#and save everyone from the destruction of decades past

[sapphoismymuse]

ngl when I first watched The Hobbit, I thought there was gonna be a twist where the dragon-sickness turned them into dragons

imagine Thorin growing up in Erebor, watching the sickness take over his grandfather, then one day, they're attacked by a dragon which hoards all of Erebor's gold

Thorin is terrified of the sickness, but nobody else realizes just how connected the dragon and his grandfather's sickness was

then, decades later when they retake Erebor they learn that it was Thror's dragon-sickness that had brought the dragon---because Thror was the dragon

and the longer they spend in the mountain, surrounded by all that gold, the sickness starts taking over Thorin, and he changes, he protects the gold like a dragon protecting his hoard, and there's a glint of gold in his eyes, and his fury is like fire

[getvalentined]

Thinking a lot recently about the constant comparison of Oblivion to Skyrim, particularly claims that Oblivion is superior in every way strictly by virtue of quest length and the greater grandiosity of the organizations in Oblivion, and I think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what's actually going on with Tamriel during the time period of Skyrim. Even though it's like...one of the core concepts of the main storyline.

Putting most of this under a cut for length, but I just...I think people misunderstand what's going on here. This is not a "One Game Good Other Game Bad" post, it's an analysis of a major, key difference in story basis between the two that I think gets lost in the (frankly asinine) argument about which is superior.

See, everything in Skyrim sucks. Every organization you can align yourself with is falling apart. Literally every single one.

That's the point.

To summarize:

The Companions (equivalent to the Fighters' Guild) are about a dozen strong, literally cursed, and their most beloved leader gets murdered very early in the storyline.

The College of Winterhold (equivalent to the Mages' Guild, not to the Arcane University) has seemingly only been saved from collapsing into the sea because a master of Restoration fused himself with the structure itself when the Sea of Ghosts tried to tear it down a little under a century ago and his presence is constantly physically "healing" the foundation.

The Thieves' Guild has lost the favor of every possible patron deity, having been outright cursed by Nocturnal after one of her Nightingales murdered another and stole the gift she offers her champion, while the boon that the organization's founder claimed from her in ages past (the cowl) is missing.

The Dark Brotherhood has been all but completely dismantled, the Night Mother's tomb in Bravil having been raided and struggling to persist without a Listener for over a decade; the bodies of the Night Mother's children have been lost and she's essentially being smuggled from region to region in an attempt to find a safe place to continue operations.

The Empire itself has been kneecapped, forced into a traumatic treaty by a fascist regime determined to strike the beliefs and culture of anyone not Altmer off the face of the planet; the Thalmor have gone so far as to torture and radicalize the figurehead leader of the Nords in order to use their own nationalism and superiority against the Empire, sparking a civil war that will further weaken the Empire and allow the Aldmerri Dominion to destroy it wholecloth.

This extends out into the rest of the world, too! We have confirmed existence of Hist-deaf Argonians. The Dunmer are floundering to recover after the quadruple-whammy that is the fall of the Triumverate, the destruction of Vivec City when Baar Dau finally made impact, the Red Year, and the Argonian uprising. The Bosmer are literally endangered due to habitat loss following a super-isolationist cultural shift due to wars with the Khajiit and Altmer. The Void Nights were devastating to Khajiit culture and population in ways that have yet to be fully explained.

The world is falling apart. Everything is dying.

And then Alduin shows up.

We all kind of talk about Alduin carrying on as World-Eater through the course of the Skyrim storyline like it's him being a piece of shit, since he'd started it ages ago and was just displaced in time to land on the Last Dragonborn's head in the Fourth Era, but I don't think that's the case.

Based on the state of things, I think Alduin arrived right on time. I think it's the end of the world. The only reason he "should" be stopped is because the Last Dragonborn has the capacity to stop the world from ending in a more down-to-earth sense than just defeating Alduin: they can't save everyone, but they can "fix" every single organization that's holding "the world" together.

They can align with the Imperials and keep the civil war from further crippling them, keeping the Empire from being too weak to push back against the Aldmerri Dominion.

They can save the College of Winterhold, the only group in the right place at the right time to stop the Eye of Magnus from opening, and in doing so make sure that the Psijics are able to put it somewhere nobody else can find it.

They can lead the Companions, cure the curse for those members who don't want to run with Hircine after death, which bolsters their spirits enough to keep doing what they can even when everyone else is trying to kill each other. A single neutral martial force in the middle of a civil war.

They can regain Nocturnal's trust for the Thieves' Guild, restore the Nightingales, and in doing so they can return the luck that was stolen from them as punishment for Mercer Frey's transgression. They can even reclaim the Crown of Barenziah and award the guild with a paragon to increase their newly-regained luck.

They can hear the Night Mother, becoming Listener for the Dark Brotherhood to restore the balancing force of Sithis in the world, purify the most broken Sanctuary the Brotherhood has ever had, and finish a story set into motion way back in the Third Era—Emperor Titus Mede II is murdered under the order of a Motierre, a descendant of a mark the Brotherhood specifically kept from dying during the Oblivion Crisis.

The Last Dragonborn can't do anything outside Skyrim—there's nothing they can do for the Argonians or the Bosmer or the Khajiit, and they can only do very little for the Dunmer via work in Solstheim—but they can work with every single guild or guild-adjacent group, strengthening the Empire to stand against the biggest threat to Tamrielic culture since the First Era, and in doing so they can make it so the world isn't ready for Alduin to eat it.

The Hero of Kvatch exists when Tamriel, and presumably Nirn as a whole is in the prime of its life, that's what makes the Oblivion Crisis such a big deal. This is a world that isn't ready to give up, it still has the strength to fight, it just needs someone standing at the head to direct it. The Last Dragonborn comes into the story when everything is falling apart and nothing really feels worthwhile, when it's hard to see why the world is worth saving. They have the chance to prove that there's still some life left here, that the world isn't too far gone to save—Alduin arrived right on time, it's the Last Dragonborn's job to change that.

I can see how coming from Oblivion to Skyrim would feel disappointing and hollow, but I'm pretty sure that's literally the point of the story.

Oblivion tells you the world is worth saving because it's got so much left to live for, even with the odds stacked so high against it. Skyrim asks you whether a world that's dying is still a world worth saving, and it's up to you to prove that it is.

[beforetimes]

Okay I lied about going to bed. Don’t tell my cat. He’ll be disappointed in me for skipping snoozles and snugs

ANYWAY, further question about the Shizun!LBH and disciple!SQQ au. Does Shen Yuan still blow himself up?? Because I feel like he would (he would it’s canon) and also, so much more ✨ a n g s t ✨ here.

Like yea, canon events were angsty. But in this universe, Luo Binghe was convinced Shen Yuan was dead for years where as Shen Qingqiu always knew Binghe would come back.

And then said disciple suddenly shows up alive in Jin Lan City. They get into situations and misunderstandings. Things happen. Things go wrong.

It absolutely needs to come out publicly at some point (maybe during Luo Binghe’s “trial” I proposed in my last ask 🤔) that Shen Yuan is a demon and probably the new demon emperor everyone’s been hearing rumors about (the system would make him put together an empire like the og did or something probably to make him appropriately villain like). And the ensuing chaos and backlash and controversy of the scandal all culminate into Luo Binghe having a qi deviation driven from his depression the past few years and his grief he never got over and Shen Yuan being right there in front of him but still so far away.

And Shen Yuan, who is absolutely convinced Luo Binghe doesn’t care about him at all, tries to save his Shizun from a deviation and sacrifices himself instead of letting the original goods death catch up with him (he really doesn’t want to die tortured by Luo Binghe). And Luo Binghe can do nothing but watch in helpless horror as his disciple actually dies this time in his arms. And this time, there a body. And no escape from the fact that Shen Yuan is deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddea—

…and yea I just think it’d be neat to watch a human Binghe seeing his disciple die for a second time (he only had him back for a few days was it even real? Did Binghe dream it? Maybe he’s just in a nightmare and he’ll wake up in the morning and Shen Yuan will still be alive and the Immortal Alliance never happened) and loosing it. Like, yea demon!Luo Binghe stole his Shizun’s corpse and slept next to it for five years while fighting the war god, which was a kinda weird, but he at least had the excuse of being a half demon going crazy from Xin Mo.

What’s human!Binghe’s excuse?

dw we'll keep it btw us. your cat will never know.

and oughhh. see i wasn't sure about the stuff that'd go down post-abyss when i initially started posting about this au but!! the way you describe the way the plot would twist to suit shen yuan and luo binghe's new roles are. so good. and makes me actually want to look more in depth at that period of time instead of staying in the perpetual pre abyss limbo (which happens to be my favourite part of the book if i'm being honest. LOL.)

love the continued emphasis on the fact that luo binghe thinks shen yuan is dead especially because i don't think shen yuan, with how oblivious he generally is, would realize why this seems to be such a big deal to luo binghe. or why he seems so constantly surprised and speechless around him. to him this is just going through the motions of the story but he's not like. 10% in the front of his mind aware that everyone else doesn't know what to expect.

and ouh the qi deviation. i'm slightly torn between whether or not it should be shen yuan or luo binghe who essentially blows themselves up. because i can see the argument for luo binghe, since they're changing places and the amount of stress from the past few years definitely would've gotten to him but!!! i think the angst potential with shen yuan—very confused from the back and forth luo binghe's been putting him through, weilding xin mo, losing grasp of the plot he's spent more than a decade obsessing over, waiting for his inevitable death only for the rug to be pulled out from under him—i think he'd lose it! i think he'd self destruct and think the world better for it because then he doesn't have to die fighting his shizun; he doesn't want the last thing he has to do on this earth be hurting luo binghe after everything. so he implodes, almost, expecting to fall apart alone and hated.

but luo binghe! steps close to him, takes the sword away, "dies" in the process. because like. i love the idea of luo binghe dying while knowing he loves shen yuan. while shen yuan is left behind to process for however long it takes to realize that as well. all the while left searching somewhere for luo binghe's body. (in my minds eye, luo binghe disappears due to the system's intervention; they can't let their main character die! so he's whisked away for his body to heal in a sort of limbo before he's returned to the world again).

i also think it would be soooo fun for shen yuan, during the years where he's alive while luo binghe is presumed dead to grow intensely obsessive / possessive of just the idea of him. sort of turning the tables on their first dynamic where luo binghe saw shen yuan as a puzzle to solve that he got somewhat obsessive over. but that's just my idea for the implosion thing. as for the trial and water prison—! i will figure that out some other time i think. smile.

masterpost

[sirxaibs]

Touya Todoroki X Reader

✮⋆˙ I Am Here ✮⋆˙

‼️Genuine trigger warning. ‼️ If you have a hard time with people lashing out and if panic attacks trigger you, Do Not Read.

masterlist

Does Dabi get the chance to be happy and normal? It’s after the war and he was taken back in. He really doesn’t deserve it. or so he thinks.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The world was healing. Slowly but surely, people were rebuilding their lives, picking up the broken pieces, and shaping them into something better. The war had left scars on the land, on the people, on their souls but even scars could fade with time. Dabi, or how he’s been going by since he got back, Touya, wasn’t sure if his ever would.

He watched from a distance as his family talked and laughed together. It was strange. Foreign. A sight he never thought he’d see. Natsuo nudged Shoto, who rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. Rei placed a gentle hand on Endeavor’s arm, and even though he still looked guilty, even though he knows she shouldn’t even go near him, he let her. And then there was you.

You fit into the Todoroki family like you had always belonged. You stood beside Fuyumi, laughing at something she said, your eyes bright with warmth. You were always like that light, warmth, love. The things Touya had never believed in. The things he had never thought he deserved. Until you.

You had been his contradiction. A pro hero who should have seen him as nothing but a villain, yet you had looked at him like he was human. You had never made excuses for him, never pretended he hadn’t done terrible things, but you had seen him. And because of you, he had started to believe, just for a moment, that maybe he wasn’t beyond saving. That maybe he could be more than destruction.

But that was back then. Now, everyone was moving on. You were happy, smiling, growing. And yet, he wasn’t. He felt stuck, caught between his past and a future he wasn’t sure he had a place in. Watching you get along with his family should have made him feel… something. Hope, maybe. Comfort. Instead, all it did was remind him of how much he didn’t belong.

Years of resentment didn’t just disappear. The hatred, the anger, the loneliness. he had fed off of it for so long. Letting go of it felt like losing a part of himself. How was he supposed to just sit with them, talk with them, pretend like there weren’t decades of pain between them? And yet… he wanted to.

He wanted to be what you had been for him. A reason to believe in something better. He wanted to learn how to be a part of this family, to see if love could exist here the way it had existed with you. But it was terrifying. What if he wasn’t capable of it? What if, in the end, he was still the same broken, angry person who would never fit?

His hands clenched into fists. Maybe it was okay if he wasn’t moving on as fast as everyone else. Maybe it was okay if healing took time. Because at least now, he had a reason to try.

Touya wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching from a distance. The laughter, the conversations, the warmth it all felt like something happening in another world, one he had no right to step into. But then you saw him. Your smile didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate. It was the same as it had always been steady, real. You said something to Fuyumi, and then, without a second thought, you started walking toward him.

Touya considered leaving. It wouldn’t have been hard. Just turn around, disappear before you could reach him. But his feet didn’t move. he was just tired of running. You stopped in front of him, tilting your head slightly, studying him the way you always did, like you were waiting for him to say something. But when he didn’t, you just sighed and reached out, grabbing his wrist with an easy familiarity.

