#and weirdly aligned with an idea i've had for a while

[lucystark12]

what are you thinking, finn wolfhard?

everything i'm about to say aligns with my finn wolfhard is a genius agenda.

it was just made apparent to me that not only did finn wolfhard film it 2017 before season two, but he filmed his scenes as boris in the goldfinch literally DAYS before filming season three. this is extremely hard for me to conceptualize. but it also makes me think about finn wolfhard himself who obviously knows the truth about mike wheeler's sexuality. if byler is as deep seeded as we want it to be, odds are that finn knew what was up from the beginning. which makes a girl think- did he know the same about richie tozier when he first played him in 2017?

lets look at richie a bit.

richie is obviously gay. i will not be taking arguments on this. i'm reading a reddit thred right now where people are debating it and i'm like- are you kidding me. but he wasn't gay in the source material. stephen king has stated as much in a vanity fair article. though he calls andy muscetti's choice "genius" (which it is, btw), he makes it clear that it wasn't his intention. it's explicitly clear in it chapter 2, and being wired like a byler shipper, i was able to suss it out in the first movie, but was that andy muscetti's intention to begin with?

there are many ways this change can be interpreted. assuming that it wasn't something that was explicitly written into the original character description for richie in the first movie, you could see this as something that was put in as a sign of the times, a statement if you will. it chapter one was written in 2015-2016 while we were still under obama's presidency, one that saw drastic improvements for the quality of life of a gay person in america. it chapter two was written during trump's presidency and could have been trying to brand itself as a statement of sorts. i only say this because as far as i can find (and PLEASE tell me if i'm wrong) there wasn't nearly as much evidence hinting at richie's sexuality in the first movie as there is for mike or will to use a relevant example.

the idea that finn wolfhard could have gone straight from it filming (summer of 2016) to stranger things filming (early november 2016) just having played a character who he knows was in the closet and in love with his best friend in the 80s could open up new interpretation to mke in season two. oddly, the reason i bring this up is because richie tozier to me is the mirror image of a kid i was friends with in middle school. they acted the same, they even weirdly looked and dressed the same. the only time i've ever made the comparison between middle school kid and mike wheeler was during season two, specifically in the scene where max leaves them the note, which leads me to believe that he could have carried other things over from other aspects of the it production.

season two isn't what really concerns me though. i'm looking more at season three. the goldfinch only moved to production in albuquerque in april of 2018, which is obviously where finn wolfhard filmed all of his scenes. however, stranger things 3 started production on april 23rd, 2018, which means there might have even been crossover between finn's shooting dates if not at least a very short gap of time between them. it chapter 2 was filmed that same summer likely with some of it's own crossover with stranger things three dates. finn wolfhard's lack of scenes in the second movie are probably what made this possible, but the scenes that he did have tackled very delicate topics that had to be handled with care. most actors get their scripts for minor roles like this a few weeks out from filming, which means that finn could have had his scripts for it chapter 2 that very explicitly make it clear that he's gay during filming for stranger things 3.

so here he is with one gay character right before season 3 and one right after. he knows how to handle these things, which means that every move he's making, especially in season three, is most likely intentional, especially if he knows this far in advance about mike's sexuality. i think it's totally feasible that he does. i'm fifteen and i understand what was happening between byler during the fight scene, finn was sixteen and, being a part of this show, probably understood what was going on too even if he wasn't outright told. doing justice to a season like this when he was also having to figure out scenes like the boreo taxi scene or the arcade scene with henry bower's cousin or r + e was probably at the forefront of his mind.

in conclusion, i just have one question:

what does this mean, finn wolfhard?

[y-rhywbeth2]

Fun things I'm slapping on my Durge as I fully lean into the outsider (evil/fiend subtype) category and the concept that Durge is/used to be Bhaal because if the writing can try and tell me that Wyll Ravengard is an actual devil despite bringing in none of the themes or consequences of what that means, nor treating him mechanically as anything but a regular human with horns, then whatever the writing says on the matter of outsiders vs mortals is 100% meaningless and I can do what the fuck I want:

A silver allergy (but they're reacting to the silver itself, not the traces of other metals in the alloy) A trait devils and bhaalspawn have in common is their weakness to silver (a metal associated with good and purity and etc). While that technically refers to damage reduction when injured, I like the idea that it also causes supernatural allergic reactions and causes burning/itching and hives and stuff.

Weirdly dark veins Going off that thing where Bhaalspawn blood may be black and viscous - I won't go that far, but the idea that it's weirdly thick and sticky and darker in colour than it should be sounds fun.

Black eyes, possibly including the sclera. Because I've always loved that particular dream from BG1 where Bhaal manifests as a raven: "You drop your gaze back to the water so as not to see [your foster father's corpse]. The raven is gone, but your own image remains. Your eyes are black, like those of a bird. 'Like father, like child,' the reflection says." (Logically, the average raven technically has dark brown eyes and white sclera, it's just that the iris is so much bigger. Whatever.) There's also room for the glowing molten-lava flames-of-Gehenna type eyes, courtesy of the Ravager avatar, but I feel that might be a touch melodramatic. I like my subtle creepy.

The ability to grow facial hair despite mechanically being an elf The Ravager has a beard; I can only assume Bhaal had one if he's putting them on his avatars. Vel likely won't grow a beard, but he can have the occasional 5 o'clock shadow as a treat.

Pallor Just drawing inspiration from the Slayer, which was a walking corpse, the dude just looks perpetually dead/ill despite his apparent good health (technically the Slayer is described as "ivory white" I'm just going to note that down as a flowery way to say "looks like it doesn't have a functioning circulatory system")

Instinctual knowledge of specific languages. Sort of like dragons and draconic sorcerers are born knowing draconic, and devils abyssal. As basically a minor reincarnation of Bhaal, Durge instinctively knows Netherese and Infernal (Bhaalspawn seem to align closer to devils in nature than any other outsider). Because I can and I want to.

[s10127470]

AU Idea: Nicktoon Fighters

Hey there folks!

For a while, I've been wanting to do my own fanfiction based around the Nicktoons, but I've had a hard time trying to figure out how to make it stand out.

Plus, I want to release it this year in honor of the 25th anniversary of biggest Nicktoons of them all, SpongeBob SquarePants!

(I know that sounds odd, but I figured better now than waiting until 2026)

In fact, when trying to create a premise for this Nicktoons series, I actually looked to SpongeBob, wanting to utilize some kind of element of the show as the basis.

And while rewatching SpongeBob, I noticed that how karate, despite being a favorite pastime for the sponge and particularly Sandy in the past, has weirdly faded into irrelevancy.

Like, I think the last time there was episode that featured karate was all the way back in like 2012.

And thus, it gave me the idea for an AU/fanfic where the Nicktoon characters are fighters.

This is gonna be short one, but I think you’ll all enjoy it.

The AU/series would draw lot of inspiration from fighting-based media. From video games like Street Fighter and Tekken, to anime and manga like Dragon Ball, Hunter x Hunter and Baki, to even Western animated shows like Xiaolin Showdown and Jackie Chan Adventures.

The setting for this AU is a version of Earth where all the Nicktoons co-exist, including the ones with Earths that don’t align with ours like Avatar and Breadwinners.

Their respective locations (The Four Nations and such) would still exist in this world.

As for the premise, it focus on SpongeBob and his pals entering the annual world tournament of this, well, world.

And in contrast to most other fighting tournaments, this one is similar to a Grand Prix, which there bing different sets of fights that occur on different nights and in different parts of the world.

As for why they're reason, you can thank Mr. Krabs for that.

Essentially, the grand prize for whoever wins the tournament is $1,000,000.

And as we all know about Mr. Krabs....

