#whatever peace she can. but she ends up refusing to go back with him because she has to rebuilt the wardens with alistair

[pamelaiscrying]

Hector fort x Reader

Summary: where you and hector share a kiss when your ex broke your heart.

You regret picking up that call.

You deeply regret picking up that call.

Regret hearing that your ex-boyfriend Antonio called to ‘make peace.’

You should’ve let it ring. Let it rot.

He found out his current girlfriend—the same one he cheated on you with—is pregnant. With his child.

“I’m sorry to call you like this… but I wanted to say sorry, apologize for everything. I want to become a better man. I—I was wondering, and I know it’s too much, if you’d want to come to the wed—"

The word wedding never gets out.

Because your hand moves faster than your grief.

You launch your phone across the physiotherapy room, and it smashes into the white wall, shattering into a scatter of plastic and glass, just like whatever part of you still hoped for a different ending.

You slide down to the cold, sterile floor.

Your knees fold under you.

Tears, hot and angry, don’t even ask permission this time. They fall—slowly at first, then all at once.

You had finally started healing. Six months of stitching yourself back together, piece by jagged piece.

You weren’t whole, but you were breathing. And then Antonio called, asking you to come to the wedding?

What was this? Some cruel black comedy directed by Sofia Coppola?

You feel like a scene in a film no one finishes.

“Y/N?”

A voice cuts through your unraveling thoughts—low, familiar, too gentle for how broken you feel.

You freeze.

Héctor.

He’s standing in the doorway, a towel slung over his shoulder, his hair still damp from the shower, eyes wide with concern as they scan the pieces of your broken phone… and then find you.

On the floor. Crying.

You forgot.

You forgot it was his physiotherapy session. And now he's seeing you like this—raw, undone, ugly in the way heartbreak makes a person.

He crosses the room faster than you expect, crouching beside you. “Y/N, what happened? Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

You shake your head violently, not wanting to explain. Not wanting to exist.

He reaches out carefully, brushing his fingers against your wrist, grounding you. “Did someone hurt you?”

You laugh—shaky, bitter, hollow. “Not today. That was months ago.”

His brows pull together. You can see the questions he wants to ask but doesn’t.

“Antonio,” you whisper. “He’s getting married. She’s pregnant.”

A beat of silence.

And then something sharp flashes in his eyes. Not surprise—no, he already knew that story.

Everyone knew. But they didn’t talk much about it, the team respected you and respected the privacy you had asked once Yamal uknowingly asked you how your ‘man’ was.

But the hurt it still causes you?

He can’t hide how much he hates that.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it.

You nod, eyes wet. “He wanted me to come. Said he wants to ‘make peace.’ Like I’m just a chapter he wants to tie up neatly.”

Héctor’s jaw clenches. “That loser always fucked you up. He could never see how lucky he was to have you.”

That does it.

You break—again.

And this time, your tears don’t fall in silence. They fall in sobs. Quiet, broken sounds you try to hold in but can’t. And you don’t realize you’ve moved until you’re clinging to Héctor—fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, forehead pressed against his chest.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hesitate.

He holds you.

Arms strong and sure, wrapping around your trembling frame like he could keep you from falling apart. Like he wants to. His embrace isn’t cautious—it’s consuming, pulling you in as if you’re something fragile he refuses to let shatter.

You need to feel him.

The warmth of someone real. The proof that you’re not alone.

And to him—God, to him—you feel like something he was meant to catch.

He shouldn’t feel like this. Not while you’re crying. Not while you’re hurting over another man. But there’s something about having you in his arms, sobbing like he’s your last chance at air, that makes something twist and ignite in his chest.

He feels… responsible. Needed. Important.

For once, not just a teammate or a boy with potential. But a man.

So he holds you tighter.

One hand around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. His fingers weave slowly through your hair, brushing it down, gentle and steady. Rocking you. Calming you.

You smell good—warm, familiar, like shampoo and heartbreak—and even with your eyes swollen and your face flushed from crying, he can’t stop looking at you.

There’s something about you in this moment that ruins him.

You’re a mess. A beautiful, broken mess.

And yet—magnetic.

You look up at him. And suddenly you can’t stop.

His face is too close. His jaw, sharp. His lips, parted. His eyes—stormy with something you can't name but feel in your bones.

You’ve always known Héctor was handsome. Always known he had a good heart, even when he masked it with jokes and immaturity. But now… now there’s something else.

He’s matured. You see it in the angles of his face, in the calm intensity in his gaze. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

He looks like someone you want to feel.

You both freeze in the silence between breaths. Just staring. Just waiting.

Then you move.

Or maybe he does. You don’t know who breaks first. Maybe you both do.

But suddenly, your lips crash together—desperate, messy, and wrong in every logical way. But none of that matters.

It’s not gentle. It’s needy.

He kisses you like he’s starving for it—like he’s been holding it in for too long. His hands grip your waist, pulling you onto his lap, grounding you against him. And you kiss him like you’re trying to breathe through him. Like he’s the only thing keeping you from sinking back into that dark, cold place.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. His mouth opens under yours, deepening it, and you gasp softly as his hand presses against the small of your back.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Not here. Not now.

But neither of you stops.

Because for the first time in what feels like forever—you’re not thinking about the past. Or the pain. Or Antonio.

You’re just feeling. And it’s him.

Your lips still burn from the kiss when the weight of it hits you like cold water to the face.

What are you doing?

Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, freeze—then recoil like you’ve touched fire.

Wait…what..is going..on? He is..your patient..and you are..no..if anyone learns about this..if they see..you will lose your job..

You pull back abruptly, eyes wide, lips parted in shock. His hands are still on your waist, but yours push against his chest now, shaky and frantic.

“No—no, no… this shouldn’t have happened.”

The words fall out in a whisper, like you’re trying to convince yourself.

Héctor blinks, confused, lips still slightly parted, his face dazed like he hasn’t caught up to what just happened.

You shake your head, stepping back from him like you’ve just crossed a line etched in concrete.“This is unprofessional. It’s wrong—I shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t have—shit.”

Your voice cracks at the edges, guilt threading through every syllable. The room suddenly feels too small, too suffocating.

Héctor finally opens his mouth to speak, brow furrowed like he’s trying to reach for you—not just physically, but emotionally—but he’s too slow

“Y/N, wait—”

But you’re already moving. Already walking away. Fast. “I’m sorry,” you call over your shoulder, voice hoarse. “I’m really sorry.”

And then you’re gone—slipping out of the physiotherapy room like a ghost, leaving behind the pieces of your broken phone, and a boy who kissed you like you were everything—

Now sitting on the floor, dumbfounded, with nothing but the silence you left behind.

He doesn't chase you.

He doesn’t even know how.

You haven’t seen Héctor since the kiss.

You made sure of it.

The morning after, you emailed the training coordinator, requesting a schedule adjustment. Claimed your workload was too much. Claimed you needed to reassign a few sessions—especially Héctor Fort’s. You threw in words like burnout and emotional exhaustion, knowing it would land.

Daniel took over without question. He’s good at his job, maybe even better than you. And that helps. It helps pretend this is just about workload. Just about boundaries.

But you both know it’s not.

You thought maybe Héctor would text. Maybe ask why. Call you out for vanishing like a coward.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t message. Doesn’t try to corner you in the hallway. Doesn’t even look your way when you pass each other at the training grounds. He’s colder than you imagined, but it’s not cruel—it’s calculated. Like he made a decision.

Maybe he regrets it.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe you’re the one who kissed him and ran, and he’s just letting you live with it.

It shouldn’t matter. You keep telling yourself that.

But it does.

Every time you pass the room where it happened—every time you see Daniel walking out of a session with Héctor, laughing like it’s nothing—you feel that familiar twist in your stomach.

You tell yourself it was a mistake. A moment.

You tell yourself it meant nothing.

But the truth is, you keep waiting for him to prove you wrong.

//

Late. Too late. Training grounds empty.

You shouldn’t be here.

But then again, neither should he.

You feel him before you see him—Héctor.

The quiet shuffle of sneakers. The charged silence that follows. You don’t turn around. Not right away. Not until you hear him speak.

“You always leave before I can say anything.”

His voice is low. Rough. A little angry. A little wrecked.

You slowly turn.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, hoodie half-zipped, collarbone peeking from the dip of his shirt. His eyes—dark, tired, burning—pin you in place.

You swallow hard. “What do you want me to say?”

He pushes off the door, takes a slow step toward you.

“Anything.”

You shake your head. “It was a mistake.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Then why did you kiss me like that?” His tone sharpens. “Why did you touch me like you meant it?”

Your breath stumbles in your throat.

He’s closer now. Close enough to smell. That clean scent—soap, skin, sweat—familiar and dizzying. Like memory and hunger twisted into one.

“I was vulnerable,” you say. It sounds weak. It feels weak.

He stares at you, eyes stormy. “Don’t give me that.”

You scoff. “What, you want me to say it meant something?”

He doesn’t answer.

You take a shaky step forward, the defiance in you brittle and reckless now. “Tell me, Héctor. Tell me it meant nothing. Make it easier. Say you didn’t feel anything.”

He exhales slowly, jaw ticking.

“Say it,” you whisper, stepping closer. “Say you didn’t think about it after. That you didn’t lie awake remembering how I kissed you like I was drowning—how you touched me like you wanted to ruin me.”

He flinches.

You’re too close now. Chest to chest. Heat crackling like electricity between two frayed wires. The air shifts, thick and humid with everything unsaid.

He doesn’t say anything.

So you push. Hands against his chest—not gentle. Not soft. “Tell me, Héctor.”

Then his hands are on you. Rough. Desperate. Hungry.

He drags you into him, mouth just hovering over yours, breath hot against your lips. “You want me to lie?”

Your breath catches. Your hands fist in the front of his hoodie.

His voice is low and guttural, words dripping with restraint. “I can’t lie, Y/N. I can’t tell you it meant nothing—because I’m still hard every time I remember how you sounded when you kissed me.”

Your knees weaken.

“I’m still thinking about how you melted into me,” he murmurs, one hand sliding to your waist. “How you made that broken little sound when I pulled you closer.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

“But most of all,” he continues, lips grazing your cheek now, breath searing, “I hate that I still want you—when I know I shouldn’t.”

You’re trembling.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes burn like he’s at war with himself—desire and guilt in equal measure.

“And I know you want me too,” he says. “Even now. Even when you’re trying to hate me for making you feel something.”

Your lips part.

You don’t deny it.

[abyssal-ilk]

there is something to be said about the fact that sten invites the warden with him to par vollen when the warden leaving right after the blight would be a neglection of their duties– and duty is something sten holds very sacred. the warden's job is not done at the end of the blight, especially if alistair was killed or made king. someone has to rebuild the wardens and deal with the lingering darkspawn. and still, sten offers the warden a way out. a way to relieve themself of that duty and choose a new path, which is something he previously was pretty adamantly against.

just. thinking about him.

[aphroditesmoon]

tide

clarisse la rue x poseidon's daughter

summary: clarisse and reader have been rivals since they first met, but when someone does a harmless prank ends up seriously hurting reader, she throws all thought aside to save her.

warnings: enemies to lovers ish, drowning, reader can't swim (ironic), cursing

wc: 3k

---

It's rare that any camper get to leave camp at all, and all of them getting to leave at the same time is even more suspicious.

But no one complained when they were offered a little vacation by the river for a day. Finally, a break from all the training and learning.

Unfortunate events usually follow along after good days, but as of this moment right now, you refused to think of the Gods' dirty games with each other and how you'd all eventually be used as pawns. Whatever hurricane coming after will be dealt with when it happens. But today isn't about them or any other war you'd be forced to fight in. Today is about the campers for once.