“Come sit with us.” It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a demand, either. It was just you, offering him a choice.

He scoffed, looking away. “not sure if i’m wanted”

The world was healing. Slowly but surely, people were rebuilding their lives, picking up the broken pieces, and shaping them into something better. The war had left scars on the land, on the people, on their souls but even scars could fade with time. Dabi, or how he’s been going by since he got back, Touya, wasn’t sure if his ever would.

He watched from a distance as his family talked and laughed together. It was strange. Foreign. A sight he never thought he’d see. Natsuo nudged Shoto, who rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. Rei placed a gentle hand on Endeavor’s arm, and even though he still looked guilty, even though he knows she shouldn’t even go near him, he let her. And then there was you.

You fit into the Todoroki family like you had always belonged. You stood beside Fuyumi, laughing at something she said, your eyes bright with warmth. You were always like that light, warmth, love. The things Touya had never believed in. The things he had never thought he deserved. Until you.

You had been his contradiction. A pro hero who should have seen him as nothing but a villain, yet you had looked at him like he was human. You had never made excuses for him, never pretended he hadn’t done terrible things, but you had seen him. And because of you, he had started to believe, just for a moment, that maybe he wasn’t beyond saving. That maybe he could be more than destruction.

But that was back then. Now, everyone was moving on. You were happy, smiling, growing. And yet, he wasn’t. He felt stuck, caught between his past and a future he wasn’t sure he had a place in. Watching you get along with his family should have made him feel… something. Hope, maybe. Comfort. Instead, all it did was remind him of how much he didn’t belong.

Years of resentment didn’t just disappear. The hatred, the anger, the loneliness. he had fed off of it for so long. Letting go of it felt like losing a part of himself. How was he supposed to just sit with them, talk with them, pretend like there weren’t decades of pain between them? And yet… he wanted to.

He wanted to be what you had been for him. A reason to believe in something better. He wanted to learn how to be a part of this family, to see if love could exist here the way it had existed with you. But it was terrifying. What if he wasn’t capable of it? What if, in the end, he was still the same broken, angry person who would never fit?

His hands clenched into fists. Maybe it was okay if he wasn’t moving on as fast as everyone else. Maybe it was okay if healing took time. Because at least now, he had a reason to try.

Touya had spent so many years convinced that warmth wasn’t meant for him. That love was something distant, a thing he could only witness from the outside but never hold. But there you were right in the middle of it, smiling, laughing, belonging. And it hurt. Because it should’ve been him.

He should’ve been the one sitting at that table, the one making his mother smile, the one who could joke with his siblings like they hadn’t spent years with an ocean of silence between them. But instead, it was you someone who hadn’t grown up in their house, who hadn’t carried their burdens.

And somehow, you made it look effortless. Touya thought he could handle it. Thought he could ignore the sharp ache twisting in his chest, the way his fingers curled into his sleeves like he could claw his way through the feeling. But then your eyes found him.

Even from across the yard, even with the voices and laughter around you, you saw him. And without hesitation, you excused yourself and walked toward him. He should’ve looked away. Should’ve turned and left before you could get too close. But you were always good at pulling him in.

“Hey,” you said, stopping in front of him. The way you looked at him was so unbearably soft, so tender, it made his throat tighten. He swallowed, glancing past you at the scene behind you. “…You’re doing good with them,” he muttered.

You tilted your head. “With who?”

He huffed out a dry laugh. “My family.”

You didn’t say anything right away, just watching him like you were waiting for him to say what was really on his mind. like always, he caved under your gaze. “They like you,” he said, voice quieter this time. “Better than me, probably.”

The words felt bitter, heavy. He hadn’t meant to say them, but once they were out, he couldn’t take them back. Your brows furrowed, and before he could pull away, your hand found his wrist. Your touch was warm, grounding, and he hated how much he leaned into it.

“Touya,” you said, voice gentle but firm. “That’s not true.”

He scoffed. “Isn’t it?” His gaze flickered toward the table, toward the people who had spent years without him. “I don’t even know if they want me here.”

Your grip tightened. “They do.”

He let out a slow breath, staring at you. “And how do you know that?”

You smiled, small but sure. “Because I do. And if I do, then I know they do, too.”

Something in his chest cracked. He didn’t know how you did that. how you always knew what to say, how you could make him believe in something better, even when everything inside him screamed that he shouldn’t.

“…You’re annoying,” he muttered.

You grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

He sighed, long and slow. The weight in his chest didn’t disappear, but it felt a little easier to carry with you standing there, holding onto him like he was worth something.

“Come sit with me,” you said, voice quieter now, more personal. A request just for him. And this time, he let you lead him forward. “I think you’d be surprised.” Your voice was soft, patient. You always had too much of that when it came to him. He wanted to argue, to push you away like he had done a thousand times before. But he didn’t. Maybe it was because he was tired. it was because, deep down, he knew you wouldn’t stop until he at least tried. it was because a part of him wanted to believe you were right. With a heavy sigh, he let you pull him forward. The conversation stilled slightly as the two of you approached. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him. his family, the people he had spent years hating, resenting, fighting. His shoulders tensed on instinct, waiting for something to go wrong. But nothing did.

Fuyumi was the first to speak, her voice light but careful. “Touya, do you want anything to eat? We made enough for everyone.”

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. A dinner invitation, like this was normal. Like he was just some estranged brother finally coming home. He hesitated, glancing at you. Your fingers were still wrapped around his hand, a quiet anchor.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Sure.”

Natsuo smirked slightly, but there was no malice in it. “Guess miracles do happen.”

Touya rolled his eyes but didn’t snap back. The tension in his chest eased just a little. You smiled at him, giving his wrist one last squeeze before letting go. The absence of your touch made something inside him twist, but he ignored it. This wasn’t easy. It wasn’t comfortable. But maybe it didn’t have to be.

————————————

days weren’t always easy, there’s always a breaking Point. You could feel it before it happened the way the tension in his body coiled too tight, his breathing coming in sharp, uneven pulls. It was like standing beside a storm, knowing the winds were about to tear through everything in their path. Touya had been unraveling all day.

It started with the small things. His hands shaking when he thought no one was looking. The way he flinched at casual touches, like his own body didn’t know how to exist in this space. How his words had grown quieter, like he was sinking further into himself. You had been here before. You knew the signs. So when night fell and the house was quiet, you didn’t leave him alone. You sat beside him in his room, letting the silence stretch between you. Not pushing, not forcing just being there.

But then his hands went to his head, fingers digging into his hair as his breathing hitched, and you knew it was starting. “Touya,” you murmured, reaching out slowly, carefully.

He let out a sharp, ragged breath, shaking his head. “I—I can’t—” His voice broke, and then it all came crashing down. He folded in on himself, arms wrapping around his body like he could hold himself together, but it wasn’t working. His shoulders trembled, his breath came too fast, too shallow.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” you whispered, placing your hands over his. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. “I don’t— I don’t know how to do this,” he gasped. “I don’t know how to be here.” His voice cracked on the last word, and it hit you like a punch to the chest.

You moved closer, gently pulling his hands away from his hair before he could bruise himself. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” you said softly. “Just stay with me. Just for this moment.” His body shook, his breaths ragged and uneven. He looked lost. Broken. And it killed you.

And then the door creaked open.

“Touya—?”

Shoto.

Touya’s entire body went rigid. His breath hitched, and the raw vulnerability in his expression shattered into something unreadable. Panic. Shame. Fear. Shoto froze in the doorway, eyes wide with uncertainty. He hadn’t meant to intrude. He had probably just been checking in, but it was too late.

Touya ripped himself away from you so fast it nearly knocked you back. He stumbled to his feet, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his skin.

“Get out,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

Shoto didn’t move. His gaze flickered to you, then back to his brother. He took a hesitant step forward. “Touya, I—”

“Get out!” Touya roared, voice cracking under the weight of it. His breathing was harsh, erratic, like he was barely holding himself together. His entire body was trembling, and you could see it that look in his eyes. He was spiraling. You stood quickly, placing yourself between them before things could get worse. “Touya, look at me.”

He didn’t. He just stared past you, chest rising and falling too fast, hands shaking like he didn’t know whether to run or lash out.

“They don’t want me here,” he whispered, voice breaking apart. His gaze was unfocused, distant. “They never did. I should’ve just—” He cut himself off, but you knew what he was about to say. I should’ve just stayed gone.

Shoto’s expression twisted, something like hurt flashing across his face. “That’s not true.”

Touya let out a hollow, bitter laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. You turned back to him, slowly reaching for his hands. “You’re not alone in this,” you said softly. “I promise.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His hands twitched, fingers curling slightly like he wanted to believe you. But the storm inside him was still raging, and you weren’t sure if he could hear you over the roar of it.

Shoto took another step forward. “Touya—”

“Stop saying my name like that! YOU have no rig by to be using my name like that” Touya’s voice cracked, and before you could stop him, he stumbled back, pressing his hands to his head. His breathing hitched, and then his knees buckled. You caught him before he could hit the ground.

“Touya, breathe,” you pleaded, holding onto him tightly. His body was shaking so badly it scared you. “Just stay with me. I’ve got you.”

His fingers clutched desperately at your arms, like he was trying to ground himself in something anything. And then, finally, finally, he let himself sink into you. You looked up at Shoto, who still stood frozen in the doorway, conflict and concern written all over his face.

“Give us a minute,” you murmured, your voice steady but gentle.

Shoto hesitated, then nodded, stepping back and quietly shutting the door behind him.

You turned your attention back to Touya, running a hand through his hair as he buried his face against your shoulder. His breath was uneven, but it was slowing, bit by bit.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, voice hoarse, exhausted.

“I know,” you murmured. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

He didn’t say anything, but the way he clung to you told you enough.

You held him tighter, whispering quiet reassurances into his hair.

Touya didn’t move for a long time. His breathing was still uneven, his body still trembling, but he didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, curled against you like he was afraid to let go.

You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and steady, grounding him. “I’m here,” you murmured, voice soft. “I’ve got you.”

His grip on your shirt tightened. “I don’t—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes were red rimmed, unfocused, still swimming with emotion. Still hurting. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” you said gently.

He exhaled shakily, looking past you. “I’m never gonna be what they want.”

Your heart twisted. “You don’t have to be anything for them. You just have to be here.”

He scoffed, but there wasn’t as much heat behind it. “Yeah? Shoto doesn’t even want me here.”

You sighed. “Shoto’s just awkward. You know he’s already bad at approaching people in general.”

Touya let out a breath, something that wasn’t quite a laugh, but not as bitter as before. “That’s not fair. He tries.”

You raised a brow. “So now you’re defending him?”

He frowned slightly, but you could see the shift. The way his hands weren’t shaking as much. How his breath wasn’t quite as ragged.

“He just, he’s got a lot of shit to figure out too, alright?” Touya muttered. “It’s not like this is easy for him either.”

You couldn’t help it you smiled. Because there it was. He cares. Touya caught the look on your face and immediately scowled. “What?”

You shook your head, amused. “Nothing.”

His frown deepened. “That was not a ‘nothing’ face.”

You just kept smiling, squeezing his hand. “I’m just glad you’re here.” His breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to argue. But then he exhaled, letting himself lean into you again, just slightly.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay.”

He just sat there, pressed against you, his breath slow and uneven but gradually steadying. The weight of everything still hung heavy between you, but the worst of the storm had passed.

You didn’t rush him. You didn’t try to force him to talk or move before he was ready. You just stayed there, one hand resting in his hair, the other loosely intertwined with his fingers. Eventually, his grip tightened.

“…You always do this,” he muttered, voice quiet, hoarse from earlier.

You hummed. “Do what?”

“Stay.” His fingers twitched in yours, like he was trying to put more words to it but couldn’t.

You smiled softly, pressing your forehead against his temple. “Of course I do.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

His shoulders tensed. “You. This. Us.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, blue eyes searching yours, raw and unguarded. “I was a villain. I hurt people. I” He swallowed hard. “I hurt you.”

Your heart ached, but not for the reasons he probably thought. “Touya,” you murmured, cupping his face in your hands. He stiffened at the touch but didn’t pull away. You brushed your thumb along the rough, scarred skin of his cheek. “I know who you were. But I also know who you are.”

His breath hitched. His hands curled around your wrists, holding you there, like he was afraid you’d slip away.

“You love so much,” you whispered. “Even when you try not to. Even when you don’t realize it.”

He let out a shaky exhale, leaning into your touch despite himself. “I don’t know how to be what you deserve.”

You smiled, soft and certain. “You already are.”

His eyes widened, and for a second, something in them cracked open something vulnerable, something real. Then, slowly, carefully, he pressed his forehead against yours. His hands slid up to cup the sides of your face, fingers trembling slightly, like he was still afraid this wasn’t real.

“…I love you,” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath.

Your chest tightened. Not because you doubted it, but because you had always known. Even when he was fighting it. Even when he thought he wasn’t capable of love at all.

You smiled, tilting your head just enough to brush your nose against his. “I love you too.”

He let out a shaky breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. Then, without another word, he closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours gentle, uncertain, but there.

And for the first time in a long time, Touya let himself believe in something good.

The Next Step

The morning was quiet.

The house had settled into a strange kind of peace—the kind that only comes after a storm. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But it was something.

You stood off to the side of the courtyard, watching as Touya—Dabi—approached Shoto. His movements were tense, like he was forcing himself forward before his instincts could tell him to run.

