
#jesus christ superstar#jesus christ superstar 1973#religion#religious trauma#stream-of-consciousness#imposter syndrome#rant#relatability#queer community#lgbtq#jesus x judas#agnostic
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“In life, as I walk through the fields and plains. I stumble upon a single wild flower that has blossomed and sprouted.
A reflection of God's glory on display. It's fills my eyes with unfathomable beauty and majesty. The intricate details and immaculate design. The subtle, pervasive, and distinctive aroma. It's tenacious and unrelinquishing roots. It's rigorous and vigorous stem. And the variegated radiance of its leaves.
Our hearts always seem to be drawn to such an evasive array. It is unimaginable. It was never intentionally seeded nor planted. Yet, here it lies before my eyes. Existing and subsisting.
Predetermined and deliberate.
More than humanity could ever hope for. I can't fathom but to think aloud.
Even Solomon in all of his splendor was not dressed and adored like this dear wild flower. Yet, it did not labor or even spin. Still, here it is. But, am I the only one?
Out of the billions of people that walk this land; am I the only one that has stopped to enjoy such glorious beauty? To be transfixed on such variety and diversity? But before I blink, I see a petal fall.
It's fatal flaw. The reality of what is to come.
The curse of our brokenness.
The sign of its next season.
As my heart drops, it is filled with appreciation. The feared realization. I am the only one to ever witness this distinct flower.
To comprehend and grasp such tranquility. To notice its existence. It's intended and fixed purpose. To know that I will never understand this moment until it has now become a memory.
An echo within my thoughts.
To show me the state of my well-being. My own fragile humanity. My drained and frail spirit.
My delicate life.
But will it ever count?
Will it fulfill its holy purpose? To herald such a triumphant and glorious truth?
To be sent or be spent?
Will my reply be yes to both?
To be ready for either?
Oh how my heart clamps to comfortability and false security.
To chase my own dreams and desires. My redefinition of myself in my selfish pursuits.
My false delusions and distorted realities.
My schemes and plots to achieve such perfection to only discover a misconception.
My heart to remain unsatiable and determined to answer my preposterous plea.
To hide behind my own pride.
To try to create my own story and act like I give You the glory.
My wondering heart always wants to flee. Yet, it conceives utterly absurd lies to me.
Why can my eyes never seem to see?
I do not plan my life.
I didn't will to exist.
The hardships, temptations, and trials.
The waiting, anxiety, and worrying.
The pain and disappointment.
I did not ask for any of this.
Yet, I did. Because I live to die.
But die to live.
I am not much; but I invite others. For all to be gathered.
To witness me dying to my worst enemy. Myself.
So they can see You live.
For me to count a cost. And be indebted to grace.
To run a race to see my Savior's face.
Because of a stained tree and empty burial place.
To be here and gone within a short distinction and variance of time.
To exclaim though You slay me, I will still hope in You.
That if I perish, I perish.
All that matters is it is for Your Gospel and name to be known.
For others to cherish.
My heart just lingers to see the true source; the reflection of that glorious flower.
To see the scarred hands that wove its pattern and outline.
To see you bind the chains of the Pleiades and to loosen the cords of Orion.
To seek You and live.
To know that being close to You was always still too far.
As my heart cries out to be where You are. To perceive such divine love that I fail to assimilate.
To know You.
To know You as you have known me.
To participate in Your sufferings and death.
To know the power of Your resurrection.
To know the depths of your love based off the depth of Your sacrifice.
To know You intimately.
Being greater than all I have ever wanted.
To understand the wondrous mystery. How you do not accept me just as I am; yet you love me despite how I am.
I don't want the knowledge.
I don't want the information.
I do not want the opinions.
I want the truth.
I want to know you more than I know You.
I just want to know You.
Please just let me know You.
To know You as my Father and to be known as Your Son.
Because You are God and I am not.”
~ Soli Deo Gloria
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How do you think the templar skills such as Clease, Silence or Righteous Strike would affect Anders? I mean, the type of templar skills that prevent a mage from conecting with the Fade, would that also affect Anders considering that Justice lives in him too? Where does Justice draw his power from when he takes over? From the Fade for being a spirit himself or does he use Anders' natural connection with the Fade as a mage? I'm just trying to imagine how a fight between DA2 Anders and a powerful templar would go down. Because if I imagine it as realistic as possible, a templar skill like Silence should on its own negate most of Anders' powers, even with Justice's aid. Or am I wrong?
Thank you for your insights! I always read your DA thoughts with eager interest (that's why I'm asking your opinion on this now😉)
hi okay so my initial thought WAS that anders/justice could maybe get away with evading templar abilities which seems justified by justice’s notable successful destructive outbursts aimed in their direction. but that was based on my understanding that templars block mages’ connection to the fade to disrupt spells, and justice, described (paraphrasing) as like a piece of the fade brought into this world, might potentially be an alternate source of power. however! i was wrong!
i was just wrong on a basic level about how templar abilities work. mages use the power of the fade to make reality mutable, changeable according to their will. while templars can also drain energy drawn from the fade, what they actually do on a basic level when they stop spells is enforce reality. insist upon a stubbornly real world where the spell cannot be cast. (this is WAY closer to magic of their own than i was imagining but i’ll get distracted if i talk about that.) what anders/justice uses is still magic, even if amped up by the power of a spirit. i don’t see any reason why templars couldn’t deny it as they do any other magic. i suppose i should have guessed this because lots of templar abilities work on demons, right? which in functional terms is the same thing
nevertheless, templars are, broadly speaking, considerably less powerful than mages. ideally you want an entire pack of templars to deal with one mage, whereas a templar outnumbered even by two or three to one is completely fucked. that’s for regular well-trained mages. anders/justice when in Full Justice Mode™️ is notably capable of defeating an entire pack of prepared templars singlehanded. (you have to allow for mages “realistically” in-world being significantly more overpowered than they are in the games.) however in the short story where he does this, the templars involved do not specifically seem to use more abilities than being somewhat warded from an initial magical attack by having taken lyrium, so there’s no evidence there to my knowledge of what more specific templar abilities can do against anders/justice (the templar was terrified of what anders looked like despite having “faced broodmothers and abominations without fear”, so i have to imagine he just panicked too hard to do anything but jump straight to stabbing anders, which he does)
anders/justice then proceeds to, um, rip the guy’s whole head off. yeah. i don’t think any reinforcement of reality is going to do too much about that
so in response to your specific questions: i would expect cleanse, silence and righteous strike to work successfully, if maybe with some allowances for justice’s strength to let him shake it off quicker. there’s no reason a templar couldn’t successfully disrupt his spells with all of those abilities. however neither does that mean anders/justice is defenceless from a templar. if justice well and truly comes out, yes i think templar abilities will still work, it’s just not going to save them from what they’re facing. of course anders actively avoids and fears going that far bc of the obvious drawbacks, and he can’t do it at will, so it’s only happening if justice fully panics. but templar-related high anders distress and anger levels is exactly what makes justice panic so, you know, i can’t see him not showing up to a serious high stakes fight between anders and a templar
i would also suggest that since the vengeance tree has several spells to do with replenishing mana and lessening cooldowns, it seems likely that would translate to anders recovering much quicker from templars’ abilities to drain mana than another mage might, probably due as i said to justice’s more natural connection to the fade
#that’s my read of it anyway!#SORRY for how long this took i had to scroll so shamefully far for it#anders#justice#zevsurana academics
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Jareth x fem!reader
Hey loves, another jareth x reader if you have any suggestions, be sure to let me know. love you <3
Warnings:
I sighed as I stared at the wall, only now am I ready to look away and face my new reality. The hard wood floor was cold against my hands.
I traded my life for my brother's life. An eye for an eye. I don't know what the Goblin King will do with me.
Throughout this journey, I have stayed strong for my brother, guilty of opening my mouth, not thinking of the consequences. I failed but begged him to take me instead.
He had told me to wait in a bedroom. It was a beautiful room. The bed was probably the biggest I have ever seen. The curtains were a shear, silver fabric, drawn back on the shiny, wooden frame. The covers were a plush, deep blue that seemed as if I could sink so far into the bed if I laid down. Beside the bed was a night stand with a silver tray a goblin servant left for me with food I haven't touched. The walls were dark blue with stars and moons spread throughout the room.
There was also a walk-in closet filled with beautiful dresses and shoes. It almost seemed endless
There was also a grand bathroom that was white and gold. There was a large, faded window, taking up one of the walls completely. The tub was as big as my bed. There were shelves of fancy soaps and bath products above a large sink.
The Goblin King had ordered me to clean up and be ready for a meeting about what to do with her.
I sighed again and got up, shaking my leg awake. I went into the bathroom, and began to run a bath. As I stripped my clothes, the room filled with hot steam from the tub. There were so many soaps that I decided to just grab one of the first I saw. I smelled it. Roses.
I lifted myself into the bath, sighing. Despite the fact that just an hour or so ago, my life was changed in a way that I am scared about what is going to happen to me, I felt a bit of comfort in the hot water.
