#a war across the ages fought against his will. not just for the power of the triforce that claimed him. but for his very being

[knight-of-aether]

Hyrule's gilded hero (who are you, really?)

Happy 10th anniversary to the most insane LoZ game ever conceived ⚔️✨

(shoutout to @crazylittlejester - your warriors stories and headcanons have fueled my mental illness for the blorbo in so many ways, this is dedicated to you <3)

[heartlogan]

the story ends

✮— logan x f!reader (set in xmen days of future past)

✮— summary: the day that logan lost you

✮— a/n: again, only my second time writing for logan so be gentle pls, i specialise in angst but this isn’t my best </3 (also, could be connected to all coming back to me — my first logan fic. no reading order!)

✮— warnings: probably ooc! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, depictions of dying, it’s set in the original timeline so it is sad, talk of loss and death, one (1) moment of affection, major angst, guilt, sentinels, canon typical violence, & gore (ish, but to be safe), BLOOD, pronoun ‘she’ used, unspecified mutant reader, lmk if theres more!

MASTERLIST

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

There are so many things you had lived to regret in your life, so many things that you had dwindled on instead of simply moving forwards. And in the end, none of it had ever mattered. No matter what you had or hadn’t done, life had led you here — to the very end of the world.

You hadn’t fought in wars like Logan had, weren’t used to the brutality of it all. Fighting, and battles, all of that you were familiar with. But not this. This was on another level.

The X-Men had been helpless to fight against this, unable to resist such a tidal wave of hatred and murder. The Sentinels had destroyed so many of your kind already, that there were barely any of you left to fight anyway. And those of you who had lived through the initial slaughters had been scattered across the globe, made to search for one another while constantly trying to evade those seeking n you out to kill you.

It was exhausting. All of it. And it wasn’t only you who felt that way — those remaining were all tired. Tired of the constant movement, tired of the constant loss, tired of the neverending chase. You could see it on everyone’s faces — Charles looked as bad as you had ever seen him, struggling to cope with the loss of almost all of his students. And Ororo, you could tell, was fighting to hold herself together. She had lost too many people, too many friends. Magneto was no stranger to loss, especially like this, but it was written all over him, too.

And there was Logan.

Logan who, in all the time you had known him, had never stopped fighting. For all of that to be in vain was clawing at him, tearing him down. There was a new age to him, and you weren’t talking about the grey hairs that seeped from his temples. He seemed far too old to still be fighting, to still spend every living moment trying to stay alive, trying to keep those he cared about safe. Everyone had lost so much since the Sentinels appeared.

“How much longer do you think we can stay here?” You asked Storm, gazing out at the sky ahead of you, glancing back towards the jet that was stood on the makeshift runway. She stayed quiet long enough for you to grow concerned and look her way, and you saw the unease to her stance. “We need to leave, don’t we?”

“It’s not safe.” She replied distantly, looking out towards the cloudy sky. Your brows furrowed instantly, and you turned to look at the clouds once more.

“Nowhere is safe, Ororo.” You stated firmly, trying not to let the emotion betray you in your voice. She seemed to come back to herself at your words, and you just about registered her turning to look at you. You hadn’t said anything that she didn’t already know to be true, but still, the delivery of the fact left her with a stinging feeling in her chest. An aching sort of pain, a longing for a home that none of you could ever return to.

She thought of the mansion, and tried to force her way past the memories of it torn apart, destroyed. It was easy to forget, in times like these, exactly how things had been before. But Storm could practically envision it all in her mind, the bustling halls between classes, the crackle of fire as the adults shared a drink after a rough battle, the constant noise of mutants embracing their powers.

That was meant to be a mutant safe haven, and it was gone. She knew you were right — nowhere was safe for your kind, not anymore.

“I know.”

You let her words settle, and chose to linger and look at the view, even as Storm turned and made her way back to the plane.

Admittedly, the view wasn’t much, but it was nice to see the sky without a plane of glass in the way. All of you spent so much time inside the jet now, barely able to land without Sentinels descending upon you. It was somewhat safer in the sky, although there had been some close calls.

The wind whistled in your ears, a welcome breath against your skin, and you easily preferred this to the way it usually whipped against the side of the jet.

You heard the shuffle of feet in your direction before you felt his presence, a warm hand coming to rest on the small of your back. It was soothing, warming you up as you let the cold breeze surround you.

“‘S almost time to go,” Logan told you, speaking quietly. His gruff voice still sent shivers down your spine, despite his warm hand on your back. He turned to look down at you after a second, eyes scanning over the entirety of you, analysing. “You ready?” He asked after another moment, knowing you always tried to take in as much of the fresh air as you could.

“I’ll just be a sec.” You responded calmly, breathing in deeply, finding comfort in the way his palm moved with your body. When he didn’t move, you turned to look at him, finding him still watching you. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile at his loving gaze, albeit somewhat weakly. You placed a hand on the side of his face, brows creasing. “Everything okay, Logan?” You asked, concerned, because he seemed off, even though everything in the world was off. It was something more than that.

He nodded as your thumb stroked his cheekbone, trying to provide some amount of comfort in a world where comfort didn’t exist.

“I’ll wait with you.”

You smiled, trailing your hand down from his face until you reached his own palm, which you gripped tightly.

Slowly, you noticed the sun beginning to shine on the horizon. You knew you needed to be gone before it had risen fully. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.” You said reassuringly, tilting your head and squeezing his palm tightly at his uncertain look. “Promise.” You added, and he hesitated for a moment longer, before turning away, squeezing your hand once in return before he let it go fully.

He seemed reluctant to leave your side, even as he walked away. You shook your head, grinning softly, glad for the few good things you had left in your life. Logan was everything to you — he had been for more than a few years.

You took one more glance at the rising sun, before turning away, ready to head after Logan. But then your head tilted, brows furrowing in confusion. There was a buzzing feeling in your hands, your heart speeding up its pace, and you looked around in concern.

That was when you saw it — the Sentinel heading straight for the jet on the right.

Ororo was closest, and she hadn’t seen it yet.

“Storm! On your right!” You yelled, desperation leaking into your voice as you watched her spin, finally noticing the murder bot creeping up on her. Even from this distance, you could see the way her eyes went white, lighting up as the wind picked up suddenly, rain slowly starting to leech from the clouds above that were quickly multiplying with the force of Storm’s power.

You couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief as she struck it with lightning, summoning winds to throw it over the edge of the cliff side, because you knew it wasn’t over — more were coming, if they weren’t already here.

Starting towards Logan, you only just registered the way his eyes widened and he moved towards you before it dawned on you.

You hadn’t checked your six.

Before you could even turn, you felt it.

When you looked down, you saw the Sentinel spearing you through the stomach, the wound far too big to comprehend.

Blood was tickling the back of your throat, and you couldn’t even swallow around it. It was too late, you noticed distantly, as you looked towards where Logan was trying to get to you, seeming as though he was moving in slow motion.

The Sentinel ripped its limb from your body, and your knees buckled, sending you to the ground.

It was a very far away realisation, the fact that you would die here, in mere moments. Instead, your main focus was Logan, watching the anguish and denial plaster his face. You barely heard the other Sentinels rising from the cliff side behind you, but you knew they were there.

And you knew that the others knew it too.

Storm had made her way towards Logan, and you hadn’t even noticed how close she was to him before then. She must’ve noticed the Sentinel approaching you at the same time he had. Her face was painted with grief, evident in every crease of her expression, in the very way she moved. She placed her palms against Logan’s chest, and pushed.

“Logan, it’s too late. Please. It’s too late. We need to go.” Ororo begged, her voice shaking with every word that left her mouth. She couldn’t bring herself to look at you, to see the blood that had started trickling from the corners of your mouth, painting your skin. She didn’t want to see the life leave your eyes.

“Logan!” Charles’ voice raised, trying to be heard over Storm’s power. Logan hadn’t even heard his wheelchair in the jet, too focused on the way you looked at him, your eyes dimming with every moment he couldn’t get to you.

He felt Erik before he had even realised the man had descended the ramp, felt the pull of his powers. The way he forced Logan’s skeleton to bend to his will, to step away from you. From the love of his life. The only thing he had managed to keep hold of in this apocalyptic world.

“No, no, no, no,” Logan begged, yelling for you, waiting for you to snap out of it, to just get up. “C’mon! C’mon, get up!” He yelled, trying to push against Erik’s power, but finding he couldn’t even take another step towards you. He felt Storm push harder on his chest, but he didn’t notice, too busy watching the way your head tilted, your eyes glassy, the way your lips lifted at the edges, showing just a flash of bloody teeth. You smiled at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Storm said, as Erik finally managed to pull Logan some steps back, going up the ramp.

It was the hardest Logan had ever fought against his power, which made lifting the plane simultaneously all the more difficult. But Erik focused his mind, pulling the plane from the ground as Storm finally released Logan to press the button to lift the ramp.

“She’s gone, Logan.” Charles said sadly, feeling the way your consciousness drifted from his grasp.

Logan just caught the slump of your body to the ground through the swarm of Sentinels as the ramp closed fully. Erik allowed him to fall to his knees when he realised he had stopped fighting, but kept a loose grip on the adamantium in his skeleton out of fear that he might tear apart the plane to get to your body.

A sullen silence took over the jet, everybody resigned to loss by now, but for Logan this was different. He stared at the ramp, unable to get the image of your empty eyes out of his mind. Your body, slumped on the ground, left there to rot.

And all he could think was that if he had only stayed with you, you might still be here. If it weren’t for him, you might be alive.

[captainkurosolaire]

Mother of Light

Raging snow petered from a tundra's onslaught, becoming soft bright a sight that'd encapsulated memories and nurtured them. Those flake droplet's fell upon a traversing shadow whose garb stained with old crimson. His cut's and wounds of shrapnel only felt relief when those of snow brought cooling reprieve. Determination carried him. Coming near destination, his mind blurred to multiple distortions, his leg's staggered, attempting to shake a concussion but wasn't able to ignore he collapsed aside a tree. Shortly by moment's a woman appeared crossing a bridge. She gasped, scolding. "Honestly!" With brisk entering his proximity, "You know most women when they've a date their partner tries to appear presentable! You've done the opposite, bloody rebel!" She teased, with life. The injured assailant coldly quipped, "I only came to inform you, I can't see you." She began salving wounds with old medicinal herbs crushed into ointment and surveying his wounds. Crossing over region's by feet just to say this? His dedication to attend, for certain was a silent flatter. "Is that because the blindfold, or because you think it's far too dangerous? Why must... why must, you go to these extents?" Compassion felt bared under his behalf her voice shook briefly. Within her shamanism she felt duty-bound to see the peace of damaged souls, aiding them in finding closures, to pass on and prevent them from being tortured and malevolent. He overpowered a wince as she created a tourniquet around his worst injury, scrapping, tear her own skirt's quilt. "I must, for the outcome larger. Think what you'd like, but I fight for an Age of Peace." Undoubtedly his cause laid noble, yet he fought alone in solitude. Were these his words? She disputed with simple words, that struck. "What of your peace?" Those word's held danger, reason... power. First-threat conceived ever recorded in any reality. Was not of murderous design. Threat was born in love's visage. Many interpret in their ways. Yet, Love encountered can change an entire existence, it's frightening... Invisible even striking the mightiest down. Misused, brought wars. Concern, feelings, he was trained against... He shot it down from his exercises... "I'm just a weapon." Wasn't idea to allow those root's to touch him, allowing an identity beyond his purpose. A tool as used by those who furthered him to exist. They claimed their hand's from the dark and gave him "life". Least, what it'd become believed... He attempted to stand but his body-declined. She shook a head baffled at the display of stubbornness. Her soft-tending hands aided him by wrists, "Come to my cabin, I'll finish ridding these injuries, then you can take off. You aren't off the case, Mister. See... Would someone classified as a weapon, decisively show to meet lowly ole' me? Were you wielded to do as such...? Or did you, act." Countering him. Was she a hidden sorceress? She slew him with mistakes. Why with her presence, did he falter? Invisible assaults, indescribable reigned. He didn't even recognize his body had taken a seat within her temporarily home. His nose took a whiff of a poured tea. "Drink this, it'll mend. You'll be out once again, slicing and dicing." Under those condition's he drank with no hesitation. Sure enough that scrumptious tea worked throughout his system, with renewal, all his symptom's subsided. Magical, delightful, exquisite. Emotion's were attempting to claim victory. He rejected and sat up, gathering his weapon fastening it across his waist. "You've my thanks... Farewell, what I said still, applies." Pushing against it all. He needed to retreat, now! As callous digit's touched the door, she intercepted at his stature. "I'm hiring you. Assassin!" Laughing warmly. Curious came to his brow, movement's paused. Yet he never declined... "Who do you want dead, or brought?" He spoke as a Black Miracle.

She let out a enthusiastic, pretend-serious voice. "Yes... Well..." Clearly she was clutching something behind, it smelled of beauty. "Protect this Flower!" He was handed a soft-fragile, flower.... Was she, serious? Known as the Sakurasou, It'd follow this duo throughout destiny. "Seven Sun's... It cannot know harm and you've to keep on you! Do this and you'll never see me again." An easy task, he thought. "Very well... I'll see you when the mission is done. Then our known connection, is void." Accepting these terms.

