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#nineteen and over
roleplayfinder · 23 days
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Hello! I am 24 years old. I go by she/They, I am looking for 19+ roleplayers. I am a Semi-lit to semi advanced roleplayer! I am looking for some roleplay partners. Who is okay with that, I don't mind writing more if I must, but I do like to keep the story going longer.
Now long term partners would be awesome, I am looking for people who are into dark themes, dark NSFW, kinky roleplays, I am okay with MxM & MxF pairings, I do doubles!
I am willing to do CCxCC, OCxCC or OCxOC!
Animes I am into :
If interested any of them ask me what Characters I can play as.
Jujutsu Kaisen, Demon Slayer, Tokyo Revengers, Black Clover, Buddy Daddies, Fire Force, Genshin Impact, My Hero, Yarichin Bitch Club, Naruto, Haikyuu, Kuroko No Basket, Devil is a part Timer, Classroom of the elite, Food wars, That time I got reincarnated as a Slime, Rising of the Shield Hero, Danganronpa, Death Parade, Free! , Tokyo Ghoul, Assassination Classroom, Avatar: Last Airbender, Durarara!!, Fruits Basket, Re;Zero, Fairy Tail, Spy x Family, Attack On Titan, Yu-gi-oh, Blue Exorcist, Seraph Of the End, Angels of Death, Stray dogs, Servamp, Wolf's Rain, many more to list.
Games I play :
Zelda : Tears Of the kingdom, Breath of the wild,Fire Emblem (Any and all games)
Roleplay Rules :
Please don't control my character, because its not fun when someone does that
Please no one liners (it honestly hard to go off by one liners)
Don't use any emojis unless you are talking to me outside of roleplay or it's like a text in the rp
If you're interested in roleplaying with me, like this post or interact with this post, but please be 19+ and thank you! Hope we can become good roleplay partners!
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riot-ghost · 5 months
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Commissioner Gordon was ostracized within the Gotham Police department. He knew this was because of his ties to the Bat, his late hours, constant overtime. He knew that even the good officers, while he couldn't tell too much who was who, didn't mean to ostracize him. It happened on accident, he's sure. He picked up some clues from the world's greatest detective. Rumors went around, running rampant about him. He just couldn't care so much about them.
Everyone knew that Commissioner Gordon always took his late dinner at 9:37 at night. Everyone cleared from the break room. Gordon opened the door, taking a heavy breath. He was still expecting the empty room. It felt empty, in a way Gordon had picked up from The Bat. He pulled his burrito out of the fridge, opening the styrofoam container and eating a bite. "You're not going to heat it up?" Gordon barely manages to catch his burrito, his whole soul leaving his body.
"Jesus Christ, kid, you scared me." Gordon lets out a heavy breath, seeing the new detective sitting at a table in the corner. He's eating... Something indescribable. He looks tired, his long black hair bulled back into a high ponytail. His face seems disproportionate, large prominent features. A crooked nose, a wide, thin mouth, large eyes accompanied by large bags. His skin was pale, dusted with faded freckles and litchenburg scarring. The young man- still a boy, practically, shrugged at Gordon's words, eating another bite of the odd food. "No one warned you I'd be in here?" Gordon decided to sit with him.
"No, they warned me. But the past couple of days they've been... Avoiding me." Dr. Fenton, Gordon remembers his file passing over his desk. He could never be a cop- he was a detective-by-hire because of some medical condition. Gordon feels a pang at the emotionless words.
"Ah, they avoid me too." Gordon takes another bite of his cold burrito. "So, how have you been enjoying working here?"
"Well, it's been alright, I guess." Fenton took a drink from his thermos- which has a straw in it. It goes unsaid that this was the only job Fenton could really get. Close to the force, anyways. His medical condition refrained him from being a proper officer, so he wasn't officially a Gotham PD detective. He was an out-contract detective, receiving the same work, pay, and hours as the regular detectives.
"Getting around the town well enough?"
"Well enough, I suppose. Almost got robbed." Fenton held three doctorates- criminology, psychology, and natural sciences. All at the young age of 22.
"Almost?" Gordon snorts a bit at that. "Scared them off with your badge?"
"I don't have a badge. And I don't have a gun, if that's what you're thinking. I guess they just thought I was too pathetic to have much cash." Danny shrugged.
