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wileys-russo · 7 months

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I was wondering if you could write something with alessia x reader where r plays for an opponent team and they sorta get into it on the pitch because they’re so passionate playing

enemiesII a.russo

the london derby day was always an interesting one, for both fans and players alike. but it was even more challenging for you and your girlfriend, who played for rival teams, destined for that entire day to go from lovers to fierce rivals.

both you and alessia's passion was football, you'd met in the early youth camps for the lionesses and started off as best friends, though as time passed and the two of you grew up, your feelings for one another became a little less friendly.

it took a couple of years of dancing cautiously around these feelings before either one of you made a move, you'd played a singular season with man united on loan from chelsea and with so much time spent together it pushed the two of you to finally confess, laid down together listening to music in the back of your car one night when you were both too nervous to sleep.

since then, your season with manchester united had come and gone and your contract with chelsea was renewed. the season on loan taught you a lot about adapting to a different style of play and pushed you to challenge yourself, especially when playing against your friends and old team mates, making sure you played your very best despite that.

and it paid off. alessia was sad to see you go but understood that ultimately it was the best move for your career to return to your beloved blues, and so you did distance for awhile, spending weekends and free days and the off seasons flickering between london and manchester, alterntating who would do the travel each time.

but now with alessia having transferred to arsenal, you'd both made a decision to move in together, you'd been seeing one another a little over two years and felt it only right that this was the next step.

wanting a fresh start and not for alessia to feel like she was moving in with you rather than the two of you moving out together, you spent weeks prior to the announcement searching for the perfect place to call home.

fast forward and here you both were, wrapped up together in one another's embrace, both purposefully procrastinating needing to get up and start your day, fully knowing the moment your feet hit the carpet your bubble of love would be burst.

"we really need to get up soon love." you mumbled into alessia's shoulder, body vibrating with silent laughter at the audibly annoyed groan which left the blonde beneath you. "if i get up, will you let me score today?" your girlfriend cracked one baby blue eye open with a smirk.

"not a chance baby." you smiled at her attempt, peppering her lips with soft kisses as she pouted up at you in response. "okay. up we get!" you sighed, forcing yourself out of her strong hold and sitting up, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"come on, if you're quick we can save water." you suggested, standing to your feet and extending a hand, squealing as alessia practically jumped out of bed, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the bathroom.

"from this moment forward my love, sworn enemies." you held out your hand as both you and alessia stood at your cars, dressed in your respective clubs colors, kit bags hanging off your shoulders and keys in hand.

"like i never knew you babe." alessia nodded in agreement, shaking your hand, pausing for a moment before yanking your body into hers, turning around and pressing you against her mercedes with a grin.

"buuut, one more for the road?" the taller girl tapped her lips expectantly as you shook your head. "sorry, don't kiss strangers." you shrugged, hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

"and i don't fraternize with the enemy, but i'm willing to make an exception if you are." the striker smiled charmingly as you paused, tapping your chin to think it over.

you sighed as if her request was an effort, leaning up and connecting your lips for a moment, your hands on her shoulders gently pushing her away as her tongue started to explore your mouth.

"french kissing a woman you don't even know, shame on you russo." you tutted, the blonde smacking your bum as you turned around, flashing you a cheeky grin and slipping into her car.

you flipped her off and blew her a kiss as you sat down in your own, both of you revving your engines before peeling out of the driveway, headed in opposite directions.

"they're pressing in hard, they're gonna be desperate to at least equalise!" you struggled to catch your breath as you were all paused, guro off to the side being assessed for a concussion as she'd taken a nasty headbutt a few moments ago when going up for a header.

"it's gonna get messy girls, watch out for one another and don't let communication die off!" millie warned you, jess and niamh who all nodded, taking a long drink and tossing your bottles back as guro was cleared and the ref blew the whistle for play to resume.

arsenal were down 2-1 and they needed to at least draw this game to keep in the running for top of the table, this match the very last of the weekends WSL fixtures.

and you hadn't been wrong, they were desperate, and tackles became more and more messy as the time wound down, 9 minutes of stoppage time all that remained for them to score.

"y/l/n, get her on the wing!" millie yelled as caitlin crossed it over to lia who tapped it in for alessia, who'd come hurtling down the left side as you sprinted over to intercept her before she reached goal.

you slid in for the tackle right as alessia sent it through for caitlin again, collecting her ankles and entirely taking out her legs, the blondes body thumping to the ground, forehead bouncing off the pitch.

you heard the away section start to scream for a penalty as you tried to get to your feet, but a hand tugging on the back of your jersey sent you flying back to the ground. "are you serious? get off!" you grunted, wrenching away your girlfriends hand as the two of you stood.

"am i serious? you just took out my legs studs up for no reason, are you trying to break my fucking ankle?" alessia shoved you harshly in the chest, face bright red as you heard the ref blow the whistle in warning.

"oh grow up! that was completely legal, you had the ball when i slid in." you shoved her back, not backing down as she glared down at you half a foot taller, the two of you standing chest to chest. "she went in studs up, that should be a card!" alessia yelled at the ref who joined you both and warned you each to calm down.

"are you joking me? that was soft!" you scoffed, shoving her away from you as she tried to stare down intimidatingly, feeling millies hands come to rest on your shoulders.

"oi back up away from her! that should a fucking red." katie appeared beside your girlfriend, pushing you harshly as millie held you back from retaliating.

"are you fucking serious? it was completely legal!" you threw your hands up as you watched the ref reach into her pocket, pulling out a red for the booking.

"hey we'll contest it. just walk away babe, don't make this any worse." millie murmured, moving an arm around your shoulder and starting to walk you away as your team stepped in to argue for you, several of the arsenal girls starting to contest the yellow card given to alessia for the shoving around.

"this is bullshit." you spat as you shrugged off millies arm, head hung low as you stormed off the pitch and into the tunnel, the sound of the chelsea fans booing the refs call following after you as you headed for the change rooms.

you kicked off your boots, throwing them around the room allowing yourself a tantrum before you thought better of it, hurrying to collect your things and shoving them back into your cubby, ducking off for a shower.

you were sat by your locker, showered and dressed in your tracksuit, knees tucked up to your chest as the rest of the team filed in. you'd checked the score on your phone, showing the girls manage to hold down your lead, narrowly scraping by and getting the crucial three points.

niamh and erin took their seats at their own lockers either side of you, niamh patting your back sympathetically and kissing your cheek as you sent her a small smile, a congratulations for their efforts slipping past your lips as emma joined you all.

you tuned out most of her speech, giving a weak nod as she confirmed millies words that the red would be attested in hopes you'd be able to play next week, before the older woman took you aside one on one for a gentle but firm reminder about keeping cool.

"come on stroppy, off we go." millies arm fell over your shoulders once you'd grabbed your things, though she guided you in the wrong direction as you frowned. "mills my cars that way, where are we-" your words stopped as you noticed them.

"are you joking? no way." you huffed, trying to turn around as millies grip on you tightened, as did leahs on alessia as she pushed the younger girl down the hallway.

"now girls, obviously tensions arose and some not so nice words were exchanged. but thats football, and we leave it out on the pitch." leah started, your national captain giving you both a stern look as millie hummed in agreement.

"she got me a red for nothing!" you protested, looking to millie for some sort of support as alessia scoffed. "she studded me!" alessia retaliated, crossing her arms firmly over your chest. "no no no! we leave it, on the pitch." millie warned, grabbing your arms as leah grabbed alessias.

"what are you-" "oh this is just-"

both girls forced your arms to wrap around one another, both you and your girlfriend going limp as they fell back off. "no! hug it out and say you love each other." millie ordered sternly, leah draping alessias arms over your shoulders as yours were forcibly wrapped around her torso by millie.

"im getting annoyed here!" leah warned, tapping her foot impatiently, you and alessias eyes rolling in sync as you hugged one another. "now say you love each other." millie waved and you withheld the urge to lash out at her.

"i hate you." you mumbled into the blondes shoulder, feeling her sharply pinch you for the comment as millie stepped in to hold your arms against one another, still forcing you into the hug.

"say it! or the next national camp i swear to god i will ruin the both of you. im talking hill sprints, push ups, burpees, i'll even make you do a private little beep test." leah warned seriously, pulling her captain rank as you sighed.

"love you, even if you tried to break my fucking ankle." "love you, even if you played it up to the ref."

"no! with sincerity, and a little smooch." millie ordered, leaning against the wall beside leah as you both groaned, though admittedly most of your anger had melted away the tighter your girlfriend clung onto you.

"i love you." alessia unwrapped one of her arms to grab your chin, turning your head and pecking your lips with a roll of her eyes. "i love you too." you leant up to quickly brush your lips with hers in return, both of you looking to your co-captains with raised eyebrows as they waved for you to separate.

"i'll see you at home?" alessia questioned, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, all traces of anger gone from her features. "i'll see you at home." you sighed, leaning in and properly kissing her, ignoring the immature squeals from the two older blondes to your side.

after all the moment you crossed the threshold of your shared home, you were enemies no more.

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #engwnt

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mossmurdock · 5 months

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let them hear it (n.kento)

pushing away the angst i had in mind and prioritizing kissing nanami till he's on the verge of giggling while the two of you are outside in the snow.

What the two of you have is complicated; as complicated as something gets with someone as straightforward as Nanami Kento.

You vaguely knew of each other because of work before you quit, and then you found yourself taking the same commute as him to get to your new building.The familiar face was a surprise; autumn was on the cusp of tipping over and you were looking over at a man already dawned in gloves and a suspiciously thick looking coat you swear you've seen hanging on the hooks of previous office walls.

It’s what he’s wearing tonight, although it’s winter, so he’s also smothered in a wool scarf and stops to adjust his ear muffs every once in a while as the two of you walk. The action is somewhat unserious on its own; the idea of a man as serious looking as him so attentively dressed for the weather is already an easy thing to make you smile. But, you’re both a little more than tipsy.

When Nanami stops for the third time to stop the thing from falling into his eyes, you burst out into laughter as he groans to mask his own slew of giggles.

The reservation the two of you made this month was on the late side, so after too much wine and food, the streets are empty for the two of you to wander. These appointments have been something a little more than precious to you recently. You aren’t sure how it all started, but you and Nanami have both found ways to indulge in yourselves at least once a month without feeling too guilty about it for about a year now. Lately, it’s been something you look forward to more than anything else you have planned.

This isn't the first time you found yourself testing your tolerance with Kento. You quickly noted how much of a heavy drinker he was once you found yourself slipping trying to keep up with him. Every month he’ll assure you there’s no need, but you’re rather adaptable yourself; and Nanami would never admit to liking a challenge. It might be wrongfully advantageous of you, but you liked the look of him loose like this. He lets himself lean on you a little more.

It just helps that the sidewalks happen to be particularly icy tonight.

“Hold it, hold—hold on,” he says breathlessly. There’s been the hint of a smile teasing the corner of his lips since the two of you have left the restaurant doors. It’s so contagious that you’re sure your lips will be split and bleeding by the end of the night.