You lounged against a large rock in your dark blue swimsuit while the others played in the water, swinging themselves of the wooden bridge from a rope. Any animosity that ever existed between different cabins disappeared today. Everyone is one and the same, and everyone regards each other as family.

You dipped your toes shyly into the clear water as you leaned back on the rock with your eyes closed, bathing under the golden sun that lit your skin up like gold. The weather was as joyous as the people's exultation, There is a certain peacefulness that spreads in the air and it was nice.

The laughter and chattering provided a feeling of comfort that you find yourself lacking these days. Being a half-blood meant adapting to the uncomfortable and dangerous, and so these kind of days where you feel that you could just exist without a burdening expectation over your head is immensely appreciated.

Your sunbathing is interrupted when you feel a shadow looming over you, and drops of water falling onto your face. Opening your eyes, you're met with a dripping wet Luke Castellan grinning down at you. "Move, you dog." You squealed, wiping the wetness off of you. He shook his head violently, scattering more water over your body, making you scream out in annoyance. "I will kill you!" You declared loudly and shoved him with your feet, making him stop.

"What are you doing on dry land, daughter of Poseidon?" He asks, unaffected with your teasing threats.

"Don't last name me, and I'm sunbathing." You informed and shoved him to the side with your feet. "Sunbathing? You're supposed to be in the water, is that not your natural habitat?" You smiled despite yourself and shook your head.

"I'm perfectly fine up here, so you can continue having your fun down there." Luke nodded absent-mindedly. "Oh it's definitely fun, alright. Though on a random note, did you notice at all that a certain someone has been sending death glares in your direction?"

You frowned, "who-?" Luke interjects. "Don't look behind you-" too late, you turned around anyways. And lo behold, Clarisse La Rue's eyes met yours, and you have never seen her twist her head around as quickly as she did at the moment.

"Oh, her." You sighed. Luke gave you a curious look of curiously. "I never understood your rivalry, not even right now." You shrugged and closed your eyes back again.

"You can go ahead and ask her about it. She just can't stop finding issues with me, always in need of an argument." It's true, you thought.

Sure, there are plenty of moments where you fought first, wanting to get your lick back. But it was all in response to her hostility first. And even now, on a day where everyone ought to enjoy themselves, she would rather stare you down so intensely, ruining her own day.

You still remember the first time you realized that she hated you. It was after you were claimed, while everyone else was in a pleasant mood, mostly surprised. Her expression is one of annoyance. Because how dare anyone here shine brighter than her. You both were still so young at the time. But it only got worse over time.

She had thought that you'd subjugate yourself to her like some coward. But you stood your ground, a daughter of Poseidon would not cower from another half blood like a spineless creature.

And as much as she's a vengeful fighter, you could also see the glint of admiration growing in her gaze over time. She didn't want to admit it, but she had finally found someone her own size. You, of course, usually dealt with things as pragmatic as you could, but some bullies are begging to be bullied back.

It wasn't all bad though, sometimes it was even fun. Like two children being petty for the sake of pettiness.

"At least one of us is enjoying our day." You thought aloud. You didn't miss the scorned expression on Clarisse's face before she looked away. "Are you enjoying your day?" Luke asks, folding his arms together.

He always thought he was good at reading people. And maybe he was with some people, but you pride yourself in being unexpected. Sometimes you say things you don't mean and do things you wish you didn't have to just to get by. People only knew things about you that you wanted them to know. Let them in a few stories and they'll think they've successfully interpreted you.

And as much as you liked Luke, he is not an exception.

"Yes, I just told you I am." He hummed in question, making you open your eyes again. "You know it's not everyday we get to leave camp like this, and you're spending it on dry land? You can sunbathe anytime you like back there."

"Why are you so keen on getting me down there?" You inquired, amused. "Because there is no way you're getting me to get in there, I mean I just had hair wash day."

"Are you sure about that?" Before you could answer, he had bowed down and grabbed you by your waist, throwing you over his shoulder.

"Luke-" you shouted out, the sudden movement taking you by surprise. It was easy to understand what he was going to do when he began running towards the bridge. You felt your blood run cold.

"Don't throw me in! I swear to god Luke-" You yelled with all your heart, but the boy seemed to assume that you were joking as he laughed at your words.

"Off with the fishes you go!" He responded and swung you off of him and straight into the large body of water. You were sure that your scream probably reached Tartarus itself as it definitely exceeded your lung capacity. The last thing you remember screaming out was 'I'm going to kill you', but those words had died on your tongue in a speed as you fell deep into the river with a splash, causing everyone near you to run out in shock.

You could hear some laughing and clapping as you melted into the water, but it all started dissolving until all you could hear were gurgles and distorted noises. You felt yourself begin to struggle while you flapped your arms around, trying to stay afloat. You were sure that you were going to die when no magical breathing miracles saved you from suffocating and drowning.

You flapped your hands and feet harder, attempting to mimic swimmers, hoping that you'll somehow take up swimming naturally despite never learning to do so for your entire life. The irony of being a daughter of Poseidon that can't swim isn't lost on you, it is exactly why you never told anyone about it. If they knew, you'd be the joke of the camp.

A solid minute has surely pass before you gave up completely in ever swimming back up, now the doubt that you were ever Poseidon's child begins to creep in on your last moments of being alive. Because surely, even if you can't swim, your father could just magically pop you back up.

Unless he is just severely disappointed in your lack of ability and deems you fit to die instead of just humiliating him. And at this very moment, you honestly would agree with him.

Your last conscious thoughts are interrupted abruptly when you felt a strong push of ripple plunging into the river, you could barely open your eyes as you continued to sink in, but the sight of a recognizable face, diving straight your way, woke you back up from the dead.

You weren't sure how to feel as sharp and hollow pain began attacking your chest while you watched the brunette swim fiercely, her hair moving wildly like strong waves hitting shore.

Her right arm circles your waist as her left one slipped under your arm, urging you to grab onto her. And grab onto her you did.

She pulled you with her easily, her hold on you firm as she swam back up. Your head throbbed at the sudden fast movement, but once your head rises out of the water and you're able to breathe again, it slowly fades away, leaving you dizzy and grateful.

"There you are." Clarisse exhaled. She sounded relieved as she gathered you into an embrace, making sure you stay afloat. "Don't pass out, stay with me for just a little more."

I'm not passing out, you wanted to argue, even at this second. But the only thing that escaped your lips is a groan of agony. "Stupid fucking imbeciles." She cursed under her heavy breathing. You almost assumed it was targeted towards you until you noticed the plural nouns added in her sentence.

"I can't-" you started, "don't say anything." Clarisse interjected in a stern tone.

Your body was limp when you both finally reached land. Everyone moved away, letting you lie down against a large boulder. You felt Clarisse's hands slowly slip away from your skin, though she's still hovering over you with a worried gaze.

"Make way!" Chiron's voice thundered through the air. Clarisse turned a deaf ear at his command and stayed by your side, but for whatever reason, he didn’t reprimand her for it.

"Who's smart idea was it to toss your friend off into the river?" Chiron asks, scanning the confused and surprised crowd of people for any guilty faces.

Luke raises his hand, unafraid but apologetic. "I didn't know she can't swim." He stated honestly, and you hear some of the other campers agreeing with him.

Clarisse's eyes remained locked on yours. You wait for any sign of mockery to appear, a hint of condescending somewhere waiting to come out, but none appears.

You could hear Chiron sighing tiredly, "Well, no one did." And he's right, what Luke did was supposed to be a harmless joke. It is unexpected that you of all people would not know how to swim. Clarisse breaks her gaze from you as she turns towards Chiron. "They didn't have to know that she can't swim to be able to see that she was drowning." Clarisse snapped, her brows furrowed together. Before the situation could end up worse than it already has, you waved your arm up and yelped in pain. "I think I'm going to pass out." You lied.

"I can get her back to the tent back there." Clarisse offered, or stated moreso. Chiron granted her permission with argument, and with that the whole crowd dissolves back into the space the same way they were before, only some spared you some glances as Clarisse helped you walk slowly towards the small tent that's slightly further from the river.

The walk back was quiet, neither of you are brave enough to start a civil conversation. It was only after she had helped you sit criss crossed inside the tent and was ready to leave that you managed to insert a small thank you. She paused in her steps and slowly whirled around to face you. "I'm teaching you how to swim when we get back." She says as a response.

It was neither a threat or an offer. Taking your silence as an agreement, Clarisse nods her head once and walked off towards her siblings, leaving you distracted and deep in thought about what just

---

It was a paradoxical situation, and yet neither of you had it in yourselves to point it out.

Perhaps amiability towards Clarisse wasn't as difficult as you'd thought it would be. But your biggest concern wasn't regarding yourself, it regarded Clarisse and her own capability of remaining amiable towards you.

She was never one to practice self restraint. Everyone in the whole camp could vouch for that. And yet here she is, knee deep in the sea with her hands holding onto your wrists, ushering you in.

"You can't stay on the shallow level forever, you need to get in deeper." She repeated for the fourth time, frustration was visible on her face.

"No, I'm telling you I can't-" you argued. Clarisse sighed in annoyance, "I'm not going to let go!" She insisted. "Yes you will, I know this trick." You glared at her like an upset child.

Her anger almost diffused as you saw a hint of humor painting over her face, as if she's trying not to laugh in your face. "I'm not tricking you, I don't waste time on tricks. If I wanted to hurt you somehow I would've just shoved you in and left." She explained in a pleading tone.

"That's very reassuring." You responded sarcastically, trying to pull away from her, but her grip was strong. "Stop acting like a child." Clarisse chided.

Your eyes widened in offesne before you started pulling your arms harder to get her off of you. "Stop it!" Clarisse yelled out, her patience thinning. You said nothing and continued to drag your feet backwards, little movements were made as Clarisse was weighing you down like a log. "Let go of me." You demanded through gritted teeth.

Her face contorted in anger, and just as you began pulling again, she let go of you completely, "fine."

Unprepared for the push of gravity, your feet slipped against the mix of rock, seashells and water, making you fall on your back, squealing in panic. You flailed your arms around trying to balance yourself up, and just before your back would be plunged down, Clarisse scrambled to wrap her arms around your back, saving you from your fall.

"Oh my god." You gasped out, palms over her shoulders. "No god," she replied dryly. "Just me."

Relief enters your chest as your feet are flat against the ground again. But it was temporary, looking at her smug expression compelled you to act as stupid as you just did, shoving her off strongly, you didn't take into account that she was still holding you, and so as she crashed, you followed along on top.

"Oh my fucking god." Clarisse growled loudly spitting up water as you crawled off of her to stand up. "You did not just do that." Sitting up, she scowled and stared down at you, looking like an angry soggy kitten with her hair and face wet.

"Well, I did. What are you going to do about it?" You snarled, wiping water off of your face. "Hey, I am not a child throwing a tantrum like you." She snapped back.

"Oh, that would be a first time for you." You scoffed at her words and walked out on her.

"Where are you going?" You heard her call out. "Away from all this bullshit." You could hear her quickly running after you, water splashing loudly as she moved.

"Look, do you think I want to do this?"

You twisted your head around to meet her gaze. "Then don't!"

"Okay." She breathed out, shrugging like it didn't matter. "But it's clear right now, that everyone knows your weakness. And not even your own father has your back right now. I'm the only one who does."

The fire in you refused to die down, but her words reduced you to ashes. Your shoulders relaxed and you took her appearane in.

She's right, your whole life, everyone had given up on you, except for yourself. You taught yourself everything and you fought to survive daily from the horrors of being a forbidden child. And this one thing, which happens to be the worst weaknesses of all considering your position, is something you can't teach yourself to do. Hell, you couldn't even bring it up without feeling like shit.

