#forsaken the fallen soldier

[buckyssoldat]

Chapter 66: Unspoken

Warnings: major character death, grief and loss, emotional distress, mature themes, angst, violence, mentions of blood, themes of self-sacrifice and acceptance, heartbreaking conversations, romantic tension and vulnerability, strong language, sexual themes

A/N: This is part of my series, Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier. If you wanna be tagged in this, just send me an ask or a message. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Alice’s eyes snapped open, her head throbbing with the force of a brutal headache. She felt the weight of her body pressing against the ground, the familiar hum of battle still crackling in the air. For a moment, everything felt surreal, too disorienting to grasp, but then she heard it: Peter Parker’s voice, calling out to her.

“Miss Onyx!” he shouted, his tone panicked but familiar. “Get up! We need to move! The gauntlet!”

Groaning, Alice pushed herself up, her eyes scanning the chaotic battlefield around them. Her sword was lying just a few feet away, its blade gleaming faintly. She reached for it, gripping the hilt with steady hands. As she did, the ground shook beneath her, and she looked up just in time to see Thanos preparing for another brutal attack. He was fighting Wanda, her power nearly overwhelming him, but he wasn’t backing down.

Once she noticed what Thanos was about to do, she instinctively pulled Peter into cover, her body blocking his as she shielded the gauntlet with hew own. The barrage of energy blasts rained down on them, the air sizzling with heat and force. But just as suddenly as it started, the blitz stopped. Alice’s chest heaved, her senses on high alert as she cautiously looked up.

Then, she saw it – Captain Marvel, hurtling through the sky, ripping Thanos’s ship like it was made of paper. She couldn’t help herself. She let out a whoop, a triumphant shout that was both a relief and a declaration of victory.

“Fuck yeah, Carol!” Alice yelled, her grin fierce. “I bet the giant grape is shitting his pants right now.”

Captain Marvel’s descent was like watching a comet crash to Earth, and when Carol landed in front of Alice and Peter, a new sense of hope blossomed in Alice’s chest. She stood up, pushing Peter gently to the side, though he remained clutching the gauntlet.

“Hi. I’m Peter Parker,” he said, giving Carol a small, awkward wave.

Carol’s grin was infectious as she met his gaze. “Hey, Peter Parker. You got something for me?”

Alice straightened up beside Carol, smiling at her friend before giving a quick nod. “Hey, Carol. Glad you could make it.”

Peter shakily passed her the gauntlet, his hands still trembling. “I don’t know how you’re gonna get it through all that,” he said, looking toward the warzone.

But before Carol could answer, the ground rumbled again as Wanda appeared, flying beside Valkyrie, her Pegasus taking her through the air with terrifying grace. Wanda’s voice rang out, steady despite the chaos.

“Don’t worry,” Wanda said, confidence in her tone.

“She’s got help,” Okoye, who had joined them, spoke.

Pepper, Mantis, Shuri, the Wasp, Gamora, and Nebula followed, their arrival like a wave of reinforcements crashing down on Thanos’s forces. They stood ready for battle, determined to see this fight to the bitter end.

Carol began to push forward, flying through the Outriders, Sakaarans, and Chitauri with an ease that made it look effortless. Wanda and Valkyrie destroyed Leviathans in their wake, their power unmatched. Alice, too, was in motion, slashing through enemies, her sword singing as it cut through the air.

Ebony Maw was the next target. Alice’s sword met his chest with a brutal thrust, pinning him to the ground. As he gasped in agony, Alice leaned down, her eyes narrowing with pure fury.

“That’s for throwing me across the fucking field,” she muttered, twisting the blade for emphasis before pulling it free.

Just a few meters away, Alice noticed Corvus Glaive fighting with a Wakandan warrior. She didn’t wait for Corvus to get the upper hand on the struggling warrior. Her boots pounded against the dirt and shattered fragments of metal, and she barely paused to shout, “Leave this one to me!”. The Wakandan man gave her a grateful nod and stepped back, eyes wide as she stepped into the fray.

Corvus turned his blade-like gaze on her, a twisted grin pulling at his lips. “I ripped your head off once,” Alice snarled, dropping her sword on the ground, “I can and will do it again.”

He sneered, “No, you didn’t.”

Alice’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Let me refresh your memory then.”

Corvus lunged at her, his weapon slicing the air, but Alice dropped into a low roll, evading the deadly swing. Dust and dirt kicked up around her as she popped back to her feet and leaped onto Corvus’s back with a burst of speed. Her legs clamped around his shoulders, locking in tight, and her fingers curled under his chin, finding a grip.

Corvus roared, thrashing wildly, but Alice held firm, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. With a fierce, determined scream, she pulled, and the muscles in her arms straining as she wrenched his head backward. The sinews of his neck resisted, and he tried to throw her off, staggering backward, but she tightened her legs and twisted.

There was a sickening crack, and Corvus’s head ripped from his body with a grotesque, wet sound. His body crumpled to the ground beneath her, lifeless and defeated. Breathing hard, Alice landed on her feet, holding the severed head aloft before tossing it aside.

“Memory refreshed,” she spat, catching her breath as she surveyed the ongoing chaos, already searching for the next target. She wiped her hands off on her pants, the blood still dripping from her fingers, but it wasn’t until she heard a sharp intake of breath that she turned.

Okoye stood a few feet away, her wide eyes locked on the lifeless body of Corvus Glaive, his head lying discarded in the dirt. The look on Okoye’s face was a mixture of pure horror and absolute disbelief.

“Did you just-?” Okoye’s voice was strained, like she couldn’t quite process what she had just witnessed.

Alice, still catching her breath, gave a casual shrug, as if decapitation one of Thanos’s top warriors was no big deal. “Yeah. I did.”

Okoye blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. She finally settled on a deadpan, “I don’t know whether to be impressed or deeply disturbed.”

Alice shot her a grin. “Both is probably the right answer.”

Okoye could only stare, her face a picture of utter confusion and amazement. “You are a very, very strange woman.”

Meanwhile, Carol was streaking toward the van with the gauntlet, but the fight wasn’t over yet. Thanos was charging after her, but before he could reach her, he was stopped in his tracks by a blast from Pepper, Shuri, and the Wasp, knocking him back. Carol soared past him, but Thanos, now fully enraged, threw his double sword at the van. The weapon shattered the Quantum Realm tunnel, the blast sending Carol spiralling backward. The gauntlet slipped from her grasp, landing with a heavy thud on the ground.

Alice’s heart pounded as she sprinted across the battlefield, her boots pounding against the cracked ground. She’d seen Tony’s move, the way he’d tackled Thanos with everything he had, and now she was running toward the chaos, adrenaline pushing her faster. She didn’t know if it was the desperation or the sheer fury of watching Thanos almost win, but nothing was going to stop her from reaching him.

She reached the clearing just in time to see Tony being thrown in the air like a ragdoll, his body slamming against the dirt with a sickening thud. Her eyes locked onto Thanos, the gauntlet now on his arm, and she felt a surge of dread fill her chest.

The end was coming, and it was coming fast.

“No,” she hissed under her breath, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t have time to think, to hesitate. The world had gone quiet for a split second, the thrum of her heart drowning out everything else. She was already moving, charging forward, sword in hand. Her grip tightened, her breath steady.

Thanos’s fingers curled, and Alice’s stomach twisted as he prepared to snap his fingers. And then she heard it, Thanos’s voice cutting through the chaos.

“I am inevitable,” Thanos said, his voice dark and sure.

Alice reached him just as he snapped his fingers, and for a moment, nothing happened. Just a metallic “clink”. Thanos stared down at his hand in confusion, and his face twisted in horror as he realized the Infinity Stones were gone.

Tony Stark, now standing tall with the stones on his own hand, the power of them coursing through him, looked at Thanos one last time.

"And I… am… Iron Man.”

With that, Tony snapped his fingers.

Thanos’s army crumbled to ash, and Thanos, too, began to disintegrate. Horror filled his eyes as he looked around, watching his entire plan fall apart. He sat down, defeated at last, his form slowly fading from existence, his power, his dreams, evaporating into the void.

Alice’s feet seemed to falter with every step she took toward Tony. Her eyes were wide, her heart pounding, but nothing could prepare her for the sight in front of her. Tony, still laying amidst the wreckage, his right side a mangled mess of raw energy and shattered armour, was struggling to breathe. The very sight of him made her chest tighten in a way that felt like her ribs were cracking. Every piece of her screamed for him to move, to get up, to make some joke, something – anything – but there was nothing.

She couldn’t stop the tears from welling up, the hopelessness sinking in like a heavy weight that crushed her lungs. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she crumpled to the ground beside him, unable to look away from the slow, laboured rise and fall of his chest.

The power of the Gauntlet had destroyed him. There was no question now.

“Tony…” her voice broke, barely more than a whisper as she reached out, trembling hands hovering over him but unable to touch. She couldn’t bear to see him like this.

Bucky’s hand found hers before she could pull away, his grip firm warm. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was a quiet anchor, offering her the steadying force she needed. She looked up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“He’s not…” Her voice faltered, and she could barely finish the thought. She didn’t wanna to say it. She couldn’t make herself admit it.

Bucky squeezed her hand tighter, his eyes full of silent understanding, and said nothing. He just stayed there, holding her, offering his support without needing to say anything more.

Peter Parker appeared then, soaring down from the sky with his webbing. He landed awkwardly beside Tony, his eyes scanning the fallen hero with disbelief. “Mr Stark?” he said, his voice trembling as he kneeled beside him, looking desperately for some sign of life. “Hey, Mr Stark? Can you hear me? It’s Peter. Hey. We won, Mr Stark – we won. You did it, sir. You did it.”

Alice couldn’t bear to watch as Peter’s voice cracked, his hands shaking as he tried to rouse Tony, his tears falling freely. She closed her eyes, her breath hitching as the overwhelming weight of it all settled in her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter whispered, collapsing into Tony’s unresponsive form, his arms wrapping around him. “Tony…” His voice was barely a whisper, filled with so much pain Alice could barely breathe. He couldn’t lose Tony too – not like this.

Pepper arrived, kneeling beside Tony, her face etched with grief. Her hands shook as she touched his face, trying to hold onto him, as if touching him one more time might bring him back. “Hey,” she whispered softly, but Tony could barely lift his head.

“Hey, Pep…” Tony’s voice was a raspy murmur, so weak, but it was still him. Still the man who’d saved them all.

Pepper placed her hand on Tony’s Arc Reactor as Tony rested his hand on hers. She stared at his injuries, afraid of what was coming.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” She called the AI.

“Life functions critical,” the AI responded as Tony smiled with tears in his eyes.

“Tony,” she gently lifted his face so he could see her one last time.

Alice felt her heart tear in two. Her breath hitched as she watched Pepper say the words Alice knew were coming.

“We’re gonna be okay. You can rest now.”

And with that, Tony’s Arc Reactor flickered and died. The light that had once been a symbol of hope, of Iron Man, of all that Tony Stark had been, was gone.

Alice let out a strangled sob, her chest tight with a pain she couldn’t name. Bucky wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, but it didn’t stop the ache that filled every inch of her being. Tony was gone.

And then, in the midst of the silence, every hero who had fought beside him gathered around, kneeling in honour of the man who had given everything.

And there, on the battlefield, they all mourned together. For Tony Stark. For the hero. For the friend.

The air in the aftermath of the battle was thick with exhaustion and grief. Wakandan medics, led by T’Challa and Doctor Strange, had quickly opened portals and brough in advanced technology to check on everyone, making sure no one had injuries that couldn’t be mended. They cleaned up everyone’s wounds, patching up what they could, and offering the best healing methods they had at their disposal.

Alice had barely registered when the medics came to check her. She’d been lost in a daze of emotions – relief, pain, disbelief. The battle was over. They had won. But it didn’t feel like a victory. Not when they’d lost so much. Not when Natasha and Tony were gone.

Bucky had been cleared too, but he hadn’t left her side, his quiet presence a comfort that she wasn’t sure she could handle losing.

As the medics finished and left them both standing in the quiet aftermath, Alice turned to him, her voice soft but steady. “Come back with me,” she said, the words heavy with meaning. “To my place. In Harlem. We’ll just… be there.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, his blue eyes scanning her face. But then he nodded, giving her a faint, sad smile. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As they made their way to leave, Alice caught sight of Steve, standing off to the side, his arms crossed as he watched them. There was something in his eyes – perhaps a quiet understanding, a silent approval – as he looked at his two best friends. It wasn’t the usual Steve Rogers, always stoic and reserved; no, this was something else.

Alice could tell there was a flicker of something in his gaze – contentment, maybe even a hint of relief. He knew what Bucky and Alice had been through, both separately and together. How much they had carried, how much they had fought to get here. And now, seeing them finally find each other again, even after everything that had happened, it seemed to bring Steve some peace.

He smiled, though it was small, and the lines of his face softened, as if he was finally seeing something that felt right again in the midst of all the chaos. There were no words exchanged between them, but in that brief moment, there didn’t need to be.

Alice gave Steve a nod, her voice soft as she said, “We’ll be okay.” It was more for herself than anyone else, but Steve heard it.

Bucky, too, offered a silent acknowledgement, the quiet understanding between them all remaining unspoken.

And then, with one final glance at Steve, Alice and Bucky stepped out into the cool night, ready to find what they could in the stillness of her apartment, knowing that, in their own way, they had found each other again.

Steve stood there for a moment longer, watching them leave, before turning his attention back to the scene before him. But his mind lingered on Alice and Bucky, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of peace about what had transpired.

The trip back to her apartment was a blur, the weight of everything still hanging in the air. Alice had barely said a word, her mind too full of everything they’d just been through. They both needed space to process it, but she wanted him with her, wanted the warmth of his presence to anchor her.

Once inside, Alice could barely focus on anything beyond the overwhelming fatigue. She headed straight for the bathroom, wanting to wash away the blood, dirt, and remnants of battle that clung to her skin. The shower’s warm water felt soothing against her sore body, and she stood under it for a long time, letting it wash over her in silence. When she finished, she wrapped herself in a towel, her mind still swirling with everything that had happened.

Bucky, meanwhile, took his own shower in the bathroom next door. His movements were slower than usual, but Alice didn’t press him. She knew the weight of the battle had taken its toll on him, just like it had on her. The silence between them was comfortable, but not in the way it usually was. This time, it felt heavy.

After a while, they both emerged from the bathroom, feeling a little more human. Before changing into something comfortable, Alice gave Bucky the biggest sweatpants and t-shirt she had. Once she was dressed, she settled on the couch with a sigh. The quiet of the apartment was different tonight – no longer a sanctuary of peace, but a reminder of all they had lost.

Bucky sat beside her, his presence a quiet reassurance. He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. Neither of them spoke for a while. There was nothing to say that could make the pain go away.

Finally, Alice broke the silence. “You should come to bed,” she said softly, her voice raw with emotion. “Please. I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Bucky hesitated, but only for a moment. The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He nodded, squeezing her hand before they both stood. He didn’t say a word, but as they made their way to her bedroom, he kept his arm around her, guiding her gently.

Once they were both in bed, the room dark and still, Alice curled up beside him, her head resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close. For a moment, they just laid there, the quiet of the apartment settling over them like a blanket. Even though they had won, even though they were together, there was still that heavy, lingering sadness in the air.

When Bucky spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “We’ll get through this,” he said softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Alice’s heart ached, and she nodded. “Yeah, you and me. Together,” she whispered back.

And with that, they both fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, finding comfort in each other’s arms, trying to forget, even if just for a moment, the world that had been left behind. And, for the first time in a long time, Alice allowed herself to drift off to sleep, knowing she wasn’t alone anymore.

Bucky had stayed in Alice’s apartment for a few days now, and although the stillness between them was comforting in its own way, it was also heavy. They had both been through so much – the battles, the losses, the weight of the years that had passed. Everything was supposed to be different now, right? They had won. They had their lives back. But there was something in the way they were with each other that made Alice feel like they were still stuck in a limbo, uncertain of how to move forward.

It was the quiet moments that made her wonder if they were really moving forward at all.

At first, sharing a bed had felt natural. It wasn’t anything sexual – just two people trying to find comfort after everything they had been through. They didn’t need words to express what they felt. Just being near each other was enough. But over time, Alice found herself wanting more. Her thoughts turned to what they could be if they let themselves, what it might feel to hold him in the most intimate way possible.

She would wait for the nights when he was relaxed, when the tension seemed to face from his body. She would wear her most revealing pyjamas, nudge closer to him, just enough that she could feel his warmth, but not too much to make him uncomfortable. Her hand would inch toward his, the subtle movement meant to be an invitation, a gentle push toward the closeness they both needed. But every time she reached for him, he would either gently pull away or shift enough to create a space between them.

At first, Alice convinced herself it was nothing. He was exhausted. He was still processing everything that had happened. She understood that. But as the days stretched on, those small gestures – the ones that said more than words ever could – began to pile up. His eyes would never meet hers when she looked at him, and when she touched his arm or brushed against him, there was no reciprocation. It was like there was a wall, built from everything that had happened to him, to both of them, and no matter how much she wanted to tear it down, she didn’t know how.

One night, after they had shared a meal and talked about the small, trivial things that made the day feel normal again, Alice felt the same urge. They were sitting on the couch, her legs tucked under her, his arm resting on the back of the seat. She didn’t even need words. She just wanted to be close to him in a way that felt more real than the invisible barrier between them. The moonlight streaming in through the window cast a gentle glow across the room as Alice leaned into Bucky, her lips meeting his in a slow, passionate kiss. As the kiss deepened, she moved to straddle him, her hands tangling in his hair, and she began to rock her hips slightly against him. Bucky’s breath caught, his hands instinctively finding her waist, holding her as desire surged between them.

For a heartbeat, it felt electric, an undeniable pull igniting between them. But then, Bucky stilled, his fingers tightening briefly on her hips before he gently but firmly lifted her and sat her beside him on the couch. The heat between them cooled in an instant, replaced by a tension Alice couldn’t quite interpret.

“I… I need a shower,” he mumbled hurriedly, not meeting her eyes as he stood up and made his way to the bathroom, leaving Alice flushed and longing, her heart sinking with confusion.

The air felt thick, suffocating. Alice’s chest tightened, her heart aching as she left for bed. The space between them was becoming more than just physical; it was emotional, and Alice could feel it growing wider with every passing second. She had tried so hard to be patient, to give him the space he needed. But with each quiet refusal, the doubt started creeping in. What if he didn’t want her? What if all this time, she had misread the signs? What if he couldn’t love her the way she loved him?

