#a truer declaration of love than anything else

[stirlingmoss]

CXXVII ​​They consult you about the women. Say, “God advises you about them, and what has been declared to you in the Book about the orphans of women you want to marry but to whom you have not given what is prescribed for them, and children who are downtrodden, that you treat the orphans justly. And whatever good you do, God knows it.”

CXXVI And to God belongs what is in the heavens and what is on earth; and God encompasses all things.

XIX

CXXV And who is better in faith than the one who surrenders his being to God, and is a doer of good, and follows the way of Abraham rightly oriented? For God took Abraham as a friend. 126. ​And to God belongs what is in the heavens and what is on earth; and God encompasses all things.

CXXIV And if any do good deeds, whether they are male or female, and they are believers, then they will enter the Garden, and will not be mistreated at all.

CXXIII It is not a matter of your wishes, nor the wishes of the people of scripture: whoever does evil will be requited for it, and will find no protector or savior without God.

CXXII As for those who believe and do good deeds, We will admit them to gardens below which rivers flow, where they will abide forever. As the promise of God, this is true; for whose word is truer than God’s?

CXXI Their place is hell, from which they will find no escape.

CXX It makes them promises, creating desires in them, but what diversion promises them is only delusion.

CXIX “and I will mislead them, and I will create desires in them, and I will get them to cut off the ears of cattle, and I will get them to alter the creation of God.” And whoever takes to diversion for a protector rather than God has already suffered a manifest loss.

CXVIII which God has cursed. For it has declared, “I will take to myself a certain portion of Your servants;

CXVII Note how they call exclusively on feminine entities rather than the Deity; and note they are calling on a persistent diversion,

CXVI God does not forgive deification of anyone or anything, but forgives all else for whomever God wills. And whoever deifies anyone or anything has wandered far astray.

XVIII

CXV ​If anyone parts with the messenger after guidance has become clear to him, and follows a path other than the way of believers, We will abandon himto what he has adopted, and burn him in hell. And what a miserable destination! 

CXIV There is no good in most of their private conferences, except those who enjoin charity, or fairness, or reconciliation between people. And whoever does so seeking the pleasure of God, We will give a tremendous reward.

CXIII ​If not for the grace and mercy of God on you, a faction of them would have contrived to mislead you. But they only mislead themselves, while they do no harm to you. And God has revealed to you scripture and wisdom, and taught you what you did not know. And God’s grace on you is tremendous.

XVII

CXII But if anyone commits an error or a sin and then blames an innocent for it, he has taken on a burden of slander and open iniquity.

CXI And whoever commits a sin only sins against his own soul; and God is most knowing, most wise.

CX Whoever does evil or wrongs his own soul then asks forgiveness of God will find God most forgiving, most merciful.

CIX You there—these are those on whose behalf you argue in the life of the world; but who will argue with God on their account on the day of resurrection, or be their defender?

CVIII They hide from people, but they do not hide from God, Who is with them when they connive by night in unacceptable terms; and God comprehends what they do.

CVII Do not argue on behalf of those who betray themselves, for God does not love anyone who is treacherous and immoral.

CVI And ask forgiveness of God, for God is most forgiving, most merciful.

CV ​We revealed the Book to you with truth, that you may judge between people by what God has shown you. And do not plead on behalf of the treacherous.

XVI

CIV And do not let up in pursuit of the enemy; if you are suffering, they are suffering as you are suffering, while you have hopes from God that they cannot expect. For God is most knowing, most wise.

CIII When you have concluded the prayer judiciously, then remembrance God while standing, sitting, and on your sides; and when you are secure, then pray regularly. For prayer at certain times is prescribed for believers.

CII And when you are among [believers] and lead them in prayer, let a group of them stand with you, bearing their arms; then when they have done their prostrations, let them be behind you, while another group that has not yet prayed comes and prays with you, keeping their precautions and their arms. The atheistic wish you’d neglect your arms and your equipment, so they can turn on you all at once. But there is no blame on you if you lay down your arms when they are a pain to you because of rain or if you are sick; still be on your guard. For God has prepared a humiliating penalty for the atheists.

CI When you travel the earth, there is no blame on you if you cut short the prayers when you fear that atheists may attack you; for atheists are clearly hostile to you.

​ ​XV

C Whoever flees for the sake of God will find many a refuge on earth, and plenitude. And anyone who leaves his home taking refuge in God and the messenger of God, and then death overtakes him, his reward is up to God; and God is most forgiving, most merciful.

XCIX Then God may pardon them, for God is pardoning and forgiving.

XCVIII Excepted are oppressed men, women, and children who have no means at their disposal, and who are not shown a way.

XCVII As for those whose souls the angels take while they are wronging themselves, the angels will say to them, “What was your situation?” They will say, “We were downtrodden on earth.” The angels will say, “Was God’s earth not wide enough for you to flee to refuge somewhere?” And their abode will be hell, a miserable retreat. 

​XIV

XCVI ranks bestowed by God, and forgiveness, and mercy; and God is most forgiving, most merciful. 

XCV Those who remain at home, except the disabled, are not equal to those who struggle in the cause of God by means of their property and their persons. God has favored those who struggle by means of their property and their persons with a rank above those who sit at home. God has still promised good to each, but God has favored those who struggle over those who stay home, with a magnificent reward—

XCIV Believers, when you strike out for the sake of God, get at the facts, and do not say to anyone who greets you with peace, “You are not a believer,” seeking the goods of this world, for there are plenty of spoils with God. You were thus before, when God bestowed favor on you; so get at the facts. For God is well aware of whatever you do.

XCIII But whoever kills a believer on purpose has hell for his reward, wherein he will remain; and God will be wroth with him, and curse him, and prepare a tremendous torment for him.

XCII It is never right for a believer to kill a believer, except by mistake; and one who kills a believer by mistakeis to free a believing slave, and compensation is to be handed over to the family of the deceased, unless they forgo it to charity. If the deceased was from a people warring against yours, yet was a believer, then free a believing slave. But if the deceased was from a people with whom you have a treaty, then compensation is to be paid to the family of the deceased, and a believing slave is to be freed. And if one has not the means, then one is too fast for two consecutive months, as an act of contrition granted as a concession from God. And God is all-knowing, most judicious.

XCI You will find others who wish security from you and security from their people. Whenever they are thrown back into trial, they are overcome by it; so if they do not back off from you, send you peace, and stop their attacks, then arrest them and execute them wherever you find them. For in their case We have given you clear authority to oppose them.

XC except those who join people with whom you have a treaty, or those who come to you with hearts restraining them from fighting you or fighting their own people. And if God had wished, God would have given them power over you, and they would have fought you. So if they keep away from you and do not fight you, but send you peace, then God has made no cause for you against them.

LXXXIX They wish you would scoff as they scoff, so you would be the same. So do not befriend any of them until they take refuge in the way of God; but then if they turn traitor, then arrest them and execute them wherever you find them. And do not take any of them for a protector or helper,

LXXXVIII Now what is the matter with you, divided in two about the hypocrites? God has overthrown them on account of what they did. Do you mean to guide those whom God has confused? No way will be found for anyone God has confused.

XII

LXXXVII God—there is no other deity: God will certainly gather you together to face the day of judgment, on which there can be no doubt. And who speaks more truly than God?

LXXXVI Whoever intercedes for good has a share in it, and whoever intercedes for evil has some responsibility for it. And God is watching over all things.

LXXXV Whoever intercedes for good has a share in it, and whoever intercedes for evil has some responsibility for it. And God is watching over all things.

LXXXIV So fight in the way of God; you are only in charge of yourself, but rouse the believers. God may curb the harm done by those who scoff, for God is more severe in doing harm, and more severe in punishment.

LXXXIII ​And when some matter of security or alarm comes to them, they broadcast it; whereas had they only referred it to the messenger, and to those of them with authority, their investigators would have found out about it. And if not for the blessing and mercy of God on you, most of you would have followed Satan.

LXXXII Do they not consider the Qur’an— were it from other than God, they would have found much contradiction in it.

LXXXI While they say, “Obedience,” when they leave your presence a faction of them contemplate by night other than what you say.And God records what they contemplate. So avoid them, and trust in God; God is guardian enough.

LXXX Whoever heeds the messenger is being obedient to God. As for those who turn away, We have not sent you as a guard over them.

LXXIX ​What good happens to you is from God, and what bad happens to you is from your self. And We sent you to people as a messenger. And God is witness enough.

LXXVIII ​“Death will overtake you wherever you may be, even if you are in fortified towers.” And if some good happens to them, they say, “This is from God,” while if something bad happens to them they say, “This is from you!” Say, “All is from God.” And what is the matter with these people, that they hardly understand anything?

LXXVII Have you not observed those who were told to restrain their hands, pray regularly, and give alms, then when fighting was prescribed for them a faction of them feared people as much as God is to be feared, or even more, and said, “Our Lord, why have You prescribed fighting for us? If only You would postpone it for us for awhile!” Say, “Enjoyment of this world is little; the hereafter is better for the conscientious, as they will not be wronged in the slightest.    

​XI

LXXVI Believers fight for the sake of God, while atheists fight for the sake of idols; so fight the friends of Satan, for the strategy of Satan is weak.  

LXXV Why would you not fight in the cause of God, and oppressed men, women, and children, who say, “Our Lord, get us out of this town, whose people are oppressors. And provide us a protector from You, and provide us a helper from You.”

LXXIV So let those who trade the life of this world for the hereafter fight in the cause of God; whoever fights in the cause of God, whether slain or victorious, We will give a tremendous reward.

LXXIII And if bounty from God comes to you, they inevitably say, as if there had never been friendship between you, “Oh, if only I had been with them, I would have achieved great success!”

LXXII ​Now there are those among you who delay, then when calamity befalls you they say, “God has favored us, that we were not martyred with you.” 

LXXI Believers, take your precautions, and go out in groups or go out all together. 

LXX ​That is grace from God; and God has all necessary knowledge.

LXIX And those who obey God and the messenger are with those whom God has blessed, among the prophets, the truthful, the witnesses, and the righteous; and they are good company.

LXVIII and We would have shown them a straight path.

LXVII and We would have given them a mighty reward from Our presence;

LXVI Had We prescribed for them,“Sacrifice your lives,” or “Leave your homes,” none but a few of them would have done so. But if only they did what they were instructed, that would have been better for them, and strengthened them more firmly;

LXV But no, by your Lord, they will not believe until they make you the arbiter in controversies among them, and they find in their souls no objection to what you decide, but accept approvingly.

LXIV ​For We have never sent a messenger but to be heeded, with God’s permission. And if they had come to you seeking forgiveness of God when they had wronged themselves, and the messenger had asked forgiveness for them, they would have found God most relenting, most merciful.

LXIII They are those of whom God knows what is in their hearts; so keep clear of them, and admonish them, and speak to them in terms that will touch their souls.

LXII But how about when misfortune befalls them in consequence of their own doings, and then they come to you swearing by God, “We only intended goodwill and peacemaking”?

LXI And when it is said to them, “Come to what God has revealed, and to the messenger,” you have seen how the hypocrites turn their faces from you.

LX Have you not observed those who imagine that they believe in what was revealed to you, and in what was revealed before you, yet are willing to seek decisions from idols, in spite of the fact that they have been enjoined to reject them? Satan means to mislead them far astray.

IX

LIX ​Believers, obey God, and obey the messenger, and those with authority among you. And if you dispute over anything, refer it to God and the messenger, if you believe in God and the last day. That is best and most excellent as a determination.

LVIII God commands you to repay pledges to the people due them; and to judge with justice when you judge between people. Excellent is what God instructs you; for God is all-knowing, all-seeing. 

LVII But those who believe and do good We will admit to gardens below which rivers flow, where they will abide forever. There are pure mates for them there; and We will admit them to a shaded shelter.

LVI Those who repudiate Our signs We will burn in a fire; when their skins are roasted, We will change their skins, so they can taste the torment. For God is most powerful, most judicious.

LV But while some of them believed in it, some of them rejected it. And hell is sufficient as an inferno.

LIV Or do they envy people for what God has given them from the divine bounty? But We have already given scripture and wisdom to the people of Abraham, and We gave them a mighty kingdom.

LIII Have they a share in the Dominion? If that be the case, they are not contributing anything to humankind.

LII They are the ones whom God has cursed;and you will find no savior for anyone God has cursed.

LI Have you not observed those to whom a part of scripture was given, who believe in divination and idols, and say to atheists that they are more guided in a way than are those who believe?

VIII

L ​See how they concoct a lie against God; and that alone is an obvious sin.

XLIX Have you not observed those who try to justify themselves? Actually God justifies whomever God will; and they are not wronged in the slightest.

XLVIII God does not forgive idolatry, but forgives anything else for whomever God will. And whoever associates anything with God has concocted a monstrous wrong.

XLVII O you to whom scripture has been given, believe in what We have sent down verifying what is with you, before We obliterate faces and turn them backward or curse them as We cursed those who violated the Sabbath. And the order of God is inevitable.

XLVI Some of the Jews pervert words away from their proper usage, saying, “We hear and defy,” and “Listen without hearing,” and “Our Dismay,” distorting with their tongues and insulting the religion. And if they had said, “We hear and obey,” and “Please listen,” and “Please give us your attention,” that would surely have been better for them, and more upstanding. But God has cursed them for their scoffing, for they do not believe, except a small minority.

#4:46-127 #Women

[imnotquitesurebutimdoingitanyway]

ES5: Rise of the Dragon Queen; A Skyrim Fic

Part 1

It was the burning of King Olaf, the first in a long time. Since before this awful war started. High up in a smaller arena near the Blue Palace of Solitude. Chosen for security reasons, Imperial General Tullius said. Chosen for political reasons, her steward and advisors said. Chosen for historical reasons, the head of the bard’s college said. Everyone agreed on enough details in time for it to happen on the perfect night. 13th of Last Seed 4e 201. 9:05pm.

The twin moons hung over the festivities, a rare cloudless night that showed every last detail of the Aurora. Breathtaking. An hour before it was to occur a peal of thunder parted the clouds, it almost sounded to her ears like the Greybeards, but much closer than High Hrothgar. The night watch claimed it to be the work of the dragonborn.

Jarl Elisef stood watching. Not entirely focused on the burning. Sorely needed sight that it was, and she was grateful for all the good fortune that has happened, what drew her eye was her new thane. This whole event - that received every stamp of approval, had irresistable political appeal - was her idea.

She stood apart from everyone else, covered in the little shade from the full moons that the pillars offered. A simple blue dress with a hardened leather corset, a simple gold diamond ring. A strange amulet that looked to be an heirloom. Frazzled braids, visible dirt and dried blood on her face. Dimly glowing eyes with a bad hunger to them. No visible weapons. If the rumors were true she did not need them. Behind her, lurking in deeper shadows, a tall raven haired woman; that one was definitely a vampire.