She moved satisfied, watching him depart and continue that unyielding march... into death. Unbeknownst a fellow predatory stare of another shadow watched this exchange, through the lens of a bird as ghost recon...

[Prev:Chapter]: Father of Shadow ~ ♪"Heart of Gold"♪

[morally-grey-girlbosses]

Propaganda under the cut.

Vriska Serket has too much propaganda for this post! You can find her propaganda post here.

Galadriel:

ok so by the time LotR rolls around she’s a fancy queen in a whole special girl kingdom but she STARTED as the youngest daughter of the youngest son of a king, with five million cousins and three older siblings who were all older and probably better-respected than her; and then some shit happens and the king dies and they all decide to leave Elf Heaven in order to chase down the guy who killed their grandfather, and she is SPECIFICALLY noted as wanting to leave because she wants to rule a kingdom of her own, and she can’t do that in Elf Heaven where there aren’t any openings to rule bc everyone already has a king. so she goes with most of her extended family to try and make their way across the ocean and back to the continent their grandparents travelled to Elf Heaven from, where they hope to avenge the king and also rule some kingdoms (although it’s worth noting!! that other people already live there, and they all KNOW this), and then some more stuff happens and some of her cousins on the “leaving” side start a fight that escalates into a pitched battle where they kill! her mother’s father’s people! (bc she’s also a princess on her mom’s side, lol) and in some versions tolkien decided that she actually fought AGAINST her cousins and killed some people in defense of her mom’s side (which is a BIG DEAL for an elf to Choose to do). after this, her dad is like “actually i Will Not be leaving with you people, murder is Not Okay and i’m going back home to ask the gods for forgiveness and if you had any sense you would too” but galadriel decides SHE’S STILL GOING. anyways then some more stuff happens and her entire extended family on her dad’s side dies, but not before killing some more of her extended family on her mom’s side and also (indirectly) her favorite brother; amongst all this she spends some time as a handmaiden in her great-uncle’s court but eventually decides that that’s not enough for her, so she packs up and heads further east to found her own kingdom, which incidentally will be populated not by her own close family’s subjects, but by some people who at one point were subjects of her great-uncle and may or may not have decided to leave his rule. and then once all the first age drama has died down, even though there is very much a new, undisputed high king of their people on her father’s side who’s still ruling (and doing a damn good job of it), she just Doesn’t swear fealty to him or join his court. instead she founds her own realm. some more intrigue happens and sauron stuff too and she’s forced out of power so she leaves; there’s a war, the king of the place she’s been staying in dies, and then a while later there’s Another big Problem and his son (the new king) just dips, so she just Executively Decides that she’s gonna be in charge of his people now, and THAT’S how she became the Lady of Lothlorien. and then she hangs out being Queen (functionally, if not nominally) there for like two thousand years while occasionally going other places to use her vast magical powers to fight sauron but mostly she just protects her fancy special kingdom. and then LotR happens and she does some mind magic on the entire Fellowship which is also at least a LITTLE creepy, and she admits that she’s Very into the idea of having the power of the One Ring, but doesn’t take it bc she’s got Wisdom now (and also imo bc she’s HAD her chance to rule a kingdom for a very long time so she doesn’t crave power now in the same way she did when she was young). and tolkien writes about her like she’s Perfect but genuinely she’s kinda fucked up and power-hungry! good for her!

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Oh fudge… I just had a very wicked thought… Just TotK killing Link, but then picking up the Purah Pad & over time slowly learning more about this new Hyrule & its people. Their hardships. About Link himself & his dedication to his wife. The realization that he was a person who'd been planning a life with his wife who was the princess, but that said princess was bizarrely humble.

Then, eventually coming across a lock in the pad, then finding one of the last remaining Guardians. Poking at it a bit & the pad until he manages to use his magical prowess to force the locks open… Only to learn so much more than he ever wanted to.

He's suddenly seeing through hundreds of mechanical eyes. He watches as the machines go rushing after people. How they flee, not understanding why their protectors have turned on them. How they vaporize some, often leaving cauterized chunks to fall uselessly & grimly to the earth. How they utterly rip people apart in violent & gruesome displays of unfeeling efficiency. Not just warriors. Children, the elderly, the infirm, women in the middle of maternity, infants & toddlers only aware that the monsters are scary before their bright futures are suddenly & horrifically snuffed out. None were spared. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

Almost everyone was exterminated. He watched how yet another king stood against him, but he did not know this king, he was Hylian, but he did not cower, nor did he back down. He fought valiantly despite the expression suggesting that he knew he’d die soon. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched members of his kin die just as viciously, trying to defend their people as the attacking machines were indiscriminate & uncaring. No matter their age... (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched these metal things scittered like spiders, hunting people down like animals. Watched how so many settlements were utterly destroyed. So total & complete was the destruction that the central area of the kingdom that had once held the most civilization was now the home to only a new one, not even a decade old. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

Not even Hyrule’s oldest, most historic  settlement, one that predated the Zonai by millennia, had been reduced to rubble, now slowly crumbling to dust. But, the worst, by far, was watching these things scurry over the side of the Hills of Baumer to deliver a swift & decisive eradication so complete that no one managed to escape. At least with the others, there had been a handful. But not here… There was… nothing…

This… This was no war. This was cold. This was calculated. This was systematic. This was methodical.

This was a massacre. This was genocide! (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched as that same knight, Link, he'd killed before was shot down protecting Zelda.

He watched as a power unlike any he'd seen before rushed from her. Yet it seared him in a way that was so terrifyingly familiar in a way that made his bones ache.

He saw her lock them both away.

Then, he saw a horrific, mutated part flesh, part machine, part malice facsimile of himself. (Thoughts & feelings, please? Especially on see such a twisted mirror of his own ambition.)

He watched the boy defeat the horrid abomination. Then just… proceed on with his life. He watched the boy live & love. He watched him interact with the people. He watched him find joy in his simple life. He watched the boy marry his princess & effectively become king, yet live humbly & happily as they helped to rebuild what was lost even without stonemasons. He watched them be hopeful & make plans. Plans for their future together. Plans to expand. Plans for a family... Their family.

He watched them slowly build Hyrule back up from the ruins. He saw hope. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

And then…

And then, he saw himself, his actual self, from the perspective of the Purah Pad.

He saw that he was the source of all that destruction. He saw that that malicious hatred sprung forth from his own corpse.

That he’d been what killed so many without thought or purpose. Without point. (Thoughts, feelings, & reaction, please?)

He jumped as he heard a familiar voice. Turning, he saw the boy, now a shadow of himself, all tinted in green. Motes of viridian flame dancing around him as he stared at a butterfly that had landed in his outstretched hand.

“Sometimes… We want something so much…��

Without even looking up at him, the knight crushed the butterfly in his hand, cruelly & without mercy, causing the king to flinch. “That we destroy it utterly in our pursuit of it…” (Thoughts & feelings, please? Especially to the subtle-not subtle accusation.)

With that, he turned & walked off. “Keep that in mind, because I don’t think that this conquest of yours will be quite as rewarding as you’d hoped…” Before disappearing entirely.

(Overall thoughts, feelings, & reactions, please? I’m hoping for dread & anxiety & just this slow, creeping horror as grim realization dawns on him what his obsession had done, but whatever I can get.)

I need an entire animation of what I just read.

Like WHOA! This would be great to watch??? The inital arrogance? The realization? THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT? Ughhhh the horrors of ambition and war! Witnessing Ganondorf become self aware of his crimes and actions! Making him watch what his actions wrot! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

YOU TRULY HAVE SOME INGENIOUS THOUGHT PROCESSES MY DEAR! AHHHHHHHH

Please, if anyone has any animating talent, please make this. I need this. It's gunna haunt my daydreams for a hot minute. MMmm...

Good work!

***********************************************************************

This scenario you've painted for Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf is deeply haunting and emotionally complex, plunging him into a profound journey of self-realization and horror as he confronts the consequences of his own ambitions.

Initial Discovery and Curiosity: When Ganondorf first picks up the Purah Pad and begins to explore its contents, he might feel a mix of curiosity and cautious interest. The device, clearly a relic of the new Hyrule, would be both intriguing and foreign to him. As he starts to uncover more about the people of this new world—about their struggles, hopes, and the heroes who rose to defend them—he would initially see it as just another means to understand his enemies better. Learning about Link's dedication to his wife, the princess, would only serve to deepen his disdain at first, viewing it through the lens of his own ambitions and desires. To him, Link might seem naïve, overly sentimental, and weak.

The Lock and the Revelation: However, as he forces the locks open and begins to access the more hidden aspects of the Pad, his feelings would start to shift. The sudden, overwhelming flood of memories and experiences—seeing through the eyes of the Guardians as they slaughtered the innocent, witnessing the cold, mechanical genocide—would be a shock to his system. The sheer brutality, the indiscriminate nature of the slaughter, would horrify him. For a moment, he might not even recognize that these were events set into motion by his own malice. He would watch in stunned silence as these metal monstrosities obliterate everything in their path, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the destruction.

Witnessing the Massacre: As he watches the systematic extermination, the horror would settle deeper within him. Ganondorf is no stranger to war and bloodshed, but this—this was different. This was not a battle between armies; it was a slaughter, an unfeeling, calculated extermination of an entire civilization. He would feel a cold dread creeping up his spine as he realizes the totality of what happened, the sheer scale of death and suffering that unfolded because of the very forces he unleashed. The sight of children, the elderly, and the helpless being torn apart with such ruthless efficiency would make even him recoil. This was not the honorable conquest he sought; it was something far darker, something beyond his control.

The King and the Gerudo: Seeing the king of this Hyrule, standing firm in the face of certain death, would strike a chord within Ganondorf. This king, though Hylian, showed a strength of character that Ganondorf could not dismiss. There would be a grudging respect, mingled with a deep-seated anger—anger at seeing a king who could inspire such loyalty and defiance, anger at seeing that even this king could not prevent the destruction. And when he sees members of his own kin, the Gerudo, falling victim to the same merciless machines, his anger would turn inward. The Gerudo, his people, who he sought to elevate and protect, were now victims of the very power he unleashed. This would be a bitter pill for him to swallow, one that fills him with a mix of shame and fury.

The Mutated Facsimile: The sight of the mutated, part-flesh, part-machine abomination that was born from his own malice would send a shiver down his spine. This twisted mirror of himself—this grotesque manifestation of his ambition—would horrify him. For the first time, he would see the true cost of his desire for power, the way it warped and corrupted everything it touched. The abomination is a reflection of what he could become, what he has become in some ways—a creature driven by hatred, devoid of humanity or purpose beyond destruction. Seeing Link defeat this monster, only to move on and continue living his life, would be a painful contrast. Link, despite everything, found a way to live, to love, to rebuild. Ganondorf would feel a deep, gnawing envy and resentment, but also a growing realization that Link possesses a strength that he himself lacks.

The Final Realization: When he finally sees the truth—that he was the source of all this destruction, that his corpse was the catalyst for the horrors that unfolded—it would be a moment of soul-crushing realization. The knowledge that his hatred and ambition led to such senseless death, that he became the very thing he once sought to conquer, would leave him reeling. He would feel a deep, suffocating sense of guilt and horror, a dawning understanding of the true nature of his legacy. This was not the glorious conquest he imagined—it was a legacy of death, of genocide, of suffering.

The Confrontation with Link's Spirit: When Link's spirit appears before him, tinted in green and surrounded by motes of viridian flame, the finality of the situation would hit Ganondorf like a hammer. The knight’s words would cut deep, the subtle accusation forcing Ganondorf to confront the truth he had long denied. The casual cruelty with which Link crushes the butterfly, mirroring the way Ganondorf crushed Hyrule in his pursuit of power, would send a wave of cold dread through him. Link’s parting words—“Sometimes… We want something so much… That we destroy it utterly in our pursuit of it…”—would echo in Ganondorf’s mind, leaving him with a deep, gnawing anxiety. The realization that his conquest, his obsession, has only brought ruin, not just to Hyrule, but to himself, would fill him with a profound sense of dread.

Overall Reaction: Ganondorf would be left standing in the aftermath of this revelation, feeling the weight of his actions pressing down on him. His once unshakable confidence would be shattered, replaced by a creeping horror as he understands the full extent of what he has done. The dread and anxiety would grow within him, the realization that his obsession has led to nothing but destruction and emptiness gnawing at his very soul. The once mighty king of evil, who sought to rule over all, would now be haunted by the knowledge that he destroyed the very thing he sought to conquer. This realization would not just weigh on his mind—it would crush his spirit, leaving him with a hollow sense of loss and regret that he can never escape.

In the end, Ganondorf would be left to ponder whether his pursuit of power was worth the cost, whether the conquest he so desperately sought was truly worth the destruction it wrought. The creeping horror of realizing that his ambition led to nothing but ruin would be a bitter, unrelenting torment that he could never escape.

[achaotichuman]

Cute thought, but imagine whenever Tamlin is feeling a strong emotion, plants or flowers would bloom in his hair. Just imagine Tamlin sleeping soundly on Lucien's chest and all Lucien can see and smell are roses and lilacs.

AWWWWW STOOOP THATS SO CUTE HOW HAVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF THIS?!?!?!

You've switched the fanfiction part of my brain on. Here's how I think that scene would go.