He’s doubled over now, earmuffs on the brink of falling once more. You snort before stepping in front of him, bending down to clumsily bring them up his forehead. He looks up to you as you do, looking a little unlike himself. His cheeks are pink, eyes are wide and nearly starry, his lips are wet because he keeps licking them to fight off the cold. It takes everything in you not to ruffle up his hair even more than it already has been. It would be different, you think; it would be your own hands doing the carnage. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to try and fix it then.

“What is it?” your breath comes out as fog in the air. A physical thing your sluggish brain finds beautiful when you watch it mingle with Nanami’s own breath. This close, you can spot tiny snowflakes melting into his lashes.

He hesitates, as if fighting himself for wanting to speak in the first place. There’s a strange expression on his face, too old and twisted to fit his features.

“My stomach feels like it’s about to burst,” he blurts, still clutching to his middle while hunched over.

A silent beat passes before you explode into laughter loud enough to wake people, playfully slapping your hand on his shoulder.

“How crude!” you exclaim, half scolding in your tone. “You’ve seriously got a foul mouth after a few drinks.”

“I would say that was more than a few,” he notes dazedly.

You hum, trying to get him to match your pace once he straightens himself. His shoulders hunch up to his ears as he does, a slight shiver hidden in the sea of fabric he's practically being swallowed into. His chill, the same as his concealed smile, is infectious. Your body follows his, feeling every bit of the breeze that passes through your clothing. Crossing your arms over your chest, you try and steel off your body.

"Are you cold?" Nanami offers his arm for you to cling onto, giving you no time to answer him.

The buzz radiating off your skin is silenced by the fabric he wears, squashed into his figure and sticking to him like scorching asphalt. You feel cemented this close to him, letting your arm fall and feeling him interlace your fingers while still keeping it close to his. His gloves keep you from feeling his skin. Your tease about him being the coldest between the two of you dies on your tongue.

The two of you bump shoulders, a little too inebriated to be walking this close together. The surrounding snow swallows up all other sound, only leaving your heavy footsteps and gentle breathing to be heard. Nanami sighs. You feel the noise travel from the soles of your feet, tingling at the tips of your ears.

“Comfortable?” you ask cheekily, feeling the pressing weight of him melding into your shoulder as time passes by. He hums in response, another vibration you can feel dancing on your skin.

“You’re warm,” he states, squeezing your hand firmly. Still painfully gloved. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocks the wind out of your own, the only trace of it being the small cloud that leaves your lips. It takes everything in you to not dig your fingers into his hand, until you reached the skin, until he could really feel you, until he would be able toleach all the warmth he wanted from your blood. You think he would do it gently.

Nanami stops walking first once the entrance of his apartment comes into view. The steps up to the door are covered in snow and ice, they haven't been salted yet. You’re about to tell him to be careful while walking up the steps before you feel something foreign being placed on your head. They’re his earmuffs, unbelievably warm. They smell like the shampoo he uses.

He keeps his hands on the covers, an extra blanket on top of your ears. The weight makes any noise around you sound like it’s been drowned underwater. The feeling is as steady as his stare, half lidded and a little heavy, but balanced. The falling snow seems to still, as stagnant as the stars above your head. The warmth on his skin matches the mellow light seeping from people’s windows.

Your skin seers when his hand drifts to your cheek, dragging his thumb across your skin.

His face looks wind beaten and cold, cherry red at the tips of his ears, his nose, and his cheeks. The flush must run all over him, down to his knuckles and elbows, up his chest and shoulders. You wish you could see.

“You look like you’re freezing, Kento.” You lean into his touch unsubtly.

This proximity should maybe feel odd, but it’s hard to ignore all those secret moments the two of you share between meals, on commutes to work, on tipsy walks back home, now that you’re both facing each other.

And he shivers when you use his first name, when you raise your hands to fix his scarf and let the tips of your fingers graze the exposed skin of his neck. The cold teases at those that are cloaked the most, clawing at anything it can find.

“I’m fine,” he sniffles; soft and trailing and good natured. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you chuckle. He smiles at the noise.

Something overtakes you, some kind of greed that can only be found in snow so pillowy that it wolfs down any noise, a force you can’t stop unless you step into it with your own shoes. There’s that crunch: where the only noise that life seems to need is your own. His. Yours. You’re both holding each other. The sound of his clothes are all you can hear.

You hear his movement before seeing it, feel his cold lips on your cheek long after he’s pulled away from you. It’s innocent, modest—but his hands—they cup around your entire face, shifting across your neck. His gloves are still in the way, but you can’t muster any complaints when the feeling is so intoxicating.

“Are you drunk?” he asks quietly.

“The cold sobered me up,” you answer, voice thin with the slightest shock. “You?”

“Me too,” he replies. He’s hastily taking off his gloves and the action momentarily puts some distance between the two of you.

“What—what are you doing?” you scoff confusedly.

“I can’t feel you,” he explains simply, stuffing the gloves into the pocket of his coat. “I’d like to feel you.”

Laughter ebbs past your lips for the millionth time. The happiness you’ve felt today only feels real because your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all the strain.

Kento has wrapped you in an embrace, easily picking you up from the ground by your waist. You gasp, smirking into his neck as you wrap your hands around him and try not to jostle the earmuffs too badly.

You might never know a strength like his; his hands are gentle and firm. When you press a lingering kiss to the juncture of his jaw, one coasts across the curve of your ass before settling into the meat of your thigh.

“Don’t be too quick just ‘cause you want to get out of the cold. The steps are icy.” You advise him while bombarding his face with light pecks similar to his first one, musing his hair and admiring the pliant looking smile on his face. It’s also the kind he holds when he’s holding back a laugh.

He hums deeply. You feel it intensely this time, it echoes against your own chest.

“I’m not being quick because of the weather,” he grumbles, barely hiding his urgency.

His response has you looking down at him smugly, wishing you could take a picture just so he could see his own flushed face.

this post is the culprit !! everyone please point and laugh at it, it is so embarrassing how long i thought about it.

i hope yall dont mind being tagged, but @riaki @maeby-cursed @threadbaresweater are also enablers!!! wrote this with yall in mind hope u like it

#THIS WAS BARELY EDITED LMAO #im so tired #it is five a.m. u guys #i love this man my hubby my wife #moss writes #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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soapoet · 7 months

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PJO pick-a-card reading

Luke Castellan; A message from above

Soapy scribbles: I opted to format this topic as generally as possible since we all hold various different beliefs. Whether this message comes from your spirit guides, angels, higher self, God, any deity, ancestor or passed loved ones, or anything beyond my comprehension, is for you alone to know based on how it resonates with you. I am just the messenger and it is no business of mine who your particular sender is.

01.

Shufflemancy: Travelling by James Spiteri

You're coming out of a period of stagnation. Either delays entirely out of your control, or the sheer lack of motivation has kept you at a stalemate unable to proceed with your plans. You have found comfort in distractions aplenty. A seemingly never-ending cycle of avoiding the next step because it appears so very daunting, then being overcome with guilt and shame, which you again run from, chasing anything and everything which would put these feelings at bay. Now the first step looks less frightening, and you may feel more motivated to journey onwards.

Growing pains may feature, but you are able to handle them well. You may feel inclined to keep secrets, especially regarding your endeavours. This will prove beneficial as it reduces pressure, you now have nobody to hold yourself accountable but you, and you avoid the urge to run away should anybody dare inquire about your progress. Push yourself forward, as unnerving as it may be. You will quickly notice how light you are on your feet and the distance you can go when harnessing the dopamine from simply overcoming this fear.

Do not be too hard on yourself or expect to run a marathon. A little progress is better than none, but do not use busy work as yet another distraction. You have great gifts and plenty to share with the world, and you are destined to inspire others with your achievements and your accolades. As much as you detest routine, try to keep even a small one. Do a little bit every day to inch yourself closer to your dreams. To avoid feelings of uncertainty and your fears of failure, set aside time to sit with yourself in silence and ask yourself why you want this, where it will lead, and why that is where you want to be and what you hope to achieve, the life you wish to lead and what legacy you wish you leave. Remind yourself of the answers to these questions whenever motivation begins to evade you on your journey.

Sometimes a writer can only muster a sentence, perhaps one they will later entirely eliminate, yet they did something. And sometimes all this writer can do is stare at the manuscript before them and give of themselves nothing. Yet they did something. They got up to look at it rather than wince across the room and refuse to rise to the occasion at all. Celebrate even your smallest victories and allow yourself a cheer when you muster even the slightest effort. Do not expect perfection of yourself and know that many before you had to go through trial and error, and learn and adapt along the way. That is perfectly okay and you do not need a doctorate straight out of the womb to be good enough.

02.

Shufflemancy: Kiss the rain by Yiruma

You must cease this pattern of giving up your energy so easily to so many who are not deserving of your time. When bad news arrive, it is fine to feel whichever way you feel, but anchoring your emotions to this negativity will suck you dry of the life force that you need to shine. You are allowed to have boundaries and you are encouraged to enforce them and guard them closely. Those who would trespass should know punishment swiftly. Do not tolerate things you do not tolerate truly. Do not quietly hope unfortunate things go away and that people notice your discomfort and stop what they're doing that is harming you.

Stand up for yourself and make your thoughts and feelings heard. It is also not your duty or responsibility to translate a simple no or a stop to people wilfully ignorant and always finding a justification for their words and actions. No is a full sentence. Anybody who fails to internalize this fact and look in the mirror to reflect and to change any behaviour that's lead them to ignore this simple command is not a headache to take as yours. You should be unapologetic in your selfcare and demand space when you need it. Set aside your fears and shoo away any prowling feelings of shame and guilt. If you would be happier alone than in bad company, seek solitude and cut off what no longer serves you.

There are lessons some learn only upon a collapse. You may pray for a change of heart and hope for the sun to shine again, but you do not need to weather storms that are not yours to experience. You're not a bad person for stepping back and saying enough is enough in a situation that only causes you distress. Those who need help must want it and ask for it. You can promise to be there when they're ready and aid in their recovery, and still express to them the grief that they have caused you. Sometimes people need to be faced with the harsh truth. The pain and the agony and sleepless nights which they have brought upon you and others and be shown they could truly lose it all lest they stop and strive to do and be better.

If somebody truly needs help and you do not have the heart to abandon them, seek assistance. You need not be alone in a quest which requires more than you alone have to give. There are many sources of help and even more solutions once more hands are there to help, and you only have two and are allowed to seek extra pairs to aid you in this task. You are commended for your resilience and your kind heart. It may break and bleed often, and you must know that things will get better. These rough waters will calm soon enough and you will find peace.

03.

Shufflemancy: Ballerina by Yehezkel Raz

You don't need to run so fast. You have all the time in the world to make the changes that you want and need. Slow down and allow yourself to breathe. You have been much too hard on yourself and allowed everything outside of you to weigh you down. Shelf some burdens that were never yours to carry and make the choice to serve yourself for a change. Be gentle with yourself and listen to your own body and soul, and act according to that which is truly in your best interest. You are your own worst enemy when you let the beasts feed upon your negative self talk and your fixations on perceived failures.

