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Nebula
No. Death was easy. But surviving this—walking from this room with every inch of her a weapon and every ounce of her strength ready to be channeled into making her sister pay for what she had done to her—that was the reason. The reason she had come through this alive and stronger. She felt her anger distill into one clear point of light inside her chest, a purpose for this new body. This new weapon. If she was a weapon, she would wield it. If she had been stripped of her heart, she would be stronger without its weight, its constant begging her to trust others, to pause, to hold back, to crave things she could not control. To beg for love she didn’t need. It was love that had put a gun in her hand, after all.

If her father had made her a weapon, then she would fight.

First, she would destroy him. Then she would make Gamora pay for killing her.

And then, perhaps, at last, she could belong to herself.
Mackenzi Lee — Gamora and Nebula
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September 21st, 2023

info: kenos

( !YOUR CUT TEXT HERE! )

inbox: kenos

To say she was full of anger was like saying that the universe was full of stars.
So much anger.
I couldn’t add that to the list.
So I let go.
COMMUNION ✦ ACTION ✦ OTHERS


COMMUNION

Communion with Nebula is as much an oxymoron as she sometimes is. It's the feeling of soft snow, gentle and embracing with its touch. A snow that feels too easy to fall into, like one's own nature. In the opposite extreme there's a fire that's searing to the touch - a constant thrum of anger. In this space, it encompasses all of it, though it's embers now. Embers that are quick to catch and burn and die again. For those who see into it enough it's in moments when she's angry - but most notable when she feels weak, when she struggles, when she worries.


This burning sensation fights ever with the cool nature of the snow. As if the anger isn't nature here and the fire is becoming more malleable in its embrace. Ever lingering, but faltering under the softness of that snow -

The snow is ever gentle and embracing, but lacks the cold (it is warm, it is self). But there is something that twists and coils in the sensation that is cold and empty. Something not alive is ever present, silent and moving, but is overwhelmed by the rest. It is not focus nor is it the all of here, but a moving part.

When Nebula speaks here it lacks the husky, mechanical sound her voice does in person. It's softer, but not warmer. It's just as conflicted and in this voice you know that this realm, in her mind, is the place she finds most comfort. Is the place she's far more willing to be herself than anywhere else: It's freedom. But the rage can burn up quickly, taking flight into sky-covered landscape. It feels like anger is the quickest thing to cling to and accept and even in this shared space any other (positive) emotions are in conflict of understanding.
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