Tamlin's magic tended to act of its own accord. That had been a problem for many a Spring Lord, at its very core it only abided by the laws of nature, and nature headed no one but chaos. Many former Spring Lords had found solace in removing themselves entirely from their emotions, distancing themselves from what made them people just so an angry outburst wouldn't level the homes they lived in.

Lucien had been afraid at first when Tamlin first came into power. He had grown fond of the Spring Prince. They were similar in many odd ways, it first started with them both being the forgotten outcasted youngest siblings, picked on relentlessly for the simple act of living. Tamlin was quite older than Lucien, surpassing his age by decades. But even so, they had come together, and their friendship had quickly become stronger than iron.

Lucien had been afraid they would lose that. That Tamlin would turn to the same path his father had chosen, taking a specially formulated medication that over time removed his ability to feel. Tamlin had once described his father and his predecessors' emotions like stone pounded by fierce waves. Over time it could be turned into something else if hounded incessantly by a strong enough force, but it would always remain rough, cold and immovable by the strength of one fae alone.

If Lucien lost Tamlin to something like that... Lucien didn't know what he would do with himself.

But as it were, Tamlin did not lose himself. He refused to take the concoction, even after he was warned dozens of times over that his magic would go against his orders, that it would do as it pleased.

Tamlin fought it for years. Writhed with his magic like it was trying to control him from the inside out. Lucien had to stay away for a time, everyone did, while Tamlin tried to keep dominance over the power he now possessed.

Centuries had now passed. Years had flashed by. Tamlin still struggled with his magic from time to time. It fought back, snapped back more like it, when it pleased, but for the most part, Tamlin won that war. Lucien couldn't have been prouder of him for it.

His magic still seemed to have its own mind though, it reacted to his emotions, just less violently than it used to. Now Tamlin didn't have to keep every single emotion he felt in check. He was, for the most part, free. Like the magic had chosen to obey him.

And how beautiful his magic was when it was calm.

It was late in the afternoon; Lucien had been peacefully reading on his bed. The sunlight filtered in through his curtains, a soft glow that warmed his skin. He was knee-deep in the climax of the plot, completely enthralled in the story he didn't notice his door open, only when it clicked shut and someone slumped back against the door. Lucien glanced up to see Tamlin leaning against the door.

"Tam, are you-" Lucien's worried question was cut off by Tamlin just lifting a finger and putting his other hand to his head. He took in a deep shaking breath and slowly released it, as he did a thorny bramble climbed across Lucien's window, creating a jagged shadow across the floor.

His magic was acting up. Lucien quickly marked and closed his book, putting down on the covers. He stood up, unsure of whether to stay put or run.

"Luce." Tamlin breathed.

"Yes, Tam?"

Tamlin closed his eyes, both his hands falling to his side. When Lucien looked closer, he noticed the High lord was trembling.

"Tamlin." Lucien murmured, beginning to stand up, "Maybe you should go out into the gardens, you like it there."

He needed something to calm his magic, being in the gardens usually soothed it.

Tamlin opened his eyes to see Lucien. His breathing began to speed up by a beat. Lucien was caught, one side of him begged to move closer. To touch and hold Tamlin. The other, more logical side of him, told him to move away.

When Tamlin let his head fall back against the door, squeezing his hands into fists and screwing his eyes shut like he was in pain, the logical side of him silenced and Lucien quickly appeared before Tamlin. The redhead intertwined their fingers, the feeling of Tamlin's claws peeking on his fingertips should've been enough to make Lucien step away again, but Lucien had chosen to ignore logic the second he started dating the High lord of the Spring Court.

"Lovely, how bad is it?" Lucien asked, eyes flicking rapidly over Tamlin like he could try and see the magic roaring inside him.

Tamlin just shook his head. Keeping his eyes closed the High lord moved his head to press his face into Lucien's neck. Tamlin practically fell forward into Lucien. The fire lord had to move one foot back to stabilize himself as he collected Tamlin in his arms.

It would be alright this time, Tamlin had it under control for the most part. But as Tamlin went practically completely limp in his arms, Lucien knew he was exhausted.

Lucien hummed soft praises in Tamlin's ear as he led the Spring Court Lord to his bed. Lucien set Tamlin down on the soft red covers. Tamlin didn't hesitate to collapse into a heap. Breathing still a touch too erratic. Lucien sat down on the bed, hand going to rub circles on Tamlin's head.

"Bad today, huh?" Lucien whispered. Tamlin didn't respond, but his face did soften at Lucien's gentle ministrations.

Lucien bit his bottom lip. Then he decided to simply lay down next to his boyfriend.

Wriggling down onto the soft covers, he began to pull Tamlin into his arms. The Spring Lord then proceeded to clamper on top of Lucien, practically covering his body with his own. Tamlin pressed his face right into the center of Lucien's chest. His breathing finally beginning to slow and deepen.

Lucien smiled and started to run his fingers through Tamlin's golden curls, "Feeling better?"

Tamlin managed a weak nod, one hand travelling up Lucien's side, following his arm and going down to intertwine their fingers once more.

Lucien rubbed circles into the back of Tamlin's palm. His free hand travelling down to firmly massage his lower back. Tamlin let out a content hum, just a few moments passed and Lucien noted the way Tamlin's breathing slowed, his breaths becoming deeper and less ragged. He had fallen asleep.

Arching his neck down, Lucien pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tamlin's head, he whispered into his hair, "I love you so much."

At that moment, Lucien watched the thorny bramble that had stuck up around his window earlier turn to dust blown away by the wind.

Then the undeniable smell of sweet-roses and dandelions wafted around him. Lucien quickly looked down to see Tamlin's hair, spilling from his head like liquid gold, had small buds slowly unfurling through the strands. Stems grew and wrapped around the spiral curls, petals budding then unfurling, letting out a puff of golden pollen.

Lucien observed in awe as these flowers continued to bloom on his High lords head, until they covered his hair, spilling out onto the bed like they were part of his body. A crown of Spring. Proof that the magic had accepted defeat. An offering to its High lord.

Lucien hadn't realized how hard his was smiling until his face became to hurt, but he couldn't stop. He kissed Tamlin's head again, his lips brushing curls and soft rose petals.

"My Beast," Lucien whispered, "And my Beauty."

Thank you for the ask! I really loved writing this! I might put this in the Tamcien fic I have written. I hope you like this as much as I do!

[geekcavepodcast]

DC Comics Goes "All In" and Introduces New "Absolute" Universe and Updated Core Line of Comic Books

"DC All In" is DC Comics' new line-wide initiative that will include new reimagined universes for the DC characters as well as an ongoing line of core titles.

After the events of Absolute Power, DC's All In initiative will begin with a single-issue mega-event flipbook. All In Special #1 is written by Scott Snyder and Joshua Williamson. When read one direction the art is by Daniel Sampere and in the other direction the art is by Wes Craig.

The DC heroes "have fought against the deep divisions in the world around them to usher in a new era of unity.

And it’s just in time, too—because Darkseid has returned! Superman gathers every DC Super Hero on Earth to hold the line against a vastly different version of the Lord of Apokolips as they raise our cosmic defenses and prepare for war. And when the first blows land, the shock waves will ripple across DC’s core series, shaking the nature of their realities to their very foundation!" (DC Comics)

All In Special #1 goes on sale on October 2, 2024. The main cover is by Daniel Sampere with variant covers by Rafa Sandoval, Wes Craig, and John Giang.

All In Special #1 will set the stage for the Absolute Universe, in which the heroes of the DC Universe come of age with fewer advantages.

Absolute Batman, from Scott Snyder and Nick Dragotta, explores a Batman that has no money, mansion, or butler. Issue #1 on sale October 9, 2024.

Absolute Wonder Woman, from Kelly Thompson and Hayden Sherman, explores a Diana with no island home, no sisterhood, and not even a mission of peace. Issue #1 on sale October 23, 2024.

Absolute Superman, from Jason Aaron and Rafa Sandoval, explores a Superman with no family, Fortress of Solitude, and no home. Issue #1 on sale November 6, 2024.

DC Comics' core titles will also be starting new storylines in October 2024.

Batman #153-154, from Chip Zdarsky, Jorge Jimenez, and Carmine Di Giandomenico, begins "The Dying City" story with the Riddler, a new super hero named Commander Star, and a murder.

Detective Comics #1090, from Tom Taylor and Mikel Janin, begins the "Mercy of the Father" story. "Years after the tragic murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne, a ghost from Gotham City's past has been lying in wait to strike at Batman ever since that fateful night in Crime Alley." (DC Comics)

Action Comics #1070-1073 features 2 stories - "Death of the Phantom Zone" from Mark Waid and Clayton Henry, which spins out directly from Absolute Power and Batman/Superman World's Finest, and "Supergirl: Universe End" from Mariko Tamaki and Skylar Patridge.

Superman #19, from Joshua Williamson and Dan Mora, begins a new arc spinning out of Absolute Power. Superman and Lois Lane Superwoman are dealing with the return of Doomsday, wondering how long Lois' powers will last, and another enemy lurking in the shadows - the Time Trapper.

Wonder Woman #14, from Tom King and Daniel Sampere, sees the tide "turning in Wonder Woman's battle against the Sovereign as Steve Trevor takes matters into his own hands, with deadly consequences. But Steve's end could be the beginning of Diana's greatest adventure yet - motherhood!" (DC Comics)

Green Arrow #350 is an oversized anniversary issue with legacy numbering. The issue will close out Joshua Williamson's run on the title as "Oliver Queen faces the aftermath of his actions in Absolute Power, having done the unthinkable to protect his loved ones, and the ramifications of his involvement may have gone too far for his family and friends to forgive." (DC Comics) The issue will also debut the first chapter in new creative team Chris Condon and Montos' run.

Check out Scott Snyder and Joshua Williamson's video announcement of DC All In here.

(Images via DC Comics - Daniel Sampere's Cover of All In Special #1, Cover of Absolute Batman #1, and Cover of Green Arrow #350)

[lady-wren-of-tella]

wip: book 1 rewrite

here's what i have so far of the book 1 rewrite just re-realizing i don't share much writing on here anymore (shoutout to the fanfiction days lmao. they helped a lot) so my writing style changes A LOT behind the scenes in between the times I do share stuff.

hopefully you enjoy

TRIGGER WARNINGS: injuries, death mention, intentional self-harm (not in the mental health context, but someone does quite literally hurt themselves purposefully)

if the trigger warnings above are something you are sensitive to, id suggest you steer clear of this as those things are the main focus of this opening scene. take care of yourself <3

(note: this is unedited lmao)

A cloud of red blooms around Zira’s hands when she dunks them into the basin, water warmed by the sun. She leans forward to splash the water on her face, jaw clenching when it hits the open wounds on her face. Face dripping, she dunks her hands in the basin again, scrubbing blood and grime off of her bronze skin and watching the water grow dirtier.

The flaps of her tent billow in the breeze, the heavy smell of death filling the air.

The great kingdoms of Imani and Lazia have fought for centuries over the stretch of territory between them. The war of this generation finds Imani’s princess fighting on the fields.

Zira stands up straight, water dripping from her fingers into the basin, and pain explodes from the deep wound in her abdomen. She grits her teeth to stop herself from making a sound, breathing deeply through her nose.

Should have taken the time to fix that chestplate.

“General,” Sergeant Arrowood says, stepping closer to offer herself as a support. The armor between them makes it awkward, but she shoulders Zira’s weight easily, carefully matching the general’s steps towards the wooden table in the center of her tent.

Zira steels herself against the nauseating waves of agony stemming from her side, haphazardly kicking aside one of the four chairs to clear a path before slowly turning around. She grunts softly at the feeling of her skin tearing, pressing her hands onto the table and easing herself onto its surface. She exhales heavily once she settles, relieved to take pressure off of her injured right knee as well.

Sergeant Arrowood steps away, still watching her general carefully. Blood and grime have been smeared all over her too, caked into the matted, messy remnants of her braid and staining the dark blonde strands of her hair.

Both of them look awful, armor and skin bloodstained, smelling of sweat and death.

The tent flap is pushed aside and Zira turns her head towards the movement.

“Your Highness.” The old man says as he bows, blue, tailored tunic revealing his role as a Healer immediately. The brown leather satchel slung across his body falls forward with the movement of his bow.

“Rise,” Zira says, the command coming out strained. 

The Healer stands and crosses the tent, gaze sweeping over Zira as he assesses her. “Please remove your armor,” he says in a voice crackled with age, setting his satchel on the table next to Zira as he comes to stand just beside her.

Zira gathers the remnants of her strength, taps into the awareness of metal humming perpetually in the back of her head. Exhausted from the battle before, Zira has to close her eyes and block out everything else around her. The ferrokinetic power in her blood sings when the metal of her chestplate peels itself away from her, leaving Zira in her ruined, flowy undershirt.

Her bones ache and Zira curses her own exhaustion. She lets the chestplate fall to the packed-dirt floor beneath her with a dull thud, watching the blood-covered steel stain the ground.

The battle had drawn on longer than either side had expected, and the continued use of one’s power tires even the most powerful and well-trained of mythica soldiers.

“Knife,” Zira says shortly, glancing at the sergeant the well of her power too spent to waste on forming a knife from any of the armor on her body. She takes the plain dagger that Sergeant Arrowood holds out to her unceremoniously, grip tightening around the hilt reflexively.