I scrubbed the dirt on my face and hands. I dipped underwater to get my hair wet. As I worked to clean myself, I thought about what would happen to me.
Maybe I would be a servant? Based on the room he gave me, maybe he treats them well.
Maybe I was just here temporarily and I was going to be banished in a world I don't know of. Either way, I felt like a prisoner.
After the water began to become cold and my fingers winkled, I stood up, the water dripping off my body. I drain the water and dry myself. I wrapped a towel around myself and walked to the walk in closet.
I found some simple undergarments and I looked throughout the closet for a dress. They were extravagant. Some were big, tulle ball gowns and some had long trains and some made of fine fabric. How would he expect me to do work in these clothes?
I decided to pick the simplest one I could find. It was a pale blue dress with white laced sleeves. I decided that it was the best option out of the dresses. Less noticeable. I saw a pair of white ballerina flats and slipped them on.
Just as I finished dressing I heard a knock at the door. I rushed to answer it and it was the same goblin that gave me the food earlier.
"Is miss ready to meet the king?", the goblin squeaked out.
"Um," I said touching my still slightly wet hair, "one minute."
I rushed back to the closet and found a ribbon. I pulled my hair back in a low pony tail, hoping that it didn't look as messy as my hair down.
I rushed back to the goblin whose name I found out to be Lottie.
Lottie led me to a room high in the castle. The doors were golden and when Lottie pushed them open it led to a room that I can only describe as chaos.
Other goblins were jumping and screaming and singing vulgar songs. At the end of the room was the Goblin King, lazily sitting on his throne.
When he noticed me he at once silenced the goblins, who had a mixture of fear and surprise in their eyes. They all turned to look at me.
I looked at Lottie who gestured for me to go forward. As I walked towards the Goblin King, the goblins parted giving me a path straight to him.
By the time I was standing in front of him, he rose up and I noticed all of the other goblins bowing down to him. Something in me told me to bow as well but I couldn't. All fear had one from me. I wasn't scared or weak. I was furious.
How dare he take my brother in the first place. How dare he keep me here, keeping me away from the ones i loved. How dare he think of himself so high and mighty.
For a moment we just stood staring at each other. I studied his appearance more.
I'd be lying if I said that he wasn't attractive, but that made me even more infuriated.
I crossed my arms and said, "Well if you are waiting for me to bow, I'm afraid you'll be greatly disappointed."
The goblins gasped and murmured among themselves.
The Goblin King just smirked, "Feisty one, aren't we? I have to admit, I thought that you might have actually beaten my Labyrinth, but o course here you are."
I balled my fists in anger and frustration. "So," I said keeping my tone even, "What do you want from me?"
"I'm glad you asked." The Goblin King said, "You see, I am not the bad guy here. I could give you anything you dream of. But on the condition that you stay here and never leave the Goblin City. You will be unable to leave the border into the Labyrinth."
I was taken back, "That's it?" I asked out loud.
"Yes."
Although I was happy that I wasn't going to be tortured, I was suspicious of the Goblin King. I felt as if there was something that he wasn't telling me. With that, he sent me back to my room to get some rest.
But i still knew that I was a prisoner.
Over the next couple months, I learned all the rooms and gardens of the castle and the streets of the Goblin City.
I spent my days exploring, reading books from an enormous library, baking random recipes that reminded me of home, picking fresh fruit and flowers from the gardens, and talking with the Goblin King who has insisted that I call him Jareth.
After spending more and more time with him I realized how lonely he was. Always surrounded by immature goblins. I hated to admit that I started to enjoy his company over meals and would occasionally get me to dance and sing with him.
I think I'm falling for the Goblin King.
#jareth#labyrinth fanfiction#the labyrinth#jareth the goblin king#labyrinth#jareth imagine#goblin king#jareth x you
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Tarot Reading based on your Favorite Book Genre
Welcome back to Wednesday's group tarot pick-a-pile reading.
Today is based on book genres. I have been trying to get back into reading, and while I have been slow going at it, I have been enjoying it so far. Often I will be able to read non-fiction more than fiction these days, but I used to be a ravenous fiction reader and I am hoping to get more back into it for recreation. Although every night I fall asleep to an audiobook. I don't know if that counts as reading to people, but right now I'm listening to "The Once and Future King" by T.H. White
~~~~Anyway~~~~
Today the three card read is Greatest Strength / Greatest Weakness / Driving Passion
Scroll Down, Pick your favorite genre and that's your reading for today. As always this is for fun and entertainment. Take what resonates and leave what doesn't
Romance
Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
4 of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, The Moon
Your greatest strength is your control, and ability to hold on to the abundance you have gained. However, the value you place on material things could cause one of your greatest weaknesses. That brash impulsive behavior leads you to run off on the next adventure searching for bigger and better things. Your driving passion is your intuition, but an intuition that is being guided by fears and anxieties. Sometimes you can go on the grandest adventures and come out with the greatest treasures, but other times you can run into the most dangerous situations because you are afraid of missing out on something great and ignoring the amazing things you have already gained. Chasing shadows in a never-ending quest for perfection or the next best thing, but luckily you often know the right time to stop.
Fantasy
Photo by Cosmic Timetraveler on Unsplash
Three of Wands, Eight of Pentacles rx, The Hermit
You are someone who is able to dream big and is able to move beyond their comfort zone to reach their goals. Setting your sights far out onto the horizon and taking steps to get there. However, there are times you can get hung up on the small details to the detriment of the larger goal. A tendency toward perfectionism can lead to a crippling inability to move forward, or a complete derailment from the path you laid ahead. Your passion lies in exploring your inner world and your personal values to try and find your authentic self. When your personal drive is so internal sometimes an outside perspective can help keep the small things from becoming disproportionately large and overwhelming as we head towards our larger goals.
Modern Lit
Photo by David Lezcano on Unsplash
Knight of Swords, Seven of Cups, Temperance rx
You are someone who has amazing drive and is the type of person to get in there and get things done. This is a great strength to have because someone has to be the person who gets in there and acts. However, you are often someone who makes quick choices and doesn't think through the repercussions, making it more likely you will fall for tricks played on you by others. You might also get so caught up in the vision of what you are trying to do, that the reality of its scope and difficulties are lost on you. The thing that drives you is something that feels out of balance and you are trying to restore it. Whether internally or externally, that is what motivates you right now.
Mystery
Photo by Joël in 't Veld on Unsplash
The Emperor, Nine of Pentacles, Ten of Swords
You have a natural talent to lead and can take charge if need be. Someone who follows the rules and expects the rules to be followed. You might have a difficult time being comfortable with feeling financially stable or independent, whether you are or not, you might have difficulty with the idea of it in general. It could be because what drives you is a constant feeling of pain, loss, and a feeling of a crisis being just around the corner. That is what is causing you to take charge and lead, but also feel so unstable in your material world. It's important to remember though, that each crisis you have been through can be learned from and can be let go of. Although it can be hard to heal, it is something you are capable of.
Horror
Photo by Jon Butterworth on Unsplash
Three of Swords, The Emperor, Two of Cups
You are someone who can handle the grief and pain of life, be it your own or helping others process theirs, you have a deep knowledge of processing emotional pain and letting it go. Your ability to process and your intimate knowledge of these deep emotional hurts have caused you to have difficulties with authority figures and structure. Maybe you have found the rules around expressing your grief and pain to be too rigid or maybe they have caused your pain themselves. Ultimately the thing that drives you is your passion for connection. The desire to be close to someone special to you. You know for all the pain of your past, and the difficulty you have with structure, connections with those special to you are what you treasure above everything else.
Sci-Fi
Photo by Martijn Baudoin on Unsplash
Six of Pentacles, Four of Swords, Three of Cups
Your capacity to give of yourself, your wealth, and share what you have is one of your greatest assets. People know that when they are in need they can look to you for assistance. This can come at a heavy cost when you have a difficult time allowing yourself to rest. However, sometimes it is important to allow ourselves the proper balance between giving of ourselves and allowing ourselves to take a much-needed rest and recuperate our energies. Your drive to collaborate and connect with others is a wonderful motivator for you to help your community thrive, but it is also important to remember that you don't have to be the only one who gives, you can also receive that is the beautiful thing of working together.
I hope you all enjoyed this little three-card group reading and I hope you all have an amazing day.
#tarot#tarotblr#pick a pile#just for fun#tarot reading#pick a picture#divination#tarot community#tarot reader
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🔥 PLUTO Appreciation Post
Disclaimer: We are exploring potentials and pure archetypes here. Please, don't take things too literally. I am not a fan of generalizations, either.
I believe that all planets are facets of the experience we call "Love". Venus relates to the most easily comprehensible and widely accepted type - the love that is beautiful, harmonious, and pleasing. It's romantic and sensual, which is what most of us long to experience in a relationship with another.
Venus, the charming Aphrodite - she is a bit of a coquette, isn't she? The moment you burp in front of her, she’s already begun packing her bags. You dirty Schwein! 🐷
All silly jokes aside, I definitely don't mean that Venusian people don't love deeply - they absolutely can.