Know that you have no more need for tips and tricks and new methods to your madness. You already have everything that you need, and no tool beyond your own consciousness is required. You could paint cathedral ceilings with just your imagination, so cease your struggle and let yourself be carried by the stream. Do not waver in your convictions, and do not let doubt lead you astray. Stick to what you know in your heart to be true and cast away every inkling of worry and fear.

You need to learn to let life happen to you rather than holding the reins so tightly you vitiate the opportunity to experience the present moment altogether. The present is all we really have, so try your best to cling neither to the past or the future. We all have regrets behind us, and wishes for the future, but it is the present moment which we truly have control over and get to experience.

Let go of any unhealthy dependencies you may have allowed to take root in your garden. Whether this is a person, a habit, or a situation, if it isn't doing you any good in the long-term, do your best to weed it out so that more energy may be received by the things you do wish to grow and nurture. If you feel unqualified to tackle some of this gardening, do not hesitate to ask for help and guidance from gentle people who will understand how delicate some situations may be. You do not need to tolerate fear mongering or unnecessary pressure, time constraints or misplaced ultimatums. Be direct with what you need and the tone and feel you wish to engage in so that you do not end up feeling cornered and threatened so much that you refuse any help at all in favour of protecting yourself from harsh criticism and judgement.

#pac reading #pick a card reading #luke castellan #pjo #energy reading #intuitive reading #percy jackson and the olympians #pac #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #tarot reading #tarotblr #soapy.post

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 6 months

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I Won't Forget

Soap x Civilian!Reader

Your last night with Johnny...

SFW, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Established Relationship, Long Distance Relationships, Mutual Break-Ups, Failed Romance, A bit mopey, but not toxic, hopefully not OOC, Scarcely Proofread, Drabble

I felt like writing angst, but not heavy angst. Here's the drabble that thought concocted.

Masterlist

Johnny took the long way back home from the park. He hadn't commented on anything in particular, beyond what played on the radio, and you didn't mind the silences, frequent as they came tonight.

A choice lyric sent him into a small rant at some point, each new comment springing a giggle out of you. It warmed him each time to hear, though he wouldn't say so in words, even as he attempted to. Johnny feared he could never find the right way to express himself to you, but it never kept him from trying. He always was adaptive to anyone and anything, it seems. Anytime the world allowed for it.

The silence returned after a few more roads had passed, as though a sudden realization had dawned on you both; an impending doom and growing nausea which came once more. Reality.

When this drive was over, this was it. He'd be gone for another long assignment. Another indefinite amount of time. Another handful of moments taken. And after a long talk over dinner, you both came to the mutually painful conclusion that things needed to end.

Your lives split you two apart more often than not, and it was past time for you both to move forward without one another, no matter how ambitious you both had been about things; your problems could be swept away no longer.

For the first year it hadn't been so bad -- the long evening phone calls, the gifts and letters, and that unmatched excitement from finally reuniting. It made for memories you were sure to live with until your elderly days; like falling in love all over again. Yes... it hadn't been so bad the first year.

It took him about as long to make things between you two official; a whole year of him popping in and out of your area like a short-lived dream. When he'd asked you to be his girlfriend, you could feel the hesitancy mixed into the excitement in his voice, not from a fear of rejection but rather a fear of regret. Because even then he knew that being with him wouldn't be easy. You believed you could handle it.

By the third year the phone calls grew routine, feeling more akin to a daily task you had to do rather than a want or need. And while at times you had bemoaned the interruption they caused in your schedule, selfish as it had made you feel, you'd cry yourself to sleep every night you didn't hear from him at all, wanting to go back to those five minutes he could spare you between missions.

Eventually the stretches of radio silence between your calls grew so much that you stopped noticing them after awhile. These days it feels you've been together separately more often than near one another. His calm blue eyes looked more accustomed to your phone screen than right in front of you.

And it hadn't been as though Johnny were purposefully pushing you away. There was nothing more he wanted than to just find a nice plot of land and spend the rest of his days with you.

But this other side of him, his identity before you that had been the very other core of himself, Soap... that had just been a part of him that could not be separated.

He lived for his career, and it's all he's ever known until now. Being a soldier had meant everything to him and it hadn't been something he could so easily set aside, not even for you it seems. It was the one thing he felt he'd been good at, and it brought him just as much pride.

You couldn't take him away from his life, just as he couldn't do so to you. Your life mattered too, and that included being deserving of a present love. Someone to be there for the special moments, and someone you didn't have to wait for.

So he would stay a soldier, and you would go back to your life, uninterrupted this time. So goes the end of what had otherwise been a pleasant on-and-off time between you two.

But you hadn't wanted your last memories to be this. To be you both sitting silently, sadly, in the car as he drives you home. The ultimate summary of your relationship. You hadn't wanted this ending to feel so awful if it had been something you both agreed upon.

So you turn up the car radio and you sink back into the passenger's seat with a bittersweet smile. And when a dumb joke crosses his mind, Johnny finds himself unable to keep himself from sharing, even laughing for a time or two before the joke had even come out. If you both didn't talk about the obvious, then it didn't have to mean anything right now. Let that be later, and these moments feel endless.

You hope whatever road this is, that you've hit every red light, every stop sign, and every passing pedestrian the street could throw at you. You hoped Johnny would drive five miles under the speed limit and accidentally forget a turn or two, forcing him to backtrack and restart the route once again. You would hope to stop time itself tonight and keep the sun from setting any further over these quiet streets.

It was the hope that hurt the most, knowing these wishes were impossible and out of your hands, just as life always was. But you hoped for these things regardless. If not that, what else would there be beyond everything else around you?

You loved these finite moments, and it's many sweet little trappings. They were often provided just by the cool touch of his skin on yours, or the vibrations of his voice against your living room walls. You could spend ten years apart and three minutes together, and those three minutes would be the only thing you think about for the next ten years to come.

With each light you've passed, and corner you've turned, dread slowly rises in you, knotting in your throat even as you try to keep singing along to the radio.

Johnny stopped talking as much the closer you got home; he even stopped taking quick glances your way, replaced by small sighs and silences. You always did envy his ability to remain so calm around you, unable to tell if it had been some front of his or merely a side of him that you alone brought out of him.

Your eyes look down to see his hand firmly resting over the stick-shift, and you invite your own over it, letting your fingers dance lightly over his warm skin and cup them into your palm, feeling Johnny's fingers gently squeeze over yours as he's felt you.

His blue eyes glance your way momentarily, dipping back and forth between you and the road. He always adored the way you looked in his passenger's seat, sat comfortably with your legs crossed and your body leaned in as toward him as you could be within this confined space. He could easily reach out and let his hand rest over your thigh, that simple trust bringing him peace for the entire ride. Tonight his hand felt perfectly placed in yours, having your thumb caress his rough skin, and your warmth take the coolness in his palms away.

You come across a red light, the final one before your road. A brief moment longer between you two parted ways for good.

You look over at Johnny, who looks back at you. Had it been daytime, he may have seen the tears brewing in your eyes rather than the hazy gloss the night had shaded them with instead, tinted by a crimson glow.

"When are you leaving?" You could no longer keep the question to yourself, despite knowing the detail had been trivial at this point. A small part of you just needed to know.

Johnny holds back a sigh, keeping his gaze locked on you. "...Tomorrow afternoon."

"Ah..." You look down at your lap shyly, drumming your hand lightly against your thighs. "I'm guessing you won't be able to see me one more time before you go then..."

If he could have more time, he would give it to you in a heartbeat. He would have said that to you, but something held back his tongue. Some fear he'd yet to get over which had been admitting to the desperation he'd slowly begun to feel tonight. A desperation to make the time stop, take it back... only to be followed by the discomforting realization that no matter what, you could not in fact stop time. For better or for worse.

"I'm afraid not, Bonnie..." he said. "...I'm sorry."

"It's OK," you say, though your voice is faint. "Well... do you think you can spend the night?"

Johnny knew what you were doing, or rather trying to do. He knows you're well aware that he had until the sun rises before his departure, so if you could take every last hour of that time until then, you'd search for a way, somehow. It's something he loved most about you, and found himself thinking back on at multiple points throughout the night as he'd followed you into your apartment, prepared to make himself at home for a final time in your walls.

Your couch felt a bit more cozy this time, your living room more warm. There'd been no concern as to look at the clock, your drooping eyes and slurred words telling time well enough. Neither of you can remember when the conversation ended that night, but you wouldn't forget when he took you into his arms for again, pulling you into him beneath your covers, lips locking with yours.

Wrapped in each other, you didn't want to forget his skin or scent, the taste of his lips or how each movement brought you immense pleasure. You didn't want to forget a thing.

He fell asleep before you, and you woke up that morning before him. When the sun dipped through the curtains, you'd hoped he'd sleep a bit longer. And when his eyes finally crept open, as bittersweet as it felt, you greeted him with a kiss. It was small, but it was one you would always think back to.

(._. )

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #call of duty #modern warfare ii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mwii #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #john mactavish #modern warfare 3 #call of duty modern warfare 3

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bulkyphrase · 8 months

Text

Stucky for Steve Stans

I feel like I don't rec enough Stucky, so please have this list of some of my favorite Steve-forward Stucky fics!

Not a Perfect Soldier by TooManyBattles (Skarabrae_stone) (@captaintoomanybattles) (Mature | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 93,354 words)

Summary: In a world where HYDRA was wiped out in the '40s, Steve is found by the Army rather than SHIELD. General Thaddeus Ross wants a perfectly obedient super-soldier at his command, and to that end, he sets out to break Steve to his will. As Steve struggles to come to terms with all he has lost, his life in captivity is only made bearable by the presence of another prisoner-- another super-soldier known only as "Soldat". Then the Avengers strike a deal with Ross to "borrow" him for missions, and Steve is faced with a team who dislikes him, an organization he doesn't trust, and the question of what he's willing to do to escape Ross's clutches.

Lessons in Normality by relenafanel (@relenafanel) (Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 38,002 words)

Summary: Things Steve knows about his boyfriend Bucky: How he looks with his face relaxed in sleep. That he can perfectly flip pancakes. The way he’s open about things Steve is still adapting to, like therapy and depression and sex toys and being a millennial. The way he laughs with his mouth wide open and his eyes squinted, and the cheerful way he cheats at cards and loses at laser tag. The way he seduces Steve with a knowing glint in his eye. The way Steve responds to it, stronger each time, taken by his beauty and competence and snark and compassion (or the compassionate way he boots Steve in the ass when he needs a push). Things Steve doesn’t know about his boyfriend Bucky: That he’s an undercover operative gathering intel on Hydra, SHIELD, and which Steve is affiliated with. Otherwise known as The Honey Pot AU

I Remembered You Were Mine by hobbitdragon (Explicit | Rape/Non-Con | 4,455 words)

Summary: Steve awakes in a strange place with a familiar face standing over him. He has no idea where he is or how he got there, but at least Bucky is with him. Also available as a podfic read by Tipsy_Kitty (@tipsyxkitty)

More below the cut!

Demon Seed by SucculentHyena (@succulent-hyena) (Mature | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 92,478 words)

Summary: [Transcript 00:11:48] MS: You were with him the most throughout the course of events, both before and after. Your account could shed light on something we may have missed. JB: What difference will that make? MS: It could make all the difference. Captain Rogers’ case is unprecedented, he’s the most intact victim we’ve ever recovered- JB: [laughing] You call that intact? -Excerpt of Interview with Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes regarding the Incident.