But now it's all out in the open. The jokes might be bad, but what's worse is getting hunted down and killed in ease by monsters and gods who knew that you'd have no one to protect you, not even your dad.

"Why do you care?" You ask sincerely.

She was silent for a while, looking away immediately. Not embarrassed, just deep in thought.

"I don't know, maybe I just...I know what it's like. To feel helpless, to have to pick yourself back up. And normally I don't give two shits about what anyone else feels. But I know you, and you know me. And maybe-" She inhaled deeply and finally turned to face you.

"Maybe we can help each other."

You raised a brow, "and why would you need my help, you could, I don't know, take over the world if you wanted to."

She actually smiled at that, something you rarely see and hope you would do more of. "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm not perfect."

"So, what? Are we friends now?" You ask.

She shrugged her shoulders again, "Let's start with that, sure. Now, if you can get your ass back in here, I promise I won't drown you or anything, and you can actually learn how to swim like you should've years ago?"

You took a deep breath, wincing at the idea.

"It's not as hard as you think, I know it's terrifying to think of yourself in a position where you have no control." She attempts harder, stretching out her hands towards you.

"If I drown-" you started and was quickly cut off. "You won't. I got you."

If she had uttered this sentence to you about two days ago, you would've laughed because you couldn't imagine a situation where she would have your back. But today is a different day.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Hc that elves of the Third Age might appreciate the deeds of those of the First, but they have little respect for them.

It’s one of those things where you look in history and are like ‘cool.’ But you know if you saw these guys irl you’d punch them in the face.

Like these elves of the Third Age, especially those who stuck around at the beginning of the Fourth, are so done with all the drama, prejudices, and feuds. They were never meant to fight this war, it should’ve been over long before their time. The last generations born in ME can’t believe the First Age elves were so self-centred that they put personal feuds over banding together and taking out Morgoth.

This ties into another hc I have of Thranduil and Elrond being the ones to essentially say ‘that’s enough.’ They actively send elves to each other’s realms to end the division as much as they can. Internally Thranduil bridges the Sindar and Silvan etc, whilst Elrond deals with the ten factions of Noldor and ensures their kids get to play together as they grow up, stopping these 6000 year old arguments leaking into the next generation.

They’ve all lost too much to it.

It really starts with Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas at the beginning of the Third Age being taught together as often as they can, groups of Sindar and Noldor being sent with them in an exchange of skills and knowledge. And the focus is forever on:

One day Sauron will return. Are we going to make the same mistake our parents did and let him use our divisions against us?

Galadriel gets involved too. She’s grown in wisdom, has lost more than anyone else. She lies as the final authority on the most problematic of elves who bring up the past for no reason but to go back to the ‘old ways.’ She’s older than most, or close enough in age that even those who refuse to listen to these ‘naive young leaders’ (Elrond and Thranduil) have to listen to her.

By the end of the Third Age it’s common for Sindar, Noldor, Silvan, whatever Cirdan’s lot are, and *insert elf kind here*, to have friends amongst each other’s races. To even have friends amongst men or dwarves, or at least respect and civil relations with them. It’s this mindset that brings Sauron to his knees in the end. He has no one to manipulate. No one to cause internal strife. No one to distract from him.

But back to the arrival in Valinor.

These young elves who have friends crossing cultures and races, have mortal friends they’ve lost over the years to orcs and to Sauron and darkness, find themselves *furious* at the First Age elves.

They lived in so much decadence and luxury that this is what they turned to? Wars and Political Drama for the sake of what. Ambition? What ambition is it to drag your people to the slaughterhouse, unprepared with ideas of glory that will never come to pass?

They lived a life of peace and plenty and never appreciated an ounce of it. Doused themselves in gold paint and heavy embroidered silk and jewellery for the sake of a beauty you couldn’t afford to wear in Middle Earth, no matter how much you wanted to. What if something went wrong? How could you outrun orcs if you were restricted by unwieldy fabric and shone like the sun in the dark. Even children knew better.

These elves of the Third Age would have sacrificed lives and limbs to let their families grow up in such safety.

The worst part is finding out there were older elves who made the Great Journey who warned these veritable children for their lack of life experience, of the horrors that awaited. The foolishness of their decisions. But they were ignored and labelled cowards.

To make matters worse, these glory seeking elves couldn’t even finish the job. Instead it fell to elves and men and dwarves and Hobbits, all of whom had no choice in their circumstances, to fix their ancestors mistakes. All because they’d chosen pride over working together to defeat the evil steadily encroaching and covering their safe havens. 600 years of war, and they learned nothing.

Elwë is not except from this. Aside from his own pride and arrogance, Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond kept their realms safe, but they never turned away a weary traveller. Never hesitated to give aid and shelter to those who crossed their paths even in the darkest of times. Galadriel knows this best of all. She once lived in Doriath, and is right alongside the younger elves, scorning the King’s false shroud of safety, clinging to a past long gone in his heavy cloak and gilded crown.

How easily it all came crumbling down.

So yes. The elves of the Third Age can appreciate the growth and how their elders learned to adapt to the worsening situation. But they will never lose that flame of anger that so many of their friends, so many mortal friends above all who already had firefly lives, were spent and lost to a force they’d never had a choice but to fight to the end.

They will never respect them.

(They do however hold great respect and sympathy for Celebrimbor. It’s easy to be deceived by Sauron. And between him, Gil Galad, and Oropher, they got the closest to unity that they could with their factions of traditional First Agers and the early next generation learning to see past their history.

Celebrimbor and Idril were born in the golden peace of Aman, but grew up in the harsh lands of Middle Earth. They understand the younger elves’ anger more than anyone ever could, and find themselves sharing it. But now they have a voice for that simmering anger. And the Second and Third Age elves have protectors and allies in the older generations.

Glorfindel ofc is always at their back. He spent too much time seeing the little Dunedain Chieftains he helped raise falling far before their time not to feel pure, unadulterated rage at the past. Not to feel guilt and shame with it.)

[berryz-writes]

Game Night

Azriel x reader

Summary: Game night with your mate and the IC. Safe to say your ready to fight Cassian. Mostly fluff at the end

I was inspired after the game of monopoly with my cousins. it was extremely chaotic😭

I leaned in even closer my head resting against his chest, his head ever so slightly resting on the top of my head. I was sat, very comfily, on Azriel's lap his wings cocooning us into a warm and peaceful environment.

"Az? Can you stop making y/n so comfy?" Mor asked from across the room choosing her character. I looked up at Azriel who had a small smile on his face. His hand tightened around my waist, his other hand continuing the circles he was making on my thigh.

"I will do whatever my mate tells me to do. If she wants to play she plays. If she wants to sleep she sleeps." Azriel said to Mor pressing a warm kiss to my head.

I sat up a little and slid off of Azriel's lap to sit next to him, he looked a little disgruntled but all the same kept his arm around my waist his left wing around my back. "She's right. I want to play but it's just- your too comfy." He raised an eyebrow at my statement. He was probably confused as to whether I was complimenting him or not.

"You can come sit on my lap, y/n" Cassian said grinning. Nesta whacked him on the arm, earning a surprised yelp from him. "Sorry, love. I didn't mean it" He muttered.

The monopoly game soon started and of course the rules were changing as the game went on. That was one reason why Elain had opted out and had instead taken up Lucien's request to join him for dinner. Her evening was probably more peaceful than mine was currently going.

I stood up ready to kick Cassian out of the game "Cassian! You can't just land on pay two hundred and then proceed to put it in the bank. It's supposed to go in the middle"

He stood up crossing his arms "It goes in the bank! NOT THE FUCKING MIDDLE! I'm not-"

"Watch your tone" Azriel interrupted, his voice threatening and causing Cassian to send me a wink "he's whipped" he mouthed at me, earning the middle finger from Azriel.

"Why is it going in the middle? I thought-" Mor added, trying to hide her money behind her so we wouldn't know how much she had. It was quiet obvious. 

"It's not, it goes in the bank. Where did that rule even come from?" Rhys asked, annoyed that the game had stopped because he was currently winning and he wanted to continue charging us every time we landed on one of his properties.

Feyre rested a hand on his arm to calm him down "It goes in the middle because when someone else lands on free parking they get the money. Otherwise what would be the point of landing on free parking if you don't get anything?" She tried explaining. Cassian just looked even more angry and Rhys decided it was best to agree with whatever his mate was saying.

I clapped my hands at Feyre "Thank you! At least someone knows the rules"

"I'm putting it in the bank, none of you even know how to play" Cassian snatched the two hundred from the middle and handed it to Azriel who was playing as the banker. Azriel shook his head putting the money back in the middle.

"It's not going in the bank, mate." He looked tired from all the unnecessary arguing that was going on.

Cassian tried to shove it in himself "It does! Just let me put it in"

"Hands off the bank or else your ass is out of the game" Azriel said. Cassian reluctantly took his hands back and crossed his arms looking angry.

"Cassian just put it in the middle! Someone else could end up with it. It could be you if you land on free parking" I said stretching out my hand for the money.

"Nes! A little help here" Cassian said to Nesta pleading with her. Nesta merely shook her head "You wanted to play. So play. Teams don't work in monopoly sweetheart"

After a few more minutes of arguing and a few more refusals of Azriel not accepting Cassian's money, he put it in the middle and the game carried on. Eventually Mor got the money and made sure to tease Cassian with it as much as possible.

"Whatever. We'll see who wins" Cassian muttered sulkily. Nesta patted him on the arm "I'm sure you'll win"

We all knew he wasn't going to. Rhys in fact won. Then it was Nesta, Azriel and then me and Feyre in joint fourth. Mor came second to last because she forgot she had stashed her money behind her and so became bankrupt. And last but not least came Cassian who kept landing on Rhys's properties and eventually had no money left. He survived for half the game, a new record for him. He seemed extremely pissed but all the same asked "So, should we play again?"

"If you mean without yourself then sure" Rhys said looking rather pleased with his win.

"How about a game of cards? They're a little less...chaotic" Feyre asked reaching for a deck of cards and shuffling them.

Everyone agreed, readying themselves to play. I wasn't really someone who enjoyed playing cards so I opted out and settled back onto Azriel's lap, resting my head in the crook of his neck. He smelt delicious like usual. Like wind, smoke, musk something so delightfully intoxicating. And something that made me sleepy. Everyone's voices had become more distant, almost as if someone had turned their volume down. All I could hear was the low hum of their conversation and feel the slight rumble of Azriel's deep voice whenever he talked.

I felt Azriel tilt his head slightly down to look at me. I looked up at him snuggling in closer to his warmth. I pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw earning a small smile from him.

"We can go up if your sleepy" He said quietly so only I could hear. I shook my head resting my hand on his chest. "You need to win for the both of us"

His lips quirked up even more. Those perfect lips. Lips that I wanted all over me. "Sweetheart, your eyes are closing without you even realising" He brushed a strand of hair out of my face.

"No they're not. Win for me Azriel"

"Ok, love. Whatever you say" He pressed another kiss to my head and let his shadows cocoon me so I could just barely hear their conversation. It was almost like a lulling buzz in the background.

*later on

I woke up to find myself in our gigantic bed (Illyrian wings were no joke) my face pressed into his chest. One of his hand cradled the back of my head while the other was wrapped around my waist. His wings were behind him, the warm blanket being enough for the night. Although it wasn't cold I still liked the feeling of the heavy weight of his wings draped over me. It felt like we were safe. Nothing could pull us apart.