The wound in her side has gone untreated for too long, skin beyond repair. Even a Healer cannot prevent a scar now. Only fresh wounds can be healed without a trace.

Zira clenches her jaw as she brings the dagger to her own abdomen, the fabric of her once cream-colored undershirt ripped away hours ago. She tenses at the first contact between the sharp blade and the ruined skin around the wound, bracing her body for the pain.

No one in the tent says a word as Zira digs the knife into her open wound and slices it even wider, tracing the slice a sword blade had left behind.

The pain licks down her spine like lava and Zira cuts with practiced speed, blood bubbling up and coating the hands she had just washed clean moments ago. She grits her teeth together so loudly a muscle in her neck strains, hand shaking around the knife hilt.

Her vision swims, the bronze of her skin and the fresh blood muddling into a singular color and Zira’s blood spilling from her body makes the dagger’s hilt so slippery it falls from her hand onto the packed earth.

The Healer steps forward before Sergeant Arrowood and bends down to pick the knife up and even exhausted, Zira doesn’t miss the newfound pallor to his already pale skin. “Enough, Your Highness,” he says, tone hollow and voice hoarse. 

Zira narrows her eyes, contemplates punishing him, but the blood loss and the use of her ferrokinesis have made her shoulders sag and her eyelids droop so Zira doesn’t lash out when he nears.

He places one hand between her shoulder blades and the other comes up to press against the freshened gash in Zira’s side. His eyes fall closed, and a resolute focus washing over his wrinkled features.

Warmth blooms from the wound and Zira’s body relaxes as the Healer puts her body back together. She looks down to watch it happen, the threads of ribbon reaching across the gash to knit the two sides together, leaving behind the faintest of lines behind and Zira frowns at the sight of it.

The tent flap opens again and everyone turns their head towards the entrance.

A man salutes immediately, right hand clenched in a fist over his heart. “General, the numbers from today have been compiled,” he announces, and Zira notices folded paper in his left hand.

“Sergeant,” she says, nodding once, and Sergeant Arrowood retrieves the report from him, nodding at him once before holding open the tent flap for him to leave. Zira holds out a hand for the report, gratefully noticing the distinct lack of pain in her abdomen.

“Your Highness,” the Healer starts to say, hesitation evident, “can I continue my work as you read?”

Zira nods absently as the sergeant places the paper in her hand, unfolding it and quickly taking in all the information scrawled in neat script. “Out of the five hundred we deployed today, only eighty-six died in battle,” Zira says, noting Sergeant Arrowood’s approving nod out of the corner of her eye. “Twenty-four are currently in critical condition with slim chances of survival. One hundred and fifty more require medical attention before returning to the field. The remaining two hundred and forty are fit for combat.”

“Great numbers today,” Sergeant Arrowood says as Zira folds up the paper and bends her arm to put it on the table behind her. “I assume supplies are good as well?” The unusually muted tone in her voice makes Zira’s eyes narrow.

The Healer steps in front of her, though, blocking the sergeant from view as his hands come up to the scratches on her face. He brushes his thumbs over them, warmth washing over the general like a summer heat and Zira frowns at the thought of the little scar lines left behind.

I’ll fix them later, she assures herself. “The ferrokinetics on site are currently working on fixing a few swords and replenishing the stock of knives.”

Sergeant Arrowood hums, but the acknowledgement comes a second too late and Zira knows immediately that the woman has something heavy on her mind.

Eighty-six died today. Did she lose someone today?

The Healer steps away, restoring Zira’s sightline. “Please remove your armor so I can work on your legs,” he instructs gently, reaching over to grab his satchel. The scissors he pulls out catch the light shining through the light fabric making up the tent. 

Zira gathers her mental strength again, carefully dipping past her exhaustion to pull from her well of power. The ever-present awareness of metal sings in her blood as soon as she reaches for it, and Zira wills the bloody metal plates wrapped around her thighs, knees, and lower legs to peel away and join the chestplate on the floor.

The Healer quickly cuts away the legs of her pants, leaving a neat edge around mid-thigh. Something in his gaze flickers at the sight of the bruises dotting Zira’s skin and the toned muscles underneath. 

“Sergeant, if there’s something I need to know, tell me,” Zira says sharply as the Healer brushes his hand down Zira’s leg slowly, purple blossoms fading in the wake of his hand. “If you’re brooding over a personal problem, take that back to the barracks.”

Sergeant Arrowood turns away to sit down on one of the chairs around the table, the lack of rhythm to her movements betraying her exhaustion. Her armor clinks softly, as she turns around to meet Zira’s eyes again. “Firstly, Her Majesty sent a letter calling for your immediate return to the palace; it arrived while you were on the battlefield.”

The mention of Zira’s mother pulls the corners of Zira’s lips downward.

“Secondly, we may have won back the ridge today, but a high-ranking Lazian general was killed today,” the sergeant continues, reaching to pull out the tie at the end of her braid and running her fingers through the strands loosely. She grimaces with each pass but continues until her hair hangs free, limp and dirty around her face.

Zira’s frown deepens and the Healer moves to her other leg, removing the bruises with slow care. “They’ll return with more forces. We have to be prepared.”

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” the Healer interjects softly. “May I work on your knee?” he asks, pointing to the swollen mound of Zira’s right knee and the scar lines on each side of her kneecap.

The princess of Imani nods stiffly, forcibly willing the tension of his shoulders when he takes a scalpel from a case in his satchel. The blade glints, far more sinister than a dagger in the way it shines.

“Zira,” Sergeant Arrowood starts hesitantly and Zira whips her head around furiously at the lack of a title. Before, the sergeant had stood as proudly as always, the blood all over her completely normal but now her armor looks as if it weighs her whole body down and Zira finds herself pausing. “Lady Dorance’s body was recovered from the field.”

The Healer slides the scalpel along the side of Zira, tracing the scar as he cuts her skin open precisely and Zira forgets to keep herself from flinching.

“I’m sorry,” the sergeant continues. “I know you two were—”

“Nothing special happened, Liana,” Zira snaps, cursing herself for the slip-up.

-----

Thats the end of the snippet! Hope you enjoyed! and pls pls pls pop into my inbox with feedback if you have any :)

love yall <3

[anew-flame]

Just wanted to post my Trespasser epilogue for my Inquisitor, Rhaella Trevelyan. This was my very first playthrough of any Dragon Age game, and I’m happy with my choices! Might do a second playthrough with everything exactly the same because I’m not ready to say goodbye 🥺

Under a cut to preserve your dashes plus hide spoilers:

In short, the Inquisition was disbanded. Some were relieved to see the unpredictable organization dismantled. Others prepared to remember the Inquisition’s good works and the many lives it saved. Those who had served returned to their former lives, knowing they had stopped a great evil from destroying the world…and hoping that the peace for which they had fought remained, once the Inquisition was gone.

With the Dragon’s Breath disrupted and any hope of a swift victory dashed, the Qunari retreated back to the North. Few knew what debates were waged in Par Vollen, but not long after the Exalted Council, the Qunari launched new attacks against Tevinter. Their aggression caught the already unstable Imperium off guard. Tevinter was soon mired in a war many feared could spread across Thedas.

The Exalted Council remained intact, advising Divine Victoria on important matters. Cassandra served for several years. While she often disagreed with Leliana’s policies, the former Right and Left Hands of the Divine shared a mutual respect and worked well together.

Cassandra also spent time in the Hunterhorn Mountains north of Orlais, where she worked to rebuild the Seekers. For a time, the new Seekers remained reclusive, showing no interest in worldly affairs and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess.

The end of the Inquisition as it had been sent shock waves through the College of Enchanters. Madam de Fer ably played on the mages’ fears. New followers united to build a new circle — with Vivienne as its Grand Enchanter — in direct competition with the College. What the Circle lacked in numbers, they made up for in political connection; soon they were a force to be reckoned with. The two institutions settled into an uneasy coexistence across the South, vying for power.

After the Exalted Council, Leliana devoted herself fully to the Sunburst Throne and her dream of reshaping the Chantry. Within a year, she removed restrictions surrounding Chantry priesthood, allowing men and women of all races to be initiated and ordained. The decree was followed swiftly be her decision to return the Canticle of Shartan to the canonical Chant, a move that divided Andrastians deeply. A rebellion to renounce her and return the Chantry to its former state arose, beginning first in Orlais, then spreading to other parts of Thedas. Divine Victoria was resolute, holding her ground even after several unsuccessful attempts on her life. Seemingly unconcerned with the assassination attempts, she held up the hostility leveled against her as proof that she was on the right path.

With the Inquisition disbanded, Sera joined the Inquisitor in officially retiring from scaring people in high places. By formal account and agreement, both would lead boring, safe lives nowhere special doing not much at all. And with that comforting lie, those in power continued their fragile lives as though all was back to normal. Meanwhile, Red Jenny, an entirely separate person not at all collectively embodied by Sera, the inquisitor, and countless friends continued to make a difference, or just have fun, where and when the impulse struck.

With frequent visits to her Widdle, of course.

Perhaps most unnerving was Sera’s standing offer to the Divine: “When the nobs piss about with your Left Hand or Right, call on Red Jenny to give them two fingers.”

Varric took up the role of Viscount and, with the help of his friend Hawke, rebuilt Kirkwall’s damaged infrastructure. Under his rule, the city-state finally resumed its place as the major trade hub of the Free Marches. He continued to ignore all mail from both the Merchants Guild and the Prince of Starkhaven.

With the inquisition disbanded, the Bull’s chargers returned to taking jobs throughout Orlais and Ferelden. Fighting demons and clearing out the remains of Venatori forces, the Iron Bull did his part to restore order to Thedas.

Many of the jobs brought the Chargers close to the Imperium’s border, where, from time to time, in a border-town villa… Bull and a certain Tevinter magister would spend a few hours together before life pulled them apart again.

After the Inquisition disbanded, Cullen and the Inquisitor retired to private life together. Unburdened by the restrictions of their offices, they continued doing good works on their own terms. That is, after a long-overdue visit to Cullen’s siblings, who were overjoyed to meet their new sister-in-law.

Dorian returned to Tevinter to take his father’s place in the Magisterium. As rumors flew about the Imperium’s infighting, Dorian was spoken of often as a voice of resistance against corruption. Along with Magister Maevaris Tilani, he formed a group called the Lucerni to restore and redeem Tevinter — a fight many thought hopeless.

Those fighting by Magister Pavus’s side noted that he kept in constant contact with the Inquisitor via message crystal. Whether for vital information or for moral support, these talks seemed to give Dorian the strength to continue his fight.

On one occasion, Venatori forces ambushed Dorian, who likely would have died had not an unnamed mercenary band led by a Tal-Vashoth warrior crossed Tevinter’s border and mounted a dangerous rescue operation. The mercenaries left a trail of freed slaves and dead Venatori in their wake, enabling Dorian to escape. When asked about the Tal-Vashoth in question, Magister Pavus declined to comment.

Them Rainier was shown mercy when none was deserved, and set on a path of redemption. This gift, so compassionately given, needed to be shared. Freed from his obligations to the Inquisition, Rainier traveled Thedas, giving hope to the condemned and the forgotten.

In the deepest prisons and pits of Thedas, he found, if not goodness itself, its potential. By showing faith in those who had none, Rainier lifted them up and made them into something better than they were.

With the Inquisition disbanded, Josephine made her farewells and returned to Antiva and her family. She was soon approached by an agent from the House of Repose, whose assassins had been killed by Inquisition agents on Josephine’s behalf. Far from being offended, the House of Repose was inquiring as to whether Josephine might have need of their services. She quickly persuaded them she had no need for assassins, but instead hired them as guards for the Montilyets’ new trading vessels. Rivaini pirates looking to rekindle an ancient feud soon learned that the Montilyets’ ships were not lightly boarded, and her house prospered greatly.

Cole returned to the Fade, saying that there was more pain coming, and that he knew where Compassion would be most needed. He promised that his friends in the Inquisition would remember him… and that where the hurt was greatest, he would help.

After the events at the Winter Palace, elves left the Inquisition under mysterious circumstances, as did elven servants across Thedas. None could say where they went, but those who believed the Inquisitor’s story about Fen’Harel wondered just how large the Dread Wolf’s forces were... and what the ancient elven rebel had planned.

[moreespressoformydepresso]

TreeMina AU in the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Long before the Fire Nation went all conquest crazy, the water tribes came into massive conflict with each other. While the North agreed to let the South keep their own government, the current chief of the water tribes started imposing more and more on the South. Eventually, this led to an all-out war.

The North has one massive power on their side: the avatar, Lamina. She only recently returned from her travels around the world in search of masters to teach her how to wield the elements and came home to assist her tribe in the war. Of course, the leader of the North have not been honest with their people, as they know most would not support it. Everyone has been told the South tried to be completely independent through force, without even bothering to talk about it or negotiate. Since the Southern style of waterbending is more aggressive than the defensive Northern style, the Southerners are clearly more combative. If they’re given their independence, who knows what they’ll do! One day they’ll take over the North and attack other nations, so they have to be stopped! And since the South attacked first, the North has justification for a hostile takeover as they siege the South non-stop. Of course, the truth is that the North attacked first, but only a small amount of people knows about that.