The next day, when Alice was feeling particularly raw, she decided to confront the silence that had settled between them. She had been avoiding it for as long as she could, but there was no more running from it. She had to know what was going on, what he was really feeling.

One evening, after a quiet dinner, Alice suggested they go to the rooftop to get some air and watch the fireworks that were being thrown that night. The sky had grown dark, and the city below them was alive with lights, but the distance between them felt more pronounced than ever.

They stood there, side by side, watching as the fireworks lit up the sky. It was a celebration of sorts – a tribute to the lives that had been restored, to the world that had somehow, against all odds, made it through. For a moment, Alice lost herself in the beauty of the lights, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him.

Alice tilted her head, her fingers fidgeting slightly as she gathered her courage. She turned to Bucky, her voice soft but carrying the weight of her vulnerability. “Are we… okay?” she asked, her heart thudding anxiously.

Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes filled with a complicated mix of emotions – regret, affection, and worry. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as though the words he wanted to say were caught in his throat. “Yeah… yeah, we’re fine,” he finally said, though his voice wavered, and the uncertainty lingered.

Alice’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she couldn’t help the frustrated exhale that escaped her. “Bucky, please,” she urged, leaning in a little closer. “I’m not sure what’s going on anymore. You keep pulling away from me, and I don’t understand why.” Her voice softened, the fear in her eyes evident. “I just… I just wanna know if you want this. Want me.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and his hands turned into closed fists before he forced them to relax. He looked down, avoiding her gaze, and his fingers fumbled with the fabric of his shirt. “It’s just… I-I…” He took a deep breath, visibly struggling. “I just haven’t-”

Alice’s eyes widened, a teasing smile breaking through her worried expression. “Wait,” she interrupted, a note of disbelief and humour entering her voice. “Are you a virgin, Bucky?”

Bucky’s head snapped up so quickly that Alice almost expected him to get whiplash. His eyes went wide, and his face flushed bright red. “What? No!” he sputtered, his hands flying up in panic. “It’s not that!”

A laugh bubbled out of Alice, the tension easing ever so slightly, but Bucky groaned and covered his face with one hand. “Alice,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by his palm, “you’re killing me here.”

Alice giggled, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Hey, I had to ask! You looked so flustered.”

Bucky sighed, letting his hand drop as he shook his head, though his lips twitched upward at her laughter. “It’s just… I haven’t dated someone in so long,” he admitted, the humour giving way to vulnerability. He took a shaky breath, his eyes finally meeting hers. “And being in love with you… it feels like it’s the first time I’ve done this. The whole relationship thing.”

Alice’s playful grin softened as she listened, her heart aching at his honesty. Bucky continued, his voice low and sincere. “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. It wasn’t what I intended, really. I just… I wanna do things right with you. You’re too important to me.”

Her eyes glistened with tears she refused to let fall. Her smile grew gentle, and she reached out to take his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I… Bucky, it’s okay,” she said softly. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pressured you. Take your time. It’s totally fine, I swear.”

Bucky exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “I just… I wanna do this the right way, okay?” he repeated, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

Alice’s heart felt like it might burst from the love she felt for this man. “I love you, Bucky,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling in that way she adored. “I love you too, Alice,” he said, and then leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a soft, heartfelt kiss. The fireworks above seemed to echo their emotion, bursting with brilliance and joy as they held each other.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the warmth of being together and the magic of the night sky. The world felt a little less heavy, a little more bearable, as long as they had each other.

Then, after a few minutes, Alice’s curiosity got the better of her. She shifted slightly, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Hey, Buck?” she said, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice relaxed and content as he held her close.

Her grin widened. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What question?” he asked.

Alice’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are you a virgin?” she asked, drawing out the last word dramatically.

Bucky groaned, his cheeks flushing again as he threw his head back. “What-no, Alice,” he protested, laughing despite himself. “I’m not a virgin.”

Alice burst into laughter, and Bucky couldn’t help but join in, the two of them giggling like teenagers, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten. The fireworks continued to explode above, showering them in light, but nothing compared to the joy they found in each other’s arms.

As the laughter died down, the rooftop returned to a quiet stillness, the sky now painted with the remnants of the fireworks’ dazzling display. Alice and Bucky sat together, a comforting silence settling over them, though a new tension began to coil in Alice’s stomach. She leaned her head on Bucky’s shoulder, savouring his warmth, but the weight of a secret pressed down on her heart.

Bucky’s arm was wrapped securely around her, but he noticed the way her body tensed tightly. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

Alice hesitated for a moment, then forced a smile. “Yeah,” she replied, but the tightness in her chest didn’t ease. Her fingers played with the hem of her shirt nervously. She knew she had to tell him the truth, no matter how afraid she was of his reaction.

I have to tell him about what happened between me and Steve, she thought, her mind swirling with anxiety. The memory of her past relationship with Steve was something that she couldn’t keep from Bucky. He deserved to know, especially now that they were moving forward together.

But as she looked into Bucky’s kind, trusting eyes, the words caught in her throat. Not tonight, she decided. Not here, not like this. She swallowed hard and resolved to tell him after Tony’s funeral. It would be the right time, and he deserved to hear it directly from her.

Bucky watched her carefully, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying. But for now, he let it go, gently squeezing her hand. They stayed there on the rooftop, holding each other as the stars emerged one by one, a silent promise lingering between them that they would face whatever came next together.

The morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains in Alice’s apartment, casting a warm, golden glow that spilled across the floorboards. The peaceful ambiance was a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotion still gripping Bucky. Alice lay fast asleep in the bedroom, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, her breathing even and calm. Bucky had slipped out of bed with care, moving as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her. He left a note on the kitchen counter, promising he’d be back soon, though he hadn’t given a hint as to where he was going.

The streets were eerily quiet as Bucky made his way to Steve’s apartment. He took the familiar route, memories flooding his mind – memories of the war, of decades lost to Hydra, of everything that had happened to him and Steve. And yet, here they were, still standing, still breathing, and still fighting, even after everything. But Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling of something coming to an end.

When he arrived at Steve’s place, the door was already ajar. He pushed it open gently, stepping inside to find Steve standing by the window, his back to Bucky. Sunlight spilled over Steve’s shoulders, making him seem both golden and impossibly weary. Bucky’s heart tightened in his chest; he knew his best friend well enough to sense the gravity of the moment before a single word had been spoken.

Steve turned around slowly, his blue eyes meeting Bucky’s. There was a calmness there, but it was layered with something else – something Bucky hadn’t seen in along time: peace, maybe, but also a deep, aching yearning.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted softly, his voice steady, but his eyes shimmering with a bittersweet kind of resolve.

“Hey, punk,” Bucky replied, though his attempt at levity fell flat. There was no masking the heaviness in his voice. He stepped closer, searching Steve’s face. “What’s going on?”

Steve exhaled a slow breath, his gaze drifting out the window for a moment before he looked back at Bucky. “When I went back to the 70s to get the stone,” Steve began, his voice low and thoughtful, “I saw her. I saw Peggy. And right then… I knew what I had to do.” His eyes grew distant, like he was reliving that moment. “I knew that was my chance, Buck. My chance to finally have the life I’ve always dreamed about. The life I never thought I’d get back.”

Bucky swallowed, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. “Steve…” he whispered, though he couldn’t quite form the words that needed to follow.

Steve’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “And then, during the battle, when I saw you and Alice together,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly, “it just made me realize it even more. Seeing you two find each other again, seeing you be happy… it hit me, you know? I want that for myself, too. I need it. I deserve to be happy, to be loved. And Peggy… she’s always been my girl. My happy ending.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, the full weight of Steve’s words crashing down on him. He stepped forward, his boots feeling heavy on the floor. “What are you saying?” he finally managed, though his voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

Steve’s smile was sad, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “Once I return the Stones, I’m gonna stay in the past. With Peggy. I’m not coming back this time.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence, the words hanging between them like a heavy, unbreakable truth. Bucky felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, his hands trembling slightly. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his emotions from spilling over.

Steve stepped closer, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Tell me I’m not making a mistake,” he pleaded, his voice breaking just a little. “Please, Buck.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak. His mind raced with memories – of Brooklyn, of alleyway scrapes and shared laughter, of the decades stolen from them both. But he saw something in Steve’s eyes that made his heart ache: a longing for peace, for a love he’d waited too long for. “No,” Bucky finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “No, you’re not making a mistake. You need this. You deserve to be happy, Steve. To be with Peggy, your girl, the love of your life.” He took a shuddering breath. “It’s just… I just got you back, and now I have to lose you again.” His voice broke, a tear spilling down his left cheek. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy.”

Steve’s own tears finally fell, and he pulled Bucky into a tight embrace. They clung to each other, two brothers who had endured so much, their bond unbreakable even in the face of this impending farewell. “I know,” Steve whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m gonna miss you too, Buck.”

Bucky closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, memorizing the feeling of this hug, the warmth and strength of the only brother he’d ever known. “Damn it, Steve,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Why does it always have to be like this?”

Steve pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Bucky’s eyes. His hands still rested on Bucky’s shoulders, as if he were holding on for dear life. “I wish it didn’t,” he admitted, a tear slipping down his cheek. “But this… this feels right.”

They stayed that way for a moment, holding each other, the unspoken love and pain between them palpable. Finally, Bucky stepped back, wiping at his eyes. “Have you told anyone about this yet?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Steve shook his head. “Nope, just you. I’m planning on going to Alice’s apartment later this evening to tell her.”

Bucky managed a small, sad smile. “Hum, okay. I’ll make sure I’m not there so you guys can have some privacy.”

Steve looked at him, slightly puzzled. “No, it’s okay, Buck. You don’t have to go.”

But Bucky insisted, his smile widening just a fraction. “You two should talk alone. I know how close you are.”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise, a realization dawning on him. “Oh, you know?” he asked, his voice soft. For a moment, he wondered if Alice had already told Bucky about their past relationship. “And you’re… fine with that?”

Bucky chuckled softly, though his heart still felt heavy. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, the sincerity in his voice clear.

Steve felt a small sense of relief, though a bit of surprise lingered. “Oh, okay,” he said. “How do you think she’ll react?”

Bucky took a moment, his mind drifting to Alice’s smile, her laughter, and the strength she carried in her heart. “Honestly,” he said, his voice warm and genuine, “I think she’ll be happy for you.”

Steve's expression softened, a mix of hope and gratitude crossing his features. “Thanks, Buck. That means a lot.”

Bucky hesitated, a nervous edge creeping into his demeanour. He rubbed the back of his neck, taking a deep breath before meeting Steve's eyes. “Speaking of Alice,” he began, his voice faltering for just a moment, “I’ve been thinking about something. Actually, a lot.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” he asked, his concern for his friend momentarily pushing aside the heaviness of their conversation.

Bucky swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his next words. “I’m thinking about asking her to marry me.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open slightly as the words sank in. For a moment, the room seemed frozen, the significance of Bucky’s confession wrapping around them like an invisible force. “You… you want to marry her?” Steve echoed, as if he needed to hear it again to truly believe it.

Bucky’s heart pounded as he shifted uncomfortably under Steve’s gaze. He nodded, a nervous smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I’ve thought about it for a while now. She even noticed I’ve been acting strange. Ever since we got everyone back… she’s my home, Steve. The way she makes me feel… it’s like, even with everything we’ve been through, there’s hope. A future.” His voice trembled, raw with honesty.

Steve’s initial shock melted into a slow, warm smile, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Bucky,” he said, his voice filled with genuine affection, “that’s… that’s incredible.” He clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, his eyes shining with happiness. “I’m so proud of you. And so happy for you both.”

Bucky let out a shaky laugh, a relief flooding through him. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice hopeful. “You think it’s a good idea?”

Steve nodded, his grin widening. “Absolutely. Alice is one of the strongest, most loving people I know. And you… you deserve this, Buck. You deserve to be happy and to build a life together.” Steve’s expression softened, a wistful glimmer in his eyes. “If anyone understands what it means to have found love after everything we’ve lost, it’s me.”

Bucky’s eyes glistened, and he looked away for a moment, trying to steady his emotions. “You really think I can make her happy?” he asked quietly, vulnerability seeping through his tough exterior. “After everything… the things I’ve done, the things she’s seen… she still deserves better.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “Hey,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering, “Alice chose you. She’s seen all of you, the good and the bad, and she still loves you. That’s real, Buck. And I know you’ll make her happy because you love her with everything you have.” Steve paused, his expression turning serious. “You’ve come so far. You’ve fought so hard to be the man you are now. You’re more than worthy of this, and don’t you ever forget it.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, and he found himself blinking back tears. “Thanks, Steve,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “That means everything, coming from you.”

Steve smiled, the kind of smile that reached his eyes. “So, when are you planning to ask her? Got a big, romantic plan?” he teased lightly, trying to add a bit of levity to the conversation.

Bucky chuckled, some of the tension easing from his frame. “I don’t know,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, it’s Alice we’re talking about. She’s not one for grand gestures. I want it to be… simple but meaningful. Something that shows her how much she means to me.”

Steve nodded, his eyes alight with understanding. “Knowing her, she’ll probably appreciate something heartfelt more than anything flashy. Just be yourself. Speak from the heart.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a genuine smile, the kind he didn’t often show. “Yeah,” he agreed, feeling a bit more confident. “That sounds like something she’d like.”

Steve’s expression softened with warmth. “She’s gonna be so happy, Buck.” His voice grew quiet. “And knowing that you two have found each other again… it makes all of this a little easier for me.”

Bucky swallowed, his gaze locking onto Steve’s. “We’re gonna miss you, you know,” he said, his voice heavy with sincerity. “But I understand. I really do.”

Steve’s eyes misted over, and he pulled Bucky into another hug, their bond speaking louder than words. “I’ll miss you too,” he whispered. “But knowing you’re happy, that you have a future with Alice… that makes this goodbye a little more bearable.”

They stayed like that for a moment, two brothers in arms, holding onto each other and the life they had fought so hard to reclaim. Finally, they pulled apart, both looking a little steadier, a little more resolute.

“Promise me you’ll take care of her,” Steve said softly, his voice full of unspoken love and trust.

Bucky’s gaze was fierce, his blue eyes blazing with a protective intensity. “Always,” he vowed. “With everything I have.”

As the evening settled over Harlem, the warm glow of streetlights spilled into Alice’s apartment, painting the walls in a golden hue. The day had felt long and surreal, filled with the quiet echoes of mourning, victory, and the crushing reality that they’d never be the same again. Alice stood at the kitchen counter, fiddling with a mug of tea she hadn’t touched, her thoughts a tangled mess of relief, grief, and worry.

Bucky had kissed her on the forehead before leaving. “I’ll grab us some pizza from that place you really like,” he’d said, the tenderness in his eyes almost enough to settle the unease in her chest. Almost. Alice had nodded, watching him walk out of the door, the click of the lock echoing in the silence that followed.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, trying to make sense of the ache she couldn’t seem to shake. The war was over, but not the pain. Not yet.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and her heart skipped. “Coming,” she called, placing the mug down and heading to the door. When she opened it, she found Steve standing there, dressed in casual clothes that somehow seemed too normal, too ordinary, for someone who’d carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Hey, Ali,” Steve said gently, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Steve,” she whispered, surprised. “Hey. Come in.” She stepped aside, and he walked in, his movement deliberate, as if he were carrying something fragile. As he passed her, Alice’s brows furrowed. Something about him seemed… different.

They stood in the middle of her living room, and odd, heavy silence hanging between them. Steve’s hands fidgeted, an unusual nervousness tightening his jaw. Alice’s worry spiked. “Is everything okay?” she asked, voice soft but tinged with concern.

Steve’s eyes found hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. He had always been her steady anchor, the man who carried too many burdens but never wavered. But now, he looked vulnerable, like a man who’d made peace with something he hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time. “Alice,” he began, his voice breaking slightly. “We need to talk.”

The air grew thick, and Alice’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. “Okay,” she said cautiously, gesturing for him to sit. They settled on the couch, side by side but worlds apart. Steve turned slightly to face her, and the intensity in his gaze nearly unravelled her.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “And I need you to hear me out, okay?”

Alice swallowed, her throat dry. “Okay,” she whispered.

Steve took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging. “When I went back to the 70s, I saw her. I saw Peggy.” His voice cracked, the pain and longing so raw it made Alice’s chest ache. “And for a moment, if felt like all the years, all the fighting, all the loss… it just fell away. I saw the life I could have had. The life I’ve always wanted.”

Alice’s eyes welled up, and she reached out instinctively, her hand resting on his. “Steve…”

He gave her a small, pained smile, covering her hand with his. “Alice, I’ve always been the man out of time,” he continued, his voice wavering. “I’ve tried to make peace with it, but I can’t. I’ve given everything, and now… I need to take something back. I need to be with her.”

The words sank in, and a tear slipped down Alice’s cheek. She wanted to be happy for him, to be relieved that he’d finally get what he deserved. But the thought of losing him again shattered something deep inside her. She had already lost Natasha and Tony. She didn’t want to lose Steve too. “You’re… you’re staying in the past,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glistening. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m staying with Peggy. I can’t keep being the man out of his time, Alice. I need this.”

Alice’s breath caught, and she tried to hold back the sob rising in her throat. “But we just… we just won,” she choked out. “We just got everyone back together, Steve. You’re my family. How… how am I supposed to say goodbye?”

Steve’s face crumpled, and he reached out, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt, her heart shattering with the realization that this was goodbye. “I know,” he whispered, his own tears falling. “I know it’s not fair. But you’re strong, Alice. You’ve always been so strong.”

She pulled back slightly, her hands trembling as they cupped his face. “I’m strong because I had you,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to be strong without you.”

Steve placed his hands over hers, his thumbs brushing her tears away. “You don’t have to be strong alone,” he said. “You have Bucky now. And he loves you more than anything. You two are gonna take care of each other. Promise me you’ll take care of each other.”

Alice sobbed, nodding even though it felt like her world was falling apart. “I promise,” she whispered. “But it’s not gonna be the same.”

“No,” Steve agreed, his voice thick. “It won’t. But you’ll be okay. Both of you.”

They stayed like that, holding each other. Steve eventually pulled back, his own face streaked with tears. “You know,” he said, his voice cracking but a smile tugging at his lips, “when I saw you and Bucky together, I knew you’d be okay. I knew you’d finally found the happiness you deserve.”

Alice let out a shaky laugh, her tears still flowing. “He means everything to me,” she whispered. “But so do you.”

Steve’s smile grew, even as his eyes remained sad. “And you mean everything to me,” he said. “I’m so proud of you, Alice. Of the person you’ve become.”