I looked up at Azriel to see he was already awake. He smiled at me. A small dimple appearing in his cheek, his hazel eyes full of warmth. I kissed his cheek and then left a small kiss on his perfect lips.

"Your cute when you smile" I whispered to him. It was still night outside but because the curtain was left open I could just about make him out in the moonlight.

"And your gorgeous every single moment of the day" His voice was deep and full of tiredness. I reached up, my arm trying to get to his wing. He let it drop closer to me so I could gently pull it down onto me until it was draped over me like I wanted.

"Not too warm for you, sweetheart?" He asked rubbing his thumb up and down my bare skin, where my nightshirt had ridden up.

"No. Now go to sleep, shadow singer." I nuzzled back into his chest and let myself fall into a dreamless sleep.

MASTERLIST

[melrosing]

AFFC is where I believe the redemption thing loses a lot of people because Jaime is upholding the regime rather than dismantling it. But I always want to ask them dismantle it how? it's so stupid

okay but that's the thing because in a way: that is what Jaime is trying to do! pushing once again my unfinished Riverlands essay bc I am very interested in this part of his story, especially the role it plays within his redemption arc, but in wider fandom it often gets misinterpreted as a detour.... which has made for some really frustrating takes lmao.

if you will humour me for a second though I want to pose to ppl what the avenues available to Jaime actually are at this point in the story. Jaime is not Sandor Clegane: he cannot just leave everything behind and assume it'll all be fine without him.

the situation in fact: ur evil dad has just died, leaving House Lannister essentially irreconcilable with its enemies. the realm has been devastated by the war. who is in charge of it all? ur eight-year-old son, a sweet kid who could be a good king in the right hands.... but is ofc currently in the hands of Cersei, who is.... well. Stannis, the Riverlords, the vestiges of the Starks, and a bunch of forces you're not even aware of want and your family dead to a man. and you are the lord commander of the kingsguard, who would like to 1) fulfill ur oath to Catelyn, 2) protect your family, 3) not make anything worse than it already is and 4) ideally make things better! what do u fucking do?

OPTION 1: literally just leave this sucks so why not just leave! you are an eminently recognisable man and so is your son but what if you just walked out of there and let whatever forces move in in your wake. Stannis probably gets there first (you don't actually know about Dany or Aegon) and he wants you dead, but maybe if you shave ur head (wait that didn't work last time did it) and dye your son's then....??? ok sure. so now you're living in the woods, the realm may or may not fall back into chaos, ur days are pretty numbered, and this isn't even a good story, is it. cool !

OPTION 2: refuse to have anything to do with a continued war against Starks and Tullys and try and advocate for them at court oh god u really thought that would work. your dad murdered Robb and Cat Stark at a fucking wedding. they do not want to be ur friends, they want u dead. they will arm again in a heartbeat, and that's your family done for. also good luck talking Cersei round on this. or anyone really. edit bc oh and also! if you do just want to sit this one out and refuse to get involved with the siege at Riverrun - some other goon will jump in and end it violently for you. so you've basically done nothing but allow it to happen. good for you!

OPTION 3: mitigate and restore what u can your son is a nice boy who likes books and always does his best. you think that if you could surround him with the right people, he might rule well. you realise Cersei is a liability, and plan to have her removed from your son's counsel. you plan to rebuild it with better people. you realise that the realm is starved and in ruins: you want to prevent war, and you really don't want to break your oath. however, many of the riverlords and northerners are not ready to kneel. you treat with those you can, and wring a peace out of the Tullys by saying the right words in the right voice. your reputation takes a hit and readers cannot understand the chapter for shit, but Edmure Tully accepts terms of peace. you cannot restore the Starks, but you can try and save the last of them: you send your gf on a secret mission, and when she comes to tell you that you have a change to help (lol), you go with her.

THE CATCH: none of these fucking work because your dad fucked everything up so bad that everyone wants your family dead and noone wants to be your friend. even though you ended the siege at Riverrun on peaceful terms, that's only going to last about five minutes. you may be trying to save Sansa Stark right now, but god knows what's about to happen to your own kids while you're not there. you're fucked really. there's no single right thing you can do right now except follow what you believe is the best, most realistic thing to do in the moment and see where it leads. shit. that's how you ended up spending 14 years in the woods with brienne waiting to meet zombie Catelyn while Game of Thrones botches your ending and podcasters call your story the limits of redemption. fuck !

[fourmoony]

This may be weirdly specific so feel free to ignore if so but

Jamie with a reader who’s never felt like she was someone’s first choice and is having a hard time grasping that she *is* his

thanks for requesting angel! 1.5k f!reader modern!au

he's my sweet boy i need him in a way i cannot describe

masterlist

James' shrill ring tone fills the room, but neither of you make an effort to move for it where it's buzzing against the coffee table. You probably should be the one to do it, considering you're sprawled across the top of James, making it rather difficult for him to move. But, he doesn't ask you to, so you don't. Even when it rings a second time. You think James might actually be asleep, unaware to the incessant ringing. He's slept through worse, in all fairness.

But he groans petulantly when the ringing stops, turns to ping after ping, the texts flashing across his locked screen and illuminating the dark calm of his living room. His hand leaves it's place on your hip, reaching half heartedly for the device and when he fails, you sigh and reach for it yourself. It'd been a peaceful two hours of relaxing, just existing together in the same space, not really talking, not really doing anything except revelling in the feeling of each other's presence on James' couch after a busy week of barely seeing each other. Between your work, James' rugby practices, and trying to maintain social lives, it'd been hard to have quality time.

You're okay with that. More than okay with that. James has his life and you have yours. This thing you have, it's new and it's fragile, and you won't dent it or risk losing it by being clingy, by telling James that you miss him, that you want to spend more time with him, friends and coworkers, practices and life be damned. You refuse. So you slide the top half of your body off the couch, one hand holding yourself up on the floor, and the other outstretched for James' phone.

His left hand cups the back of your thigh, fingers slipping between the left and right. It's an innocent touch, but heat floods your body all the same as your fingers wrap around his rubber phone case and you heave your body back on top of his. He grumbles when the phone starts to ring again, rubs an apologetic hand up and down the back of your thigh which has you forcing your face into the crease of his neck and shoulder to hide the bright red of your cheeks.

He rests his head atop yours as he answers the phone.

Sirius' voice booms through the speaker, though it's too muffled to make out what he's saying. James answers whatever it is with a tired sounding "Not tonight, mate."

There's more muffled talking, a couple of voices added into the mix and you assume that Sirius is in the local pub. Your heart sinks a little when you realise he's likely inviting James out, and you don't have the heart to tell him you'd rather stay inside the cozy confines of his flat, half asleep in the dim evening light. You don't want to seem controlling or toxic, so you lie still, control your breathing, don't react to whatever is coming down the line from Sirius' end.

James chuckles lightly, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back, hand warm against your skin where it's worked it's way under your - his - rugby jumper. "Yeah, yeah, she's here." James' hand squeezes the pudge of your hip at the mention of you.

You tilt your head up in interest and James smiles down at you, warmly, presses his lips to the crown of your head as Sirius screeches down the phone.

"No. No, Sirius, she doesn't want to spend her only day off in the pub listening to you lot." James speaks with humour in his voice, but you can see the hint of frustration that's in his eyes.

You frown, wonder if he's frustrated because he feels he has to pick between you and his friends. You love his friends, you get on well with them, but he's right, you can't think of anything worse on your only day off than going to the pub. "You should go." You whisper, urging James by attempting to climb off of him.

His arm wraps tight around your waist, brows furrowed as he looks down at you and shakes his head, "No." He mouths.

Then, "No. Sirius. No. Mate, you're smashed, have Moony take you home."

James laughs at whatever Sirius says in retort, and then the two are saying their goodbyes. James tosses his phone onto the coffee table after he switches it to silent mode.

"You should go. This is your only day off, as well. Go see your friends. We can do a quick dinner or something tomorrow." You try to urge him again.

James' immediate response is to hold you tighter to him, as though you may actually be trying to escape him. "I'd rather spend my time here. With you." He shrugs, like it's nothing.

Your heart does a little stutter at his words, but your brain catches up and you sigh, "Jamie, it's okay. If you want to go, you should."

His brows hook upward at the middle when he furrows them, his eyes searching yours, "Why is it so hard for you to believe I'd rather be here with you?"

You try not to flinch at his words, try not to think about all the boys before who've put a myriad of things above you. It's fine, really. You've grown accustomed to settling for the dregs, the stolen moments. James is worth the heavy feeling it leaves in your chest to be second best. Simply because when you're with him, the world melts away.

Feigning indifference, you shrug against him, "Because all we're doing is laying here in the dark, half asleep. Wouldn't you rather be out with your friends having a laugh?"

"Would you?" James counters, and it seems like he genuinely wants to know your answer, like he thinks, foolishly, so foolishly, you'd rather be anywhere else. That you wish you were doing more.

Doing nothing with James forever sounds like the best thing you've ever heard. "No. Not at all. I love this. But I know you. You're a social butterfly." You speak softly, cautious of the conversation turning into a row.

You have too many experiences with conversations like the one you're having now being turned into a row.

James nods, "I love this, too. And you're right, I like to be social, but sometimes that drains me. I've spent all week being social, spent all week missing you, and I'm drained. All I wanted to do all week was see you, spend time with you. I couldn't think of anything worse than going to the pub, right now."

His hands are as assuring as his words, trailing a path of warmth and comfort across the planes of your back, your thighs, your hips. It's surreal, the assertiveness he speaks with, the way he makes sure you know he means every word. Your stomach flutters with the idea of him missing you as much as you missed him. It's weird, to feel validated, to feel content and sure.

"I just don't want your friends to think you're picking me over them, or something." You mumble, head dropping back into the space between his shoulder and neck.

James hums, "I am though. Not in a bad way. I just," He pauses, like he's searching for the words, "I'm sure about this, you know? Sure about you, about us. You mean a lot to me, and I'm all in. You come above everything else because, for me, that's the only way it'll work."

You feel rather silly for the tears that spring their way to your eyes, and begin to leak without your consent against James' neck. He must feel them, because he tuts, using his hands to pry your face away from the skin, thumbs swiping softly at the fallen tears. He looks at you so gently you might start sobbing. Relief washes over you in waves, and you realise you hadn't even been aware how worried you were that you felt more for James than he did for you.

"Why are you crying, sweet girl?" He whispers, pressing a kiss to each of your tear stained cheeks.

You loose a breath, "I've never been someones first choice before."

That visibly upsets James, who takes it upon himself to right this wrong, stave off your tears by pressing kisses all over your face between murmured promises.

"I'd pick you in this life," a kiss to your nose, "the next," a kiss to your forehead, "the one after that," a kiss to your chin, "and in every universe."

He finishes with a kiss to your lips, soft and deep, his hands steady on the line of your jaw. You whine a little, pushing further into him until he's chuckling into your mouth.

"I'd pick you, too," You say into his mouth.

James smiles, bright as anything you've ever seen, "Thank God for that, lovie."

And yeah. Thank god for that.

[seirindono]

TMS - Author's note (Arc 1)

Today I'm stepping up to talk about TMS for a while. It's going to be a lot of blah blah, no TLDR, so hang in there or save it for later if you're brave enough, haha (¯▿¯)

So, another chapter of TMS draws to a close, with the difference that this time it's a whole saga that's coming to an end! That's a big relief for me, given that we recently celebrated the comic's 4th anniversary! That's almost the entire duration of my college life, and that's both an impressive and terrifying achievement lol.