Shoto, for his part, had been lingering outside as well. He had been expecting this. You could tell by the way his posture straightened when he noticed Touya walking toward him.

You stayed back, letting them have their space.

Touya shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders stiff. “Look, I—” He sighed, tilting his head back like he hated every second of this. “I was a dick last night.”

Shoto blinked, clearly caught off guard by how fast that came out. “You were upset,” he said simply.

Touya huffed. “That’s not an excuse.” He kicked at the ground. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Shoto studied him for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

Touya’s eye twitched. “Okay?”

Shoto shrugged. “I accept your apology.”

Touya stared at him, as if waiting for something else—for Shoto to fight him on it, to dig into him like their father would have. But he didn’t.

And that was probably more jarring than anything.

You watched as the tension in Touya’s shoulders lessened, even if just slightly.

“…Alright then,” he muttered.

Shoto hesitated before glancing your way. “Did they put you up to this?”

You grinned, resting your chin on your hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Touya rolled his eyes, shoving past Shoto. “I’m going inside before this gets any more sentimental.”

You clapped your hands together, stepping forward before he could escape. “Actually, I was thinking we should go get ice cream.”

Both brothers froze. Shoto blinked at you, as if trying to process whether he heard you correctly. Touya turned back slowly, brow furrowing. “What?”

“Ice cream,” you repeated cheerfully. “You know, that sweet, frozen treat people eat when they need to cool off? I think we all deserve some after last night.”

Touya’s nose scrunched. “That’s what?” He glanced at Shoto, who looked equally at a loss. “girl i swear to god-”

You shrugged.

Shoto shifted awkwardly, clearly not opposed to the idea but also not sure how to respond. “…I like ice cream,” he said after a long pause.

Touya narrowed his eyes at him. “You would.”

Shoto frowned. “What does that mean?”

Touya just sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just go before you start making this worse.”

You beamed, throwing your arms around both of them before they could protest. “Great! My treat.”

Shoto stiffened slightly at the sudden contact, while Touya made a noise of protest, trying to wiggle out of your hold.

“…This is already worse,” he muttered.

You only grinned wider.

——

The three of you stood in front of the ice cream display, the cold air from the freezer fogging up the glass as you debated your choices. “This place has too many options,” Touya muttered, staring at the menu like it had personally offended him. “Why do people need this many flavors?”

Shoto, scanning the choices with an alarming level of concentration, replied, “Variety is good.”

“Not when it makes decisions harder.”

You hummed, tilting your head as you leaned into Touya’s shoulder just slightly. “What, having trouble picking? Want me to decide for you?”

Touya scoffed, but he didn’t move away. “Like hell I’d trust you with that.”

You smirked. “Come on, I’d pick something good.”

“You’d pick something ridiculous.”

You gasped in mock offense, nudging him with your hip. “I would not.”

He gave you a dry look. “I can literally see you considering the weirdest flavor here.” You grinned but said nothing, because he wasn’t wrong.

Shoto, still deep in thought, finally spoke. “Pistachio is good.”

Both you and Touya turned to look at him.

“That’s a weird choice,” Touya said bluntly.

Shoto frowned. “No, it isn’t.”

“Who even gets pistachio?”

“A lot of people.”

Touya made a face, crossing his arms. “Sounds fake.”

You laughed under your breath, barely stopping yourself from leaning into him again. He was still stiff in public, but the way his arm was just barely brushing yours told you he didn’t mind.

“Well, I think I’m getting cookies and cream,” you said, glancing back at the menu. “What about you, Touya?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno. Maybe vanilla.”

You gave him a look. “Vanilla?”

“What’s wrong with vanilla?”

“Nothing,” you said, clearly lying. “It’s just… safe.”

Touya rolled his eyes. “Not everything needs to be crazy like you”

“Boring,” you teased, bumping his arm lightly.

Shoto, seemingly ignoring the entire exchange, suddenly said, “We should have gone somewhere that serves soba.”

Both you and Touya turned to him again. Touya stared. “What?”

Shoto looked completely serious. “Soba is good.”

Touya let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a freak.”

Shoto didn’t even flinch. “You just ordered a boring flavour.”

“…Tch.” Touya clicked his tongue but had no argument.

You chuckled, stepping forward to finally place your order. “Alright, alright, let’s get our ice cream. And maybe next time, Shoto, we’ll take you to a soba shop instead.”

Shoto nodded, as if that was the best idea he had heard all day.

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 4.3k

CHAPTER 2: March 1944 - March 1945

March 15, 1944. 6:23 PM

Minnie passed away a few nights ago. That old hag finally did it. She’s with Lewis now, resting while the rest of us are left to wonder if this war will ever end.

We had the funeral two days ago. It was small and quiet, just like how she would’ve wanted it. Everyone was crying, myself included. My best friend is gone and I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her.

I didn’t write about any of this until now because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I was sad, but mostly angry. I’m so happy for Minnie, but I can’t help but feel jealous of her. We were both supposed to grow old together, but now she’s in the ground while I’m still stuck out here. Every day, I check to see if I have a strand of gray hair and of course, I don’t.

I did get a pleasant surprise. Becca stopped by with a whole box of pastries that her mother had made for me and Laura. It was very sweet of them to do that. They even made me some eclairs, my absolute favorite. Laura hasn't been working this week — she’s grieving over Minnie while wondering if her son will survive the war — so I promised Becca I’d bring some of the sweets to her.

This young lady has become an avid reader and she’s always asking me for book recommendations. It was slow at first, with her coming back a few months after she got her first book. She didn’t say, but I think it took a while because she was still upset about her brother leaving for Europe. But since she’s come back, she’s stopped by once a month. I don’t do it for anyone else, but I also started to let her borrow the books. As long as she brings them back in perfect condition, she doesn’t have to pay for them. Who am I to stop a young lady from reading?

I finally did ask Becca about her brother. Turns out his name is James, though everyone — even the papers — calls him Bucky. Becca calls him Jimmy, which I think is sweet. She said it’s been a bit since they’ve heard from him, but he’s now a part of the Howling Commandos with Captain America, fighting proudly for our freedom.

I was also shocked to find out that Captain America was the blonde boy with the balloon from all those years ago. That skinny, tiny kid is now America’s hero and the boy I saved is part of his unit. Funny how the world works.

You stopped writing for a moment.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I think about James more than I want to. I’ve been living with this curse for many decades, yet he’s the only person whom I’ve saved who recognized me. I’ve done a pretty decent job of avoiding people from my past, but the very few I’ve met never seemed to recognize me. They’ve all looked at me strangely, of course, but never said anything about it in the end. Why would they? They all believed I had died.

But James… He’s the only one who saw me for me. Who looked at my face and knew that I was the one who saved him. He still is the only one.

It pained me to lie to him.

I barely know him, but…maybe, if I’m brave enough one day, I could tell him the truth. I’d love to sit down with him and chat over a cup of coffee. Give him the decency and say that, yes, I did save you all those years ago. You were right. It was me.

The bell jiggled, taking your attention away from your journal to the front door. You smiled at a woman who walked in, somewhere in her forties with brown hair, looking around the cozy interior of Riverside Bookshop.

You smiled at her warmly. “Hello. Welcome to Riverside. My name is Doris,” you said, motioning toward the shelves behind you. “We’re about to close soon, but let me know if you need anything.”

The woman smiled back, her eyes scanning the shelves as she wandered through the aisles. It wasn’t unusual for customers to stop by just before closing, searching for one last book to take home. You had done the same when you were younger—well, younger.

After a few moments, the woman pulled a book from one of the lower shelves. It was an old one, but also the kind that had been loved and read over the years. Its edges frayed and the cover was fading, but the woman still carried it to the front desk with a soft smile.

“That’s a lovely choice,” you commented. “One of my personal favorites. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

She chuckled, and you could tell by her eyes that she was excited to dive into it. She paid for the book, thanking you again as you handed her the change.

“Have a good evening,” you called after her, stepping back behind the counter to finish closing up for the night.

It was too late to go to Henry’s and store your journal there. For just this night, you allowed yourself to believe the store wouldn’t somehow catch on fire and burn your writing, so you tucked your journal into one of the drawers. You dimmed the lights, turned the sign on the door to ‘Closed,’ adjusted your bag and exited.

You locked the front door just as a sharp scream echoed through the night air, pulling your attention to the empty streets.

Something tugged at your heart.

You ran as fast as you could down the street until you reached a dark alley, where you saw her—the woman who just bought a book—struggling against a man who had her by the throat.

He had a knife in the other hand.

Decades ago, you would’ve hesitated—run away even—but now you were already right next to them, swinging your bag at the man. Too distracted by the woman, he stumbled back as you hit him on the head. He faltered briefly, but then lunged at you with his knife. You quickly moved to your right, letting him fall against the wall while you grabbed the woman’s hand and bolted back into the street.

Once you were further down the street, you slowed down while the woman gasped for air. You looked behind to see if the man was following, and sighed deeply when you saw that he wasn’t.

“My goodness,” the woman said, rubbing at her throat as she looked at you. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You forced out a smile, making sure to keep your left side hidden from her view. “You’re welcome. You should head home now—before it gets too dark,” you said quietly, stepping back.

She nodded, still breathing heavily, and quickly stepped away. But the moment she began to leave, you immediately pressed your hand against your side and walked the other way. The ground beneath you seemed to sway, but you kept moving, one step at a time. The pain in your side grew unbearable, but you pushed forward.

You found a quiet alley quickly, away from the streetlights, and collapsed against the wall. Gasping, you hid behind a couple of crates as you raised your hand, examining the blood staining your fingers. You closed your eyes, letting the cool night air wash over you. The sounds of the city faded, and the sharp pain in your side became all-consuming.

You let yourself release one last breath, wondering if you needed to find a new name.

<><><>

You opened your eyes to the biting cold, immediately feeling a familiar ache in your side. You blinked awake, grimacing at the uneven, almost rocky surface you were lying on. You murmured a curse at the world underneath your breath; it wasn’t the first time you woke up in an uncomfortable place. But as you slowly took in the sky and leaves looming over you, the faint scent of pine trees mixed with the damp earth invaded your nose, and you gulped.

You immediately sat up, breathing raggedly while looking around to see that the rugged peaks of unfamiliar mountains surrounded you. This wasn’t your home. This wasn’t Brooklyn. Where the hell were you—

A deafening explosion shattered the silence, causing you to scream and scramble to your feet. You spun around to find cover, choosing to duck behind a large boulder while your breaths came in frantically. There were a few more explosions, followed by gunshots and yelling, and you couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

You had died nearly a hundred times—letting yourself get stabbed, shot, trampled for the sake of others, only to wake up a month later in your home. You were no longer afraid of death, but this was different. You had never woken up anywhere else but your home, where the familiar smell of old wood and novels greeted you. But here, only the freezing wind and echoes of explosions seemed to shake the ground under your feet.

You trembled as the gunshots came closer—you had no idea what you were supposed to do. There was no place to hide, no familiar faces, no quiet corner to retreat to. You peered cautiously over the edge of the boulder, trying to make sense of your surroundings. But then, your breath caught in your throat as you spotted a young man running in the distance.

Your heart jumped at the sight of James, his face streaked with dirt and his uniform torn in places. He heaved with a pained expression as he dove behind another boulder.

Why was he here? 

No. Why were you there with him?

James’s hands trembled as he reloaded his rifle, his eyes scanning the distance through the scope. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cold, and every muscle in his body screamed at him to rest, though he didn’t have a second to spare. He tried to keep his breath even, but his lungs burned as he tried to spot the enemy.

He had been hiding before, silently taking down any HYDRA soldier who got too close to Steve or the rest of the Howling Commandos. He tried to be careful, but then one of the soldiers caught a glint of metal from his rifle and threw a grenade at him. James barely managed to brace himself behind cover before the explosion went off, and he was forced to run. He had no idea where his combat unit was—it was just him and a bunch of HYDRA operatives in the mountains. And as much as he was a skilled sharpshooter who had killed most of them by this point, he was getting close to his limits.

James squinted, peering through the scope once more. A soldier emerged from behind a pile of rocks and he didn’t hesitate. The shot rang out and the HYDRA soldier dropped to the ground. Quickly reloading his rifle, he tried to spot the last two soldiers before they could catch him off guard.

When he couldn’t see them, he quickly ducked low behind another boulder as he felt that his position was getting vulnerable. But then, before he could settle into his new spot, an explosive hit too close to him. The shockwave threw him off his feet and he tumbled, yelping as he rolled down the slope. 

Pain shot through his side when he landed against a tree, and he let out an anguished cry. With his teeth clenched and hands rolled into fists, he hissed while trying to regain control over his body, scrambling to grab his rifle. He saw a blur of movement in the corner of his eye and, without stopping, James spun onto his back and shot at the HYDRA soldier in the distance. He rag-dolled instantly, falling onto the rocky terrain.

Another wave of pain traveled through James’s body, making him groan while he forced himself to stand up. He staggered to the side, his vision blurring for a brief moment, and he slumped back behind another boulder with heavy breaths. He was so exhausted and every fiber of his being begged him to stop, but he couldn’t. There was one last soldier left—the one who kept on shooting explosives in his direction. HYDRA’s weapons were getting more advanced and dangerous as weeks went by, making the rifle in his hands feel a bit fragile.