She took a shuddering breath, trying to etch every detail of this moment into her memory. “I’m proud of you too,” she said, her voice raw. “For everything.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history pressing on them. Finally, Steve stood, his movements slow, like he was reluctant to leave. “I’ll see you again, you know,” he said, his smile soft. “In another time.”

Alice nodded, her heart breaking but her love for him burning brightly. “In another time,” she echoed, her voice trembling.

And with that, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on hers, filled with a love that would never fade, even across decades. Then he turned and walked out the door, leaving Alice to stand there, the echo of their goodbye ringing in her ears.

tags: ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​@capswife

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masterlist

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Greek Champion x Priestess Reader - NonCon

He was chosen by the Gods to slaughter, to strike down all who stand against him. Your city has fallen at last and he has come to claim his prize.

Yandere! Champion with his bronze armour and his scars, sunlight reflecting off him in battle likes he's Ares himself.

Yandere! Champion who cares for nothing but his own glory. He'll step over the bodies of his own men if it meant victory.

Yandere! Champion who's chosen as the head of the delegation sent to your city. The offer is simple - swear fealty to the Greeks, open the city gates and hand over your Champion to be executed.

Yandere! Champion who rides right up to the city walls, even when his fellow warriors stay far out of arrow range. Does he not care for his own life, you wonder, or does he simply think himself immortal?

Yandere! Champion who barely even tries to be diplomatic. Who seems to think war is a foregone conclusion.

When your prince refuses him, Yandere! Champion looks up at the royalty and clergy on the wall above him - the greatest and most powerful of the city - and he spits.

"I will take this city and crush your walls under my heels."

Yandere! Champion who catches your eye and holds it. You, just a minor Priestess of Athena, have somehow attracted his attention.

Yandere! Champion who smiles a slow, terrible smile and you wonder what God whispered carnage in his cradle.

Yandere! Champion who blows you a mocking kiss, even though your robes show your dedication to the virgin goddess.

Yandere! Champion who is true to his promise. His soldiers throw themselves at your gates until the bodies on both sides are piled higher than your head.

Yandere! Champion who cuts down your prince in battle. Who beheads him with one clean sweep and as you watch it happen, you realise he is no mere mortal.

He truly is the God of War's Champion.

Yandere! Champion who doesn't even cheer when the city falls to him. Who simply steps over the shattered gates and heads toward the temple of Athena, his xiphos dripping blood behind him.

Yandere! Champion who finds you just as you're about to run. You're the last to leave the temple. Your love for your goddess outweighed your fear but the clash of swords and plumes of smoke finally broke you.

You're on the broad stairs that lead to the temple when you see him, standing at the bottom and looking up at you. His cloak and the crest on his helmet are a deep scarlet and he looks like a spill of blood on the marble stairs.

Yandere! Champion who takes a step forward for each one you take back. Your hands are trembling and he notices it, relishes it.

Yandere! Champion who smiles at you again. His helmet covers most of his face so all you can see is gleaming bronze and bloodstained teeth.

"Little virgin priestess. Your goddess has abandoned you."

Yandere! Champion who finally reaches the top of the stairs and now that you're on even ground, you realise how he towers over you.

Yandere! Champion whose strides are much longer than yours and he gets closer with each halting step you take away.

"Why else would your city fall? You have been forsaken."

His blade twitches in his hand and it makes you jump. His eyes are on you - a colour so deep they look black. Hungry enough to devour you, devour the city, swallow the whole damn world.

For the first time, you feel afraid in your Goddess's temple.

Yandere! Champion who finally stops. His sword is still streaked with blood and it shines an awful red. His eyes dip from your face to your chest to your thighs. And nothing in his gaze seems noble or honourable at all.

"Run, priestess. Run to your Goddess and maybe she can save you."

You run.

You run through the temple, marble pillars blurring in your vision. The altar, the statues.... Surely no harm can come to you in the temple of Athena? Surely the War Goddess can protect one of her own?

Yandere! Champion who catches you at the base of her statue. Who grabs your hair and forces you to the ground.

Yandere! Champion who digs his knee into your back, one hand in your hair and the other gripping his sword. He's going to kill you, you think. Slit your throat and spill your blood on holy ground.

But he doesn't kill you. No, what he does is far worse.

Yandere! Champion who casts his sword aside and presses himself against your back, his weight trapping you under him.

Yandere! Champion who drags your chiton up your thighs, his breath growing ragged with want. Fingers digging into your flesh like he wants to sink hooks into you.

Yandere! Champion who was promised a prize.

Yandere! Champion who has levelled cities in the name of his God. Who's burnt temples to the ground. Who has forsaken his humanity for glory.

Yandere! Champion who was promised a prize and who demanded Athena's most beautiful priestess.

Yandere! Champion who trails kisses across your jaw and neck and shoulders. Whose lips leave blood behind.

Yandere! Champion who doesn't care to prepare you. Who lines his cock up with your cunt and sheaths himself inside you with one brutal thrust.

Yandere! Champion who pulls your hair so hard you arch your back. Whose weight on you makes his breastplate dig into your shoulder blades. Whose grunts echo in your ears.

Yandere! Champion who thrusts and thrusts and mercilessly keeps going.

Yandere! Champion who fucks you in the temple of the Virgin Goddess. Who desecrates Athena's temple and priestess both. And yet the candles keep burning, the fountains still flow clear.

The pain burns through your stomach like fire. And still you reach for her, for your Goddess.

Yandere! Champion who grabs your outstretched hand and forces it to the floor, who intertwines his fingers with yours in a terrible parody of intimacy.

You plead with her, your voice rough with panic and grief. But the statue's eyes are nothing more than sculpted marble.

Yandere! Champion who finally has his prize, after years of carnage and searching. And who will never let you go.

Yandere! Champion who cums inside of you, his voice rasping in your ear.

"Your goddess has abandoned you, little priestess. And I am all that remains."

And in the awful silence of the temple, with a killer's hands on your skin, you realise what it means to hate the Gods.

[mrsshabana]

Mkay, so hear me out. I wanted to ask if you could write about gyutaro and the reader being in a fantasy universe that's similar to final fantasy or the legend of zelda, but Gyutaro is part dragon and maybe even the guardian of like a temple or something along those lines. Be creative with it, I know whatever you come up with will be great :> You can make it NSFW or more fluffy, all up to you!

Either way, I hope you have a great day ^^

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary You are a Princess of a crumbling kingdom. Desperate for help, you set out to free an ancient dragon in hopes that he will be able to restore order to the land. But you were naive to think he would be so gracious. Things take a turn for the worse and you have no choice but to rely on each other.

꒦꒷‧₊ Content Dragon!Gyutaro x Female!Reader, violence, gore, death

꒦꒷‧₊ Note 3k words. A lot of the lore for this story is based off of Elden Ring. I know you asked for other games but I'm not familiar with them so I hope this is ok. I absolutely adore Elden Ring so this was very fun to write. I'm sorry that I ended up making this way more complex than it needed to be but I couldn't help it! I was having too much fun coming up with lore for this universe. I have so many ideas for this so if you'd like me to continue this story then please let me know!

Finally after days of searching through the Swamp of Aeonia, narrowly avoiding the toxic scarlet rot that infects these lands, you found the ruins only spoken of in ancient legends.

It is said that deep within the heart of Caelid there is a place where Gyutaro, the son of the Lichdragon Fortissax, has been imprisoned for the last 100 years.

Legend says that he was forsaken for being the most hideous creature in all the land. While his twin sister was worshiped for her beauty. He was born corrupted by the scarlet rot, consuming him from the inside out. And Gyutaro was known for his jealousy. He would destroy and devour things that were beautiful or more fortunate than himself. He brought great suffering to The Lands Between, so a knight was sent to imprison him.

You don't know for certain if the legends are true, but you sure hope they are. Growing up you've always been incredibly fascinated by dragons and the tales your mother would tell you. But since you are a princess you were never allowed around such ferocious beasts. But now you have no choice.

Your kingdom is crumbling and your mother has fallen ill. As the war across The Lands Between rages on, your soldiers dwindle. You feel helpless as more and more of your soldiers die. More innocent lives.

But you remembered the tales your mother would tell you and it gave you a glimmer of hope. It is told that the Lichdragon Fortissax was defeated in battle by Godwyn the Golden. But instead of death, Godwyn offered his friendship to the Lichdragon. Fortissax was loyal to Godwyn ever since, protecting him even after they both succumbed to corruption.

You thought that perhaps the rumored son of Fortissax would be just as loyal as his father. If you were to free him from his imprisonment then perhaps he would return the favor by protecting your kingdom.

It's a long shot but it may be the only shot you have.

You cautiously descend into the ruins of what appears to be a dungeon, slowly decayed by the scarlet rot. You're careful not to touch anything as you make your way down a long staircase.

At the bottom of the staircase lies a corridor. A deep rumble can be heard as you walk through, your footsteps echoing through the passageway. As you get closer to the end of the hall the rumbling gets louder and louder.

Finally, you make it to the end, welcomed by a giant chamber. And there he is.

Gyutaro, the son of the Lichdragon.

As soon as you lay your eyes upon him you are stricken with a combination of fear and amazement. His beauty takes your breath away.

His large form lays sleeping in the middle of the room. But as soon as you step foot into the chamber he begins to stir. His eyes shoot open, slit pupils surrounded by glowing yellow stare wildly at you. With a deep growl, he rises to his feet, towering at least 20 feet over you.

His body is covered with black scales, accented with green. Though his beautiful scales are interrupted by dark splotches scattered across his face and body, these scales don't shimmer like the others do. They appear dull and corrupt in some way. Razor sharp claws adorn his paws and two large horns sit atop his head.

Though his body looks different than you had imagined. He is very muscular but his stomach is hollowed out and you can clearly see his ribs and spine. You imagine he doesn't get much to eat here, so perhaps that would explain his emaciated stature.

He spreads his massive wings, blocking the light from the torches behind him. And his long tail sways behind him as he glares down at you. And that's when you hear it. A deep rumble coming from within his chest as he begins to open his jaws, revealing a bright red light glowing from within him. He's about to envelop you in flames.

"G-Gyutaro!" You immediately get on your knees and bow before him, "Son of Fortissax! I have come to free you!"

The rumbling stops, and you feel the ground shake as he begins to circle you. Too afraid to look up, you stay staring at the cobblestone. Hoping that he spares you and gives you a chance to explain yourself.

He leans closer to you, inhaling your scent. "Human... you are of royal blood," he rasps. The sound of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Y-yes," you stammer, "I am Princess Y/N."

"Princess?" he smirks, "What is a princess doing in the Swamp of Aeonia?"

"I came searching for you," you finally muster the courage to look up. Staring into his golden eyes. "The Lands Between suffer greatly these days. W-we need the ancient dragon to return balance to the land," your voice shakes as you muster a half-truth. It is true that the world hasn't been graced by an ancient dragon in many years and their presence could help restore the world to order. But you also seek his aid in restoring your kingdom.

"You are quite bold for a human," he scoffs, "Attempt if you must. But these are no ordinary binds."

He lifts his legs, jingling the chain that wraps tightly around his ankle. You were too enamored by his magnificence to notice them before.

You shakily get up onto your feet to examine the chains. A glowing blue tint shines off of the thick metal. These chains must be enchanted somehow. For if they were ordinary he would easily be able to break free. But you came prepared.

Gyutaro doesn't know how to break the spell that binds him to this place, but you do. As a princess, you have access to all of the records and literature you could ever want. You know what will free him.

A kiss from a beautiful maiden of royalty.

The knight that imprisoned him, an ancestor of Lord Tengen, was smart when he enchanted these chains. He thought of something that could never possibly happen, something that Gyutaro would surely never allow even if someone had tried. Especially since when Gyutaro was free he set out to destroy all beauty.

You clear your throat, "I know what will set you free. But you need to trust me."

Gyutaro narrows his eyes at you. What could possibly be your angle here? Are things really that bad that you came to free him? You do know his history, do you not? He is no peaceful creature, always leaving violence and death in his wake.

He doesn't understand what your motives are, but he isn't afraid of a mere human. He figures that if you try anything funny then he can just devour you. But, he's been imprisoned here for so long that he's willing to hear you out.

You slowly reach up towards his face. He doesn't know why he feels so drawn to you, but he lowers his head and you gently place your hands on his cheeks.

"You will be free," you whisper as you look into his eyes.

You lean forward and kiss him. Pressing your soft lips to his scaly ones. He feels something warm blossom within him as he closes his eyes.

The chains slowly disintegrate into dust, effectively ending his 100-year imprisonment.

His eyes widen in surprise, "I-I'm free..."

Your heart beat quickens as you slowly step away from him. Fear overtakes you as you stand before this mighty dragon, now completely free. Will he return the favor to you? Or will he devour you now that he's gotten what he needed from you?

His lips curl into a smirk as he puffs out his chest and lets out a mighty roar. So loud that it shakes the entire dungeon, echoing throughout the infected lands of Caelid and possibly beyond.

The walls of the dungeon begin to crumble as debris falls from the ceiling. This place is on the verge of collapsing.

Quickly, Gyutaro scoops you up in his arms. Holding you against his chest as he lunges upwards, bursting through the ceiling of the ruins.

He flies into the sky, marveling at the rot-ridden swamp below him. The sun hitting his scales for the first time in 100 years, he's filled with vigor.

You hold on for dear life, though he has a firm grip on you. Gyutaro flies above Caelid, triumphantly roaring to alert everyone that he is back. You aren't sure if his return will cause hope or fear amongst the people of The Lands Between.

He flies east, a safe distance away from the scarlet rot, and into a nearby forest. Carefully landing, he gently sets you down on the ground.

"Princess..." he lowers his head, "You freed me from that accursed prison. Thank you..."

You feel a surge of relief and power course through you as this all-powerful creature bows before you. Reaching out to him, you gently lay your hand on his snout. "You're welcome. I'm glad to have helped."

He quickly recoils from your touch, feeling an unfamiliar emotion stir within him. His brows furrow in discomfort. This feeling doesn't sit right in his stomach, and he doesn't enjoy it.

With a sour taste in his mouth, he launches back into the sky. Leaving you behind.

"W-wait!" you shout, trying to run after him but there's no point. He's already long gone.

Gyutaro couldn't take it any longer. The attraction towards you that blossomed within him was too foreign to him. Though after being imprisoned for the last 100 years it was nice to have some company. Especially that of a beautiful princess. But he pushes those thoughts aside and focuses on more important things. Like reuniting with his sister.

You have no choice but to go back to your kingdom alone and empty-handed.

｡o°✥✤✣ 　　 ✣✤✥°o｡

Weeks pass and things only get worse. The war wages on and your mother's health worsens. You don't see or hear from Gyutaro. You only hear about the occasional sighting of a massive dragon or about a beast wreaking havoc on small villages.

That is until one day you hear a commotion outside your castle.

Gyutaro lands on the bridge before your castle, digging his massive talons into the cobblestone. Then a loud rumble stirs within him, he opens his jaws to spew crimson red flames across the other side of the bridge. Blocking the path of anyone that intends to visit the castle. Engulfing it in flames that spread the scarlet rot that harbors within him.

The castle guards rush out towards him, readying their crossbows and shooting arrows at his back. They bounce off of his tough scales, but one of them pierces his wing.

"Pathetic humans," he growls. Turning around and letting out a powerful roar that shakes the bridge beneath him. Gyutaro bares his fangs and lunges forward, catching one of the soldiers in his mouth. He closes his jaws, impaling the soldier with his many teeth before swallowing him whole.

Gyutaro lets out another roar, a clear warning to anyone who dares to attack him again.

"Cease fire!" You shout, running out of the castle and towards Gyutaro. The guards try to warn you that it's dangerous and you should stay inside, but you don't listen.

"Princess!" his eyes widen when he sees you, wasting no time and coming towards you.

Your guards point their crossbows at him as he approaches but you hold your hand out to signal that it's ok.

"Gyutaro, what are you doing here?" you say in shock.

"Your castle will come under attack shortly," he looks behind him briefly before turning back to face you, "My flames should hold them off for a while but it's not safe here."

"Wait what? What do you mean?" you begin to panic.

"There's no time to explain!" he growls, "I'm getting you out of here."

"No! I can't leave my mother behind! And what about everyone else?" your eyes begin to well up with tears.

"Fine," he huffs, "I'll carry you and your mother to safety. I couldn't care less about everyone else..."

"I refuse," you say sternly, "We will not leave our kingdom behind."

"Insolent human!" he roars, "I'm not giving you a choice!!"

Gyutaro opens his maw and swoops forward, catching your coat in his mouth before you can run away.

"Let me go! Let me go!" you kick and scream.

He doesn't know why he even bothered coming to help you. The old Gyutaro would never do something like that. But ever since you saved him he's been longing for your touch again. Longing to be in the presence of someone who didn't see him as a hideous beast. And perhaps he craved more of your affection.

Whatever the case, he needs to get you and your mother out of here as soon as possible. Even though he honestly doesn't care about your mother's well-being, he charges through the entrance of the castle anyway. Guards shoot at him as he passes, but the arrows aren't strong enough to penetrate his scales.

The large castle doors are just big enough to fit him if he collapses his wings to his back. While still holding you in his mouth, he bursts through the castle doors and into the foyer.

It's ginormous and filled with elaborate decorations and luxury furnishings. Your mother sits frail and weak on the throne.

"What is the meaning of this?" she calls out in a strong voice despite her sickly appearance.

Gyutaro's eyes go wide and he stops dead in his tracks, gently setting you down on the lavish rug beneath his feet.

You huff and straighten your coat as he releases you from his grasp. Giving him a stern look before moving your attention to the queen.

"Mother, the kingdom is-"

"I know," she cuts you off and stands from her seat, walking towards you and Gyutaro.

"I've known they would come for our kingdom," she passes you and walks straight towards Gyutaro.

He feels his blood run cold, and a strange sense of tranquility wash over him as she approaches. He lowers his head to show respect and that he isn't a threat.

Your mother stands in front of him, looking into his eyes.

"Gyutaro, son of the Lichdragon Fortissax," her voice is soft yet commanding as she places a hand on Gyutaro's head, "You will be my daughter's guardian. Protect her at all costs."

His eyes widen as he feels something change within him. He doesn't understand what's going on, but he suddenly feels as light as air. A strange golden mist forms around him, enveloping him.

You stare wide eyed and in complete shock. Your mother wouldn't hurt him would she? What in the hells did she do to him?

His body seems to shrink and become completely concealed within the mist.

It seems like forever but it's only after a few seconds that the mist begins to disappear. Revealing... a man?