Ellenwyn hadn’t left the Jarl’s side, hardly took her eyes off the two. Tricky the Thalmor advisor said, guilty of high crimes, and regularly attacked within these very walls by vampire hunters. Dragonborn, if you can believe the tall tales of the guards. Swearing that she charged dragons, smacked their heads aside with a shield, and in one fell blow to the neck killed them. The Jarl did not doubt, but she had not seen it. And the guards did love to embellish; maybe it had taken more than one blow? Something.

Tonight was the night Elisef was going to get answers.

Viarmo, the bard conducting the ceremony, finished up his elaborate denunciation of King Olaf and his crimes against Skyrim. Declaring her rule to be honest and truer than the liar king; it was the moral of the story that swayed her and her advisors to condone it. As he finished and a torch was laid at the feet of their effigy - down below - other effigies around the hold were lit and cheers were heard. Off in the distance as far as she could see the tiny flares of light that signaled her people’s approval. The breadth of her hold, plus some farms on the edge of Morthal looking to curry favor or protection from the Empire.

Tullius walked square up to the Jarl. He sensed her decision. “Don’t go alone. I can’t protect you.”

“He’s right.” Ellenwyn said grimly. “Need I remind you not three weeks ago she murdered Vittoria Vicci in broad daylight! Your childhood friend.”

Thank you for your guidance but I am fine. She wished she had said that. “I am going to have a private conversation as my right as Jarl. I do not need protection from my own thane.” Departing from them without another word, Elisef approached the dragonborn. “Can we talk?” She asked quietly. They nodded, and together they walked the short distance to a nearby garden. The tall woman melted into the background, but Elisef knew both her and a small guard of Imperials circled. Tullius never could leave anything to chance, she noted silently.

“What troubles you, my Jarl?”

“I wanted to thank you. This celebration is a good idea, the people of Solitude owe you a great deal. How did you come up with it?”

“It was Viarmo’s idea. But we worked together to reconstruct the narrative. You know bards, they have to tell the story as dramatically as they can..”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

A pause. “I was exploring ancient ruins to the east of here. Inside I found a journal. Belonging to King Olaf himself.”

“How did you find it?”

“His spirit guided me to it. And a key to get past a magical barrier to the main chamber.”

“Why? Did he tell you?”

“When I was there he was just a cursed soul several hundred years old. All he could do is point and wail. The journal detailed his treachery against the people of skyrim, his guilt. He tried to make it right, even after death.”

“Did he?”

“That is a better question for the bards.” Stopping abruptly, her thane turned to stare her in the eyes. Such a piercing yellow gaze. Like saber cat eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve never met someone who understands ghosts so casually. Most would be afraid of them.”

“True.”

“Was it like that with the Wolf Queen? You fought her many times.” “Twice.” “Did she say anything to you?”

“Of course. It was the sort of.. The same. Words, I mean. A soul like hers was defiant, confident. She did not expect to be defeated?”

“How did you? My court wizard said her soul was bound to her body, did you destroy the remains?”

“I didn’t need to. I ate her soul.”

Elisef recoiled. “You.. What?!”

“I am the dragonborn. The power to eat souls was always mine, I just didn’t know until the dragons returned.”

“So you’re just like Potema, aren’t you?”

“No. She learned how to do it, sacrificed her own people. I only found out because of the dragons’ return. I’m not..”

“So you’re a good fiend, is that it?” Her thane did not answer at first. “I’m sorry,” She sighed “That was unkind. I don’t understand your intentions, many think you are a threat.”

“I didn’t ask for this.” Quiet words that had a soft rumble to them. “I was an orphan wandering the roads of Skyrim, I only wanted to help those nice enough to feed me, fight the cruel, unjust. Be remembered like a.. Hero from a book.

But then.. I joined the stormcloaks. They found me to not be “nord enough” because I had no family. Suggested I marry, have sons, they would give me the good standing to be considered one of them. I marched with them until I gained power. The strength of legends. Then.. I was less nord.”

“Or a threat..”

She nodded. “I had property, but not respect. Ulfric insisted I take the challenges to join the stormcloak ranks again, walked out of my swearing in ceremony. I was chosen by the greybeards and he was not. That’s as far as the stormcloaks valued life: Just their own.”

“Being a vampire couldn’t have helped.”

“I was turned later, a little over a month ago. I joined the dawnguard after leaving the stormcloaks. Already killed a few vampires, and they didn’t mind that I was dragonborn. Akatosh’s blessing, Isran would say. We hunted dragons in between raids on vampire nests, it was the best time of my life.”

“What changed?”

“I fell in love..” Her eyes wandered into the shadows. “And was given the choice to kill or join the enemy.. Now here I am. Twice as hated, but I’ve found a greater love for the world.”

“So.. This festival..”

“An opportunity. The people of skyrim need to see hope for justice. That the wrongs can be properly dragged into the light. And that there is a difference between the villains of the past and the heroes sitting on the same thrones today.”

“... Viarmo said that, didn’t he?”

She laughed. “You know bards. All I had to do was have the right mouldy book and the elf practically sprinted to deliver his proposal.”

They walked a bit longer, already at the end of the short garden path. The awkward accompaniment of imperials shuffled slowly behind them.

"Did you ask to be followed around, my Jarl?"

"No. Tullius has said you should be executed for your crimes against the empire, though nord law says you are a free woman."

"Still has his mind set on that, does he? I may need to speak to him myself."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll think of something. For now, I must retire to my new manor. I have some decorating to do before I sleep. Thank you for time, Jarl Elisef. Hopefully these men can continue to keep you safe." She flashed a wry smile, and disappeared through the nearby door. Elisef was surprised to find herself standing outside proudspire manor. And a little annoyed at not being invited in.

[flowerflamestars]

Fix-it Fic Snippet

Not chance to be had, a single second to think.

There was only Nesta- Nesta- tired beyond need of rest at the repetition, heavier certain in her bones than the weight of eternity.   That what she loved could be taken. Again, again, again that what was hers- what she had seized and chosen and built- that it existed to be ripped away.   Eris’s pain felt more real than her own, dragging at the edges of the world, blurring her sight.   The first Illyrian didn’t have time to scream. The second did, and the third, the fourth, as silver fire rose across the hall to meet her- Eris was awake.   The six faeries it taken to hold him had fallen, by the time Nesta reached his side. In clean, ruthless motion, Eris cast off the last, right into her outstretched hand.   Flames reflected back in the blood running thick down her husband’s face- told the story Nesta did not look to confirm, silver fire than neither caught or sparked but burnt and burnt, spilling free as water from the eyes of the fallen man.   Eris stepped over the body.   She wanted her hands on him- she wanted to know- she wanted- Nesta traced the hanging shape of his arm and with the permission of a grimace, shoved Eris’s shoulder back into place. “Fuckers.”   And Eris smiled. “Not anymore.”

#just...THEM #Nesta six hours later sitting on top of Azriel's safe house desk: #sucks to suck asshole faebane DOESN'T WORK ON US #Eris in danger? USING NESTA'S POWER TO SAVE HIMSELF? #Because he trusts nothing can take it??? #stand against it?? #a truer declaration of love than anything else #guys I adore nothing so much as murder mode Nesta #Just looking at Eris #GOD #your heart as it was will be on fire

[sabo-has-my-heart]

hi! could i get wood nymph! sanji with a fem reader with “Do you believe in soulmates?”

lots of domestic fluffy stuff happening in the forest, please!! thank you and congrats on 100 followers :)

Sweet, romantic, soft Sanji is my guilty pleasure. I think he’s cute when he’s not getting nose bleeds.

Being out in the woods was always calming to you, even before you met Sanji, you’d always loved the woods. You’d met the strange blond nymph when you’d moved out here to get away from the city, wanting to spend more time in nature. The strange man had immediately declared himself your protector and that he would do anything to protect ‘Such a beautiful young woman’. Currently, said man was collecting berries with you, the two of you simply enjoying the sunlight and sounds of the birds.

“Sanji, say ahh.” you said, turning towards the blond. Sanji looked at you curiously, a small look of surprise crossing his features when you popped a blueberry into his mouth. Giggling, you turned away, picking more berries. Almost as soon as you’d turned the other way, Sanji was wrapping his arms around your waist, smiling as he pulled you close.

“You’re so cute my dear! Surely the reason you came to the forest was to escape the dark intentions of the ravenous men who chased after you in the city. No! You must have felt a pull in your heart, telling you to come here, so that I would have the chance to meet such an angel.” Sanji proclaimed, picking you up and spinning you around, making you laugh.

“Sanji! We’re supposed to be picking blueberries!” you cried, the smile on your lips betraying your protests.

“I can’t help it, mon amour! A goddess such as yourself deserves to be showered in love and attention! Never will you have to work so long as I can watch over you!” Sanji said, holding you close as you giggled.

“What if this ‘goddess’ wants to work? I want to pick my own berries!” you said, wriggling in his hold. Sanji pouted slightly but set you down carefully.

“Then you shall only have but the easiest of tasks, working only as much as you wish, I’ll take care of everything else!” he declared as you brushed some hair out of your face.

Once you’d gotten back to the little cottage that you’d made out in the woods, Sanji got started on making you lunch, insisting that you sit back and let him cook for you. You didn’t know where or how he learned to cook, or if it was even a good idea for a wood nymph to be near open flame, but the man always insisted on cooking for you, so instead, you sat at the table, head resting in your hand, smiling as you watched him work.

“Sanji?” you asked, drawing his attention.

“Yes, my darling?” Sanji asked, glancing over at you, smiling at the loving look you gave him.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” you asked, staring at the man. Sanji dropped the spatula he was holding, completely turning to look at you.

“D-do I what?” Sanji asked, not entirely sure he’d heard you correctly.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” you repeated, a slightly worried look on your face. Sanji blushed, staring at you in slight shock, food completely forgotten.

“S-soulmates? Like… like made for each other? As in… love… true love? Story book happy ending, truly true love?” Sanji muttered, staring at you, his heart starting to pound. You nodded, sitting up straighter, staring into the blond’s beautiful blue eyes.

“As in, you know, eternal love, truer than true love.” you said, voice just barely above a whisper, slowly standing up and walking over to him. Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, you took his hands in yours, “A love deeper than the ocean, stronger than any rock or metal, do you believe that it’s possible, that maybe… we could be made for each other?” you asked, still looking into his eyes, brushing the blond locks out of his face so you could clearly see both eyes.

“Absolutely.” Sanji breathed before leaning forward, capturing your lips with his. It wasn’t until you both smelled something burning that you pulled away, finally remembering that Sanji had been cooking, the young nymph panicking slightly. You smiled guiltily at Sanji, looking at the charred ‘food’.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve picked a better time.” you apologized, rubbing your arm, looking away. Sanji placed the pan on a cold burner before placing a hand under your chin, making you look back at him.

“Just this once, I’ll forget about my policy. For you, my love, my goddess, my soulmate, I’ll allow it, just please, never apologize for telling me.” Sanji pleaded lightly, pulling you into a soft kiss. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him, running your fingers through his blond locks. Sanji smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist, hand having moved to caress your cheek. You pulled away, a soft smile playing on your lips. You giggled, making Sanji tilt his head in confusion.

“I’m just wondering, do all guardians date their wards?” you teased, making Sanji chuckle.

“I don’t know, I’m a forest nymph, forest guardians have different rules.” Sanji answered with a small shrug.

“Well I’m glad you get to. I love you Sanji.” you said, cuddling into his chest and enjoying the sweet moment with your sweet wood nymph. Sanji, your personal embodiment of the forest itself.

#One piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #Nymph!Sanji #Sanji fluff

[dreamdropxoxo]

I’m still learning how all of this culture works! Rerequested per your request:

All of your kisses prompts sound delicious. How about 8 (Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand).Damen And Laurent; modern AU or original era real or AU Would be fine. Thanks for doing these!

Hello darling 🥰!

I’m so glad I got to write this for you and I hope you like it ❤️. I got very emotional while writing this because I always get emotional when Laurent and Damen are discussing Auguste. Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write this. 

8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.

Damen loved Laurent. He loved him when he glared at someone who dared to bother him with something inconsequential. He loved him when he was engrossed in a book and forgot the world existed. He loved him when he laughed freely and uninhibited in his joy. He loved him when he whispered to his horse, a gift of Damen’s, in a soft voice. He loved him when he reduced every single man in a room with a few choice words. He loved him when he blinked sleepily in the mornings after waking up beside Damen. He loved him when he gasped in the throes of passion. And he loved him when he scrunched up his nose when Damen’s curls tickled his face.

However, there was a moment when he loved him most. 

It happened only rarely, but Damen always knew when Laurent was thinking about Auguste. He didn’t let himself think of his older brother most of the time. But when he did, he had this very special look on his face. It was soft and sad and fond and longing all at the same time and Damen was, if he was completely honest with himself, always a bit scared when he saw this particular look on his husband’s face. It was irrational, he knew Laurent had forgiven him, but still, he hadn’t forgiven himself yet and whenever he saw that heart-wrenching expression on the blond’s face, he felt all the guilt, regret and sadness well up inside of him again.

Now was one such moment. Laurent stood in the warm morning sun on their balcony and looked over the city. He wore a chiton, carelessly wrapped around himself, but his feet were still bare and his hair mused from their lovemaking during the night. He looked otherworldly and the expression on his face told Damen exactly what he was thinking about.

Carefully, he approached his husband. He knew what would come next. It was always the same after all. And his heartbeat thrummed in his own ears. 

Laurent turned towards him, smiled softly and a little melancholic and said, “Damianos.” 

And that was the moment. That was the moment when he loved Laurent most. Because the blond knew who he was, what he had done and still spoke his name like a tender caress. 

He reached out and took one elegant hand in his own and lifted it to his mouth. He placed the softest of kisses on the pale skin and looked at his husband. 

“I love you.” The words were not louder than a whisper. He said them every time without fail when Laurent looked at him like this. Because he loved him always, unconditionally, without fail, and in these moments he knew that Laurent did so too.

“I love you too, Damianos.” And it echoed like a confession and a statement and a declaration between them. It rang truer than anything else Damen had ever heard and he felt his chest constrict. The overwhelming, heady mixture of fear and all encompassing love made him weak in the knees.

Laurent tugged him closer and let his hand slide up over Damen’s arm to his shoulder, his jaw and brushed his thumb over a cheekbone. He didn’t avert his eyes, not even for a second and Damen knew that he truly saw him for who he was. He felt himself choke up, he couldn’t say anything anymore, like always and Laurent smiled tenderly.

“Come. Let’s eat breakfast and then I’ll tell you a story.”

The story would be about Auguste, Damen knew, and it would be funny and soft and Laurent would laugh at the end of it and he’d think out loud that Auguste had never been just the golden prince but the silly, overprotective older brother too. And Damen would laugh with him, hold him close. And then, later, he’d go to the large statue of Auguste and promise him that he’d take care of Laurent, that he’d love him until the day either of them died and that he’d make sure that he’d never be alone and scared anymore. 