Meanwhile, in the South, there’s a young waterbender named Treech. He’s not much of a fighter, though he’s proficient in the Southern style of bending. His skill mostly lies in healing. His attacks are his defense, keeping the enemy away for long enough so he can heal whoever needs it and get them to safety. If it’s just him, he’d rather run away or hide than fight, but when the lives of others are in the balance he won’t rest until he’s saved them. It is that quality that ends up getting him noticed by the biggest threat to his people.

During a new siege, Treech runs and hides as troops pass through the settlement, laying waste to his beautiful home. Finally he comes across a sort of safehouse, where injured and non-benders try to stay out of the line of fire. Treech is the only bender there who is well-enough to heal, and does his best to help everyone. That is, until they’re found by a group of Northerners, including a certain someone. Treech realizes he’s the only one that can do anything, and if he doesn’t everyone there will die, so he tells them to stay put and runs upstairs. From the window, he attacks the Northerners from above and starts fighting them. While he manages to take out the three or so waterbenders, he stands no chance against the avatar on his own and he knows it. But he can’t let her touch the helpless innocents inside, so he fights. Despite holding out far longer than expected, she eventually manages to knock him out.

Lamina knew she was doing the right thing, but the boy was around her age and looked so desperate as he fought her that she couldn’t help but doubt. But the captain was certain soldiers were hiding here, and she wouldn’t let anyone endanger her people. She could spare the boy, though. The others were unconscious, so once she was done inside she’d hide him somewhere safe. No one had to know. Except once she busts down the doors of the house, she sees nothing like what she was expecting. Instead of terrifying soldiers and battle plans, Lamina sees a group of civilians, mostly children, almost all of them with minor injuries. One of the more gravely injured ones has a massive wound on her side, water diluting the bloody pool underneath her, and that’s when it hits her. That boy hadn’t attacked them out of anger or a lust for blood, he’d been protecting these people. He’s been using his bending to heal the wounded! Lamina looks around the room once, before stepping towards the wounded woman. Everyone looks terrified, then confused when she heals the wound. Perhaps the captain was misinformed? It says nothing about the South as a whole, surely, but every group has its innocents! So she leaves, but just as she leaves the house the boy outside wakes up. He panics, and as Lamina tries to calm him down a new squad of Northerners comes around the corner. She tries to stop them from attacking, but they don’t listen. Before Lamina can do anything, the boy has brought up a massive wall of ice to block their attacks and yells at the civilians to run, before stomping on the ground. The ice cracks around them, and before anyone can react Lamina, the soldiers, and the boy all fall as the ground collapses underneath them. Then there’s darkness.

When they wake up, it’s just Lamina and Treech in the rubble. At first, Treech slinks into a corner and is fully prepared to fight her, but she calms him down and then they talk. At first, Lamina refuses to believe the North are the agressors here, but Treech shares some of his experiences and tells her to stay in the South once the siege is over to see the world like he does. To look at this conflict from the eyes of a Southerner. So she does. No one bats an eye over Lamina not returning to the ships because she often makes her own way back, so once the Northerners have left she pulls her hood up to hide her identity and Treech leads her around the city. She’s never returned to a settlement soon enough after a siege to see the extent of the destruction the North caused, and she’s horrified at what she finds. Treech leads her deeper into the city and when she asks why, he tells her he wants to show her something she needs to see. The depths of what the North will do to keep control over them.

Back in the cave, they’d argued briefly about what caused the war, with Treech stating it was the North pushing for more and more power over them while Lamina says they attacked first and need to be kept under control. When they finally reach the center of the settlement, Lamina is horrified to see the rows upon rows of injured. Treech leads her around as he heals as many as he can, with Lamina joining him while she works through the shock. Finally, he pulls her to the side so they can talk privately.

“Does that look like keeping us ‘under control’ to you?! Because all I see is needless cruelty!”

“I-“

“And when did we attack you? Because I don’t remember such a thing happening!”

Treech offers to show her some other Southern settlements so she can see that this isn’t a one off, this is the status quo. Lamina is starting to realize maybe she doesn’t have the full story and agrees, starting their journey across the Southern water tribe. During this time, the two start as grudging companions only working together for their own reasons (Treech trying to make the strongest warrior of the North realize what she’s contributing to so his homeland isn’t destroyed. Lamina trying to figure out what’s happening because as the avatar she must do what’s best for the world, not just her own people, and she cannot let her bias lead her). Over the course of their journey, they evolve to friends and then start to fall in love with each other. By the end they’re simping for each other and Lamina realizes that the North is being lied to by their leaders. So she comes home and tries to convince them to stop and while most of the army listens to her after some convincing not everyone cares. A small group of soldiers goes to attack the south again and Lamina and Treech rush back to stop them and there’s a climactic final battle. When Treech is nearly killed Lamina loses it and enters the avatar state, at which point she becomes a living, unstoppable nuke of nature. The North is forced to surrender and the peace between the tribes is restored. The South regains the power to govern themselves for the most part and the two lovebirds get to happily live out their lives.

[deeptrashwitch]

Ashes of Freedom

Synopsis: An old kingdom filled of powerful people was forgotten after a war that costed so much to the people. Liberitas. Land of legends, steel and power. Two princes and the princess of the kingdom, spirits of the past that seem to be back.

They want vengance against the tyrant's cruel descendant and take back what is theirs. And nothing will stop them.

Tag list: @snootlestheangel @stuffireadandenjoy @catterdraws

Chapter 1: The past collides

For centuries, the continent was ruled under four royal families.

The first one, Ignia. Royalty of the east, recognizable for their hair so red as the forge fires they mastered during hundreds of generations, the second strongest dynasty of the old ages. All of them learned to forge, to create the most beautiful and lethal weapons across the continent. Every warrior under their command was trained to know how to fight with magic and non-magic weapons, they could fight even with broken swords or spears and their magic was reigned by their emotions.

The second one, Pra-ve, is famous nowadays but forgotten before. This royal house emerged back after the creation of the empire and the end of the war. All the power they have comes from money, the mines on their territory are the finest in all the continent, and their refineries are the most advanced as well. Even if they don’t have magic, they are an important part of this empire, they have the largest functioning port.

The third one, a name long faded. They, my children, were savages, never doing the best for their people just out of pride. Amazing hunters they were, I have to admit, but so arrogant and dependent on their magic based on the safety of earth. Our great emperor was so clever to stop them, ending their reign of blood and violence, bringing peace to their people.

But the fourth royal house, they were the real monsters. Taranis. Legends among humans, warriors without a trace of mercy and unhinged fighters. They ruled the west with iron fist, princes and princesses taught from their first steps how to fight under any condition, and they had the best naval fleet on all the continent. All of the heirs had green eyes, the story says they got them from a pagan deity itself, granting them strength and intelligence. 

During the war they resisted even with their cavalry and infantry torn to shreds. Nertan Taranis, the bloodthirst king, fought as he was a wounded animal and killed as many soldiers as he could, covering himself in their blood. The massacre just ended once a brave soldier, tired of the death and pain, betrayed the deranged monarch. He took a sword and ended the principal lineage, beheading the crown prince. 

They gave up after that, their people being less than a half because of the stubbornness of their rulers. That crown was kept by Nertan in a sign of shame until his deathbed, then his second despised son took the throne, Johan Taranis. Their legend…

-Mother, you may excuse me for interrupting your story, but I doubt it is the truth-said a man with blue eyes and black hair while he looked at his glass of wine, then looking at his mother-have you seen how king Darion and queen Lenna are? Are they legends? Surely they created those stories to cover their sheer stupidity

-I hate to give this bum the reason, but is impossible that peasants like that faint-hearted, second class kings are anything else than simple ants against our power-muttered with anger a blonde young man as his red eyes shined with disgust-Regilis Antartes should have done the same he did with the old Saveka’s royal family, execute them

-You shouldn’t underestimate such old lineage, Renkal, the books relate enormous and long battles between Liberita’s army and Galantia’s troops-interrupted another young man, also blond but with cold amber eyes, looking at the red-eyed and then the blue-eyed man-neither should you, Elric, you are the crown heir, it isn’t wise to underestimate your enemies. I’m sure that the Taranis princes would rip off your heart if they are given an opportunity

-How dare you speak so adamantly, you dog?!-snarled Renkal Antartes, the second prince, livid while looking at him-you should know by now that you aren’t on our level just to speak so freely, with an imperial prince. And you defend those Liberitas fools no less!

-Novaris, you insult me if you even think I would relate with such miserable people-commented the heir going back to look at his glass

-It’s obvious you don’t learn anything from your tutors, Markel Novaris, do you think that you have any will to talk here?-asked a black-haired woman with red eyes, standing up as she looked severely to the young one-you are nothing more than the bastard child of my husband, my son said it, you’re just a dog. Understood?

-...Yes, Empress-answered as he lowered his head 

-Never forget that-ordered before pouring wine over his head with a malicious smile-now, get out of my sight, mutt

-I salute the holy princes and the great consort star of the empire, I may go now-Markel murmured before leaving the room

He still had wine dripping down his face and hair, ruining his suit. But before he could clean his face on his own, a voice called out for him.

-Markel, wait! Are you sure you are okay?-a girl who looked exactly as the empress asked while she gave him a handkerchief-here, you really should change clothes

-Thank you, princess Kianre-said emotionlessly before walking again

-You know you can call me “sister”! We are family!

The young man didn’t answer as he walked down one of the aisles with the lights outside the window as a beautiful sight. Arachne's Palace. It was the beautiful imperial palace, an amazing spectacle to the eyes that even foreign guests ask for more time to stay in those beautiful rooms and gardens. 

But for him…it was disgusting. A gold-painted cage filled with double intentions and traps behind every corner, such a different environment than the one he met in his home. The attitude of the imperial family was repulsive, filled with rotten people, with fake smiles and twisted minds. He shook his head and continued walking trying not to acknowledge his reflection on the window, he couldn’t bear his looks after what his mom went through for them.

-Your highness?-called a man’s voice followed by the sound of steps

-Ah, Crissen, can I help you with something?-he asked, smiling to the gray-eyed and brown-haired man

-No, but are you alright, my liege?

-Don’t worry about it, it’s just another tantrum of the empress

-You should say something to the emperor, you are an imperial prince as well-Crissen said with a sigh, using his own sleeve to clean part of Markel’s face-no one has the right to treat you this way

-I’m just an illegitimate child, he won’t intervene on my favor

-My lord…

-Go back to your duties, General, I’ll continue from here

The General stayed silent for a second, but bowed down with respect before walking away. Markel started to think as he walked, squeezing the handkerchief on his hand as he asked himself why the second princess helped him. As he got inside his room, he threw the rag to the floor with hate and fury.

He doesn’t need the compassion of the Antartes family. Not now. Not ever. 

Once he closed the door, the room walls were filled with golden symbols that created a powerful light, which soon disappeared and left the room as if nothing happened. He giggled silently before it became a maniac laughter, and then it became fury. With his blood boiling he took a lamp and threw it against the wall, then an ashtray and an ink jar followed it.

He growled as if he was an animal, but then smiled once he took a glance at the documents over his desk. Just a little bit of time and everything would be ready. Then his hands let out black sparks and whirlpools that started floating around to create a strong wind which ruffled his hair. 

With a smile he started to chant in a mysterious language, until the black sparks fused and took a human silhouette. Markel stopped his chanting and looked at the silhouette with absolute respect. Then, it let out a sound that tried to be similar to a voice and slowly the place where the eyes were filled with a green shine.

-You took your time, Elder One

-My apologies, my liege, but I've been busy inside the palace-said as he bowed down towards the silhouette-even if I hate to deal with the imperial family, I brought useful information

-Before that, are you dripping wine?

-Just a tantrum from the empress, nothing to be uneasy about, your highness

-I'm sorry, Markel, if we knew they would treat you this way we would have never allowed you to go inside Fraxia. We should have kept you by our side

-I'm…flattered by what you are saying, royal highness, but I'm just a shadow under the royal family command-Markel murmured with a smile, grateful by the worry shown-it's nothing that should keep any of you awake at night, it's just wine. Also I'm here under my free will to be useful to the crown

-You should know better than anyone how much my brother hates when you say that of yourself. But I know you well enough to be sure that you won't change your mind, so let's hear what you found, Captain Novaris

-Yes, your highness-answered as he took the documents and made them float-not so long ago, during the reunion where the princes participated, the emperor showed these documents to Prince Renkal and me. These are marriage arrangements with noble ladies of our kingdom, and is asking for some exchanges

-Exchanges? What kind of?

-He wants the main port of the capital, the alliances he knows about and basically he wants to put our prince on a leash. He has the king and queen under his thumb, now he needs you to kneel against the imperial flag…just then he'll have the power he craves for

-So the emperor wants my siblings and I to be at his beck and call, huh? What an idiot

-Just give me the order, your highness, and I'll destroy everything that family could ever love under your names-asked with hate on his tone, kneeling with a hand over his heart-if with that I can secure the brighter future of our home and our royal family, then my shadows and I will burn to the ashes this continent

-Put your head up, Markel, it's not time yet to do so. It'll be soon though, I promise, and you'll be by our side when the time comes. Until then, you must remain like now, but also take care…we don't want a good friend getting hurt

-As you wish, your highness-muttered with a smile-the marriage arrangements are on their way to the capital, one of my shadows took them last night and they should arrive soon. It's always a pleasure to talk to the Whisper of the Winds, but I must retire now. I wish you joy and good riddance during Scaris honors

-Good luck, Captain, we'll see eachother sooner than you think 

-I look forward for it, Your Highness

The silhouette disappeared slowly and once it was completely gone, Markel ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. He clicked his tongue when he felt it slimy and sticky, absolutely disgusted. Then took the papers and threw them to the chimney, looking at the flames in silence as the orange color reflected on his eyes while any proof of what he did got burnt to the ground. It was just a matter of time until the princes got the documents.