He's hunched over on his hands and knees, breathing deeply as he feels his human lungs inflate for the first time. A familiar tail sways behind him, and a set of horns sits atop his head.

"G-Gyutaro...?" you whisper, slowly coming closer to him.

His body trembles as he tries to stand. You reach out to him hesitantly but are interrupted by a loud rumbling sound as the ground beneath you quakes.

"You must leave at once!" Your mother yells to you.

"I'm not leaving! I won't leave you behind!" you cry, tears flowing down your cheeks.

The front walls of the castle begin to crumble.

"I'm sorry my dear," your mother says in a somber tone, "I love you."

She raises her hand, then slowly lowers it. You can feel your eyes closing with the motion of her hand as she casts a spell on you.

All you can do is whimper, "I love you too," as you drift off to sleep.

｡o°✥✤✣ 　　 ✣✤✥°o｡

You wake up to the sound of heavy footsteps and someone cursing.

"Fuck this! Aaaaaahhhgg!!"

Slowly opening your eyes you see Gyutaro in what appears to be a humanoid form, thrashing about in a fit of rage.

"How dare I be reduced to the form of a mere human!!" he roars up into the sky. Birds flying out of the trees that surround you. "I am an ancient dragon!! I will not attune to this form!!"

He stomps around angrily before your soft whimpers catch his attention. His scowling visage faces you. And all of the anger of this ancient beast fades away when he sees your huddled form. Crying in agony.

"Princess?" his features soften as he approaches you. He kneels beside you and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"She's gone," you sob, "I'll never see her again."

Gyutaro feels yet another foreign emotion swell up within him. Could it be sympathy? He remembers when his father died and how hard it was for him. His heart aches as he recalls similar emotions to what you're feeling now.

He's not good with words, let alone emotions. So he just leans forward and wraps his arms around you. Wrapping you in his warm embrace.

You cling to him and sob into his chest.

"I know Princess... I know," he consoles, "Your mother entrusted me to protect you. And I'm going to do just that."

Knowing that you'll have him by your side gives you a glimmer of hope for the future. Though you both don't know what to do or where to go.

Gyutaro is determined to find his sister who he hasn't seen in 100 years. But first, he needs to find a way to transform back into a mighty dragon. He can't stand this pathetic form he's currently in. And you need to find a way to stop the war that rages across The Lands Between. And possibly recover whatever is left of your kingdom.

Neither of you knows what's to come. But at least you have each other.

[dalekofchaos]

Imagine the Virmire Sacrifice as the Cerberus assassin instead of Kai Leng

Inspired by my poll

Kai Leng was a terrible character from terrible novels. No one wanted him in the games. He could barely handle a Drell with space cancer and couldn’t even kill Anderson and Sanders, but they want us to expect us to believe that Leng is Shepard’s equal? To me I would just have him executed on Omega since Leng DID kill Aria's daughter.

But yes storywise, it's better. Shepard was haunted about not being able to save either Kaidan/Ashley. TIM would use the Virmire casualty as Plan B should Shepard turn against his interests.

Imagine Cerberus was on Virmire. Cerberus scientists working on a counter agent to stop the Genophage cure and even working on a virus that could kill Saren.

The Illusive Man reveals to his agents it's too late, however he tells them there can be a valuable asset they can retrieve.

Cerberus mad dashes to the bomb site and grabs Ash/Kaidan in time, however the bomb goes off and the after shock hits the Cerberus vessel and renders the Virmire survivor in a comatose state.

A second Cerberus ship comes and rescues Ash/Kaidan. They report to TIM that Project Virmire is ago, but once they wake up, it will take a lot of convincing. TIM has a plan.

The Virmire survivor wakes up during the time of ME2. Confused, they recognize this is not an Alliance facility and definitely no Council race facility. They put two and two together and realize it's Cerberus and try to escape and then they are sedated.

They are brought before TIM. Ash/Kaidan swears they would rather die than join Cerberus. Explains they know about Admiral Kahoku, the Rachni, Thorian and Husk experiments and most importantly Akuze.

TIM explains it easily. That they were a necessary evil. and tells them how easily their near death experience could've been avoided if those monstrosities were weaponized against Saren. The Admiral knew too much and Akuze, Shepard/Toombs got justice and Dr Wayne was put on a very public trial that damaged Cerberus reputation.

Then the manipulation begins.

If it's Ashley, then TIM uses the fact that he knew and personally served under her grandfather. Shepard, The Alliance and the Council left her for dead and acts as if the Reapers don't exist, as if the very reason she went missing never happened. Says things how "I've seen your records and seen you in action. If you were there, Shanxi never would've fallen and the Williams family would be the most prestigious family in the Alliance and you would've been the first human Spectre, not Shepard." "You were looked down on the Alliance, the family that was cursed because the good general wanted to protect and save lives. Little do you know, the Turians were looking for something on Shanxi. Saren was there, and his brother" Ashley looks curious. He has her. He explains his story with General Williams, Desolas Arterius and Saren. Desolas indoctrinated for Turian supremacy, leading Saren down the path he would take and what would be the foundation of Cerberus. Ashley asks one simple question. "When do I start?"

If it's Kaidan, TIM uses Kaidan's past against him. His righteous murder of Vyrnnus that he was shunned and how gifted he was. Admitting Cerberus should have snatched him when they had the chance. "Had we had you, you could've provided our failed experiment the guidance she needed(obviously I'm talking about Jack here) then goes on to tell him how the Alliance abandoned him, Shepard has forsaken him and worse of all, they all deny the existence of the Reapers. Kaidan refuses to believe him and snaps. Cerberus agents are prepare to stun him, TIM wavers them off. Kaidan gives off a look that he wants revenge. On The Alliance, The Council and Shepard. "They will all pay."

Ashley would be turned into Cerberus' Super Soldier. Wearing the Cerberus Assault Armor(the armor WE wear, not the shitty ME3 grunt armor), but with the Shade/Nightmare/Spirit helmet.

Kaidan becomes a mix of Phantom and Phoenix. The ultimate human biotic, he is what Jack could've became if they kept her.

Their goals would be to eliminate high valued targets for Cerberus. Killing key Alliance figures, people who are close to cracking down on Cerberus(example, Dr Wayne was publicly assassinated and after Toombs threat to get a merc team to hunt Cerberus down, they kill him) killing Alien leaders and a whole bunch of targets that stand in Cerberus's way to control the Reapers.

Or in a different scenario. The explosion nearly destroys the ship carrying them in, causing them to be husks of their former selves.

Cerberus in this scenario would experiment on them to make them the ultimate soldier for Cerberus. They would essentially become The Winter Soldier of Mass Effect.

it would’ve been far more impactful if the Cerberus assassin was masked, and later revealed to be a heavy cyborg’d and indoctrinated Ashley/Kaiden, whichever you left behind on Virmire. There would be a reaction if you bring the one you saved with to encounter the one we did not save on Thesia.

But storywise.

The first time you meet the Cerberus Assassin, is on Earth. We see this shadow stalking you and Anderson and as we’re leaving Earth, we see Kai Leng killing Anderson. With Shepard swearing revenge.

Throughout ME3, Ash/Kaidan would be stalking Shepard. Causing trouble as we encounter Cerberus. Trying to kill Eve, attempting to abduct the Grissom Academy students, activating the bomb on Tuchunka and the attempt on the Council.

When we finally confront them on Priority Citadel, they kill Thane and omni-slash their mask off. We get the reveal. Shepard is shocked, Ash/Kaidan hesitates after hearing Shepard utter their name.

It would also help to explain his inexplicable plot armor. Rather than surviving against the onslaught of Shepard due to plot reasons, he would not be killed, as Shepard is haunted by not being able to save them, Ash/Kaidan uses that as the opportunity to take him down on Thessia.

Because Ashley did not undergo her character arc, I could imagine Ashley saying things like "I should have been the First Human Spectre, a hero for humanity, not aliens." "I am the hero humanity deserves" "I will make my grandfather proud." "The Alliance has failed humanity and my family" If you romanced Ashley and accidentally left her behind "You BASTARD...I loved you and you LEFT ME TO DIE!"

With Kaidan I can see him saying things like "I am the peak of Biotic perfection." "The Alliance betrayed me. You left me and the Council deserves to die" "Vyrnaus deserved to die, I know that now." "You will pay for leaving me to die" If you didn't save Grissom Academy. "I personally went to Grissom Academy, took those kids and made them like me. Subject Zero never should have left us, now she is ascended to perfection."(if you got Jack's loyalty, Jack begs Shepard to kill her) If you romanced Kaidan and accidentally left him behind "You're just like Rahna. You left me and you betrayed me. After I kill you, I'll kill Rahna."

If we go with the Winter Soldier concept, then it's just TIM manipulating them like a puppet. However periodic exposure to Shepard and the other VS makes them remember

However, if you bring the other Virmire survivor with to Thessia, then there is a chance to turn Ash or Kaidan back to the light.

This works better if you romanced the other Virmire survivor, but if not it works the same result. You can only save Ash/Kaidan if you bring the other VS.

With a charm/intimidate option, Ash/Kaidan follows Shepard's lead and talks down Ash/Kaidan. and in the end they break through their indoctrination and apologize for everything.

Otherwise, they would have to be killed and could not be saved. I don’t think that convincing him to commit suicide like Saren or TIM would work, because it would be too similar to the TIM suicide not too long, and would lose impact because of it. They would have to be fought and killed one last time in combat, and have a tragic end with Ash/Kaidan cursing Shepard while Shepard looks on them with despair or disdain.

If you saved them, then Ash/Kaidan would board the Citadel with you. And when TIM tries to talk you into controlling the Reapers, Ash/Kaidan will shoot him dead.

If Winter Soldier scenario, then both Shepard and OVS can break through and save them. They join us and depending on your war assets, if high, they kill TIM without incident. If low, they sacrifice themselves and gives Shepard the opening to kill TIM.

We talk, have a moment. If it's Kaidan, they talk about the good old days with the original Normandy. Jenkins, Dr Chakwas and Anderson. "Oh Shepard, I'm so sorry" Shepard forgives them. If romanced, they talk about the relationship they were going to start and Shepard says "we can have a cup of coffee and see where things go from there" "I'd like that, Shepard". If Ashley, they reminisce on meeting on Eden Prime, the Normandy, their almost relationship with Shepard saying "we can finish where we left off" "Oh Shepard" and remembering why she volunteered to stay behind.

Alternatively since Ash/Kaidan wasn't shot, they save Shepard. They call the other survivor and rescue Shepard as the Crucible is about to be fired off if destroyed is chosen. If you choose Control, then Ash/Kaidan shoots themselves because they can't bare to live after Shepard fulfills TIM's desires. If Synthesis is chosen then they will be on the Normandy with the other crew members.

[dancingrain9625]

Run no longer

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The taste of iron filled your mouth and pain seared through your body as you starred down the approaching army of the Raiden Shogun. The bodies of their fallen comrades laid strewn around you, after having been killed by your hands. You don't like having to kill. But this isn't some story where you get away by the whims of some magical power or graces of a single attractive character who happens to think your hot. No...

3 years on the run... you've survived this long because you were willing to do what needed to be done in order to survive. You've counted on no one but yourself in this... game. You remember really liking this game at one point... But right now all you could think of was how you should've deleted the damn thing years ago. Took up to much storage anyway...

As you starred down the army you looked for any familiar faces. Only spotting two. The shogun herself and her general Kujou Sara. Seems you lucked out with only a single archon and a four star character.

Nice.

Using the sword of one of the soldiers you had killed you forced yourself onto your feet. One... two... three... Four arrows stuck in your body and one went straight into you knee... I was an ordinary person like you once until I took an arrow to the knee... You chuckle to yourself despite the bleakness of the moment before letting out a scream as you pulled out each arrow.

Now much closer than before the Raiden raised her arm and her army came to a halt. You could see the confused looks on the soldiers faces, as well as the one on Kujou Sara's. Raiden and Sara spoke to one another for a moment, they were too far away to hear but the Shogun kept her eyes on you the entire exchange.

You could see her vibrant purple eyes from here. God... you called those same eyes beautiful at one point in your life but right now they look upon you with nothing but hatred and a burning desire for your demise. After a moment the shogun began to approach you with her pole arm drawn and at her side was Sara with an arrow at the ready.

"Good evening Shogun. What brings you here this time of day?" You ask as the two step in front of you. Your tone is relaxed despite the seriousness of the situation and it only seems to make them angrier. "You will pay for your crimes Imposter." The Shogun replies coldly.

"And what crimes are those?" You ask, as if you haven't heard these supposed "crimes" a million times during your time in this world. None the less the Raiden answers your question in the same cold tone. "For the impersonation of our creator and the slaughter of men and women alike across the nations."

You stare at the Shogun dead in the eyes before responding in the same relaxed tone as before. "Those men and women, tried to kill me. Pretty sure that's called self defense. and as for the impersonation thing... How do you know that your creator isn't the one who's impersonating me huh?!" You question in a sarcastic tone.

You see the Shogun grit her teeth as she stares you down. "I will not tolerate you insulting our creator!!" Her spear began to vibrate as strings of electricity flowed around the Shogun. "You have escaped our grasp for far to long but now you will perish at my hands!" As the Shogun yelled she could plainly be seen to be breathing heavily as anger clouded her mind. Quite uncharacteristic for a doll but...

Very according to the plan.

You had spent 3 god forsaken years in this world. The only reason an army is so close to you is because you want it to be. The only reason these playable characters are so close to you is because you want them to be. The only reason the Raiden Shogun is right in front of you is because you planned this out from the beginning.

The Raiden Shogun thrust her spear forward at you only to find it's blade piercing the earth and your foot on it's handle, forcing her out of a fighting stance. So caught up in her anger she left herself completely open to attack. And now it would cost her a life. Her life. As your blade pierced the shoguns neck there was no crimson shower of blood. They were an automaton after all. A machine.

But a fatal blow is a fatal blow all the same.

________________

Feels nice to be back.

Did you miss me?

[redvexillum]

Eighth Kiss: Healing

A/N: It wasn't as good as I like it to be. But... well, at least Chaggie got closure and I got closure from episode 8 of season 1 uwu.

SUMMARY: After drifting apart from Charlie, Vaggie tries to move on—until she sees her with someone else. It doesn’t spark jealousy or anger, only a painful clarity: she can’t picture herself with anyone but Charlie. With trembling hands and a heart that refuses to let go, Vaggie vows to make things right. Even if they can’t be lovers, she’ll settle for friendship.

Secrets. 

To Vaggie, her life had always been draped in shadows, wrapped tight in secrets she could never fully unburden. The day she took up her spear and donned Heaven’s black uniform, she was bound to silence. She was a silent guardian of divine wrath, forbidden from ever speaking of the exterminations she carried out. 

But the moment she was cast down, abandoned by the very souls that she had once thought were her allies, that secret became a chain she willingly reforged—for another reason. 

For her love. 

For Charlie. 

Out of all the Sinners who could have found her broken, bloodied body on the cracked streets of Hell, it was Charlie—the Princess of Hell—who did. And Charlie, with her radiant warmth and boundless compassion, saw her not as a fallen soldier or a relic of Heaven’s cruelty, but as a soul worthy of kindness. Vaggie had seen such light before, back when she still stood among Heaven’s ranks. But never had she seen it so fierce, so stubborn, so selfless. 

Charlie’s voice, filled with hope and passion for her people—for the damned—shook something deep within Vaggie. Her lips parted, the truth perched on the tip of her tongue… but the words never came. 

She swallowed her truth, and with it, her shame. 

The secret stayed locked away. 

She begged to the God who had forsaken her, pleaded in the quiet hours of the night that she might be allowed a simple life, a quiet life. If only she could protect Charlie’s fragile peace. 

If only she could stand by her side. 

And for a time, Vaggie was happy. 

She ignored the gnawing guilt that twisted in her gut, ignored the lie that lingered between them like a ghost. Every year, when the skies darkened with Heaven’s wrath and extermination loomed, Vaggie held Charlie close. She whispered soft reassurances, caressed her trembling hands, and offered words of love to banish the fear in Charlie’s eyes. 

But every word of comfort was a blade turned inward. 

Vaggie knew. 

She knew that the very hope Charlie clung to—the salvation she believed in, was a lie built on the silence Vaggie maintained. And yet, she told herself it was worth it. That it was necessary. That if the ends justified the means, it was okay to keep her past buried in shadows. 

It was okay to keep secrets. 

As long as it meant holding on to Charlie for just a little longer. 

But no secret stays hidden forever. 

The day they met her former commander, Adam, in front of the Seraphims, the fragile peace shattered. His words rang out like a death knell, stripping Vaggie bare. 

“Exterminator.”He had revealed everything: her past as an angel, her role in the exterminations, her bloody hands. 

Charlie’s gaze, wide and disbelieving at first, shifted through waves of emotions—denial, confusion, hurt. And finally, acceptance. A quiet, devastating acceptance that broke something inside Vaggie. 

That moment cleaved them apart. 

Vaggie reached for her, but Charlie took a step back. And though the distance between them was small, it felt as though an endless chasm had opened, and Vaggie was left stranded on the other side. Her voice, her touch, no longer seemed to reach Charlie. 

After the battle with the exterminators ended, there was peace… but not between them. 

Their love had fractured. 

Charlie didn’t cast her out. She didn’t scream or rage. She didn’t condemn Vaggie to the streets of Hell. But neither did she embrace her. Months passed in an awkward dance of polite greetings and forced smiles. The warmth that once flowed so freely between them now felt distant, strained. 

And Vaggie—who once stood proudly at Charlie’s side—now carried the weight of shame like a weight around her neck. 

She convinced herself she didn’t deserve Charlie’s love anymore. That it was better to quietly step away, to let Charlie move on. 

But the pain didn’t lessen. 

When she saw Charlie holding hands with another, the sight pierced through Vaggie’s heart. It wasn’t betrayal—not exactly. After all, they had already drifted apart. They weren’t together anymore. There was no promise left to break. 

No, what Vaggie felt wasn’t betrayal. It was clarity. 

A cold, sharp realization. 

On the cusp of the New Year, she found herself confessing the truth she had refused to acknowledge to a fellow sinner—a soft-spoken admirer who had taken an interest in her. The words came unbidden, spilling from her lips like a prayer. 

“I love her. I love Charlie.” 

She could never be with anyone else. Her heart belonged to Charlie, and it always would. 

And so, just as she had once taken that first, tentative step toward Charlie’s boundless love, she resolved to do it again. 

This time, not as an angel. 

Not as an exterminator. 