But he gripped his weapon close before peering out from behind the boulder, scanning the landscape again. He cursed under his breath, because just where the hell was the last—

Another explosion went off. This time, it was too close to him and the heat of the blast threatened to sear his skin, making him recoil. He scrambled backward to avoid getting burned, but then his eyes widened in horror. He stood out in the open, staring at the soldier who was charging his giant, bomb-launching weapon directly at him. This was his plan—get James out of hiding and kill him in plain sight. He was completely exposed and couldn’t avoid this.

He was going to die.

Sorry, Steve.

With a choked breath, James braced himself, waiting for the end when a rush of movement suddenly caught his eye. He turned just in time to see the blur tackle him, wrapping their arms around his body just as the explosion went off. It didn’t directly hit him, but it was close enough to send him tumbling down the slope again. 

James yelped as he rolled over a ledge, falling briefly before landing in a large, murky puddle. The freezing water shocked him into focus and he gasped. He gritted his teeth and struggled to sit up, fighting against the exhaustion in his bones, and tried to look for his weapon.

He located his rifle and—

James widened his eyes, staring at your body in another murky puddle. Your body was twisted and you hissed in pain, eyes squeezed shut and limbs shaking as you tried to gather yourself. You had taken the full brunt of the explosion, protecting James from the burns you sustained on your back and sides. The smell of scorched fabric mixed with the damp grass, and blood trickled from the numerous burns and cuts around your body. And your breath—your breath was immensely shallow.

The young man continued to stare, horrified as he tried to process what exactly he was seeing. How could a woman who looked like she was about to go out for a stroll be in the middle of a warzone? James shook his head, leaning close to inspect the stranger.

But as you opened your eyes and he took in your face, he realized that you weren’t a stranger at all. His heart dropped.

“You…” he breathed, his voice quivering. It was you, but…it couldn’t be. No, it wasn't possible. He was in Poland—you were in Brooklyn. How could you— 

A couple of pebbles tumbled over the ledge. 

James lunged for his weapon, pointing it upwards just as the last soldier emerged. Before the operative could even raise his weapon at him, James pulled the trigger, the crack of his rifle echoing through the land. The soldier dropped over the ledge, falling face down into the wet ground. Panting, James stood up and pointed his gun at the soldier, gazing at him as if he was going to jump up and tackle him. But when the soldier didn’t move, he let out a heavy breath and dropped to his knees. He finally won his battle against the enemy—he survived.

After taking a long, well-deserved breath, his eyes darted back over your body. He grimaced, quickly crawling over to you to assess your wounds. Your skin was covered with raw, red patches, blood gushing from all over to mix with the murky water. Your breathing was quiet, but too slow.

But you continued to stare at him, your eyes barely open but still holding on.

James’s heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. He couldn’t understand what was happening— how it was happening. How could you —the same person from the bookstore—be with him right now? Despite the confusion, he shook his head. 

“We have to go,” he said urgently. “We can’t stay here.”

With trembling hands, he tried to lift your body, but a horrible noise ripped from your throat the second he did. It wasn’t a quiet yelp or a soft whimper—it was a violent cry that made his heart shatter. He froze—there was no way you could recover. He wouldn't be able to get you help in time.

But that was cruel, because if it wasn’t for you, he would’ve been dead. All of the injuries you were suffering through would’ve been his instead. He let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as he carefully adjusted his hold on you. Tears welled in his eyes—if he couldn’t get help, he could at least let you pass comfortably in his arms, right?

James cradled you in his lap as all he could do was hold you, his hands slick with blood as he felt your chest slowly lose momentum. But as his eyes searched your face, examining the blood that trailed over your cheeks and soaked your hair, he found himself reliving a memory he had wanted to erase from his mind. He bit his lips, struggling to say the right things to you.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “From Brooklyn… From…from when that car…”

He waited for a response, but you did nothing other than blink, the pain etched in your eyes too morbid for him to handle. He reached up, his hand shaking as he cradled your face, trying to offer some kind of comfort in your last moments.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his lips quivering. “I’m so sorry…”

You only blinked back in response and he briefly looked away from you, a wet breath getting caught in his throat. But then something caught his eye—a pendant hanging loosely on a thin chain around your neck, revealed by the rips in your dress. 

It was a locket.

He slowly reached for it and you watched him gently cradle it in his palm, almost admiring it before he opened it. Inside, there was a delicate flower etched into the metal and a tiny inscription beside it that made him pause.

“Rose?” he read softly.

And with that, as James whispered the name that was so dear to your heart, you released one final breath and went still in his arms.

His grip on your body tightened. He let go of the locket, reaching for your face again. When he felt how cold your skin was, he broke. A choked sob tore from his throat, his whole body curling over yours as he hugged you closer.

He didn’t know who you were. He didn’t know why you saved him or how you even found him, but you were real. You had been real. 

But now you were gone.

It was really you in that bookstore, from when he decided to give Becca a little bit of joy before he left home. When you looked up at him, his whole world halted from seeing the woman who had shoved him out of the way, taking the full brunt of the car. He was just walking back to his home with Steve, laughing as they carried sandwiches from what they believed to be the best deli in Brooklyn. Then he was on his knees next to your body, begging you to stay awake until help arrived, but you didn’t make it.

And yet, eight years later, he had found you again. In a bookstore that he had planned to stop by for so long, but couldn’t until the last second.

But then, when you said he had mistaken you for someone else, he wanted to believe it. He had to believe it, because how could it have been you?

You had died for him.

But…here, you were in his arms.

And you had died for him again.

James let out a wrecked cry, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips parted, but the words he wanted to say died in his throat. He continued to hold you as if it would bring you back.

“Bucky!”

James lifted his head, hearing his name in the distance. His breath hitched before he looked back at you. He didn’t want to leave you, but…he had to. He had to go.

Carefully, he lowered you to the ground, his hand lingering on your arm before he pushed himself up. He lost his footing briefly, the exhaustion trying to drag him back down, but he steadied himself. He looked at you one more time before staggering to the ledge.

Steve suddenly popped up, looking down and immediately letting out a heavy sigh of relief when spotting his best friend.

“Jesus, Buck.” He jumped down and crushed him in a hug. “Thank God. Are you alright?”

James inhaled sharply, nodding as he tried to reply. “I—” His voice cracked, but he exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I’m alright. I just—”

He looked back at you, but his heart stopped.

Because there was nothing to look back to.

The puddle where you had been lying was empty. No blood, no fabric, no sign of your presence whatsoever.

James stumbled backward, his breath coming in short gasps as his eyes darted around, searching for you. Longing for you.

“Bucky?” Steve frowned, stepping closer carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” He looked down at his hands, smudged with mud and ash.

But there was not a single speck of your blood staining his skin.

<><><>

May 15, 1944. 5:10 AM

I try to write about every person I save, but I can barely remember what happened in that alley with the woman. All I can think about is James.

I saved James for the 2nd time on April 15 and I woke up with the worst pain I’ve ever had all over my skin.

For so many decades, I’ve been giving people second chances — dying for them so that they can go on living. But I have never given someone a third chance, or been sent across the world for them, or had to save two of them back to back. I was gone for 2 months and I feel terrible. Laura was angry and sad and happy when I came back. She cried so much as she believed I died for good even though that can never happen.

I don’t know how I ended up with James. I want to say it shouldn’t be possible, but I don't even know the full extent of my curse. Only the world does.

So tell me, world… Why James? I understand he was going to die, but why him? Henry was in the Great War, scared and tired and no one saved him. Why wasn’t I sent to him? Maybe this is the world’s way of making it up to me. If I wasn’t able to protect Henry, maybe I was given James to protect instead. I don’t mind that.

Because for the first time since I’ve been cursed, I don’t feel like a ghost. When James looked at me — recognized me — I felt real. Even though I had lied to him before, he still made me feel as if I had a proper place in this world. And when he whispered Rose to me, even though that isn’t my name, I felt…wanted.

And he’s the first person who has ever comforted me as I died.

So…maybe he could be the first person I saved to know the truth.

When he comes back to Brooklyn, I will tell him. He deserves to know.

<><><>

March 5, 1945. 4:31 AM

We live in hell.

I found out yesterday that James had died. Becca came in crying and told me the news before I could even ask if she was alright. They got the letter — killed in action — fallen into a ravine. They can’t even bring back his body for a proper funeral.

It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.

I was brought to him a year ago to save him. But why would the world you let me save him twice if you were still going to take him away? Rip him away from his sisters and mother and father? I would say that I can’t imagine how his parents are feeling, but I can. When my baby was taken from me, I wanted to die too.

But this isn’t just about them. James was supposed to be the one stranger I could allow myself to be honest with. But you took him away.

Why would you give me that false sense of hope? Make me believe he would survive? I had to watch Becca fall to the floor crying and I couldn’t even help her. She lost her big brother, but I couldn’t even tell her that I understood her pain without revealing this damn curse you placed on me.

You brought me to him. You WANTED me to save him so much that you sent me out there. Of all people, him. You didn’t even take me to Henry when he needed me. You could have had this whole time and you didn’t. You took me to James instead so that I could give him the chance to go home to his family.

But then you killed him. 

If I had known he was going to die, I would’ve at least told him my real name.

Damn you.

Damn you.

Go to hell.

Damn you Fuck you

NEXT CHAPTER >

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass

Thanks for reading :)

[kimberbohwrites]

“Hope”

@veilguard-appreciation-week Day Three

Prompt: Hope

AN: VEILGUARD SPOILERS AHEAD. This is completely SFW, just a little departure from my usual style to celebrate my one of my favorite companions and my favorite faction. (500 words, just a treat)

*

Codex Entry: The Future of the Wardens

A humble, but widely published letter soliciting recruitment for the Grey Wardens.

Published in 9.53 Dragon, one year following the Fall of Weisshaupt.

It reads:

“I want to start by saying that I’m aware of what some in Thedas are saying — that the Grey Wardens are a dying breed, no longer worth mentioning or sparing a thought for after the destruction of Weisshaupt. Our numbers are fewer than ever I won’t lie. The last few decades have truly thinned our ranks as blights and darkspawn have cropped up across the world.

Our headquarters in the Anderfels may be gone, it’s true. And for many years to come, we will mourn those lost at Weisshaupt. But the Wardens are not and have never been the castle we called home.

Without Weisshaupt what are the Grey Wardens against this ever-evolving blight?

It’s simple.

The Grey Wardens are a hope for Thedas.

The hope that each of us — despite our pasts — are worth a second chance. The hope that across a wide war-torn world of varied religions, races, and beliefs — we might all be one under the same banner. Or that despite our many differences and event he bonds we have broken — we are each of us deserving of being saved.

The Hero of Ferelden stood against the fifth blight not long after her Joining with nothing but a handful on comrades and a hope. She’d never even been to the Anderfels before taking on and defeating an Archdemon. By now, I think most are aware of “Warden Blackwall” of the Inquisition — a man with little hope who never even undertook the Joining, he assumed the mantle as a false identity with and saved the whole damn world.

The Wardens are far from perfect — I won’t run from the truth — the ways we have failed.

Our duty can also be our downfall and we cannot claim to stand for the light without acknowledging that darkness with us. Politics and power struggles have tarnished our name, but still we cling to the very hope that founded this order in the most desperate hours of our ancestors.

We accept all takers, but I won’t disguise that the Warden life isn’t for everyone. The environment can be harsh, the days long, and this job is often thankless. But if you look up at the night sky for more than just stars, if you’re searching from meaning outside of your little corner of the world, or if you’ve ever wanted to be part of a greater — maybe the greatest— whole, it might be for you.

Join or not, but know the Grey Wardens stand ready — whether we’ve got 5 or 500 amongst our numbers. Against darkness, against the blight, we keep the faith and hold on to the hope for Thedas.

Signed First Warden Davrin, Supreme Commander of the Grey Warden HQ in the Hossberg Wetlands”

[Sealed in wax with the Grey Warden crest which seems to have been modified to reflect an adolescent as opposed to mature, griffon]

—

AN: Don’t @ me this is just how I think things go in my own head. Thanks for reading!!!

[bookishcarmela]

Shadows of Affection

warnings: alcohol abuse

slow burn Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 2: The Zoo

As you made your way to the lunch hall, you spotted Felix and the others enjoying their meal. A few tables down, Sejanus sat alone at a table set for three, likely waiting for Corio and you. It was a routine, his ritual, always saving a spot for you even when Felix whisked you away before you could join them. His persistent attention toward you was evident to everyone, but despite your fondness for Felix, you hadn't quite seen him in that light.

you settled beside Sejanus, exchanging greetings and a small smile. "Congratulations on the reaping today. You got the pick of the litter," you said, trying to uplift his mood. But instead of a cheerful response, Sejanus sighed heavily. "What's wrong? Aren't you happy?" you inquired, to which Sejanus replied hoarsely, "You forget. I'm part of that litter."

His words lingered, echoing the struggles he harbored from his past, despite the decade he'd spent in the Capitol. you considered Sejanus a friend, but his refusal to let go of his past hindered his potential to embrace what the Capitol offered. "Sejanus," you began, your words trailing off as Corio's chair scraped against the floor, announcing his arrival. "Are you okay, Corio?" you asked, concern etching your voice. He looked pale well paler than usual, almost on the verge of sickness. Corio slumped into the seat, his normally composed demeanor crumbling. "I'm fine," he muttered, but the sweat on his brow and the discomfort etched on his face spoke otherwise. "Corio, you don't look fine," you pressed gently, leaning closer to him. Corio shook his head, his stubbornness evident even in his discomfort. "I said leave it, Y/n!" he snapped, his tone cutting through the air. you sat in silence for a few seconds as you absorbed the sting of his words. Anger and frustration surged within you, and Coriolanus let out a sigh. "Y/n, I'm-" he began, only to be abruptly cut off by the end-of-lunch bell.