But if you think about it, what is their Love based upon? They have a strong desire for balance, equality, and beauty which they long to achieve and maintain within their relationships. In situations of conflict, when shadows begin to rear their heads in, Venusians tend to look away.
It's as if Venus is saying: "I will love you and be loyal to you as long as you don't bring me into this sh#t!"
But sometimes, there is sh#t. And a lot of it. There is only one planet that is not just aware of this fact, but also quite interested in digging into it, and that's Mr. Pluto, the subject of today's post.
He is the one and only, FULL-TIME BOSS (He'll sleep when he's dead!) of the Underworld who spends the majority of his time hidden away from the light of day, surrounded by both the pure and the rotten souls of the deceased! He loves to listen to the screeching sounds of screams for redemption. He also likes Baroque.
I've read that when the other Olympians invite him to their celebrations, he doesn't even like to attend. I mean, what's better than sipping blood-colored wine and petting your three-headed Cerberus, right? Right?!
I am having too much fun with this. But it's safe to say that Pluto is more than familiar with the darker, uglier aspects of humanity - he's seen it all!
He is THE Alchemist who knows that Darkness is nothing more than the Absence of Light. This isn't to say that Plutonian people are unconditionally loving, either. On the contrary, in a lower vibration, they can be so guarded & paranoid, you would think their hearts are made of stone.
There lies the potential, though. I touched upon this "contradiction" in my Sun/Pluto post the other day. However, unconditional Love is such a lofty goal, it can take a lifetime (or a few) of shadow work & healing to reach it.
Astronomically, Pluto is a teeny-tiny dwarf planet. Yet, it carries so much power that people who know a bit of Astrology generally fear him. This isn't entirely superfluous. You will find Pluto's twisted manifestation among some of the most power-hungry, controlling, and ruthless people. The fact that World War II took place only 9 years after Pluto was discovered, isn't a coincidence, either.
But he is as scary as we are stubborn and resistant to change. When we ALIGN with Pluto's intention to purify and raise our consciousness, things become way easier. Pluto transits, as well as your natal Pluto aspects, can show you exactly what is going to be put to the test and when. Astrology does a great job of giving you the advantage of preparing for that test. Yay, Astrology!
I believe that Pluto is God’s way of showing us tough love, and tough love is highly misunderstood. No one likes pain (kind of) and suffering. But what we need to understand is that the pain doesn't come from Pluto, per se. The pain comes from the straightening of our twisted perception of reality. It's like having your hand at a twisted angle, and someone grabs it, and snaps it back into place! Ouch! Is that even possible?! But you get my point - it hurts like HELL. *no pun intended*
At its most extreme, Pluto is God's RAGE, the powerful destructive force that shows us how far we've strayed off our authentic path and true selves.
My belief is that, as we continue to mature individually and collectively, our perception of Love will expand, and we'll be more able to tap into Pluto's loving vibration more frequently.
I mean, look at it! Have you noticed that the planet literally has a HEART on its surface? How fascinating!
- Foxbörn
ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 1
ᴄʜᴀʀᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢꜱ
ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʏ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ?
#astrology#astroworld#astro notes#zodiac#astro community#pluto astrology#birth chart#natal chart#horoscope#pluto aspects#ai artist#planets#astro bites#ai artwork#midjourney
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Hi @runictablet if you don't mind I will answer here because I think my answer will be a little long.
So honestly I find the idea to name eahc character after one common theme very well thought.
Because it's giving Engage a strong worldbuilding identity and it's also relying on a simple and yet effective art direction.
That's not high far fecthed reference sure, but that works just as well, simple and efficient.
@emblematicemblazer made some post regarding this topic as well and I got a very clever anon pointing to how Firene's branding name was linked to how it's canonically the Kingdom of wealth and I did hope to be able to make a full post centered about the meaning of the game but I am just going to focus on Brodia for this one ok ?
So in the case of Brodia I think the name being around gemstone is pretty clever.
Brodia from what we know is a meritocracy based on physcial strengh and gemstones can be classified in a hierachical way because of the carat. Gemstones with little carat have little value and in Frech, you can use that expression in general to speak of things that are of high quality. And combined that way, it helps showing the Brodian meritocracy and tie to the economy as we know it highly relies on mine.
And then it connects as well to how our Brodian cast all suffer from different sort of impostor syndrome and are pressured by society to be "perfect" "strong" etc, like the most shining and high valued gemstone.
To take two examples of character whose name I think works perfectly I would choose Lapis and Diamant.
While Lapis name seems to come from the lapis lazuli, in reality it's the just the word lapis meaning stone in latin. And seeing how Lapis is a commoner, it all makes sense. Symbolically, her name being that makes her insecurity and inferiority complex due to her rank emphasized. Lapis is a commoner however we know that in Brodia strengh is valued and this include the hierachal rank that nobles have superiority towards commoner. This makes Lapis feel highly insecure : she is a stone in a kingdom of gems, symbolically. That's what her name represent. Lapis herself in chapter 7 state that she is aware that the weak in Brodia will get robbed off, she know she cannot shows that her position is weaker. But at the same time, the ambiguity makes sense within universe as Lapis tries to hide her real origins by making as if she might be from a higher family but she never outright lies since she is that honest. So when you think of lapis-lazuli the gem when hearing her name, it's part of this "imposture" that isn't really one, just a misunderstanding due to her name so she is at the same time Lapis (the stone) but not Lapis (the gemstone) like she is in truth a commoner (a stone) but not a noble (gemstone) and her name also refers to her strengh to some extent with stone not breaking as easily as some gemstones.
And for Diamant now. His name is the french word for Diamond. Diamond are precious gemstone reputed to be unbreakable and to be a symbol of perfection. Some people view it as the tears of God. Diamant is a character seen as perfect and flawless by those around him, strong and unbreakable. However we do learn in his suppor it's not true. He has flaws, he has weakness and there is something he fears = Fire magic. In fact, in his design, part of his hair is lighter then the rest probably to signify that he is indeed someone with flaws but he tries to hide them. In greek, the word ἀδάμας that gave the word diamant in french meant unbreakable to refer to the fact this gemstone would not break. However, it also refers to the indominable state of the mind and more then his physical strengh, that is what Diamant demonstrate notably in chapter 10 of the main story and yes, that why in contrast his Alter ego have no strong will, which Diamant will call him out on would he fight him. And finally diamond are symbol of purity. Diamant is a man of pure intentions. In FE, the common them about nobility and monarchy is that nobles are not above the people, but at their services. They must not make the people innocent civilians suffer from greater ideals or for their greed or treat them as if they were inferior, the nobility and the governement/ruler have the responsability to protect their people, to ensure their security, their well being their happiness, like a retainer would do with their liege. Diamant by his pure wish for prosperity based on peace and opposing a greedy nobility illustrate that. He also got support where he gets to laugh and being a bit goofy. And most importantly, something that is also shown in the most recent chapter for the manga, is sought for strengh isn't based on the same motives then the nobility but on a pure wish to protect others : he pushed himself as a child to be able to protect his brother, to protect his people and all he does is in that mindest. That's what is droving him to perfectionate himself not matter what hardship he face which makes his association to the diamond and to Roy whose incantations means standing up very relevant as in reality Diamant is more of a perfection of the mind over the body.
I hope this answer your question ! So yeah I find them very interesting to analyze
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goofy things i do
-mentally shut down as soon as i try to type this because oh my god why would you commit your thoughts to text. what are you some kind of self-obsessed ignorant tool
-hype myself up for like 3 days to finally make a Funnie Joak that ive been planning for like 2 years. if nobody laughs at joke, kill self
-walk thru grocery store shopping normally but vibrating with fear and absolutely certain everybody there hates every fiber of my being and would love to see me dead
-almost cry when thinking about how i exist and how unappealing and gross i am and how i cannot take myself seriously because i am so subhuman and repulsive and pointless that even wishing someone would love me is an unholy amount of embarrassing that i cant even begin to process
-if someone mentions an interest of mine casually, immediately clam up and do my damndest to pretend i barely care because if they see me like visibly react or get excited or anything it will be SO confusing and weird and cringe and it will be the talk of the century for them when im not around. or worse they will say 'lol why do you like that so much' which as we all know is a valid reason to consider suicide
-never keep a journal even in private. you think im just gonna say how i feel about things directly? so that the audience of nobody can mock me? i think the fuck not
-behaving bizarrely secretively about purchases and things i buy because id actually rather die than be asked why i bought something/wanted something
-want to hurl myself off a cliff when asked things like 'what's your favorite movie'
-lie about random shit for no reason like oh my god they will hate me FOREVER if i tell them i went to Walmart. I'm gonna say i uhhhhh went to the library. ok cool
-push the existence of new acquaintances who might want to be my friend so fucking far out of my mind that i genuinely forget to attempt contacting them
-get new clothes i think are cool, then never wear them because i feel like the worlds stupidest silly little boy in my shitty little fit
-before stating a fact to someone in a text or whatever, even if i know the fact is 100% true, google it and check it from multiple sources multiple times and read them over and over to make sure i'm not misunderstanding or misreading or otherwise about to make a fool of myself by saying something like, grass is green. once i am satisfied that i will Not sound stupid for stating that grass is green, press send and wait in agony
-on walks around the neighborhood with earbuds in, check every 30 seconds to make sure they're actually connected and that nobody is hearing my music. not only because it would seem really inconsiderate and strange to be blasting music out in public, but also because they will probably think the songs i like are really stupid
-put everybody i interact with into categories based on which sensitive aspects of myself i am willing to share with them at any given time. don't mix them up! i can't be telling personal-emotional stuff to the infodumps guy or vice versa.