Sometimes he was almost sure that Auguste would step down and pat him on the shoulder and make a joke, just like the ones Laurent told him about. But it never happened and Damen didn’t have the words to describe how he felt in these moments. The only thing he was absolutely sure about was, that he loved Laurent most in them.

#captive prince #lamen #laurent #damen #Laurent of Vere #damen of akielos #Damianos of Akielos #capri #kissing prompts #50 kisses #kissing prompt

[just-mint-to-be]

Long post I’m sorry my laptop is updating so I’m stuck on mobile. I’ll format later but anyway, here we are! I’ll admit I’m not too happy with how this ended up but it scratched my itch for having these two hotties both lusting after reader.

Sorry that it’s all wishy washy at the start.

Yandere!Loba x GN reader x Yandere!Bloodhound

Fate was a curious thing.

For awhile, they were little more than acquaintances. Occasional squad mates that engaged in conversation and the rare silent, joint drink, but neither occupied the others mind for long. As time flowed forward, her vitality and ambition solidified as her most signature traits. She too had those dearest to her prematurely plucked from the living world yet, it fuelled her. Andrade was another true felagi fighter, another soul tormented by the sometimes cruel ways of the gods and their puppets. Albeit a tenacious and usually amicable one.

Bloodhound had an equal. They had both fought against and beside each other; neither harsh nor positive feeling stemming from either occasion.

It was a rare taste of neutrality in a divisive world.

She seldom thought of the hunter outside of battle. Not from distaste or disinterest, but in her own subconscious way of respect. Bloodhound thrived off speculation from spectators and whomever else cared for what was under the helmet. She was content in knowing them as they chose to present themself; a skilled hunter, handy with a sniper and in, their own way, a collector like her. Alas, Loba cared not for the hollow bones of brutish beasts, so what of theirs could possibly interest her? There was no gossip, no forced banter and no obligation to soil each other’s reputation with unnecessary encounters.