Not as a soldier of Heaven or a keeper of secrets. 

But simply as Vaggie. 

Even if Charlie fully rejected her. 

Even if there was no hope of rekindling what they had lost. 

Even if they could never be lovers again. 

Vaggie told herself it would be enough. 

Closure. 

That was what she needed. What they both deserved. 

If Charlie couldn’t love her anymore, Vaggie would be content to stand at her side as a friend. She would take whatever Charlie was willing to give—anything to mend the jagged rift that had left them both bleeding, hurting, haunted by what could have been. 

But as Vaggie spotted Charlie in the middle of the celebrating crowd—smiling faces and drunken laughter swirling around her like a storm—she realized closure wouldn’t come easily. Her fingers twitched, hesitating at her sides. It felt as though invisible chains shackled her wrists, threatening to drag her back into silence. 

No. 

She gritted her teeth, her vulnerability laid bare, and forced herself to move. Each step was a battle against her own fear. Her heart pounded with the rhythm of a war drum, and for a moment, it felt like she was facing an army again. 

But this time, she wasn’t armed with a spear. 

She only had her heart in her hands. 

Finally, she reached out, a delicate, trembling gesture, and her fingertips brushed Charlie’s hand. 

The moment they touched, Charlie jolted as if struck by lightning. Her shoulders tensed, and she whirled around. 

And Vaggie stopped breathing. 

There she was. 

Charlie. 

Her beautiful, radiant Charlie—with tears clinging to her lashes like tiny drops of sorrow, and streaks of anguish carved down her cheeks. Her eyes, glossy with emotion, locked onto Vaggie, wide with disbelief. 

“V-Vaggie?” Her voice was hoarse, cracked with raw pain. Her fingertips trembled against Vaggie’s. 

“Hey…” Vaggie whispered, her chest tightening painfully at the sight of her. The crowd jostled her from behind, bodies pressing too close, too loud. The noise grated against her already fragile nerves. 

With a low growl, Vaggie gripped Charlie’s hand and tugged her through the crowd. She guided her toward a quieter, more secluded part of the hotel, where the noise of celebration faded into muffled echoes. 

In the silence of the deserted hallway, the tension hung thick between them. 

Charlie sniffled, her quiet sobs breaking the stillness. Her voice wavered as she called out, “Vaggie… what’s wrong?” 

Vaggie turned to face her, brows knitted in concern. “What’s wrong? I could be asking you the same thing. Why—who—made you cry? Are you—?” 

But before she could finish, Charlie’s composure shattered completely. Her tears flooded down her cheeks, and with a choked sob, she surged forward, throwing her arms around Vaggie’s neck. 

Vaggie froze for a split second, her breath catching in her throat. But then, instinct took over. Her arms wrapped around Charlie’s trembling frame, pulling her close. 

And it felt like coming home. 

A surge of unnamed emotions flooded her chest—grief, longing, love—all tangled together in a painful, beautiful knot. Charlie’s embrace was the place she had always belonged. 

She gently rubbed Charlie’s back, the same soothing gesture she used after each year’s extermination, when Charlie clung to her, scared and shaken. 

And just like before, it worked. 

Charlie’s breathing slowly evened out, her sobs quieting to soft sniffles. But she didn’t let go. She wouldn’t let go. 

“I thought…” Charlie whispered against Vaggie’s shoulder, her voice barely audible. “I thought I could move on.” She forced out a hollow, pained chuckle. “I thought you moved on. But…” 

“I didn’t,” Vaggie interrupted gently. Her voice wavered, the weight of her emotions threatening to crack her resolve. “I never moved on, Charlie. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to.” 

Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them back, but one escaped, tracing a warm path down her cheek. 

If her old comrades from Heaven saw her now, they’d mock her, call her weak, call her broken. But with Charlie, none of that mattered. 

Here, presently, she felt safe. Vulnerable, yes...but safe. 

Charlie pulled back just enough to look at her, her gaze filled with raw emotion. “I… I didn’t know how to talk to you after…” Her voice faltered, cracking under the weight of unspoken words. 

Vaggie’s heart ached at the sight of her. She knew exactly what Charlie meant. 

After knowing the truth. 

 After knowing, she was one of them. 

 An exterminator. 

Charlie’s lips trembled, her hands clutching at Vaggie’s jacket as if afraid she’d slip away. “I didn’t know what to say. I was hurt. I was confused. And I was scared. But…” Her voice broke again, and fresh tears welled in her eyes. “But I never stopped loving you.” 

The confession hit Vaggie like a bolt of lightning, cracking through the darkness that had consumed her heart for so long. 

“I never stopped loving you, either,” Vaggie whispered. Her voice shook with emotion, but there was no hesitation, no doubt. “Even when I thought I lost you. Even when I thought you hated me.” 

Charlie’s lips quivered, her eyes searching Vaggie’s face for any hint of deception.

“I’m sorry for keeping it a secret,” Vaggie said at last, her voice trembling with the weight of months of silence. The words spilled from her lips, tentative but steady, like a dam finally breaking. Her arms tightened around Charlie, as if afraid to let go. “I’m sorry, Charlie. If I could go back, I would never have agreed to it… but…” 

Reluctantly, she parted from Charlie’s embrace, the warmth slipping from her grasp as Charlie’s hands fell limply to her sides. 

Vaggie’s gaze searched Charlie’s face, desperate for something that might give her a sign. There was no anger in Charlie’s expression, no hatred. Only quiet sorrow, etched deep into her features. 

“I can’t undo the wrongs of my past,” Vaggie continued, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, knuckles white from the pressure. “But I can… I wantto atone. I have to believe I can.” Her eyes, dark and vulnerable, pleaded for understanding, for salvation, for something as simple and yet as unattainable as forgiveness. 

“And I will. No matter how long it takes, no matter how hard it is—I’ll make it right.” Her voice grew stronger with each word, her conviction shining through. 

“So, Charlie…” Vaggie’s voice softened, and for a moment, it trembled again. The tear she tried hard to hold back slipped free, tracing a slow path down her cheek. “I want to stand by your side. If you’ll let me.” 

Her heart pounded, every beat an ache of fear and hope entwined. She braced herself for rejection—for the sting that would undoubtedly come if Charlie turned her away. But still, Vaggie raised her hands, palms open, waiting for Charlie to take them. 

She wouldn’t let fear hold her back anymore. 

Even if it hurt, she would endure it. She would pick up the broken pieces of herself and forge them into something stronger—something better. But she needed to know. She couldn’t hover in this place of uncertainty any longer, couldn’t bear to dance on the edge of “what if” and “maybe” with Charlie. 

Charlie’s eyes flickered down to Vaggie’s outstretched hands. For a long moment, she stood frozen, tears clinging to her lashes like fragile crystals. Then, all at once, the dam broke. 

Charlie burst into tears. 

“I don’t know if you should stay with someone like me,” she sobbed, her voice ragged with guilt and self-loathing. “I—I’m not a kind person, Vaggie. I’m not who you think I am. All I ever do is make mistakes. I hurt people. I hurt someone tonight, and I…” Her words dissolved into more sobs, and with the heel of her palm, she tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. 

Vaggie stepped closer, her heart aching with each broken word. 

“I’m not perfect,” Vaggie said gently, cutting through Charlie’s spiral of self-blame. “I’ve made mistakes too. More than I can count. I’ve done terrible things, Charlie. But I don’t want you to be perfect.” 

Her voice softened further, a whisper carried by fragile hope. “I care about you. I love you.” 

Charlie’s breath hitched, her sobs quieting as the words hung in the air between them. 

Vaggie took another step closer. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. But I love you, Charlie. I always have.” 

Charlie’s lips parted, but no words came out. She stood there, stunned, her tears still falling. Slowly, she reached out, her hand trembling as she placed it over Vaggie’s. 

“I’ve made so many mistakes…” Charlie whispered, her voice fragile, as if afraid the words might shatter in her throat. 

“So have I.” Vaggie chuckled softly, a bitter, self-deprecating sound. “We can’t change our past. We can’t erase our mistakes.” 

She curled her fingers around Charlie’s hand, squeezing gently, grounding them both in this moment. “But we can move forward. We can try.” Her smile wavered, tears gathering in her eyes again, blurring her vision. 

Charlie took a shaky breath and bowed her head, pressing her forehead against Vaggie’s. Her eyes fluttered closed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was peace between them. 

Vaggie’s heart thudded in her chest, a painful ache of hope and joy all tangled together. She gently cupped Charlie’s cheek, her thumb brushing away the lingering tears. 

Then, slowly, reverently, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Charlie’s. 

The kiss was soft, tender, and filled with all the things they’d left unsaid for too long. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise. 

A promise to let go of their shame and guilt. 

A promise to move forward, together. 

A promise to be better than who they were yesterday, and the day before that. 

The weight of their secrets, their regrets, their fears—they melted away in that kiss. 

And as the new year dawned, Vaggie knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. 

For the first time in a long time, hope burned bright in her heart. 

This was a new year, a new beginning. 

❀˖° Like my story? Toss a coffee to the gremlin—probably safe, but no promises! ❀˖° Join Voxtek Server and Follow Me for live updates!

[trashiejunkyard]

Fallen redesign with other sketch relate to it here the lore Vallenritter the Undying Wrath

Ever since the start of the Corruption war, the culture of Wynn has changed from a simple agricultural province to war-ravaged one. One where stories are no longer mundane and are now filled with fear and horror of the war. Many of these stories become legends told to this day, and none is as infamous as the legend of Vallenritter. At least, that is one of its names, as the story changes and its details are lost to time. Many say it's a story about a vengeance filled knight consumed by rage, returning as a monster to terrorize the people of Wynn. Others say that evil itself manifested in disguise as a noble knight to stalk the plain and kill anyone in its way. No matter what the beginning, this tale always ends the same. The common people of Wynn band together and slay the terrible knight for good, but as everyone knows, death is no longer the end after the opening of the portal. 

A forsaken roar marks a new revival to this tale. The corruption brings forth one of its oldest assets to return chaos to the province in a more twisted form. The roar drives the lesser corrupted to frenzy as they advance throughout the province. The Ragni army quickly sent out many scouting parties in response to find the source of this mishap. Few returned, but those who did reported a large undead movement headed by a warlord does not control its lesser, but dominate them by sheer violence and force. It does not matter; a warlord is still a warlord. The Ragni army gathered forces and marched to the plain to push back this new threat. It didn't take long for the two forces to clash. 

At first, victory seemed so near for the Ragni troops, with the warlord seemingly too busy rampaging through its own army. Inevitably the warlord would find itself alone against the battalion, a rare sight in the province. Barrages fire one after another into the battlefield to take down the now armyless leader at what feels like the end of the battle. Yet the creature still stands. To the soldiers’ surprise, the undead’s blood poured from its metal maw as its innards fell to the ground. As everyone stares in shock, the creature raises its head, and its body builds up some kind of glow, along with the spike on its back extending. None could prepare for what happened next as a torrent of blood jets out of the creature’s maw onto the army that once attacked it. Those who are caught by the spraying ichor scream, only to find both their armor and their body melting and deforming. The formation quickly broke apart as those lucky enough to find cover watched the entire army reduced to barely a platoon. Watching the devastation that it caused, the monster roars triumphantly before continuing its advance onto the fortress.

The survivors regroup to formulate the plan to stop the beast’s advances and untold destruction to their home. With the knowledge that this is not the usual threat they once dealt with before, an unorthodox strategy was put into use to defeat this new threat. Fortunately, in its mercilessness, the creature often strayed from its path to destroy anything in its sight, even its fellow undead or an entire warband. Unthinkingly raiding the plain ,the survivors have time to set up their plan. 

As the creature approaches the city,a sergeant offers herself to lead the creature to the trap point. She quickly lures it away, and as it chases her, she retreats to a recently abandoned shield formation with war wagons scattered about. Fooled by the illusion of a formation, the creature wastes no time to unleash the same disastrous attack to get rid of the line. As the creature attempted to heal its inside fromits attack, the trap sprung into action. War wagons arrived and quickly surrounded the creature, and the soldiers within them fired a barrage of projectiles at the creature in its most vulnerable stage. Under fire, the creature could withstand it long enough to attempt to use the same attack again, but it was interrupted by a wagon packed with explosives rushed from the hill to deliver the creature's explosive demise.

As soldiers recover from the smoke of the crash, they anticipate the creature to finally meet its end. It emerges from the smoke and prepares to enact its wrath onto the soldiers. Fortunately, the sergeant would return to the battle, and with one well placed shot into its shattered throat, the creature chokes as ichor flows from its wound, the hot liquid burning it inside and out. In that moment the beast fell, finally succumbing to the wounds littering its broken body. Cheers erupted from the soldiers once they realized their plan's success, and they returned to their home knowing they saved it from grave danger. However, unbeknownst to the survivors, the corruption would never give up one of its finest assets. Its flesh slowly regenerates, knitting itself together. Eventually it will awaken it once more to take revenge and terrorize the province.

[sculptorofcrimson]

You speak of the joy of combat, the blood of the scars and the crimson of gore. How foolish. You carrying your master’s banner high in the air, of dying for retribution, for vengeance, for justice, for treachery, for power, for immortality. How naive.

How sweet of you to think your story will matter. How endearing of you to reach for the stars. How foolish, how tempting, how painful for you to dream of oblivion, of avengeance.

How foolish of you to try.

You will die, little lamb, you will die torn apart by our artillery, scorched to the earth beneath our thunder.

Hear me now, you bloodstained filth of the earth, little more than savage hounds thrown upon blades to die. We have come to kill you, and you have come to die. We will herd you into slaughterhouses and butcher you like cattle, and there shall be nothing glorious about your death. There will be only the humiliation of oblivion, of thunder and shells as His glory brings the very sky crashing down upon you. 

We will drown you in lead, and trap you in steel. We will build walls a thousand times higher until you break yourselves upon our bulwark, we will rain death from above as you shall learn of despair.

Children of the dancing pale, abandon your hopes. Shatter your mirrors, and tear your last paintings of age-old glory to dust. You cannot dance forever, and your song has winded down to an end. We will sing you a dirge, a mournful dirge, of springtime lost and wintertime eternal as His machines grind your bones to dust and scatter you beneath their treads. Your artworks will be razed as your empire was razed, your precious stones lost as you have been lost.

Children of the dreaded night, abandon your dreams. Your empire has fallen, your siblings all alone. When you hunger, when you starve, when you waste away into a death you’ve staved off through the blood of our brethren, we will be there. When you crawl back to us to feed, with hungry eyes and hollow skin, we will be there. We will avenge our mothers you ravaged, our fathers you ravished, our sisters you snatched from their beds and our brothers you carved and butchered. We will avenge our soldiers, and the blaze of our storm will be the last thing your monstrous eyes will ever see upon this fetid earth. We are the tide, and we are unending. No matter how gracefully you dance, how horrific your song, we will drown you beneath our screams and the blaze of our guns. The song of our bullets will be the last you ever see, and we can die, happy, knowing we have been avenged. 

Children of the metallic blue, abandon your guns. Shed your mockery of compassion. Blast your boastful taunts to ash. There will be no range you can hide from, no greater good for your lesser evil. We will find you, and we will paint the earth blue with your blood. We will hunt you down, and drag you to death a thousand times over beneath the fingers of ten thousand gloved hands. 

Children of the blackened oblivion, abandon your slumber. You will scream as we have screamed when we crush your bones to oblivion, when we bury you once more in the tombs you have forsaken. Your dynasty will crumble like sands before our unending charge, your dead kings will die thrice more by our infinite hands. And when you gasp your last, the Emperor will gaze upon your broken bones, and smile. 

Children of the bleeding crimson, abandon your axes. Lay down your armor, cast down your stakes and dream of death, eternal and unforgiving. The endless Emperor is with us and we are immortal. Your charges will break upon the bulwark that is humanity. Your blades will shatter upon the armor of our endless regiments, upon the wrath that is His divine fist. You can not win. Our soldiers will cull you from above. Our shells will rend your armor to paper. You will die not like a god, nor like a man, you will die like a rabid beast, screaming in the fires of His wrath. You will die beneath the storm of our guns and the hail of our soldiers. Tonight, there will be no honor in your death, no glory for your false lord. There will only be oblivion. Pray for us, crimson ones, pray for oblivion, pray that your end is swift, and merciful. For we are unbreakable, and our march is unending.

Children of the liar’s blue, abandon your spells. Your tongues are tied, your plots have faltered. We will march resolute, and we will bring you down. Even a treacherous worm like you must kneel before reality itself. Our soldiers’ blood will clog your feathers, their dying grasps will clutch at your wings and talons until bones shatter and you are one of us now, crawling upon the earth, mortal, weak, so incredibly weak, but without our armor of faith, without the eye of the Emperor. Our soldiers’ death grip will tear out your feathers one by one. Our guns will speak the final truth you will ever know as you die like the traitor you are, squirming, helpless, and mortal.

Children of the rotting green, abandon your anguish. Your pain is nothing compared to what we have endured. We have marched through hell, we have died in hell, and we have soldiered on. We are the Astra Militarum, and there is no limit to our wrath. Our barracks will run rampant with the corpses of your infestation, and your poxes will be crushed beneath the bulk of our endless tide, for we are humanity, and we are unending. The Emperor’s light will sear you crimson and pale, His vengeful glare will scald you from that which was and that which shall be. Death will reclaim you, as death has claimed us all, yet we will endure where you will not. 

Children of the fervent purple, abandon your revels. It is we who shall revel in your death throes. You will find no satisfaction here, in the hollowed servants of His light. You will find only death, and the artisans of His wrath. You will be annihilated, your joy tampered by His rage, your dances cut short by incendiaries and blades. There will be nothing tantalizing in your death. There will only be humiliation, as the artillery annihilates your kind and our guns transform your bones to paste. You will be eradicated, completely and utterly obliterated from the face of His light, for that is the death from which no soul can recover. You will die, your song strangled, your dance interrupted, in a symphony of smoke and screaming shrapnel. 

Children of the golden light, embrace your honor. Even in death, we still yet endure. We are humanity, we are the Astra Militarium, we have held the line for eons and we will hold the line for eternity more. We were those who stayed behind, cut to the last, shredded, flayed, burned, we are those who glared down the eyes of gods with men. We are mortals, so weak, so small, yet Chaos has yet to bring us down. The Eldar have yet to break our ranks, the Necrons yet to drain the life from our corpses. We were mortals, weak in flesh and bone, so fragile, so expendable, yet we held the line.

We are mortal, and tonight, we endure. 

[passingnights]

There are certain times of the day where the numbers align in perfect harmony and a familiar glow of magic illuminates the world for that singular minute.