-get so violently upset when someone is a little rude that i fantasize about beating them to a pulp while in reality i am just hiding and holding back tears
-avoid being seen in public spaces as much as possible because everytime someone's eyes notice me i feel like they are full of malice even though i cannot adequately explain what malice looks like in a person's eyes. best to just assume all gazes are malignant, then
-wonder why i am So Alone And Lonely while the unread DMs and text messages pile up on me, or fizzle out because I didn't say anything meaningful back
-leave behind me a series of friendly people who probably did try their best to include me and get to know me, but i couldn't find it in me to trust or listen to
-everytime i have to do something no matter how normal it is, wait till someone else does it first so i can gauge whether anyone thought they were stupid or weird and if not, copy exactly how they do it
-worry this is a stupid list
-wonder if there's enough things on this list or if i'm forgetting something that was crucial to The Vibe of it and without it the post will just seem dumb
-put this in the drafts as soon as i get done typing it, where it will ostensibly rot for all of time!
#eh maybe ill post it lol like#maybe somebody with avpd will see it and go 'oh me. lol' and it will encourage me to look into this further#sorry though LMAO i will hopefully get back to using this blog for what i usually use it for soon.i just. dont want this on my main#probably for these exact reasons!#vent cw#personal#suicide mention#tw suicidality#avpd#avoidant personality disorder#(potentially. maybe. said in a very trigger-shy way)#actuallytraumatized#actuallyabused
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Scars
Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader - Western AU
Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive...
Word Count: 8.6k
Content warning: graphic depictions of violence, blood, descriptions of clothes not fitting Y/N
Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters!
Also on Ao3
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Chapter 4
“See, here -- see that gully?” Bucky reigned Alpine next to Horse, pointing at a dark line inked across the map.
You nodded.
“We should be able to make it there in maybe three, four days. It connects to this river here, which flows all the way up North.” You followed his finger as it traced the path. “We follow that river, we’ll get to where we’re going.”
You looked up, smiling faintly at Bucky’s expectant look, trying to match his quiet eagerness. In truth, seeing your plan mapped out in front of you -- the reality that you were getting closer to an escape -- made your stomach churn with anxiety. What if you didn’t make it? What if they found you? God, what if somehow they knew and they were waiting for you there? What if they were waiting for you and Bucky to part ways before they grabbed you again and--
“Hey,” Bucky said. When you met his eyes, they were filled with concern behind a few layers of determination. “We’re gonna make it, and we’re going to be okay.”
“I… hope you’re right,” you replied, sighing. You really hoped he was.
“Usually am, darlin’," he threw you a wink over his shoulder before urging Alpine into a trot.
You scoffed, but it quickly turned into a laugh as you followed after him. When he heard it, he turned around to give you a pleased smile -- one that made his eyes light up bluer than you’d ever seen them before. This time, it was a smile you were able to return.
You tried to force yourself to relax as the day wore on. Everything was fine -- it had been a few weeks now since Bucky had helped you escape Mickey and the others, and yet you’d seen no sign of them. If they were going to come after you, wouldn’t they have done so already? Wouldn’t they have already gotten you?
It was what you tried to tell yourself when you felt that old familiar panic settle at the base of your throat. And anyway, you had Bucky now -- for at least a little while longer. It would be hard, going back to being alone once you reached Pigeon Rock and Bucky was reunited with his group -- but then you’d just have to be extra vigilant.
It was what you tried to tell yourself when your panic started creeping up your throat and threatening to choke off all your air. You were telling yourself a lot of things, lately. Things that didn't always feel true. You tried not to think about what would happen if they found you once you were alone again. It was enough to send your heart rate pumping furiously through your veins. But whenever that happened, your eyes found Bucky where he was riding in front of you and the panic slowly started to ebb away. You just needed to get through the next few weeks; you could deal with being alone when the time came, it was the now you needed to worry about.
At least you’d be well rested. You just hoped you weren’t going soft.
It was a few hours after the sun was at its highest in the sky that you noticed the cloud. It was far off in the horizon -- not enough to worry either you or Bucky. The sun was shining, and there was a cool breeze in the air that offered some relief from the heat of the afternoon.
It’s funny how quickly things can change. How suddenly the winds can shift.
It started with silence. A big, suffocating stillness that descended upon the plains. The breeze stopped and the sun seemed to shine a little less brightly. The sparse birdsong fell dead, and the only sounds were that of creaking leather and your horses’ footsteps.
The storm was on top of you before you even had a chance to prepare. Not that you could have done anything. As far as you knew, there was nothing for miles.
In an instant, the wind picked up, blowing dust into your faces. Bucky winced and you pulled your bandanna up over your nose. He was quick to follow, yanking a neck scarf out of his saddle bag, and tying it around his face.
“Shit,” he shouted above the steadily growing roar of the wind. “Storm’s blowing this way. We had better--”
A crack of thunder cut him off and it was as if that single sound had opened up the gates above your heads. Rain began to pour as the dark storm clouds that had been accumulating above you swirled together. The wind was fierce, yanking on Bucky’s poncho as the already-soaked fabric fluttered and snapped against the strain. The sky had gone dark and the rain created a sheet in front of your face. Horse reared up, hopping sideways as he threw his head under the onslaught. You heard another crack of thunder. A flash of lightning lit up your vision. You heard Bucky call your name, and that was when you realized you couldn’t see him anymore.
“Bucky!” you yelled, swinging Horse around and trying to find his voice in the rushing of the rain and the booming of the thunder. “Bucky!”
Nothing. He was… gone.
“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, throwing a hand up to hold your hat on as you shook the torrents of water out of your eyes. It was impossible to see even a few feet in front of you, and the wind driving the rain into your face was making it worse.
“Fuck!”
Horse spun in a circle, dancing, agitated by the rain and scared by the thunder, and he whinnied shrilly, probably looking for Alpine.
He was looking for Alpine.
The realization dawned on you and in a split second you were driving your heels into his sides, giving him a loose rein so he could go wherever he wanted.
“Get us out of here,” you yelled, squinting into the darkness as Horse took off at a gallop. You hoped he wasn’t just running out of fear, but you didn’t have any other choice. You either stayed where you were and risked the elements, or you trusted Horse to find something -- anything.
It felt like an eternity before he did. In reality, it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but you were already soaked through and shivering when you heard a distant whinny cut through the roaring of the storm.
Horse pulled up, tossing his head wildly and lurching sideways before you gave him a firm kick and sent him forward towards the sound. The whinny came again, almost a shrill scream, and Horse arched his neck as he replied, ears pricked forward even as the rain pelted his face.
You almost ran into the porch. It was only because of Horse that you didn’t, and even so, he pulled up so fast, practically sitting onto his back legs, that you fell sideways and crashed onto the ground. You hit the hard surface with a thud, but immediately dragged yourself up and grabbed Horse’s reins. He was prancing about, very nearly trampling you in his frenzied state. Swinging the reins, you gave him a firm smack on his hind end, spinning him around so his legs weren’t at risk of injuring you. Your tailbone stung from where you’d hit the ground and you were so soaked through that you felt like you were drowning. The rain hadn’t let up, and you couldn’t see for shit, but Horse practically dragged you up the porch steps.
It was like being able to breathe again, getting out of that rain. The porch offered a little protection, though the wind was still blowing sideways and you weren’t entirely safe from the elements, but it was enough that you could wipe the water from your eyes. Flicking your hands and trying to shake off as much water as you could, glad that Horse had finally calmed enough to stand for a moment, you glanced up.
Alpine was tied to the railing of the porch, dancing slightly as she nickered at Horse.
“Well shit,” you breathed, eyes wide with surprise, first -- and then you practically sagged with relief. Bucky was okay. He was okay and you’d found him.
Well, Horse had found him.
“Good boy!” You softly exclaimed, patting Horse on the side. “Even though your actin’ like an absolute bonehead nearly got me killed,” you couldn’t help but add, feeling the sting of your bruised tailbone.
Now that you were protected from the onslaught of the storm that was still raging, and now that you knew Bucky was safe, you felt all your adrenaline flee you in one single wave. You began to tremble, both from the cold that had soaked into your bones and the fear you had managed to outrun until this moment. Your hands shook as you tied and then re-tied Horse’s reins to the railing next to Alpine, who reached out to sniff Horse before they began to nicker to each other.
“Alright, lovebirds,” you muttered, your voice sounding watery and weak.
You were still shaking as you stumbled towards the door to the house, raking your hat off your head and pouring the water off its brim.