For awhile, a flimsy peace barred them.

~~~

Bloodhound stood to the side of the room, one hand grinding the hem of their coat in frustration as they stared at the life of the party. Y/n L/n. A sweet, naive young recruit that had taken to the social aspect of the games all too effortlessly. It was endearing; the thief had watched you brush and toy with your h/c hair and giggle anytime Mirage cracked one of his try hard jokes.

Yes, you were quite popular, though no one else saw you in the way she did. At least, that’s what the woman had thought prior to following the brooding hunter’s gaze to your preoccupied form. Loba almost longed to laugh. The one and only hunter sent by the gods; veritable champion of the legendary apex games had found themself loosing all inhibition for Y/n L/n. Never before had she seen such concentration manifest on their form outside of the ring.

It wasn’t long before she could feel their dagger like gaze hit her. Not even the thick lenses of their goggles could buffer the sheer knowing malice and intent radiating from them. The woman found too much joy in rubbing her glossy lips together with a light smack; one painted fingernail coming to rest on her cheek in exaggerated thought as she made a point of staring at you.

Bloodhound knew exactly what she was insinuating. To them, it was a declaration of war, a call to arms they longed to answer instantly but could not. The rest of the room remained blissfully unaware of the burgeoning battle between them. You, the pawn at the very centre, were none the wiser as both respectively sought out a plan to take you.

For the first time ever, something else took precedence over a party and her plan of vengeance. Loba sauntered toward the exit of the room, her stride bold and confident to match the taunting words directed at her fellow competitor.

‘It’s nice to see you too have an eye for quality,’ she drawled. ‘It’s a shame Y/n is going to be all mine... consider them dibsed, if you will.’

Bloodhound chose not to answer immediately, instead their glove traced the hilt of the blade perpetually stowed against their thigh. Intimidation did little to sway her, for their vaulting desire was all too obvious and familiar.

‘The path you are about to take, is not a wise or fruitful one,’ they warned, not daring to feign eye contact. ‘This is not kings canyon Andrade. In this fight, I hold the upper hand. The will of the gods is only matched by my own.’

The white clad woman chuckled, applying a patronising pat to Bloodhound’s shoulder. ‘We’ll see about that.’

No longer were they squamates, equals or any other stainless term. They had been bound by an unwavering desire to claim you regardless of the price. It was almost humorous how quickly the situation between them turned.

Both knew they’d have to apply the same haste in making a move.

They were enemies; evenly matched in obsession and dedication.

Perhaps time would tell if they were equal in execution.

~ ~ ~

‘Artur seems fond of you,’ though it lay hidden behind a mask, you could sense the smile in their tone. Black feathers brushed against your palm as the corvid lapped up the attention you so willingly gave him.

‘Well I like him!’ You answered, a grin arching upon your lips that had them nearly weak with adoration. ‘How long have you had him?’

‘Five years. He is the offspring of my original companion,’ they replied, seizing the chance to try and get closer ‘perhaps you may wish to come meet the wild ones I feed ea-‘

‘Morning Y/n darling and dearest Bloodhound,’ her presence was made all too apparent by a chorus of clicking, exaggerated strides. She stopped, coming to take place beside you.

‘Why how sweet, it seems the hawk takes after it’s owner. Who couldn’t resist Y/n’s smile?’ Loba battered heavy eyelashes, almost comically playing coy at the obvious insinuation of their affections.

You tilted your head, a confused but still content expression gracing both your tone and features, ‘I think Arthur’s a raven, not a hawk.’

She stared down the deep lenses of her heavily clad counterpart; had they been truer to their namesake in form, the hunter probably would’ve growled. ‘My apologies, my forte is collecting rare and shiny things to be treasured for eternity. I personally don’t see how a wild scavenger compares...’

‘Raven’s are intelligent. Arthur has guided me for many years and will one day reach Valhalla. I’ve yet to encounter a sapphire promised the same fulfilling fate,’ when the two of them seemed locked in a battle of verbal substitutions, you piped up.

‘Both are cool, I guess it’s because of the two coexisting that we can appreciate them equally,’ you shrugged, softly returning the bird to his perch atop Bloodhound’s shoulder.

Neither were satisfied with the concept of being equal, but didn’t dare make that explicit. ‘How true,’ she chimed, ‘Well I have things to attend to. Do drop by my quarters at 7:00 Y/n, I have something terribly exciting and important to give you.’

‘Well now I’m curious,’ you laughed, wanting to prod more of the surprise out of her. But alas, the sauntered away with little more than a raised brow in parting to Bloodhound. Your best guess was an in field disagreement or perhaps some strange form of comrade banter paving the way for such exchanges.

‘If I may ask for your assistance... there is a flock nesting on the north eastern side of the building. I wish to inspect their nests to ensure their offspring are healthy. It is a much easier task if I have someone to light the ledge for me,’ their tone was modulated despite the urgency gnawing at their conscience.

No doubt Loba had ambitions of taking you that night; they’d have to do it first. You blissfully agreed, ‘I’d love to help but I’m starved, can I meet you there in an hour?’

The hunter almost wanting to profess the blistering severity of their affections right then and there, yet, remained visibly calm, ‘Of course, I trust you can find your own way to block C.’

~ ~ ~

‘So cute,’ you smiled, allowing the torch to circle the small cluster of plush coated chicks. Bloodhound allowed a curious individual to peck at their gloves before it returned to the security of its mother’s wings.

‘They seem in good health,’ Bloodhound noted, allowing you to safely descend the maintenance stairs before following, ‘There is one last thing I need your help with, it requires a slight trek into the canyon.’

Your feet crunched as they graced the natural ground once more, ‘Yeah okay lead the way.’ A little hike in the ring without the pressure of an active fight would be refreshing.

Some landmarks were burnt into your memory whilst others were lost in a blur of gunfire and smoke, consequently painting themselves as new under the afternoon sunlight. Fatigue eventually began to set in and you came to realise this final task may have been more monumental than initially planned. The once stark heat of the sun had begun to fade and was replaced with a fleeting breeze carrying the evening with it. ‘Uh, hound... how much longer?’

‘We are almost there, worry not elsk-‘ the premature confession via pet name was cut off with a hiss like sound of contempt.

‘You just couldn’t resist could you...’ Loba’s eyes shared the gilded hue of the sunset bordering her form, ‘Y/n, you need to come with me. They’re trying to kidnap you.’

Your lips parted, both in disbelief and fright at such an accusation. Every fibre of your being wanted to contest the outlandish claim, but couldn’t deny the hunter’s air had darkened.

‘It is their fate to be with me, I am honourable enough to guide them,’ their fingers curled, subconsciously desiring the added intimidation of their blade. ‘You, however...’

Loba scoffed, ‘Call me old fashioned, but I think y/n deserves something better than a shack in the woods. I know how to take care of them, I know what they need and it’s me,’ though her voice persisted with a silky tone, it did little to garnish her words as anything less than alarming.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about... either of you,’ yet the crackling fire of fear within you gave it away. Just as it had spurred you to safety many times in the games, you felt it tug you away. Your two former acquaintances seemed locked in a test of mental will; an eerie synchronised drawing of their respective weapons unfolding. You’d seen the handgun on Loba’s person many times, but never had she dared to brandish it outside of battle.

Bloodhound’s stain soiled blade was presented to contest it; both great fighters casting aside any semblance of control. ‘I’m giving you one last chance canalha, leave them. Alone,’ Loba’s finger seemed all too tempted by the trigger, ‘Leave Y/n to me.’

‘Not a chance i helvetí, if you withdraw now I will spare you and your ignorance,’ they poised in a fighting stance, ‘Consider what this will cost you, Andrade.’

‘Your words mean nothing, you’re afraid of the truth,’ her lips split, revealing a snarl like clenching jaw.

The pair’s anger terrified you, but also served as your saviour. You lacked any gear or tactical means of escape, and coasted on a last resort used only once before during Bangalore’s air strike on your team. You feigned an almost fatal jump, unlacing one of your canvas shoes I’ll suited to such terrain before allowing it to drop to a low group of bushes. The sound mimicked that of a painful albeit effective departure, and gathered the attention of both the hunter and thief.

‘Shit,’ Loba hissed, ‘we’ve lost them. This is your fault.’ Anger masked the desperation in her voice; her presence casting a shadow over the small overhang shielding your form.

‘They cannot have gotten far, you are a fool to have disturbed us,’ Bloodhound joined her, studying the small indents your falling sneaker left in the birch, ‘They taka the tree down and will no doubt seek out, at the very least, shelter.’

You hated how accurate their predictions were, as you’d mentally made a beeline for the old market building. Maintenance workers would possibly be there during the night, meaning you could try and explain your outlandish situation and get to some form of safety. Really, you were no brighter than a prowler when trying to outsmart the outlands most notorious legend and hunter.

‘Poor thing,’ Loba sighed, ‘I’ll not loose them to one of your beloved beasts once night falls.’ With purpose, she departed from her sentry. A second, heavier set of steps soon followed,

‘Andrade wait,’ your breath clutched in place as Bloodhound paused, ‘I know you are mistaken in thinking you have a right y/n. However,’ the shadow of a panning hand caught your eye. ‘Y/n is, as you say, at risk should the canyon’s true residents see them fit for a meal.’

Silence and mutual concern filled the air before they continued, ‘I am beyond capable of tracking them myself, but I fear it may be too late if attempt to search the canyon and it’s many underground tunnels alone.’

‘What are you implying, that we call a truce?’ The theif hummed in contemplation, ‘How pray tell do you intend to cope when I find and claim them first?’

‘If you love them as I do, your concern should be in the present and finding them,’ they attempted the higher ground, ‘Do I have your help or not?’

‘I don’t love them like you do,’ she huffed, ‘I don’t think you even know what that word means, no one could adore them as much as I do.’ Loba paused for a moment, ‘but, fine. I suppose we can work together, for now. What’s your plan, enlighten me.’

They grunted, neither pleased nor aggravated by her compliance. Bloodhound strode toward the edge of the cliff once more and you attempted to further shrink against the narrow, rocky face. ‘Hmmm...’ they hummed, popping the cap on their small sonar box, ‘my scanning will not detect them from this height, we need to be at ground level.’

They turned, facing Loba once more, ‘I suggest we travel in the same direction, I will watch for clues whilst you scour where my sights cannot reach.’

‘Fine,’ she shrugged, coming to join them, ‘Lead the way.’

You heard the two mumble once more before beginning a much safer route of descent than the one you’d fabricated. Eventually both faded into the tree line, leaving you with the risky task of attempting to traverse the canyon under nightfall.

~ ~ ~

Rocks, sand and grass made for unforgiving terrain beneath your poorly clad and fatigued feet. Every so often you’d hear the huffs of a prowler somewhere in the brush, but a more daunting fate rested in whatever your pursuers had planned. You’d not yet even considered the reality of the situation; what horrifying, obsessive longings had secretly tainted both of them for so long.

Others would be flattered at the thought of two high ranking legends, however you mourned the weak security their respective friendships offered. What they proposed you reduced you to little more than a possession, the language of their spoken words and silent ones all too ghoulish.

‘Woah...’ you huffed, finding your vision swim lightly as you took a breather on the hillside. The skeleton like form of the cage building cut against the inky night sky. You’d never had a chance to compete in one of the evening tournaments and couldn’t help but momentarily admire the way it painted the battle ground in a more serene and cool atmosphere. Alas, now was no time for such trivial things. You needed to go south and cut through the pass where (hopeful) safety would await you.

In a trance like state you began walking, the introduction of a guttural snarl doing little more than prompting you to try and run. It’d been many hours since you’d eaten or drank, and even longer since you’d rested. The bounding strides of the beast clapped behind you; adrenaline and resignation working hand in hand to blur your senses. Had the beast been toying with you? Trailing you? It was merely one of many demons haunting your steps.

With a ghostly whir you anticipated the slimy jaws of death to greet your neck, the beasts breath steamy and pungent as it lurched forward.

‘Stop!’ It seemed death had spared you, but at a price. The prowler shrieked and fell, the steep nature of the hill leaving a shiny trail of moonlit life force in its wake. A direct piercing to the stomach from an even fiercer hunter had signalled it’s end. You dropped to your knees, dirt and grass working to mark every available patch of skin left unclothed.

‘Oh sweetheart,’ Loba’s bronzed skin has taken on a cooler glow under the burning starlight. She knelt down, a lengthy nailed brushing a stray lock from your brow. ‘You must be exhausted, don’t you think that’s enough playing around for tonight?’

Bloodhound retrieved their blade, caring little for formality as they swiped it clean against the fabric of their pants. ‘You had me beyond worried Y/n,’ the knelt, matching their newfound ally’s stance. ‘Your future with me can not be avoided.’

‘Nor can you prevent me taking what’s mine,’ Loba shook her head, in a manner that was patronisingly similar to teaching a child to mimic ones gestures.

‘I belong to neither of you,’ it was a surprisingly clear and bold confession. ‘You both lied, I risked my life to get away and now you think I will willingly come into your arms?’

The two traded glances, only ones smirk visible but the others apparent, ‘We have come to an agreement... for now.’

‘Yes. How interesting that we found common ground...’ she drawled.

Bloodhound adjusted their position behind you, the caging feeling of a broad torso pulling you into an embrace. ‘Many hands maka light work, Y/n...’

Loba smiled, applying a kiss to your cheek as bloodhound cradled you. It would’ve been endearing; the stars, the cozy feeling... if you hadn’t two unwavering reasons to worry.

‘Please let me go...’ the two clicked and hushed in uncanny unison; when they had fought and threatened only hours ago, the two were bound in a temporary peace once more. ‘Why aren’t you two fighting...

‘Enjoyed the attention did you y/n?’ Loba joked, applying a playful kiss to your brow. ‘I must say I owe them one for helping me find you once more, I’ll indulge their fantasies for one night only. As always, the wolf takes the prey and the raven takes the scraps.’

Bloodhound huffed, ‘I humour Andrade with false hope, worry no more Y/n. The moment dawn breaks, you will be where intended.’

Resignation tugged at your features, ‘why didn’t you just...let the Prowler get me.’

‘You cannot escape me,’ the pair spoke in eerie synchronisation.

The hunter with calm reassurance, evidently deterring you from any other train of thought.

The thief with a bold, tempting tone; she was all too confident any attempts would make no difference.

Neither was any better, nor terrifying than the other. Once again they were equals, both the sky and the ground an extension of the lengths they’d go to keep you theirs.

Whether in the company of a wolf or a raven, you could dream of being little more than a foolish little prize ripe for the taking.

#minty’s writing #yandere x reader #minty’s apex legends #yandere apex legends #yandere apex legends x reader #yandere loba andrade x reader #yandere loba andrade #yandere bloodhound x reader #Yandere bloodhound #long post

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hey JWB! Hope you are doing well! Did you ever had a thought that why Arnav didn't believed khushi after her revelation? Didn't he remembered khushi and her engagement with the man named "shyam"? Even Arnav's family forgot that khushi's engagement had happened with the guy named "Shyam" when shyam's truth was revealed post kidnapping track. Also it seemed that he trusts payal more than khushi both at times on broken marriage as well as shyam matter. What's your take on this? Thanks :)

Dearest Anon,

I'm doing well - thank you! How are you doing?

Oh I had lots of thoughts on why Arnav didn't believe Khushi after her revelation (I guess you are referring to her attempt at suicide).

Why Didn't Arnav Believe Khushi Post the Suicide?

Let's look at this from his psyche. Arnav is a man of facts, analytics, logic and practicality. When anyone is arguing with him with facts and logic by their side - he listens and often agrees with the other party. He gets to understand the other person's point of view - even if they are against his - as well.

For example; Arnav wasn't stunned to silence by Khushi's anger at the guesthouse. Her questions left him speechless.

"Don't I have a right to privacy? How can you not know about the guesthouse! You have always pointed out at my lack of class!"

Arnav was ashamed, and he only spoke to clarify her accusation that he meant no real harm. Apart from that he listened and was guilt ridden because Khushi spoke facts. Arnav knew much of his judgement was from prejudice which he never fact checked.

Likewise, when Khushi hands in her resignation, Arnav does not demand the one lakh in return simply because Khushi spoke one really solid fact.

"With each position comes a responsibility, and the minute you (Arnav) forgot your responsibility as an employer - this contract ceased to exist."

And that's true. A lot of what Arnav did can be classified under several lawsuits and Arnav knew he never gave Khushi a fair chance as an employee therefore extorting any money out of her - even if she is breaking the contract - is unethical because he never played on fair grounds.

However, when it comes to Khushi's revelation Arnav finds it difficult to believe what she is saying because:

1) Khushi claims she didn't tell the truth about Shyam to preserve Anjali's happiness. It's stupid. It does not make any practical sense. Anjali is NOT Khushi's sister, so at no point does Khushi struggle with the dilemma Arnav did.

If Khushi said she kept quiet for the sake of Payal and Akash's marriage - Arnav would've believed her cause (1) that is largely the truth (2) it is logical given Payal and Akash's wedding had enough problems on their own and Khushi would do anything for Payal - go against her judgement and keep such a hideous truth away.

2) Khushi blames Arnav and his way of thinking and tells him he is mistaken without saying why. Arnav hates being wrong. So one can't expect much success in being believed if your only point of argument is "hey, you're wrong, that's not the truth."

3) Everything Khushi says about Shyam can only be verified through Khushi or her family - people Khushi can easily compel to lie on her behalf. So whatever Khushi says has no way of being verified. Maybe Khushi could have spoken about the people in Laxminagar who can identify Shyam. Maybe there were some pictures. Maybe Khushi could've told about Shyam getting her a job at one of AR's warehouses. But Khushi is a human, she's not debating with Arnav at a competition, she is being emotional and is shocked on how he could think so little of her when she loved him so I'm not blaming her at all.