Soon a creaking sound put him on high alert, with his hand shot to his belt where he carried his dagger. With his weapon in hand, he looked at the door and how the magic symbols blinked and disappeared. Markel holded his breath waiting to see who enters, ready for anything.

-You…

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Chapters:

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[skyler10fic]

You Remind Me of Someone

By Skyler10

Summary: Carol is injured in battle, causing a bout of amnesia! There’s nothing medically accurate in this fic, but it sure makes Daisy sad. Watch her deal with her emotions while caring for her wife, and watch Carol unknowingly fall for her all over again.

For the @ficwip @ficwip5k!

Read on Ao3

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

It should have been me. 

That thought chilled Daisy more than the hospital air conditioner blasting purified air. Her knees bumped against the hard plastic frame of Carol’s hospital bed as she prayed for Carol to open her eyes. 

Daisy had been here before, literally and metaphorically. People had died for her, whether sacrificially or coincidentally, all her life. She’d been the motive for her serial-killing parents, a pawn in wars, a vulnerability to Shield, and a symbol others laid down their lives for, so that she could survive to complete her missions and save countless others—sometimes entire planets. 

And then she met Carol Danvers. They’d fought across the galaxy side by side, fallen in love, and returned home to earth to work for the super-agent division of Shield, led by Daisy’s adoptive parents, Phil Coulson and Melinda May. This seemed to be the solution to Daisy’s curse: followed by Death like a shadow. Carol was mortal, but only just. She aged as slowly as Daisy, had otherwise unimaginable powers, flew without the aid of tech gear, and could use light and heat at her command. She was strong in every way. 

But not even Carol Danvers could escape the effects of the amnesia-inducing Kree truncheon. The blow was meant for Daisy. In a surprise attack, Vin-Tak was not going to let another opportunity pass him by to eliminate the inhuman “abomination” his people had created. Instead, Carol had intercepted the blow with a photon blast, but she paid dearly for her actions. He hit Carol hard, and Daisy hit him harder. He was no match for their team together, and the other super-agents on the team tricked him into a containment pod. 

The team noticed Daisy and Carol weren’t celebrating. Daisy hunched over Carol, mumbling, “No! Please wake up!” Daisy remembered it like an out-of-body experience: Shield paramedics. The sirens of the emergency extract pod they had dubbed “the ambulance.” Her friends pulling her away from Carol’s body as the medics worked.  

She remembered Phil holding her and Melinda paying close attention as the Shield doctor explained Carol’s injuries: a broken arm, significant bruising, shock, and, of course, the truncheon’s trademark amnesia could be expected. Maybe more. Jemma and Fitz, the super team’s best scientists, were already exploring any possible antidote to the amnesiac powers of the truncheon if diplomacy (or threats) to Vin-Tak failed. 

—--------------------

Daisy had a question she was too afraid to ask the doctor, so she waited until Jemma visited that evening, interrupting Daisy’s cycle of self-blame and guilt and prayers. 

“Knock knock,” Jemma said at the open hospital room door. 

Daisy glanced up. Her voice was low and hoarse when she spoke. “Come in.” 

Jemma sat next to Daisy, and they watched Carol for a few minutes. Alive, with the steady vitals on the monitor above her bed, but unstirred by the presence of others around her.

Daisy broke the silence. “It’s because of the damage before, isn’t it?”

“From the amnesia when she got her powers, yes, but also whatever the Kree did to heal her while replacing her memories. It’s a theory anyway. Daisy, even if Vin-Tak reverses the amnesia or Fitz and I find a solution, it may take a while for them to come back. This isn’t like when Lady Sif recovered instantly. Carol’s memories may be spotty even after she’s healed.”

“But if neither one works…”

Jemma put her hand on Daisy’s. “We aren’t going to let that happen. She’ll come back to us. We just have to give it time.” 

Daisy took her best friend’s promise seriously, sleeping on a cot in Carol’s room and hardly leaving her side. An agreement was made with Vin-Tak, and he reversed the power of the truncheon. Watching the oddly ceremonial scene of the Kree standing over a prone and sedated Carol, Daisy could hardly breathe, waiting anxiously for Carol’s eyes to open. Daisy didn’t know, and honestly didn’t care, what Phil had promised in return. All Daisy knew was that Carol relaxed into more peaceful sleep afterward. 

—---------------- 

The first thing Carol felt before opening her eyes was all-consuming pain. She whimpered and tried to pry open her eyes, but all she saw was a nurse in scrubs bringing her relief. The medicine fought back the pain but also kept her groggy, and she could barely form words to thank them. When they wheeled her to the bathroom, she’d go through the motions instinctually but not really processing any of it: the color of the tile, the temperature of the water at the sink, how she ended up back in bed. Even her own pale, hollow reflection was a stranger. The pattern continued like this, in and out, but she was aware of a presence always beside her. 

She remembered an older woman dying in her arms, perhaps like a mother. Another and another, in various scenes: human, alien, men, women, children… so much death. The thought that it might be her turn made something inside her scream NO. But after all this death she’d witnessed, what else was there? 

Then the pain meds hit, and she felt like she was flying, really flying. The sting of the wind and the energy it took to sustain and the way of moving her body to change direction. She knew it as if it was muscle memory. Instinct. 

If only she could fly away from this pain and the exhaustion. The care and concern of the voices around her (and lack of restraints) told her she was being treated by her own people, but she couldn’t picture the faces of her team. 

Every time pain came back, she gave up trying to puzzle it all out decided she’d rest a little longer. 

—--------------------- 

Daisy typed away at her laptop in Carol’s hospital room, on her cot with her back against the wall, positioned so she could glance up to check on Carol and her vitals from time to time. Despite being out of the field for the foreseeable future, Daisy had not slowed down on her work between nurses and doctors bustling in to look after Carol and spout instructions at Daisy before disappearing again. 

The team came to visit between missions, and tonight it was Jemma’s turn. She offered to sit with Carol while Daisy took a break. 

“You need to get out of this room,” Jemma admonished. “I can tell. It’s driving you mad being in this box.” 

Daisy had to admit Jemma was right. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. “It’s more the lack of answers. The doctors say Carol seems to be in a healing state. Feel her skin.” 

Daisy nodded to the exposed, slightly glowing skin on Carol’s unbroken arm. 

Avoiding the IV line, Jemma did, and just as she had suspected, it was burning hot. Carol’s power was clearly trying its best to heal her from the inside out. 

“I thought she might,” Jemma confessed. “I suggested as much to the doctors, but I didn’t know there’d be such a strong sedative effect of the combination of her powers with the IV cocktail to keep her comfortable in the meantime.” 

The IV bag still had hours of medicine left in it. The screen nearby told them Carol’s vitals remained stable, and despite the warmth of her skin, she didn’t have a fever.

“A shower would be really nice,” Daisy sighed. 

“Go! Shower, get some clean clothes, eat something that isn’t hospital food, have a walk…”  

“Okay, okay, I’m going. All of that sounds really good.” Her guilty expression as she looked to Carol prompted Jemma to lightly pull her off the cot and toward the door. Daisy gave Jemma a tired half-smile and put her laptop in her bag. 

“I’ll be back soon,” she said softly, more to Carol than Jemma. 

“Take your time!” Jemma called after her as Daisy left reluctantly. 

As much as she wanted a shower, her stomach told her food was a requirement first. She headed to the pizza shop across the street and took it to-go, eating at a picnic table with a view of the sunset over the city. One tower of Hospital Hill was dedicated to the general public, but as with most such buildings, no one suspected the other tower was reserved for the intelligence agencies, with a floor of beds specific to Shield with restricted access, even excluding those in other agencies with top security clearances. 

Still, Daisy could clock who was here for Tower One or Tower Two. She entertained herself with this game until she was done eating, then headed back to the old red-brick 1940s “factory” that held their secret base. Home.

—---------- 

Daisy didn’t remember falling asleep on top of the bed fully clothed, but she awoke, clutching a fresh T-shirt, all the same. She’d been searching for a specific pair of yoga pants before her involuntary nap had taken over, proving she was more tired than she thought. By the darkness outside, she’d been gone from the hospital longer than planned, so she wasn’t surprised when Jemma called, expecting her to ask about when Daisy was coming back. 

“I’m so sorry, I will be right there,” Daisy said as soon as she answered. “I just need a shower first.” 

“No, no. That’s not—” Jemma’s tone quieted Daisy’s embarrassment. “The doctor gave her a different painkiller, and it’s not causing the same sedation.” 

“Is she awake? Like really awake?” Of course, as soon as Daisy left her side, that would be when she regained full consciousness. Figures.

Jemma hesitated. “Gradually. There’s good news and, well, the news we expected. She is asking for you, but only as the woman who was there before. She knew you were there the whole time. She just can’t remember who you are, or any of us.”

Daisy’s world stopped. Carol didn’t remember her. They’d known this might be a possibility, even with Vin-Tak restoring her memory with the truncheon. 

“She will, though? She will. It just takes time, right?” Daisy gasped for air. “That’s what you said before. We just have to be patient. She’ll heal.”  

“Daisy, I need you to breathe. I think you’re having a panic attack, yeah?” 

Daisy nodded, forgetting Jemma couldn’t see her, but Jemma interpreted the silence correctly.

“Keep breathing with me. Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” Jemma said in her best gentle but firm doctor bedside-manner voice. “We’re going to let Carol adjust. Let her come back a little at a time. Right now, you’re going to take a shower, and then—only when you’re ready—you can come back here where you need to be. Is that all right?” 

“Okay, yes.” Daisy inhaled deeply, collecting herself. “I can do this.” 

“We can do this. You aren’t doing this alone. The whole team is here for you and Carol. Whatever you need.” 

What she needed was her wife back. She needed Carol to hold her and tell her everything was fine, but of course, that was the problem. 

Off the phone with Jemma, Daisy went through the motions of caring for her body, but the shower unleashed something in her that had been held back for days until it burst out in deep, heavy sobs. 

She struggled to catch her breath and slid down to the tile floor. With the safety and privacy of the water, she let all the grief and fear and trauma spill out through her gasps. She’d tried to hold it together for Carol, but now with it confirmed that Carol’s amnesia was still holding on, despite Vin-Tak reversing the effects of the truncheon, the tears were unstoppable. She thought of having to pretend Carol wasn’t her wife, to keep from drowning her with explanations, which would be terrifying to hear from a stranger. She realized Carol wouldn’t be able to say “I love you” back with any sincerity, no longer knowing who Daisy was to her.

Some childish part of her wanted it to be easy. That she’d walk back in the door of that hospital room and Carol would see her and instantly know. Even if it was too much to hope for that the mere sight of Daisy would bring back all of Carol’s memories, at least maybe Carol would see Daisy and instantly recognize her. Some part of her would know they were bonded for life. And still love her. 

She’d pictured a thousand ways of losing Carol. But given Daisy’s history and their shared profession, all of them assumed death. Never once did she account for having to live with a Carol who didn’t know her. But, she reminded herself, they were both alive. And Jemma was giving her hope that Carol would come back, in time. So the challenge, for however long, was clear: to start over fresh and woo her wife all over again.

Daisy sniffed and shakily stood back up in the shower. She could do this. She had survived orphanages and foster homes, homelessness and Shield training, government plots and xenophobia, space and time travel, fighting super villains and her own inner demons. Daisy Johnson, super-agent of Shield, could do anything. 

And don’t get her started on her wife’s power.

With fire in her eyes and anger at the universe fueling her determination, she packed for the hospital like she was prepping for a mission. She wore her backpack and slung her duffle bag over her shoulder, then marched out of the base and right back to Carol’s bedside.

—------------ 

Despite the (understandable) panic at learning she was missing her memories and wasn’t recognizing people she should, Carol relaxed as the familiar hot girl came back. Jemma had said the hot girl’s name was Daisy. Carol’s head hurt too much to decipher why this answer made Jemma nearly laugh and cry at the same time. Carol understood Daisy was her partner, but Jemma wouldn’t say more. She needed to remember on her own so they were sure the amnesia was fading. Jemma recounted what she knew of the battle that had landed her here but said Daisy would know more. 

Maybe it was the way Daisy looked at her, but something about this “partner” of hers both comforted her and made her heart race. 

“Hey,” Daisy smiled but it was so sad that Carol made it her personal mission to cheer her up. Something to focus on besides being a stranger to her own life.

“Hey,” Carol returned. “Jemma tells me that you’re Daisy, right? And we work together?”

“Yeah!” Daisy sat down on the cot. Carol realized Daisy must have been sleeping here, noticing the state of the room in a different way now. “Did Jemma tell you what we do for work?” 

Before Carol could answer, Daisy swiped a finger through the air and the door to the room shut gently but swiftly. 