How Can You Go On With Such Conviction? by Jaune_Chat (@jaune-chat) (Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | 23,085 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers is a professional alpha with an unfortunately famous name. A veteran who specializes in people with top-secret clearance, he’s been having some particularly interesting clients lately. This brings him to the attention of SHIELD, who think an alpha like him could be just the person to help a very ill Asset they have. But Steve has more up his sleeve than just one set of skills when it comes to helping the people he cares for.

Ring the Bell Backward by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (@dsudis) (Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 13,234 words)

Summary: "I know how it is," Wanda said. "Being half of something. I would go anywhere if I knew he was there waiting for me." Also available as a podfic read by sallysparrow017

only living boy in new york by beardsley (Mature | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 2,683 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up in a VA hospital in Manhattan, and nothing is the same.

darling heart, i loved you from the start (but that's no excuse for the state i'm in) by voxofthevoid (@voxofthevoid) (Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 19,727 words)

Summary: “I thought you’d make a terrible Nazi but turns out you’d make a terrifying one instead.” The year is 2012. Loki has vanished with the Tesseract, and Manhattan is a blazing wreck. A very tired Steve Rogers goes home and meets another very tired Steve Rogers. Or, the one where Steve saves the mind stone for last and decides to fuck the timeline beyond all recognition, which regrettably involves crawling delicately up Hydra's asshole and less regrettably involves showering a very confused Bucky Barnes with affection.

On a Pale Horse by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (@leveragehunters) (Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 25,765 words)

Summary: Fast and fierce, the Horse Guard protect the Kingdom and its people, and they welcome anyone into their ranks-noble, commoner, or peasant-so long as they can ride a horse like they were born to it. Guard Barnes—Bucky—has come to the Kingdom's largest horse fair to find a new horse. He's supposed to choose from one of the approved horses; instead he finds himself buying a tall, skinny, angry stallion with the ridiculous name of Steve. Bucky can't leave him behind, but he's nothing like what Bucky's looking for and everything Bucky doesn't want. But Bucky's more right than even he knows because Steve's not a horse at all. He's a man under a curse, victim of a powerful sorcerer's temper and magic, and he's bound to never, by action or deed, reveal what he truly is. It's gonna be one hell of a ride. Also available as a podfic read by Tipsy_Kitty (@tipsyxkitty)

Steve Rogers Is (Not) A Good Influence by attackofthezee (noxlunate) (@attackofthezee) (Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 4,181 words)

Summary: Steve’s left staring at the kid- Peter, his brain helpfully reminds him. The kid is staring back. “So, you’re, like, Captain America, huh?” Peter asks, and he looks a little starstruck but less so than he did when he’d stared at Tony Stark’s jet taking off. “Uh, yeah.” Steve says, staring hard at a spot just past the kid’s shoulder as he shoves his hands as deep as they can go into the pockets of his jeans. “Call me Steve.” “Cool.” Parker breathes, and Steve tries not to think about just how badly this is going to go. Aka Steve Rogers' American Tour Of Waiting For His Brainwashed Boyfriend To Come Back And Blowing Up Hydra is interrupted when Tony Stark dumps Peter Parker into his lap.

cascades. by orange_crushed (Mature | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 152,138 words)

Summary: “Holy shit,” Howard says, crackling through the speakers. “You alive in there?” Lying is a sin, of course, but Steve’s not sure what else he can do. He’s already lied to the government and Bucky and God Almighty; and himself, himself most of all. He ought to tell the truth. That he’s not quite what they hoped for. That perhaps they should put him back into the ocean. “Probably,” he says, instead, listening to Howard’s tinny laughter; and waits for the blast doors to unlock. Also available as a podfic read by quietnight (@quietnighty)

Into That Good Night by Nonymos (Explicit | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 73,540 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers has lived for entirely too long—long enough to see the world's end. The heroes are gone, and the Earth is pushing what's left of mankind towards the exit. But when a makeshift team rises from the ashes, when a mysterious presence all but drags Steve there, he begins to think there may be hope yet. As they shoot for the stars one last time, Steve will get proof yet again that the future is nothing if not an echo of the past.

How to Woo the Winter Soldier by writeonclara (@writeonclara) (General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 21,570 words)

Summary: “I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said. “What,” Natasha said. “What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier. “Steve, no,” Clint groaned. Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier. Also available as a podfic read by Akaihyou (@akaihyou)

Bait and Switch by galwednesday (@galwednesday) (Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | 2,650 words)

Summary: "Post-action tacos?” Tony suggested. “I’m thinking that place by Fordham. BattleBot, you in?” “Can’t,” the Soldier said, typing something into his phone. “I have a date.” Tony stopped talking for an entire three seconds. “You. Have a date.” The Soldier looked up and blinked, clearly nonplussed to find Sam and Tony both staring at him. “Yes.” “With who?” “My boyfriend.” “You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend?” Tony looked like he’d just walked into a lamppost, and then the lamppost had handed him a birthday present. Also available as a podfic read by Nendian

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel fic rec #whether or not a story is steve-centric is based purely on vibes so ymmv #please imagine me going through my bookmarks one by one konmari-style and trying to see if they sparked steve feels #also my city used to have a 'biscuit-forward' restaurant and i miss it so much #but it added '[thing]-forward' to my vocabulary and i'm not even sure that's a common and understood construction?

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r1999-transcript · 26 days

Text

The Story of Oliver 03 - Dad Jokes

One or several corny, boring jokes.

Oliver: Well, that’s everything done, more or less… Let me check my work schedule. Good. Then I can clock off now. It’s not that noticeable during the daytime, but as soon as night falls, this forest becomes excruciatingly quiet. Hm…. I hate places that are this silent.

It reminds me of the fog I have to immerse myself in almost daily. Where even my shouts and cries for help are swallowed up by this bedevilled fog.

???: Waaaah!!!

Oliver: What’s this? It’s too dark to see clearly… Critters! And they’re attacking!

???: Squeeeee!!!

Oliver: There’s even more of them than I’d feared… And there’s no kind of natural shelter around… If I stay out, they’ll eventually surround me. Fortunate that I absorbed quite a bit of fog while working this afternoon. It should still be usable… Hah… So this is my reward for all that hard work? No, I shouldn’t think like that. But work’s the reason I ended up in this mess. It looks like there are fewer enemies in that direction… I think I just might break through that way.

A dense fog pours out from above his umbrella, quickly enveloping the surrounding area.

…

Oliver: Phew… That was a narrow escape, all thanks to the fog… At last it seems there aren’t as many critters around here. It’s too dark now, and with the fog, I couldn’t even make out what kind of critters were attacking me… I need to rest for a bit now… I’ll figure out how to get out of here once I catch my breath.

???: Fogwalker, are you alright, my young friend?

Oliver: ?!

A Knight: Are you truly so surprised to see someone here, Fogwalker?

Oliver: …Mr. Knight!

A Knight: Did you think me a Dullahan? Or else what other vile thing did you see as to elicit that reaction on seeing someone here?

Oliver: I thank you for using the word “surprised” instead of “panicked” regarding my reaction.

A Knight: I have no interest in shaming your reaction, Fogwalker.

Oliver: Well then, Mr. Knight, what brings you here?

A Knight, Someone had the sudden impulse to play the part of a stone in the forest. See? Someone’s disguise is quite perfect, is it not? Even your keen eyes failed to detect someone’s presence amid the moss and trees.

Oliver: Don’t you think it would have been even stranger if I had managed to notice you there?

A Knight: Because the night is so dark?

Oliver: Mr. Knight, this kind of banal joke is what we commonly refer to as a “dad joke.” I haven’t heard a line as terrible as that since my father passed. And I’d rather I never heard such a thing again…

A Knight: Please forgive me. Someone didn’t mean to stir up memories from your past. Someone deeply regrets having upset you so.

Oliver: Come now. It was a long time ago. I don’t really care much about it anymore, anyway.

A Knight: In that case, perhaps you might tell someone more about your father? Someone is quite interested in the previous Fogwalker.

Oliver: You want me to tell you about my father? I’d rather not. I can’t think of a single thing worth mentioning about him. He was an ordinary man, and the most ordinary Fogwalker… A Fogwalker who died in the fog. And a failure of a father. He hardly ever spent any time with my mother and me. Every single day, if he wasn’t busy working, he was studying the arcane. And it was only when discussing arcanism that he would display a demeanour alike to an arcanist. He spent his whole life studying and striving to push the arcane techniques of the Fog family forward, hoping to adapt them to the fog we now face in the modern era, but ultimately, it led him to his demise. Ironic, isn’t it? I can scarcely remember what he looked like anymore. The only thing about him that left any sort of lasting impression on me were those few “dad jokes” he made around the dinner table. Terrible, tasteless jokes.

A Knight: But he was a Fogwalker, and there was only one Fogwalker in all London.

Oliver: People have attached a great deal of import to the title “Fogwalker,” but in my opinion, a Fogwalker is not much different from a manure scooper. Devoting yourself or even sacrificing yourself for the sake of your so-called responsibilities… there is nothing more foolish in the entire world. I’ll never live my life the way my father did. He was bound by the title “Fogwalker,” but I won’t let that happen to me.

A Knight: You admire your father greatly. Someone can feel it.

Oliver: I do not… When I was a child, I wanted to become a Fogwalker too, so yes… maybe then I admired my father greatly. But things are different now. It’s only because he used to…

???: Wooooo!!!

Oliver: Damn it! How did these critters ever catch up with me?

Dark shadows rush out from the depths of the forest, encircling the area before there’s time to react. Yet more shadows emerge from the forest depths, like smoke spewing from factory chimneys, thick and relentless.

A Knight: It appears we’ve found ourselves in something of a predicament.

#reverse 1999 #anecdotes #the story of oliver #1.4

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ask-cursed-cat-alastor · 2 months

Note

"Mistakes made" is quite an ominous statement though unsurprisingly so considering it was Alastor talking. Always had to be an elusive fuck about everything important no matter how small a detail. They were just gonna go ahead and assume it was contract related because how else would it happen? "Yeesh, sorry to hear." They couldn't even begin to know what the hell lead to this or who is crazy enough to try. Either way, they're here now.

Jackie nods quietly as the cat demon reiterates its trust of and with Rosie. "I'll coem visit once a week then. Drop off as muuuch meat as I can find." The thought made them smile since the last time they'd had a pet was when they were alive. Hell, always cats too! Though they probably shouldn't be thinking of the arguably greatest demon lord in all of hell as an um, "pet" iiit's kinda hard not to given his state. Ah, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

They nearly jump in surprise as a portal suddenly forms out of what looks like to be its fur. Guess being a cat demon comes with a few of it's own quirks. "Just surprised that you're already so comfortable is all. The Alastor they knew could take years to get comfortable enough with someone to allow open touch. Of course, it could just be a being a cat now thing too. Regardless, they're quick to settle back into a petting motion as soon as he allows.