It’s 7:21am and you’re running through the sweet spring fields, far away from home with the hand of your twin sister— your half soul held strong and confident in yours. Both of you dream of a life away from the responsibilities neither of you understand. You leave scarecrows in place of yourself in the classroom of your chocolate bunny teacher.

It’s 3:03pm and this is the first time you smell what you have only have heard stories of. The stink of bloodlust, of a tidal wave war, of screams and the clattering of iron, of a mother’s tears and the crackling fires of revenge. You and your people survive. An assassination attempt was made on your father. You feel rusted gears start cranking, slow and threatening, deep underneath the earth as the wails of the fallen fill your ears.

It’s 8:45am and forbidden confessions echo against the walls of the holy. Words you did not know were capable of escaping your father’s mouth, old and dusty secrets pouring out and you realise you do not know him. Your sister’s hand grip yours and your crowns spilt into two, simple metal clattering against god-forsaken grounds as everything you have known now lies at your feet. You narrowly escape the church. You witness the brutal murder of a friend. “The Bulb cares for no one.” You run.

It’s 10:05pm and you embrace your mother for the first time in weeks. You see the way she looks at your father. You see the way she scrambles to find some resemblance in him of an older lost one and fail to do so. Her soft and love swelled eyes that grace you and your sister does not land on your father and you wonder if she deserves the wordless losses she has dealt with. She demands that you and your friend go to rest but you, your father’s child, see too much, hear too much and you run away from the castle to explore as you did before all this.

It’s 12:01am and you draw your last breath. You feel yourself slip into the mist within the warm arms of your friend, your brother. “Tell Ruby that I love her, and tell her that she did the right thing.” You feel yourself loose the tight grip of your sister’s hand, your mother’s, your father’s.

Your dream of fighting for the world has been fulfilled. No longer princess, instead a warrior in war. And you remember the stories of the soldiers— you feel the warmth of your father’s arms around you, of your mother and sister’s tears soaking the earth above you and you sleep, knowing that you have protected what is most important to you and that they still have the breath to even mourn.

It’s 6:33am and you smile a little smile and sleep— a sister, a daughter, a princess and a warrior.

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 13: Brilliant

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera has a vision. Unrealistic erotica. An uncomfortable family breakfast.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, incest, dom/sub dynamics (very minor?), cunnilingus, creampie,

Long, flowing golden hair, tossing in the wind, in the darkness, in the light. Twin braids, that crept from a brow and behind. A face most carefully made, with the right shades, and the correct lights, with a long nose and a beauty all in all, with the most splendid expressions ever seen. Curls and spins and winds rolled down her shoulders, below a crested necklace of pure gold.

Her chin was held high, her eyes narrowed gracefully, her lips curved in a smirk only described as superior, stained with wine.

Pride.

Then, lower, and lower, and she wore satins and silks of the finest merchants. There was red, and gold, and a southern-styled gown, with sinking sleeves and bared shoulders, and flurries of curves and height to it all. There was gold, jewels, and intricacy in her.

Wealth.

A crown, of iron and gold, crested with blood, adorned with ash and rubies, winding through the hair of dark suns. The woman was dressed in red, with a crown of gold. Banners hung behind her—banners of velvet, with an adorned lion roaring through.

Regal.

“Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?” A Dornish accent, aged and experienced, mocking and untethered. A Martell's voice.

Lannister.

House Lannister.

Golden lions.

The Queen?

No.

House Lannister. Golden Lions. The Usurper Queen.

Usurper. A Usurper King?

A running stag, running through fires and despairs, and blood and grime and fallen worlds. Ours is the fury.

Baratheon. Lord of Storm’s End. Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The Usurper King. The Sack of King’s Landing. A Targaryen Bastard.

A child’s cries, screeches, a woman’s wails, a towering mountain, and the ringing of steel blades being drawn, and silence.

The Fall of the Dragon. The End of their reign, destroyed by their own blood. 

No.

The Dragon does not answer the Lion. The Dragon does not answer the Stag.

The Dragon burns them all alike.

Fire. The screech of a Dragon, the flapping of wings, great, dark, horrendous wings. One, two, three—obsidian and red, green and bronze, gold and cream. There shall be flames. There shall be blood. There shall be the age of dragons, returned, with a great, wakening light.

Dracarys.

Red stone, red foundations, and flags of red and gold and lions, all burned, and all fell.

There.

The Conqueror—silver hair, braids, and braids, and braids, and the neighing of a thousand horses, and the singular stepping of ten thousand marching soldiers, and on, and on.

There.

The Age of the Dragon.

Flags the colour of ash, with luminescent crests of blood-red dragons, being drawn over the ruins of the palace that once was. A throne made of swords, melted and moulded to never grant any sort of comfort, any sort of support. A King must never sit easy. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Dragon Queen sat atop it with a grace unseen, and a state of completion unknown. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Targaryen Conqueror sat atop the Iron Throne as though she was borne to do it. Indeed, she was. She was the blood of the dragon, and all knelt before her—wolves, eagles, stags, and lions, and even the very sun, the rose, and all that mattered. Even darkness, even death, ever devastation knelt before the conqueror.

Darkness knelt before the Conqueror.

No.

Darkness knelt before Azor Ahai, the forsaken warrior who tempered his own will in the blood and death of his lover. The warrior who ended the long night, the darkest winter, the coldest eternity.

The Conqueror was Azor Ahai.

Naera opened her eyes with a start.

She saw light, white and yellow and green, and a sky the colour of the sea. It was boundless, rolling on, and on, and on, forever, and then some more, behind the edges of the grassy hills. Grass, green and fresh and fragrant, rolled for miles, and acres in every direction, beneath the boundless skies.

Naera sat in a dress the colour of clouds, one that was loose and light. She was staring up at the skies, blue, blue, and blue, and her eyes made funny images of small translucent circles running through and past the skies. A hand reached forth, curled a strand of her silver hair and brushed it away.

Daemon sat behind her, holding her, kissing her, breathing her. His hands were wrapped solidly around her waist, his head carefully placed on her shoulder, and every breath of his taking send shivers down her spine.

“Are you awake yet?” He seemed to ask, hands drawling up, and down her front, her stomach, her breasts. Naera felt lethargic, as though someone had sedated her, tired her, and lazed her away.

"Hmm?” And she let him venture lower with his hands, crawling down to the hem of her dress and slowly, tantalizingly slow, dragging it up to her knees. His hands settled on her thighs, running small circles on her skin that made her throw back her head and sigh. One of his heavy palms crept back up, catching hold of her breast.

“You haven’t answered my question, Naera,” and through his dulcet voice, she felt heat, burning and boiling and toiling, build up from her core. Daemon pressed a kiss to her neck, and his hands found her cunt. Naera moaned, whimpered, really, and he drank it away as though it was his elixir. He set a single finger within her, revelling at how wet she was already, and breathed against her neck, again, in a way that made her wish to jump out of her skin and devour him all the same.

“What question?” And the sun burned warm along her face, her skin, her bones, but Daemon’s touch felt warmer, hotter and more refined than the sun. She heard him chuckle, a low, rumbling sound that travelled down her chest in waves.

“Are you awake?” She felt warm, warmer, and warmest, and Daemon kept on his actions. He curled one, or two fingers within her, circling her clit with his thumb, arduously slow, but it had all the same impact. Naera still thundered out a wheeze and a moan, but her eyes felt heavier and heavier. He repeated his words, the tune only adding to her ecstasy. He really did have a brilliant voice.

Wait.

“What d’you mean awake?” Naera felt cold, cold sheets, cold blankets, cold air, all over her, all around her. She sat up, fighting through the pain and heaviness in her limbs, to witness the light and airiness of chambers which were very certainly not hers. The sheets weren’t hers, there weren’t enough papers for these to be her quarters at all, and it was—oh, Daemon sat next to her, gazing at her with impertinence. Oh, and Naera cursed her first thought as having been carnal. His hair glowed in the morning light, and his eyes, and his—He had a brilliant voice, among many other brilliant things.

“There you go,” and his voice made her core warm up all over again, “You’re awake.” Daemon leaned forward, past the mess of silver hair, to press a kiss on her cheek, and her lips. Mistake, for the simple action made her clutch onto his neck, hot, heavy and reflexive, with a soul-crushing kiss. He did not refuse, of course—how could he refuse his dear niece? –and held her shoulders, driving her back onto the mattress. “Awake and eager,” he taunted against her lips, hands running across her bare body with blistering passion.

Naera wanted to taunt back, something along the lines of can’t say I’m the only one eager, or can you blame me? Yet, the words did not come that easily when her mind felt dazed with lust. Lust, for Daemon Targaryen. How in the world had it gotten here?

Daemon held her hands away from her, pinning them above her head, and his eyes spoke to hers his desires, his urges, all boiled down to promises. One day, I will bind your wrists and take you, and Naera cursed the shudder in her breath at his silent oath.

“Stay still for me.” His words had warning, and a deep, gruesome undertone to his words that made her want to obey, just this once. She let her arms go slack, hands grasped tight somewhere above her head, and she blared silent for his actions. She watched him, the mischief leaking out of his eyes, a haunted sort of eagerness in the lines on his forehead, the smile on his lips, the darkness of his eyes. Brilliant, he was, in more ways than she could count.

Daemon leaned close down, kissing her once again, this time soft, slow and temperate, and his hands dragged lower, and lower, and lower, nose dragging past the curve of her neck, and down, and down to the rise and fall of her breasts. He spared a kiss there but did not linger, and the thrill, the waves, the boil of anticipation in her heart did nothing to assuage her of the heat she felt.

Finally, his hands reached her thighs, pulling them apart, and he settled between them as he had the night before, though this time there was more comfort in his stature—the ability to leer, linger and lie in wait. God, she would both hate and love this—she would both hate and love him.

“Ah,” his grin made her cower, for no reasons defined, “Looks as though my Visenya has a lot of urges in her sleep,” and she felt the need to clarify, to defend herself, to tell him that it was the first time—the only time, and it had been after their night. Yet, what was the point? Somewhere in her mind, lingering, crawling and festering was the knowledge that it would not be the last time she dreamt that way of him.

Daemon ran a finger down her folds, through the slick wetness of hers, and she moaned breathily. He brought his finger up, and her legs twitched and shook, something of a spasm overtaking them.

“Careful, now,” and his warning resonated in her mind. Ah.

He repeated his actions, up, down, and up again, and she held her breath to keep herself from moving. Stay still, and he won’t deny you your pleasure. Daemon let his tongue run up her soaked cunt, muttering another comment about its taste which she could hardly register over the urge to drag his head in. Every careful breath of his collided with her clit in a way not at all unpleasurable, and she strained at the control.

“Good girl,” he praised her, cloyingly sweet, sickening, sugaring and brilliant. Daemon crept his tongue into her cunt, and a finger, and another, and Naera couldn’t help the shake of her hips to meet him in his way. He did not stop, however, as she had dreaded for so long, and only held her thighs with a stronger grace, and it went, his tongue, curling, winding and drinking her in. Naera broke away a hand, brushing it through his hair, revelling in its feel, and she tugged him closer, and closer to where she needed him.

Then, as a match stick does go out, as do a thousand candles in the wind, blowing, cooling, while darkness settled over it all, Daemon retreated, his eyes finding her pleading gaze, and Naera knew that she was at fault. Oh, but is it fault, if it felt as grand?

Daemon left her thighs, her aches and her needs, and he crept higher, taking her hands and holding them with a crushing grasp above her head. He stopped at her face, littering kisses everywhere but her lips, and she knew him—she knew his urges, his wants, his needs, to humiliate, to dominate, to make her give in—and she did not hate it at all.

“I am sorry,” Naera whispered, laying slack for his measure, for his leisure, for his pleasure, and he did not miss the glint of acceptance in her eyes.

“Are you, now?” He held her up, dragging, lingering and smirking, “Good girls don’t make such mistakes, dearest Naera,” and she shivered at his words. Daemon flipped her onto her stomach, running her hands down the smooth expanses of her back, acres and acres of ivory, scarred and healed and faded, and his. He heard her gasping breaths beneath, saw the pooling of slick by her cunt, and oh, she was perfection.

Daemon pulled up her knees, kneeling behind her leaking cunt, and watched, and watched, as she combated the urge to touch herself. He’d made her do it, one day, but not today. Or, not now, at least. He freed his cock, fully aching from the sight, and spread a hand around her ass. One day, but not today. There would be time—there would be endless time for their endeavours. Not today.

“Well,” he ran his hands up her back, through the smooth, saturnine texture of her skin, above the scars and wounds long healed and done, to her locks of dry, wispy silver hair that lay scattered around her neck. He caught hold of a bunch, wound his fingers around the locks slowly, carefully, lovingly, and tugged at it, harsh, painful and stiff.

Naera cursed the sensations, the hastening fairy-like tingles which ran through her back, down her body, through her cunt, at the endowment of pain and ache. She felt him lean close to her neck, whispering words she couldn’t decipher, though she trusted them to be nothing short of salacious.

He leaned back up, playing with her folds, slow, quiet and torturous, but oh, it was brilliant. He was brilliant. With no warnings, no indication and certainly no mercy, Daemon thrust in his cock, in, in, until he had fit himself into her heat by no means other than brute force.

Naera buried her face in the sheets, eyes closed, grunting at the stretch, at the pain, at the delight. She must’ve heard him sing a praise or two or three, about how tight she was, or how well she took him in, but they went unheard, his words went unconceived, but the rumble and thrum of his voice along her body send her reeling for more.

Daemon held her hips with bruising force, as though she did not already have bruises all over, and pulled out nearly all the way, before slamming into her with a grasping panic. Naera clustered as much of the sheets as she could, body writhing in pain, in pleasure, and some cursed approximation of their sum and Daemon went on, again, and again, and again, and Naera cried out a moan.

“Now, was that so hard?” Daemon mocked with hurried breaths, “Was is hard to just stay still for your lord husband?” But oh, she liked this more, he knew. He knew her, and her needs, and her attitude—she wanted roughness out of him, power, brutality, even, though not always—he’d figure her out eventually.

Naera whined out a cry, a moan, a whimper, at the feeling of his cock stretching her walls farther than before, grazing her womb, leaving her weak, wanting and wary for the next thrust. Daemon tugged at her hair again, harsher this time, and his movements lost rhythm as he groaned, leaning on her back. Naera whined when he tugged at her again, and there was a thrust particularly powerful, one that made her see stars.

He felt her tighten around him, close to her end, and he told her, “There you go, come for me, my—” and she took his words to heed, clenching around him in ways unfelt, gasping, wheezing, whining and moaning, mind blurred, but his name made it through. Daemon.

Hearing her chant his name in ecstasy, he followed suit, "My lovely princess," and he resisted the urge to call her his whore, "take my seed, yes? Take your kepa's seed, and we can begin our brood," and Naera did not know why she hissed out a heavy moan at the thought of being round, and full of child—full of him. Giving her a few powerful thrusts, Daemon held her hips tight against him, burying himself as far within her as he could. He filled her with himself, thick, hot, heavy seed filling her womb, holding her warmth, and Naera breathed in the sensation with a shadowing glee. 

Naera’s knees collapsed, and she was thankful that he retained enough sense to collapse beside her, and not over her. Her lungs felt deflated, and she flipped onto her back, heart hammering in her chest, searching for a clean breath. She felt his seed ooze out of her in drips and streams, and her cunt clenched around the remnants without her will. She stuttered out a moan, and a gasp, at the tip-tip-trickling of it out of her.

Oh.

Daemon pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, warm and sweaty. He looked over her rising and falling chest, her full and rounded breasts, and her neck, red and purple with marks of his giving, but he’d do it all over again. He'd fill her with himself a thousand times if need be, until she was rounded with his kin, oh, until she was indisputably his.

“Morning, your grace,” Naera greeted her father, as she took a seat beside him. He looked weaker than the previous night, heavier, and less humane. His maesters had certainly failed again. She wondered if she should offer help.

“Ah, daughter,” but he smiled all the same when he saw her, and nothing mattered past that. He also did not mention anything past that, possibly to avert her from calling her by the name good-brother, or perhaps to avert himself from thinking about whatever surely happened following the feast the previous night. Oh, he did not want to think, but the remnants of red along her neck, behind her silver hair, told him enough.

He also learned far too much about their relations, as Daemon took a seat beside her—Laenor’s seat, by all means, but the Velaryon was too occupied by his children to care much. He leaned close to her, lips moving in near-silent whispers, tongue lashing in ways resembling their mother tongue, and no one could miss the way Naera blushed.

“Morning, good-father,” Daemon greeted also, much to his brother’s dismay. Laenor, on the other hand, gutted out half a laugh before catching himself. Viserys did not spare his good son a glare. Naera pressed her lips into a very thin line, chanting something along the lines of don’t, don’t, don’t, in her mind.

Thankfully, the towers do know very well how all joy can be destroyed. “When shall you be departing for Dragonstone, princess?” Alicent Hightower asked, but the glimmer in her eyes could easily be taken for hope, expectation and aspiration. She wanted them out of her way.

Naera smiled, “I believe we shall remain in King’s Landing for a while longer, yes?” We need to…you know. Daemon knew. The downfall of the Hightowers, but with a better plan. He’d take it more seriously this time. He had what he needed now.

“Yes,” he agreed absently, “We have much to do in the Capital.” Though, his words raised more questions than answers. Aemond looked the most perturbed, but the way his single eye followed Daemon’s words and actions could settle for some semblance of aspiration. The boy wanted to be the mirror image of his uncle—strong, unbothered, unpredictable and dangerous.

Naera sensed his predicament—questions were dangerous things, so she added, “I’ve gathered up far too many papers and correspondence. It shall take quite some time to go through it all.” Her manuscripts, her journals, her letters and Wisestone. It would be a tempestuous time, indeed.

“Shall I allot you a squire, to help you through?” There was no malice in the Green Queen’s words, but Naera couldn’t settle with a squire.

“Not unless you can find me one adept with Valyrian,” and she knew that that’d stump her also. Not many in Westeros were familiar with the language at all.

“And her horrid penmanship,” Daemon added, and though his words were playful, they weren’t wrong. Naera glanced at him, ready to mock something of his, but how could she? Her writing wasn’t the finest in the seven kingdoms, after all.

“Perhaps Grand Maester Mellos, then,” and the thought of the old, wrinkly mediator of the Small Council reading through her writings made Naera frown. She refused.

“I shall see to it myself, your grace,” and that needed to be the end of it. She must have had two score letters piled up, and she needed to send her scripts to the Citadel for storage also. It would be arduous and long, but it was nothing new.