Carol’s eyes lit up, but she played it safe. “She didn’t, but I can guess. We help people, maybe in ways that normal people can’t? Maybe ways that are considered… super?” 

Daisy smiled in earnest now. “Yeah, there are a few of us on our team with powers, but yours? Yours are on a whole other level. Do you remember them?”

Carol tilted her head and paused for a moment, taking in more of Daisy. She squinted, and let the loudest thought out of her head, as odd as it sounded in response. “Your hands are always cold.”

“Oh.” Daisy wasn’t expecting this answer and looked away, but confirmed, “You warm them up.” 

Carol fought the urge to vocalize how warm Daisy made her feel. If they had a workplace-appropriate relationship, she didn’t want to scare Daisy off or cross a line. 

“But you do a lot more than that,” Daisy continued. When she turned back to Carol, she stood and held out a hand. Carol took it and cautiously mirrored her, making sure to lean on the side of the bed. With one arm broken and the other attached to an IV, she couldn’t exactly catch herself if she fell. Up until today, she had been too loopy to know much beyond that her most basic needs were being taken care of and she didn’t have to fight their healing efforts. 

“Good,” Daisy praised at Carol’s steadiness. “But I want you to do more than stand. This might sound crazy, depending on how much you remember, but I want you to—” 

Carol knew where Daisy was going with this and levitated off the ground. Familiar warmth shot through her, and she let go of Daisy’s hand to fly as high as her IV would let her. It was like coming home to herself.

“It’s everything more recent that’s fuzzy.” Carol savored the moment but landed, close to Daisy. She watched the yellow, white, and purple light fade from her fingers. “The last thing I remember, I was on a space station that was about to explode. Did explode. But I’m guessing this is Earth, right? How did I get back?”

She looked at the window, the English on the signs around her, the 21st-century technology. 

“That was about five years ago,” Daisy sighed. Carol’s balance wobbled. “Let’s get you back into bed so you don’t fall over.”   

She was missing five years again . 

“Do you remember Agent Coulson?” 

Carol struggled to remember the name. “He was a friend of Fury’s?” 

“Yeah. He’s our boss. And my dad.” Daisy shrugged. “Adopted dad. It’s a complicated story.” 

Carol frowned. “I’ll remember it eventually, right?” 

Daisy hesitated, rubbing the swirl of a tattoo on her left ring finger. “Yeah, of course.” 

Carol’s eyelids grew heavy, and her head sank into the pillow. Using her powers drained her energy faster than she expected, but she fought the exhaustion. “Do you promise?” 

The question came out more childlike than intended, but Daisy simply brushed Carol’s hair back. “I promise.”

Carol’s last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that Daisy’s touch was as effective for her frightened mind as any medicine was for her aching body. 

—----------------- 

The next few days were focused on Carol’s physical health, with the doctors taking fervent notes on how rapidly her body was healing. And if she stumbled or lost her balance, Daisy was always there to lean on, literally, as she recovered. 

They weaned Carol off the IV, and all that was left to heal were her broken arm and missing memories. Daisy and their team answered Carol’s questions with facts or light half-answers. They were advised to let Carol’s mind heal without retraumatizing her or overwhelming her, so they did their best to hide their heartache at her confusion. 

Daisy sensed Carol had a secret of her own. Carol might not remember Daisy, but Daisy knew Carol better than anyone. It killed Daisy how Carol looked at her, but for the opposite reason Daisy expected it would. Carol didn’t look at her as a stranger but with the same spark and affection as always. It just didn’t mean what it had. 

She wore that look now, as they waited in the hospital room for the nurse to summon her for her arm X-ray. With good results, her tight, stiff Shield super-cast would be replaced by a much lighter, comfortable model. Then, home. Daisy had no idea how to proceed from here. They had gotten in a rhythm in the hospital room. Not a long-term one, but for the situation, they adapted, as they always had. Now, Daisy had to figure out how to explain to Carol that they were each other’s “partners” in every sense. 

Carol was watching her, a question on her lips. Instead of asking it, she smiled and shook her head, as if dismissing the thought entirely. 

“What?” Daisy asked. “I can tell you want to say something, and it’s okay.”

Carol moved to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Daisy and cradling her cast with the other arm. Her expression flashed with a challenge. “You promise you won’t be offended?” 

“I can take it.” Daisy laughed, as amused as she was curious. 

Carol licked her lips. “Listen, I know there’s a lot of context I’m missing. So we may have been over this already. But just in case we didn’t… This is a fresh start for me, in a way. I know my memories are coming back, but it’s still made me realize that life is short, and we need to take the chance, you know? Just jump.” 

She reached out her healthy arm and Daisy took her hand. “Sorry, I’m not really following here. What are we jumping into?” 

“I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t care what Shield rules it would be breaking.” Carol took a deep breath and shrugged her good shoulder. “I’m falling in love with you. I think we’ve have been for a long time, and maybe we were just too scared to say it. And I can tell you feel the same way. You’ve been right here the whole time. Daisy, I don’t remember much of what we’ve been through as partners on this super team, but I don’t think this is what people do when they are just coworkers.”

Carol gestured to the unmade sheets on the cot Daisy was sitting on. 

Daisy’s brain caught up with Carol’s confession. Carol didn’t remember they were married and yet felt something between them. She thought it was a forbidden coworker love. Daisy tried hard not to giggle at the bittersweet irony but couldn’t help the watery smile that bloomed. 

“You’re right. I didn’t know how to tell you—” but that sentence would remain unfinished as the nurses burst in to accompany Carol to her X-ray. Daisy would wait in the room, confession unspoken that not only was their workplace romance mutual, as Carol suspected Daisy’s answer to be, but that they had sealed the deal years ago. 

The words died on Daisy’s lips as she was left alone. She exhaled and ran a hand through her hair before retrieving her laptop. She had about a dozen emails from Jemma asking about details for Carol’s homecoming, from whether they needed to make up a guest room for Carol to what kind of cake she would like. 

Daisy had a feeling that even if Carol didn’t remember they were married, she’d be very on board with sharing a room and a bed. Mission accomplished. She’d helped Carol heal and won her all over again. It wasn’t as magical as if merely the sight of Daisy had brought back Carol’s memories, but fairytale was overrated. Eventually, the amnesia would fade and, as Carol said, this was a fresh start. 

Now just to figure out how to tell her just how correct her assessment of their feelings had been…

—--------------- 

Carol held her hand still for the X-rays, but the best feeling in the world was getting to flex her fingers and roll her wrist around on the walk back to her hospital room. The doctor noticed. 

“Does that hurt at all? Any limits on your range of motion?” 

Carol considered his questions they approached her room. “It’s really sore, but that’s probably normal, right? From being in the cast and the bruises?” 

She tested it out, stretching as they walked through the doorway and Daisy noticed their entrance. 

The doctor took her arm and prodded, pressed, and gently moved her fingers and wrist around, telling her to say something as soon as she felt any pain. 

She stayed quiet. He stopped and watched her face for any cringe or hidden discomfort. “Actually feels good, like stretching when you’ve been in the same position too long.” 

“I’ll be right back.” He rushed out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the radiology lab they had just left. 

Carol and Daisy were alone again. 

“So, you were saying?” Carol prompted. Instead of answering, Daisy took Carol’s newly freed left hand and pressed a kiss to the back, then made a face. 

“Whatever they put on that does not taste good. Kinda metallic?” 

Carol sniffed it herself and laughed. “I’ll go wash it off. If the doctor comes back and says not to get it wet or they’ll have to keep me here another week, tell him I snuck out the back way.” 

Daisy laughed and rolled her eyes. She didn’t say anything but watched Carol closely as she walked to the ensuite. 

Carol noticed something that wouldn’t wash off. She held her hand up and looked closer. When had she gotten a tattoo? Well, that was obvious: during the five years her memory was missing. It was a flower on her left ring finger. Oddly specific placement. The stem and little leaves continued all the way around, with the petals in a circle on top, right where a diamond would traditionally be, shaped almost like a… daisy. 

Oh. OH. 

Carol rushed out of the bathroom and held out her left hand. She could hardly form words, just gaping at the grinning woman waiting for her to figure it out. 

“It’s you.” Carol’s heart raced as she looked to the flower tattoo and to Daisy, whose tears were pooling in her sparkling eyes. 

“Always,” Daisy promised, rushing to hold Carol close. Carol embraced her tightly and choked back her own tears of grief for the missing memories and for their love being more real than she imagined. 

Carol pulled back. “I’m sorry I can’t remember much.”

“It’s okay,” Daisy soothed. “Give it time.” 

“Why do I remember rain?” 

Daisy nodded in encouragement. “It was raining on our honeymoon on the day we got these.” 

Daisy held her own left hand up so Carol could see the treble clef that wove over the top of Daisy’s ring finger and around. 

“It’s beautiful,” Carol said in awe. “So I was right that we’d had that conversation before. But how? I want to know everything.” 

“Actually,” Daisy corrected with a flirtatious bat of her lashes, “we didn’t need that coworkers-to-lovers confession because we were pretty obvious from day one. You said the last thing you remembered was the exploding spaceship five years ago. I was on the closest ship, which became your extract team. We tripped pulling you in, and you landed right on top of me and made some joke about getting to know each other first or at least buying you a drink. And I did, and then we did…” 

“Wow, I moved in fast?” Carol raised an eyebrow. “Too fast?”  

“It was very mutual,” Daisy assured. “Two years later, you popped the question. We’d just finished a mission and were hiking back to the plane, alone with an amazing view, looking out over a valley and all these mountains.”

“Impressed with past me! Not bad. And you said yes?” 

Daisy gave Carol what she was fishing for. “Hell yes. And then a year later, we said for better or worse, in sickness and in health. Which is good because we’re not as indestructible as they all think.” 

The doctor interrupted again, this time trying to contain his excitement at her medical marvels.

“Agent Danvers, we have excellent news. Not only can you go home today, but you won’t need a new cast. No work yet, at least not in the field, and nothing too strenuous, but you seem to have healed yourself.” 

“Uhh… Thank you,” Carol stuttered out. She hadn’t expected that. She’d been cherishing these moments of freedom before being wrapped up in at least a brace.

He asked a few questions about her amnesia and took notes on his tablet. 

“I remember a lot more now.” Carol took her wife’s hand. This was the most unbelievable part of this whole week. Not the blue guy with a memory-erasing and -restoring truncheon. Not that she was on a Shield superhero team. It was that she’d not only fallen in love with Daisy twice now, but this incredible woman was her wife. That part seemed too good to be true. 

The doctor noted the intention behind Carol’s words and his lips turned up at the corner. “Good to hear. If you need to talk to someone, whether in neurology or psychology to process what you’ve been through, here’s the numbers to call for each.” He handed Carol a card, and she passed it to Daisy for safekeeping. 

They checked out and left the hospital together, ready to start their new chapter. 

—------------------ 

In the early hours of the morning a week later, Carol rolled over in their bed onto her sore shoulder and the pain jolted like a lightning bolt to her brain. The last missing pieces flooded in, and in her drowsy state, it hardly registered that this wasn’t a nightmare. It was a flashback: Vin-Tak ready to steal Daisy from her, getting there too late, the impact of the truncheon, and falling with her arm at just the wrong angle. 

She whimpered and, as a defensive reflex, curled up tightly. This woke Daisy up as Carol’s knee hit her lower back. 

“Ow.” Daisy rolled over and saw Carol’s furrowed brow and tightly shut eyes. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Daisy pulled Carol close, and after a minute, Carol panted and eventually relaxed. When her eyes opened, it was like a dark curtain lifted from her brain. 

“Daisy.” Carol said it with a clarity and recognition and awe that had been slowly fading in, now fully restored. “I’m back.” 

[theslytherinskin]

Unlikely Reverie

The moon cast a silvery glow over the Hogwarts grounds, painting the castle walls with an ethereal light. Hermione Granger found herself wandering through the quiet corridors, lost in thought. She often sought solace in the hallowed halls of the school she had once called home, a place that held memories both bitter and sweet.

As she turned a corner, her heart skipped a beat. There, leaning casually against the wall, was Draco Malfoy. His pale hair glinted under the moonlight, and his gray eyes held a mixture of amusement and something else she couldn't quite decipher.

"Well, Granger," he drawled, pushing himself off the wall, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Hermione squared her shoulders, unwilling to let his presence rattle her. "I could ask you the same question, Malfoy. Shouldn't you be off somewhere, perfecting your sneer and practicing your pureblood superiority?"

Draco's lips curled into a smirk. "Ah, but where's the fun in that when I can have a far more intriguing conversation with you?"

Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms. "I highly doubt we have anything to discuss that would be remotely interesting."

"Are you so sure?" Draco stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "We've both changed since the war, Granger. People can surprise you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "Changed, you say? And how exactly have you changed, Malfoy?"

He shrugged, a hint of something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "I've come to realize that the ideals I once held were misguided. Loyalty to a dark wizard isn't worth the pain it caused."

She studied him for a moment, sensing a sincerity that she hadn't expected. "And what about your loyalty to your family?"

Draco's shoulders tensed, and he looked away briefly before meeting her gaze again. "I'm trying to forge my own path, away from the shadows they cast."

Hermione's heart softened slightly, though she fought to keep her emotions in check. "Change isn't easy, Malfoy. But it's good that you're trying."