"Cool cool..." They trail off momentarily, watching him munch on it's snacks. "Forgive me if this is weird at all I'm just-you're usually a couple of feet taller than me. This just feels so weird." They do chuckle at the end though shaking their head. "I'm glad to see your safe." They do sound sincere in their last statement, so used to being silently concerned for the demon that would rather die than ask for help.

Alastor's ears flicked a bit, it would've been a shoulder shrug otherwise to the others sympathetic words on his condition. It wasn't the more ideal situation but Alastor was always able to adapt. Besides---when this was all said and done with and he was able to find the one that caused this, their punishment would be just as sweet. Alastor's eyes narrowed at the other's decision about their guidelines of each visit, a low "Mnnn" rumbling from him as a tendril snaked out from his body with a piece of parchment that when unrolled read-- What's in return--for you?--Your end--in this? Alastor wasn't used to doing things open ended without something being requested in return for services. People always needed things so there must've been something Jackie wanted in return for taking the treats to Alastor. Alastor's head tilted, the sound similar to someone trying to tune an old radio into a station following. Another parchment followed after the prior retreated. Comfort causes mistakes--I adapt. He was never one to trust others no matter what the situation was or how far they had come in knowing one another. It was just how he was, being comfortable didn't get him to the status of Overlord. After having gone back to taking care of the rest of the treats it would raise it's head once finished upon hearing the other comment about their height difference. Alastor turned, the air around it thick with static as it's fur bushed out and it's body morphed to match Jackie's height--except on two legs. Man this looked weird. Garbled chuckling followed,body seemingly vibrating as his upper half slumped forward. Eyes held the smugness, his smile never wavering per the usual. Instead of any parchment/scratching words into he ground--Jackie would be able to hear long draws of breath rumble from Alastor as he'd speak. His voice would be raspy and it was clear it was a chore to do such a thing but..the pain made it more interesting to Alastor..he wanted to see just how far he could push this form whenever he could. "Is this..better?" He asked,more garbled chuckling following but cutting off quickly at Jackie's remark about being glad he was alright. Alastor's form reverted back into it's Cat form as narrowed eyes seemed to stare a hole through Jackie. Without breaking eye-contact he'd scratch into the ground. Y?

#cursed cat alastor #hazbin hotel #ask blog #rp blog #hazbin hotel alastor #cursed cat alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel cursed cat alastor #alastor

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scribbling-dragon · 1 year

Text

Adaptive Nature

Chapter 20

Summary:

"Right, full offense, but that is the worst, possibly the most horrendous, plan I've ever had the misfortune of bearing witness to." Scott snorts a laugh, tipping back slightly in his chair. It wobbles, balancing in the thin line of slamming forward or slamming backwards. He's not sure who he needs to pay to see the latter, but there's some part of him that would love to see Scott flat on his back.

Tango is eyeing him like he's about to shove the chair over, Scott and all, so maybe that's who he should pay to see that come to life.

"Do you have a better idea then?" He asks. Scott frowns at him, chair legs thumping against the ground as he lowers it back down, all four legs firmly on the floor once more. Unfortunate. He was beginning to debate the merits of pushing it over himself. "We're open to suggestions."

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(5,521 words)

(quick reminder that reblogs help a bunch! i super appreciate them, and love seeing the commentary in the tags :D)

Tango is eyeing him like he's about to shove the chair over, Scott and all, so maybe that's who he should pay to see that come to life.

"Do I have a better suggestion than simply balancing all our hopes on one thing going correctly, and if everything goes tits-up, which I am certain it will, then we can at least say we tried, do I have a better suggestion than that?" Scott raises an eyebrow, sighing a moment later as he looks down. "No. No, I do not. As much as I wish some incredible plan may suddenly manifest itself in my mind, fully formed and completed, ready to be carried out to perfection- it just isn't happening. So no, I do not have a better plan. But a lack of a better plan does not remove my right to complain about a shoddy one."

“Right.” He nods along, “So you have nothing else to contribute?” Scott pulls a face at that, leaning his chair backwards again. He wobbles back and forth a little, for a few moments, hand resting against the edge of the table to balance himself as he continues to idly rock back and forth on the back legs of the chair. The table wobbles a little bit with him, the drinks on its surface - so far untouched - rocking back and forth slightly. Scott had brought the drinks out, in some poor mimicry of hospitality that all of them chose not to comment on. He doesn't need to be told not to drink anything, or take anything from Scott in general - Tango had made his distrust of the man rather clear, and whether it was poison or some other arbitrary rule of fae interactions that he is unaware of, he’s not willing to test the limits of Scott’s patience.

“Your plan is still woefully optimistic. It’s almost as though you're expecting the Corruption to simply present itself to you on a silver platter, ready to be diced up and destroyed.” Scott scoffs a laugh, leaning back in his chair a little further before abruptly slamming forward. The tavern is dark around them, the shutters pulled tightly closed, enough to not allow any noise of the outside street to drift inside. It’s odd, there’s hardly a noise from outside, as though everything within Chromia had simply ceased to exist the moment Scott closed the tavern. He decides not to follow that train of thought any further, the conclusions he draws from it a little too eerie for him to consider. “And unless you have a way to sweet talk the Corruption into revealing its location, then you're hardly going to find it.”

“I don't have a way to sweet talk the Corruption into revealing itself,” he establishes, though none of them had actually believed that was the case. Scott’s half-smothered laugh at his expense communicates that easily enough. “But,” he watches Scott a little more carefully, who has not yet leaned back in his seat again, no longer rocking idly back and forth, toying with cracking his head open on his own tavern floor, “we do have someone else we can sweet talk into telling us where it is.”

He smiles, watching as Scott’s face screws up, obviously processing what he’s just said, because dropping into annoyance and irritation, eyes flashing again as Scott looks back at him, away from where he had been pulling faces at Tango. “You can’t…sweet talk me.” Scott says, face returning to its usual expression, fingers tapping along the edge of the table. His rings flash in the small pools of light the shutters allow in, glinting in the darkness that seems determined to swallow the rest of the tavern whole. He keeps his eyes focused on Scott’s face, and when he’s not looking at Scott, he watches Tango instead. He is wary of watching the shadows pool in the corners, wary of seeing them devour the edges of the tavern as they slowly creep closer, forming into almost-recognisable shapes that he can see from the corner of his eye and is desperately trying to ignore.

“Sheriff,” Scott snaps his fingers in front of his face, entirely too loud after the roaring silence that had filled his ears. He jerks back, away from the offending hand, giving Scott as nasty a glare that he can muster. His hands continue to shake, even as he wills his frustration to boil over and manifest in the withering look he turns on Scott. His heart rate spiked, hands continuing to tremble even as Scott leans back, resuming that awful tapping rhythm on the table that he’s picked up in favour of rocking back and forth on his chair. Maybe he’s realised how vulnerable it makes him look, rocking back and forth in a way that could be so easily unbalanced; the tapping of his fingers, the clicking of his nails against the polished wood, does nothing to hide his discomfort and unease. Neither does it disguise nor distract from the way his eyes dart about, subtly turning his head around as though he, too, is looking for the almost-people that linger in the shadows.

“Yes.” He bites out. Stress is running high, every negative emotion they could possibly conceive is running high right now. And yet they continue the pretence of a civil conversation. One carried out over drinks none of them have touched, in a half-assed attempt at hospitality that fell flat on its way through the door. Any sense of hospitality the tavern might have held disappeared the moment Scott pressed a knife to his throat. “What is it?”

“I was asking what you plan to do when you find the Corruption.” Scott says, eyes flicking away from his own pointedly, staring at the wall to his left. It doesn't last long, Scott glancing back at him again, eyes narrowed. “How you plan to…get rid of it.”

“I'm going to kill it.” It should be obvious. He’s rather certain they've already discussed this at some point when they were going over their shoddy plan (which is still better than anything Scott has come up with, because Scott has come up with nothing), and they’d established that they were going to kill the Corruption when they found it, attempt to destroy it completely in the hopes that they don't have to face another cataclysmic event on the same level as the Rapture. “I had hoped that would be obvious.”

“Killing it is perhaps obvious,” Scott shrugs one shoulder, an obvious attempt at nonchalance that is laughably easy to see through. “But what I'm more interested in is how you intend to kill it. Tell me, Sheriff, have you ever held a weapon other than the bow before? Or is that where your proficiencies with weaponry end?”

“I-” He cuts himself off, turning back to face Scott. Scott smiles at him, pleasant and also far too sharp around the edges. “How do you know I use a bow?”

Scott smiles a little wider, though no more sharp. His teeth peek out from behind his lips as he grins, pushing his hair back over his shoulder. “Come now, Sheriff. Surely you've realised that I know far more than I should, at this point? You don't exist for centuries upon centuries, with only yourself for entertainment, and not pick up a few tricks here and there.” Scott winks at him, then, mismatched eyes flashing as he leans back, caught in a pool of light that streams through the shutters. “So, do you use any other weapon? Or is it just the bow?”

He stares at Scott for a moment longer, realising very quickly that he’ll just look stupid if he says he uses another weapon and then cannot back it up. “No.” He replies, “Any other weapon that I might have used would be inconvenient now.”

“Inconvenient how?” Scott asks.

“Throwing myself into the centre of a fight is hardly the most advisable thing, especially when I could pick them off from afar.” He says. Scott watches him for a moment longer, considering him for a moment, as though he’s going to suddenly switch up and tell him, yes, actually, I use another weapon, allow me to just pull it from my bottomless pit of a bag! Scott must see something that brings him to a similar conclusion, as he sinks back in his chair once more, though in disappointment rather than satisfaction.

“But did you use any other weapon before?” Scott asks. There’s a slight lilt to his voice, something that wraps uncomfortably around him as Scott’s eyes flash. They seem to glow in the darkness of the room around them, two pinpricks of light among the blurred greys and blues of the tavern, the only thing he can focus on.

His throat aches as he grits his jaw, clenching his teeth together as he swallows. His throat clicks. “Yes.” It feels like there’s some blockage in his throat, something that’s trying to force its way into his mouth. He feels like he’s going to vomit. “Though it wasn't technically a weapon.” Scott nods along as he speaks, eyes still glowing. He finds he cannot look away from Scott’s face, transfixed by the shimmering of his eyes, “There was little use for weapons where I lived, the-”

“Scott,” Tango snaps, and he’s between him and Scott a moment later, breaking the line of sight between them. He snaps back, both in surprise at Tango’s sudden interruption and also because he realised he was leaning too far forward, on the verge of overbalancing. His eyes sting, and he blinks, feeling a few tears bead in the corners of his eyes as he tries to rid them of the stinging dryness that hadn't been there a few moments ago. “That was a nasty trick to pull.” Tango growls.

“Oh, come now, Brimstone,” Scott’s still leaning back in his chair, leisurely, despite the grip Tango has on his collar, claws digging into the fabric and threatening to tear. Scott doesn't flinch, remaining unblinking in the face of Tango’s anger. “You cannot tell me his dodging and weaving of the question wasn't making you curious? I simply asked him. If he was not willing to share the answer it would not have been given so willingly, you and I both know this.”