Speaking of Krabs, in this universe, he's a longtime fighter (having been one since he was teenager), and was a longtime champion of the tournament for many years (for obvious reasons).

Even to this day, he still participates.

However, he hasn't won the last couple of tournaments.

Reason why: while Mr. Krabs is still a tough customer, he's getting old (he's like in his late-40s to early-50s now) and he isn't in his prime anymore.

However one day after seeing SpongeBob and Sandy doing their usual karate matches, he realized that they and their friends are still in their prime and would be more likely to win the tournament than him.

And that's how they got here.

However, this tournament isn't what it seems.

This year's tournament has a new financer by the name of Sheldon J. Lawrence.

But in reality, he's actually Plankton is disguise.

Essentially, the previous financer had an "accident" and Plankton (in his disguise) was able to take over his role.

As for the tournament not being what it seems.

Well, all locations of the tournament will be taking place all just so happen to the same locations of The Warrior Weapons, a group of mystical weapons that once belonged to some of the most legendary warriors throughout history.

And as you expect, these weapons hold untold, phenomenal powers.

As for why Plankton wants them, it's pretty simple: Revenge.

Just like Mr. Krabs, Plankton also competed in the tournament for many years.

However, he never made it past the first round for....obvious reasons.

Even with his tech, he still couldn't make it.

That, along with the ridicule that came with it, drove Plankton mad.

But shortly after last year's tournament, Plankton would discover the existence of The Warrior Weapons.

This gave Plankton the idea to become a fake financer to he could be charge of the tournament, specifically in the choice of locations.

While the tournament was going on, he would sneak off to find each of the Warrior Weapons.

And with once Plankton has all the weapons, he plans to use them all together to make himself into an all-powerful being so he can become the greatest fighter who lived, get back at those who mocked him, and conquer the world.

Luckily, SpongeBob and his pals stumbled upon his plans and are now trying to stop Plankton from collecting all the Weapons while trying to win the tournament.

But they're not in this alone, as they made some new friends in the tournament who are here to help!

But before we talk about that, let's talking about the main star of this AU real quick.

SpongeBob is largely the same as he usually is, and he's in this tournament to have fun, make some new friends, and make Mr. Krabs proud! For his fighting style, SpongeBob is skilled in the art of karate. He's not quite a master at it like Sandy, but he does know it well. But what makes him stand out is that he mixes it with his natural ability to stretch his body to incredible lengths. He's basically long-ranged physical fighter ala Monkey D. Luffy. He's not the strongest, but he makes for it with immense resilience thanks to his sponge-like skin. As for his attire, it's basically standard karate garb, but with a brown color scheme with a black belt. His also has two side holders, which he uses to hold two big water bottles. Thanks to being a sponge, SpongeBob uses those bottles to shoot pressurized water from his holes, which can be powerful knock to people back and make dents in the wall.

Now let's talk about the other main Nicktoons.

-Avatar Aang: Aang is what you would expect from him, and he (along with the rest of Team Avatar) are here in the tournament to have some fun. For his fighting style, this is where things get interesting. In this universe, Benders each have unique physical advantages over each other (which is a concept I've had for many years). Waterbenders are naturally flexible and have uncanny reflexes, Earthbenders have superhuman strength and resilience, Firebenders have great stamina and endurance, and Airbenders have superhuman speed and agility. And since Aang is the Avatar, he's pretty much the living definition of an all-around character. But he's more of a speed fighter, due to his main prowess and preference as an Airbender. His style is also more evasive and defensive than others, due to his status as a pacifist. He also fights with his trusty glider staff, giving some more power to his Airbending attacks and to also trip his opponents. As for his attire, it's essentially the same outfit that he's had since Book 3.

-Timmy Turner: Timmy is back to how he was portrayed in the early seasons of The Fairly OddParents, and he's here in the tournament to win that money! For his fighting style, Timmy is what would you call a wildcard fighter. With Cosmo and Wanda, he can essentially create any weapon he wants. But he predominantly has them transform into martial art weapons. Plus the fact that he's also quick on his feet makes him a pretty challenging fighter. As for his attire, he would be wearing a slightly modified version of his hooded look from Abra-Catastrophe, but with the hood being pink, having magic martial arts weapons strapped to him, and his primary outfit would be the same one done by Zigwolf, with the addition of some white fingerless gloves.

-Jimmy Neutron: Jimmy is what you would expect from him and he (along with the rest of his friends) joined the tournament to see who between him and Cindy can last the longest. As for his fighting style, Jimmy is strictly a long-range fighter. He uses a special set of high-tech gauntlets and boots that allows him to fly and blast lasers, electricity, and powerful gusts of wind. Unfortunately, this use of technology also makes him a bit of glass cannon. As for his attire, he would be wearing the same outfit done by kianamai, but with the aforementioned gauntlets and boots (along with a matching helmet and visor).

-Danny Phantom: Danny, like most of the others, is what would you expect from and he joined the tournament (along with his friends and family) to have some fun. As for his fighting style, Danny is a versatile fighter. He's able to fight close range thanks to his supernatural strength (which can slightly enhance with by channeling ecto-energy into his hands or feet). Plus the fact that he's also skilled in boxing and kickboxing, which he learned from his parents and Jazz, doesn't hurt either. He can also attack enemies from a distance with his ectoplasmic energy beams, ghostly fire, ice powers, and Ghostly Wail. Plus thanks to his invisibility, intangibility, and duplication powers, Danny is pretty tough to land a hit on. As for his attire, he would wearing the same outfit done by coffeecakecafe.

-El Tigre: Manny is what you would expect from him and he (along with Frida and Puma Loco) joined the tournament for that prize money! As for his fighting style, Manny is a speed, agility and stealth-focused fighter. He utilizes his feline-like speed and agility to evade attacks from his opponents, and his stealth to get the drop on them when they least expect it. And in addition to possessing superhuman strength and his trusty claws, Manny is also skilled in Tiger-Style Kung Fu. As for his attire, it's essentially the same as it usually is.

-Jenny Wakeman: Jenny is what you would expect from her and she (along with her friends) joined the tournament to have some fun. As for her fighting style, Jenny, like Danny, is a pretty versatile fighter. She has a wide array of weapons at her disposal, has incredible strength and speed, can fly, can stretch her limbs to incredible lengths (similar to SpongeBob) and is immensely resilient. As for her attire, it would be the same outfit from her redesign by drawnfamiliarfaces.

-Tak: Tak is back to his characterization from the original games and he (along with his friends) joined the tournament to have some fun (except for Lok, who's definitely here for the money....and bitches). As for his fighting style, Tak is a mage fighter. He utilizes The Staff of Dreams, which allows him to cast all kinds of magical attacks. Tak's also able to use the staff in a melee style (being skilled in the art of staff fighting) and is pretty agile. As for his attire, it's essentially the same from the games: cape and all.

-Eliza Thornberry: Eliza is what you would expect from and she (along with the rest of her family) joined the tournament as a fun little side quest of sorts. As for her fighting style, just like Timmy, Eliza is a wildcard fighter. In this universe, Shaman Mnyambo not only gave Eliza the power to talk to animals, but also the power to call upon the abilities of any animal, ala Vixen. As for her attire, shs would wear the same outfit from Rugrats Go Wild!, but with red fingerless gloves.

Well that's all I have for now!

This isn't exactly the most detailed or informative post I've made, but this is a part 1.

I promise for the next part, I'll talk about a few other Nicktoons characters and most importantly of all, The Warrior Weapons.

Also, let me know how well you guys think I converted the Nicktoons into fighters.

But until then....

See ya!

[alavestineneas]

Nothing we can do

pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!reader

summary: Finnick Odair hates everything about the Capitol and has every right to do so. But what if there was someone who made it a little more complicated?

warnings: mentions of rape, typical hunger games violence

chapter 1 -> chapter 2 -> chapter 3

''Mister Odair, what a pleasure seeing you in such a cheerful spirit! I hope I don't ruin it with my presence, will I?''