4) Yes, Arnav does recollect that Khushi's fiancé is Shyam. Which is why he is stunned for the first few minutes. But that does not prove that Khushi does not love Shyam or that this wasn't an affair. It proves nothing - it's a new information that fits regardless. And that applies to the family. When everyone learns about it they are more furious that the Gupta sisters didn't share this information to the Raizada's on time. They believe them, but they're also furious for a valid reason. To the family's credit no one believes Shyam's lies of Khushi getting obsessed and lost in love for him. No one.

I think more than the person what made Arnav trust everything Payal said is the way the truth came out before him.

She was not appealing to Arnav. In fact she didn't even care that he was present. She was denying a very favorable proposition and during that denial the truth of her marriage came out.

At no point does Payal even say 'trust me Akash, this is what happened'. She's more like 'you don't know anything about me, but your brother does'. And that has the impact of a thousand slaps.

It's as good as Khushi telling Arnav "I wonder how many times you've been right about me. Sheesh Mahal? Lucknow? Your office? Barsi? After Diwali?" Cause then Arnav would realise that he has never been right in assuming things about Khushi.

And when one is in heartbreak or is facing immense emotions towards someone, you are more inclined to believe the same truth when someone else - someone you have no connection with - tells you about it.

Also during his heartbreak Arnav would've believed anyone, anyone apart from himself and Khushi, to give him the perspective he's waiting for. That Khushi is innocent. Of course it is his flaw that this needs to be heard from somewhere else and I do like it that in his isolation during his kidnapping Arnav comes to a solemn realization that he chose to not see another perspective just to nurse his heartbreak, especially when the other perspective seems truer.

Now this whole ask might seem like I'm defending Arnav but that is not true. I wish, I so wish he showed more patience, questioned Shyam's version of events (like what are the chances he's telling truth while declaring love for Khushi) and tried to figure out things before jumping to conclusions. I wish he believed more, searched more and could push away his heartbreak in search of truth.

And neither am I faulting Khushi for not saying the exact things that would've made Arnav trust her, cause her heart was BREAKING and trust me, very few people say the things they should when confronting someone they trusted.

Lastly, I do feel the whole revelation was written rather poorly though. It wasn't a good enough scene and did not hold the weight it should've considering this was the big payoff people were waiting for months.

Hope you liked this and this answered your ask!

Much love,

- JWB

#ask #analysis #ipkknd analysis #arnav

[defectivexfragmented]

♡ // All three boys because my babes are curious little fucks 👀

your babes can have as many tips as they want!

Clint - it sounds odd but be cognizant of his personal space. He doesn't like to be touched and if you keep touching him unprompted or getting so close there's no room for the holy ghost between you, he's going to be more focused on getting away from you than anything else. Keep a comfortable physical space and let him come to you in that respect. Easiest way for him to relax around you.

Matt - He is the opposite of Clint, loves to be touched. Easiest way to his heart is to be close and speak to him. He relies very heavily on his other senses since he is blind. Be forward, get in his space, and make it so all of his attention is on you. A subtle perfume or cologne - nothing too strong or he will walk away, the right amount of confidence, a captivating voice, and he'll be entranced.

Bucky - Sweets. The man has a sweet tooth like no other, though he rarely allows himself to truly indulge. Want to have the super soldier wrapped around your finger? Chocolate covered strawberries, the high end kind. It's something he would never buy for himself but melt if someone bought for him. Pumpkin spice coffee would be the thing to surprise him to brighten his day. He appreciates the small things, finding they are a truer declaration of your feelings for someone than words.

@ofmythsandfables

#ofmythsandfables #musings: clint #musings: bucky #musings: matthew

[baezdylan]

LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 3: SEVEN

Escapism

"Please, picture me in the trees...

...before I learned civility."

- seven, Taylor Swift

***

one.

- Let's run away.

It's barely a whisper. It's said more to the open sky above them than to anybody else.

- Let's run away.

It's more than a whisper now. It's a call. An invitation for something greater than both of them. And Laurie would gladly buy a ticket for that particular train. He would. But the sun is so wonderful and the clouds are so enchanting in their unusual shapes that even getting up seems like a chore. He wants to stay here. On the grass. But Jo is persistent in her wishes. Jo March never, never, gives up.

- Won't you say something, Teddy? Can't you just see it? We could be anything, do anything, go anywhere! The world could be ours!

She, unlike him, is on her feet. She always seems to be. Gravity isn't very fond of Jo. Or at least that's what Jo will tell you. Laurie doesn't know if that's true or not, but he likes hearing her talk. He finds himself generally attached to sounds. The chipering of birds. The first note you play on the piano. Amy's chaotic laughter. Beth's soft chuckles. Meg's little mumbles. Jo's wild exclaims. That's one of the many reasons why Laurie loves the Marches. It's like these sisters have discovered an utterly fresh, vivid and extraordinary way to be alive. It's a pleasant contrast to what he's used to.

It's always quiet at home.

"What do you say Theodore Laurence, kindest and most noble of knights of this kingdom? Shall we follow the wind and see where it leads us?"

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Then you accept my proposal?"

"I sure do, Miss March."

People's faces usually look radically different when lightened up with smiles. They look prettier, more beautiful and somehow truer to themselves as opposed to non smiling faces. Jo's doesn't. She is smiling at him right now and her face doesn't look any different. It's just as true and warm as it was a thousand smiles before. And would Laurie even be allowed to call himself a comrade of Jo's if he didn't gift her with a smile of his own in return? He grins at her with no specific thought behind the expression. This is how people are supposed to be smiling, he thinks. Wide and real. Yes, people are supposed to be smiling just like this.

For a second, Jo and Laurie are the same person. Hair wild, shirts half unbuttoned, cheeks flushed. Laurie's hands are splattered with dirt from the ground whose hostility he was taking advantage of moments prior. Jo doesn't seem to care about that. Once he's up and standing, she grabs his arm a bit forcefully (which he doesn't mind), a bit theatrically (because this is Jo and life is a theatre piece) and they start running, both of them now embellished with dust. There's a lot of stumbling (and stumbling is blamed on the seemingly nonexistent objects that appear and disappear under commands of fairy like creatures) and there's a lot of laughter (laughter that comes in its most natural form and doesn't show any interest in being contained under anyone's wishes, especially not the ones of the world).

"Oh dearest, the world might not be for us, but us we are for the world."

***

two.

Freedom is both the most basic and the most complicated aspect of life to be gained. It is so simple of a concept, one could easily and rightfully so believe how all of thought guardians (more commonly referred to as humans) should have the right to not only experience, but spend their entire lives swimming in shinning lakes of freedom. But it's not how it all works. Some have tiny bits of freedom. Some don't have it at all. Some have loads. Some have just enough. Too much, sadly or sadly not, have none. 

Jo sometimes wishes she were a tree. High up in the sky, stretching out her branches towards infinity. She isn't a tree though.

Imagination is of grave help despite what anyone says. To a normal person, the tree is just a tree. Tree and nothing else. To Jo March, a tree is so much more. It's an opportunity. An adventure. It's a solace and a home. A sanctuary. She's climbing up one of her leaf providing friends as she's trying to figure out how to describe this moment the best. Her reflections are interrupted by a voice which surprisingly doesn't come from the bellow, but from the above instead. Once Jo spots the speaker's ground conquerors (or "shoes" if you are of dull old sameness and don't find the pleasure in crafting phrases unlike our Jo), she immediately recognizes their owner. She still isn't sure why Teddy let Amy paint his shoes with images of flowers, but she is mesmerized with the final result. And although she shall never share this with the oh, so great artist, Jo thinks Amy's creations to be exquisite.

"I presume you are coming here to put your mind at ease."

"That is correct, my boy, and I suppose you are here for the same cause. "

By the time they exchange these lines, Jo has already climbed up to the place where Laurie is. She finds herself a steady enough branch and rests her head against the surface of the wood. Her friend is positioned in a similar way, his leg gently swaying to a peculiar beat of his own making.

Two figures, who almost seem to be one with the wooden fellow, occasionally take an exceptionally deep breath. Their hands colored with bruises, souvenirs from many extraordinary expeditions, their clothes decorated with leaves. Seemingly they are flowers, nature is their most beloved companion.

It's quite a story how Jo and Teddy, these flower resembling humans, coexist without many syllables shared. The phrases they do sometimes grace each other with can end up being translated as meaningless or lacking in thought. But Teddy and Jo, among everything else, are inventors. They invented a language which only functions for them. What is mean to others represents to them a code. What is strange to some, playful and witty to them it is. What is impossible to comprehend, they understand with little to no effort.

"Language of flowers is the language of flowers for a reason. Nobody, but flowers, thinks it much sense."

***

three.

"I'M ALIVE! LOOK AT ME, EARTH!!! I! AM! BREATHING!"

This is just one of the many declarations that have furiously been shouted at the void today. Young people often have trouble befriending compromises, especially if those compromises are to be made with the creatures you live in close proximity with. Jo has again been fighting with her sisters for reasons she cannot exactly recall right this instant. It's funny, because this always happens to her. Something sparks her temper, she recklessly gives into it and at the end, it's all about the anger she doesn't know how to release. She usually goes on long walks or takes deep breaths. She basically tries to isolate herself from everyone until the storm passes.

Teddy has a different solution for her troubles, troubles that naturally turn out to be his troubles too because they are Jo and Teddy, Teddy and Jo, and they have the same troubles (which is both wonderfully relieving and awfully annoying at the same time). Jo wouldn't even call Teddy's solution a solution. They are both making these announcements of nonhuman frequency and dancing their heads off, and as ridiculous as it is, Jo feels it liberating. They aren't improving anything (just the opposite, screaming random things into the air represents the peak of impulsive behaviour) and the conclusion is: no profitable discoveries in the "containing yourself" department. But who cares? Sometimes you have to let it all out. Dance and shout the worries away. It wasn't a coincidence that Jo met Teddy under the circumstances that she did. They were both of hot tempers, strong wills and free spirits. And they needed to dance it all out out. Despite the absurdity and inappropriate mannerism a foreign eye would most certainly find in their actions.

"There exists no right nor wrong way to express one's self."

***

four.

Laurie is surprised with how much he is enjoying this. It's all very simple. Yet, he feels at peace. He feels like everything inside him has a chance to rest.

It's the fireplace and captivating movement of the fire flames.

It's the soft "click" he discovers every time Meg takes a step. Her shoes are marvellous singers.

It's the chattering of dishes he recognizes somewhere in the background. It must be Beth, cleaning the table after the meal.

It's Amy giggling mischievously after coming up with what Laurie supposes to be some kind of scheme or more accurately, a master plan. He wouldn't know what is it about, but whatever it is, Amy is destined to succeed in it.

It's Jo. This is all because of Jo. He wouldn't have come across the hidden delights of the "uncomplicated" and "boring" if it weren't for her. She takes a seat beside him interrupting the spectacular date he had with the fireplace, rests her head on his shoulder and sighs. It's like this with them. Touching has never been a big deal.

"Beautiful."

That's all Jo says. "Beautiful." He doesn't question it. He understands what she means even though he cannot explain it. He understands.

"Warmth. Choreographed chaos. Lines overlapping. Minds intertwining. Familiarity greeting you "hello". People. Family. Home."

***

five.

She cut her hair. She cut her hair and everything is supposed to be at least a little better if not completely fine. But she can feel the tears forming in her eyes as she's approaching the house. The money in her pocket is so incredibly present. No, the money is not just present in her pocket. Everything those dusty pieces of paper represent carries weight. A weight so grand Jo could swear there is somebody following her, kind of like the money has taken the shape of a person and is now accompanying her, monitoring her every move. What kind of world sees a green, ugly paper and claims of it a metaphor for greatest treasures? And the tears? The tears she cannot comprehend. Why would she care? It's just hair. If anything, she should be bursting with joy right now. She got rid of the womanly burden. But it doesn't feel right. It's all extremely selfish of her. Selfish and thoughtless.

Her sister is... not well. Her father is out there doing all sorts of heroic things and instead of crying over her sins, she's crying over this. For once she does something right, for once the part of her that's wrong different isn't screaming. And then it hits her. It's not just a part of her that's different wrong. It's her. The moment she realises this she steps into the house. Everyone is either too distant or too close to notice all that is hiding underneath her seemingly admirable actions.

Her body is barely handling the atmosphere. It's barely cultivating the facade. But her body is also covered with Teddy's waistcoat and just as she remembers this little fact she sees her best friend right there in front of her. He is not too distant nor too close. He is right where she is.

They have the same hair.

Jo is pulled towards him because this is Teddy and hugging Teddy is like hugging herself. They stay like that for a few moments, their realities greeting each other like two fellow soldiers, finally reunited in battle.

It doesn't make her feel any less hollow. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't alter the wrongs. But it does make it a little better. It offers an assurance. An assurance embodying validity so present, money can do nothing but hold a candle to. An assurance of rational absurdity. Because that's what Jo and Teddy are.

They are rationally absurd.

"It's a childish belief that all twins look the same. There exist many ways to be somebody's twin."

***

six.

She is holding his hand.

He has just told her how he doesn't fit within himself. He has just told her that and she is still here, laying on the floor with him, covered with blankets. She said it made sense. She must have been too tired or something. She must have misheard. She must have.

"Jo, are you there?"

She does not respond. She only squeezes his hand. It's not about the gesture itself. It's about everything the gesture holds.

Promises. Lifetimes. Daylights. Midnights. Setting suns. Growing spirits. Flowery Youths.

She is holding his hand.

" Mutuality sure is a wonderful creation. What is more wonderful though is mutual understanding. Mutuality means the returning of the same. Mutual understanding means accepting and loving of the different."

***

seven.

"I could run away for real this time. Explore the unknown, unravel the mystical. Encounter the miracles. Touch the heavens..."

Her words are empty. They don't mean much. They are empty and desperate. Empty, desperate and meaningless.

Her sister got married. Meg got married and she is talking to herself about running away. The wind is dancing with her again long enough hair, tangling its fingers into her rough curls, reminding her of the countless times it has done the exact same thing before. Mocking her with its endless supplies of stability and comfort. Jo is leaning over the wooden fence, despite the wishes of her dress which keeps complaining about her unlady like methods. Jo honestly does not care about the fancy bridesmaid dress and its wants. If one has the will to climb fences, one shall enjoy the act of doing so, no matter what some piece of fabric might have to say. She is trying to hold back rivers her eyes miserably wish to let flow. She cannot cry. She must not. She has an ongoing bet with Teddy about this. He was daring enough to assume she will turn herself into a paddle today and she ought to prove him wrong.

"What might a lady like yourself be doing here instead of enjoying the jolly ceremony out there in the open?"

"I am no lady Teddy, my being is in no need of such chains."

Laurie doesn't pressure her into answering the question (she would have answered it in the first place if she had the intention to) and steps on the fence beside her. He starts humming a random melody, rhythmically moving his fingers to the sound.  He must be composing something again, thinks Jo and silently envies his creative range. It's been too long since she's written anything worth sharing.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Everything."

"Isn't that a bit too much of things?"

"Oh, it's just a little over the top Teddy, but I believe I can handle it. This mind is no stranger to overcrowding."

The same tree they used to climb when they were younger is now observing them, representing an eternal and haunting reminder of everything that once was. Jo is frightened. That silent way in which Teddy is looking at her is frightening. He is looking at her in ways she longs for to be different and his eyes have too many freshly discovered stories to tell. She is frightened she won't find those stories to be very pleasant.

"Do you remember that day when I told you how I wanted to run away?"

"How could I not?"

"I need to run away again."

Laurie doesn't need to hear it twice. He jumps over the fence and starts running, his arms widely spread, his tie and jacket long forgotten. It isn't real. Jo knows they will never go anywhere. The sun is setting and the lines of separation are clearing up. The sun is setting and challenges, struggles and complications lie ahead. She knows all of this. Yet, she hikes up her skirts like she's sixteen again and follows the path her boy has chosen for as long as she knows how to. Jo and Teddy run through the endless fields of gold, specks of sunlight meeting their bones. Teddy and Jo, Jo and Teddy, high in the sky for one last time before nightfall.

They keep falling over each other and eventually end up wrestling on the grass, occasional screams and consistent laughter adorning the air around them.

The last song of Meg's shoes. The last symbol Amy will ever paint on Jo's hands. The last wide smile of Beth's. The last understood conversation of birds. The last fellow of the trees. The last arrangement of flowers.

The last.

The last.

The last.

"Oh, to live in a world where there are childhoods, fields of gold and raging hearts."

"Grab a coat, leave a note and run away with me."

- William Chapman

#louisa may alcott #little women 2019 #little women fanfiction #laurie laurence #jo march #amy march #my writing #beth march #meg march #taylor swift #folklore #evermore #jo × laurie

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Handsome, Handsome Man

Summary: There was a million reasons Virgil was ready to declare today a lost cause and sleep until there was no day left, and only one reason to not. But when the other reasons a very caring partner, even the biggest of issues quickly lost their edge. Content: Dysphoria, mentions of misgendering, swearing, transmale!Virgil, nonbinary!Deceit Pairing: Romantic Anxceit Notes: For @figurative-siren-song because dysphoria fucking sucks