The comic is divided into 3 arcs, each separated by an interlude. The first runs from part 1 to 8, with 201 pages total (wow!). In it, you are introduced to Mel, a young skeleton with a rather unclear past, who accidentally arrives in a a foreign timeline, along with other well known skeletons. Nowadays it's just an isekai haha. Throughout the arc, she proves to be a cautious Monster, quiet and somewhat withdrawn compared to the other skeletons we come across, notably Rus, Blue and Axe, who each got their own sequences.

Still, Mel in the last few scenes is starting to show more initiative, and the interlude will make this even more obvious, but we can expect her to open up a lot more during the next Arc, about her past, motives, goals and thoughts.

I could go on at length about what's in store for us in the interlude, but given that it's due for release sometime in 2024, I'm going to talk about the general story line instead. Although we follow Mel who is foreign to what's going on in this universe prior to her arrival, the other characters and events suggest that strange phenomena are taking place in Ebott, leading many people to become embroiled in a highly unusual affair. Crossing timelines, earthquakes, mysterious apparitions in the forest, something is afoot and the situation seems to be at a turning point when Mellow gets here.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with the situation and what to do next. Some are serious and pragmatic, like Black, others optimistic, like Blue, and others, like Papyrus, find themselves completely backed into a corner, forced to do their best to fix whatever needs to be.

A special case, however, is Axe, whom Mel meets in the forest as she investigates Mt. Ebott. The two have diametrically opposed views of their current condition. One wants to return to her world by any means necessary, regardless of the advantages of a peaceful world. The other, not so much. Both refuse to talk about their past and ignore the other's circumstances, but a sense of familiarity drives them to try to convince the other to stay or go. These are two stark positions to reconcile, and while we can expect Blue and the other skeletons to have their own views on the subject too, Mel and Axe are strangely "committed" in this interraction and resort to violence, spurred on by a unknown substance that causes Axe to momentarily lose control.

Mel is wounded, Axe unconscious, and the status quo disrupted. Other consequences follow this confrontation, and several questions are raised: Can Blue really help Mel when Axe accuses him of having already given up on going home himself? What is this mysterious entity Axe came across a few days earlier? The vibrations? What was that substance that made him go berserk? And what made him stop? Can we trust Mel and what she tells us? And many others.

Because as I'm sure many of you have come to realize, Mel has proven to be a rather unreliable narrator (or at least character since you don't follow her actual POV). Blatantly lying or omitting facts to others and readers alike, it's hard to know her next move and whether she's genuinely forgotten important infos (for it's well established at this stage that she has hazy memories and that they continue to deteriorate. The same applies to her health).

In the same way, each part of TMS so far has raised more questions than it has answered, but I can confidently say that the road is paved for Arc 2 to answer and put in perspective most of them, ahah.

Ah, this is also the moment when I can announce that ALL skeletons will be featured in the Interlude. Should be. Hopefully.

I'd also like to point out a few narrative changes for Act 2! The central characters, in particular. Original cast characters such as Undyne, Metatton and a veiled character will be more formally introduced, but we'll also meet up with characters we've already bumped into, but in a much more concrete way, such as Frisk and Alphys. I can't wait for you to get to know them! You can also expect more pov changes, more elipses and so on. Things are moving fast.

But that begs the question. When is it due? As said before, the first Arc lasted 4 years and I'm entering my last (and most crucial) year of college. I still don't know if I'll have time to get much of it done in 2025, but on the other hand, I'd like to strike while the iron's hot lest TMS be discontinued after a 1-year hiatus and my entry into the working world. Student loan, life and all. There are still plenty of things I'd like to bring to this project, and I now have the skills to actually carry them out, but on the other hand, the time involved has also increased exponentially.

Tbh with you, as an animation student, it's been one of my dreams since 2020 to do one of TMS's sequences in animatic or full anim, or even a trailer for the comic! But as a solo team, it's just unreasonable and I know it. But the parasite ----. Don't get me wrong, I could, but it would take me months and it's just not realistic when 80% of my time has to go into professionnal work that goes into my portefolio or adult stuff. I can't affort to invest time in solo-ing it or to recruit and lead a team over one side project of mine ( ´ ▿ ` ) So we'll most likely stick to classic pages.

But the same goes for collabs, community events, side stories, asks, edits, dubs, testing other platforms, regular animatics. Love all of that. Really. But I never have the time to because, man, I'd love to actually finish TMS someday ahah. It all comes back to the age-old problem of “lots of ideas, little time”, and it's so frustrating but, it's a choice I have to stick to, so bear with me as I vent my frustration. Just for tonight (´ ∀ `, *)

So, yes. Act 2. Next year? Probably? It's a long interlude, so you'll get smth in the meantime, but it's likely to decide the future of TMS and whether Act 2 sees the light of day as I imagine it or if...well, something else replaces it.

bringing back this doodle cuz it seems fiting lol

Anyway, I also wanted to thank you for your engagement with Part 8!

I don't know how other comic artists experience it, but for me it's a very isolated work, and as much as I love working alone, I enjoy the interaction with readers most of all.

Seeing people losing their mind over a serious scene, or chuckling at a dumb gag, or just simping over the characters and art. It's just great, and very rewarding. Likewise, I have a blast answering questions about the TMS universe, reading tags and receiving memes, witnessing people go increasingly mad with messages full of indecipherable screams and hearts. Makes me giggle and kick my feet everytime and I can't wait to drop the next lore bomb or funny scene bwahahah

And while we're on the subject, I'd like to say a special word of thanks to the legions of rebloggers who make it their business to spread the word about TMS. You sweet, lovely, candy scented folks. And to my dear mutuals - with whom I interact objectively so little - who have no idea how a single message or note from them drives me bonkers. Thanks for dropping by. And of course to my super Patreons who support me despite the sparse updates, but to whom I'm more than grateful. Love you all.

Sounds like a farewell message. It's not lol. Just making sure they get the love they deserve.

The post is getting long and I'm kind of done pretending I know how to write organized notes so to wrap things up, here's an exhaustive list of what I'd like to get done this year and/or discuss in more detail another day. •Make a new masterpost (for Act 2) •Analyze/Comment certain sequences from Act 1 to clarify or give context •Redraw and rewrite part 1 and 2 •Make more bonus content again *ahahahahahaha*

•Re open or close the Discord (partially abandoned and it's all on me, but I'm still mulling it over).

•Finish the Interlude and enjoy and nice hiatus

And that's about it? Congratulation for reading this and making it this far! You were there!

Be well, and see you next time.

Seirin-

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[lanawinterscigarettes]

hiii i just found your blog, I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE, and if i can request like an angsty story about house and wilson with reader, and the reader has like some disease that'll kill her😭😭😭😭😭im just craving angst

YOU ARE SO SWEET THANK YOU 💞💞 it's been awhile since I've written a good angst fic so this is perfect for me

Your Last Breath (Greg House x gn reader x James Wilson)

Warnings: talk of hospitals/medical procedures, reader has a mystery illness that kills them, they/them pronouns used a few times to refer to the reader in a gender neutral way, hurt/no comfort, heavy angst, main character death (spoiler: it's you)

The doctors had been trying for months to figure out what was wrong with you. Months of invasive tests, months of going back and forth with possible explanations, months of being put on temporary treatments that seemed to work for a short while before you eventually succumbed to whatever was causing your problems again.

Everyone was stumped, and by everyone I truly do mean everyone. Not even House could figure out what was wrong, something that frustrated him to no end for multiple reasons. And by the time he was finally able to figure out what the cause was, it was already too late.

The disease had progressed too far along on its course for the doctors to be able to treat it properly. The best they could do was make you comfortable for the few weeks you had left to live.

Usually he liked having cases he couldn't crack, he liked figuring out the puzzle of what was bothering his patient, he liked being able to go to Cuddy and say "I told you so" when it ended up him being right and everyone else was wrong. But not this time.

This time all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. If only. He'd gladly give up both of his legs if it meant you'd get better.

Meanwhile, the resident head of oncology wasn't taking the news very well, either. It was normal for House to shut himself away for extended periods of time, but not Wilson. He barely left his office anymore, not to check on his own patients, not to accept a request for a consult, nothing. In fact, the only time he ever did leave was to visit you.

Most nights were spent with either him or House at your side, checking your vitals and fetching whatever it was that you needed. You ended up having to beg the both of them to go home at some point, even if it was to just shower and change, but they still refused, choosing to stay at the hospital instead.

Occasionally one of the ducklings would stop by if either of them couldn't for some reason, whether that be due to another patient needing attention or because you finally convinced them to take a break for once.

Foreman was solemn, talking about arrangements that could possibly be made for your body after death if you hadn't decided already. Cameron was sympathetic, reassuring you that they'd make sure you wouldn't be in any pain during your last days on earth. Chase was playful, trying to take your mind off things by cracking a joke or two. And Cuddy was surprisingly very nurturing when she managed to make the time to check in on you.

The whole thing was very bittersweet. While you appreciated everyone caring so much about you, it hurt to know why they were doing it.

Your final day was surprisingly quiet, with no nurses stopping by to check on you every hour or so like they had been for the past couple of weeks where you'd been bedridden almost completely. You suspected someone had requested for that, so you could have a bit of peace in the last few hours you'd be alive for.

House stood at the foot of your bed, watching as you slept. He looked like he was about to say something when Wilson suddenly spoke up from the armchair beside your bed.

"Don't even think about it, House. You're not waking them up right now."

Despite Wilson's firm tone, House couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like it matters much, they're going to be dead soon anyway."

It took everything in the oncologist not to snap and strangle the man in front of him. The only thing that managed to stop him was the sound of you letting out a hacking cough as you woke up. Even with the oxygen machine, it had become increasingly more difficult for you to breathe.

"Guys, don't fight," you tried to make your tone stern as you lectured them, but your throat was dry and therefore made your voice weak and raspy when you spoke.

"Hey, hey, don't speak, it's alright," Wilson gently reassured you as he reached out to take one of your hands into his. Your skin felt clammy, but he didn't care.

House had a pained look in his eyes as he watched you, but he did his best to cover it up with his usual snark. "We were just talking about you. Trying to figure out who should get your stuff when you die."

Wilson gave him an evil look, but you simply laughed. At least, they thought you laughed. It was kind of hard to tell given how sick you were.

"You guys are funny."

If it were any other time, House would've beamed with pride and joy at being able to make you smile with one of his quips, but this time he just felt empty inside, knowing that it was possibly the last one you'd ever hear. He quietly observed as Wilson helped you drink some water out of a small paper cup, one hand helping you hold it up to your lips while the other rested on your shoulder.

"Thank you," was the only thing you managed to get out once you were done, your breathing stalling yet again when you tried to speak. The three of you knew it was getting close to when it was going to happen. The problem was that only one of you had accepted it, and it wasn't either one of the two doctors who were in the room.

"I love you guys," ended up being your final words, a bittersweet smile on your face and tears in your eyes as you took your last breath. You hoped they knew that you meant that. You hoped they knew that you didn't blame them.

And you hoped that your death helped to bring them closer together rather than tearing them apart. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but who really cared? It's not like you'd be around to witness it anyway.