Finnick wanted nothing more than to agree with a man, but instead, he politely smiled. ''Never, President Snow.''

''That's good news. I've noticed you made friends with Miss Y/N.'' A white-haired man lifted a glass from a tray, studying a weirdly coloured liquid inside. ''Such a remarkable young lady. Very bright, and might I as well add, very favoured amongst the suitors.''

Finnick did not understand where Snow was going with this, but it promised nothing good for him or Y/N. He wasn't that naive to even hope they could keep this a secret, but it wasn't that evident. Besides, Snow still got his money. Then what was it?

''You see, Mister Odair, Miss Y/N managed to catch the eye of our new military commander - such a sweet couple they are. Now, Mister Odair, we don't want anybody getting in the lovers' way, do we?''

''No, President Snow.'' Finnick felt the air leaving his chest. This punishment was clever, he must admit. Still keeping both of them around but reminded of their place. It was cruel. In the best traditions of the Capitol.

''Good. You are a smart man, Finnick. I trust you to make the right decision.'' The President implied their short exchange was over.

The solution was quite simple - Y/N is marrying the man, and Finnick keeps himself as far as possible. It should be easy. They are not even lovers, just acquaintances. If that is true, however, Finnick's hands wouldn't tremble as much as they do now. He was in love with a dumb lonely girl from the Capitol, and now he had to let her go.

He was invited to the wedding, of course. It might have been Y/N's idea or the President's order - either way he was stuck drinking cocktails and chatting with a bunch of assholes while they all waited for the lover birds to appear.

A tremendous garden was filled with live music and laughter. The wedding was lavish: fountains of chocolate, crates of fresh fruits, names of which Finnick could not pronounce, expensive meat and fish, literal pools of champagne and wine. It isn't something she would have chosen, he thinks. But then, does he really know?

The first notes of a famous melody hit the guests' ears - they hurriedly took their seats, aligned in neat rows. The first to walk down the decorated aisle was the groom. A man in his thirties in a functional but high-class suit walked quickly. He was everything you expect from a soldier - serious and cold eyes, lean figure and short hair. The man looked nothing like people here, so Finnick assumed he wasn't from around here, probably from District 2.  

Then, she appeared. Beautiful white wedding gown, with red gemstones covering her shoulders and descending onto the neckline. From afar, Finnick assumed it was made to resemble fire. But when she moved closer, he realised. The gemstones were droplets of blood. People caught that too, judging from a few gasps in the crowd. Y/N smiled at them, a knowing look in her eyes. The goodbye look.

It hurt, Finnick noted with slight amazement. Watching her kiss a stranger instead of him. What hurt more were her tears, which many falsely assumed were happy. Finnick did not miss how her now husband grabbed her forearm in anger or how her mother tried to cover her sobs in Mr.'s Y/L/N shoulder.

''We have two minutes. He promised me he'll kill me if I ever spoke to you again. And I believe him.''

''Snow?"

''No, Derek. They say he turned his ex-wife into the avox. Can you believe that?'' Y/N chuckled, but Finnick knew better. She was scared.

''Snow also made it very clear that we can't speak again.''

Y/N nodded. ''I guess it is for the best.''

He wanted to say more: to comfort her, to say that it'll be alright, to say that he loves her. But it would make no difference, only give them something they can never afford to have - hope.

Y/N seemed to understand that too. ''Try to stay alive, Finnick. It suits you.''

-

The month changed quickly after that. Quite frankly, Finnick lost count of them a long time ago. Nothing new. Same faces, same duties, the same fake smiles and a small voice in his head.

The voice that slowly poisoned his mind. The voice that woke him up at night and haunted him in the daytime. Telling him that he is a coward, that there was a choice, he was just not brave enough to make it.

When the Quarter Quell was announced Finnick thought he might be going insane. He had not slept all night, preferring to stare into the relentless ocean. It has calmed him before, but not this time. Finnick was sure that he isn't seeing this water again - Snow will have him in that damn arena, and the chances of getting out were even smaller than before.

It was like a fever dream - reaping, interviews, countless photoshoots. It felt bitter but, at the same time, very familiar. He did not have to bother to attract sponsors or build a good image for the Capitol - years of work before came in handy. Finnick was left with a week of existence before his death. Very generous.

A few visits to his most generous sponsors. An hour or two. A pretty smile here and a moan there. Nothing of the unusual kind. Some cried, and some assured they will be doing everything possible to get him back. If Finnick could, he would laugh right in their atrociously painted faces.

The last client for today. A huge hotel with hundreds of rooms, very acquainted to Finnick. Golden doors, luxurious lobby. Room 23, the door to the right. He knocked and opened it without bothering to wait.

''Missed me, fisher boy?'' Y/N and her luminous dress. Finnick quickly shortened the distance between them, embracing the woman in a hug. She smelled sweet, with a hint of sourness - probably the healing cream.

''You have no idea.''

She chuckled in his chest. Finnick thought that this is how he would like to go - in her arms. He quickly lost the idea when she started speaking.

''We have an hour, then he'll find out. I am so sorry about the Games, but I won't be able to help you. Derek can't stand even your face in the magazine. Such an insecure asshole he is.''

Y/N looked up at him, a storm of feelings in her eyes taking Finnick's breath away.  And then he did something he never thought he would - he kissed her.

It was thorough and shamelessly hearty, nothing like the usual kissing he has done. Hell, she was not even his client - she was the woman he loved, the woman that he so desperately wanted to be his. Finnick felt her tilting her head to the right, pulling away.

''Don't,'' he mumbled, bringing her closer.

''You know you don't have to do it, right? You owe me nothing, Finnick.''

''But I want to. I want you. If you'll have me.''

Finnick felt Y/N's hands on his neck, pulling him in for another, much rougher, almost bruising kiss. They have an hour.

-

Salty waves touched his feet, bringing a burning sensation to the cuts and blisters - they will heal faster that way. The hot daytime sun was finally setting, allowing a few moments of peace in the blood-soaked arena.

Mags was already dead - it was absurd to think she had a chance to survive, as much as Finnick wanted to believe that. He will mourn her if he ever gets out of here.

The one thing occupying his mind was the birds, jabberjays. Finnick couldn't allow himself to believe another lie - Y/N was probably dead or on the verge of dying. He hoped she had gone quickly and without much pain, although judging from her cries, it was far from that.

Even if she was still alive, the first thing when the rebellion breaks out will be her torture. Finnick had sacrificed her for the revolution, for the future. And still, the thought of her eyes haunted him at night. Y/N will be dead now or later; for supporting the rebellion or being on the other side of it, and he sentenced her.

Finnick hopes she forgives him. He wishes they had met in another life - Finnick can almost hear Y/N's cheerful laugh and her soft hands holding his face. ''I love you,'' she says, and for once, it sounds happy, not bitter.

He will do his task - Finnick will get the lovebirds out alive. But then, he will make her a nice grave. They will be together. Y/N wanted to see District 4, his home. It will be her home too.

-

The plan worked. Katniss was on the hovercraft. The rebellion has started. Finnick tried to focus on what Haymitch was telling although in vain. It felt real now, the deaths of people he loved. The Capitol took the ones left - Finnick wished he could call them dead.

The door to the room opened, and Plutarch spoke.

''Took you long enough. We were almost getting bored, you know?''

Finnick glanced at the man in irritation. How could he say that? The fire girl lost more in that arena than Heavensbee could imagine.

''Plutarch, I suppose being away from the Snow's grasp helped you lose your manners? I can still have your tongue, so don't get too comfortable."

Finnick's head shot up at the sound of a familiar voice. It couldn't be.