Without uttering a word, you stood up and left, the weight of his scolding lingering. It wasn't that you werent accustomed to Coriolanus's temper; you had grown up together, and you had learned to navigate it. But you despised being scolded, treated as if you were a child. How dare he speak to you like that?

 The rest of your classes passed in a haze of frustration, and you dreaded the prospect of heading home. Luckily, school let out a little earlier due to the reaping, providing you the chance to head straight to my room without encountering Quincey. 

Quincey Bradford, the man your mother married just two years after your father's death, wasn't the result of true love but rather convenience. After your father's passing, your mother spiraled into a destructive cycle of gambling and drowning her sorrows in alcohol. your mother's gambling and drinking habits consumed everything you had. your dwindling funds vanished into the bottom of a bottle or at the turn of a card until there wasn't a single dollar left.You had nothing left. Even the rich were struggling in the war, but you were left with nothing. Survival became a daily fight in a world where having enough to eat felt like a luxury.

Desperation led her to marry Quincey, a move motivated by the need to ensure your basic sustenance. In the aftermath, she adopted the role of the dutiful housewife, maintaining a facade of normalcy. But as time wore on, Quincey's true nature started to show. His temper flared, and soon, your mother bore the brunt of his anger, suffering bruises and wounds hidden beneath forced smiles. She fell back into the abyss of self-pity and despair, and as you grew older, Quincey's temper extended its reach to you. He'd make spiteful remarks about your father's righteousness, only to fall when rebel's bullet finally found its mark, as if his demise were some poetic justice. 

Inspite of everything your mother stayed with Quincey and bore him two children: Benjamin and Charlotte Bradford. Benjamin, a spitting image of his father, possessed pale skin, black hair, and hazel eyes. On the other hand, Charlotte inherited the features of your mother, with tan skin, light brown hair, and dark brown eyes. Thankfully, at eight years old, they hadn't adopted the traits of either of their parents, and in the midst of our troubled home, Benjamin and Charlotte stood apart, untouched by the darkness around us. Their innocence was a comfort, a hope that they'd be shielded from your harsh reality.

As the car rolled to a stop, you reached home, grateful for the quiet. The silence signaled that Quincey and the children weren't around. Passing through the foyer toward your room, you spotted your mother passed out on the couch, a pricey bottle of wine in her hand. Calling for the maid, Christa, you instructed her to help your mother get cleaned up and into bed before your siblings returned. With that sorted, you retreated to your room, determined to finish some last-minute assignments before bedtime.

The perks of working with Dr. Gual included skipping class to assist in her lab. Currently, you were sorting paperwork while she tinkered with a new “experiment”. As you organized, you absentmindedly turned on the small TV nearby. The broadcast announced the arrival of the new tributes. Instead of the usual horse stables, they were being placed in the Capitol zoo—an intriguing twist for this year's Hunger Games.

Focused on your work, you disregarded the TV until gasps and awe erupted from the screen. You glanced over momentarily, catching a glimpse of the tributes being dropped into their enclosure. One of them bore an uncanny resemblance to Coriolanus. But That couldn't be right.

Your attention snapped back to the screen as you realized it was indeed Coriolanus Snow inside the tribute enclosure, hand in hand with his assigned tribute. Shock coursed through me as I noticed her wearing one of his grandmother's roses in her hair. "What the Fuck" I exclaimed, my voice filled with disbelief. Why was he holding her hand? Why was she adorned with his family's emblem? What the hell was going on?

The thought that the day couldn't get any worse shattered when the camera panned out, revealing Benjamin and Charlotte, escorted by your inebriated mother, approaching the cage where 

Coriolanus and his tribute stood. you felt a chill wash over your body, your face draining of color at the sight. While other children hid behind their parents, Benjamin and Charlotte showed no fear. They boldly approached the cage, even extending their hands to shake with Coriolanus's tribute, the "little songbird" whose name you hadn’t bothered to remeber. Your mother, as usual, appeared intoxicated, hiding her eyes behind dark glasses. She seemed utterly unconcerned, heedless of the potential danger her children faced by being so close to the enclosure. 

The commotion and your surprised outburst drew Dr. Gual's attention, prompting her to join you to observe the screen. Her reaction was more amused than alarmed, and she let out a giggle, taking note of your clenched fist. you tried to calm yourself, but your tension only intensified as Coriolanus was pulled out of the cage by Peacekeepers.

As if on cue, a Peacekeeper entered the lab, saluting Dr. Gual and informing her of an urgent meeting requested by Dean Highbottom. you released a deep breath, preparing to resume your work as Dr. Gual left for her meeting. However, before you could settle back into your routine, she glanced back at you with a mischievous grin."Hippity hoppity, little dove, we have a meeting to attend," she said playfully, striding toward the door. you couldn't help but give her a curious look, following her.

As you entered the high biology lab instead of heading to Dean Highbottom's office, you couldn't shake your confusion. Why were you here? Dean Highbottom's presence only added to your perplexity, his gaze scrutinizing you before addressing Dr. Gual.

"Shouldn't you be in class, Ms. Royce?" he inquired, directing his question at you. you opened your mouth to respond, but Dr. Gual interjected smoothly, "I needed her assistance for an experiment of mine."

Her words held an element of truth—you had been aiding her with paperwork—but her insistence on having your help, specifically, was alittle puzzling but you didnt think to hard about it. Before the dean could press further, a knock interrupted, prompting an annoyed sigh from the dean as he allowed entry. To your surprise, Coriolanus stepped through the door, causing a jolt of shock and uncertainty to course through me. What was happening? You asked yourself 

Coriolanus and I exchanged surprised looks, both seemingly shocked by the presence of the other. 

You stood in silence until Dr. Gual broke it “ Hippity, hoppity.” Dr. Gaul grinned. “How was the zoo?” Then she was laughing. “It’s like a children’s rhyme. Hippity, hoppity, how was the zoo? You fell in a cage and your tribute did, too!” Coriolanus’s lips stretched into a weak smile as his eyes darted over to you for some clue as to how to react. You attempted to signal him subtly, urging him to follow along with her banter. "We did. We fell in a cage," Coriolanus finally replied, uncertain of where this conversation was headed. Dr. Gaul seemed to expect more, raising her eyebrows in anticipation. Your attempts to help Coriolanus seemed futile as he hesitated, prompting Dr. Gaul to coax him further."And?" she prodded, encouraging him to continue. "We... landed onstage?" he added tentatively Dr. Gaul chuckled approvingly. 

"You're good at games. Maybe one day you'll be a Gamemaker just like my little dove here," she remarked, playfully switching her attention between Coriolanus and you.

Then, unexpectedly, she directed a question to Coriolanus, "Do you know her, my little dove?"

Confusion washed over you. Dr. Gaul's antics seemed calculated, but her probing question made little sense. She was aware that you knew eachother, so why this charade?

Coriolanus composed himself and responded, "Yes, I am familiar with Ms. Royce," but Dr. Gaul's displeasure was evident. She frowned slightly before redirecting her attention to the dean.

"Me and my little dove have work to do, so we’ll get out of your hair. When you're done, come see me in my lab, Dean Casca," she declared, heading toward the door. You followed her out, shooting Coriolanus a lingering look.

The word "familiar" echoed in your mind during the return to the lab. Coriolanus's choice of words stung. Familiar, as if your friendship was trivial, as if you were just a foolish girl trailing after him like an idiot. Unbeknownst to you Dr. Gual’s little test for you had gone just as expected.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

gasp... could it be? I'm sharing some of American Beasts (not sure if anyone still cares but hey...) 5 chapters left in this fic straggling in my docs:

Boots.

Boots that march.

Boots that stomp, kick and beat.

The squeak of leather, the crunch of sole on sand, on asphalt, wages an onslaught in the long, winding canals of her mind. Trenches dug deep. Fertile ground that had been scoured and excavated for decades, seeds planted, roots torn out and rotted, leaving it a barren wasteland of barbed wire, landmines waiting to be tripped, footprints wearing lines down in a path.

Built for only one thing – War.

As much as Kit has tried to quiet the voice of her father in her head, knowing that she was about to head straight into battle made his words stir in the corners, filtering in past the barricades she had tried to use to partition him in her mind. But it’s of little use. He’s always there, will always be there. The devil on her back, even after cutting his symbol out of her skin. A part of her clings to the notion that if the world is to be wiped clean, made pure, he’ll be taken along with the disease of selfishness, cruelty and intolerance that God’s might will cure. It was a thought that coiled in the lowest parts of her where the scared, angry little girl inside her still resided. The part of her she buried in order to survive.

The entire force of Jacob’s army filled the room while he paced before them in long, smooth strides. His fingers steepled together, the shock of red hair plastered to his head as his eyes darted amongst his soldiers. His brave, strong, and true. A man who was most confident when he was delivering his orders, laying down his expectations, rules that couldn’t be bent or broken. Order and control.

But she didn’t hear a word.

The low timbre of his voice vibrated into her chest in an undeniable rumble, the same tremor that traveled through the earth with a missile strike, a car bomb explosion, or the tracks of a tank as soldiers marched beside it. There was no shutting out the memories as they coagulated in the lobes of her brain, amassing into one grotesque cancer that ate away at her. Not now. Not as the tendrils of infection spread out along the neural pathways until it was all one black ichor of destruction, depravity, and violence. The empty look behind her eyes all too reminiscent of the one that came with the Bliss and the rage that rushed through her veins.

Shifting uncomfortably, changing the weight on her feet, she stared out across the room, over the heads of men and women dressed in red and black, and saw the eyes of the Father meeting her. His portrait hung above them, always watching, perceiving. Judging. The unforgiving stare from under a gently furrowed brow pulled her in, hypnotic in its power even through the flimsy divide of yellow lenses. The voice of God. His messenger. Someone who deemed her worth saving despite her multitude of sins, for reasons she didn’t understand. But she had faith. Faith in herself. Faith in Him.

The cold blue stare of a winter blizzard’s bite lowered, noticing the dozens of eyes that met her own, and the eyes that matched hers, his finger pointed in her direction.

“Whatever orders she gives, you follow. Without question, without mercy, without delay.” Jacob turned back to the audience. “Not all of ya are coming back. Some of you might not see Eden. But this is what we do. We lay down our lives. We make sacrifices. We are soldiers.”

Their eyes locked, the dark circles below his piercing gaze nearly swallowing them whole. He looked tired. Damn tired. But at the same time she could see the relief, a burden lifting at the thought that this might finally be the end. He could stop fighting, stop surviving, so long as everyone else was safe.

We don’t get a happy ending.

no pressure tagging: @voidika @transcaster @la-grosse-patate @cloudofbutterflies92 @ocdemon-747

@boldly-ho @floradellamorte @finding-comfort-in-rain @carlosoliveiraa @confidentandgood

@afarcry5fromstraight @imogenkol @roofgeese @henbased @inafieldofdaisies

@clicheantagonist @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @statichvm @sukoshimikan

@josephslittledeputy @tommyarashikage @simplegenius042 @josephseedismyfather @buggknife

@direwombat @faithchel @shallow-gravy @strangefable @cassietrn

[arguablysomaya]

please, elaborate on merlin bbc propaganda and stuff

okay basically:

bbc merlin is a show taking place during a genocide

camelot for 20 years has been genociding and ethnically cleansing everyone who can use magic, including magical creatures. They were all either exiled, fled, live in refugee camps or in hiding, and a great many were executed and slaughtered. Generally speaking, life is inhospitable in camelot for magic users.