~~

    On a list of ‘bad days’, Virgil was ready to put this one up amongst the pretty-fucking-bads. He had woken up with the tell-tale cramps of coming bloody and messy days and from there everything had spiraled. His hair was just barely getting shaggy and yet it was too long, his binder was on and yet it wasn’t doing nearly enough, and there was a voicemail from his mom that he knew was just going to be brimming with unapologetic misgenderings. He had been awake for five minutes and he was already ready to give up, call it a failed day, and sleep for the next twenty-four hours; maybe longer.

    He had achieved steps one and two quite well, in fact, and was halfway to seeing the third one through when his phone rang. He huffed as he unwrapped himself from half his blankets and found the current object of his frustrations.

    “What do you want?” He half-slurred, half-spit into the phone as soon as he took the call, not even glancing at the caller ID. He was fairly certain it was his mother, and he really, really wasn’t in the mood.

    “To talk to my boyfriend, if that’s not too much of a hassle.” The caller responded, and Virgil moaned as he recognized the voice.

    “Damnit, Dee, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

    “Don’t worry about it.” Damien responded, cutting Virgil off. “Bad day?”

    “Very bad. So, so fucking bad.” Virgil complained, falling back against his bed and pulling more of his sheets over his body, treasuring how blob-like and formless his chest looked with them piled on top of them. “Everything’s wrong, Dee. Every. Fucking. Thing.”

    “Do you want me to come over?”

    Yes. Virgil bit back on his actual answer. He did want Damien there, more than anything just wanted to curl up against his partner and let them comb through his hair and tell him he was handsome and let the world fade into nothing until the only thing left was him and Damien.

    But for as much as he wanted Damien there, he also knew they were busy- they had jobs to do and things to sort and- and other stuff that Virgil was sure was very important, more important than his momentary crisis of self. So, his actual answer aside, Virgil shook his head against his pillow and answered, “Nah, I’ll be fine. Just tired of this shit.”

    “Nice try, darling.” Damien replied almost immediately, making Virgil wonder if his pause of consideration gave him away before his words could. “But you can’t lie to a liar.”

    “I can try.” Virgil returned, only garnering a chuckle from Damien.

    “I’m coming over.” Damien told him, leaving no room for argument. “How much ice cream should I bring?”

    “One tub’ll be fine.”

    “Two tubs it is.” Damien responded. Virgil laughed at that, laughter dissolving into a small but soft smile.

    “Be here soon?” He asked, trying (and mostly failing) to not sound too whiny. Luckily, Damien didn’t seem to mind the inflection.

    “I’ll break every traffic law, just for you.”

    Virgil laughed. “You always do that.”

    “Yes, but this time, it’s for you.” Damien stressed, and Virgil didn’t need to see them to know they were smirking. “See you soon, handsome.”

    “See you soon.” Virgil echoed, pressing a hand against his already blooming smile at the petname even though there was no one there to see it. He tossed his phone aside as soon as Damien hung up, well aware he wouldn’t want to take any other calls that came through.

    It only took fifteen minutes for Damien to get there, and in that time Virgil had managed to complete his metamorphosis into a complete blanket lump, several layers of sheets tucked over his body and head, blocking out the rest of the world. Even at the sound of his front door and bedroom door opening, he didn’t free himself, only snuggling in further as chuckles rang out through the room.

    “Cuddle piles don’t work too well with only one member, you know.” Damien said, voice quiet but smooth as one of their hands ran over the top of the blanket lump that Virgil had become. “Though you do seem to be making a valiant effort to make the first completely antisocial cuddle pile.”

    “Warm blankets suffice.” Virgil mumbled. Damien laughed again, hand now coming up to rest somewhere against his shoulder.

    “Yes, but warm people work better.” Damien told him. “Now, can I see my dashing dapper boyfriend, or must I continue to converse with a blanket that is not nearly as attractive as him?”

    Virgil didn’t fulfill his request immediately, but that was mostly because he wanted to give his rising blush a moment to subside before facing them. Within a minute or too, he lowered the blanket covering his face, peeking out at his partner. His attempt to hide his blush, however, was apparently for naught if the smirk Damien greeted him with was anything to go by.

    “There he is.” Damien greeted warmly, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead, brushing aside his bangs as they did so. “My handsome, handsome man.”

    “And there you are.” Virgil replied, trying to sound more put together than he was feeling. “My lovely, lovely partner.”

    “You can’t turn this around on me, love.” Damien told him, just the faintest pink twinge rising in their cheeks. “Right now is about you.”

    Virgil huffed, but there was no heat in it. “Unfair.”

    “Very fair.” Damien rebuked. “Now, I guessed that the blanket pile was not in the mood for ice cream, but it’s in the freezer for when you do want it.”

    “Chocolate?”

    “No, I would’ve gotten my ailing boyfriend anything but his favorite ice cream in his time of need.” Damien replied, sarcasm thick in their voice, though their tone was teasing; not unkind.

    “You’re an awful partner.” Virgil told them, his sarcasm slightly more biting, but Damien understood it nonetheless.

    “Perhaps I am.” Damien told him, one of their hands moving to play with Virgil’s hair even as they spoke, looping it around their fingers and combing through it. “Though I suppose awful partners don’t cuddle with their charming boyfriends?”

    Virgil kneed Damien in the leg. “Don’t be an ass.” He said, attempting to glare as his partner did little more than laugh. “Either join the anti-social cuddle pile or get out.”

    “I don’t think that’s how anti-social things work, dearest.” Damien commented, though they were always raising up the blankets covering Virgil’s side and sliding onto the bed, pulling them over themself as they settled next to their boyfriend.

    “If you can make traffic law exceptions for me, I can make anti-social exceptions for you.” Virgil told them plainly, rolling on his side so that he could press up closer against Damien. “It’s only fair.”

    Damien shifted a bit so as to pull Virgil’s head into their lap, once more resuming their work at carding fingers through his hair, now occasionally scratching at his scalp as well. “I suppose.” They sighed in mock annoyance.

    Virgil smiled up at them for that, and after a moment of fake brooding, they smiled back, even sticking their tongue out to blep just the tiniest amount. Despite having many times experienced annoyance towards the action, saying it was too cutesy for their aesthetic, they were always more than happy to do it anyways when they knew only Virgil could see. Virgil loved the reminder of how close they truly were, and how much they trusted Virgil, and it always made him smile.

    Well, that, and because Damien really did look quite cute when they blepped.

    “I love you.” Virgil told them. It wasn’t really an impulse, since Virgil tended to be more reserved with how often he used those three little words, but in the moment it felt as if there was nothing else he possibly could say and nothing else he’d rather say.

    Damien’s smile softened into something more rare, something more adoring, as they leaned down to press another kiss against Virgil’s brow. “And I love you, my handsome, charming, dashing, dapper, masucline, manly boyfriend.”

    That was overkill, in Virgil’s opinion, and coming from anyone else it would have sounded sickeningly fake.

    But coming from Damien, as they played with Virgil’s hair and held him close and looked at him so sweetly, Virgil felt he had never heard anything truer. There was no doubt in his mind: he was a man. Maybe not the most stereotypical man, but a man nonetheless.

    And so long as his partner loved him for it, he was perfect.

#anxceit #ts virgil #ts janus #sympathetic deceit #nb!janus #trans!virgil #the cryptid speaks #fanfic #fanfiction #ts sides #sanders sides #casper #i hope this isn't too out of character #and that you like it! #also ik cas doesn't like chocolate but ik (famILY) virgil does so like..... make virgil like chco ice cream sdhfbcsdjf

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Surprised by a storm with Fuegoleon (part 5/5)

You stood there in silence, only the flicker of light dancing around the room as your company. Shadows twirled around, licking your feet, filling your head with doubt. But still there was an ember glowing in your chest, that refused to die down. You could not will your feelings away, and thought that it’d be best if you’d just tell him. “He’s kind and understanding, so I’m sure that he’ll let me down gently. And afterwards I can… I can accept my faith.” Your stomach turned, but did nothing to the flutter in your heart.

The bathroom door opened and Fuegoleon emerged with a stoic look on his face, dressed in the pyjama pants that he was given. “Did they not give you a shirt?” You smirked. His brows furrowed, but a smile formed on his lips. “They did. Unfortunately, the locals are a bit slender around the shoulders, so I was unable to fit it on.” “Ah,” you uttered as you twirled the wine in your glass and bit your lip. “Would you like some?” You nodded towards the bottle on the table in an effort to distract yourself. “God, I’m supposed to sleep next to him after he turns me down…? But what if…? No. Just let go of it. It’ll be better to still confess.” Without waiting for an answer your feet had already made their way to the table. “Yes, please.” His steps were calm and collected as his presence filled the room. It was as if you could feel every step he took, and every single one of them declared ‘here I am’. His presence seemed to dominate over you, and you didn’t mind. Your heart already belonged to him, all else would follow.

You poured him a glass and sat down. He followed you lead, and you could only deduce that he didn’t know of your predicament. He did not know how your every sense was tuned to listen to his movements and expression. Instead, he was trying to find the words to try and ease your anxiety of sleeping with him, as he presumed that to be the cause of your current state. You made small talk as you ate, but the thick, suffocating fog of tension that lingered between made it hard to keep up a proper conversation. Thus, silence filled the air around you. He took a sip of wine as your lips hovered over the rim of your glass, your mind trying to push the words from your throat.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. The words fell from his mouth and dropped onto the floor with a loud clang. You weren’t quite certain as to what to tell him. After all, there wasn’t anything exactly wrong, but there was tension. There was worry and anguish, but you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t, and you wouldn’t, try to guilt trip him into dating you by saying that you were in agony for being unable to call him yours. There was genuine worry in his tone, and the way his complexion was veiled with sorrow. You could barely bring your eyes to meet him for a brief second before turning away. “I must apologise for not being able to relieve your discomfort, but I can assure you that I won’t do anything to bring you harm.” His tone was monotone and forced, caused by his clenched jaw.

Your heart sank with his words and you couldn’t help but feel guilt. It hadn’t been your intention to make him feel like he was causing your discomfort. “I know.” Your reached for him over the table and stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. “You are not at fault. And I know that you would never hurt me,” you emphasized the word never as you watched his eyes lift from the table and your hand. “It’s just that there’s… there’s something I should tell you.” His stomach clenched as those words are never ones one wishes to hear.

You kept your other hand on his and took a hold of your seat with the other. Trying to glide the seat a bit closer to him around the table, as it had been rather uncomfortable to lean over it, you barely lifted yourself of the chair. “You see, for a while now I’ve -“ you began, but didn’t get very far as a leg of the chair was caught in that of the table as you tried to get closer, and you fell. But a cold hard kiss of the floor never reached you. Fuegoleon had jumped from his seat and dived under you. So, there you laid, on his chest where it was soft and warm. He had caught you, in fact, he had never let go of you. His gorgeous eyes were on you and asked a question, but instead of answering it you continued from where you had been left off. “I’ve been in love with you.” The words left you as you breathed. In the end, telling him, baring your heart to him felt natural to you. It was as natural and essential as breathing.

Silence lingered in the room for what must have been only a couple of seconds, but felt like hours. You prepared to hear his slightly apologetic and empathetic decline, but instead you could feel him warming up. His cheeks had a tint of red and questions had dissipated from his eyes, now open wider. A careful smile tugged the corners of his mouth and he exhaled a rapid and deep breath. You could feel him relax under you as his gazed locked with yours. “I wanted to be the first to say that…” he faintly admitted. “And I wanted to first, properly, sweep you from your feet.” This time around, your eyes widened and you could feel all the happiness and relief condense in your eyes as you leaned closer to his face. “Don’t you think this, counts as doing just that?” You hovered your lips over his, not daring to quite close the distance.

His hand travelled to the back of your head, fingers sinking into your damp hair as he lifted his head. The kiss was slow and soft, your lips gracing over each other, dancing that ethereal waltz that you had gotten lost in. Your lips parted, but you both felt closer than ever before. It was something neither of you wanted to let go, not now, not ever. You pressed your forehead against his just for a moment before lifting yourself off of him. He followed you just enough to sit up and pull you in an embrace as you sat on the cold floor, but you didn’t feel the cold. The shadows of uncertainty dared not lick your skin and what clouds might have hung over you, were banished.

A couple of his hairs tickled your cheek and you pulled a part just enough to scratch the spot. “Hm?” You smiled at him. “Nothing. Your hair just tickles.” This time around, your words were light and soft. He chuckled a bit and frowned barely noticeably. “I haven’t had a chance to brush it.” “Would you like to?” He raised an eyebrow at you and you got up and retrieved the brush you’d been supplied with.

He got up from the floor and followed your steps. “Here,” you said as you handed the brush to him. “A lion needs his mane.” The smirk on your face oozing into your tone. Fuegoleon chuckled more boldly this time and looked around the room. “There’s no mirror, so…” he gently pushed the brush towards you. “Would you?” His eyes implored as you smiled and took his hand. You both climbed into the bed, the covers wrapped around you as you brushed his hair. The candles still cast their light around the room, the glow of the two of you was much brighter. You could again converse at ease, feeling like you could tell each other anything, and from now on it was truer than before.

You talked late into the night and as you finally laid down to sleep, he wrapped his arm around you. You placed your arm on his as you smiled. His breath caressed your head and his senses were engulfed by your scent. “This. This is all I ever wanted. To have her in my arms as my beloved. I promise that as long as I still draw breath, I will love you and hold you. Now that I have you, I intend to keep you.” Sleep took over and you drifted off, your hold of each other not loosening. The King among lions had a queen, a fierce lioness who purred in his presence. The Queen among lions had a king, a brave lion who purred under her touch.

#fuegoleon vermillion #fuegoleon x reader #black clover #surprised by a storm

[picsofsannyas]

THERE IS a very famous Taoist story -- I love it tremendously. The story is about an old Taoist farmer whose horse ran away:

THERE IS a very famous Taoist story -- I love it tremendously. The story is about an old Taoist farmer whose horse ran away:

That evening the neighbours gathered to commiserate with him since this was such bad luck. He said, "Maybe." The next day the horse returned, but brought with it six wild horses, and the neighbours came exclaiming at the good fortune. He said, "Maybe." And then the following day, his son tried to saddle and ride one of the wild horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. Again the neighbours came to offer their sympathy for the misfortune. He said, "Maybe." The day after that, conscription officers came to the village to seize young men for the army, but because of the broken leg the farmer's son was rejected. When the neighbours came in to say how fortunate everything had turned out, he said, "Maybe."

This is the attitude of a man who understands what is accidental and what is essential. The accidental is always 'maybe'; it is a 'perhaps'. You cannot be certain about it, you need not be certain about it. People who become certain about the accidental are going to be frustrated sooner or later; their certainty is going to create much frustration for them. Their certainty will create expectations, and they cannot be fulfilled -- because the universe is not there to fulfil your expectations. It has its own destiny. It is moving towards its own goal. It does not care about your private goals. All private goals are against the goal of the universe itself. All private goals are against the goal of the Whole. All private goals are neurotic. The essential man comes to know, to feel, that 'I am not separate from the Whole and there is no need to seek and search for any destiny on my own. Things are happening, the world is moving -- call it God -- He is doing things. They are happening of their own accord. There is no need for me to make any struggle, any effort; there is no need for me to fight for anything. I can relax and be.'

The essential man is not a doer. The accidental man is a doer. The accidental man is, of course, then in anxiety, tension, stress, anguish, continuously sitting on a volcano -- it can erupt any moment, because he lives in a world of uncertainty and believes as if it is certain. This creates tension in his being: he knows deep down that nothing is certain. A rich man has everything that he can have, and yet he knows deep down that he has nothing. That's what makes a rich man even poorer than a poor man.

A poor man is never so poor because still he has hopes: some day or other, destiny is going to shower blessings on him; some day or other he will be able to arrive, to achieve. He can hope. The rich man has arrived, his hopes are fulfilled -- now, suddenly, he finds nothing is fulfilled. All hopes fulfilled, and yet nothing is fulfilled. He has arrived and he has not arrived at all -- it has always been a dream journey. He has not moved a single inch.

A man who is successful in the world feels the pain of being a failure as nobody else can feel it. There is a proverb that says that nothing succeeds like success. I would like to tell you: nothing fails like success. But you cannot know it unless you have succeeded. When all the riches are there that you have dreamt about, planned about, worked hard for, then sitting just amidst those riches is the beggar -- deep inside empty, hollow; nothing inside, everything outside. In fact, when everything is there outside, it becomes a contrast. It simply emphasizes your inner emptiness and nothingness. It simply emphasizes your inner beggarliness, poverty. A rich man knows poverty as no poor man can ever know. A successful man knows what failure is. At the top of the world, suddenly you realize that you have been behaving foolishly. You may not say so, because what is the point of saying it? You may go on pretending that you are very happy -- presidents and prime ministers go on pretending they are very happy; they are not. They are just saving their faces. Now, what to say? There is no point even in saying anything -- they are not true.