But, there she stood. Y/N. Without her extravagant clothes and vibrant makeup, in a simple grey jumpsuit, she looked much younger.

''Finnick, this is Y/N Y/L/N, although I believe you have met before.''

He did not listen. Finnick embraced the woman, feeling Y/N's hands gripping his torso. She was here. Alive. Breathing and muttering something in his ear. He did not detect it at first, so caught up in his emotions.

''Finn, I love you, but I can't breathe.''

Y/N let out a burst of shaky laughter as Finnick instantly let her go, feeling a slow smile growing on his face.

They made it.

[samstree]

Hi Jin, I love both your fluff and your angst a whole lot so I come offering with either 34."Please don't" or 33. "Are you delirious?” from the Responses to “I Love You” Prompt List for Geraskier 💙

Mend What Is Bound to Break

Some hurt is unavoidable.

Responses to “I love you” prompt list: 34. "Please don't,”

(1k, hurt/comfort, angry jaskier, geralt tries his best, cw: blood and injury, read on AO3)

“I love you.”

That is the wrong thing to say, because Jaskier is growing more agitated.

“Please don’t,” he hisses, shifting away from Geralt on the small bed. The fit is too tight, so even when he ends up on the edge there’s still only a hand’s breadth between their bodies. Stubbornly turning his head away, Jaskier lets out an audible huff. “And don’t look at me with your puppy eyes. I know you are! You’ve fucked up real good this time, mister witcher. Batting your pretty eyes is not going to work.”

Geralt reaches out but thinks better of it. Instead, his arm wraps around the bandaged wound at his side.

The worst part is that Geralt knows he fucked up. In fact, he already knew when he set out for the kikimora with half of his potions empty and that barely healed concussion. The deep gash right below his ribcage is as inevitable as it is painful at this moment.

Yeah. He fucked up real good.

Jaskier is right to be angry. It’s just that Geralt wishes he knows how to deal with an angry Jaskier. A sad one? Sure. Geralt is a connoisseur at lifting his bard’s spirit at this point, but the best trick for that has no effect here—he’s just used it, and made it worse.

Jaskier being this mad at him is a first.

Geralt wants to curse but carefully swallows the urge.

“I’m sorry.” An apology seems to land better. Jaskier still has the back of his head in Geralt’s direction, but he’s listening. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“What shouldn’t you have done?”

Geralt sighs.

“Not take care of myself.”

“And why?” Jaskier deadpans, his shoulders rigid.

“Because—” Geralt shuffles towards the warmth of Jaskier, but the throbbing pain shoots up his spine. A low grunt escapes his throat. The next thing he knows, cornflower blue is all that’s in his vision and full of concern. “Because it worried you. Made you go into the woods and drag me back all by yourself. Again.”

The worry in those cornflower blue eyes freezes over.

“You think—” Jaskier pauses. “Seriously? You think I’m mad because you inconvenienced me?”

“No…?”

The bard makes an indignant squawk and plops down on the bed, fuming, his face bloated red. The only thing missing is smoke coming out of his ears to paint the full picture of his mood.

“There was so much blood, Geralt.”

The accusation comes out a lot softer this time. Something inside Geralt unfurls.

“I would have healed. Even without you.”

“You mean lying in a pool of blood for days, next to some dead creature and waiting for your mutation to knit your skin back together?”

Geralt feels like he shouldn’t answer the rhetorical question, so he purses his lips into a thin line. It turns out that is the wrong answer too.

“Unbelievable,” Jaskier scoffs under his breath.

“There were people nearby. A family living by the woods. A delay would have been too risky.” Geralt adds to the defense that Jaskier surely has learned from that farmer and his wife. The bard is still staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight.

“I don’t care about other people.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand. There’s still bloodstain under his nails.

“That’s not true.” He frowns. Only the gods know how much Jaskier cares under his frivolous appearance, or he never would have followed Geralt so many years ago. “It’s just…the way of the path. You have to understand that these things happen—”

“I have to unders—” Jaskier draws a shuddering breath, and to Geralt’s horror, the salty tang of tears fills the space between them. When their gazes meet again, Jaskier is crying openly. “As if I don’t—”

A whimper interrupts the sentence. The sight of Jaskier choking back tears is too much for Geralt to bear. He manages to get closer this time despite the stitches tugging at his skin.

“Come here. Please?”

It only takes a gentle pull for Jaskier to curl himself around Geralt, who immediately takes the chance to bury his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s neck and nuzzles into the calming scent of chamomile.

“I’m all right.”

“You almost weren’t,” Jaskier sniffles. His damp cheek rubs against Geralt’s forehead. “When I found you, the way you… Geralt, how can you say I don’t know what a witcher’s life is like? How can I not understand that each time you walk into danger you might not come back to me? How can I not when it’s all I can think about on some days? When I can’t even breathe at the idea...”

Geralt laces their fingers together and brings Jaskier’s hand to his lips, another silent apology sealed into the kiss.

“What can I do?”

After a long stretch of silence, Jaskier pulls back, his eyes still glistening. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

Jaskier’s distress won’t dissipate from the air. It’s not logical too, for him to be upset about something he already accepts as the truth, something set in stone. A witcher’s life is volatile. Geralt can’t promise he’ll always come home, and it’s something anyone close to him must come to terms with.

Maybe it’s not something Geralt can make better, but he can still try.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, inching towards Jaskier. “But it is what it is, Jask.”

When Geralt presses another kiss at the corner of his bard’s mouth, something in both of them sags with acceptance. Jaskier leans into the touch, allowing himself to be soothed.

Puppy eyes, right. Geralt gazes upon his bard with all the softness he can muster, and finally, finally, the furrow between Jaskier’s brows smooths over. Calm resignation replaces any trace of his earlier outburst.

Geralt wants to pride himself in the small triumph, in mending Jaskier’s heart. If only he wasn’t the one who broke it in the first place.

A deft hand hovers over the bandages before resting on Geralt’s hipbone, a thumb tracing gentle patterns. It’s all that needs to ease any pain in the world.

“It is what it is,” Jaskier agrees.

And there’s nothing more to it.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[hamliet]

I don’t want to offend anyone but I can’t understand why you said Mel is biphobic ? Lindsay never said she’s bi, she said she’s lesbian but imo you definitely don’t fit the Label if you’ve sex with men / are attracted to men unless you feel forced to do so (if anything Lindsay’s comment can actually be hurtful to the Lesbian community because some women fight for the right of being attracted to women only). That’s why I think her sexuality is much more bi than anything else.

I can see your point, but I don't think it's so black and white. But it is complex and there's a lot of nuance needed, so... I kind of rambled? Hope that's okay! Also, it's fiction, so arguing about a fictional character's sexuality has a weird feeling to it.

That said, I called Mel's reaction biphobic because she does freak out that Lindsay was with a man specifically, and I know many bi people were offended by that. But, well, words and labels are--

See, labels are general categories that help us communicate and figure ourselves out, but labels aren't perfect. No word or words can capture every unique experience, and that's just one of the limits of language. This applies to sexuality, gender identity, and a whole host of issues.

For example, there are people who discover their sexuality later in life. Plenty of people grow up in environments where they can't even consider the idea that they might not be straight without associating it with extreme stress/hellfire/whatever, and so shut off that part of them. Later, when they're in a healthier place, they realize "oh shit, I've actually never been sexually attracted to men; I just thought I had to do this, but I never enjoyed sex. I never even knew what sexual attraction was until I met her." (I know people IRL for whom this is their story.) Because they had sex with men earlier in their lives, does that make them not a valid lesbian?