"Oh come on, you're not pathetic." Gordon is a bit taken aback that the boy doesn't carry any weapons. He makes a mental note to get him a badge.
"I looked pathetic enough not to rob."
Gordon feels like he missed something there, because Gotham robbers would rob a kindergartner if they were unattended. Regardless, he and Fenton sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. "What are you eating?" Fenton asks eventually.
"A burrito from the Mexican stand on Westwood."
"Why are you eating it cold?"
"Because if I reheat it, then the sauce becomes a solid liquid and everything gets soggy. What are you eating?"
"It was supposed to be stir fry?" Danny stared down at the leftovers container. "I'm not good at cooking. No videos ever make sense, so they don't turn out right."
"Your parents didn't teach you?" Gordon asks.
"No, they weren't the best chefs. They did pass on the family fudge recipe though. I can make some killer fudge." He laughs a little bit at that.
"I'll bring you lunch in from now on." Gordon says. "Until we can get your cooking sorted out, anyhow. Normally my daughter and I spend Tuesday nights fixing dinner together, so you'll get the best meals Wednesday."
"You don't have to do that." Danny seems a little caught off guard by the kindness.
"I can't have one of my youngest detectives going hungry!" Gordon smiles. "Besides, you're the first person in the precinct to eat dinner with me in nearly twenty years. You keep eating with me, it'll be no problem. I enjoy the company." Danny smiles at him and Gordon is reminded of someone, but he can't remember who.
Over the next couple of weeks, Gordon and Danny get well acquainted in their overlapping shifts. Danny works the nights and sometimes early mornings, similar to what Gordon does. Gordon finds himself feeling fatherly to the young man, who's working and picking up significant overtime to pay off his student loans. He learns that Danny moved here from Illinois- it was the only PD he could work at. He had no formal fighting training, but apparently his mom had taught him some moves. They had yet to overlap in the field, and it was easy for Gordon to forget that the boy was really a detective.
"Danny?" Jim paused, having finally made his way to the crime scene. Danny was crouched over a dead body, using his gloved hands to inspect the wound- the word Joker carved using some sort of knife.
"Gordon?" Despite all insistence, the boy still used his last name.
Jim has to stop himself from asking him why he's here. Danny's eyes shift to a spot behind him and James sighs. "What happened?" Batman's voice startled the last officer in the room, who quickly stuttered an excuse and left.
"The Joker broke in, tortured her, and left." Jim says. "We just have to figure out why."
"No, we don't." Danny looked back at the body, his eyes unfocused. "It was political. Do you see the swelling here on the neck? No lacerations, and no bruising. Allergy, I suppose, or a poison that reacts similarly. No clawing at the neck or face, but heavy rope burns on the wrists and ankles. The cuts were sloppy, and from the bleeding, it was done after she had died. Maybe five, ten minutes after? The window wasn't fully closed when it was broken into, do you see how the glass fractured there at the top?"
Jim blinked, and Danny continued. "It doesn't fit the motive of a mad-man like the Joker to do this. Who you're looking for is a woman, younger than the victim, maybe around twenty or thirty?" His eyes unfocused again. "Hmmm." He snaps back, looking around. He stands, his hands shaking a little. He looks around, eyes landing on the shelf. He scans it, using gentle hands to lift the potted plant. He pulls out a camera, unplugging it. "A Direct Link- model E47C." He sets the camera in an evidence bag.
Batman gives a grunt- and if Jim isn't mistaken it was one of approval? Danny held the camera out to Jim. "That was some fine detective work today, kid." Jim sets his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny glances off to the side nervously. He locks eyes with Batman. "Danny, this is Batman. Batman, this is Dr. Daniel Fenton, the newest detective on the force."
Batman holds a hand out. "I look forward to working with you." Danny pulls off one of the disposable gloves, reaching out to shake his hand. "You're shaking a little, are you alright?"
"Medical condition." Danny answers. "You're taller than I expected."
"It's the ears." Jim represses a smile. "You go ahead and get your deductions filed. I brought pasta." Jim watches Danny leave. He turns to Batman, who's staring him down with that signature I-know-everything™ face. "What?"
"When are you going to let him know that you're mentoring him?" He says it like a sentence, and was that amusement in his tone?
"I'm not." Jim turns to the window.
"You brought him pasta."
"He never learned to cook."