And the show makes no attempt to hide this fact, either. We see multiple times over the death and destruction this genocide has wraught, and how radicalized most of the remaining magic population is because of it. For the past few decades, camelot has essentially been doing 2 things: persecuting magic users, and defending itself from vengeful/liberationist magic users

the king (uther) believes that magic users are (stop me if you've heard this one) corruptive, shifty, and evil. he's always paranoid that a magic user will take their revenge on him. and in a way, he's right: there are in fact a lot of magic users eager to kill him, but given the whole Great Purge and literally drowning children thing, you'd thing the show would be a bit more sympathetic to their plight. Nope.

in come merlin and gaius, our two main magic users. merlin is the protagonist, and gaius his benevolent mentor, so the audience is primed to be on their side. only one problem: from bascially the beginning of the series, these two are nothing more than agents for the very state carrying out the genocide. they devote their time to wholeheartedly defending camelot, especially from magic users, something they are rightfully called traitors for. they actively intervene to prolong the lives (and therefore regimes) of both arthur and uther, despite neither king showing any real interest in freeing their people. gauis represents the "diversity" of a genocidaire state; as someone uther only keeps around so long as he shuns any involvement with magic except what helps uther carry put his genocide, gaius hides and rejects every marginalized part of himself that threatens his access to power. even as a member of the oppressed class, he aids and abets the oppressors every step of the way. merlin, as an extremely powerful agic user in hiding, follows suit. the thing is, like so many other minority collaborators, this doesn't actually buy them safety, since they are Other, they still have to walk around on eggshells knowing one wrong move could get their heads chopped off. but this action of defending a regime that would kill you without a second's hesitation is presented as noble and heroic in the show, when in reality it's stupid at best and evil at worst. merlin and gaius might save a token kid from being brutally murdered, but they will never let anyone take action, let alone take action themselves, to proactively stop the brutality.

merlin is literally the most powerful sorcerer alive. if he wanted to, he could create a more fair, more just, better world in a blink. instead, he spends his time pretending to be a hapless servent, messing around with his war criminal friends, and killing any freedom fighter who dares to even look at the prince or king. why? well, he believes in the institutions (and a prophecy that never comes true... lol). ultimately, merlin and gauis hold the same prejudices and stereotypes about magic users that uther does: that they're untrustworthy, dangerous, and that it would be better for everyone if all but themselves (the good ones) just died or left.

and all the people they're defending the empire against... are other oppressed magic users. the VAST majority of antagonists are either magicians or magic sympathizers. even in the context of a genocide, the show takes the firm stance that the architects of genocide (the literal kings who order it to happen) are just flawed human beings who still don't deserve to be killed, while when the people they seek to wipe out fight back, our protagonists will happily mow them down. the show has no problem with killing people,and even killing innocents is only worthy of a fingerwag. it's fighting for liberation that the show makes the real problem. even when uther finally dies the show plays it like something sad, as if anyone is supposed to feel anything but joy that this old tyrant genocidaire finally kicked the bucket after having been saved a million times over from getting his comeuppance. Every magic user that has genuinely good reasons to want to tear down the kingdom are all painted with the "crazy evil person" brush.

another thing is that this show likes to get ~quirky~ with their agents of the state. along with arthur and merlin come a colorful cast of characters like the knights that you can laugh and cry with. the only problem is that despite how lovable these people are, they're still actively carrying out and enforcing a genocide. it's a bit like those tiktoks of IDF soldiers dancing or proposing. i can't feel for these people because despite seeming like relatable people, they're still engaging in something horrific. you can't escape the fact that these people can only exist in the relatively easy capacity that they do because the empire they work for is brutally repressing and eliminating entire cultures.

but the thing is, this strategy actually works. the fandom is often so taken in by fun character interactions and shipping moments that you can often witness people literally look past, or even praise their acts of genocide. these characters are so charming with each other that you can look past how awfully they treat oppressed people. yay! the prevalence of merthur brings up too many idf pinkwashing parallels it's actually insufferable. i had hoped we left oppressor/oppressed person ships behind in the 2010s but guess it's still around

by the time he takes over as king, the "great, kind" arthur is essentially an IDF soldier who only realized that Killing Is Bad Actually when he's got crosshairs on a random kid. now Reformed (TM), he takes the brave stance that he should only kill the angry bad magic users who try to exact their revenge for the whole genocide thing on him, and the peaceful (more often than not, harmless) magic users should accept the merciful counterplan of ethnically cleansing themselves from the region, or continuing to live in refugee camps, but this time with less threat of massacre. in this show, the only acceptable answer to being genocided is to either lay down and die, hide forever, or displace yourself hoping the empire doesn't come and kill you anyway. fighting back, getting revenge, defending oneself, trying to change things: these are all reserved only for the genocidal state.

in other words, bbc merlin is the exact type of genocide obfuscation that most modern genocides engage in. the suffering of oppressed peoples, even innocents, is a footnote. when they suffer, sometimes it's presented as sad, and other times it's presented as deserved. meanwhile, the suffering of the oppressors, no matter how justifyable, is always landmark and deserves our full attention and sympathies, because the thing about the oppressors is that it's always their story.

(the last thing is a common fantasy problem, which is that when you create stories where different classes have actual, material, biological distinctions, it can end up justifying the oppression. in the real world, there is a very limited range of innate human abilities, and people from across the world are largely evenly matched. but in merlin, a sorcerer actually does pose an increased threat to those around them. in terms of allegory... kinda not the best thing to so without any real refutation to the idea that magic corrupts)

so yeah. that's why i don't fuck with this show even though it's enjoyable to watch.

[cardverseut]

CLOVER KINGDOM =

• This kingdom was one of the poor and decadent of the 4 kingdoms, because of that it had a large number of thieves, assassins and mercenaries. It was not until the arrival of the new King that the kingdom began to prosper and enrich itself, positioned next to Diamante in wealth.

• There is a rivalry between the Clover and Diamond kingdom that is very strong, although the rivalry only comes from Clover. • They have one of the best armies of the 4 kingdoms.

• It is the only kingdom where its rulers are almost always ex-criminals.

• They have the best gastronomy and trade routes. _________ ♧ __________

• KING OF CLOVER =

Name: Nightmare. (Previous name: Night Joku) Age: 26 years. Spouse: Error G. Crayon. Family: ???.

Weapon / Abilities: His body is surrounded by negativity and liquid hatred that he can use at will and form tentacles that can change his density and become affiliated and hard to pierce his enemies. His staff has a hidden katana. It also has the power to feed on negative feelings that people have, making it stronger.

Personality: At first glance, he usually seems very polite and polite, but in reality he is a being who cannot bear insolence; It is known by everyone in the 4 kingdoms that the King of Clover is extremely cruel when he sets out to do it, there were many people who did not want him as king due to his past, but they disappeared. Although what precedes the King's attitude the most is the continuous hatred and competitiveness against the King of Diamonds, nobody understands those clashes between these two kings, but what is known is that, if the King of Diamonds does something, the King Clover will do the same and better. And no one in the Clover kingdom wants to anger their king.

Life before the coronation: The only thing that is known about King Nightmare for sure is that before he was known as "The Nightmare of the Seas", he was the most feared captain of the 4 kingdoms for many years, along with his second-hand Killer, a Day they described their marks and abandoned piracy to rule the clover kingdom. His past before being known as a pirate captain is unknown, but many can see that he has great hatred and dislike for the King of Diamonds.

Bonus fact: He hates sweet things. He is a reading freak and has a great library just for him.

• QUEEN OF CLOVER =

Name: Error G. (Glicht) Crayon Age: 24 years. Spouse: Nightmare. Family: Geno A. (After) Crayon (Big Brother), Fresh S. Crayon (Little Brother), Piggies Q. Crayon (Mother. States = Deceased).

Weapons / Skills: Summoning and manipulation of its magic threads that come out of the tear marks on its face. You can control people's bodies with their strings by wrapping their souls around them, but it is easy to remove control by cutting the strings. Aside from his threads, he is also extremely good with the Halberd.

Personality: Many describe the Queen of Clubs as a grumpy older cat. Her attitude is quite dry and cutting, with the few people she shows affection for is her royal family and the Queen of Sword. But he is usually quite cut between all that, although with the Queen of Diamonds the worst of Error comes out, he usually has several fights that end with the destruction of his surroundings, only his older brother or the Clover family can calm him in that state .

Life before the coronation: Born in Espada, but raised all his life in Clover. After the departure of his older brother to the kingdom of Espada, he was in charge of taking care of his younger brother Fresh. One night, however, there was a great storm on the island where they lived and their house was destroyed and carried away by the sea; Error managed to survive, but his younger brother was taken by the storm with the remains of the house. Unable to bear the thought of telling his mother and brother about his failure to save Fresh; Erase any clues from him, making believe that he died along with his brother in that storm. He lived on the streets of the Clover kingdom, stealing in order to survive, until one day he was captured by the kingdom's guards and sentenced to death. The day of his execution, being prepared to die; the King of Clover himself interrupted the execution. King Nightmare approached Error and showed the Mark of the Clover Queen that she had under her broken gloves of Error, she was immediately acquitted of all her charges and taken to the castle to fulfill her role. For saving her life, Error is indebted to her King and determined to become the best Queen for Clover.

Bonus: He loves to eat chocolate, likes to knit, and stars. She has eyesight problems, but refuses to wear her glasses in full view of people, as she thinks it makes her look vulnerable.

• JACK OF CLOVER =

Name: Killer Raha. Age: 24 years. Spouse / Lover: None. Family: All dead.

Weapon / Skill: It has a greater handling than close-range blades such as knives or pocket knives. He can summon a giant GB (Gaster Blaster) and sharp bones like stakes. He has a natural ability to hide in the shadows, he is always hidden guarding the backs of his kings.

Personality: He is a very sadistic joker and with a sense of humor that many would call sick. It is usually quite "friendly" in its own way, but make no mistake about it; his devotion to his two kings is very great and he will do everything they tell him without hesitation, one day when you least expect it he can stab you in the back without hesitation. Despite all this, he hardly ever interacts with anyone, he usually remains in the shadows taking care of his kings' backs.

Story before being the Jack: His family died in unknown ways one day (it is rumored that he was the one who killed them) and with their money he bought a ship and began his life as a pirate with some comrades.

One day he met Nightmare and after he covered him from being caught by the guards, Killer gave his boat and his crew to his new "owner" without hesitation, as a sign of gratitude and loyalty. After a few years they became the most feared pirates of the 4 kingdoms, his Jack mark appeared on his left cheek and left the piracy behind after Nightmare ordered. He and his comrades became the personal and undercover assassins of their kings.

Extra: He has a taste for spicy ketchup. He loves stars and sits with his Queen watching them on sleepless nights

[ankilona]

Jiang Cheng/Wen Ruohan

Fanfiction promt, if you got inspiration from this promt, please go with your idea, and let it become a story. Nothing would make me happier than reading something like this in the future! ❤️

Jiang Cheng committed suicide in a few years after he discovered how he got back 'his' golder core. He managed to get everything in order, and appointed a heir for Yunmeng-Jiang with the stipulation, that if Jin Ling has a heir they could inherit the sect.

However instead of joining the circle of reincarnation, he travels back in time, and he awakens before they go to Cloud Recess.

He has the advantage of knowing what will happen, and he's determined not just to win, but to prevent the war.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Jiang Cheng knew it was a long shot, but he really didn't see any other way out of this. He didn't wanted a repeat of what he and everyone went trough the last time, and for that he needed to prevent the war. In this way he could save not just his sister and senior brother, but he could prevent the whole chain reaction that steamed from the power vacuum wich was left behind after the destruction of the largest and most powerful sect of all. So it was boiled down to two options.

Jiang Cheng either needed to kill Wen Ruohan, wich was a ridiculous idea. The man was a step away from immorality, and some of the older people hazarded he was around a hundred years old. If you disregarded everything else, the difference in experience alone would create a huge gap between them, and the odds wouldn't be in Jiang Cheng's favour. Last time this feat needed three of them to complete, and in that time Wen Ruohan was out of his mind fron the yin iron poisoning, and the one who delivered the lethal blow was Meng Yao, who stabbet the sect leader in the back, quite literally. So the first option was out of question, wich left him with the second one.

And this is why, he was in a forest, deep in Yunmeng-Jiang territory in the middle of the night, and waited for the man, whose sect burned down his, killed his parents, and destroyed him and his senior brother's life. But he was ready to put away his pride and his personal grievance for saving hundreds maybe even thousands of life. Strictly speaking the Wen sect haven't committed the crimes yet, so he really didn't have any basis for his anger. It was hard, to write the letter in wich he invited the sect leader for this get together, but it wasn't the first time he needed to do something personally taxing for the betterment of his sect. He was used to it.

It didn't mean he wasn't nervous, so when he heard a branch snap ok his left side, he flinched, but he didn't reached for his sword. He gulped, and the other man walked in tk the clearing, closely followed by his ever present shadow, the Core melting hand. It took everything in Jiang Cheng not to react. Even if it was almost two decades ago, he could still feel as the life drained from his limbs, as he lost that extra spark that differentiated cultivators from ordinary people. But he needed to suck it up, and be present. Too much depended on this meeting for Jiang Cheng to be too lost in the past to concentrate on the present.

"What do we have here dear Zhuliu. A young foal decided to take a night run in the woods." The sect leader's voice was mocking, but Jiang Cheng was prepared. He had too thick of a face to feel offended by petty games.

"Sect Leader Wen, thank you for attending this unconventional meeting." Jiang Cheng bowed deeply and saluted with perfect posture. Wen Ruohan just lifted a brow, and stepped a bit closer, so they could have a conversation without needing to shout across the clearing.

"It was an interesting letter, wouldn't you say Jiang Wanyin? One of the big secrets heir sent me a letter, where he demands a meeting, in secret. Amd the most shocking detail, he says I need to cease my plans regarding dominating the cultivation world, and to give up the yin iron or else." Jiang Cheng could feel the power radiating from the other man. He hadn't been sure at the time, about how much detail he should reveal in his letter. He needed the sect leader to take him seriously without falling into an insane rage wich wpuld lead to the Jiang clan extinction. He banked on Wen Ruohan's famous curiosity, and made a horrible gamble. He wasn't sure if it will pay off. He didn't have anything else, but hope it will. The only thing he needed to do now is to see it trough, even if it'll coat him his life.

"I'd like to apologise for the tone of the letter, but I didn't see any other way to get your attention." Jiang Cheng felt his throat closing as Wen Ruohan stepped up right beside him. Towering over his fifteen years old body. He needed to suppress a flinch when he saw as the sect leader lifted his hand. Wen Ruohan reached out toward his face, and Jiang Cheng couldn't supress a shiver when the man cradled his chin. With a little nudge, Jiang Cheng looked straight at the other man's eyes, and then he didn't see anything else, but his living nightmares... his memories.

[18273773y]

Stitched in Silence

based on The Vampire Diaries

No one ever really talked about the youngest Salvatore sibling.

Not in Mystic Falls.

Not in whispers.

Not in history.

Because Alina Salvatore had become very good at disappearing- not in the way her brothers had after their transformation into vampires, but in the quieter way: the kind that happened in rooms where her voice never reached, where her eyes drifted away from crowds, and where her hands always stayed busy.