End notes: I rarely ever finish a request this early so please don't expect this to become a normal thing 😭 I just got really into writing this for some reason and once I started I just couldn't stop

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[acourtofthought]

SJM Interviews

"I don't enjoy reading books with depressing endings where like everyone is dead or it's a bittersweet thing where the romantic couple has decided to go their separate ways." Bittersweet thing? That kind of sounds like two characters with a rejected bond that will trail them for the rest of their lives. Lucien losing Jesminda and his mate only to end up with someone else would be bittersweet to the extreme because there would always be a "what if?" or "what could have been" involved in that storyline. And Elain walking away from her mate just to prove she can? To show she has autonomy to ignore a gift from what is undoubtedly an all wise and knowing figure to prove she can "choose", that "it's her life" so she doesn't need to stop and consider why Lucien was made her mate? (classic immature move - said by someone who once refused to listen to her mother in her youth because of course thought she knew better). But in doing so, she'll live with the knowledge that she'd be breaking his heart along with forever feeling a tug to him after choosing someone else out of rebellion. Actually, that doesn't even sound bittersweet, it just sound depressing and not at all the kind of story Sarah said she'd prefers. "I love Happily Ever Afters, I thrive on them. Anyone picking up my books knows there is a happy ending but my characters will have to work hard and occasionally suffer greatly." Characters having to work hard and suffer greatly in order to get their HEA? Sounds like what Lucien is going through with Elain and even Elain with Lucien to a degree. She is suffering with the bond because to her, the bond is directly connected to her lost humanity and one of the reasons her fiancé turned away from her. And Lucien is clearly going through it, what with the restraint he constantly maintains around Elain because of his pull to her and the sadness due to her not currently acknowledging him as he longs for her. But regardless of that, Sarah literally told us that she wants a HEA for her characters, that it's what she thrives on. "I always loved the sense of finding your place in the world and the people you want to be around. One of the things that have helped with my own anxiety and issues....I remind myself that I'm not alone and that I've found a group of people who love me and have my back and it's so comforting to me to have...it's a feeling of belonging and safety." True, I might never go out drinking with her the way I did Mor, and sometimes Amren, but ... well, with a baby coming. I couldn't drink, anyway. And while I might never run to Elain first with problems or for advice, we had a peaceful, amicable, understanding. I found her to be a pleasant companion. I wonder if she'd resent that judgement. I certainly would.

I didn't dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all. But wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court ... It sucked the life from her. "This was a mistake." She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, "I'm sorry." Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed an in comfort.

[babyangelsky]

Peat's acting is stupendous and it's hurting my feelings

I need to talk about the bedroom scene and the fight that preceded it because it felt like I was having a mirror held up to me and looking at my younger self and in doing, so I've come to love Tongrak as a character even more than I did before.

I talked about the expressions already but I just cannot get past this one. Rak's eyes are so dead and he looks so tired in a way that I understand so deeply. He knows what's about to happen. He screened Prin's call earlier precisely in hopes of avoiding it but she showed up anyway.

I do have to acknowledge that a lot of my interpretation and feelings about him and these scenes are very much a product of my own experiences, but believe me when I tell you that having a family as fucked as his and having to deal with relatives like this drains you. You fight back because you have to, not because you want to. You don't go seeking the bullshit but somehow it always seems to arrive at your door.

I know exactly how he must be feeling because I've felt it. Because I've fought back and made sure my mask was firmly in place for as long as I needed it to only to break the second I could turn my face away.

I'm impressed that Rak didn't run from Mut and that he didn't start crying on the way to his bedroom. That powerwalk he did instead though? I know it all too well.

To Rak's mind, Mut has already witnessed far more than Rak ever intended for him to. That fight was nasty. It poked at so many wounds, touched on so many painful, intimate things about Rak's family and about him. Prin wanted to hurt and humiliate him and she succeeded.

I can confidently say that if someone I cared about witnessed that happening to me, the last thing I would want is to break down in front of them on top of it, so I completely understand why Rak's first instinct was to put distance between him and Mut. You know the breakdown is coming and the only thing you want is to have it in private.

I know people feel some kind of way about Rak's refusal to let Mut into his bedroom and essentially shutting him out but Mook tells us in episode 4 that no one is allowed in Rak's bedroom. This isn't just about Mut. Everything we have learned and seen of Rak so far tells us that he's a person who needs a safe place to hide. A place where he can close the door and know he won't be intruded upon.

Sure, it's his house and ideally he would have the freedom to break down wherever he wants to inside of it but given that Mook comes and goes pretty freely, he doesn't really have that luxury by his standards. There's always a chance she'll walk in. And he certainly doesn't have it now that he's no longer living alone.

So he goes to hide in his bedroom so he can process and feel what he needs to.

And when Mut comes after him, this happens. Mut pushed at that boundary out of genuine care and concern and he's not wrong for that. I've been on his side of this equation too and the impulse to help in whatever way you can is impossible to resist, even if all you can offer is a meal.

But I also understand Rak. God do I understand him. That need to be alone, demanding to be left in peace, lashing out when someone won't despite it being with good intentions. When you've been pushed to your limit and you know a breakdown is coming and that there will be shrapnel when it does, the very last thing you want is for the people you care about to get hit with it.

Like @bird-inacage said in their post, Tongrak is a caged animal at this point. He's feeling vulnerable and defensive and he lashes out. He doesn't want to, he tries to stop it, but it ends up happening anyway.

And he regrets it. He does. The way I see it, he couldn't bring himself to knock on Mut's door both because he'd exhausted all his nerve in the fight with Prin and because a part of him was probably worried that he'd be rejected if he did. When you lash out, especially when you don't mean to, there's always a worry that you've done irreparable damage to your relationship with whoever was on the receiving end and that you won't ever be forgiven.

Sometimes it really is something as simple as a sticky note that brings you to tears and has you sobbing into your dinner in the middle of the night.

The note and the meal are proof that Tongrak hasn't been rejected, that he's still cared for despite the way he reacted after the fight and the things that he said. We know that Mut wasn't going to reject him but Rak needed to know that as well.

And now that they had their moment in the dressing room and the issue of the money has been talked about, we're paving a way forward for Rak to be able to express what he feels without using it as a defense mechanism. He still will, and he will hurt me many more times before we're done, but we're making progress.

[moonswolfie]

Kenma, suna, and tsukishima with a gf that loves to baby them? Like she loves dressing them up, dotes on them, and acts liek their parent sometimes? Thanx!

HELLO THERE EVERYONE

i return with a request and a new theme 😏 thank u so much for requesting🩵 i know i just changed my theme but i'm already making pinterest boards for new themes ITS JUST SO FUN!

in case you couldn't tell the reader is fem!

ALSO SUMMER HOLIDAYS!?!??! Its nice to finally be free...

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Tsukishima Kei

"I'm worried about you, you know." you placed your head in your hands, leaning your elbows on the table. "Really, it should be the other way around. You don't know this even though it should be basic knowledge." Tsukishima sighed, ready to go over the biology lesson with you for the hundreth time already.

"Do you get enough sleep? Your eyebags are looking a little big lately. Do you eat enough? You look stressed. You always tell me you're fine, but-"

"I'm fine." Tsukishima brushed you off, looking back at the notebook.

"What are you pouting like a toddler for?" when he looked back up at you, he was seriously baffled by the similarity of your face to a little kid who got refused to eat candy. Though, maybe, just maybe, he finds it kind of cute. Maybe.

"We're done studying." you got up from the dining table, placing your hands on your hips. "You do realise I'm only doing this because you asked, right? And you're the one still struggling with this subject, last time I checked." he furrowed his brows slightly.

"I won't be able to study in peace until I see you sleeping peacefully in bed after a good meal. We can start with the sleep and I'll cook something later!" you were determined to take care of him now. Sometimes your boyfriend's aloof attitude towards his well being and towards everything in general makes you worry. Whenever he replies with a simple "I'm fine" you must dote on him for a bit. That's the rule.

It looked like he was weighing his choices for a brief moment before sighing and saying "Fine, just don't come crying when you fail this test tommorow."

"Yaaaay, I'll be up in your room, ready to tuck you in!" you pecked his lips, spun around on your heels and ran upstairs to his room.

Tsukishima sighed, closing his notebook. When he looked to the doorway, his mom was standing there and smiling at him. He immediately tensed up, worrying about just how much of your conversation she heard.

"You know, your girlfriend would make a good mom. I'm just saying." Tsukishima's mom smiled at her son cheekily. He hid his face, not moving for a good thirty seconds before practically sprinting to his room.

He never did tell you why he looked so red upon arriving in his room.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Suna Rintaro

"Is all of this really neccessary?" Suna raised one of his perfect brows when you placed another shirt in his arms. You took him out for a shopping trip today. Your shopping trips always end with him walking out the mall with a whole new closet instead of the other way around.

He always insists that he doesn't need new clothes or much of anything, but you always end up convincing him into a mall trip. You spoil him rotten, to be honest. Not that he minds.

"Yeah, how else am I going to keep you well-dressed?" you urged him to the dressing room just so you can clap excitedly at every outfit he puts on and models for you. He already looks like one, so why not take advantage of that, right?

"Okay, whatever you say, babe." Suna rolled his eyes playfully and walked into the changing room. You were squealing excitedly at each outfit he appeared in from behind the curtain like a crazy fangirl.

He didn't seem too enthusiastic about some of the outfits which made you sad but for the most part, you had loads of fun. He was taking a while with the last outfit, though. And you were probably overreacting, but you got worried.

You just can't help but worry for your boyfriend sometimes, even if it is unwarranted. It's kind of your thing. One time he accidentally cut his finger and you spent every moment together with him pressing get better kisses on it. You made sure he changed the bandaid every day, too. You were comically worried about him being able to attend volleyball practice. And that's just one of the examples.

So you pulled back the curtain.

"A little privacy, please?" Your boyfriend was standing in the changing room in all of his shirtless glory. You never really thought about it until now, but Suna is fit. You suppose it makes sense, considering he plays volleyball, but still. He was smiling at you cheekily, probably amused by how dumbfounded you look right now.

"I... um, it's... I was just worried about you! And put your shirt back on, you'll catch a cold!" You don't think you've ever closed a curtain as fast before.

You could hear Suna laugh to himself behind the curtain. "Sure, sure, mom. But I think you were just trying to be a little sneaky."

Well, you still ended up spoiling your boyfriend with new clothes that day, but you ended up with an accidental gift of your own, too. Maybe being a worrywart isn't that bad sometimes.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Kozume Kenma

"Um, I can eat on my own..." Kenma gently pushed away your hand, which was holding food to his mouth.

"Oh, we both know you wouldn't eat at all if I didn't hand feed you. You seriously need to lay off the videogames sometimes." You playfully rolled your eyes, putting the piece of food back to his mouth. He sighed with exasperation and begrudgingly ate the piece of food.

"And besides, you know how much I love spoiling you. I can't resist when you're just... too cute." you pulled on his cheek like an overly excited grandma.

The thing about Kenma is, he hates that he likes being babied by you. When his mom used to do it, he found it overbearing and annoying, but when you hand feed him, it kind of feels comforting. Then again though, he can't focus on the videogame because of that. So that's why he hates it.

"I could go without the... ugh." Kenma was just about to beat the level, but you placing another piece of food in front of his face distracted him for just a moment, which made him get a game over.

"Oh..." you stared at the game over screen, suddenly feeling bad for being a distraction. You just can't help but want to baby him whenever you're with him. He doesn't exactly make it hard for you with the way he blushes and gets all embarrased every single time.

"Well then, I was just thinking you played enough videogames today. I propose we do something else." you pulled on Kenma's arm and he protested by giving you one of his iconic scowls.

"You'll get wrinkles if you frown too much." you reminded him with a gentle smile. He mumbled something you couldn't quite catch under his breath and reached for the controller.

"Oh no. No you don't." you tackled Kenma before he could do anything else. You know, if he wasn't so damn flustered right now, he would have been seriously mad. But when you smile at him like that, it's like his anger decides to get up and leave.

"Would you... umm, mind getting off me?" he was worried that he might overheat like his dad's poor laptop which he forced to run videogames far beyond its capabilities. Now he feels bad for that old thing.