“Nonsense,” her father croaked, drinking a cup full of cold water to revise his voice, “Aemond can do it.” Aemond can do it, and Alicent’s face darkened. Aemond himself looked apprehensive, ready to go prattling on about how he’s a prince, not a common knight’s squire, but the panic in his eyes as all at the table considered the proposal prevented him from speaking. “He’s a smart boy, he’ll learn something from you,” and that was not how anyone saw it at all. He was a boy, a young prince, not a pondering young man about to serve a princess.

“I do not think that would be appropriate,” Naera dismissed it already, not missing the way Aemond’s single eye calmed at her words. She’d be fine on her own—there was much to be done. Though, the memories of how Dornish princes are so often sent by their parents to serve the lower houses as a manner of ageing and learning did flicker past. The world was not Dorne, however, much to her regret.

“I’ll help you,” Daemon decided in the spirit of compromise.

“You will do not such thing, my Prince.” Naera stated with a smile. She’d never get anything done with Daemon breathing down her neck, making her burn with desire. There, another round of far too many questions due to her words, and she clarified, “It’ll drive you insane, kepus, it’s dreary work,” not fit for a soldier such as you.

He seemed to laugh, all in those pale lilac eyes that never seemed to leave her movements, “Is that a challenge?” He wanted to play a duel, not one of the swords, but one of the wills, but he had an advantage—he always had an advantage when it came to her, it seemed.

“Do you want it to be?” Naera did not attempt to stop the smile that overtook her—teasing, fighting, winning, and losing all the same.

“It’s settled, then,” he had grasped an early victory, “I shall be your squire, princess.”

MASTERLIST

[buckyssoldat]

Chapter 67: Forever

Warnings: major character death, grief and loss, emotional vulnerability, light sexual themes, mental strain

A/N: This is part of my series, Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier. If you wanna be tagged in this, just send me an ask or a message. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated

The atmosphere around Tony Stark’s lakeside cabin was thick with a sombre quietness, broken only by the soft rustling of the trees and distant murmur of the lake’s gentle waves. The sky, a pale canvas of grey, seemed to reflect the collective sorrow of those gathered.

Pepper stood at the edge of the porch, her eyes brimming with unspoken grief, symbolized so much – love, loss, and the legacy of a man who had changed the world. As the group of loved ones watched silently, Pepper took one last look at it before gently lowering it into the water. Resting atop the wreath, framed against the greenery, was the arc reactor – Tony’s first. The words etched beneath it, Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart, seemed to carry a weight of their own now.

As the wreath slowly drifted on the water’s surface, Alice stood at Bucky’s side, her hand tightly clutching his arm. She had been numb for day, the grief still too fresh, too raw. But here, at the funeral, surrounded by those who had loved Tony in their own ways, she felt the weight of her loss settle deeper into her chest. Tony had been more than a friend, more than a mentor. He had been family, and now, he was gone.

Her fingers tightened around Bucky’s arm, seeking the comfort of his presence. His warmth was a grounding force for her – something she clung to, needing it more than she ever had before. She didn’t look at him, afraid that if she did, the flood of tears she had been holding back would break loose. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the wreath, watching it float out farther into the lake.

Pepper stood still, her eyes fixed on the retreating wreath, her face a mask of quiet grief. Beside her, Morgan’s small hand rested on her mother’s, her tiny fingers gripping with the innocence of someone who couldn’t fully understand the depth of the loss. Happy Hogan stood close by, his face twisted in pain, his hand resting on his knee as if steadying himself from the weight of the world. Rhodey stood next to him, his posture rigid, but his eyes – eyes that had seen so much – were soft with sorrow.

The rest of the gathering stood in silent reverence. Steve, Peter, and May were a little apart, Steve’s broad shoulders slumped in quiet mourning. Peter’s face was pale, his eyes reddened, as if he had been holding back tears for days. May stood beside him, her arms wrapped around him, trying to shield him from the weight of it all. Thor’s presence loomed largen than life, his eyes cast downward, remembering the friendship he had shared with Tony. Beside him stood Bruce and Doctor Strange, both trying to make sense of a world that felt a little less bright without Tony in it.

Wong was nearby, his face unreadable, but his posture stiff as if he were holding himself together by sheer will. Scott and Hope stood together, their fingers intertwined, their eyes distant, as if they were trying to find some sort of peace in a world that no longer made sense. Janet, Hank, and Peter Quill stood with them, all of them quietly reflecting on the man who had meant so much to each of them in different ways.

The rest of the gathered team was just as solemn: T’Challa, Okoye, and Shuri stood together, their stoic faces betraying no emotion, but their eyes sharp with the grief they couldn’t hide. Clint, surrounded by his family, was quiet, his hands gently brushing over his children’s shoulders. Wanda, standing near Bucky and Alice, her eyes filled with sorrow and understanding, had her head slightly tilted in remembrance.

The rest of the Avengers, their allies, and friends – Sam, Harley, Ross, Maria, Carol, and Nick – all stood in silence, a unified front of strength, love, and loss. Their silence spoke volumes, each person lost in their own memories of Tony, the moments that had shaped them into who they were now.

Bucky’s grip tightened on Alice’s hand as she trembled slightly beside him. He felt the weight of her grief like an anchor around them both. His presence was all she had to hold onto right now, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

And as they all watched the wreath drift further into the lake, time seemed to slow, the finality of Tony’s death settling over them like a blanket they couldn’t shake. No words were spoken, none needed. The quiet sorrow of the group was enough to say everything that needed to be said.

The wreath – Tony’s legacy – slowly faded from view, as the ripples in the water carried it farther away from shore. It was the end of an era. The end of a life that had touched every one of them, in ways they would never forget.

But as the wreath disappeared into the distance, Alice stood there, with Bucky at her side, knowing that the love and lessons Tony had shared would remain with them forever. The heart of the world’s greatest genius was still out there, beating in the people he had left behind. And as long as they kept fighting, kept living – Tony would never truly be gone.

The following morning, some of team’s members gathered again by the lake. It was quiet, sunlit by the lake, where the makeshift Quantum platform had been assembled. The grief of Tony’s funeral still hung heavily over everyone, and the sombre mood persisted, a silent reminder of everything and everyone they had lost.

Alice stood close to Bucky, her arms folded tightly across her chest. The faint breeze carried the scent of the lake, rustling through the leaves in a soft, almost mournful whisper. She hadn’t gotten much sleep after the funeral, and her exhaustion clung to her, making everything feel just a little heavier. The words Bruce and Steve exchanged seemed to float in the air, echoing in her mind.

Bruce, standing beside the controls, tried to maintain his composure, but a flicker of sorrow broke through as he turned to Steve. “Now, remember – you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got them,” Bruce said, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. “Or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

Steve nodded, his face calm but resolute. “Don’t worry, Bruce. Clip all the branches,” he assured, his voice carrying the steadiness of a man prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Bruce swallowed, his jaw tightening before his next words slipped out. “You know, I tried,” he confessed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “When I had the gauntlet, the stones… I really tried to bring her back.” His eyes lifted to meet Steve’s, shimmering with unshed tears. “I miss her, man.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Me too,” he said, his voice quiet but full of shared pain. The memory of Natasha, gone but never forgotten, settled heavily in the space between them.

Alice stood a few steps behind Bruce and Steve, her heart clenched in anguish. Natasha had been more than just a fellow Avenger to her. She had been her best friend, a sister in every way that mattered. Alice’s hands balled into fists at her sides as she struggled to keep herself composed, but a single tear slipped down her cheek, betraying the wall she had tried to put up.

“I miss her, too,” Alice murmured, her voice cracking slightly. The grief, raw and relentless, pulsed in her chest, and for a moment, she had to steady herself. Natasha had been the one she had leaned on during the darkest times, and now, without her, Alice felt the aching void even more deeply.

Sam stepped forward, his concern etched across his features. “You know, if you want, I can come with you,” he offered, his voice gentle.

Steve smiled, grateful but resolute. “You’re a good man, Sam,” he said, his voice warm with affection. “This one’s on me, though.” He glanced over at Bucky, who stood just a little apart, watching the exchange with a pained intensity.

Cap walked over to his oldest friend. For a moment, it was just the two of them, standing on the precipice of yet another goodbye. Steve’s smile was small, tinged with sadness and understanding. “Don’t do anything stupid ‘till I get back,” he joked, the familiar line carrying the weight of all their shared years.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “How can I?” he replied, his voice cracking. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” They embraced, a hug that spoke of years of friendship, loss, and a love that transcended even time. Bucky’s voice trembled, his hands clutching Steve’s back. “Gonna miss you, buddy.”

Steve pulled back, his eyes glistening. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck,” he promised, his voice soft, full of hope he wasn’t sure he believed. Then he turned to Alice, who had been silently watching, her heart breaking with each word.

Steve pulled her into a tight embrace, the familiarity of their bond wrapping around them. His voice was gentle when he whispered, “In another time.”

Alice’s breath hitched as she clung to him, the tears she’d been fighting stinging her eyes. She managed to whisper back, “In another time.” The words were a promise and a farewell, a dream of a life that could have been different.

Steve stepped away and moved toward the Quantum platform, donning his suit with a determined air. He hefted Mjölnir, a sight that still took everyone’s breath away, and gave them one last nod.

Sam shifted nervously, glancing at Bruce. “How long is this gonna take?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.

Bruce adjusted the controls, his hands shaking. “For him? He replied. “As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.” His voice wavered, but he pressed on, calling out to Steve, “Ready, Cap? Alright. We’ll meet you back here, okay?”

Steve, with a final, confident smile, replied, “You bet.”

Bruce’s voice was steady, even if his heart wasn’t. “Going quantum. Three, two, one-” But Steve didn’t reappear. The pad remained empty, a stark reminder that time was slipping away.

Bruce’s face fell, his confusion evident. “Where is he?” Sam demanded, his voice rising with panic.

Bruce frantically worked at the controls. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his eyes wide. “He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here.”

Bucky’s eyes shifted, staring at the empty spot on the platform. Sam stepped forward, his fear evident. “Well, get him back,” he insisted, voice thick with urgency.

“I’m trying,” Bruce replied, his hands fumbling with the equipment.

Sam’s desperation broke through. “Get him the hell back!” he shouted, his voice echoing.

Bruce turned sharply, his own frustration spilling over. “Hey, I said, I’m trying!”

A heavy silence fell, broken only by Bucky’s voice, calm but weighted with the grief of yet another loss. “Sam,” he said softly, drawing his friend’s gaze. Bucky’s expression was grave, but there was a trace of acceptance, a deep understanding that maybe Steve’s journey had ended where it needed to.

Alice stood still, her heart pounding, a silent prayer forming on her lips. Her fingers brushed Bucky’s, seeking any kind of solace as they waited, breath held, for what would come next.

Sam’s footsteps slowed as he approached Bucky and Alice. The two of them stood side by side, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. The morning sun painted streaks of gold across the clearing, casting long shadows over the grass. Bruce followed closely behind, his heart sinking with the realization that something had changed, something irreversible.

There, sitting on a worn log by the edge of the lake, was an old man. His face was lined with age, hair silvered and eyes gentle but tired. Yet, despite the years that had clearly passed, there was no mistaking who he was.

Bucky glanced at Sam, his voice low but resolute. “Go ahead,” he encouraged, his words soft but filled with understanding. Alice managed a small, hopeful smile at Sam, nodding to urge him forward.

Sam took a deep breath and stepped toward the old man, who looked up with a familiar warmth in his eyes. The gravity of the moment pressed heavily on Sam’s heart as he spoke. “Cap?” he asked, his voice trembling with a blend of awe and concern.

Steve Rogers, older now but unmistakably himself, smiled at Sam. “Hi, Sam,” he greeted, the simple words filled with a lifetime’s worth of wisdom and peace.

Sam hesitated, trying to make sense of the scene before him. “So did something go wrong, or did something go right?” he asked, the question tinged with worry and hope.

Steve’s smile deepened, lines crinkling around his eyes. “Well, after I put the stones back, I thought, maybe I’ll try some of that life Tony was telling me to get,” he explained, his voice rich with the echoes of long-past adventures.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, and his chest ached with emotions he wasn’t sure he could express. “How’d that work out for you?” he asked, his voice quiet but earnest.

Steve’s eyes softened even further, a look of contentment settling on his features. “It was beautiful,” he replied, his voice a whisper, as though he was holding the memories close.

Sam swallowed hard, forcing a smile through the tears welling in his eyes. “I’m happy for you. Truly,” he said, and he meant it. Despite the loss he felt, he couldn’t deny Steve the happiness he had found.

Steve nodded, his gratitude apparent. “Thank you,” he said, the words simple yet sincere.

Sam’s smile wavered as he spoke, his voice sightly cracking. “Only thing bumming me out is the fact I have to live in a world without Captain America,” he admitted, the grief of losing yet another guiding figure pulling at his heart.

Steve’s eyes twinkled with a familiar mischief. “Oh, that reminds me,” he said, reaching to his side and bringing out the shield. It gleamed in the sunlight, a symbol of hope and responsibility. “Try it on,” he urged, holding it out to Sam.

Sam hesitated, glancing at Bucky. Bucky met his eyes and gave a small, encouraging nod, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. But before Sam took the shield, his gaze flickered to Alice, who stood beside Bucky. She was watching the scene unfold, her eyes full of understanding and quiet strength. Sam could see how much Natasha and Tony’s absence pained her, but in this moment, she and Bucky were both pillars of resilience, connected to the legacy of Steve and what the shield represented.

Sam felt the weight of the decision. In his mind, he knew that both Alice and Bucky would have been fitting choices to carry on Steve’s legacy. Alice had the unwavering courage and fierce loyalty that Captain America stood for. Bucky, having fought his way back from the darkness, had a depth of resilience and history with Steve that made him equally deserving. Moreover, they both had the super soldier serum running through their veins.

But the nod from Bucky and the supportive look from Alice were the permission Sam needed. It felt right, in a way that was both humbling and empowering. Taking a breath, he stepped forward and accepted the shield from Steve, feeling the weight of it both comforting and intimidating.

“How does it feel?” Steve asked, watching as Sam ran his fingers over the familiar surface.

Sam’s voice was thick with emotion. “Like it’s someone else’s,” he said, the burden of living up to Steve’s legacy hanging heavy in the air.

Steve’s response was gentle but firm. “It isn’t,” he said, his words an affirmation that Sam was the right choice, that he had earned this.

“Thank you,” Sam said, his voice breaking as he tried to convey his gratitude. “I’ll do my best.”

Steve’s smile was full of pride. “That’s why it’s yours,” he said, reaching out to shake Sam’s hand. Their grip lingered, a connection that spoke of shared respect and trust. Sam’s eyes flickered downward, catching the glint of a wedding ring on Steve’s hand.

A soft, curious smile spread across Sam’s face. “You wanna tell me about her?” he asked, the question light but laced with genuine curiosity.

Steve’s expression softened into a private, knowing smile. “No,” he replied, his voice gentle, “no, I don’t think I will.” The words carried a quiet finality, but also a sense of peace. It was a story Steve wanted to keep for himself, a piece of his life that was his and his alone.

Bucky and Alice stood a little apart, watching the scene unfold with mixed emotions. Alice’s hand found Bucky’s, squeezing it as they both absorbed the moment. There was loss, yes, but also the sense that everything was as it should be.

Later that evening, Alice and Bucky found themselves back at her apartment. The space felt warm and familiar, but a heaviness hung in the air, the events of the day still pressing on their hearts. Alice set her keys down on the small table near the door, her fingers lingering as if grounding herself to the present moment. Bucky closed the door behind them, the soft click sounding louder than usual in the quiet apartment.

They stood there for a moment, absorbing the silence. Then Alice finally broke it, her voice a mix of emotions. “Steve really did it,” she said, her eyes distant, still replaying the moment Steve had handed Sam the shield. “He really chose to live that life Tony always talked about.”

Bucky nodded, his expression conflicted. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice gruff. “I guess he finally got that dance with Peggy.” He rubbed a hand over his face, the weight of the day visible in the tension of his shoulders. “I just… I never thought I’d have to say goodbye to him again. Not like that.”

Alice’s heart clenched. She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “None of us did,” she murmured, her own grief mingling with his. Steve had been a constant in her life, a steady presence through chaos and war. Seeing him as an old man, knowing he had chosen a different path, left an ache that was difficult to articulate.

Bucky looked own, absorbing her words. “It’s just…” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “Steve was the best of us. The world is gonna feel emptier without him.”

Alice’s hand slipped down to take his, their fingers intertwining. “But we’re still here,” she reminded him, her voice steady. “We’re here to keep fighting for the world he believed in. And maybe, with time, we’ll learn to carry the weight of his legacy in our own way.”

Bucky met her eyes, a glimmer of gratitude shining through the sadness. “I guess we will,” he said softly. He squeezed her hand, grounding himself in her presence, and for the first time that day, he felt a small spark of hope.

The days that followed were filled with an odd kind of quiet, the kind that spoke of bittersweet endings but also of hesitant new beginnings. Alice and Bucky stayed at her apartment, the space becoming a haven where they could both breathe, heal, and simply be.

Their first date was Alice’s idea, a classic afternoon picnic in Central Park. She prepared for it with a kind of giddy excitement, bustling around the kitchen, her hair pulled back with stray curls framing her face. Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching her assemble the sandwiches and snacks she insisted were “the ultimate picnic essentials”. The sight of her so animated, so alive, made something warm bloom in his chest.

“You’re really putting a lot of pressure on these sandwiches,” he teased, his deep voice echoing softly in the small kitchen.

Alice spun around, a slice of cheese in her hand, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me, these aren’t just sandwiches, James Buchanan Barnes. They’re carefully curated, expertly assembled creations. A lot of love went into these.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine, and stepped forward to steal a piece of cheese. “Okay, okay, I’ll trust the sandwich expert. But if I’m not blown away, I’m holding you accountable.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was wide. “Deal.”

The park was drenched in sunlight when they arrived, the kind of golden light that made everything feel hopeful, almost magical. Alice chose a spot under a massive oak tree, spreading out a checkered blanket she’d brought along. Bucky helped her set up, though he kept stealing glances at her, marvelling at how her joy seemed to radiate from her. She wore a light blue sundress, and the breeze teased at its hem, making her laugh as she tried to keep it from flying up.

“Stop staring,” she said, catching him in the act and narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion.

“I’m not staring,” Bucky lied, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m… observing.”

“Uh-huh. Observing, my ass,” she shot back, but her cheeks flushed with a pleased warmth. She finished setting out the food and sat back with a sigh. “Okay, picnic feast is ready.”