While Damon burned through life like a wildfire and Stefan tried to outrun the embers of his past, Alina stitched herself into silence. Literally. her fingers were rarely still- threading needles, twisting wire, folding paper, or braiding old ribbon into intricate bookmarks and tiny, lifelike flowers. The crafts weren’t just hobbies. They were distractions, barriers, shields. Because when her hands were still, her thoughts got too loud.

And those thoughts always whispered the same thing: You don’t belong. Not with them. Not here. Not anywhere.

She wasn’t like Stefan with his endless self-control, or Damon with his reckless defiance. She wasn’t drawn to power or morality. Alina was just… there. Quiet. Mortal. Left behind in a world where her brothers were frozen in time and caught in an endless war between loyalty, guilt, and destruction.

After their mother died and their father had become unbearable, it had been Stefan who taught her to read poetry. Damon who slipped her sketchbooks under her door. But even then, she felt like a ghost. A fragile afterthought between the two storms of her brothers.

Now, in the present—over a century later—she sat in the sunroom of the Salvatore Boarding House. Cross-legged on the faded window seat, Alina had her fingers wrapped in embroidery thread, weaving delicate patterns into a scrap of linen. Her hair fell into her face, and she kept her head down even as footsteps echoed toward her.

“Still sewing the world back together one thread at a time?” Damon’s voice was sarcastic, but softer than usual.

She didn’t look up. “Better than tearing it apart.”

There was a pause. Then the cushion beside her shifted under Damon’s weight. She expected him to crack another joke or toss one of her creations across the room. But instead, he surprised her.

“You know,” he muttered, picking up one of the little fabric flowers, “you’re not invisible, Alina.”

“I feel like I am,” she said quietly. “I always have.”

Damon sighed and leaned back. “You think I don’t notice that you only talk to Stefan when I’m gone? That you disappear before dinner and reappear after everyone’s asleep? You think we don’t see how you flinch when someone mentions turning?”

Alina finally looked up. “Because I don’t want to be like you.”

He didn’t flinch. “Fair.”

“I’m not strong like you. Or noble like Stefan. I just… make things. I try to keep busy so I don’t have to think about the fact that I’m always the odd one out. You guys are out there saving the town, falling in love, making epic mistakes. I’m just… here. A Salvatore by name only.”

Damon was quiet for a long moment. Then he said something unexpected.

“You’re wrong.”

She blinked. “About what?”

“You are strong. You survived our father. You survived being alone for decades while Stefan and I destroyed each other. You stayed human because you knew yourself better than we ever did. And those crafts you think are just distractions?” He held up the flower. “They’re anchors. You’re holding yourself together.”

He got up and walked away, leaving the small flower on the windowsill beside her.

A few moments later, Stefan walked in and handed her a box of new threads. “Saw these in town and thought of you,” he said softly.

She opened the box, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

Maybe she didn’t need to belong like them. Maybe being different was her strength. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as invisible as she thought.

[gerardway-is-my-babygirl]

Renfield Anniversary Week, day 3: Favourite Scene

I struggled a bit with deciding what to do for this prompt, since I love the glowup montage so much and what It represents, but I also have so many thoughts and feelings about the apartment scene and the gym scene.

Heres a little drabble about the last 2, since I can't pick between them.

Renfield had walked out of the apartment -- his apartment -- that morning with a new purpose, a new reason to live. He had repainted and redecorated It, repairing and undoing the damage done to himself In the process, finally freeing himself from the filth and darkness that Dracula had buried him In, finally living again. The bright walls and ugly furniture are the complete opposite of what Dracula likes, and so Renfield likes them. His apartment defies everything Dracula Is and opposes everything he had tried to surround Renfield with, a sensory overload to the vampire, while a home to Renfield. He finally had a home.

Then he walked back Into his apartment that evening with everything he had worked for ripped away from him In an Instant. His hopes and dreams, his purpose, his life, they were all torn to shreds right In front of him by the same creature who had done the same all those decades ago, back when he was In the asylum. The world around him was drained of colour, tarnished by the vampire Invading the only space he finally felt happy, destroying everything Renfield had put together with his own hands. He should have known better, he should have known not to bother trying to live again, but the Idea of It sounded so wonderful that he couldn't resist the apple handed to him, never considering the consequences and only savouring the taste.

That taste of freedom was the best thing he had felt In decades, and It had rotted In his mouth the second he saw the monster In his home. He had tried so hard to defuse the situation and calm Dracula, but he was only burned when he got too close, berated for his acts of heroism, punished for his betrayal and disobedience, mocked for his weakness to Dracula's temptation. The blame was thrown onto him as always, draining every ounce of confidence he had built up over the past day In an attempt to stand up to the vampire, leaving him weak and silent. He tried so hard to follow the advice Mark gave him, tried to fight back, tried to look to the book for guidance, but In the end he was shoved Into the corner once more and forced to cower before his God.

The apartment Isn't his anymore. It's crowded with cruel laughter and yelling that fills the air. The shadows hide the monster who he had tried to escape. Every single area Dracula touched Is ruined, forever marked with Invisible bootprints that force him back Into the corner. The Imaginary stains can't be scrubbed away, no matter how many times Renfield will try to claw at the rug with as many cleaning sprays as he can find. His life Is always going to be haunted by Dracula. His home Is Dracula's now, everything Is.

He raced to the gym to try and save the others from his destruction, to somehow protect them from being ripped from their lives by a monster who was never supposed to be there In the first place. None of them listened. None of them let him save them. Did he even try to save them at all?

He begged for Dracula to spare them, but all he did was watch when the Inevitable happened. He watched.

They all fell Into Dracula's trap, unable to move or run further than a few feet as Renfield was tossed to the side like a broken toy. At that moment he knew he was no longer necessary, and how nothing he can do will stop the vampire from Inflicting pain on anyone Renfield tries to seek help from. Dracula can't let him have anything but him, knowing that even when he destroys whatever Renfield tried to put his effort Into, that he'll still come crawling back to him.

Dracula's display of power and his unnecessary slaughtering of everyone Is nothing but a game to him, amusing him temporarily In his Immortal life as he mercilessly rips at the people Renfield finally opened up to. He thought he was a hero, but he's a monster just like Dracula, a part of his twisted game, fighting on his side no matter what he does. He can't look away from the destruction, with everyone screaming as claws and fangs tear them to bloody pieces, but he couldn't prevent It even If he tried.

He couldn't prevent Mark from bleeding out, staining his useless hands with his blood but doing nothing to stop It. He was made to destroy lives, not save them.

Mark stared Into his eyes In his final agonising moments of life, and Renfield could see his realisation that he was a murderer. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to be a hero, he can't stop killing people. It's In his nature.

He started that day truly believing that he would never spill a drop of blood again, but ended It with his hands stained red.

Even his jumper, the thing that he had worn with pride as he began to rediscover himself, was ruined. Dracula had complimented It when he entered the apartment, praising Renfield for his pathetic attempt at defying him. He had even touched It, marking the fabric with bloody hands and destroying the last shred of hope Renfield had left as Mark died In his arms.

The jumper was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance for him to redeem himself and live again, to be a person and be free. He's literally letting colour and light back Into his life again after being trapped In the darkness for so long and Dracula Is just dragging him down Into the shadows again. Whatever Renfield does, he always ends up back In the darkness, caged In by Dracula's claws and held on an Invisible leash by his rare moments of kindness.

Everything Is ruined.

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

The Promise of Eternity (Epilogue)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of  Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery, mentions of murder

Word Count: 787

Imagine Series

Side Notes: 

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3.  Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV - 20 years later

“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! The new Duke and Duchess of Baldur’s Gate are crowned today at noon!” A newspaper boy shouted as he held up a copy of Baldur’s Mouth in the air. Astarion and I walked hand-in-hand past the newspaper boy, in disguise as a human couple. “Read more about the former Duke’s charges and scandals on page two!” We continued our leisure stroll towards Wyrm’s Crossing, where our crowning would take place in an hour. 

It had been two decades since Ahriman and Hiedra had been dealt with, and Astarion and I were flourishing. About two years ago, after Astarion landed a position on the former Duke’s council, he had implemented and begun a societal change to how the city of Baldur’s Gate operated. Under his advice, the economy and people of Baldur’s Gate began to thrive; however, before the former Duke could claim victory with Astarion’s policies, someone had revealed to a source at Baldur’s Mouth of some…misdeeds the Duke had done over his decade-long rule. (I would say thanks to whomever did such a task, but let’s just say that disguise self is quite the useful spell.) Ultimately, this information caused the citizens of Baldur’s Gate to revolt, and they elected Astarion as their new ruler.

Of course, we had done more than just improve the economy of Baldur’s Gate. I was a prominent figure in the community for funding free public education that was actually teaching the children to thrive in the world. Tutors were provided to help those who struggled, and higher education was provided with no cost to those who sought it. Vocational training for those who wanted to work in construction and other careers was also free to those interested.

Another project of mine in the city was the construction of a community based shelter, where you were provided with the necessary tools to help those in need get on their own. The shelter provided housing and food until you found a stable job and could afford a house. Part of this project entailed building affordable homes that anyone could easily buy. 

These programs, and many others Astarion and I implemented together, enabled the city to expand and thrive. Hence when the former Duke got caught using the city’s taxes to fund his own interests, the citizens decided that the couple who cared about the city deserved to rule it.

An hour later I stood proudly next to Astarion with a crown on my head as he kneeled before the former Duke’s general placed a sword on both of his shoulders.

“By the power invested in me, I name you Duke of Baldur’s Gate.” A roar erupted from the crowd as a crown was placed upon the curly white hair of my beloved vampire. He stood up tall and looked at the crowd who had gathered to see him before he looked at me. He reached a hand out to me, which I happily took and smiled back at him.

“Citizens of Baldur’s Gate,” Astarion’s voice echoed in the hall with authority, and the room fell silent. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked at me, and I knew he was enjoying every minute of this moment. “I am beyond proud to be the one you have all voted to be your Duke. But, I would not be where I am today without the help of my gorgeous wife, (TAV’s name), who is now your Duchess.” The crowd erupted into cheers, which were silenced when Astarion raised a hand. “Shall we hear a speech from our Duchess?” He raised an eyebrow at me as the crowd began to chant.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” I raised a hand and rolled my eyes at Astarion.

“Citizens of Baldur’s Gate, I am deeply honored to bear such a title as Duchess. I vow to each and every one of you that my work here in the city will continue as before: I will continue to improve the education system, provide housing and job opportunities to all, and—most importantly—I will continue to be a humble and gracious leader to you all. Thank you for placing your faith in us.” Astarion and I bowed to the crowd, who erupted in celebration. 

“Now, who is ready to celebrate?” Astarion and I asked as we straightened up. Sharing a knowing smile between us, Astarion led me by the arm into the crowd as we took our first steps as Duke and Duchess of Baldur’s Gate.

There is nothing in this world that we can’t do and no one who can stop us. Astarion’s words echoed in my head as we mingled with the crowd. We are truly the most powerful people in the world.

[galadae]

📻 for cala’s playlist but also for rowan bc I NEED to know more about your mushroom boy now

ty dani!!

The past, it isn't far away It's part of all of us, it's here to stay I'm more than able to follow through I'm just not for everyone I might be just for you If it wasn't for your kindness I think I might be dead If it wasn't for the way you said "Oh, stay with me instead" No lights on the horizon No sign of what's ahead If it wasn't for your kindness lately I'd never get out of bed

This is on Cala's HW Playlist in a mildly shippy context but I think it's appropriate in a broader sense too, the way her loved ones are what's kept her from big self destructive spirals many times 😭

I'm gonna put Rowan's below the cut bc I will ramble abt him. Thank you for asking!

Think of all the horrors that I promised you I'd bring I promise you, they'll sing of every time You passed your fingers through my hair and called me child Witness me, old man, I am the wild

Basically....Rowan was adopted by an order of scholars when he was 5. They found him on the outskirts of a forest that they thought was cursed. His home had been destroyed in some civil war skirmish, his father was killed and his mother disappeared. He had no memory of the event. No one knew his mother wasn't human or mortal (she's a sort of nature deity). Or that she spent her last ounce of power to save him from the people attacking their home (she put a ward on him that keeps him from ever dying) So fast forward a decade. The scholars in the group wonder why Rowan's been so lucky after multiple death defying events with his own magic. One of them guesses that he's immortal, and then decides to try to get the cure for death from Rowan's blood/soul essence/etc. Initially it was with his consent but the experiments kept getting worse. He also finds out about more corrupt experiments they'd been doing. So he has to deal with finding out how awful the people who raised him really are (there are a few singular good ones but most of them suck)

He escapes and avoids them for another decade or two because he's more interested in discovering why he's immortal than getting revenge on them. This is before the plot happens, but he absolutely does recover more of his mother's magic and send all the corrupt scholars to oblivion LMAO

The whole mushroom thing is like...depending on if he can control the nature magic or not, it starts to give him more tree features but it includes fungus bc the magic is corrupted due to other larger plot reasons. It's complicated hahaha but some day I'll write more lore posts about it!

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

Times Change and We With Time

Part 1 | ? |

First of all let me say, I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm going to roll with my crazy plot bunny. Also as a warning, my first foray into writing any kind of Star Trek, though I've watched a majority of all franchises.

This is a Christopher Pike / Reader story.

Lots of set up in this chapter, so bare with me.