"Only if you promise that we go for a little walk outside." he grumbled at first but ended up agreeing after you gave him a little kiss on the cheek as encouragement.

[canonkiller]

The Eberron maincamp has unfortunately prematurely ended, so (with DM clearance) I'm going to share the stuff I'd had as spoilers so it can be known, for funsies.

Here's some bonus links -

Delta, Bravo, Lima (character playlist)

Renegade (bgm playlist)

writing treat 1

writing treat 2

writing treat 3

early test for characterization

crew assessments + reasonings

house lyrandar medical record, classified

- and here's some of the information about Valka Rotaeir, captain and pilot of the airship Revelation, and two more images because the read more breaks if I try to move them.

Dossier of House Lyrandar:

NAME: Valka Rotaeir AGE: 71 yrs. (b. 927yk) HEIGHT: 7 ft. 3 in. WEIGHT: 244 lbs. SPECIES: Dragonborn (Green) TITLE(S): Cpt., Ms.

EMPLOYMENT RECORD: Civilian recruited by Cpt. Adelaide Mallory in 948yk. Served well as navigator and representative until the Treaty of Thronehold ended the war in 996yk. Returned to service in 997yk as navigator aboard the Revelation after its post-war refitting. Survived the unforeseen accident that occured during the Revelation's test flights over the Endworld Mountains along with four others who retired from active duty after the incident. Following a recovery period, she was promoted to Cpt. of the Revelation as Cpt. Mallory was rendered incapable of command during the incident, for exemplary action and demonstration of skill beyond her station and duty.

Rotaeir has shown distaste for the House and the war throughout her employment, but has not publicly denounced either and remains dedicated and hardworking. Her experience is vital to the House; losing her is not an option. Cede whatever is needed to maintain her connection to the House. If this fails, take necessary measures.

Valka was formerly the ship's navigator and diplomatic representative as a knowledge domain cleric. The Revelation was in active duty during the war, and Valka was a late addition to the crew, recruited by her then-future husband, Roshan. The two of them had a strong relationship despite the war, and while both wanted to retire, Roshan's dragonmark bound him to piloting duty and Valka refused to leave him.

During the late years of the war, they had a child together. Valka entrusted her egg to a caretaker in secret, fearing it would be damaged or killed if she kept it with her on the ship. The settlement it was in was later targeted; though the two of them searched for years (and Valka never truly stopped) they were never able to find the egg or its remains in the ruins.

After the war, with Roshan kept in duty by the House, a mechanical failure in the experimental drive of the Revelation led to a catastrophic crash that killed most of her crew. Valka survived at the cost of her husband's life; Roshan, her Rose, made the choice to sacrifice himself to save her, grafting his arm and eye - and his dragonmark - to save her life in the hopes that she would be able to help whoever was left until they were rescued.

Awarded prestige and merits for her survival, and resenting all of them for praising that she had survived what her family had not, Valka suffered - and continues to suffer - lingering pain and migraines from the crash. Her grafted arm is unresponsive and is kept immobile, and her grafted eye has light sensitivities that dragonborn nervous systems are not equipped to handle, granting her night vision but requiring a cover in ordinary light. The dragonmark haunts her more than anything else; as something meant to die with its bearer, what does it mean that it transferred to her? Was Roshan able to rest in peace, or does she drag his spirit with her?

The house took advantage of her fragile state after the crash and convinced her of Roshan's continued presence as being bound to the airship, a belief that she still holds, while publicly covering up the truth of the crash and Valka's inherited dragonmark. She was bound back into service by the mark, as it allows her to pilot the ship and its experimental, secretive systems. The Revelation is her family, her love, and her airship, and she will defend it with her life - to do anything else would be to abandon Roshan.

And, in Sharn, a now-grown dragonborn named Zykr looks strangely familiar... (Hi, Andy!)

With the House bearing down on her lack of respect for their authority, she has gone rogue; drawn under the influence of the Lord of Blades and allied with warforged forces, she only seeks a way out - to take the Revelation and leave this stupid, angry war behind, at any cost.

Depending on how things went, there was a chance she would end up at Wanderstrand - that's for a post later today, because I had to keep that one REALLY secret, but it's half of the 3rd writing treat link.

Trivia:

Valka's tarot card is the three of swords.

Her character playlist title is in international maritime signal flags: Keep clear of me; I am maneuvering with difficulty / I am taking in or discharging or carrying dangerous goods. / Stop immediately.

Rotaeir is a simple combination of the valkyrie names Róta (sleet and storm) and Eir (peace, clemency, help, mercy). Valka just sounded right.

Though not on her paperwork, she took a translated version of the Revelation's name (Saksatkara) as her own surname after the crash

Receiving the dragonmark replaced her existing clerical abilities; narratively, she lost faith in the gods and her own experience that granted her a knowledge domain, and instead only had faith in the destruction and grief that the storm domain had brought her.

Roshan's dragonmark spans her whole grafted arm; it glows faintly when oh board the ship, and brightness increases with how much energy she has focused into using it. At full effort, it is bright enough to glow through the brace / sling.

Mechanically, she can strike anyone who damages her with an immediate lightning strike.

While neither of her eyes retain their original color, she had golden eyes like Zykr. They also share a heart-shaped chest marking.

Valka's physical difference from Zykr was a worldbuilding adjustment; half dragonborn would have had more humanoid body shapes, while full dragonborn more closely resembled dragons. It never came up.

After being briefly dead, Zykr began having visions of being on a boat with a person he didn't recognize; he was seeing though Valka's eyes, unknowingly looking at his own father, Roshan. Surprise, Andy! There would have been more hints about it in Sharn if we'd gotten to explore some more.

Original reference document text:

Valka is an elderly dragonborn woman, weathered by the past years of war. She is snakelike in appearance, wiry and lithe at 7'3", with a longer neck, body, and limbs. She stands slouched, leaning heavily on a polearm that doubles as a makeshift cane; often heavily bundled against the cold, her right leg is braced under her clothes and her right arm and hand are entirely covered by a black brace buckled in faded brass, kept immobile against her chest by a sling. Her scales are mottled dark greens and yellows, graying around her eyes, muzzle, and knuckles, and she has many visible scars from old battles on all visible skin. The right side of her face is badly burned, and her eye on that side is entirely covered by a large patch. Her other eye is milky white; it's uncertain whether she can see our of her visible eye or if the patch isn't opaque.

Boot on braced leg has a special hook on the heel that she can clip to the harness strap on her thigh to keep is raised / out of the way if mobility is more important than stability. Safety harness extends down the upper part of her tail; anchors to this instead of her braced leg when necessary.

Though not visible, the eye under the patch is unnervingly human-like (as it originally belonged to Roshan), and if her arm brace were removed, the arm underneath is also distinctly not her own; she is unable to move the replacement limb at all, and the dragonmark on it does not move to anywhere else on her body though she can utilize its power.

As a child, Valka was often drawn to the idea of traveling. She restrained her desire to leave for many years, bound by ties to her family and home, until a chance meeting with Roshan, an airship pilot, during the war. In an impulse, whirlwind romance, she joined him in his travels and quickly became an indespensible member of the crew and Roshan's partner. They were married during the war, but hesitated to start a family, fearing the kind of world they would be raising a child in while Roshan's mark kept him in duty. Over time, they found comfort in a future seemingly without children, though they pledged to do what they could to adopt or foster if the war ended with enough time for them to do so.

Valka was one of many overjoyed to see a time of peace, and hoped to start a proper life with her husband even with their age. Unfortunately, a series of malfunctions in their shared airship led to a crash that left both them and their crew grievously injured in a remote mountain range. Valka, having lost her right arm and with severe trauma to her entire right side, was barely conscious; she awoke hours later to her arm replaced and her injuries magically repaired, and to Roshan dead, having chosen to sacrifice himself to keep her alive. Most importantly to the House, his dragonmark was still present - a glowing brand on the arm grafted improperly to replace Valka's own.

Abruptly alone, dealing with the trauma of the crash and her own guilt in her survival being at Roshan's expense, she was taken to trial and found not guilty. Feeling cheated by this verdict and losing faith in both justice and the afterlife (after all, if a dragonmark was bound to a person's soul, what did it mean that she could now take power from it? Had she damned her lover to a kind of half-life, or worse, an eternal purgatory?) she threw herself into religion with a self-destructive determination, secretly hoping the gods would recognize her believed wrongdoing and judge her properly where mortal courts had failed.

When presented with an opportunity to sabotage the project that led to Roshan's death, she took it, taking control of the airship and going rogue with the intent to destroy it either by her own hand or by forcing any pursuers to take it down with her. At present, she is driving it as far from settlements as possible to achieve this goal with as little loss of life as possible, and does not know what she will do with herself when this act is complete.

For characterization purposes, her actions will be influenced by:

- Like The Back of Her Hand: even when the Revelation is being piloted by someone else, her long familiarity with it means she is incredibly difficult to catch off guard. In its current state, she would notice anything out of place on board; this will decrease as the ship is modified.

- Blindsided: her left eye, uncovered, is blind, while her right eye, covered by a patch, still functions. The patch dims light, but still allows her to see.

- Local Doctors Hate Her!: her right arm is entirely immobile on its own, but the brace can be locked into different positions (ex, she can lean on her elbow, but wouldn't be able to pick something up.). Her right leg is stiff, and she is able to strap it up so she's less likely to trip. She is used to moving around the Revelation on one or both legs, but prefers both on unfamiliar terrain.

- House, Not Home: Valka has little care for the interests of the dragonmarked Houses, and may be more likely to take actions that damage the resources or reputation of a House.

- A Ship That Loves You: Valka believes her husband's spirit is entwined with the ship's elemental, a belief that the House has intentionally used as leverage against her. If she cannot have the ship on her own terms, her alternative goal will be to destroy it and herself - but will put her life on the line to prevent others from damaging it.

- An Empty Nest: Valka has no contact with her extended family and has no reason to believe she has any living immediate relatives. She has formed few relationships since the Revelation's crash.

- The Soils of War: Valka does not want to fight, though she will if she must. Her anger is directed at herself, at the gods that failed her, and the Houses that force her into their service. She wants to escape it, to lick her wounds, and to rest; to discover what the world is becoming in a time of peace that she has not had the chance to know.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

In the TFP Zombie Apocalypse AU, what would happen if during a rather intense raid or mission involving the dead, one of the kids quietly walks up to the bots privately to show them a fresh bite mark on there arm?

-Optimus feels defeated. He feels like he's failed another innocent soul and this time, someone so young. But for all the despair he's feeling, Optimus promises to stay with the kid until the very end, to keep them company and provide them the comfort they deserve until they... he can't bring himself to finish the sentence. He will express his sadness, his feelings of guilt, but he will stay strong for the child, because he knows that they need him. He tells them about Cybertron, the legends of old, weaving magnificent tales full of wonder and magic. He knows that he's only distracting them (and in certain extent, himself) but he does not want them to spend their last moments afraid. It's only afterwards that Optimus will allow himself to break down, to grieve.

-At first, Ratchet considers amputation of the arm. It's a fresh bite, it might not be too late. If this does not work, he still refuses to give up. He becomes determined, almost obsessed, with finding a cure and saving the kid. He can do it, he just needs to work harder, needs a little more time, more resources- It's only when the symptoms progress to a stage that any potential recovery is impossible that Ratchet breaks down, forced to accept reality. He hates himself, hates how despite all his proclaimed knowledge and skill as a medic, he still can't save them. He apologizes to the kid, tells them how sorry he is that he's so useless. Will stay with them till the end, making sure that they are comfortable and in as little pain as possible, and afterwards he doubles down on his research into a cure.