There are also people who wonder "what if" and are curious, only to realize no, actually, that's not really for me. That is fine. Exploration isn't inherently a bad thing. Yes, many people are certain of their identity from the start, but others aren't for various reasons, and that's okay. People often frame equality in binary terms, and while I get why we do that--again, language, aligning with the familiar helps communicate--I don't think it's the be-all-end-all of experience.

Also, then we have gender identity, which is itself divided weirdly and not nearly so binary as we might think. Not even just with nonbinary folks, but with those who identify as women, it's a rainbow! Trans women, intersex women with CAIS or any other syndrome... they don't always fit the binary. Caster Semenya, for example, is an intersex woman athlete married to a woman. I believe she identifies as a lesbian. She is, but then you have TERFs and conservatives arguing that she isn't because x,y,z, hormone levels and blah blah blah, and that's just... awful and unfair. There are plenty of genetic conditions and factors we don't even know about, and diseases that can affect hormones, and more. Does that make you not something you've always been, if suddenly you get Cushing's or your PCOS acts up and hormones go wild?

I just have 0 interest in policing peoples' identities because labels are the best way we have to communicate currently, but they are flawed and limited by language's limits (time periods, scopes, etc.--no word can cover every experience). Whatever someone says they are, if they like, actually mean it and aren't trolling or using it to hurt someone, I'll call them that. It doesn't do me any good to be like "hey, you're not actually what you say you are." So that's why I said that, but I do understand why people call her bi and don't think it's like, inherently wrong or a sign anyone's a bad person!

Do I think that if the show were made today, or if Lindsay was a real human being who was alive today, she might consider herself bisexual? Yeah! I think she well might. I think the show in general doesn't acknowledge bisexuality, and that's a major flaw of it. But insofar as what she identified as on the show, she calls herself a lesbian, so I don't personally care to call her anything else. But again, fiction, so you do you.

[stayspookymockingbirdlane]

hii its great to see more modern munsters fans especially one who's actually interested in the Rob Zombie movie (wooo!) but from scrolling through your page for a bit I get the idea that you don't necessarily like the Addams Family? Is it because of the pair of movies from the 90s causing the popularity surge or is it something about the show itself?

Also what did you think about the films itself and the characters? (Sorry i know you're hard-core munster but i'd love to hear your opinion)

Thank you for such a nice message! This is the first bit of fanmail I've gotten! Putting this under the cut for length and some AF criticism. (Don't complain if you're a fan and choose to read it anyway please.)

Firstly, I'd like to clarify I have more issues with AF fans themselves, at least as a whole (lots of individual ones are nice people and I don't mean them or mean to offend them when I generalize. My own best friend is one!). I've posted before about how they have a tendency to make Munsters posts about the AF when the AF already dominates the spooky film/Halloween fandom in comparison, which is really entitled and inconsiderate ("Who else loved the Munsters show?" "Well, I always liked the Addams better". One person I saw yesterday straight up took the Munsters trailer and went on a completely irrelevant rant about how the AF are a better couple for supposedly not being straight while the Munsters are?¿?). They also heavily crosstag AF posts as Munsters, which is just rude to people looking for Munster content.

They also can be weirdly... petty about the Munsters. I've had people tell me they've never seen them call the Munsters the "white trash version of the AF" or "AF ripoffs" or Herman and Lily are an healthy couple or whatever, and one person here implied that an example of Munster hate I showed them was basically me just exaggerating. But I see it on every platform any time I read a discussion about the two. Some people like both but for some reason the Addams attract people with an individuality complex and it makes them irate to see the Munsters get love. Which in turn makes it pretty hard to not resent the AF a little bit, if I'm to be honest.

Which leads me to my second point. I have grown to not care for the AF very much. I grew up knowing the show, enjoyed the Scooby Doo crossover, watched the 1990s films a lot, and didn't really love or hate them. I thought they were fine. But when I started using the internet more and got into the Munsters, I noticed a lot of people would negatively pit them against the AF. But more than that, the 90s films seemed to have kind of a bad influence on others my age- the Not Like Other Girls crowd, the "normal people scare me" types who judge others for being into mainstream things, or conventionally attractive. I thought the hostility was very unwarranted, and I saw it didn't align with how fans would say they loved the Addams for being so kind and accepting of others, because they never were to "normies" and often weren't to the Munsters, either. The 90s movies definitely made the AF colder and more snobbish compared to their warmer, friendlier counterparts of the 60s. I sort of get it because the 90s were just kinda into darker stuff and cynicism but still. It basically raised a generation to have elitism and an individuality complex. And why wouldn't it? Tish got standoffish and judgy about pastels and Wednesday is sarcastic and outright tries to kill people and the couple sneers at a harmless play of kids dressed as flowers. Who wouldn't relate to them as a kid who already resented your preppy peers? (Well, me, honestly, but I guess I'm the exception.) I guess I don't see how their goth aesthetic (imo what people's love for them comes down to in truth) makes them deserve a pedestal over the Munsters.

It should be said though that I don't really have a problem with their older versions. I don't think they're "genius" like their fans do, nor do I personally find them as relatable or funny as my spooky faves, but I respect that they're iconic and imo they're fine as long as their fans don't treat them as objectively superior to the Munsters. I actually love crossovers and I'm looking forward to seeing the cartoon movies sometime, which seem closer to the comics than Burton's series will be.

Hope that wasn't too rant-y and answered your question!

[soap-brain]

My prompt isn't part of the hug list and is kind of really angsty so feel free to ignore it if you want! XD I've read a lot of stories where the authors had Spock act like an asshole to make Jim run into Spock Prime's arms and it always makes me sad because I feel that it's unfair to expect Spock to act like his counterpart when SP had decades to accept his human side (1)

(2) so here's my prompt. Spock catches SP and Jim in a intimate situation (kissing or acting intimately or other situations) for whatever reason of your choosing (Spock and Jim had a fight, SP melded with Jim and the emotional transfer made them both act strangely...). The rest is completely up to you :)

it’s finally done!! this was a trip, man. at first i had /no/ idea what to write, how to write it, what you wanted exactly. then i started and it was slow and odd and then it began feeling good as long as i was careful, and now i’m SO PROUD OF THIS!! it’s my new favorite fic (sorry @ His Silver Lady)

i hope you like it though, it’s completely different from what and how i usually write, and i researched some interesting stuff (hey did you know they finished the golden gate bridge in 1937? and did you know there’s already a concept for roads to be replaced with solar panels?? the more you mcfreaking know i guess)

so, without any further ado:AOS Spirk, mentions of AOS Jim Kirk/Spock Prime, mentions of sex, established TOS Spirkwarnings for: a metric ton of sadness and Spock Prime whump, also references to suicide ideation; misuse of Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, ABBA, Pacrim 2, The One With The Whales and a fuckton of odd metaphors

Rating: probably T??Wordcount: 4742

(it’s under a cut because it’s so damn long)

How can I then return in happy plightThat am debarred the benefit of rest,When day’s oppression is not eased by night,But day by night and night by day oppressed,And each, though enemies to either’s reign,Do in consent shake hands to torture me,The one by toil, the other to complainHow far I toil, still farther off from thee?I tell the day, to please him, thou art brightAnd dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild’st the even.     But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,     And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.

How do you know something is missing? Something you never had - how do you know you’re missing it? You feel displaced, a bit empty, searching, maybe. It’s certainly not the best feeling there is, but it’s also far from the worst.

Because the worst is having been searching for all your life, and then you find what you were looking for - love and acceptance, given completely unconditionally. And then you lose it.

Of course, you had it. For a while, you were happy. You had everything you could wish for - and more.

And then you lose it.

You lose it and there’s no replacement, because that thing is gone. Forever. It’s not coming back, you can’t get a second one, no second chances, no winning in life.

You’re alone, lost and broken. Forever.