----------

Q always drives home the point that time, is in fact, non-linear. So what happens when you realize that maybe a person's future, lies in the past?

'Times change and we change with them' - Latin Proverb

----------

Chapter One: So, That...Happened

Disclaimer | I am taking several liberties with Star Trek lore in order to mold the telling of this story. Mainly, Spock's disappearance when he went on the rescue mission to stop the destruction of Romulus's star system. We're going to negate the Kelvin timeline here and assume Spock surfaced and has been focusing on continued re-settling of the remaining Romulan inhabitants on Vashti.

OOOOO

Stardate: 2402.3

OOOOO

The Enterprise-G was quite a formidable ship. Previously known as the USS Titan, she was rechristened after the events of near Borg annihilation just a few short years ago.

You were walking back to your quarters, smiling and nodding at several familiar faces on the way.

Having served in an unofficial capacity on the Enterprise-E, you knew there was no other feeling in the world than being on a starship.

And for once, you were grateful for the lull in activity. Not racing against all odds to save the galaxy, worrying about the crew and their safety. As thrilling as that may be for some, it's nice to get back to what Star Fleet was all about, exploring.

Technically, you were never enlisted in Star Fleet. But here you were, having spent a majority of your life with them, all whom you've grown to call family. Protecting them fiercely.

With a genius mind that rivaled most all humans, you reveled in problem solving, tackling the most enigmatic challenges.

However, this came at a great personal cost. There have been many long sleepless nights, you just wished you were normal.

They say humanity has bettered themselves over the centuries. And yes, you suppose that may be true, but there are still those out there who wish to do harm. You learned that early on in life. Orphaned at such a young age, your family sacrificed their lives to protect you. Your intelligence sparked interest in parties who would use your mind to create chaos and destruction. You had to run constantly, never staying in one city too long on Earth. Though, you found the state of Montana to be quite lovely. You thought, if ever you were to retire one day, it would be there.

OOOOO

Okay, so when you mentioned you "served" on the USS Enterprise, it may have been an exaggeration. You were 10 and snuck aboard before leaving space port. The only reason you were allowed to stay was because of one, Beverly Crusher. You like to think of her as the adoptive mom you never had.

But like everyone else close in your life, she had disappeared too. That is until she resurface with her son Jack. You weren't even angry she up and poofed out of existence for 20 years. There was only hurt and sadness. You were used to people abandoning you.

So after crying and lots of hugging, of course you understood, but the loss was still palpable over those two decades.

It's funny, during your time on the Enterprise-E, once you were old enough, you essentially became a Consultant to the Captain, which is what Jack's position on this ship currently is.

That kid. What a handful. And a shameless flirt, who does not seem to care that you are nearly a decade and a half older than he is. You mostly roll your eyes at him, but occasionally, he'll get a good laugh out of you.

Over the last 20 years or so since leaving the Enterprise-E in 2379, you had bounced around from ship to ship, consulting on various odd ball requests. Still never commissioned, but Star Fleet also understood why there was a reason to keep a low profile. Those terrorists that hunted you as a child, were still out there searching for you. So, keeping your name off any official databases was pretty handy.

Until - it wasn't.

OOOOO

Your communicator beeped just as you arrived at the front door to your quarters. Entering, you tap the communicator on your jacket.

"Go ahead."

A loud sigh can be heard over the comm line, "You ready to go? We're at the transporter pad, waiting to beam down."

"Hold your horses. I just need to grab my backpack and PADD Commander Musiker."

You may have responded a bit cheekily, but you don't often use your honorary rank.

"Sorry, ma'am."

Shaking your head and laughing, you gather the remaining items stuffing them in your backpack, "Raffi, just head down to the surface with the away team, I'll follow suit in a couple minutes."

"I can wait," a very distinct male voice piped in.

"Commander, I am definitely ordering you to take Ensign Crusher planet side, now."

You could hear the abrupt rounds of laughter floating through the comm system.

"Copy that. We're heading down."

Yeah. Today was going to be a good day.

OOOOO

Away missions aren't generally something you venture out on too often. Just due to the nature of your position in Star Fleet, but you made a special request for this one.

A class M planet in the Beta Quadrant had been producing unusual anomalies since the Romulus sun went supernova. The readings were sparce and intermittent from the probe recently sent. So, to get a better understanding, command sent the Enterprise out to get more concrete findings. The data was so mystifying it even piqued Ambassador Spock's interest as well. He planned to meet you down on the planet near one of the anomalies.

But still, something seemed, off.

You beamed down within a reasonable amount of time from your last communication with Raffi. The team appeared to be setting up camp and already taking readings of the area, though you aren't sure why everyone is peering over the edge of a cliff.

Quietly approaching, you clear your throat from a fair distance behind the team, making your presence known.

Jack spins around.

"There she is. You've got to take a look at this."

He really does act like a happy golden retriever sometimes, and it is ridiculously infectious.

"Hi friends. What have we got?" You wave at everyone before leaning your head over the edge of the barren cliff. The area reminded you of the Grand Canyon. "Oh, uh - now that is trippy," your eyebrows nearly stretch all the way up to your hairline in surprise.

You weren't really sure what you were looking at. A flattened dark swirling mass of....distorting matter? You pull your backpack from around you and grab your tricorder. Giddy with excitement you attempt to get as close to the edge as possible.

"Easy there tiger, let's not fall off. We all know how clumsy you are," Raffi's voice carries nearby.

You huffed annoyed, but bite back any remarks, because - okay, you were a tad clumsy. But mostly it's because you're occupied with your head in a book or data and randomly bump into things as you walk.

Mumbling to yourself, "Seriously, what is this thing?"

"That is a temporal rift."

Your head snaps up, turning towards the newcomer.

"Spock!"

Smiling you, make your way over to greet one of your closest friends. It still shocks the hell out of you, to think you became friends with one of Star Fleet's most highly decorated.

You don't see each other very often in person anymore, but you both have a bi-monthly communication, catching up on what's going on in each other's lives. But honestly, you just enjoy listening to Spock reminisce about serving on the Enterprise. Lately, he had been sharing more and more stories about Captain Christopher Pike. And they were so good.

"You still accept hugs from friends?" Stopping short, you hold out your arms tentatively.

You know hugs aren't always his thing, but you've managed to wrangle one or two out him in the past.

"Perhaps not in front of the away team, Fleet Admiral."

Out of your peripheral, you see the team trying to look inconspicuous, as if they aren't eavesdropping on your conversation.

Sighing you drop your arms and walk closer to Spock. You jut your head over to a grouping of rocks a few meters from your friends.

"Ambassador Spock and I are going to have a quick chat. We won't go far."

You stuff your hands into pockets and gesture for him to follow.

"You know Spock, you don't have to call me Fleet Admiral."

Having fallen in step with you, his hands are steepled in front of him, "It is your rank, is it not?"

"Yes, but - it's just an honorary rank. And we're friends, you can call me by my name, you know?"

You peer up at him, knowingly.

"Indeed I do."

Chuckling to yourself, you hoist yourself onto one of the large boulders nearby.

"Okay. Time for the important questions. Why are you really here? As happy as I am to see you, this doesn't seem like something you would waste your energy on," you watch Spock stand next to you as he peers out over the vast canyon.

"You have always been incredibly perceptive for a human. You also carry with you an innate compassion for others and a will to never give up. So logic dictates, you would likely continue questioning my motives until I bare them to you."

"You would be correct," eyebrow raising in interest.

You heard a soft chuckle from the Vulcan. Spock dipped his head slightly before facing you once more.

"You remind me very much of a Captain I once served under."

Your eyeballs grew comically wide.

"What?" You drag out slowly. Narrowing your eyes, you continue "I'm assuming you aren't referring to James Kirk?"

"I am not. You may be centuries apart, but many of the endearing qualities I see in you are also the same ones reflected in Christopher Pike." Spock paused briefly, sighing quietly before continuing, "Had you have met, I believe you both would have found great value in one another."

Your jaw drops open slightly in shock.

Blinking rapidly, your brain is trying to discern what exactly Spock is implying. Great value in one another?

"Uh - thank you?" You say confusingly. Then a thought comes to mind and you perk up, "Is this why you keep telling me stories about him?"

"It is one reason, but not the only one."

You tilt your head to the side, "I'm not following. What other reason could there be?"

"Today will be the last day I see you, as I am now," Spock answers.

"That isn't exactly the response, I was hoping for. Why is today the last day I see you? Are you not well?" Alarm creeps into your voice, sounding a growing concern for your friend.

"You will understand in due time."

Standing, you rubbed a hand over your face in frustration.

"Could you not be so cryptic in your Vulcan-y ways?"

You were about to start in again, but a communicator went off.

It wasn't yours.

"Spock here," he taps on his badge.

"Ship's ready sir, just let us know when you're ready to beam back aboard," an officer's voice filtered through.

"Momentarily, Spock out."

"So, you aren't here for the mission," you reply, crossing your arms in front.

"No. I am not."

"Then why?"

"I came to say goodbye to an old friend," Spock replies softly.

Looking up at him, you notice now how somber his eyes are.

"I still don't understand."

Bobbing his head, Spock gives a look of contemplation, "I know.”

Suddenly, you're pulled into a hug.

You were grateful for the comfort, but terribly concerned. Spock normally doesn't initiate hugs, and this conversation has been very confounding to say the least.

But you trust Spock. If something were seriously amiss, he would tell you, wouldn't he?

Pulling back, you give him a fond questioning look.

Spock raised his hand to the Vulcan salute, "It has been the one of the greatest privileges of my life to have known you. You shall and always will be my friend."

"I - yes, Spock, same to you, as well," you were stumbling over yourself, stunned by his action and words.

"Live long and prosper," Spock fondly says, a small smile gracing his features.

You see him tap on his comm badge, "One to beam up, energize."

"Wha - ?"

Before you have time to responds, he's gone from your sight.

Why that sneaky Vulcan! How could just up and leave like that? Next communication session you plan on giving him an earful.

OOOOO

You make your way back over to the away team, dusting off your jeans as you walk. Spinning around slowly, you check to make sure you got all the sand off you. You weren't a true field commissioned Star Fleet officer, so you tend to only wear your uniform when you absolutely have to.

"What was all that about?" Jack says, striding up to you.

"Your guess is as good as mine," you reply dazed.

"So, Ambassador Spock is not staying for the readouts, I take it?" Raffi sarcastically chimes in.

You look over and just shake your head exasperated.

"Vulcans, what are ya going to do?" You throw your hands up in the air.

You noticed other members of the crew had separated out in pairs to collect data. The plan was to only spend one day on the planet and then return the findings to Star Fleet command, with a recommendation on what to do about the anomalies and if they posed a danger to inhabitants.

Reaching for your tricorder again, you stopped short when you heard a shuffling from a section of the area North that hadn't been scouted.

"Commander do you hear that?"

Raffi straightened up, looking around. She holds up her hand, "Everyone quiet."

The shuffling noise was becoming more prominent, closer.

"Phasers out," the Commander replied.

Funny thing. You didn't have one on you. You should really be better prepared.

Craning your neck, you try to see if there's any danger, but there are boulders everywhere.

Raffi was starting to run security protocols with the crew when you saw them.

"Commander, left at 2 o'clock," you shout.

A small group of what looks to be raiders are making their way forward to advance on the team.

And they have weapons. Wonderful.

"Take cover," Jack shouted, grabbing you and darting for the nearest section of boulders to crouch down behind.

You hear a phaser go off and shouting from members of the away team, calling out positions.

Well, this turned ugly fast, you think.

You tighten the backpack strap across your chest in a nervous gesture.

Knowing you don't have a weapon to help your team, you hit your comm badge, "Enterprise, status - we are under fire. Repeat, we are under fire. Request immediate beam up."

No response.

You tap your badge again. Nothing.

Enemy fires grazes the top of the rock you're hiding next to. You look around and see the young Crusher, side stepping his way around to the outer rim - firing every so often, but you can hear the weapons discharging from either side at increased rates. It's only a matter of time before someone gets seriously injured.

Raffi is several feet in front of you around another set of rocks, taking cover and giving orders while keeping her own attackers at bay.

Peering up from over the boulder you're at, you notice a pair of raiders closing in on Jack, who has now isolated himself near the edge of the cliff. You never thought he was extremely reckless, but his mother would be furious if anything happened to him.

Distracted by another raider to his right, you see the ensign focus and hit his target, but he's failed to see the other two closing in on him.

You see one of the two fractioned raiders raise their weapon, ready to fire.

Without hesitation, you sprint from your hiding place and tackle Jack to the ground barely missing the shot fired.

"Are you insane Crusher?" You yell.

"I could say the same thing about you!"

"Can we not do this right now?"

More weapons discharge over the next several minutes. The exchange finally stops after seeing another attacker go down. The Commander is calling out for a perimeter sweep and ordering a Lieutenant to find a way to get in contact with the Enterprise.

Jack stands up and offers you a hand once the all clear is given.

"Thanks for that," he replied bashfully, gesturing to the area where he was saved.

Both of you head start to head over to Commander Musiker, walking along the cliff edge.

"Yeah, well your mother would murder me if something happened -"

Cutting off your snarky reply, you're thrown back by the force of something piercing your shoulder. You cry out in pain, stumbling backwards.

Okay, maybe this wasn't as great a day as you imagined.

Vaguely, you can hear both Raffi and Jack shouting, but your ears are ringing. You reach you towards Crusher with your good arm, but you lose your footing and the next thing you know you're falling in darkness.

OOOOO