The porch was attached to a log cabin, fairly decent in size, and, going by the state of the windows -- which were so grimy you couldn’t even see through them -- potentially abandoned. You hadn’t seen any livestock or farming supplies -- but then again, you hadn’t seen much of anything. You just hoped that, if anyone was home, they were friendly.
When you opened the door, your soul nearly left your body as that hope was promptly shattered. An arm slammed into your throat in less than a second and suddenly you were being thrown back into the door as it swung closed with your momentum. Your hands came up to grab at the arm against your neck and, for a terrible, horrifying moment you were sure it was Mickey. He’d found you and now he was going to hurt you. A breathy whimper escaped you before you could help it -- the beginning of a plea.
“Y/N,” a voice breathed, equal parts relieved as it was alarmed.
You opened your eyes, vision clearing as the arm disappeared.
“Bucky?”
Of course it was Bucky, his damn horse was right outside.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, making as if to reach for you before pulling back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”
“S’okay,” you shook your head. “I’m not hurt, I just… I thought you were…” you couldn’t even speak it.
You didn’t need to -- Bucky already knew. You could tell by the way his brow knitted up; by that flash of regret that filled his eyes. You shook your head again, opening your mouth to try and tell him that it was fine -- that he was fine and everything was fine -- but your teeth snapped back together as a shiver coursed through you.
All it took was a step forward for your knees to give out, and then you were slamming back against the wall for support. This time, Bucky did reach out to you, grabbing hold of your bicep in an attempt to hold you up.
“You sure you’re alright?” he asked, already sounding skeptical of your answer.
“Cold,” you managed through chattering teeth. You hugged your arms across your chest, rubbing them to try and generate some heat. Bucky, you noticed, wasn’t shivering at all.
“Come on,” he pulled you towards him, hooking an arm around you. “There’s got to be some dry clothes in here somewhere.”
Laying a hesitant hand on his back, you began to observe the interior of the cabin. The room you had entered was a small living area with a fireplace on the left wall and a counter with cookware and other supplies to the right. At the far back, there was a narrow hallway with what looked to be two small bedrooms on either side.
Releasing you, Bucky made for the left room, so you headed into the right in search of something to dry yourselves off with.
It looked like a children's bedroom. A small cradle sat in one corner, and a cot in the other, piled with thin blankets. Smiling in relief, you crouched down to retrieve them, shaking them out to try and see how many there were. A stuffed bear fell out of the bundle and bounced onto the cot. You stilled, staring down at it for a moment.
What had happened to the family that lived here? Would they be coming home soon to find that strangers had broken in, or were they gone? And if they were gone, the question remained: what had happened to them?
“Bucky,” you called, suddenly feeling uneasy in the silence. “I found blankets.”
“Great,” he announced, appearing in the doorway and causing you to jump.
“I found some clothes. They probably won't fit, but I figure it’s better than nothing while your own dry.”
“Right,” you nodded, taking a steadying breath. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing, partner,” Bucky nodded. You found yourself smiling. He had a way of seeming so unbothered, even after everything that had just happened. So unshakable.
“Alright,” he continued, holding out a bundle of clothes. “I’ll, uh… go across the hall to change. Holler if you need me.”
“Thank you, Bucky,” you replied in earnest, yet again thinking about how nice it was to not be alone anymore; a change of pace that you had gotten used to alarmingly quickly.
In return, he gave you an almost confused smile, his blue eyes deepening in a way that you couldn’t understand before turning away. He propped the door closed behind him, leaving it a crack just in case, and you were left alone in the room. That eerie feeling returned, but you pushed it away; you were just being paranoid. It made sense since you had been relying on your paranoia to survive for so long. It wasn’t something you could just turn on and off as you pleased.
Then again, maybe you could, in a way. Wasn’t that what you had done with Bucky. Certainly there had been plenty of paranoid thoughts surrounding the stranger when you’d first met him, but still, you chose to ignore them in favor of potential safety. Potential partnership. But when it came to trusting your surroundings, you found that you simply couldn’t turn off your anxiety. It was too deep-seated.
So you made quick work of peeling off your wet clothes. Your chaps were soaked through, making them heavier than usual, and it took you a few minutes to wrangle yourself out of them. Your trousers came off a bit easier, and in no time you were pulling on the clothes that Bucky had given you. A man’s nightshirt -- material that seemed so impossibly thin compared to the things you wore to sleep in. You’d freeze to death if you ever had to spend a night outside in nothing but a linen shirt. He’d also found you a pair of trousers, but after several different attempts and a few minutes of trying to convince yourself otherwise, you determined that there was simply no way they were fitting.
Well shit.
Staring at the useless garment in your hands, you considered trying to wrangle yourself back into your own trousers, but you quickly dismissed that idea. They were absolutely drenched, and the idea of spending any amount of time in them now that you were dry made your skin crawl.
So, taking a deep breath, you stared at your bare legs and decided that you’d just have to manage without pants. After all, it wasn’t like you were naked or anything; and you’d soon be under a blanket, anyway, so it really wasn’t that big of a deal. However, one thing you couldn’t do without was your bandanna. Even though it was soaked through, you tied it firmly around your neck, running your hand along the side of it in what had become an instinctive touch.
Nodding, you gathered up your sopping wet clothes into a bundle, trying not to get your new clothes wet in the process. You quickly decided that the crib would be a good place to hang them up to dry. With your hands full, you made the few short steps over to the crib.
It was only when you began to put your clothes down that you noticed the blood.
Your clothes hit the wooden floor with a splat as you froze in place, a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the rain coursing through your veins. There, in the bedding of the crib, was a bloodstain. It was no bigger than your two hands, but its location was enough to usher back your paranoia with a newfound intensity.
Why was there blood where a baby should have been?
Whipping your head around the room, you looked for any other signs; more blood, an indicator of a struggle, a weapon -- anything -- but the rest of the room looked normal. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. You weren’t in any immediate danger -- the blood looked old, dried and slightly faded, and when you peered closer you noticed a thin layer of dust over the bedding. Whatever had happened here, it hadn’t been recent.
It didn’t make it any less concerning, but it did help you calm yourself as you tried to avoid thinking about the distasteful things that might have happened -- or the equally horrible answers as to why the family wasn’t here anymore.
Shaking your head, feeling another shiver wrack your body, you crossed your arms and backed away from the crib, leaving your clothes in a pile on the floor. Bucky -- you needed to tell Bucky, maybe he’d seen something, too. At the very least, the two of you needed to decide if it would be safe to stay the night.
“Bucky,” you whispered, stepping out into the hall. “Bucky, I need to--”
In your worry about your new discovery, you’d forgotten that Bucky had gone into the other room to change. To undress. You’d also overlooked the fact that you probably should have knocked. No, you definitely should have knocked.
“I need to show you-- shit,” you fell back, ducking around the corner and pressing your back to the wall as the image you’d just seen flashed behind your eyelids. Bucky, his bare back facing you, muscles creating divots in his pale skin -- and the glint of metal where his left arm should have been.
Your chest felt tight as you braced yourself against the wall. What the hell had that been? And more importantly, was he angry that you’d seen it? That panic inside you swelled, only now it was for a different reason.
“Sorry,” you whispered, having to clear your throat before you were able to speak any louder. “Sorry -- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know that you… God, I shouldn’t have just barged in--”
“Y/N,” his voice, carefully gentle, cut through your fearful apologies.
You froze, hardly breathing now, and strained to hear the soft sounds of shuffling on the other side of the wall. The sounds got closer, and then Bucky appeared in the doorway, now wearing a shirt.
“It’s alright,” he replied, just as soft as before, and when he caught sight of you against the wall, he sighed. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite. Really, it’s fine.”
“But it’s not. I should have knocked--”
“Probably,” he agreed, arching an eyebrow. “But it’s a little late for that.”
He didn’t exactly sound mad and, based on the way he lingered near the doorway, remaining still and in your line of vision, you guessed that he probably wasn’t. Or if he was, he didn’t want you to know.
You had so many questions, and they all surfaced to the front of your mind as you stared up at him. That was when you noticed the top of his shirt was still unbuttoned, probably in his haste to get it on before coming out to reassure you. Just along his collarbone, you could see the beginnings of a nasty scar. It twisted along the flesh of his chest and shoulder. The marks were raised and looked painful.
“Bucky,” you whispered, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the small distance between the two of you. “What…”
He ducked his head back but didn’t move away, instead simply looking down at you. What his expression said, you had no idea -- your eyes were still on his chest, wandering over the scars that twisted his skin -- but when you heard him take a shallow breath, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching forward.
Before your fingers were able to brush his skin, a hand flew up to catch your wrist in a firm grip.
“Don’t,” he managed, his voice hoarse. You looked up at him, your hand balled into a fist where he still held it. He looked… scared, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.
“Please,” the words escaped him in a breath, and it was the first time you’d ever heard him anywhere close to begging. Even though you hadn’t known him long, you hated the way it came so naturally, like he’d done it before -- and with enough desperation that you got the feeling he wasn’t usually listened to.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, brow knitting together. You let your arm go limp in his grip and, very reluctantly, he let go. You pulled your hand back to your side.