*∞*∞*

Blue. It’s the first thing he notices. Blue, like … like a summer sky. Like a warp trail. Like a science uniform, like the eyes of a dear friend. On the wrong person maybe, but still … still …

Well. He doesn’t quite know what to say. Not … right, certainly not, more like jarringly wrong, like an atrocious deformity. Everything is wrong about the stranger. He’s too tall, too slim, too different, too wrong, not sunshine-and-honey, more starlight-and-ice.

Perfectly wrong, perfectly right.

He’d thought he’d die here, alone, in the cold, finally, maybe, because he’s not entirely sure he wants to see what this universe becomes, out of time out of space out of order infinite entropy in infinite combinations different and wrong and perfectly, perfectly right after such a long time. Like coming home to a new place.

A difficult concept to explain or grasp, without a doubt.

    “James T. Kirk.”

The confusion on his face is all wrong, epidermis scrunching up in the wrong places. It’s perfect.

    “Excuse me?”

He found him.

    “How’d you find me?”

Not that he’s surprised, exactly. This is a Kirk, after all.

    “Whoa, whoa. How’d you know my name?” Confusion, worn so beautifully. Not what he wants to see, of course - not how he’d like to see it, certainly! - but … he’s grateful for everything by now.

    “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.” It’s a miracle his voice doesn’t break. Or maybe it does, but can you blame him? Miracles like this don’t happen.

He’s not alone anymore, not lost, not broken. Not anymore.

*∞*∞*

My glass shall not persuade me I am old; // So long as youth and thou are of one date.

They have no place in this universe. Or, well, he doesn’t. Jim, Jim, beautiful Jim - he does. He deserves so much. He’s so young, so bright, so fearless, so, so beautiful.

Spock found his missing half again. His t’hy’la, his sun, his everything. Like the universe falling back into alignment, a pendulum with unending weight and no mass.

And then it swings past.

There’s a marvelous ship launching, a goddess in her own right, and her crew is beaming sparkling smiles, turning their backs on Earth with no regrets.

Is this what an abandoned pet must feel like? Watch those it loves and admires turn their backs and walk away, not a glance spared?

His knees want to buckle under the merciless weight of the stars, of years and years lived and forgotten and never happening. Because - because they never were.

Six sets of eyes, blue, brown, golden-sunshine-and-laughter. They never were. And nobody remembers, because they never lived.

Now, they are brown, they are green, they are grey, and a bright, burning blue. Like a shooting star: can’t touch, can’t feel, but all you want to do is latch on. It won’t let you.

What is there to do, when you have nothing? Nothing left, everything taken. Nothing ventured and nothing gained - but. What to venture for? What is there left to fight for?

For the first time in his life it seems like maybe giving up is the right way to go. Maybe - maybe it was enough.

The thoughts don’t come at night, under glittering stars, so far away, held dear in memory. The thoughts don’t come at day, under burning sun, merciless. The thoughts are already here and they won’t leave.

You become used to it.

Have you ever tried reaching out to the stars? Even if they aren’t yours, all wrong because they are exactly the same -  have you tried touching them? Fingers stroking over a cheekbone. The eyes should be phoenix-gold, but they’re a morning sky. And the memory is but a dream.

“‘Let me help.’ A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He’ll recommend those three words even over ‘I love you.’”

So he will help. If nobody ever knows who for, then so be it. He can’t chase after a lover that was never his to have.

*∞*∞*

    “Do you genuinely believe he likes me?”

Sigh. “He is me, and I do know myself. Yes, Jim. Spock likes you.”

    “He doesn’t act like it though.”

So different. So much less calm. Exactly the same.

A smile the other man surely doesn’t see often from him - or his counterpart.

    “Vulcan education doesn’t make it easy to act on our feelings, if we even admit we have them.”

    “But - he doesn’t even use contractions when speaking! Hell, he told me off for using them in official reports! And you - I’ve heard you parody Bones’ accent!”

    “Jim, all I can ask of you is to give my counterpart time and ample supply of possibilities to change. I am over a hundred and ninety years old, and the majority of that time was spent in Human company. It … wears you down, eventually.”

Jim flips the stylus he’d been fiddling with. “I did everything you said though! We’re playing a lot of chess, we have dinner together, I ask to hear him play the lute, I get him little trinkets, I’m trying to be as respectful as I can be, I’m practically flirting with him non-stop - how many more situations should I needlessly and weirdly bend over something? How dense can a guy be!”

    “Always so impatient - ack!”

He’s so close all of a sudden, invading a personal bubble that hasn’t been invaded in a long, long time (actually, never. Because it never happened), smelling and feeling wrong, and exactly right.

Feelings are a confusing thing, but is there anything that’s quite as good?

    “What’s wrong?”

A hand on his elbow, and bright blues looking worried. A momentary lapse of control, and suddenly it’s so much harder to regain his balance, externally, internally, eternally. Of course it’s his presence that set the timer off, tick-tocking towards doom, the shallow contact on Delta Vega, the most intimate connection, a mind recognizing its counterpart, no matter how distorted.

    “Spock. Talk to me!”

    “Selek.”

    “No, you’re - you’re Spock!”

He sits up again.

    “Jim …”

    “Is it a medical condition? Do you need a doctor? Oh god, I’ll call Bones right-”

    “Jim.”

    “Yes?”

    “It is, in fact, a medical condition of sorts, but nothing modern medicine can help me with. Or you.”

    “What do you mean?”

Sigh. He doesn’t want to lie - his body craves the relief, the closeness, like a starving man craves food, the most delicious buffet laid out right in front of him.

If he touches it, it will wither away, leave, run, snarl in disgust. He won’t be able to survive that. The other alternative - abstinence, depriving himself - seems almost better.

Selek - Spock has never been strong. His mental restraints are mainly born from self-hatred, indoctrinated into him at a very young age. It makes it easier to deny himself.

But it has been so, so very long that he almost wants to give in.

Weariness goes deep - to your skin, after a long day. To your bones, after years. To your soul, after a lifetime of almost only mourning.

    “Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.”

Let me help.

‘The history book on the shelf is always repeating itself’, after all.

    “I can’t let you. This is something I have to bear myself.”

    “No. Nobody is ever alone. Let. Me. Help.”

*∞*∞*

To have known him, to have loved himAfter loneness long;And then to be estranged in life,And neither in the wrong;And now for death to set his seal—Ease me, a little ease, my song!By wintry hills his hermit-moundThe sheeted snow-drifts drape,And houseless there the snow-bird flitsBeneath the fir-trees’ crape:     Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine     That hid the shyest grape.

Giving in is, in a way, always harder than abstaining. It opens up places inside of you - deep, dark, horribly twisted places. Of why you shouldn’t have given in, ever. Of why you shouldn’t have abstained, ever.

Sensorimotor memory is another fascinating thing. It digs deep and leaves grotesque scars, and touching them again shakes you to your very foundations.

*∞*∞*

The first day feels like happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness. Like seeing the sun for the very first time in your life.

The second day is bittersweet. You can already feel it ending, a bit, even though you’re just cresting the highest peak.

The third day is regret and lack. It’s already over, almost. Sanity is returning.

Hour zero, day zero, ground zero afterwards is disgust. Not normally, no. But in this case - golden head on a pillow, bare shoulders and back covered in marks, a picture of utter exhaustion - it was wrong.

When you’re very young, and your mother tells you off for stealing your sister’s treats, and you’re unhappy and angry with yourself that you did something, took something you had no right to, already loathing the bliss you found in it.

This Jim, with this blue eyes and bright smile - that one hadn’t been meant for Spock. And he took him anyways.

He stands there, in the open bedroom/living space, mug of tea in his hand, looking down at the sleeper, and he resents every mark on the pale skin, every memory revolving around those marks.