"So you're teaching him." There was definitely amusement in his tone now.
Jim huffed. "We're getting old." He finally sighs. "We both have full grown kids. Crime and corruption are still thick in this city." Batman is standing next to him with a swoosh in his cape. "Retirement... I could see myself with it. Sipping cocktails on the beach. A beach with sunshine and no broken down carnivals."
Batman is silent for a moment, as if considering this. "So you see Fenton taking your place?"
"Like you see your Robin." Jim admits.
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batcavescolony · 2 months
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Shut up she's doing her best and sometimes your best hurts.
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javelinbk · 9 months
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PAUL MCCARTNEY singing ‘Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five’. From ‘One Hand Clapping’ (1974)
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forestgreenlesbian · 6 days
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#feel like my relationship with my younger brother is changed completely forever not to be dramatic lol but i am sad#we used to b very close but he has kind of. found his faith again and gone full missionary christian which like. i knew meant the dynamic#was doomed lmao but actually acknowledging it makes me sad i feel like i'm grieving for the friendship we used to have even though#it is literally a me problem i think from his perspective he doesn't think anything has changed. but i feel weird about everything#also his new gf is nineteen and he is. almost 25 and i am the only one who feels weird about it like i know she's over 18 but! idk i can't#tell if i'm being overly cautious or if my gut instinct is right. my sister & her husband have a similar age gap but they met when they wer#both over 30 so like. it didn't feel weird. and i didn't feel comfortable actually seriously talking to him about it apart from the first#time he mentioned her over facetime (he went to another country to do mission stuff & met her there) so like an idiot i've just been#making jokes about the age gap becausee like. thats always been our thing lightly bullying each other lol but he blew up at me and said#i've had nothing positive to say about her since he's been back home and that he thinks i hate her and i'm out of line for constantly#implying he's creepy for dating someone younger. idk i felt like such a freak idiot horrible person about it. it completely blindsided me#bc yes the jokes were coming from a place of idk how i feel about this situation so i'm going to rely on the humour-based communication#we have always fallen back on as a safety thing but i guess i was wrong or the dynamic shifted or something anyway it's all fucked#& everyone is just telling me i feel weird out of some?? misplaced kind of jealousy thing?? because i'm 'losing' my brother to his gf lol#which does not feel right at all he has dated so many other girls and i have never had a problem it is literally the age gap like i haven't#even met this girl i'm sure she's very nice! i just worry about her being nineteen!! jesus. and yes maybe i do feel some resentment around#a brother younger than me who seems to be able to live his life with zero difficulty whilst i'm stuck being this unemployed loser who ruins#literally ever friendship & relationship ive ever had but i think thats ok right like i can't help feeling that. i don't fucking knowwww#am i just projecting all these sad feelings about our friendship dying onto his new relationship or like. am i right to be genuinely#concerned she's six years younger than him and still a fucking teenager!!!!!! i don't know
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we like to call it the cain instinct and it is very much normal <33
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your-mom-friend · 3 months
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i looked it up out of curiosity and i think it's fucking hilarious that the OG 5 members of the straw hat pirates are all like, under 20. they were out conquering the east blue because they couldn't be at the club they were too young
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Jetlagged — Campbell Bain x Reader
(Inspired by Andy and Apirl's situation after Andy comes back from London—when Chris Pratt left Parks and Rec to film Guardians of the Galaxy—and Andy is severely jetlagged.)
Summary: Campbell has been away for a DJ competition and when he gets back he's always falling asleep which cuts the couple's time together since they don't live together.
Warning: Joke about going off of meds for sake of sex drive; Mentions of Sexual Jokes, Implied Short Reader, Implied Non-Scottish Reader
(Post-Asylum; May be connected to "Sweet Jane" or read alone; If you decided to include this in Sweet Jane, this takes place between the ending of the series and the epilogue written by me.)
1995 (Eight months since the events of Takin' Over the Asylum)
"Baaaaabe." Campbell sang as a tired Y/N walked out of her room. "I am so tired, but I didn't want to sleep until you got up, babe!"
Y/N sleepily walked to him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him on the forehead before he raised himself to his knees, pulling her in and kissing her on the lips.
He had been traveling due to his job as a disk jockey for three weeks now and was quite jetlagged.