Scott curls a hand around Tango’s wrist, loosening his fingers from his collar and pulling the hand away from his throat. Tango’s tail lashes at the action, but he steps back before Scott can repeat the motion with his other hand. “You and I both also know that is a lie.” Tango all but snarls, still standing between him and Scott, physically blocking them from each other.

“We all know that we don't have the time to be wasting on these petty arguments.” Scott reaches out a hand, pushing at Tango’s chest with two fingers, nudging him back another step. “Sit down, before I make you.”

Tango growls something beneath his breath, eyes flashing as he turns back to his chair. When he does sit down, he drags his chair closer to him, until they're almost sat shoulder to shoulder and facing Scott, rather than all at opposing angles around a table.

“So,” Scott looks back at him, head tilting to the side. His eyes still glow a little, though not as brightly as before nor as intensely. “Tell me, what weapon is it that you use?”

“A…stick.” The obstacle lodged in his throat is gone, and with it the sick feeling disappears too. He files it away for later, something to ask Tango whenever they next have a calm moment.

“A stick.” Scott’s face shutters, smoothing over entirely as his eyes grow unfocused. “Just…a stick?”

“Or a staff,” he offers, “they're practically the same thing.” This does not seem to make Scott feel any better, his expression changing from the forcefully neutral mask he’s currently wearing to one of disappointment, more intense than before, and then resignation.

It is with this look of resignation that Scott sighs, dropping his head and muttering something he can't understand, too rapid and certainly not spoken in the Common tongue. Tango’s face twists, nose scrunching as he glares at Scott. Scott looks up. “Oh, come on Brimstone, you cannot expect me to be pleased by this. I've heard the prophecy, I wrote the goddamn thing, but you cannot tell me I should have expected this.”

“I remember there being mentions of a test of patience,” Tango says. “One that I do believe you are failing at this very moment.”

Scott’s eyes narrow at Tango, then look back at him. “I am not failing, I am simply considering my- our options.” Scott hums, eyes flicking over him, a thoughtful look taking over his face again. “How long did you say it was since you last used a staff?”

He wants to say he didn't, but Scott’s eyes are a little brighter in the dim light, too captivating to look away from. “Four years.” He coughs after he speaks, throat dry and feeling as though he'd swallowed several mouthfuls of sand in the process of speaking.

“Stop doing that.” Tango warns. “We’re wasting time here! You know where we need to go, you know everything of value to this - give us the answers or it won't just be us suffering for your pride. It will be Pixl suffering too, you’ll have thrown away our attempts at saving him for…what? Some petty desire to remind us that you know more than us at every turn?”

The air smells of smoke. The smell of heat and dryness gathers in his mouth, so often a forewarning to the bush fire that is itching to begin. He raises a hand, encircling Tango’s wrist and tugging it away from the table, ignoring the claw marks it leaves behind. His hand is hot, far more than would be comfortable to hold usually. He ignores it, squeezing Tango’s hand as Scott continues to watch them impassively.

Despite the several interactions he’s had with the man, he is still impossible to understand. An enigma in every sense of the word, something that simply does not make sense, constantly shifting and changing until looking at the puzzle from every angle only serves to further confuse you on what you are actually looking at. He cannot tell if it is purposefully crafted like that, or if it is simply how everyone of his kind acts. Still, Scott sits there, entirely impassive despite how Tango is vibrating with the urge to throw himself across the table at him. The fact that he continues to smile through it is unnerving.

“I cannot tell you what it is you need to know.” Scott stands from his seat, sweeping to his feet in a blur of fabrics and colour. “I'm sure you're aware of that by now, and the way you continue to vent your anger to me, as though I can help you, is beyond me.”

“How you manage to maintain friendships is beyond me.” Tango huffs. He squeezes his hand, warmth pulsing through where they're touching. It makes him shiver, despite the heat of it.

Scott hums, not choosing to respond, simply slipping out of the room and away. The door swings shut behind him, creaking a little in the silence that his exit leaves behind him. He can hear the wind outside, ears twitching at the sudden lack of sound, straining to pick up the faintest whisper of leaves against the cobbles.

Tango sighs, heavy and forceful as he seems to simply…deflate, sinking down into his chair, chin resting on his chest. Tango pulls his hand free of the loose grip, burying his hands in his hair instead, claws no doubt digging into his scalp. He sighs again.

“It’s going to be okay.” He attempts.

“How!” Tango bursts out, the sudden volume enough to make him recoil. “How can it be okay?” Tango doesn't even look at him, hands dropping to grip at his ears, tugging on them as he leans forward, hunched over as though he’s about to vomit. “Nothing can be okay, everything’s going to shit, if it hasn't already, and all we’ve got is Mr. Un-Fucking-Helpful over there to help us find this goddamn heart of corruption.” He hisses out a breath as he finishes.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says again, continuing before Tango can continue his protests. “No, don't look at me like that. I don't care, yeah, some things might have gone to shit, but it’s not everything, not yet. If everything had gone to shit we’d all be dead right now, and we wouldn't be sat here having this conversation. If everything had gone to shit, we wouldn't be sat here, trying to figure out what to do to sort everything out.”

“We don't have much time before everything does go to shit, though.” Tango says, voice a little quieter than the angry, loud tones of before. His voice wavers a little, and all it does is make the guilt bubbling in his stomach boil a little hotter. Without his arrival, there would have been no spark to start the fire- without him ever meeting Pixl, or Tango, or anyone here, everything would have been fine. The Corruption would have never reared its ugly head and tried to kill everyone.

“But we have time.” He needs Tango to believe him, because if Tango believes him then he might be able to believe himself a little more. He can tell Tango a hundred ways this could go wrong, his mind only able to find a handful of half-baked solutions that don't even begin to outweigh the direness of the situation. “We have time, and we can use that time. Even if we have to drag the answers out of Scott by force.”

Tango laughs. “That’s certainly something I’d pay to see,” he shakes his head, “but Scott would sooner kill you than tell you anything.”

“He’ll be a little harder to kill with a weapon, at least.” A staff is forced into his hands, head snapping up to find Scott, stood just a few feet away, sword hanging from his belt. “Oh, come on, where’s the faith in me? I've got you a weapon, congrats! You're a little harder to kill now.” He continues to stare at Scott.

Scott rolls his eyes, flicking his braid back over his shoulder, before reaching forward to grasp his hands, wrapping them around the staff, making sure he has a firm grip on it before pulling him to his feet. “Do I have to do everything around here?”

“How am I meant to do anything if you don't tell us what you're doing. I'm not a mind reader.” He snaps, pulling his arm out of Scott’s grip. Tango trails behind him, crossing his arms and glaring at Scott too.

“Fine,” Scott shoves the door he’d been dragging him towards open, allowing light to stream in. “If you can beat me in a fight, I’ll tell you what you need to know. No shame in loosening your tongue when your life’s on the line, hm?”

He continues to stand there, picking apart Scott’s words. There doesn't seem to be any hidden, second meaning to them, but Tango had given him firm instructions on how to interact with fae. The way they pull you into their deals and contracts, spinning a yarn until you're tangled in their web of lies and suddenly you owe them your life, and the lives of all your descendants.

He can't find any second meaning to Scott’s words. It does what it says on the tin, apparently. Tango seems to agree with him too, if the nudge in the small of his back, urging him forward, is any indicator. He steps forward, and Scott breaks out into a grin, the sheer glee on his face almost concerning.

He ignores the several concerning thoughts that force themselves to the forefront of his mind (the loudest of which remind him that this man in front of him, the one grinning with childlike glee at the prospect of getting to fight him, is also the rumoured murderer among the rulers of this land). Instead of mulling over those concerning, and also rather off-putting, thoughts he steps forward, following Scott outside.

There’s a small arena, dust-filled, and certainly not something he remembers seeing on the two times he’s visited this tavern. Scott is stood at the centre, sword drawn and metal glinting in the light.

The wood in his hands feels a little heavier as he steps forward. It’s rough against his palm, scraping against fingers that no longer have the callouses needed to protect his skin from the wear and tear of this specific weapon. The staff is heavier than the one he was familiar with; this one has been created with the intent to harm, to brute force someone into submission. The one he was accustomed to carrying was lighter, perfect for guiding livestock from horseback and the occasional smack to anything too close.

He swallows, stepping into the arena. It sinks a little, below his heel, and he has to readjust his balance. Scott continues to grin at him, watching him until he reaches the centre, stood opposite to him. Only then, does he extend a hand, fingers slightly spread as he offers it up for a handshake. The sharpened nails on his hand gleam a little in the sunlight as he considers the possibility of an unspoken deal, placed upon him without his knowing.

He glances over at where Tango stands, just beyond the boundary line of the arena. Tango nods, and so he takes Scott’s hand, not quite shaking it, simply squeezing it, both of them staring into each other’s eyes. The smell of ozone, before ignorable, surges forward, filling his senses entirely.

“You know the conditions,” Scott says, eyes sparking. “If you manage to defeat me, I shall tell you whatever knowledge it is that you seek, forbidden or not. However, if you fail in this duel, I shall be unable to help you, are we clear?”

“Yes.” He does not hesitate. He is beyond the point of hesitance. The last of it had been shed the moment Scott handed him a weapon and challenged him to a fight. That hesitance had been chased from his mind the moment his heart began to thrum, adrenaline pumping through his veins and blood beginning to roar in his ears.

“Very well,” Scott pulls his hand back, swift in his movements, “then we shall begin.”

Scott disappears from in front of him, simply a blur of motion and movement that is impossible to track. He’s forced to spin, hands still gripping the staff far too tight, and thrust it forward in a shoddy block. Scott’s sword digs into the wood, almost becoming stuck before Scott pulls it back again, bouncing back a few steps.

He hardly seems to touch the ground, feet grazing over it uselessly instead, drifting rather than walking. He’s gone again a moment later, the shing of metal ringing in his ears. He ducks, moving to the side and bringing the staff up.

It slams into Scott’s side, sending shocks up his arm as Scott wheezes, stumbling slightly. It breaks the illusion of grace he had applied to himself before, but he recovers quickly, still grinning.

He doesn't see him move, simply hears the shifting of air behind him, the brush of breath over the back of his neck. Then he’s spitting a mouthful of dirt out, blinking dust from his eyes as his head spins, glancing upwards. Scott leans over him, putting more weight behind his foot, the foot which is currently digging into the small of his back.

“You're a little rusty,” Scott says, faux sympathy mocking him as he digs his heel in a little further. He grits his teeth, rolling over, taking Scott’s leg with him. Scott obviously doesn’t expect it, stumbling a little, though it is too slow to save him from the hands wrapping around his ankle, behind his knee, and yanking.

Scott falls to the ground beside him, landing on his back, gasping as the air is knocked from his lungs. He pulls on Scott’s leg again, pulling himself upwards and hanging over Scott. His staff lies, abandoned, just out of reach. Scott’s sword is out of reach too, fingers twitching around something his hand no longer holds.

“I was just getting warmed up,” he responds, hovering over Scott for a moment, hand pressed into his shoulder, hard enough that he can feel the bone beneath his hand, sharp and digging into his flesh. Scott grins, teeth that are far too sharp flashing into sight as he jerks forward.