“It’s… fine,” Bucky replied, still struggling to regain his breath. You were, too, for that matter, and the both of you stared at each other for what felt like centuries until he finally spoke.
“What, uh… what did you need to show me?”
“Oh!” you started. You'd nearly forgotten what you’d found. “Here, uh. This way.”
Gesturing for him to follow, you led him into the room across the hall.
“I was, uhm, gonna hang my clothes up, but I uh…” you stopped in front of the crib and waited for Bucky to join you.
When he did, you saw him tense, tilting his shoulders as if he was going to take a step back. His shirt was still unbuttoned, you noticed, and the fact that he hadn’t covered up made something like pride fill your chest. Maybe he trusted you enough that he didn't feel the need to cover up. You kept your eyes trained on the crib.
“Shit,” Bucky whispered, propping a hand -- his left hand… his metal hand -- onto his hip. “There, uh,” he cleared his throat. “There’s a picture in the other room. A couple and their two children. Little girls, I think…”
He let the sentence trail off and glanced over at you. You could tell that you were both thinking the same thing.
“Do you think it’s safe to stay here?” you asked. It was that or ask if he thought the family was still alive, which was something you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to. Not knowing was almost worse than knowing, because your mind could conjure up all sorts of horrible things.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Bucky said. “Checked a few minutes ago, it’s still storming. So unless we want to get soaked again…”
“Right,” you nodded. “Well, if the family does come back--” he sent you a skeptical look, which you ignored -- “It’s probably safe to assume that they won’t pose much of a threat between the two of us.”
Bucky nodded.
“Staying dry it is,” he weakly declared.
________________________________________________________________
Bucky started a fire and you braved the weather for long enough to retrieve food and cookware from the horses. The rain was still falling steadily, though the wind had died down it seemed the worst of the storm had passed. Even so, with how long the rain was lasting, you were grateful that you and Bucky had a place to stay. Riding through weather like this would not have been ideal.
Ensuring that the horses were settled in for the night, you headed back inside, already shivering from the brief exposure to the elements. It likely didn’t help that you weren’t wearing any pants. Stepping around the door, you slammed it tightly shut and sank back against the wood, taking a moment to catch your breath.
After the incident with his shoulder, and then the crib, Bucky had noticed the state you were in -- namely the fact that, according to him, you were half naked -- and had quickly averted his eyes, which had grown wide a moment before disappearing as he turned his back to you. He had barely looked at you since, and whenever he did he maintained eye contact as if you were in nothing but your undergarments. Even if it was unnecessary, you found the sentiment endearing.
“Hey, come on over,” Bucky murmured when, lost in your own head, you remained shivering by the door.
You started slightly, but made your way over to him, the roar of the fire warming you quickly. As well as heat, it offered its soft glow, casting it out along the floor and draping it over yours and Bucky’s shoulders. There were no seats in the house, but Bucky had pulled the two cots out of the bedroom while you’d been outside and had set them up in front of the fire.
You settled down on the one opposite him, thankful that he had decided you’d be sleeping next to each other like usual. You knew it was probably unnecessary, considering you were now slightly safer hidden away inside a cabin, but you didn’t like the idea of him being a whole room away.
Handing Bucky the cookware, he exchanged it for a blanket, which you wrapped around your legs. Your shivering gradually subsided as Bucky began cooking your dinner using a larger pot he’d found in a cabinet. The smell of beans filled the air, and you sank back against the wall, eyelids fluttering with exhaustion as you listened to the steady drumming of the rain and the crackling of the fire.
Above it all, Bucky’s hesitant voice reached your ears.
“You… always wear that scarf?”
You glanced up at him and he gestured with two fingers to his neck. His shirt was buttoned up, now, and the scars along his shoulder were once again obscured from view. Still, you could see them clearly in your mind’s eye, almost more than you wanted to.
His question -- or, more of an observation, really -- had you shifting uncomfortably. An array of your usual excuses lined up in the front of your mind, but for some reason you found yourself unwilling to lie to him. Besides, you’d seen his scars today; it only seemed fair that…
No. That was something you weren’t ready for. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.
“Uhm,” you began, unwittingly reaching up to rub the side of your neck. You swallowed. “I suppose it’s like… why you always wear your glove. Or… why you’ve buttoned your shirt up all the way.” Your voice was quiet -- meek, and you stared at your lap.
You hadn’t talked about the things you kept hidden beneath layers of clothes -- especially the one he was asking about now. The memories threatened to rush back, burning against your skin until you were sure you could smell the smoke of it.
“Okay,” Bucky softly replied. “Hey, I get it, okay? I didn’t mean to…”
“Yeah, me neither.” you finally looked up at him, and you were overwhelmed by the kindness in his eyes; by the caution, not because he was afraid you would break, but because he truly did understand.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky insisted, offering you a reluctant smile, but it seemed stronger this time -- more like himself.
As you watched him, searching those deep blue eyes -- glowing almost amber in the firelight -- you found all your questions resurfacing. You opened your mouth, but fear of making him uncomfortable stopped you from speaking. Your face must have said enough, however, as Bucky settled back against the opposite wall and crossed one ankle casually over the other.
“You might as well ask me,” he said, not unkindly, and you hoped the firelight concealed the way your expression gave you away.
“I won’t, if you’d rather I didn’t.”
“I’d rather you stop looking at me like that. If asking a few questions will do the trick, then ask away.”
“Looking like… what?”
Bucky sighed.
“Like… I dunno -- like you’re sad for me or somethin’.”
“I’m not… sad.” There wasn’t much conviction to be found in your words; that much was clear, if Bucky’s face had anything to stay for it.
“Right,” he sarcastically replied. “Still, I’d rather you ask than just stare at me.”
You found yourself wanting to apologize again. You didn't. Instead, you sifted through the questions in your head. Among the forefront of them were the obvious: how the hell do you have a metal arm? Where did you get a metal arm? What in God’s name happened to you?
None of those questions felt right. To you, they all seemed too intrusive, too prying. Who were you to try and worm your way into this man’s past? Especially when he had been so respectful of your own. In the end, you asked the first question that managed to make it past your lips.
“Does it hurt?”
It seemed to catch Bucky off guard, that question, like he hadn’t been expecting it. His eyes widened slightly, and he even scoffed -- the sound of it barely discernible from the hum of the fire.
“No. I mean, not really,” he shrugged. “Sometimes in my head it does, but… it’s been healed a long time, so there’s no reason it should.”
“I know that feeling," you replied, rubbing at your leg. Bucky tilted his head, worry etching his brow.
“Do you?” he softly asked. All you could do was nod.
“Uh… you can use it like your other arm. I never would have thought that…” you never would have thought that his left arm wasn’t made of flesh and bone like yours. “How is that possible?”
At that, Bucky scoffed and shook his head helplessly.
“I have no idea. It was made for me, but I didn’t have much of a say in the process, so… hell if I know how it works.” He grimaced. “An… old friend of mine was able to understand it, but we had a falling out. Even if we hadn’t, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to understand all that science mumbo-jumbo that he could.”
“I dunno,” you insisted. “You seem pretty smart.”
“I’m smart with my hands, doll, not my mind,” he smirked. “My mind ain’t what it used to be, that’s for sure.”
Your eyes narrowed softly as you tried to piece together all the things you were learning about him.
“Those men back at the river,” you carefully started, and you saw him wince out of the corner of your eye. Suddenly he was standing up and messing with the pot over the fire. “Did they know about your arm?”
Bucky pulled the cooked supper out of the flames. He used his left hand, now gloved, to touch the hot handle, and you instinctively winced before you realized that it didn’t matter. That was something you’d have to get used to…
“Oh shit,” you suddenly realized. “Your hand, back in the saloon -- Mickey shot your hand, but…”
Turning slowly around, Bucky gave you a tight grin.
“You catch on fast,” he dryly replied. Then, however, the questioning was turned on its head and pointed back towards you.
“This Mickey fellow,” you froze at his name. Bucky sank back onto the cot. “I want to ask how you know him. I can tell there’s a story there -- maybe a few stories, actually -- but I don’t want to pry.”
You felt your throat closing up as memories flooded back. The last thing you wanted was to talk about Mickey, especially to the man sitting in front of you, but already he’d given you more than he’d needed to. He’d answered your questions, and he had shown you a hidden part of himself, even if it hadn’t initially been with willingness.
It almost felt wrong not to give him something in return.
“He’s my brother.”
Your voice cut through the silence, and the silence returned once it was gone -- oppressive and thick as smoke, suffocating. Bucky leveled his intense gaze at you, staring silently as you studied your hands. They’d started to shake, always the betrayers.
“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” he carefully admitted, and you thought back to the way that Mickey had eyed you so hungrily. How he’d pinned you to the counter.
“No,” you whispered. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”
Bucky shifted, moving slightly closer to you before falling still again.
“It’s all a long story,” you said, because it was the only way you could tell him without outright saying it. Without saying all the horrible things that you were sure Bucky didn’t want to hear. That you were sure you wouldn’t have been able to say.