Last night, Y/N had fallen asleep on his shoulder in the middle of Nightmare on Elm Street, a ritual to watch a horror movie with a good soundtrack or score. A horror movie so Campbell can pretend to be the brave one and comfort Y/N, which was often not the case but he insisted that it was.
Campbell had looked down at her in disbelief, "Who falls asleep during Nightmare on Elm Street!?" He exclaimed as the first victim was killed... in their sleep!
Y/N had shifted and moaned softly into his neck. He had smiled down at her lovingly, stroking her hair briefly, wrapping his arms around her and he picked her up and carried her to bed.
He didn't want to wake her up so he stayed out in the living room, watching movies for the scores and soundtracks.
"Hey, how was your night-day?" She yawned, going to make some hot chocolate for them both and to bring Campbell his morning pills.
"Fine. Been rewatching my favorite scores of your creepy horror movies. Psycho's a good film but a bad representation of mental health."
"Yeah, I know, babe. So is Fatal Attraction, Psycho, The Shining—though granted it's the hotel's influence that causes it but the movie makes it seem like mental health rather the supernatural like in the book, Halloween, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and so on."
"You're weird. I love you." He grinned.
"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes.
"How was your three weeks without your Campbell?" He teased with an overconfident flirty grin on his face but his sleepiness was written all over his face. "Unbearable? Void of my amazing sense of humor? Unsatisfactory?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
"Quiet. Calm." She retorted blankly, despite having been in a relationship with him for ten months, they hadn't had sex yet. Campbell often made flirtatious suggestions but he was mostly kidding, on their six month anniversary (April fourth), he could tell that something was up but she became quite quiet when she was broody, so he sat her down before they went out for their dinner and asked her what was wrong and she confessed she was worried that he wasn't satisfied in the relationship because he desperately wanted to lose his virginity and that he was turning twenty that month on the sixteenth and Y/n was still hesitant due to her ex's actions upon her and Campbell swore he wouldn't actively pressure her or cheat on her and he hadn't.
"So, boring." Campbell said, starting to drift off.
"No, Cam. You need to take your pills before you mess up your pill schedule." Y/N said, hurrying to him with his pills.
"But it's so much better if I don't." He smirked, turning so he flopped on the couch and pulled Y/N on top of him, resting his hands on her thighs, he sat up, "Without them, my drive's higher."
"Campbell." Y/N said in a scolding voice.
"Come on, baby." He murmured, kissing Y/N's neck. 
Y/N pushed Campbell on his back, still straddling him as she gave him a fierce and stern look, "Campbell David Bain! You need those pills to manage your disorder. I love you and your disorder, I love you with all your flaws and quirks, I love you will all your light and all your darkness, but these," She shook the pill bottle in his face, "keep you from having manic episodes! The radio can only do so much! This is medicine! And if I find out, you stop taking them for a higher libido, I will tie you to a chair, force them into your mouth and pour water on your face until you swallow it!"
Campbell swallowed, taking stuttering short breathes, "Y/N, I totally hear you but I'm not going to lie, what you're doing right now and what you're saying," He gestured to where she was straddling him, "is really turning me on."
"Do you understand me!?" She said, loudly.
"Yes! I do. I'm sorry. Babe, you either need to stop pinning me down like this or I'm going to explode. I'm a twenty-year-old virgin for God sake." He whined out.
She sighed and sat up and he followed. He cupped her face and kissed her gently on the lips. He held out his hand and she handed him the pills. He took the recommended dosage and stuck his tongue out at the taste. Y/n giggled and pecked his lips before going to get their hot chocolate now that the milk on the stove was hot.
She brought it back and handed him his in his Radio Scotland mug. He didn't drink it yet, he just watched her sit next to him.
Then he leaned over, putting his hand to the cheek away from him to turn her head towards him and kissed her quickly but passionately on the lips. "I love you too." He said, earnestly, "With all your darkness and your damage. For all your trauma. For all that happened to you and I'm sorry you had to do it alone. As for all that will happen to you, I will be there for you every step of the way. Forever."
She leaned back and blinked at him. "Forever?"
He smiled and nodded, "Forever or as long as you'll have me."
"You need to get on my schedule for that to happen." 
"Mmm-hmm." He groaned.
 "I wish I could spend it all with you to help you stay up..." She said, she trailed off as she realized what she was insinuating. "But you can't. You have to go to your flat eventually."