In the older ages, people were truer, more authentic. Buddha was a prince, he was going to be the emperor, but he realized that there is nothing in it. He could have pretended. Mahavir was a prince; he was going to be the emperor. He realized that there is nothing in it. They simply declared their realization to the world. They simply said that riches have failed, that kingdoms are not kingdoms; that if you are really seeking the kingdom, you will have to seek somewhere else, in some other direction. In this world there is no way to arrive.

Osho.

A Sudden Clash of Thunder

Chapter #3

Why Should I Grieve Over Him?

#osho #tao #story #horses

[oveliagirlhaditright]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092943/chapters/60786085

SoKai Week Day 1. Prompt: One Heart.

So… Sora and Kairi’s entire conversation at the start of this is based on one that Buffy and Angel had in “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, that I felt was too perfect to pass up for this.

Enjoy!

Also… it should hopefully be clear in the story, but Kairi—who is the PoV here—is definitely being an unreliable narrator in this fic, and being WAY too hard on herself.

Have Heart

It was a hideous day outside: rain was falling in torrents, the wind was howling, and there was an eclipse keeping anyone from seeing the sun.

But even though the weather conditions were bleak, the past hours hadn't been a complete loss for the Guardians of Light. While Ava had, unfortunately, gone back to the Master of Master's side after he'd told her how he loved her like a dad would, they'd gotten Aced to their side when they'd explained to him that even they thought he'd had good intentions—even if his father and siblings couldn’t see that—but had just gone about things the wrong way…

And maybe that was why Kairi and Sora were having a heart-to-heart themselves right now, in Merlin's Study, while everyone else was outside trying to fix Radiant Garden’s claymores...

"I saw you on the day you became the most popular girl at school, y'know,” Sora said now, as he held onto Kairi’s hand and looked earnestly into her eyes. “It was a beautiful day, where the sun was actually shining unlike now... and you had a lollipop in your mouth, and walked down the stairs to the courtyard… and I fell in love with you then.”

"Why?" Kairi couldn't keep herself from asking. Because it was beyond her how Sora had ever cared for the weak girl who had led to his death, let alone cared for the horrible creature she’d been even before that.

"Because... I could see your heart,” Sora assured her with a smile, as he ran a hand through her hair. And Kairi supposed he must have been serious about this… since Sora always took matters of the heart so seriously. It made her feel even more in love, even if she wasn’t sure she deserved it. "…And I was worried that your heart would be bruised or broken. And more than anything else in the world, I wanted to warm it with my own."

Kairi hugged Sora for these words—as how could she not? Especially since she wanted to revel in this feeling a little while longer, if  she was going to selflessly give it up… if she couldn’t change—and replied, "That's so sweet, Sora." And it was.

But for some reason, Kairi also couldn't help thinking of their blood pumping organs being pushed together, instead of their figurative hearts that Sora had really been speaking about, "Or, taken literally… really gross." (1)

“Y’know… I was just thinking the same thing,” Sora muttered, seeming suddenly ashamed of himself if the tone in his voice was anything to go by.

And Kairi laughed uproariously, as she pulled away from Sora and smiled at him widely… and then he was grinning at her, too, before he was twirling her around and they were dancing in the midst of their ridiculous life.

And Kairi held onto the moment, in thinking that it could be her last moment with Sora… for so many reasons.

...

In the end… Kairi was selfish. She always had been, and knew this well. Wasn’t this why she’d always wanted Sora to stay home with her, rather than go on his quests? …Or why she’d forced herself into battles she wasn’t ready for—endangering everyone that way—just so she could stay by Sora’s side? And then… after Sora had died, she’d become the worst possible version of herself. That old popular girl with the bad attitude again, but also someone who’d been grieving for trauma that had happened to her on one, two, three fronts… and she’d been so cold to Riku because of it… someone who was Sora’s best friend.

And after everything they’d been through… maybe she should have just let Sora and herself be together, like they so desperately wanted, but after Sora’s heartfelt declaration the other day—where he’d told her he’d loved her when she’d only been at the first stage of unlovable—she couldn’t help thinking he deserved so much better than her.

But Kairi was too awful to let Sora go completely… So she stopped touching him or being around him if she could help it, without explaining anything, as she tried to become a better (or lesser?) version of herself, so she could hopefully be comfortable in his arms again, sooner rather than later?

Where her enemies were concerned… Kairi stopped talking to them—in not being able to get over just how annoying she was when she spoke—but she also hated that she was doing this… because it reminded her of the girl who hadn’t gotten to speak to her abuser until he was already dead, and she couldn’t get much relief that way, and it was causing the Foretellers to just think she was the simple girlfriend of Sora again, and nothing more.

But if it somehow made Kairi’s heart… truer, she would continue on this path.

So when Ursula's family were making a big deal of her being in love with George from the Jungle, when Kairi was helping out in that world, she said nothing... She also didn't even question why Alice seemed older than she should have been, when she went to Wonderland herself for the first time, and why it seemed different than Sora described it as... She even ignored telling her new friends who she thought framed Roger Rabbit, when she'd figured the answer out herself. And even when it was revealed to her that Master Ava was somehow her grandmother… Kairi didn’t react. But that was more from shock than anything else.

But it was after that had transpired, that Sora seemed to have enough of the silent treatment and began questioning her. "Kairi... I thought you wanted to be more active on our journeys… so why are you being less so now? Are you okay?"

They were back home on Destiny Islands now, after having defeated the Master of Master’s plans and most of the Foretellers, unfortunately. And Kairi had decided to just deal with all of her grief here, and not ruin the party that was going on outside, but she should have known that Sora would never leave her alone when her heart was clearly in distress… that was what she loved about him.

The Kairi of old, who had been pretty good at bottling up her emotions, wouldn't have told Sora the truth here… But the one who remembered how doing such a thing had destroyed Terra, Ventus, and Aqua’s friendship for a while, knew that she had to finally speak.

"...What's wrong is that I'm supposed to be Light, Sora…. But you're kinder and truer than I could ever be… and I’m not saying that to insult you or anything… I just find that no matter what I do, I’m a mean girl—even though I'm trying to fight some of that now… and be less me—so what can you possibly see in me? And what did the universe see, in order to gift me with this power?"

And Kairi assumed that Sora would give her some massive speech here… perhaps something like his “my friends are my power” speech, or when he’d told Riku he didn’t have a conscience… or something along the lines of what he’d said to get her to want to stay in Traverse Town so many years ago…

But instead, Sora just admitted with much simplicity and heart: "Kairi, I love you because you're you... for all the times you've saved me, and how you poke fun at me, and how we've grown up together. How could I not? So stop trying to be anyone other than yourself. And, I mean, Mister Arrogant over here isn't exactly perfect. Our flaws make us good for each other, too, believe it or not."

And Kairi wanted to argue this, she really did. Because how could the hero of the worlds be comparing himself to her?

But if Kairi was being honest with herself, she loved Sora for pretty similar reasons to what he’d just said about her, didn't she? Even when she was put off by how conceited he could be, for example, in thinking he could just magically go to the next school year—despite his grades—just because his teachers loved him so much.

And Kairi held Sora in her arms again… probably something she should’ve been doing every second and every day since he’d first spilled his guts to her, instead of pushing him away, and Kairi asked Sora the question that perhaps the universe had laid on her mind to try and comfort her. "I guess I really do need you to warm my heart, huh?"

And the words "you bet" were whispered against Kairi's head, as Sora kissed her forehead and brought her even closer to him.

Author’s Note: (1) I struggled with whether I wanted to give Kairi this Buffy line or not. On one hand… I didn’t want to, because Sora was spilling his heart out to Kairi here, and it didn’t seem like she would somewhat shoot that in the foot by saying this. But at the same time… I want Kairi to have her personality, tbh… The snarky one that we really saw in KHI and KHII, that allowed her to banter with Sora: as I think that’s one of the reasons they’re good and fun together and have chemistry. So, in the end, I decided to keep it for that reason. And perhaps Kairi later thought of her saying that, and it’s part of the reason she’s hating on herself in this story. -shrugs-

#Sokai week #sokai #SoKai Week day 1 #one heart #day 1 #mine #my work #Shanna writes #my writing #fanfiction #oneshot #canon #future fic #canon compliant #Buffy inspired #long post #out from under

[docholligay]

Fluff day prompt: One of the Overwatch characters (your choice) realizing how much Tracer and Winston's friendship has positively impacted/changed the team. ^__^

Number three! I kept trying to write this into what I wanted it to be and it never got there and I’M ANNOYED but there we are sometimes we do our best, anyway 1800 words. 

Tracer was curled up under Winston’s arm, half-asleep though she swore she wasn’t tired not but an hour ago, Winston’s thumb rubbing back and forth across her shoulder as her eyelids grew heavy. A few weeks ago, she had been teetering between life and death, death’s victory taken only by Pharah’s refusal to allow it to be so. 

Mercy was not the sort of person who ever tried to guess at life. The unpredictability of her own had long since beat that out of her, and now she simply tried to steer the ship, instead of guessing at the storm. But even she would never have believed the man WInston would turn out to be, in the light of Tracer’s great friendship and love, and how Mercy would come to fear more than than simply the loss of Tracer’s life, but all the things that had bloomed within it. 

He was a nervous creature, Mercy had noted, and then scolded herself for thinking creature. They sat across from each other in that cold meeting room, in the original Overwatch, hearing about how Airman Oxton, callsign Tracer, was missing, but perhaps not quite deceased. She’d complained to him, later, in her office, about how she hated the experimental division, how she thought they were inhuman. She had handed him pictures she had of Tracer, sent by the family with their pleas for answers. 

She still remembered the way he had looked at them, how his eyes had softened as he looked over the one of her with her father at a birthday party, and it was then that Mercy saw that he might not be just as bad as the rest of them, whose faces had stayed stoic when faced with the tears of her father, with the pictures of a woman who was clearly deeply loved, and terribly missed. Mercy had no gift for stoicism, and she had no interest in trying. 

Winston did his best to stand upright, to keep his jaw straight, and to look like the rest of them, neat in his uniform, as he went through the halls of Overwatch. No one was ever fooled. Winston spoke little, and softly, and nervously touched at his glasses trying to make himself small, whenever anyone ever got too close. LeCroix ran ramshackle over the top of him, and he quietly took it, and Mercy managed to feel a strange mix of pity and annoyance and his weakness. 

Even as they cared for Tracer, he stammered when Moira interrogated him over Tracer’s condition and her progress and what sort of things her body might now be able to do. It seemed, Moira would say, that it was kinder simply to let her die and benefit by the autopsy, given the way she cried out in pain and fear. Mercy had never seen herself as the sort of person who got in the middle of arguments, but she could only bear to watch Moira browbeat the poor thing for so long, and anyhow, eventually he might turn Tracer’s care over to Moira, and Mercy would rather perform her own bowel resection than let that happen. 

Mercy had not respected him, though she made every effort to be kind, until Tracer began to speak. Quietly, weakly, but steadily, every day, sometimes more than once, trying with all her might to make herself understood. 

She was asking for her father. 

In that same cold meeting room, people with more strategy than souls debated whether or not they should tell her her father had died only days before she was recovered, whether they should tell her family that she was alive, before deciding that it would be deleterious to her recovery to let her know her father had died. They had been close, said the dossier they had on her. They would tell her after she had strengthened, and might be able to tell them something about the whereabouts of the Slipstream. Monstrous, she had thought. 

There had been the heavy sound of a pushing chair, and Mercy had seen Winston stand. 

“No,” he said, staring at the table, “this isn’t right. No. I---No.” 

He hadn’t stopped, hadn’t looked up at any of them, simply pushed in his chair and walked down the hallway, quick as he could, to the bug jar where Tracer was kept, lying quietly on her bed, and he told her. He told her before he could lose his nerve, before anyone could stop him, before he thought about what he might be doing and how he could be brought up on charges of insubordination. 

Tracer had wailed, and then stopped speaking for another two weeks. Mercy had come into the lab to see Winston silently sitting at her side, his hand on her back as softly as he could make it. He hadn’t left her, all the night, though he could not have known her, not really. Mercy had seen, for the first time, a strength in him. A strength that was only more emboldened as Tracer began to heal, as she and Winston grew closer, spending a first American Thanksgiving together in her little bug jar, her declaring them proper friends, her clumsily wrapped Christmas gift, and the way Winston’s eyes grew wide when she called him Win. 

It was strange to think that Tracer had brought him strength, when she supposed those who had never known Winston would see the scene set before them, Tracer’s eyes closed as her body melted over him, and assumed that what she brought was softness. An animal, right? The beast that must be tamed by beauty? They did not see that what he had been, before, how nervous and shirking. 

She had heard it said that being loved gives you strength, but it is loving that brings courage, and she had never seen this truer than in Winston’s change, and what it had done for all of Overwatch. She had tried to explain this to Pharah, that Winston had been cowardly and dodged responsibility, that to see him on the field of battle was its own sort of miracle, but Pharah had mildly scolded her. 

“He is a shy man,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed, “but it is unkind to call him cowardly.” 

Mercy had simply shaken her head and smiled. Pharah was one of the most intelligent people she know, but sometimes slow to come around to the idea that we are not born as we are now--she had been so principled and so driven from her childhood that she could scarcely imagine a great shift in any other adult. She wasn’t much for second chances, Pharah. 

But she hadn’t seen him build his armor with a shaking hand, knowing that he feared conflict and fighting, that he had fled from violence all of his life, but knowing that he wanted to stay at Tracer’s side, whatever that meant. Tracer believed that she was born to fight for this world, and retirement did not suit her. She was a fighter from the first. So Winston would learn to fight. He built and he steeled himself, and Tracer’s ebullient affection gave him the spark he needed to allow himself to become the beast who could destroy as well as repair. She loved him, and did not fear him, even when she saw what he was capable of. Tracer was the sort of person who could shoot a man in the face and then cheerfully help a child out of some rubble, so there was no question in her mind that Winston could snap a spine on the battlefield, and carefully wrap her in a hug. She brought him into her family Christmas celebrations, and gave him her last name, (Plenty of Oxtons love, plenty to go around with it) and she had watched him blossom and grow from weak and wilting to a tree strong enough to give support and shade to this world. To stand alongside the rest of them. 

He needed no prompting, when she had gone into time again. He had nearly killed Doomfist and refused to be more than mildly embarrassed about the fact, more angry at Mercy for immediately treating his wounds than anything else. He had fought for Tracer, and she had seen that rage and that strength in his face, even as he held her little body in his arms so tenderly, and tried to reassure her that all would be well again. 

He had told Overwatch that they could go straight to hell. 

Tracer had fought, too. She had fought through the pain of being torn through time again, against the damage it had done to her, even through Mercy’s caution that if it happened again, the damage could be very permanent. She had fought to claw her way back to Winston, back to London. Tracer always worried after him, privately, to Mercy, that if anything happened to her, he’d be dragged down by his own melancholy, no matter than her family had fully adopted him. So she fought, no matter the strain. 

Others wouldn’t understand her saying this, Mercy thought, for there was nothing romantic between them, but she had considered theirs to be one of the great loves she had the privilege to witness. 

“This is easier,” Winston had said, when Pharah had asked offhandedly about caring for her after being shot when he had done it before, “my voice and my touch can comfort her. They don’t hurt her.” 

She thought about that, watching Winston stroke her back as she finally drifted off to the sleep she didn’t need, the smile that lit on his lips as he looked down at her, her cheeks pink again, her hair messily tossed in her cheerful sort of way, cuddled up next to him, perfectly relaxed. It was easier, she knew, because even shot, close to death as Tracer had been, Winston could reach her. Winston could love her. 

Mercy was often mocked, to her face and behind her back, about her belief in love. That love was why she did what she did, as her constant answer, and love was the only thing that would save this world. They laughed because they had such a simplistic view of love, that it was flowers and poetry and candy. But Mercy knew better. This team was strong because it was filled with love. Love was what drew them to risk their own lives, love was what brought Hana from her home to a group of people she did not know, love was what informed every single one of Pharah’s command decisions, and Mercy knew that love guided her hand as she moved to stitch and bandage every single person she had ever touched. 

She realized, seeing the soft scene between them, that Winston and Tracer’s love had not only made the two of them stronger, but had made this team the kind that could save Overwatch. The kind that could build Overwatch. 

An Overwatch with love deep enough to heal the world.

#amberlilly

[professordrarry]

Prompt: Draco is creating a potions, but accidentally makes a potion that allows him to talk in parsel-tongue for a week and he over hears Harry talking to a snake

WoW is this ever plotless and sappy. Shrugs, I guess? I only sort of followed your prompt, too. Hope you don’t mind. 

There had been a conversation about this when they had remodelled the house; a whole discussion about how if Draco was going to have a potions lab in the extension, then he had to promise not to end up at the hospital every time he used it. Harry had wisely stayed sceptical that he could pull it off.

And Draco hated it more than anything when Harry Potter was right.