There’s a chime at his door and he knows, instinctively, who it is. He allows admittance. There’s nothing to hide. Like a thief caught red-handed.

His counterpart barges in, chock-full with questions, and he stops dead in his tracks.

There’s shock, then there’s realization, and then there’s anger.

Selek watches him. He doesn’t have anything to hide, all his crimes out here in the open for Spock to judge.

    “You - you - he.”

Is there anything quite like fury choking your every word? Spock has every right to feel cheated, betrayed, stolen from.

And then his features fall.

    “It was you. Not me. You. He wanted you.”

Selek shook his head. “No, Spock. He wanted you. I’m sorry.”

    “Why?”

    “Why I did what I did? I’m old, Spock. I’m old and foolish and I’m alone. I don’t belong here. I’m weary. I don’t know whether giving in made it worse or better; it doesn’t matter. He’s not meant for me. And he only wanted to help. He doesn’t want me.”

    “But … you are more than me. Why - why wouldn’t he choose you?”

    “The simplest explanation I can give you is that he’s not my Jim, and I’m not his Spock. There’s a Jim and a Spock in every universe, and they belong together. But … this isn’t my universe, Spock. This isn’t my Jim. My Jim … was different. I’m sorry.”

Spock stares down at the golden head on the pillow, fighting emotions that remain unseen. Selek knows them all.

    “I need you to leave,” he chokes out, and Selek nods. Of course.

He dresses himself, puts on shoes, makes for the door.

    “There’s a dermal regenerator in the bathroom,” he says. There’s no answer. He doesn’t deserve an answer.

*∞*∞*

Spock sits down, hands shaking, knees suddenly unable to bear his weight. Jim is still motionless, deeply exhausted from -

Something ugly rears its head in Spock, dark and snarling. From servicing his counterpart, taken like some kind of whore. Jim is his, his, his alone, and he wants to hurt Selek, make sure he never lays a hand on Jim again. Illogical? Yes. But justified. Jim is his! Selek should have taken better care of his own Jim, then he would not be alone.

He trails a hand over Jim’s shoulder, fighting the urge to dig his nails in and mark Jim. The Human moves under his touch, pressing against it. Yes. Jim knows who his Spock is.

It is terrifying, if Spock is honest with himself. This urge to mark Jim, claim Jim, like his consent is of no importance.

    “Sp’ck?” He’s turned his head, lashes fluttering open and revealing crystalline blues.

    “I am here, Jim.”

Jim rolls around more, until he’s on his side. He stares, and then his eyes widen.

     “Spock! I - I can explain!” He scrambles to sit, bedsheet pooling around his waist.

    “There is no need.” It comes out colder than Spock wanted.

    “No, listen, I need to explain. Please!” Jim rubs a wild hand over his face and through his hair. “I - I - I don’t know how to say this, but please listen to me!”

Spock cocks his head.

    “I - oh god - I didn’t mean to - look, I had no idea how to interpret the signals I was getting from you, and Selek needed help. Spock, I couldn’t just - I couldn’t just let him die. But … I - Whatever we had, I -” He swallows harshly. “I destroyed it, didn’t I? Everything we could’ve had.”

    “I didn’t know you wanted - anything.” Spock exhales. There’s something in his chest, tight and loose at the same time. “I didn’t think you’d want … me.”

    “I did. I do. If you still do then I’m, I’ll.”

Spock closes his eyes. He had always tried to quench optimism with realism, or pessimism if his heart grew too bold. He had not dared hope - but he had thought. Had thought of Jim, just Jim, with him. As if nothing else mattered. (It didn’t.)

    “I do.” Said quietly, screamed across the rapidly shrinking distance between them.

Jim is smiling. Their foreheads touch without either of them consciously allowing it, so close together.

    “I do,” Spock repeats, watching the tentative smile on the Human’s face turn brilliant.

*∞*∞*

It’s an interesting trait, Human sentimentality. Certainly one of the greatest flaws and greatest strengths of their race, decidedly not to underestimate. Take this bridge, for example. 323 years old, it would be considered a waste of space and resources, logically, and would be set for destruction. Maintenance and continued safety checks cost a fortune that could well be invested elsewhere.

If you would propose that same course of action to any of the locals, you would decidedly not endear yourself to them, but the fact remains that the upkeep of the bridge doesn’t follow any kind of logical way of thought.

The paint alone, specially synthesized to protect the ancient materials, costs a fortune. A colorful metaphor for Human sentimentality.

If Selek were another man, one and a half centuries younger, not yet worn down, he would surely have chuckled. A joke. He doesn’t make those very often, the references he makes with his punchlines far too obscure for anyone to understand, and, as in this case,  they never happened in the first place.

The sidewalk isn’t made from concrete and stones anymore - a series of large remodeling projects allow all of San Francisco to be powered exclusively by solar panels that have been integrated everywhere. Roads now have a dull shine to them, looking far more finely fashioned than cracked concrete.

Selek wishes for the concrete. Watching where to step, careful to not bump into the man beside him, no matter how much he may want to, yearning for something half-remembered, half-forgotten.

‘Admiral.’ - ‘You used to call me Jim.’

He  used to, yes. In another time.

Now, it doesn’t hold the same meaning. Now, it’s a hollow ache, desperation, a void refusing to be filled except with unjust, unhealthy appropriation.

It used to be the warm glow of belonging.

And the yearning for it is a Human feeling, through and through. Sentimentality.

The pier is more or less deserted - it’s hardly the weather for a nice stroll. There’s only one person, ahead of Selek. They’re leaning over the little wall between the walkway and the stony shore, robes flying in the wind.

It’s for the better. As though less people would see Selek’s shame.

It was a selfish act, meant to resurrect whatever he once was and making it about himself. Selek has lived for other people. It used to be his primary enjoyment, fulfilling him.

A life, devoid of meaning now. And for how much longer? Physically, Selek doesn’t feel that old yet, and his luck has been bad. How much longer? Twenty years? How do you live twenty more years after almost a lifetime without your heart, briefest glimpse of happiness, those few years, so long gone?

    “And Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”!” the stranger exclaims, pushing away from the little wall. “Oh, you Humans. Always so doomy and gloomy. Find some enjoyment in life! Live a little!” He clasps Selek’s shoulder. “Oh, apologies. You are half Vulcan, after all. But do you hear yourself think? There’s more humanity in you than anything else.”

    “Can I help you?”

The stranger winks. “Oh, maybe, yes. Do you happen to know a man by the name of … Admiral James T Kirk?”

Selek stops dead in his tracks.

    “How -” His voice fails. “How do you know that name?”

    “About 5’10’’, brown eyes, brown hair, a bit curly … used to be blond! He likes horses, Shakespeare, flowers, astronomy … Do you know him?”

    “Who are you?!” There’s an age-old anger shaking in his chest, at the name seemingly used in vain by this stranger.

The stranger smiles like a cat that got the cream. “I am one of the Q.”

    “What’s your name? Who are you?”

    “Q.”

    “How do you know - how do you know that? Him.”

    “Mmmmmh, let’s just say I have my sources. But if I may: You two were fantastic for each other. A perfect fit.”

I know.

    “But then, he had to step on the, what was it, Enterprise-B and, well, the rest is, as they say, history. What a sad story. Such a bright, bright man, and he gets himself killed before his time. Pity.” The stranger grins, entirely too off.

And then he leans close to Selek. “Or did he? He was presumed dead. Did he die, Spock? Did you ever see a body? How do you know that he’s really dead? The bond? What if it broke because he’s inside a singularity that transcends dimensions?”

    “What do you want?” Selek is shaking by now.

    “It’s called the Nexus. I’m pretty sure he’s still alive in there!”