Even so, he nodded understandingly.
“Yeah,” he said, a somber but gentle tone to his voice. “I know the feeling.”
Finally, your eyes flickered up to meet his. The understanding in them -- the kindness -- stole your breath away. It made you want to cry because no one had ever looked at you that way, and you hadn’t even told him the worst of it. You hadn’t even begun. But maybe you didn’t need to.
Maybe Bucky could tell from the way you’d been so afraid of him at first. Maybe he could tell from the way your nightmares kept you up at night, or the way you were always on high alert, or the way you never removed that bandana from around your neck. Hell, Bucky had seen it. He had only seen a few seconds, a few fleeting moments of it back in the saloon when he’d saved your life, but maybe that had been enough.
“Food’s gonna get cold,” he murmured, like he didn’t have anything else to say. You felt a smile growing faintly.
Reaching forward, you took the bowl that he offered you -- with his right hand, you noticed -- and settled back against the wall. The two of you ate in silence, and you listened to the steady drumming of the rain.
“Bucky?” you whispered into the stretch of silence that had fallen.
“Hm?” he hummed, lifting his head so he could look at you, eyes half-lidded with the warmth from the fire and the promise of sleep.
“I’m sorry. About your arm…”
Once again, those striking blue eyes were turned on you, and they betrayed everything his passive face could not.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” he replied, voice nearly lost beneath the flames.
_______________________________________________________________
As the night wore on, the fire began to die down, and with it the rain until it became only a soft drumming on the roof. The storm had passed, and it seemed the rainclouds would soon follow. You and Bucky settled into your cots and, for the first time in a very long time, got to enjoy the luxury of the pillows he had found in the other bedroom.
It wasn’t long before you were drifting into a shallow sleep. As the fire fizzled away and the rain slowed to a stop, the only sound that filled the cabin was Bucky’s gentle breathing. It was enough to lull you into a sense of peace, and soon you were lost behind the backs of your eyelids.
That’s when the sounds of his breathing twisted, warping into the repetitive clank of a train racing along its tracks. Clank… clank… clank
The sound of a whistle blowing sent fire through every nerve of your conscience. You could feel yourself struggling, trying to pull away -- from what, you had no idea. Not until you saw him, and the haze of your mind faded away to reveal an all-too-familiar scene; one that often visited you in your dreams like this.
Mickey was sauntering towards you, a wicked glint of eagerness in his eyes despite the harsh frown of displeasure on his face. He was going to enjoy this, but he wanted you to know why it was happening.
“What did I tell you would happen?” he asked you, voice alarmingly calm, almost casual as he crouched down beside you. “If you ran. What did I tell you?”
“M--” your own voice was choked by a whimper, your shaking hands betraying you once again. It was always your trembling that gave you away. Always. “Please, I--”
“Sh-sh,” he shushed you, and if you hadn’t known better, you would have thought it sounded gentle. But nothing about Mickey was gentle. Nothing at all.
“What did I tell you?” he insisted, spitting each word as he leaned his face close to your ear. You swallowed hard.
“That… y-you’d make me regret it,” you managed through grit teeth, feeling any hope you had left -- which admittedly wasn’t a lot -- drain from your body in one swift motion. There was no escaping this.
That glint in his eyes grew blinding as he smiled.
“Good. See, I knew you still had it somewhere in you,” he tapped the handle end of the cattle brand on your forehead, making you wince. You’d tried not to, but you had, and the look of pleasure that it caused him made bile rise up your throat.
After one last stare into your eyes, he stood, demeanor shifting in a second.
“Hold her down,” he muttered, voice void of any of the playful, showy banter it had previously possessed.
“Mickey please, I won’t do it again, I swear. I won't--”
“Oh, I know you won't,” he replied, arching an eyebrow as he stuck the iron cattle brand into the fire. Dread filled your veins and pooled at the bottom of your stomach. One of the twins grabbed your right arm, Red took hold of your right.
“No,” you whispered. “Mickey no--”
“Ohh, Mickey yes,” the man spun around, flourishing the glowing brand like a magician in a carnival. You felt a scream try to curl its way up your throat. You choked it down, and the effort brought tears to your eyes.
“Come now,” Mickey murmured, pointing that wicked grin into your face as he looked down on you. “Don’t cry, baby sister. You knew this would happen.”
“No, no, no, Mickey,” your breath came ragged, fluttering through your chest as you tried to wrangle yourself out of the other's grip.
You couldn’t.
And with a nonchalant, almost disinterested glance around the room, Mickey locked his eyes onto yours and pressed the fiery brand into your skin.
“Woah! Hey, woah woah, easy--”
You couldn’t breathe. The blankets, you couldn’t get out of them. Thrashing, you tried to untangle your limbs from the things that were suffocating you, at the same time clawing at the bandana around your throat. The pain -- god, it was burning through every cell of your skin.
“Doll, it’s alright, you’re alright, just take a breath.”
Take a breath… Right. You sucked in a lungful of air as the blankets were ripped off of you. Flying up into a seated position, you whipped blindly around. Mickey, he’d been here, he’d… he’d…
You continued to claw at your neck, scrambling back until you felt yourself connect with the wall -- hard.
“Easy, sh shh, hey…” Bucky’s gentle voice cut through your panic, and you blinked rapidly as your head began to clear. You were in a cabin. It was dark save for a glow coming from the embers in the fireplace. The fire…
You’d had a nightmare.
“Shit,” you rasped, wheezing as your lungs tried desperately to get some air into you. “What… wh…” your eyes darted blindly, and a hand entered your peripheral.
Bucky was crouched in front of you -- staying a safe distance away but reaching out like he was trying to calm a wild horse.
“You started screaming. Thought someone was tryin’ to kill you,” he chuckled nervously, the panic starting to leave his eyes, and you were finally able to take a deep breath. When you let it out, it trembled.
“S…Sorry. Sorry, I,” you shook your head, trying to get your nerves under control.
It certainly wasn’t the first time that memory had wriggled its way into your dreams, but what you had just experienced was the most vivid it had been in a long time.
“Don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong,” Bucky insisted, still looking like he wanted to reach out for you. “Christ, are you okay? That seemed like a rough one.”
There was nothing but concerned sympathy in his eyes. Never before had you felt like someone understood what you were going through as much as Bucky might have.
“I’m fine now, just,” you took a shallow breath. “Yeah… rough one.”
“Okay,” Bucky assured, shifting closer to you now that you were starting to breathe a bit easier. He settled back on his heels, seeming more than content to continue hovering until you calmed down or told him to leave.
You took a few deep breaths through your nose and tried to stop the trembling in your hands. It was when you looked down at them resting in your lap that you remembered you weren’t wearing any trousers. As subtly as you could, you tried to tug the hem of your shirt down over your knees, but you couldn’t hide it from Bucky. It seemed you couldn’t hide much of anything from him.
Grabbing your blanket, he averted his eyes as he held it out to you.
“Thanks,” you whispered, voice hoarse from all the screaming you’d done, if he was to be believed.
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he murmured, and the pet name that usually had you cringing in disgust only made you feel safe. When it came from him, it made you feel safe. How was that possible?
You exhaled a shallow, tense breath.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
Bucky only shook his head.
“I’m just glad I didn’t shoot you before I realized what was happening,” he smirked.
You laughed hoarsely, a frantic thing that burst out of your chest, and the effects of the past few minutes -- of the nightmare -- fully rested themselves onto your shoulders. You leaned over your legs, propping your elbows up on your knees.
“Try and get some sleep, okay?” Bucky said, reaching forward to gently pat your knee before returning to his own cot.
The idea of trying to fall back asleep made your insides twist with nerves. What if you had another nightmare? What if the nightmares kept getting worse? What if they never stopped? And through your mounting anxiety, one small, dangerous thought entered your mind; Bucky.
Bucky would be there if it happened again. You were safe -- that was the most important part. You weren’t alone in the woods somewhere, where no one would help you if you couldn’t pull yourself out of your panic. No, you were with Bucky.
It was a dangerous thought because you knew it wouldn’t always be this way. Someday soon, yours and Bucky’s paths would diverge; he would reunite with his friends, and you would return to being alone. You didn’t want to think about what it would be like to be alone again. But, as you sunk back into sleep, it was the only thing you could think about. It made you feel cold, like ice was running through your veins.
A cold that at least kept the burn of the fire away.
_______________________________________________________________
The next time you woke, it happened slowly, like waking up should. There wasn’t any screaming or thrashing and there wasn’t any panic. Instead, you woke up to the warmth of the blanket over your body and the sound of birdsong floating faintly outside the cabin walls. Stretching your stiff muscles, you dragged yourself upright and looked around, blinking the sleep out of your eyes.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” Bucky’s voice drew you towards him, where he was leaning against the table with a cup of what smelled to be coffee -- something he drank occasionally in your travels.
“Mornin’,” you replied, voice still hoarse from the events of last night. As if sharing your thoughts, Bucky tilted his head sympathetically.
“Y’alright?”
“Yeah.” You pulled yourself to your feet, jerking on the hem of your shirt to straighten it out. Bucky was already dressed, returned to his familiar clothes -- including the green poncho.