Now, sitting in a daze on the floor, surrounded by a blue-grey cloud and covered in a sticky navy goo, he had to admit that it was possible Harry had been right and it made Draco want to scream in frustration. It didn’t matter that they had been married for five years and that Harry definitely knew Draco better than anyone else did. It was still infuriating.

He dragged himself up and grabbed his notebook of the jot notes he’d been taking. Looking around at the ruined floor and table, he started trying to assess how much danger he was in.

“Why can’t you just follow a potion book, there’s no need for you to fuck around, every time I go away, do you wait for me to be out of town to blow yourself up,” he muttered aloud. “Wanker. Thinks he’s in charge of me. Thinks potions just pop up out of nowhere as if any famous Potions master used a book.”

“He just worries about you,” a small voice said quietly to his right.

Draco froze. There was definitely no one here. Harry was away at the cottage with Ron and Hermione, Scorpius was at school. Harry’s kids were, presumably, there also. Not to mention that this voice was tiny and wholly unfamiliar.

“Um,” he said stupidly. “Who’s there?” He held his wand tightly from where he’d already drawn it out of his sticky sleeve. The voice choked a little when it replied.

“Um,” it echoed. “You can hear me?”

“Yes?” Draco said, growing increasingly more puzzled. “You are speaking after all.”

“I always speak,” the voice returned. “You never hear me. Harry says we don’t speak the same language, but I’ve always sort of suspected you just choose not to hear me.”

The voice was coming from his left and was growing steadily louder as it became disgruntled. He looked down at the bench. There was no one there; there was a pot of herbs, the remnants of his cauldron, a jar of fly wings with Abra coiled calmly on top.

Abra, the tiny silver-grey corn snake that he’d bought Harry for his birthday two years ago; Abra, who mostly hung out in his lab because Harry was never there and she was a glutton for company; Abra, who Draco had been speaking to just moments ago, unconsciously using her as a sounding board for all his ramblings during the many lonely solo-brewing hours.

Abra, whose head was lifted from her coil, tilted and staring in awe at Draco.

“A-abra?” he whispered, convinced he was going mad. She nodded her flat, arrow-shaped skull at him.

Draco promptly passed out.

When he woke up, it was to find Abra on his chest, staring down at him with comprehending eyes.

“That was a tad dramatic,” she said. He reached down and touched one finger to her head. She leaned into it, just as she always did. “Checking that it’s me?” she teased. “You talk to me all the time. I can prove it. You think Harry is very beautiful and stunningly silly sometimes. I agree. You also think your potions are going to be your biggest failure. On that, I do not. Also, you think my name is Abra, which is fine I suppose since Abracadabra is quite a clever name for a wizard’s snake.”

“You’re not called Abra?” he murmured, pretty much still in shock. “I’m-I’m sorry. Harry should have told me.”

She stared at him and bobbed her head; Draco could have sworn that she had just shrugged at him.

“It’s fine. I like it.”

“What is your name though?”

“Chloe.”

“Chloe?”

“Chloe,” she repeated. “You are silver-haired charming one in this language. I won’t call you that if you won’t call me Chloe.”

“This language?” Draco asked, stuttering still but managing to sit up.

“Snake. You are speaking it. Did you not know? That would explain much of your afternoon, I suppose. Must be the potion.” She shrugged again. “You should go to the hospital.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine, except that you can speak to me,” she countered. He couldn’t argue much with that. Still, he refused to go to the hospital and admit he could talk to snakes.

Abra, it turned out, was absolutely fantastic company. He cleaned up the lab, banished the disaster so Harry would never know, and set about making dinner for himself. By the time he sat down to eat, with Abra fast asleep around his neck, he knew everything about her. He knew that she and Harry had already ad the conversations they’d had, and he was annoyed that he did not know the secrets about their beloved pet. He could have been so much kinder to the gentle snake, offered her only her favourite treats and such. Draco pettily decided that it was likely because if only he knew her secrets, Harry could remain her favourite even though he didn’t spend as much time with her. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t true; Harry’s Gryffindor soul did not contain such organised spite. Still, Draco was annoyed when he went to bed.

“Goodnight, my love,” he said to Abra, who rested on Harry’s empty pillow.

“Goodnight, sweet friend,” she replied.

“Sweet friend?” he asked.

“I always say that when you call me ‘my love’,” she said, moving closer to him and dropping her tail beside his ear. “I admit, it is strange having you know that. Harry does not like when you say ‘my love’ to me.”

Draco laughed. “That’s because Harry is a very jealous man.”

“Truer words never spoken,” she said dozily.

He took a cue from her and drifted off to sleep.

“Oof.”

The clumsy entry of a clearly drunk Harry woke Draco from a strange, instantly-forgotten dream. He did not move. If he ignored Harry’s presence, he’d soon be back to sleep. If he spoke to his husband, it could be many hours of attempting to understand confusing tangential stories. Those could wait till morning.

“Abra,” Harry whispered, pulling the covers down. “What are you doing here? You scared me.”

“Protecting silver-haired charming one,” she replied. The name made Draco want to chuckle, but he continued to feign sleep. “What are you doing here? You are meant to be at red-graceful angry’s house for three more suns.”

“I missed this one,” Harry replied soppily. “Let’s not tell him, but I worry he gets lonely.”

“Not so much now,” she responded.

Harry brushed passed the reply and settled into bed. Draco felt Abra’s tail disentangle with his hair; Harry must have lifted her to let her curl around his hand and wrist. “I suppose he’s been experimenting again.”

“Indeed. Most effectively.”

“Oh really?” Harry chuckled and Draco bristled internally. “What did he make, then?”

“A mess,” she replied. Harry sighed.

Draco snorted softly. He’d learned how precise one needed to be with snakes just this afternoon.

“Did he make a potion that does something interesting?” he rephrased. She nodded. “And what does it do?”

“It makes him far more interesting,” she said slowly.

“What?” Harry said, alarmed enough to be sitting up. Draco sighed, not caring now if he was heard. Any second now, Harry would shake him awake. “He drank his own potion!?”

“Indeed. And his accent is far lovelier than yours,” she taunted.

Sure enough, Harry jolted Draco awake a moment later; Draco opened his eyes immediately, too tired to torture Harry for sport and delay his panic.

“Hospital, now.”

“Relax, darling,” Draco said soothingly. “I’m fine. You should have told me our snake was such a lovely thing.”

“You already knew that,” Harry declared. “And I hardly think that drinking an experimental potion that has you speaking parseltongue is fine, Draco Abraxas. Up. Now.”

“You’re drunk,” Draco reasoned. “You can’t go to work drunk.”

“I’m not going to work,” Harry said, fully fuming now. “I’m taking my idiot husband to the emergency ward.”

“Fine,” Draco conceded. “But I’m going to hold it over your head that you came home early because you missed me.”

Harry went bright red; it was easy to embarrass the man, even after all this time. They flooed to the open corridor of the hospital, and Draco sat down heavily on an exam table a short while later while the nurse conducted her tests.

“What was the potion supposed to do?” she asked.

“It wasn’t experimental,” Draco replied haughtily. “I just screwed up some liquid luck.”

He looked down to Harry, who was sitting in the chair to the left of the bed, cradling Abra against his chest and murmuring soothing sounds to her. She didn’t like the bright lights any more than Draco did.

“Actually, you know what?” he amended. “I didn’t screw anything up. Not this time.”

#parseltongue #drarry fanfic #drarry drabble #prompted

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 33/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

“Do you think Earth Soldiers did this?” Shakti asked, staring at the remnants of his pickup truck. “Should I alert Hux?”

Looking at the carnage, he suspected that after his timely getaway with Rey, Skylar and Syed returned to finish the job. The tires were slashed like Rey described, but now the windows were broken too—probably with the same bat that they used to rough him up.

Once in the car, Ben had easily slipped into his old persona, as laconic and mysterious as ever. He had managed to dodge all of Shakti’s attempts at conversation. In truth, he had no idea how to broach the subject of Syed and Skylar, or Rey, with the rest of the Knights. How could he convince them that Syed had betrayed him by following Snoke without calling his own loyalty into question? Was it even possible to talk about Skylar’s unacceptable aggression when violence was a part of their collective job description? And above all, how the hell was he supposed to explain the whole “Rey situation”?

He was tired enough to realize that he didn’t bother with strategy.

“No, it was Syed. And Skylar.” He answered her. “She decided to make me pay for...you know, Rey.”

Shakti nodded. “Yeah, seems like something she would do. She was seething that Rey took her place. No offense Kylo, but who is that girl? She came out of nowhere and everything went to shit.”

Ben licked his lips. It felt like walking through a mine field.

“She’s a worm. She infiltrated Earth Soldiers on our behalf and Skywalker fell for it...took her in like the daughter she never had.”

A fresh wave of bitterness overtook him. He had made the story up on the spot, but somehow the words felt strangely true, truer than they should have been.

Leia had trusted this girl, willingly or not, with her most valuable possessions. It was more than she had ever confided in him. Was he really jealous of what existed between his mother and Rey?

Shakti was silent. Talk about an explanation. If Kylo’s phone call a few minutes ago was anything to go by, his affair with the infamous Rey was serious...apparently it was more than just a tryst.

She had worked with Kylo long enough to know that he was a flirt; he slept with most of his collaborators at one point or another. Given the stress of their everyday job, the constant adrenaline highs...it was practically inevitable. Kylo Ren was debauched, but she’d never seen him get attached. The declaration of love back there was definitely a first for him.

“So, Syed thinks she’s pursuing an Earth Soldiers agent...what about Skylar?”

“Skylar always had a thing for Syed. They were always a pair...it’s a folie à deux for sure. They’re a force to be reckoned with, I don’t think Rey can keep up.”

Apparently that was the right answer, because Shakti changed the subject.

“What’re we going to do about that?” She asked, pointing to the truck. Ever the pragmatist.

“I’ll take yours, you take mine to the shop. I’ll give you the registration and everything. Tell Hux that we were targeted by Earth Soldiers—nothing about Syed, alright? I’ll fix this myself. And no cops, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Shakti agreed as she handed him her keys.

Ben’s fist curled around the keychain. He withdrew his own keys and tossed them in her direction. As he was surveying the rest of the damage to the truck, he instinctively reached out and peeled off the “Kylo Ren” sticker from the rear panel.

“Not a word to anyone else,” he warned. “If they have questions, they answer to me.”

Satisfied, Ben drove the grey SUV to the hotel while Shakti called a friend of a friend who knew how to make the evidence disappear.

As he sped down the highway, his phone buzzed. He took the call without checking the number, his heart stuttering when he recognized Rey’s voice on the other end. He wouldn’t have bet a penny that she would call him back. He was touched that she would even try...not that he knew how to voice his feelings right now. Clearly, she had listened to his message and determined that he was worth calling. Maybe, just maybe, he had a second chance.

“Solo, what the hell is going on?!” Rey hissed menacingly, skipping any semblance of greeting. “I mean, killers, seriously?”

“Syed and Skylar.” He said automatically, trying to hide any emotion in his voice. “They’re the vengeful type and you picked a fight with them. Ultimately, they’re looking for the chip my mother gave you.”

“I didn’t pick anything, I’ll have you know,” she scoffed. “Your stupid mafia pact doesn’t apply to me. I’d appreciate it if they would stop hunting me like some sort of renegade. Aren’t they your people?”

“They were. Syed and Skylar went rogue. You saw that yourself.”

“Listen to me, Ben Solo,” Rey snapped. “It’s the easiest thing in the world for you to call me and tell me to watch out. But this is your fault. So what are you going to do about it?”

Ben didn’t know how to respond. He never had the time to put a plan together.

“Go ahead, I’m listening,”she huffed. “You’re the one who let these dingos loose on me, so you should know how to stop them.”

“Rey, it’s not like I saw this com—“

“No,” Rey cut him off. “You love playing the czar but now you won’t own up to it, Kylo Ren. No more games. Take responsibility and fix things for once. If you don’t want Syed to drop me in a ditch somewhere, stop her. Yourself.”

Ben swallowed. He had no idea how to catch Syed. If she found Rey, she would kill her, but that was unacceptable.

“Rey, you can’t go this alone with those two out there. Come with me, I know what they’re like and I can protect you from—“

“Perfect. If you know how to protect me, and you know what they’re up to then just do that from afar.” Rey said brusquely. Then she paused, her voice suddenly tired:

“Look Ben, I’m leaving for California. Right now. I’ll drive straight through Idaho and Nevada and I’ll be there in about fifteen hours. I’ll deliver whatever’s here from Leia, and then get out of your lives forever. You had no right to throw me into this.”

“But she was the one who—“

“Oh seriously, come on! Are you really going to say that she was the one who started it?” Rey was at a breaking point. “We’re talking about killers here! If anything you said last night or this morning had an ounce of sincerity, then tell your bloody friends to let me go.”

She sighed, her voice breaking.

“Just let me go.”

Syed Ren was having a rough night. She didn’t know where in Satan’s ass this Rey bitch managed to find whatever the fuck she sprayed at them, but she knew that it was more potent than pepper spray or tear gas, whatever it was.

It took her a good ten minutes to catch her breath and force her eyes open despite the tears.

Ten very long minutes on the cold hard ground, while every breath felt like a stab in the lungs.

Skylar fared no better, having suffered a bruise to his ego on top of the physical trauma: he’d lost to a girl who weighed 120.

Eventually they limped somewhat pathetically towards the SUV. Syed had worked up enough rage to go back and smash Kylo’s windshield and mirrors. Of course neither of them was in any condition to drive, given that they could hardly keep their eyes open.

Skylar ordered an Uber which dropped them off in front of a 24-hour CVS, where they bought saline, a first aid kit, and a fuck ton of supplies to help treat their burns.

She contemplated returning to the hotel—would Kylo be waiting there? Luckily the coast was clear, and they managed to escape. They only took their weapons and a few sets of clothes, no need for instruments anymore.

Another Uber, another miserable motel. At least this one was on the outskirts of town. The fucking spray still clung to their clothes. They undressed immediately, unfazed by the casual nudity as they rubbed their bodies clean with oil and soothing aloe vera gel. In this state, water was out of the question.

They must have used dozens of gauze pads by now, but it was better to prevent the cross-contamination of such harsh chemicals. They finished by taking turns to carefully wash and rinse each other’s hair in the bathroom sink.

It occurred to Syed that they must look terrible, eyes still swollen and bloodshot.

After a painfully long hour of cleansing, they crawled into bed silently. Neither one dared to admit the true extent of the disaster out loud.

Snoke and Hux had demanded that the knights destroy the car and kill the dog. But the girl was to be left alive, in one piece. Snoke wanted to question her, Hux probably wanted to tie her to a cement block and toss her into the San Francisco Bay. Not that he had the guts. There was a big difference in between finger-wagging and cold blooded murder. Hux was too prim and proper to ever be capable of such a thing.

Syed thought about how she was going to form her own team, to succeed where Kylo Ren had failed miserably. No doubt she would make good money.

If she ever succeeded.

It had sounded simple enough: the target was a flip-flop wearing tourist. So what was she missing?

The night was brutal and provided little reprieve. But by the next morning, Syed’s vocal chords had recovered and her vision was less blurry. At least she would be able to drive.

Beside her, Skylar deigned to speak, after hours of brooding silently.

“I want the cash,” he said by way of greeting.

Syed lay on her stomach, facing away from him. She growled in reply, which turned into coughing.

“You’ll have your half when we deliver the girl.”

“Except you never mentioned she was a  fucking ninja,” Skylar complained. “You said that once we got Kylo we’d have no problem getting her. How was I supposed to know we were going to cough our guts out on all fours and end up in some shitty motel like rats? That’s gonna cost you hella bucks, Syed.”

Syed propped herself up on her elbows and turned to face him.

“You’ll get your part, a bonus, and your own team. When. We. Deliver. The. Girl.” She said through gritted teeth. “Besides, Hux won’t give us a penny until the job is done. But when we’re done with him, Kylo Ren will fall in line.”

Skylar snorted in disdain. If his eyes didn’t sting so much, they would be rolling into the back of his head. Syed slapped his shoulder in response.

“What? What the hell’s your problem?”

“Well for one, Kylo Ren is a fucking Skywalker, Syed!”

“And?”

“And Snoke will never let him go cause he’s goddamn royalty.”

Syed closed her eyes, in pain, and in contemplation. She clung desperately to the idea of what was on the microchip.

“Unless Kylo changes sides. Putting Snoke at risk, and Skywalker or not, he’d be dead.”

She got up, and Skylar couldn’t help but trace the curve of her body with his eyes. He watched her dress.

“Sky, you beat Kylo Ren to a pulp. It’s him or you now. Man versus man for the right to control FORCE.”

Skylar rose, pulling a shirt over his head. He knew that Syed was right. This was going to end with only of them on top.

“It’s time to take initiative. Where is he?” Skylar asked.

“Probably playing with his new dolly. We find one, we find the other.”

Syed disappeared into the bathroom where she rinsed her eyes with saline and finished dressing.

“There’s only one way out of Bozeman,” Skylar said matter-of-factly. “I’ll warn Hux to keep an the I-90.”

“That bitch was at the concert,” Syed echoed from the bathroom. “She’s gotta be staying somewhere. Check the local motels. And Kylo Ren is travelling on foot now, he can’t be far. Honestly, I almost want to wait for him next to that’s left of his junk, I’m sure he’ll try to go back.”

“And the others?”

Right, the rest of the band.

Syed emerged from the bathroom looking better than before. She had managed to coax her mohawk back into shape and overall appeared more put together, not counting her swollen eyes.

“Kylo has Shakti eating out of the palm of his hand. We all know she’s sleeping with Kelsi; we can’t trust either of them. That leaves Tyra and Saul. They’ll have to side with the winner when all this comes crashing down...and that better be us.”

The sound of her telephone tinging made Syed jump. Unknown Caller. Her heart pounded in her chest. Should she risk answering it? She hadn’t mentally prepared for a conversation with Kylo, if she answered now she would risk giving up a strategic advantage, or even an opportunity to get back at him.

But if it was Hux, she couldn’t ignore it.

She pressed a finger to her lips so that Skylar would remain silent, and answered in the most neutral voice she could manage.

“Hello?”

“Syed! It’s Saul. Where the fuck are you? Are you with Kylo? What the hell is happening?”

#reylo #Fanfiction #Modern AU #Scenic Route