Bucky joined her, and they shared the meal together, trading jokes and stories between bites. At one point, he picked up a strawberry and held it out to her, a playful glint in his eyes. “You trust me not to drop this all over your pretty dress?”

Alice leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirked, and in a rare, mischievous moment, pulled the strawberry away at the last second. She gasped in mock outrage, reaching for it, and the two of them burst into laughter as she finally managed to snatch the berry from his fingers. The carefree sound of their laughter blended with the hum of the city around them, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them.

After lunch, she convinced him to play frisbee, and despite his initial reluctance, Bucky found himself running and laughing alongside her. The frisbee sailed through the air, and Alice’s delighted squeals every time he managed to catch it made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time – pure, unfiltered joy. They played until they were both breathless, collapsing on the blanket in a tangled heap.

“You know,” Bucky said, looking up at the sky, “I haven’t had this much fun in… well, I can’t remember the last time.”

Alice turned her head to look at him, her expression soft. “I’m glad we did this,” she murmured. “You deserve fun, Bucky. You deserve happiness.”

He looked back at her, his heart aching in the best way. “So do you,” he said quietly, and she reached over to intertwine her fingers with his.

Their second date was more formal. Bucky, wanting to do something special, made reservations at a little Italian restaurant he’d heard about from Sam. It was a tiny, family-run place with fairy lights strung along the ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything. When Alice emerged from her room in a sleek, black dress, Bucky felt his breath catch.

“Wow,” he said, unable to hide his awe. “You look… incredible.”

She smiled, a little shy but mostly pleased. “You don’t look so bad yourself, sergeant.”

The meal was delicious, and they talked about everything and nothing, savouring the food and each other’s company. At one point, Bucky’s hand found hers across the table, and he held it gently, tracing small circles on her skin with his thumb. “Do you ever think about the future?” he asked, his voice soft.

Alice tilted her head, studying him. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I try not to think too far ahead. Life’s thrown too many curveballs.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, his thoughts drifting to the small, velvet box he had hidden in his jacket pocket. “I get that.”

But the weight of the box felt heavier than ever. He wondered if he’d find the right moment to ask her, if he’d ever feel like the timing was perfect.

The most intimate date was their sunset stroll along the Hudson River. The sky was a riot of colours, painted in hues of orange, pink, and deep purple. The river reflected the scene, shimmering like a liquid rainbow. Alice held onto Bucky’s arm, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I used to come here a lot when I was at the orphanage,” she said quietly. “Back then, when everything was… different. It’s strange, being here now and feeling like things might actually be okay.”

Bucky turned his head to press a kiss to her temple. “I like the idea of ‘okay’”, he replied. “I never thought I’d get a chance at it, but here we are.”

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes searching his. “Bucky… whatever happens, I’m glad we’re here. Together.”

He swallowed, feeling that familiar ache. He wanted to tell her everything, to drop to one knee right then and there, but nerves tangled his words. Instead, he cupped her face in his hands, leaning down to kiss her gently. “Me too,” he whispered against her lips. “You’ve changed everything for me.”

They stood there, the world around them fading away. Bucky knew he had the ring, knew he was ready to take the leap, but something about the quiet moments they shared made him hold back. He wanted to savour these days, to let their love unfold naturally.

And so, they kept building memories – each picnic, each candlelit dinner, each sunset stroll – becoming the foundation of something beautiful. Something they both hoped would last forever.

The following day had started perfectly. Alice had woken up to the sound of birds chirping outside her apartment window and the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. Bucky, ever the early riser, was leaning against the counter when she walked in, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, offering her a mug.

“Morning, grumpy,” she shot back with a grin, taking the coffee and planting a quick kiss on his lips.

They’d planned a low-key day – breakfast at their favourite café, a stroll through the park, and maybe a movie later. By the time they had reached the café, a tiny crack had already formed in Bucky’s good mood.

It started when they got to the counter, and Alice, eyeing the glass case filled with pastries, ordered the last croissant without thinking twice.

“You want anything else, Buck?” she asked cheerily, completely unaware of the slight twitch in his jaw.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Alice had happily bitten into the flaky pastry as they walked to the park, humming to herself while talking about some random theory she’d read online about how pigeons might be government spies.

Bucky nodded along, but inside, he was spiralling. She didn’t even ask if I wanted it. The last croissant. Doesn’t she know I love those?

He stayed quiet, thinking Alice would notice his mood shift. But as they reached the park and settled onto the bench, she still hadn’t said a word about it.

Now, the silence stretched between them like a taut wire.

Bucky’s inner monologue was relentless: We haven’t talked in 20 minutes. She hasn’t even noticed I’m mad. What could she possibly be thinking about?

Meanwhile, Alice was blissfully unaware, staring out at the ducks gliding across the lake. Her thoughts had wandered far, far away.

Could I fight a bear? I mean, I have the serum in me… But not a polar bear. No, those are basically monsters. But like a black bear? Yeah, I could definitely take a black bear. And a shark maybe. If I punched it in the gills, that’s the trick, right? Do sharks even have gills?

Bucky finally snapped. “Seriously, Alice?”

She blinked and turned to him, startled. “What?”

“What?” Bucky repeated, his tone incredulous. “Are you really going to sit there like nothing happened?”

Alice frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Uh, yeah? Did I miss something?”

Bucky groaned, rubbing his temples. “This morning! At the café! You ate the last croissant.”

Alice blinked once, then twice, before breaking into laughter. “Wait, that’s why you’ve been brooding all day? A croissant?”

“Not just a croissant, Alice,” Bucky said, his voice rising slightly. “The last croissant. You didn’t even think to ask if I wanted it.”

“Oh my god,” Alice said, covering her face as she tried to stifle her giggles. “You’ve been stewing about this for hours? Buck, I didn’t even realize! I’ll buy you a dozen croissants tomorrow, okay?”

“That’s not the point,” Bucky muttered, crossing his arms. “It’s about communication.”

Alice leaned back, still chuckling, and tilted her head to look at him. “Communication? About pastries?”

Bucky sighed, his frustration softening as he met her teasing gaze. “It’s not just about the croissant, okay? It’s – it’s everything. I just… I thought we’d share it, that’s all.”

Her laughter faded, replaced by a warm smile. “Bucky Barnes, are you telling me you’re upset because you wanted to share a croissant with me?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Maybe.”

She reached over, resting a hand on his. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? But I kinda love it.”

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “Just don’t eat the last one next time.”

“Deal,” she said, squeezing his hand. Then, after a beat, she added with a mischievous grin, “But just so you know, I could fight a bear.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“A black bear,” she clarified. “Not a polar bear. Those are demons.”

He stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head, laughing despite himself. “You’re insane.”

“You love it,” Alice said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his arm wrapping around her. “I do.”

tags: ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​@capswife

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masterlist

[clickerflight]

Challenges

Look, I have done lots of challenges in the past. I think I've done a challenge every October for 6 years now, but most of them were tied to single projects and are hiding within my other master posts. This year I am writing for whatever project comes to mind, and thus we have this challenge post.

Masterlist

Voltober 2024 @voltober

Part 1 - The Beast of Pirate's Bay - The Adventurers Part 2 - It's so Easy When You're Evil - Clove Part 3 - The Industrial Revolution (And How it Ruined my Life) - The Adventurers Part 4 - Goodnight, Demon Slayer - Fallen, Crestlen Part 5 - The Ship's Going Down Part 6 - Death Death Devil Devil Evil Evil Song - Warlocks Part 7 - USS Make Stuff Up - Forsaken Fields Part 8 - The King is Dead - Kindled Scales Part 9 - Friends in the Dark - Sonder Story Part 10 - The Soldier's Blade - The Price of War Part 11 - What Will We Do? - Sons of Billionaires Part 12 - Better Than You - Fallen Part 13 - I Laugh in the Face of Death - The Adventurers Part 14 - No Honor Among Thieves - A Construct in a Box Part 15 - The Ones Who've Hurt You - From Dust to Ashes Part 16 - When the Lambs Become the Wolves - Clove Part 17 - Medicated Girls' Brigade - The Adventurers Part 18 - Come Sweet Death - Sonder Story Part 19 - Captains All - Fallen, Crestlen Part 20 - Don't go by the River - FDTA Part 21 - Hate Lives in a Small Town - Crestlen Part 22 - Stubborn as a Mule - Clove Part 23 - Fears and Anguish - Sons of Billionaires Part 24 - On the Road - The Adventurers Part 25 - Out of Reach - FDTA Part 26 - Alchemy Mondays - Crestlen Part 27 - The Last Word - The Price of War Part 28 - Caught a Light Sneeze - Sons of Billionaires Part 29 - Monstrous Lovers - Warlocks Part 30 - Stakes and Torches - From Dust to Ashes Part 31 - Oubliette - Crestlen

[anarkissm]

‘i never thought i'd live to see this.’ (saren @ nihlus)

saren speaks the words into the dusty, fire-scented air, after nihlus takes saren's hand and pulls him up onto the massive barricade set up against london-earth's destroyed tower bridge. he watches the rubble and chaos below them, the soldiers slowly waking up with the realization that there was no need to fight. that the fighting was finally, finally over.

nihlus does not have a sharp, witty remark. his mind is buffering. static. he feels heavy. twice his size. twice as much spirit, as if he were carrying the dead and the fallen.

he wonders if this is what it feels like to mourn. for shepard. for himself. for the souls that perished in order to win this spirits-forsaken war. against ancient, sapient entities made of wires and metal and meat-masks.

"neither did i," nihlus responds, soothing, somber.

he raises a clawed hand, and closes his fingers around saren's shoulder.

"i'm sure shepard would have found the irony of saren arterius marveling at earth quite funny."

and nihlus stares out into the horizon. as if he were looking for shepard's red hair, the flash of her military-grade armor. his throat tightens. he squeezes saren's shoulder, firm and grounding.

"perhaps we should help with the search and rescue teams, hm?"

[xputting-my-pieces-togetherx]

OCEPTEMBER day 7-9

DAY 7~ World Lore~

Set up: future present Earth 5

Once the sky opened on a certain day.

Angels fell.

people cried and prayed as they thought the day of long forsaken had come to meet and take them away.

the earth roared and the ground split swallowing the Angels as they fell. Monsters crawled out instead.

A majestic hand came out of the heavens and pushed the fallen and the demons back into hell...

the Earth felt silent as the clock started ticking once again and mother earth sowed the ground as if nothing had ever happened...

DAY 8~PRE-ARC~

Finding a piece of herself (AIDA)

Set up: somewhere in between Earth and the Underworld.

Aida is a soldier of the 6th, Affiliated with Azreal Angel of D*ath. THE 6TH is a group of 6 angels bestowed with the powers to purify or end negative energy (as in sending back to hell), their sole reason for existing is to end the negative energies(demons) that try to escape hell.

On a eternal time. there was no day or night nor time.

Aida was sitting by one of the little streams connected to River of Cocytus. It wasnt as bad as the main river which was full of cries so loud you lost your sense of direction, she did not dare to get close to it, but this one was nice as sometimes you could see images of peoples memories. Aida felt transfixed in the images. She was not allowed to have emotions as it would hinder her work, but she did often wondered what life on the inbetween plain would be like. The combination of their own heaven and hell on Earth was something Aida mulled about, all the Why would they do this? Why would that happen? Why did their emotions make them do that mistake? What are emotions, the reason why the human beings are being tested everyday... led by emotions and from the time they sleep to being fully awake. Was she experiencing curiosity? is this an emotion and was she going to get in trouble for having an experience... her only purpose was to close portals everytime they opened and send back negative energies that tried to escape.

She wasnt allowed to question or feel.

In her teal eyes a red speck appeared but she was unaware of it...

DAY 9~OC POST-ARC~

UNKNOWN

(HINT.HINT. Aida and Ren end up together <3)

this was hard but since they all just fit together i decided to just post it all in the same post! and sorry for grammar typos and stuff English is not my first language also i didnt proof read so yolo?

(also please dont steal my idea it took me like YEARS to come up with it cuz im slow asf)

[zacksfairest]

Sephiroth - 2, 12, 22 | Sukuna - 5, 8, 21

Send a character + one or more of these question!

(this is long. it's going under a read more lmao)

Sephiroth

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

How so very manipulative and sadistic and malevolent he becomes post-insanity. And it's specifically the juxtaposition between the two that makes it so good. He is the very definition of the fallen angel, God's favorite cast out of heaven for daring to stand against Him. He was Shinra's favorite son. Beloved by all. Shone the brightest of them all. Until he broke beneath the weight of the loneliness and isolation that that favored status brought him. He yearned to belong, he yearned for friends and companionship—until he found out that his best friends were just work friends and they left him behind. And once his mind broke, all bets were off. Humanity is an infestation, and he is better than all of us. He was raised to believe this, but he had the proof of it in his hands upon Jenova's discovery. He is practically a god in his own right, actually. And gods can do what they wish, and use whom they wish. Sephiroth was always hot, but the insane god complex combo who gets genuine pleasure out of pulling the puppet strings of those he deems Less Than is. :) Great. I'm fine.

12. What’s a headcanon you have for this character?

That he fucks and he fucks good. Next question. That is very sincerely my answer, but I'll also build on it lmao The fan base treats Sephiroth as an innocent uwu baby who has never known the touch of a woman (or man) and that's just utter insanity to me. Being a child soldier as he was, despite the power he had even at such a young age, would only have further exposed him to the crassness of his fellow soldiers. And as he rises through the ranks, becomes the face of the war with Wutai, you think he did not take advantage of that fame and fall into bed with even a select few starry eyed people? Please. I also believe that, just maybe, that manipulation sadism that his insanity brought out wasn't entirely out of nowhere. Maybe it simply broke the shackles that kept that part of his personality at bay—but it was there, and would come out at times when he wished for conquest. A soldier without a war to fight can be a dangerous thing at times~

22. If you’re a fic reader, what’s something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don’t like?

A LOADED QUESTION. But I will persevere. I love to read about General Sephiroth. I love when we get into the military aspect of his position within Shinra. He is the Hero of Wutai for a reason. Not just because of his immense strength and power. He was eventually made a General in Shinra's military, and you don't get that entirely due to nepotism. He has an analytical and strategic mind that absolutely came into play on the battlefield. And I fucking love reading about it. I've only ever read one fic that so very brilliantly executed this exact aspect of Sephiroth. I've been chasing that high ever since. Something I don't like? You already know this, but Fine I will make my stance public. I fucking hate reading about uwu baby domestic virgin Sephiroth with every fiber of my being. This is a SOLDIER who has KILLED PEOPLE and you make him an uwu soft boy. You make him blush when he sees a titty. I hate you. I hate you all. You make my eyes bleed.

Ryomen Sukuna

5. What’s the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

So, like, technically, the first song that comes to mind when I think about him is SPECIALZ by King Gnu because the two are just so very intwined in my mind—but that is too easy, and I have others. The two that come to mind immediately after SPECIALZ are Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold and Forsaken by David Draiman. Nightmare very specifically just gives me a bit of a Sukuna POV, tormenting poor souls that have had the misfortune to fall into his domain~ And Forsaken is yet another POV song. Why should he hide any longer? Why should he not give into his hedonistic desires? Curses are everywhere, and he is the most powerful of them all. And he will drag anyone he can into his world where pain and pleasure mingle~

8. What’s something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Why are you baiting me like this, Melody? I hate. Hate. HATE!!!!! The woobification of Sukuna. That man—creature, more apt, I believe—is nothing but hedonism personified. He takes immense pleasure in brutal torture and murder, in manipulation and humiliation, and, yes, in sex—but dare I say that he would prefer it to be non-consensual. You cannot fix this man. You cannot make him see the error of his ways. Your love will not set things right and make him a good guy. No pussy is that good. And his pleasure will always come first, btw. He is not going out of his way to make you feel good and loved etc. If it's not directly making his cock hard he doesn't give a shit. If I have to see one more reader insert where Sukuna takes care of you when you have your period or when you're sick—and it DOESN'T end in him simply ripping out your throat and skull fucking you—I will eat my hands.

21. If you’re a fic writer and have written for this character, what’s your favorite thing to do when you’re writing for this character? What’s something you don’t like?

So I have not yet written him within the bounds of his character in JJK—but I am still working on that Sukuna!Lemuel fic, so I will count that. Oh, writing Sukuna is pretty much everything I love writing in a terrible male character. He his haughty and violent and loves to play with his food. He gets immense pleasure out of instilling fear in those around him, and drawing it out as long as possible. I have so much fun dipping into that mindset. And he has no conscience! None whatsoever! So he can do whatever he wants! I never have to think "maybe this is too much," because I actually have to ask "is this not enough?" The only think I don't like—and it's not actually not liking, so much as me having to tear through my own inhibitions—is finding the delicate balance of "he is all powerful and currently tormenting someone with Zero power, so I need to find a way/reason for him to not simply rip them in two." It's the hardest part! Sukuna doesn't fuck around. He can and will simply tear your head from your body and be done with it—but I believe the caveat lies in whether or not you are entertaining him or at the very least interesting. Then he'll draw it out. Finding a way to make that so even him drawing it out doesn't result in a wound that is still lethal is yet another difficulty. But! These are fun challenges. So it's not that I don't like writing it, it's simply that it's not as easy to work with like blanket murder and destruction.

[tamrieldrifter]

Bandit country

The North Weald and it’s surrounding area in southern Cyrodiil was thought a dangerous place to travel even before the alliances brought their Banners War upon our lands. But now, with no Legionary patrols or other support from the Imperial City to protect it, and with the Banners soldiers displaying little to no empathy towards the innocent peoples of the Heartlands, this area appears to have fallen completely under the control of bandit gangs.

One such bandit gang has completely overrun the village of Pell's Gate. It is said to have started with a few threats against the most vulnerable villagers, followed by a few night raids upon their livestock. And when their wickedness went unanswered, the pillaging only got worse, until one night a large group of heavily armed bandits descended upon the village from the ruins of old Fort Homestead, killing what villagers they could catch, before ransacking and destroying their homes and farmlands. Now it is but a carcass.

A little further to the south the Grey Host bandit gang feels so emboldened that they have built their own fort to operate out of. These bandits are little more then rats and skeevers plaguing the unprotected villages and farms, and picking at the bones of the Banner’s battlefields. It is a travesty that the innocent citizens of the Heartlands, the only group of people in these Divine forsaken lands who are not fighting, not killing, not burning and pillaging, the only group of people who are trying to keep life going in the midst of a war, shall perhaps be the only group who will not survive it.

S.K