“Uh,” he cleared his throat. “Your clothes are in the parents’ room. I moved them last night after the, uh… blood.” A blush dusted his scruffy cheeks, and you quickly smiled to try and put his nerves to rest.
“Thank you,” you nodded. “I’ll be right back?”
“Sure thing,” he gave you a small smile. “Take your time. And enjoy your final moments of civilized life,” he added as you made your way down the hall.
You smiled on your way into the bedroom to the left was different from the one across the hall, slightly larger and containing a dresser in one corner and a desk in the other. You quickly located your clothes and found that, thankfully, they had dried overnight.
It only took you a few minutes to pull them on, and in that time you got a good look at the room. Like the children’s room, everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. A bed frame, the sheets in a rumpled pile on the floor. A chest sat at the end of the frame, even dustier than the already dusty furniture indicating that even before the inhabitants of this house disappeared, it hadn’t been opened in a long while.
A dresser sat along the back wall, and a small desk was situated in the left-hand corner. Above the desk was a mirror. Your reflection looked strange to you, even when you ignored the stained, hazy state of the glass. You looked gaunt and tired. You looked broken, like someone had cracked you open and taken everything inside you, leaving only your shell to dissolve away in the dirt. Grimacing tightly, you turned your eyes away from yourself. Tucked into the corner of the mirror was a picture. You stepped closer to make out the image -- a portrait of a mother and father, one holding a little girl's hand, and the other holding a swaddled baby. Your throat constricted as you looked at the proud shine in the couples’ eyes, filled with love for their children that was evident even through the dust of the years. Even though an old photograph.
Just like your reflection, you knew you’d have to look away from that, too, otherwise you’d go crazy. Some things you just had to let be. Some things you had to forget before you’d even committed them to memory if you could. So you forgot the family in the photograph, and you forgot the way you’d looked like a ghost trapped within the glass of the mirror, and instead you opened the dresser and began scanning the sparse line of clothes.
At the bottom, sitting tucked away in a dark corner, you found a pair of boots. You carefully pulled them out, wiping a layer of dust and grime from them -- but besides the fact that they clearly hadn’t been worn in quite some time, they were in decent condition. Better condition than your own boots. Experimentally, you slid them on. They were a bit big, but they would do just fine. You smiled at the surprise -- a welcome one for once -- and shoved your foot into the other boot. Your old pair you tucked into the corner, hoping that if these people did by some miracle return to their home, they wouldn’t miss their boots too greatly. Though, in a way, you hoped they got the chance to because that would mean that at least they were alive.
“Y’okay back there?” Bucky’s voice called from the other end of the cabin.
“All good,” you replied, shutting the dresser with a final boom.
Bucky was waiting for you, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, which he held out to you. His left hand, you realized. You carefully took the cup, not exactly out of fear, but more of a curiosity. Bucky’s arm was a part of him, after all -- whether it was flesh and bone or not -- and so you didn’t think that it was something to be afraid of. Still, knowing that the thing could stop bullets, your imagination ran rampant with ideas of what else it could do. Images of Bucky holding that man down in the river were at the forefront of your mind.
“I never wanted you to find out,” he softly began -- not angry, just… lamentful. “Wanted to avoid that look.”
“I’m sorry,” you felt your face heating and tried to wrangle it into an impassive expression. You didn’t want Bucky to think you felt differently about him now. That the way he was built changed anything about the man that you saw.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you suddenly offered, looking up to meet his eyes. It was the truth, as impossible as that seemed. “And this,” you gestured with your cup to the hand that had just given it to you. “Doesn’t change that.”
Bucky opened his mouth, jaw working around words he just couldn’t say. Finally, he managed a soft “That’s good to hear.”
You smiled, taking a sip of your coffee.
The morning was quiet for a moment, and then the two of you were packing your things up and returning the house to its original state. Or at least, as close to its original state as you could manage. You tried not to think about the bloodstained crib as you dragged the mattress back into what had been the children's room. You tried not to think about where those children were, either -- where their parents were, if they were alive at all. Thinking about such things would give you nothing but hopelessness. It was pointless and damaging, as much as you wanted to linger on it. So instead you retrieved the teddy bear from where it had fallen on the floor and sat it carefully on the bed, running your fingers along the soft fur and the cold button eye. And then you turned around and left the empty room to return to its still and quiet, a collection of dust growing where children had once slept and laughed and played. And it was a sad thing, but it was the reality of life.
A reality that you managed to leave behind as you and Bucky rode out into the cool morning. The storm had brought air down from the mountains, and the plains were soaked through -- the sand now packed together like clay after the previous night’s downpour. Still, the sun was already growing hot, and it was promising to be a sticky day.
“Goodbye civilization,” you muttered under your breath as the house grew smaller behind you.
“Goodbye indeed,” Bucky nodded, tilting his hat low on his head as you pointed the horses North in search of a river that would lead you to freedom. You hoped.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes western au#western au#ao3 fanfic#ao3 link#bucky x reader
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Star Wars Rebels + Star Trek: Voyager AU Part 2
So just some random things for this AU:
Kallus only leaves the aeroponics bay for the purposes of betting on relationships. Biggest J/C shipper on the ship, just beating Chakotay himself. He absolutely uses Zeb’s replicator rations for his bets, which Zeb allows because he’s a) not using them and b) glad that something is getting his boyfriend away from the fertilizer fumes for a few hours. Plus Zeb ships it too, it kinda reminds him of his first few weeks on the Ghost when Hera and Kanan tried to hide their relationship.
When Resolutions happens Kallus is absolutely insufferable. Imagine being a J/C shipper and only knowing that the Captain and Commander spent several days alone on a planet and came back with even more romantic tension. What happened on the planet Captain? Commander? I’m not saying that if Kallus found out about the bathtub that he’d have a stroke, but I’m also not not saying it.
Kallus also spends his time trying to get various crew members together. The Delaney sisters and their forays into the dating world are always entertaining. Tom and B'Elanna have that will they won't they tension that is just so delicious. Ensigns Bennet and Macormak though, they're his second favorite. He loves those oblivious idiots so much. Especially after Macormak keeps Zeb from running off ahead during a fight with the Kazon. So when Bennet dies, well, it shatters Kallus a little.
Hera and Samantha Wildman occasionally have girls nights. Those nights either Kanan takes all parenting duties (like Hera does when Kanan wants to hang out with his dad friends) or Zeb or Neelix watch both Jacen and Naomi Wildman so Kanan can also get some time away. Less often Ezra and Sabine watch the youngest Spectre, because they’re helpless in the face of Jacen’s lothpuppy eyes. One time Captain Janeway watched both kids and long story short both children came back with tiny command uniforms and breathe that smelled suspiciously like coffee.
Sabine and Ezra are both younger than the rest of the Voyager crew (Harry’s only older than Sabine by about a year but he’s clinging to that like a child clutching their safety blanket) excluding the literal infants. They’re basically the babies of the Voyager family, and the crew talks about them accordingly. More than once they've gotten separated from their fellow crew on shore leave causing Tom to run up to the local authorities and put out a missing child alert. No one (openly) finds this amusing except Tom.
Sabine figures out how to replicate beskar right before they encounter the Borg. Sabine hates the Borg. She hates them as a concept, hates them as a reality, just hates them. There's just something about an enemy that's able to so completely strip you of your personality, your individuality, that activates the primal fear part of her brain. Her brief mental debate if she should use her knowledge of beskar replication for the crew (it's sacred and not meant for outsiders) ends the first time she sees a crew member breakdown remembering Wolf 359 (I am making one of the background crew a Wolf 359 survivor, sue me). Voyager's crew has become family and what is beskar for if not to protect family?
Voyager gets beskar hull plates and bulkheads.
Tuvok, Ayala, and Joe Carey give Kanan advice on how to be a good dad. Naturally, it's all correct, yet they also all contradict each other. Tuvok's advice (based on what to do with telepathic Vulcan babies) actually works really well, which strengthens the friend part of his and Kanan's frenemies dynamic.
Ezra and Kanan (and to a lesser extent baby Jacen) set Q’s teeth on edge whenever he shows up. Unfortunately, this just seems to make Q show up more often. The Q Continuum has a love-hate relationship with Force sensitives because they’re living reminders of three Q who ran off to a Galaxy Far Far Away, decided to live as a creepy family, and gave some mortals phenomenal powers. No one wants to be reminded of their weird relatives.
I just want to say that at one point thanks to Q Hondo Ohnaka and Lwaxana Troi are on the ship at the same time. There is a considerable amount of chaos, fire, and firey chaos.
#star wars#star wars rebels#star wars au#star trek voy#star trek#crossover au#hera syndulla#sabine wren#kanan jarrus#ezra bridger#tom paris#katherine janeway#chakotay#janeway x chakotay#samantha wildman#naomi wildman#alexsandr kallus#garazeb orrelios#Q#tuvok#hondo ohnaka#lwaxana troi#neelix#belanna torres#harry kim#jacen syndulla#the mortis gods#the Borg
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