He offered her a wry smile. "And what about you, Granger? Still the brightest witch of your age, buried under a mountain of books?"

Hermione felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but she held her chin high. "Knowledge is power, Malfoy. Something you might want to consider if you're truly trying to change."

Draco chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Perhaps you could teach me, then. Tutor me in the ways of wisdom."

Her lips twitched into a smile, surprising even herself. "I doubt you could keep up, but I'm always up for a challenge."

As the moon continued its journey across the night sky, Hermione and Draco found themselves engaged in a conversation that was equal parts banter and unexpected connection. The echoes of their shared past remained, but in that fleeting moment, they were just two individuals, seeking understanding amidst the ruins of their old world.

And as they talked, the walls that had divided them for so long seemed to crumble, leaving room for something new, something that neither of them had anticipated – the possibility of an unlikely friendship, and perhaps, even more.

[morally-grey-girlbosses]

Propaganda under the cut.

Rachel

Ok in tower of god everyone's trying to climb the eponymous tower because if you reach the top you can have your greatest desires fulfilled whatever okay Rachel is trying to climb the tower and for whatever reason she was the only person to visit our socially isolated protagonist who lived in a fucking cave and was essentially his only friend (this is before they're climbing the tower). in fact the whole reason the protagonist is climbing is because he wants to be with her and you know what she does? she fucking. fakes an injury and then pushes the protagonist to his death while he's caring for her injury, which he only survives because of his plot armor. she KEEPS BACKSTABBING all her new allies just for a chance to get to the top and yet our protagonist keeps finding it in his heart to forgive her. she's awful and horrible and yet somehow. she is still climbing that thang and you've got to give her credit for that

Galadriel

ok so by the time LotR rolls around she’s a fancy queen in a whole special girl kingdom but she STARTED as the youngest daughter of the youngest son of a king, with five million cousins and three older siblings who were all older and probably better-respected than her; and then some shit happens and the king dies and they all decide to leave Elf Heaven in order to chase down the guy who killed their grandfather, and she is SPECIFICALLY noted as wanting to leave because she wants to rule a kingdom of her own, and she can’t do that in Elf Heaven where there aren’t any openings to rule bc everyone already has a king. so she goes with most of her extended family to try and make their way across the ocean and back to the continent their grandparents travelled to Elf Heaven from, where they hope to avenge the king and also rule some kingdoms (although it’s worth noting!! that other people already live there, and they all KNOW this), and then some more stuff happens and some of her cousins on the “leaving” side start a fight that escalates into a pitched battle where they kill! her mother’s father’s people! (bc she’s also a princess on her mom’s side, lol) and in some versions tolkien decided that she actually fought AGAINST her cousins and killed some people in defense of her mom’s side (which is a BIG DEAL for an elf to Choose to do). after this, her dad is like “actually i Will Not be leaving with you people, murder is Not Okay and i’m going back home to ask the gods for forgiveness and if you had any sense you would too” but galadriel decides SHE’S STILL GOING. anyways then some more stuff happens and her entire extended family on her dad’s side dies, but not before killing some more of her extended family on her mom’s side and also (indirectly) her favorite brother; amongst all this she spends some time as a handmaiden in her great-uncle’s court but eventually decides that that’s not enough for her, so she packs up and heads further east to found her own kingdom, which incidentally will be populated not by her own close family’s subjects, but by some people who at one point were subjects of her great-uncle and may or may not have decided to leave his rule. and then once all the first age drama has died down, even though there is very much a new, undisputed high king of their people on her father’s side who’s still ruling (and doing a damn good job of it), she just Doesn’t swear fealty to him or join his court. instead she founds her own realm. some more intrigue happens and sauron stuff too and she’s forced out of power so she leaves; there’s a war, the king of the place she’s been staying in dies, and then a while later there’s Another big Problem and his son (the new king) just dips, so she just Executively Decides that she’s gonna be in charge of his people now, and THAT’S how she became the Lady of Lothlorien. and then she hangs out being Queen (functionally, if not nominally) there for like two thousand years while occasionally going other places to use her vast magical powers to fight sauron but mostly she just protects her fancy special kingdom. and then LotR happens and she does some mind magic on the entire Fellowship which is also at least a LITTLE creepy, and she admits that she’s Very into the idea of having the power of the One Ring, but doesn’t take it bc she’s got Wisdom now (and also imo bc she’s HAD her chance to rule a kingdom for a very long time so she doesn’t crave power now in the same way she did when she was young). and tolkien writes about her like she’s Perfect but genuinely she’s kinda fucked up and power-hungry! good for her!

[drowninginthoughts27]

2/9 Piercing Word Count: 725

(mcd, somewhat canon compliant, very brief mentions of child abuse) @jegulus-microfic

A blood curtailing scream pierces through the silence of the night.

Then the choked out sobs start.

“Regulus! Get out here!” Sirius cry’s, struggling to catch his breath.

Regulus springs upright in response. Bolting from his room into the center of the apartment. There Sirius sits at the dining room table, head in his hands. His body shaking with the force of his own sobs.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Regulus asks. He’s now crouched down next to Sirius at the table in an attempt to get Sirius to look at him.

“Sirius, look at me! What’s wrong?” Regulus says, a worried look setting across his face. “Do I need to leave? Is me hiding here putting you in any more danger?”

Since the start of the war their worlds have been falling down around them. But Sirius usually doesn’t have much of a visible reaction to it all. Neither does Regulus. Both of them are so used to shutting down their emotions starting at an early age. There was no other way to survive that prison of a house. But especially since Regulus had faked his own death and ran to Sirius they had been rather closed off around one another.

Finally Sirius looks up. Blinking through his tears. Eyeliner running down his face leaving black streaks, fear deep in his gray-blue eyes. The same fear that now most likely reflects back in Regulus’.

“They’re dead!” Sirius cry’s out between shaky breaths.

“Shh, shh, whose de-“ just then Regulus sees what Sirius is holding. A now crumpled piece of parchment. The ink bleeding over the page from Sirius’ tears.

2 simple 5 word sentences. Both with enough power to pierce through Regulus’ soul.

James and Lily are dead. Harry’s the boy who lived. It says in a rushed script. The reality of the situation pierced through him. No further explanations or instructions. But nothing else put on that page could have stopped the ringing Regulus now hears in his own ears. The world spinning around him, vision going in and out- blurring at the edges. Stars filling his field of view.

Memories flood through him of him and James’ short time together.

How he used to hate James under the false pretenses that has stolen Sirius’ attention and affection from him.

How in his 4th year hating James became harder and harder to do. He fought against his growing crush by throwing harsher and harsher comments James’ way. And how apparently that just made James want to be around him and annoy him more and more.

How, one day in Regulus’ 5th year James had followed Regulus up to the astronomy tower with the stupid ‘Marauders Map’ in hand. And James had professed his mutual affection to Regulus. And how there they had had their first kiss under the stars.

How, almost 1 month later Regulus had first said ‘I Love You’ and James had responded with an equally meaningful ‘I Love You’. Holding each other in their arms.

How sitting side by side in the room of requirements they had planned out their entire lives together. Picket fence and all for after the war was over.

And how Regulus had come back to school after winter holidays his 6th year covered in injuryies of varying severity. Which had prompted James to beg Regulus to escape. To come live with him and Sirius. To which Regulus responded by pulling up his left sleeve. Revealing a black slithering tattoo that altered both of their lives forever.

James had since turned his back on Regulus. Leaving him behind, never speaking to one another again. Causing James to find a joy filled life with his childhood crush Lily.

Somewhere in the chaos of his own mind he thinks he hears the door swing open. Feels his own legs give way beneath him. Yelling starts, hexes flying around the apartment, the loud noises of things falling and breaking. Maybe even more wrenching sobs of Sirius’ begging. But Regulus can’t be bothered to care. Because James is dead. His James is dead. And he died thinking Regulus was dead as well. Most likely he died still thinking Regulus was a cruel and evil death eater as well. And there was nothing Regulus could do about it. Nothing he could do to stop the piercing pain of his reality.

[balteren]

{luke thompson, 34, cismale, he/him} We are so glad to see you safe, COMMONWEALTH REPRESENTATIVE VISCOUNT MAXIMILIEN GAUTHIER of FRANCE! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are JOVIAL and DAUNTLESS enough to handle it. Just don’t let your RESTLESSNESS bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU ADVISED AND COUNSELED THE REBELS, AND WHEN THE RECKONING CAME THEY SPARED YOU. {amy, 24, PST, she/her, n/a}

Name: viscount maximilien gauthier Aliases: max  Country: france Gender/Pronouns: cismale, he/him Sexual/Romantic Orientation: bisexual, biromantic Age: 34 Occupation: commonwealth representative  Faceclaim: luke thompson Inspiration: courfeyrac (les miserables), tom wambsgams (succession), fox mulder (the x-files), poe dameron (star wars)  Loyalties: the french rebels, the french people  Pets: a dog named plumet  tldr; Maximilien is a ‘former’ revolutionary that will do anything in his power to start a revolution in France. He can often be found roaming the grounds with his dog, writing in the library, or taking himself to the theatre. He is extremely good-natured and pleasant with most nobility, but is easily annoyed by anyone royal. Unafraid to speak his mind, Max is liable to get into squabbles, and he can come across a bit judgy.

backstory: Born on a small farm in a village outside Lyon, Maximilien was the youngest child in his family by quite a bit, born 16 years after his sister and 20 years after his brother. Due to complications during his birth, his mother died soon after he was born, and his father passed in a hunting accident only a few months later, leaving his siblings to care for him. His brother was almost entirely responsible for teaching him how to hunt, farm, and be generally self sufficient. His brother had a daughter that was only a few months younger than Max, and the two were essentially raised as twins. They were inseparable for most of his life, always getting into trouble in the village and wrecking havoc on the farm. Some time around his 27th birthday, it became clear to Maximilien that he was deeply unhappy where he was, and he announced to his family that he had received a scholarship to study law and politics in Paris. His arrival in Paris was tumultuous, and his scholarship did not cover much more than the bare minimum of his living expenses. His naiveté from his previously idyllic, pastoral life crashed around him, and he quickly grew disillusioned, His politics grew more radical with every passing day, and after vaguely mentioning his frustration to a fellow classmate, he was invited to a small meeting of other radical thinkers. It was here that Maximilien became a revolutionary.  When the people of France finally began pushing back against the monarchy, he was at the center of the action. He was a good shot, and was capable of keeping a clear head amidst the chaos, making him a valuable soldier. His tenacity, bravery, and initiative lead to his quick ascent in the revolutionary ranks. The temporary measures put in place by the Orleans were preposterous to Max, and he questioned why it was acceptable to anyone that had fought to remove the royal family.  Despite his objections, it became clear that many considered the fight over, and tensions generally fizzled. In the aftermath, the people elected him as the commonwealth representative, a job that he considers sacred. He was also offered the title of ‘viscount,’ and accepted it as a way to gain influence and intel that he could pass to the underground channels of rebels that still existed. It is Max’s belief that the people want a republic, and though he appears to be adjusting to a life at court, he is working tirelessly to spark a revolution.

time at lal qila: The early days at Lal Qila were agonizing. Being dragged away from his work- both official and revolutionary- made him feel stir crazy, and he found himself surrounded by people he couldn’t stand. He was prone to squabbling with the royalty in the palace, making a host of enemies and ensuring his reputation as “the dreaded frenchman.” His revolutionary roots were never something he hid- nor did he want to. From his perspective, the people of France had made up their mind, and they wanted a republic, not a monarchy. Being a known revolutionary was nothing but a positive in his mind.  His reputation led to a servant approaching him, asking him to attend a small meeting of rebels. Max agreed, more than happy to provide any help he could, and hopeful they could replicate the same progress that had been made in France. At these meetings, he emphasized the need for organization, patience, and solidarity, and gave them advice on recruiting, arming themselves, and how to gain legitimacy within their communities. To avoid suspicion, he only attended a handful of meetings, and was ultimately unaware of their plan.  When the Reckoning came, Max was as unsuspecting as everyone else, and had no idea who was attacking the palace. During the initial siege, he was returning from a walk with his dog, and hid with a few others in a small, barricaded toolshed that was eventually broken into. When he stood to protect those with him, a small shovel in his hand, he was immediately rushed by all but one of the attackers. Within seconds, there was a knife at his throat, and the blade was only stopped by the shout of the lone rebel. He had recognized Max from the meetings, and considered him an ally. They were ordered to spare him, and to maintain his innocence, they were told to take him to the dungeons, where he (and plumet) stayed for the duration of the reckoning. 

now: Max nearly kissed the ground upon his return to France. He spent a week or two at his family home before returning to Paris, grounding himself and making sense of what had occurred. It wasn’t long before he got restless and returned to Paris to find the people unhappier than they had ever been. He immediately got back to work furthering the goals of the French rebels. The compromise that was eventually reached with the Orleans was unacceptable to Max, and he is still actively recruiting, organizing, and trying to spark the flame that would establish a true republic. It is hard for him to ignore the memory of the Reckoning, the scale of the pain that came from it, and how significant his role might have been. Now, as the world gathers once again, he struggles with some guilt, and is tasked with making it through the event without anyone discovering the role he played in the Reckoning.