"What if I don't?" He said. "What if we spent the day, moving my stuff here. So I could live here with you... you know your cousin moved out a few months ago... still no pressure to have sex. Just cuddling and when or if you're ready, I'll be here, totally, utterly, in love with you."
"You really think you can stand being around me all day?"
"I'm pretty sure I should be the one answering that question. I'm the more... er, extroverted of us two."
"I could never tire of you."
"You'll be the first, then. I annoyed my parents so much they wanted me to move all the way to Perth." He joked.
"I annoyed my parents so much they sent me to an asylum no where near where they live all because I wouldn't talk." She countered.
"Mmm. Guess, we're both just annoying." He shrugged and kissed her.
"Not to me you're not." She said against his lips.
He pulled back, "I, uh, I have like twenty-five minutes before the medicine fully kicks in. Do you want to go to my place and start packing first or do you just want to snog on this couch?"
She kissed him, pushing him slightly so they both fell on the couch, kissing, passionately.
--
They called Francine, Rosalie, and Eddie and with their help they packed up Campbell's flat while Campbell kept getting distracted and goofing off with Y/n, kissing her, hugging her, and joking around with her, distracting her from packing.
"Campbell! If you don't start taking this seriously, you won't be able to move out today!" Eddie scolded him for the fifth time in an hour.
Campbell dropped his head against Y/n's shoulder as he had his arms wrapped around her waist, behind her and whined.
Ultimately, it was Rosalie who did most of packing and Eddie and Rosalie's husband, Jim carried in the boxes while Campbell carried the smaller boxes due to him being a, as Y/n called him, "matchstick man" because he was so skinny though he declared he was the strongest man of all time, teasingly before flopping back in a chair and pulling Y/n on his lap.
"You can't get rid of me now, babe." He teased as she moved her legs over his lap and the chair arm, their foreheads touching.
"Good." She said, she stroked his floppy bangs so she could look him in his brown eyes. "And you're stuck with me now."
"Good." He grinned.
When Francine, Rosalie, Jim, and Eddie found them, Y/n had fallen asleep with Campbell in a sleepy but still awake state. He muttered goodbyes to the others before picking Y/n up again and carrying her back into her room... their room. He laid her down and laid next to her, snuggling up to her again, making her stir slightly and he gave her a peck on the lips which she sleepily reciprocated and he kissed her forehead and then her nose before pulling her closer and falling asleep. 
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lloydfrontera · 3 months
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theo thinking of winning his father's recognition even before he thinks about winning the position of crown prince and the power it conveys,,, wanting people's admiration,,, one of his motivations to become heir to the throne being sparing his brother's delicate health,,,
he's really just a kid that wants his dad's love and attention, that craves everyone's approval in the face of his father's neglect and who wants to take care of his older brother despite everything and everyone pitting them against each other
and he thinks he can gain all of that if he can just become crown prince.
is it any wonder he was so desperate to win the duel. or that he fell apart apart when the goal he'd worked for his entire life was snatched away from him no matter how much he told himself he was okay with the outcome??
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tathrin · 9 months
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6... on a falling tear and 38... because they're running out of time (^ω^)
Oh how lovely and tragic, very nice choices! Thank you very much for the ask. I'll split them up into two separate posts because I'm incapable of ever writing anything succinct though, sigh! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).
#38....because they’re running out of time. [mood music anyone?]
“Never thought I’d die as a diversion,” Gimli muttered, watching as Sauron’s army poured out of the Black Gates and surrounded the two small hills on which Aragorn had arrayed their forces.
Gimli could not count the teeming numbers of the enemy that stood before him—they were too many, too foul—but Legolas had the keen eyes of the elves, and he had told Gimli that their force of six thousand was outnumbered at least ten-to-one. They were not all orcs, either, which would have been bad enough; for surely each troll should be counted six or seven times at least.
The hills would help, Gimli thought numbly, at least a little; the incline would grant the defenders an advantage over the enemy that would have to scramble to climb up at them, and the slag pools of fetid Mordor that surrounded the low hillocks would be another impediment—but it would not be enough.
They had known it would not be enough even before they set out for the Black Gates, and they had all of them come anyway. Gimli did not regret his choice to follow his friends into doom, no; but that did not make the moment of the end any less bitter. And that moment was almost here, now; they were running out of time.