Selek starts walking again, trying not to shake, not to stumble, keep his lips pressed thinly together and blinking away the overboarding emotions, throat weighed down with ‘Ambassador Spock, sir, apologies for interrupting, but there has been a message from the USS Enterprise-B.’ on top of the scalding emptiness of knives in his heart, memories, memories, loss, over and over.

The hand on his shoulder almost makes him buckle; the bridge offset in dark, garish red against gray skies bleeds away into lush green, a garden, wild, but beautifully maintained, with crops and flowers; a chestnut horse nibbling on some grass, a black cat with a red spotted cravat prancing after butterflies.

    “Spock? Spock! There you are! What a feisty kitten! Come here!”

It’s a voice Selek would have recognized anywhere. His heart stops, free-falling; whether it’s relief or breaking, hollow sadness he couldn’t say, nostalgia and fear and yearning and ecstasy mixed together.

The caller comes into focus and Selek can’t help himself but reach out. Just one touch. One fleeting press of fingertips against fabric, against skin, against hair, and he would be content for eternity.

The vision fizzles and fades, replaced instead by the heavy gray around. It’s started to rain. Q is nowhere to be found.

*∞*∞*

    “They were thigh-la,” Jim says absent-mindedly, running his fingers over the fabric of Spock’s robe. It is not as though Spock minds - he has waited far too long for this. But Jim’s statement is perplexing.

    “They were what?”

    “Thigh- Thigh-la? It’s a term Selek used, I think it’s Vulcan.”

    “There is no such term. Perhaps you misheard.”     “No, no, it’s a thing! Um, they were like … it’s going to sound stupid, but they were - soulmates, so to speak.”

    “Oh. You are referring to the bond of t’hy’la.”

    “Yeah! Exactly!” Jim sits up to face Spock, excitement sparking from his eyes. Spock finds he misses the warm weight of the Human’s torso against his. “What does it mean, exactly?”

    “Like you said. Soulmates.”

    “Oh.” Jim leans against Spock again, tethering him back to the universe that is wide open and, for the first time, welcoming. Smiling. Like coming home to a new place.

Then: “Are you angry at him? Selek, I mean.”

Spock allows himself a deep exhale, Jim’s pulse loud in his fingertips on his neck.

    “I think … I think I am lucky to be unable to understand his motivation.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Selek is … broken, beyond words. I cannot imagine - such a life, only so few years with your counterpart, and then all the time spent alone. I cannot be angry at him for - for being desperate. For wanting.”

    “I wanted to help him. I really did. I still do. But … unless we find my counterpart, there’s no helping him, is there?”

    “I am afraid not.”

    “So he’ll never know love again.”

    “No. And not even - what you gave him, Jim, though well-meant - it was not the love he needs. You are not what he needs, even though it is of course easier for him to delude himself to think that you are. I do not blame him.”

*∞*∞*

They see Selek again for their departure, the first time since, well, since. The Enterprise is set to a set of coordinates that presumably hold a singularity, and Selek will be coming with them. Presumably. Dear Creator, Humans certainly are one of the most delightful species.

Command hadn’t given them a reason for any of this, and it hadn’t seemed like any of them even know why the Enterprise needed to go there. The Humans find it odd, but have decided not to argue.

Jim’s only barely keeping himself from touching Spock. They’re not exactly out - Spock had felt the need to inform Nyota, and Jim had of course told Leo, but to everyone else they were still Captain Kirk and Commander Spock, nothing more. Delightful in their insecurity.

Selek holds himself differently, even more of a paradox than he’d been before, more straight, more lively, but like someone else was pulling the strings. Hm. As easy as all these little beings are, they certainly are fascinating. You can never really know how they’ll react.

    “I’m happy to have you on board,” Jim ventures. He’d been worried about the old half-Vulcan, but then pre-departure-preps had hit him and he hadn’t found the time to check up on him, and in true Human fashion he had resigned himself to hoping that he was alright.

Selek reaches out to touch his shoulder, and Spock steps closer to Jim, warning, threatening.

    “I learned my lesson, Spock. And I’m grateful you didn’t take it amiss. Learn from my mistakes, Spock.”

Selek keeps to himself. The Enterprise shoots through the stars, brimming with eagerness as she always does, always did, in every universe, in every dimension, a beating heart bright like the sun, a beacon of hope. They all hope, each for their own sake, and the ship carries the hope out into the void, a cheerful resistance against inevitability.

Oh, they have no idea.

A flick, a flimmer of thought, and the Enterprise stops, dead, out of power, shining brightly among the eternal night.

Inside, there is mayhem.

They can’t see it of course, but the Nexus is there, waiting. Not an entity that had endeared itself with kindness usually - it’s a grotesque, ugly thing, devouring, feeding off life energy, the immortal souls trapped within. Paradisical for lower lifeforms, no doubt - that was, after all, the Nexus’ spiel - but for anyone with a bit of a mind to see beyond the veil, it appeared more of a parasite.

Its maw was gaping, tongue trying to reach out to the tiny silver ship braving its edges, like a predator in waiting. Thank the Creator for chaining it at the Junction; otherwise, it would’ve been unstoppable.

The old half-Vulcan doesn’t seem to be interested in the when’s and if’s and but’s presented in increasing desperation by the Enterprise’s crew.

    “It’s where I have to go. Please, let me. Allow me this one last thing.”

Ah. So he can feel it then. Splendid.

Jim Kirk doesn’t cry as he allows Selek a shuttle and wishes him farewell. Maybe there’s a part of him that understands.

And then the shuttle takes off, a tiny speck of silver, a shooting star, falling right into the abyss,  the beast’s open maw. The Enterprise crew doesn’t see it, doesn’t hear it, only the shuttle’s life signals cutting off as though it never was. In a way, it wasn’t. The nonexistent prime timeline dies with Selek - Spock. This one will be different. Far, far different, except for the constants that vein every timeline, every universe, every dimension, a tether to the greater order.

Perhaps it is only merciful to give the Enterprise something to explore here. The Nexus can’t touch them anyways. Their time hasn’t come yet.

So, an oddly colored nebula sparkles into existence, flickering in and out, a proper scientific problem. It will let them discover several properties of dark matter instability years before they should have that knowledge, but then again it’s nothing but a drop in the ocean.

*∞*∞*

The shuttle begins gradually fading away, mattering less and less in this - wherever, whatever. Then, there’s only the forest. Trees rushing in the wind, birds singing, golden sunshine and bright green, stones and leaves crunching underfoot.

The path is narrow but worn, boot prints and hoof prints engraved deep into the ochre soil. Around a bend and over a wooden bridge crossing a stream, until there is a small artfully rusted gate. It swings open easily.

The garden is lush green, wild, but beautifully maintained, with crops and flowers; a chestnut horse nibbling on some grass, a black cat with a red spotted cravat prancing after butterflies.

    “Spock? Spock! There you are! What a feisty kitten! Come here!”

There’s the call again.

The rusted metal is real under his fingers; the roses smell lovely and the leaves are green. It’s like coming home to a new place. Different, but home.

*∞*∞*

Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove.O no! it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wand'ring bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.     If this be error and upon me prov'd,     I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

there we go that was it!!! i really, really hope you enjoyed it, and i’m sorry for the super duper long wait. i’ll post it to ao3 some day, i think, as soon as i manage to come up with a title 

thank you for that wonderful prompt, anon!!

if you found every reference and stolen quote, let me know :D

also, disclaimer: i’ve seen the first four eps of tng, that’s how well i know q. i’ve never seen generations, of the poems i used i only ever analyzed one (the last one, aka my favorite). AND ofc it’s not beta read at all or anything, yikes!!! :DD

i think @gumballgladiator wanted to be tagged in this when it’s done? if anyone else wants to be tagged in stuff lmk!!

bye i’ll go to the gym now, i’m mentally exhausted :p