Instinctively, he jerks back, Scott’s head missing his own by inches, inches from colliding with his own. Scott uses the opportunity to scramble upwards, clothes now dirtied by dust from their brief tussle on the ground, sword already back in hand, raised towards him.

“If your warm-up was sufficient, then,” Scott nudges the blade a little closer to him, too far to be a true threat, but the message behind it is clear. “I suggest you pick your weapon back up, Sheriff.”

He snatches it from the ground moments before Scott’s sword plunges into the spot it had been previously, tucking himself into a roll and onto his feet, spinning to face Scott. He twirls his staff in his hands, muscles familiar with the motion even if the mind is not. He brings its spinning to a halt, glancing down at the wood with a grin, then looking back up at Scott.

He moves before Scott, this time, gets the satisfaction of watching him spin, sword up to block the hit of his staff. It does very little but send Scott skidding back, forcing him to give up ground as the force of his staff does far more than the force of his sword does. The shock of the hit landing vibrates up his arms again, but he relaxes his muscles, loosens his hold on the staff until it doesn't rattle him as thoroughly as before.

He can feel grit between his teeth, sticking to his lips as he grins, lips peeling back from his face. He pushes off of Scott, pulling his staff back, spinning on his heel to give himself the momentum to land another ferocious strike.

Scott’s arms tremble with the force of keeping the staff away from his head, sword shivering in his grip as he simply continues to push downwards, pushing Scott backwards, nudging him back and back and back.

The dust kicks up around them, and Scott pulls back, darting out of the way before the staff can collide with him. His feet skid over the ground as he moves, no longer the graceful, ethereal being he had tried to hold himself as. His mask shatters, cracking at the very centre and falling apart to reveal the person beneath. And that person has wide eyes, fast breathing, and a panicked demeanour that only makes his heart thump harder, blood roaring louder.

He strikes at Scott, again, pulls back when he blocks it, twisting to the side, trying again. Strike after strike, block after block, swift movement after swift motion, the dust swirling around their ankles, gathering in their mouths and sticking to their skin. His chest heaves, and Scott’s does too. His heart rabbits in his chest, beating wildly as he thrusts his staff forward, following the motion, bringing them far closer than before.

He can see Scott’s pupils this close, slitted and thin as his eyes dart around, far too focused on the face a few inches in front of him than anything else. He sweeps Scott’s legs from beneath him, yanking at his ankles with the side of his foot, bringing him crashing to the ground.

He doesn't release his sword, fingers tightening, curling, around the hilt of it. He presses down on Scott’s wrist, can feel the thrumming of his heartbeat beneath the skin of his hand. He keeps Scott’s hand pressed into the dirt and dust, ignores the creaking of bone and clenched jaw of Scott.

Instead, he looks into his eyes, watches as they continue to glow and shimmer, shifting beneath the light.

“Yield.” He says, his own voice hardly audible beneath the blood roaring in his ears. His mind buzzing with everything and nothing, simultaneously full and empty, until he’s left light-headed and dizzy, still staring down at Scott. Scott, who has refused to yield, jaw clenched and lips thin. He pushes down on Scott’s wrist a little harder, pressing a hand flat against his chest to bear his weight. He can feel how Scott’s heartbeat increases, can feel the thumping staccato it beats out against his ribs. “Yield,” he repeats, “you can't recover from this. You're tired, far too tired to continue with the pace we’re going at. You stand again, you will stumble, and we’ll be right back here once more.” He pushes Scott’s wrist into the ground, can feel the bones shifting beneath his grip, feels the tendons in his wrist flex as he attempts to maintain his grasp on his sword. “Yield.”

“I yield,” Scott gasps out, head thumping back against the dirt, eyes closing as he breathes out. “You've defeated me, congratulations.” Scott peeks open an eye, finding him still staring down at him. “Well? Get off me then, I'm not telling you what you need to know like this.”

He stands, though reluctantly, heart returning to a semi-normal pace, coming down from the high of a fight of the kind he hasn't experienced in years. And even previous experience with fights was nothing more than the scraps he’d get into with his brother and sister.

The staff doesn't feel as heavy as before, settling comfortably in his hand. He watches as Scott pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the hand he so kindly offers him, focusing on dusting off his clothes, as though a few strokes would be enough to return them to their previous state of eye-searing brightness.

He doesn't move from where he stands, watching Scott as though he’s about to bolt. And he does seem like the type to do that, to lose and suddenly have to face the consequences of a deal he made; and rather than facing those consequences, he seems far more likely to run.

He blocks the way back to the tavern, when Scott goes to take a step towards it, placing himself between Scott and the doorway back to the tavern. Scott simply stops, sighing.

“Do you seriously want to do this right now?” He asks.

“Yes,” he steps forward, nudging his staff towards Scott’s face, forcing him to back away from the door. “I want you to tell me where the Corruption is. I want to know where that forgotten heart lies.”

“The heart lies where a heart always does.” Scott says, looking down at him, as though he’s stupid. It makes him bristle, his temper beginning to reach the end of its fuse as Scott continues to weave a web of words around him. “A heart can hardly move on its own, it does not possess the ability to sprout legs and walk away, does it?”

“And where does the heart lie?”

“Where it always has,” Scott repeats, “it lies in the place its predecessor was felled. It festered and it grew, corrupted into something entirely new, something that should not have been discovered.” Scott looks at him, eyes sharp, “You always dig too deep, you never know your limits.”

“It’s in the mountains!” Tango’s shout startles him, he’d almost forgotten the other was there. “If it was where the last Corruption died, before the Rapture, then it’s in the mountains.”

“The mountains are large,” Scott says, “how do you know you’re in the right spot?”

He hums at that, looking back at Tango for a moment. He nudges his staff a little closer to Scott, watching it dig into the skin of his throat before he backs up another step. “Because you know where the Corruption died. You watched it wither, and you knelt beside your ruler as it died.” Scott’s jaw clenches, though he doesn't offer any protest. “It’s time to make good on your deal, Scott.”

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anonymousewrites · 4 months

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Logos and Pathos (Book 3) Chapter Eleven

TOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Eleven: Caging Past

Summary: Spock, (Y/N), and Bones begin to feel the changes in themselves as they adapt to the past. None are good.

(Y/N)’s eyes opened as a blissful warmth swept over them. Groaning, they blinked and sat up.

“Hey, watch it, you were close to getting pneumonia,” said Bones, appearing beside them as they pushed the blanket off of them slightly. “Let’s not do that again.” He was gruff, but it was clear he cared.

“Where are we?” asked (Y/N) in confused. “We were in the snow, and I was tired…”

“Zarabeth found us and guided us here,” said Spock, pushing slightly past Bones to help (Y/N) sit up. His hand lay on their arm and didn’t move as he spoke. “Just relax. You should not overexert yourself.” He didn’t want them to suffer again. In fact, he disliked it whenever it happened. He much preferred (Y/N) happy and healthy.

Behind him, a young woman in heavy pelts stood and nodded before stepping forward. “Why are you all here?”

“What do you mean?” asked Bones.

“Are you prisoners, too?” said Zarabeth.

“Prisoners?” said (Y/N), pulling the blanket around themself as they tried to figure out their situation. Their body was slowly recovering, and now their mind had the energy to focus on the issues at hand, namely how to get to Kirk and back to the Enterprise. Spock tucked the blanket in around them to ensure they were warm.

Zarabeth nodded as if it was obvious. “This is one of the places Zor Kahn sends people when he wants them to disappear.” She cocked her head, and her curiosity swept over (Y/N) like a breeze of wind. “Didn’t you come in through the time portal?’

“Yes, we came through the time portal but not as prisoners,” said Spock.

“It was an unfortunate mistake,” sighed Bones.

“Oh.”

(Y/N) furrowed their brow. Zarabeth’s disappointment weighed on their shoulders. Why would she want us to be prisoners?

“The atavachron is far away, but I think you come from someplace farther than that,” said Zarabeth, continuing on with a smile, and her previous melancholy disappeared.

“That’s right,” said Bones while Spock didn’t answer and instead fussed with (Y/N)’s blanket again as it slipped from a shoulder. “We’re not from here at all. All of our home planets are millions of lightyears away.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” exclaimed Zarabeth, smiling widely. “I’ve always loved books of such possibilities.” Her face fell. “But…they are only stories. This…isn’t real. I must be imagining all this.”

She sobbed, and (Y/N) winced as her sadness turned piercing sharp. Spock’s eyebrows narrowed slightly at (Y/N)’s discomfort, and his gaze was harsh as he looked at Zarabeth, displeased with her disturbing (Y/N).

“Hey, hey.” Bones took Zarabeth’s hands to stop her from spiraling. “Listen to me. I am firmly convinced that we do exist. You’re not imagining this. I mean, I wouldn’t be so darn cold if I wasn’t real.”

“Oh…” sighed Zarabeth, trying to stop her tears. “I-I’ve been here for so long…alone. When I saw you out there, I couldn’t believe it.” She sobbed again, and the mixture of sadness at her loneliness and relief at the companionship she finally found washed over (Y/N). Luckily, a few moments was all she needed before composing herself, and Bones sighed in relief at her recovery.

“Doctor,” said Spock, and Bones looked at him. “Would you please check over (Y/N) for any signs of further damage to their skin from the frostbite?” He would much rather do it himself, but he had to admit Bones was more experienced. Still, Spock would prefer to take care of (Y/N) himself.

“Oh, right, of course,” said Bones, kneeling and looking at (Y/N)’s hands. Spock stared at the touch of hands and frowned minutely for a moment.

“What about the Captain?” asked (Y/N), and the two men and Zarabeth looked at her. “We need to get back to him soon.”

“You are in no condition to travel through that storm again,” said Spock protectively. “You must rest.”

“Spock and I can go and try to figure out a way to Jim,” said Bones. “Spock’s right. You need time to recover.”

“No, I shall remain with (Y/N),” said Spock. “Zarabeth may act as your guide, and I need to stay with my T’hy’la to ensure they recover.”

Bones and (Y/N) exchanged a look at Spock’s words. That was strangely forward of him. Not to mention, although Spock often subconsciously prioritized (Y/N) because he loved them, he would never outright state that he would choose them over duty. It was always implied. Even (Y/N) knew that was strange. Still, although Bones was a bit concerned, (Y/N) found it flattering and found themself quite unworried. Rather, they enjoyed the attention and smiled slightly.

“But Spock, what about you two?” said Bones, surprised Spock would leave such a job up to just him and Zarabeth. Bones knew Spock and thought that although he loved (Y/N) he would ordinarily make sure the actual doctor there would stay with them and go with Zarabeth since he had more experience with the science-y stuff needed to get back to Kirk. Bones didn’t like to admit Spock was as much of his friend as he really was, but he knew his friend, and that was strange behavior.

Spock considered. “Zarabeth has been here quite some time and likely has knowledge of the atavachron and possibly how to get to the Captain. It is logical to take her with you first. I assure you, I am capable of caring for (Y/N).”

Bones remained unsure and clearly refused to leave just yet without knowing Spock and (Y/N) would be alright. He wouldn’t leave them behind.