-For a few seconds, Bumblebee is in denial. This is not funny, stop that, you're not bitten, shut up, you're ok! But he's quickly forced to face the truth when he sees the expression on the kid's face. He races back to base and begs Ratchet to please, do something! Bee knows that there is no cure but he's not ready to accept it, still in denial about what's going on and what's going to happen. When Ratchet tells him that there is no cure, Bumblebee breaks down. He holds the kid close and he wails, begging them for forgiveness for not being able to protect them. Knowing that they only have a short while left before they succumb to the infection, Bee takes the kid out on a ride. It doesn't feel right for them to stay in base, in some sickbed and just waiting to die, so he turns on the radio and plays their favorite music the entire time. He only stops driving and lets them out after its over.

-Bulkhead feels powerless. He's used to problems he can confront and solve with his fists, to powering his way through any situation and using brute force to save the day. There's no fighting his way through this. There's no enemy he can beat that will save the kid. He can't do anything so help them, he's helpless to do anything but watch. Bulkhead talks to the kid, expresses his remorse but dares not yet to grieve, not while they are still alive because grief is for the dead and gone. So he asks them, is there anything they want to do? Maybe shoot one of his guns, blow up a building, or maybe just talk? Whatever they want, he'll do it. Anything so he won't be reminded of just how useless he's feeling. When the time is close, Bulkhead will put them out of their misery. They will die human and with the peace of mind that they won't hurt anyone.

-In a way, Arcee had always suspected that things would turn out this way. The people she care about, those she tries to protect, always seem to die the saddest deaths. Now the kid is just the latest in a long line of people that is probably going to grow even longer. It doesn't make this any easier though, maybe because she expected them to have more time. Arcee makes it clear that she's sad but stays strong and takes the kid to a location with a nice view. If they're lucky, maybe there's a sunset or a clear night sky. She will talk with them, really talk with them, honestly answer every question they have and open herself up in a way she's never done before. And then, she will ask them if they want her to put them out of their misery. If they don't want to, then she will just resume talking. But if they do... she will tell them just how much she'll miss them before ending them with a single shot. Afterwards, Arcee grieves the only way she knows, through violence and revenge, which manifests itself as her going out of her way to kill as many zombies as possible.

[eveningrainstorm]

God I'm obsessed with how Curly gives Anya and Jimmy the exact same reassurances, down to the phrasing. Dude is trying so hard to play both sides, despite this being a situation where 1) he has to take a side, there's no actual way to fix things for both of them, and 2) there is absolutely a morally correct side to take here.

He's just. Saying the same shit. He's going to Fix This. (More specifically, "We" are going to Fix This.) What does "fixing it" even mean? Does "fixing it" for Anya mean making an unplanned stop so she can get an abortion and get away from Jimmy? Does it mean just trying to emotionally support her through the rest of the trip and helping her find work and deal with her unwanted child afterwards? What about Jimmy? Is "fixing it" for him covering up the whole thing to protect both their reputations? Is it just helping him get through whatever legal ramifications follow and get back on his feet afterward? How many of these options will actually benefit both Anya and Jimmy? Do any of these options actually "fix this" rather than just attempt to deal with the consequences? Maybe "fixing it" means magically changing the past so Jimmy never raped Anya in the first place. Who knows?

There's no way to know what Curly means here because he never actually says what he's going to do. I don't think Curly knows what he means here. His desperate insistence that he's going to fix everything, much like Jimmy's own later on, is just a lot of empty promises. Curly wants a perfect solution, one where he can keep the peace and help both Anya and Jimmy and fix everything, but there isn't one — there's just the difficult, imperfect solutions, the ones that will force him to actually take risks and lose something he values no matter what, the ones that acknowledge that the damage that has been done can never be undone.

If he actually wanted to help Anya, he'd have to actually do something about Jimmy, even if it meant losing his friendship with him or worse; by letting Jimmy get away with it, he's betraying Anya as well as basic morals. Purely by not doing anything, he's already taken Jimmy's side, whether he actually intends to try to help Jimmy avoid consequences in the end or not, but he won't even admit that's what he's doing — instead he keeps just trying to appease them both with the idea of that perfect, miraculous solution. It's going to be okay. They'll get through it. They'll figure this out. They can fix this.

And it doesn't work! Neither Anya nor Jimmy actually believes him! They both can tell perfectly well that Curly can't back up any of the reassurances he's giving them. Anya knows Curly isn't actually going to protect her from Jimmy; that's why she hides the gun and refuses to tell him where it is. Jimmy knows Curly can't or won't actually help him avoid all consequences here; that's why he instead decides to crash the ship and kill everyone.

Curly won't act, so they do, and while Anya is only trying to keep herself safe in what few ways she can, Jimmy is an incredibly dangerous man who is second-in-command of the ship and has no compunctions about abusing his power. Curly thinks he's playing both sides, but the sides were never even close to equal. Curly's inaction manifests as keeping the code for the gun from Anya because it's dangerous but allowing Jimmy continued access to the ship's controls because it doesn't even occur to him not to. By sitting back and hoping for a perfect solution that doesn't exist, Curly gives Jimmy the opportunity to find his own solution, the worst possible one. Curly was right: they fixed it, together, and he let Jimmy choose the method.

[the-voice-beckons-below]

i won’t let time pass

small steve rogers fic of his pov in endgame with having to return the stones + grief with nat and tony + different ending. warnings for death ofc, grief, sacrifice, angst, hopeful ending?

enjoy the drabble!

-/

steve who shakily with others, removes the infinity stones from tony’s corpse. lingering a bit too long on his friend’s skin, because he knows that it may be the last time he’ll ever touch or see it, see the man who he wished he never grew apart from in the first place.

tony’s death is a punch to the chest, it’s a reminder of all the years steve kept away. he wasn’t really welcome, wanted by the government and having to choose between tony or bucky, when more than anything he wanted both to be an option.

witnessing stark holding that gauntlet and pulling the plug, yeah, it’ll stick with him for a while.

that being the rest of his life. so in his mind, it’s the least he can do, to return all the stones, keep things in order, help make peace again, contribute to what tony and nat sacrificed so the rest of the world would be okay.

he isn’t quite sure he will be.

when steve glances at the soul stone, he sees the fractured pieces of natasha. clint refuses to talk about it, gets too choked up each time, he gets it, but his mind wonders, seeking for visuals of nat’s last moments. was she afraid?

of course she was, it’s a stupid question, she was hellbent on keeping her family together, he’s sure that she wasn’t entirely fond of leaving them all behind. he hopes there wasn’t too much pain, with whatever happened.

the settings are all dialled, bruce double and then triple checks them. sam and bucky stand idly waiting, wishing him a safe journey, and bucky looks at him like he may not come back. “i’m going to miss you buddy.”

“it’ll be alright buck.” he responds with a fond smile, the view of bucky being alive never ceases to amaze him. after decades of torture, cryo, you name it, bucky barnes is surviving; steve has never been more grateful.

steve who goes on his journey, who takes his time, methodically and efficiently putting the stones back, but dilly-dallying a bit. each time he thinks he’s ready to leave one past time line, he encounters something that makes him stay a little longer.

like the attack in new york, with tony surviving the wormhole, exhausted on the ground, looking up at steve with a wobbly, slightly shell-shocked grin. did tony know then? that his fate was sealed?

in asgard, he spends a small amount of time there, accidentally bumping into thor’s mother who greets him kindly, a knowing twinkle in her eye as she addresses him as one of thor’s cherished friends. of course, he nods and smiles back politely, knowing insider information from the god of thunder that his mother had died on this particular day, steve swallows, returns the ‘stone’ and heads on to the next.

lastly, he spends a great deal of time on vormir, this is a place that he struggles to leave. when scaling the mountains, straining against the harsh winds, well, he sees red skull and abruptly tenses.

but it soon becomes clear that this red skull isn’t one that can harm him. he calls out the name of steve’s mother, shrouded in his dark cloak, his eyes are rather empty, or maybe just resigned. it still takes steve a while to adjust.

when they both reach the top, the wind stops, it is too quiet. dread swells within his stomach, he follows the feeling, walking towards the sharp edge of the cliff, and when he peers down, sees what’s been haunting him.

nat is down there.

body splayed, head cracked open, blood splotted around generously. it would’ve been an abrupt fall, maybe she would’ve died instantly on impact, god he hopes so. he lurches at the sight, stepping back and heaving, it is now engrained in memory, it is horrific.

one of his dearest friends, alone at the bottom of a cliff. he never got to say goodbye.

so, he doesn’t give the soul stone to red skull just yet, steve rogers just sits on the cold stone, rubbing at his temples and not bothering to will away the tears. he cries rather silently for a while, mourning nat, and tony, he sobs. at some point he throws caution to the wind and lets himself wail unapologetically, time goes by undoubtedly, it may be hours or perhaps days until he moves.

his eyes are sore, still wet and damp, cheeks stained with the imprints of tears. steve approaches the edge again, he soaks in nat’s features, her red and white hair, the braid that is now untangled, he imagines she’d be really cold.

he doesn’t want her to be cold, steve bites his lip and turns away, whispering a silent goodbye.

he resets the time watch, back to the exact moment the stone would’ve been taken, and then once he’s back there, he coldly hands the soul stone to red skull, walking away with devoid blue eyes.

it crosses his mind, for just one singular second…

doctor strange saw over fourteen million possibilities and outcomes, he didn’t see past that.

one in fourteen million.

so, two in twenty eight right? and so on?

he takes a deep breath, trying to fill the hollowness in his chest, but it does not work. there is too much grief there. he knows with this thought, he will not be able to rest, not until time and history is rewritten.

and he’ll redo it until he gets it right, even if that means that he makes that sacrifice play. he cannot, will not, live in a world where tony stark is not being a husband and father, he will not live in a world where natasha doesn’t have a body in her grave, where her figure is at the bottom of a chasm.

he steels himself, decision already made. when he returns, bucky seems almost surprised to see him. “hey buck.”

“steve?” bucky furrows his brow, a little confused, steve had had the perfect opportunity to go out and live a life that he had missed, that had been forcibly ripped for him, and he didn’t take it.

“i think,” he starts thoughtfully, tasting the words on his tongue before they even come out, “i think i’d like another time heist, a redo.”

“well.” bucky whistles, facing him and biting at the inside of his cheek, before sending a ‘fuck it’ grin to steve, “i’m with you to the end of the line, whenever that is.”

——

a/n: hi!! this was quite rushed, so not super detailed but i wanted to get it out there, i’ve seen multiple people suggest that steve would’ve been the one to take the stones from the gauntlet after tony was dead, and that he would’ve seen nat’s body at vormir. wanted to mess around with that idea a little bit, and strange’s thing with the possibilities. there are infinite possibilities out there, and i believe that steve would definitely try to get that ‘perfect’ ending if he could, if he knew it wouldn’t fuck things up exponentially.

he definitely think tony deserves to grow old with pepper and be a present father unlike howard. and he definitely wish that nat didn’t have to die. so that begs the question of what would happen in a ‘perfect’ timeline? well, for the final snap, someone pretty superhuman would have to do it, so maybe thor, captain marvel and or even wanda?

and well vormir, it could be a steve and nat situation where steve is the one that falls (still devastating), i like to think that if they’re able to fuck with time, they could time it so the second someone dies their watch resets them back to the top of the cliff, so cheating death, but maybe that’s a shitty answer. could also be, you know when bruce used the gauntlet, he admitted that he tried to wish nat back? well could be that, if steve sacrificed himself, maybe bruce tried to bring him back and it worked.

it’s not too insane to think that five other infinity stones could over power one of them right? but yeah i feel i’ll never be the same after endgame tbh