(Y/N) glanced at Zarabeth. After her disappointment at them not being prisoners stuck her, (Y/N) distrusted her. “Zarabeth,” they said. “You said you were brought here as a prisoner. May I ask why?” They needed to know if she had hurt anyone. If she had, she could try to hurt them, and (Y/N) refused to let that happen. In fact, if (Y/N) could just get close enough, they could probably send enough fear or sadness through her to keep her from even thinking of harming them. As soon as the thought appeared in their head, (Y/N) brushed it away. No, that would be an abuse of their power. Still, if absolutely needed…

“My crime was in choosing my kinsmen unwisely,” said Zarabeth. “Two of them were involved in a conspiracy to kill Zor Kahn.”

“I remember that name from the history tapes in the library,” said Spock. “Zor Kahn, the tyrant.”

It’s always a “Kahn,” thought (Y/N), shivering as they remembered Khan Noonien Singh. Spock noticed their shiver and checked over the blanket and their condition once more.

“It was not enough that he execute my kinsmen,” said Zarabeth. “Zor Kahn determined to destroy our entire family. He used the atavachron to send us to places no one could ever find us.”

“Zarabeth,” said (Y/N). “We need to return to Mr. Atoz and the atavachron. Will you make sure Bones gets to where it opened the portal here?” So far they hadn’t sensed any worrying emotions other than the usual grief associated with such a tragedy as losing family, but they needed to keep checking.

“You could come with us, too, and be released. Zor Kahn is long gone,” assured Bones. “We can send you and (Y/N) to the ship while Spock and I keep searching for our Captain.”

Spock found the sudden desire to negate the idea of leaving (Y/N) to the care of anyone but himself, but he remained quiet.

“I can’t go through the portal again,” said Zarabeth sadly. “If I do, I will die.”

“You can’t go back?” asked Bones.

Zarabeth shook her head. “None of us can go back.”

The sadness weighed down on (Y/N), but something else rested just beneath it, and the hidden emotion crawled up (Y/N)’s skin. Their eyes narrowed, and they pulled at the feeling, trying to figure out what it was before letting go. They shouldn’t intrude on someone else’s emotions like that.

“When we come through the portal, we are changed by the atavachron,” continued Zarabeth. “That is its function. Our basic cell structure is adjusted to the time we enter.” She looked each Starfleet officer in the eyes. “If you go through the portal again, you will die by the time you reach the other side.”

“We’re trapped here?” breathed Bones, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened. They reached out to Spock and held his arm as they realized their predicament had just gotten worse. In fact, it now felt hopeless.

“Yes,” said Zarabeth. “And your captain is also trapped in whatever time he appeared in.”

The group sat silently as Zarabeth handed out soup bowls. Spock watched to make sure (Y/N) had their warm dinner before sipping his own. Their health was still his top concern.

“This is very good, thank you, Zarabeth,” said (Y/N).

She smiled. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”

Bones grinned. “Well, if you’re well enough to enjoy food, then it looks like you’re recovering well.”

“I hope so,” said (Y/N). “I mean, I’m not stuck in the cold anymore, and you and Spock have been helping me, so of course I’m improving.” They, Spock, and Bonse finished their dinner and handed their bowls to Zarabeth. “Thank you again.”

“My pleasure. I’m happy to help. It’s been so long since I’ve had company that I’m just glad to have others here,” said Zarabeth, rising and taking the bowls with her to store.

“I wonder where Jim is,” said Bones suddenly.

“Who knows?” said Spock. “We can only hope that he is well, wherever he is.”

Bones and (Y/N) were startled by the cold reply and glanced at once another.

Bones cleared his throat and turned to (Y/N). “Let me look over you again. At this point, the final symptoms of your frostbite should be gone.”

“Alright,” said (Y/N).

Bones’s tricorder wouldn’t work, just as their phasers wouldn’t, so he took their hands and examined their fingers for signs of extended frostbite issues.

Spock suddenly pulled Bones back, and the doctor jerked at the sudden movement. (Y/N) jumped up.

“Spock!” they cried in shock.

Spock didn’t heed their cry and looked at Bones coldly. “Do not touch my t’hy’la so casually,” he said, words curt and sharp.

(Y/N) and Bones’s eyes widened.

“Spock, what the hell has gotten into you?” said Bones, grabbing the hand that held the collar of his shirt.

“I don’t want you acting so familiar with my t’hy’la,” said Spock forcefully.

“I’m a doctor, for god’s sake, and (Y/N) is my friend!”

Spock’s grip tightened.

“Spock!” (Y/N)’s voice cut through the tension, and Spock paused, listening to them. “Let go of Bones right now.” Spock stared at them, and (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “Now.” Spock let go and stepped back. (Y/N) moved between them, and their gaze softened. “Spock, what’s happening to you?”

“I’m protecting my t’hyla. I’m protecting you,” said Spock.

(Y/N) reached up and cupped his cheek. “I understand. But you can’t hurt Bones. He’s our friend. Take some time and collect yourself.”

Spock was silent before turning and walking away.

�� (Y/N) looked at Bones. “Something starting to affect Spock. He’s losing control of himself. It doesn’t make sense.” They shifted. “And I think it’s affecting me, too. I’ve had to stop myself from using my abilities on you all. I’ve never wanted to do that before.”

Bones started. “Were your ancestors like that?”

(Y/N) frowned. “What?”

“Did your ancestors use their abilities on each other?” asked Bones.

“Uh, yes. When Celians first developed empathy, it was during a time of war when we nearly destroyed ourselves. It was just from feeling the pain we caused each other that we learned to stop and understand one another instead of fighting,” said (Y/N).

“And the Vulcans were volatile before they became logical,” said Bones.

“Oh,” (Y/N) realized what Bones was getting at. “We’re becoming our ancestors.”

“From five thousand years in the past,” said Bones grimly.

“We need to tell Spock. He’ll be able to resist it more if he knows,” said (Y/N).

“You be the one to tell him. He’s not a fan of me right now.” Bones huffed. “Never knew the hobgoblin could get so jealous.”

(Y/N) frowned. “If this is a gradual change, doesn’t that mean it hasn’t been completed yet?”

“I hope so. I don’t need Spock like that forever. I know I call him cold, but I sure as hell don’t need that,” said Bones.

“Zarabeth told us that the atavachron had changed us.” (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. “I wonder if that was a miscommunication or intentional.”

“Let’s go find out,” said Bones.

The pair moved out of the back chamber and to where Zarabeth was arranging the bowls and Spock stood quietly to the side, staring outside at the storm.

“Spock,” said (Y/N), and he turned instantly.

“You should be resting, T’hy’la,” said Spock, taking their arm.

“Spock, we all need to talk,” said (Y/N).

“What’s the matter?” asked Zarabeth, standing up.

“We haven’t changed yet. Not as you said,” said (Y/N). Zarabeth was silent, and nerves flashed through her emotions. They glanced at Spock worriedly. “But we are changing.”

“What?” asked Spock.

“What they mean, Spock, is that we’re reverting to our ancestors’ states from five thousand years ago,” said Bones.

Spock straightened. The explanation made sense. Of course, he was so protective of (Y/N). Of course, he was rough with Bones. His emotions weren’t controlled yet. None of the Vulcans were logical yet.

“I’ve lost myself,” said Spock.

“No, you haven’t. Not yet,” said (Y/N), touching his arm in comfort, and Spock relaxed at the touch. “But we need to leave.”

“We cannot,” said Spock.

“We can.” Bones turned to face Zarabeth. “She is the only one of us that can’t get back because she’s completely reverted back since she’s been here so long.”

“And she’s lonely, so she wanted us to stay.” (Y/N) winced after they spoke. There had been no kindness in their voice. They were changing, and they didn’t like it. They took a deep breath and gazed at Zarabeth. “Tell us the truth, Zarabeth.” They spoke evenly, firmly enough that Zarabeth should speak but not unkindly. They understood she was unfortunately desperate for companionship. “Can we go back?” But she couldn’t keep them here.

“I don’t know,” said Zarabeth, looking away as sadness washed over her. “I only know that I can’t go back.”

“Will you guide us back to where we came out?” asked (Y/N).

Zarabeth nodded shakily before looking up at them, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m so alone.”

“I know,” said (Y/N), choosing kindness in the face of everything changing. They would always choose kindness.

Dressed in warm pelts, the group pushed through the wind and snow to the cliffside they had appeared on. Unfortunately, as they pushed on and examined the frozen rock, nothing happened. If there had been a portal there, it was gone now.

“There’s no portal here,” said Spock, the first to voice their situation. He glanced at (Y/N), who had their cloak pulled tightly around them. “T’hy’la, you’re still too ill to stay out here for so long. We must go.” (Y/N) shook their head. They wouldn’t stay there and lose themselves. “Please, T’hy’la. There is no portal.”

“Bones! Spock! (L/N)!” A familiar voice appeared over the window, and the Starfleet officers lit up (except Spock, who still had his emotionless face, thankfully). It was Kirk. He was there, again, speaking to them.

“It’s Jim!” cried Bones.

“We’re here, Captain!” called (Y/N), letting Spock pull them to him to get warmer again.

“Can you still hear me?” said Kirk.

“We hear you perfectly, Captain,” said Spock.

“Follow my voice!” said Kirk. “Come on, follow my voice!” The group felt along the cliffside with Zarabeth walking behind them. “Do you hear me? Keep following my voice.” They stopped at the place the sound was loudest.

“This must be it,” said Bones.

“What are you waiting for? Hurry!” called Kirk.

(Y/N) turned to face Zarabeth and reached out to her. She took their hand, and (Y/N) felt the grief and loneliness she carried with her all the more strongly. (Y/N) let their emotions of thankfulness and joy and belonging flow into Zarabeth.

“Thank you for helping us,” they said.

Zarabeth’s eyes teared up as feelings of happiness and warmth flooded through her as they hadn’t in years. “Thank you.”

(Y/N) smiled at her. “Goodbye.”

Then, they turned away, and they, Spock, and Bones took a step forward. A light illuminated the storm for a moment as they disappeared, and then nothing was left except for footprints that were quickly filled with snow.

Kirk threw his arms around all three of his friends when they appeared in the library in front of him. Their cloaks had disappeared in the portal, so nothing hindered his affection. Bones patted Kirk on the back, Spock was stiff, and (Y/N) smiled and hugged him back. Luckily for them all, they were back to normal, and Spock felt no undue anger at Kirk for having (Y/N)’s attention.

Behind them, Atoz ran past them into a new record’s portal, taking his own escape from the coming nova. The group now understood what he had spoken of before. The people of Sarpeidon had chosen lives in the past over dying in the present.

“He had his escape planned,” said Kirk after he released his friends and the group looked at the empty doorway. “I’m glad he made it.” He smiled. “And I’m glad you guys are alright.” He had been worried since there was a time limit for being changed versus being able to get back. Kirk had made it out in time, but his friends had cut it close.

“We’re happy to be back,” said (Y/N).

“Indeed,” said Spock.

“Definitely,” agreed Bones.

“I like living in the present better than the past,” said (Y/N), looping their arm around Spock’s.

“I agree,” said Spock, looking down at them fondly.

Five thousand years may pass, but Spock and (Y/N)’s love was eternal.

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