The enemy paused at the feet of the hills, hissing and cursing and some of them even spitting, and Gimli spun his axe to stretch his shoulders in anticipation of the battle to come.
He stood near the front, with Aragorn and Legolas and most of the mightiest of their fighters, where the attack would surely be the thickest. He eyed one lumbering troll that was pushing its way through the milling ranks of orcs, an ugly line of drool hanging off one side of its jaw where broken teeth distorted its already ugly grin into something macabre and ghoulish.
“Gimli,” Legolas said, standing so close beside him, his voice light with echoes of distant birdsong, and Gimli could feel himself smiling in instinctive response even as his heart twisted in sorrow at the thought of what was soon to come for them both. “Gimli,” Legolas said, “may I—I would ask a very great favor of you, my friend, if you would indulge me, please.”
“Of course,” Gimli said immediately. He turned to look up at the elf beside him, standing like a slender ray of sunlight in that bleak land, and tried to hide his breaking heart behind his smile. He could not imagine what sort of favor Legolas might ask at this late juncture—or if he could, then it was a favor that need not be spoken aloud, for Gimli had already vowed to himself that he would not allow the enemy to take this elf alive for torment when the battle ended and their defeat enfolded them.
“Anything, Legolas, you know that.”
Legolas gave a strange, half-choked laugh, and pressed his free hand to his face as though smother some strong feeling; with his other, of course, he held the mighty bow of the Galadhrim that the Lady had given him, and Gimli’s heart gave another pang at the thought of three golden strands tucked away safely behind white walls far away, waiting for a dwarf who would never return to reclaim them—but then Legolas moved, and Gimli’s eyes were drawn instead to tight golden braids that swayed before him as the slender Wood-elf suddenly swayed like a falling sapling and bent down close to Gimli’s face.
He caught Gimli’s bearded cheek with his hand and turned the dwarf’s face up to meet him, and then—oh, and then Legolas was kissing him and Gimli’s mind seemed to dissolve in a blaze of starlight. His whole world narrowed down to those smooth lips pressed so tight and hungry to his own; those long fingers twined so gently through his beard to cup his chin in their narrow palm; the brush of heavy golden braids against Gimli’s shoulders as Legolas bent low over him...
Belatedly, Gimli realized that he had reached up to press his hand to the elf’s face as well; he only noticed when the pad of his thumb brushed against the tip of one long pointed ear and Legolas’s breath hitched in both their mouths.
The drew apart, Legolas swaying back upright with a last lingering flutter of his fingers against Gimli’s beard before he pulled away. Gimli’s jaw worked soundlessly around words that would not come,his wide eyes fixed so fervently on the beautiful, beardless face before him that he almost forgot the stink of the orcs and the jeers of their ugly voices in his ears.
“Forgive me the liberty, I pray,” Legolas rasped. His mithril-bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, in that moment looking suddenly so like the pool of the Mirrormere that Gimli almost felt as though he had been transported somehow back to the hills outside Khazad-dûm, and this desperate death at the doors of Mordor made into naught but a terrible dream.
But the creeping tendrils of fear that marked the approach of the Nazgûl was no dream; nor were the thundering steps of the trolls as they began to scale the hills, nor the shouts of the orcs as they struggled to follow. In moments, the enemy would be upon them. There was so much Gimli wanted, needed, to say; but they were running out of time.
“There is—there is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he managed to croak.
“I am relieved to hear it,” Legolas replied. “For I could not bear to die without ever kissing you, Gimli.”
Gimli reached up for those golden braids and bright eyes again. “Legolas—!”
Legolas flashed him a brief, bright, heartbroken smile, and then turned away to face the enemy as the orcs rushed towards them. Gimli raised his axe more out of habit than intention and stepped up beside the elf. “Legolas...” he tried again, but his head was reeling and he could not find the words he wished to craft; they all slipped through his mental fingers, like he was trying to scoop cave-cold water with naught but his bare hands.
Then the first troll reached them, bellowing as it knocked three soldiers of Gondor off their feet to tumble down the hill towards the waiting blades of the orcs below. Gimli growled and gripped his axe, and then suddenly Legolas was scaling the troll, blasted fool of an elf that he was!
“Legolas!” Gimli shouted again, and raced to follow him into the fight.
The troll was too slow to catch the nimble elf, but its attempts to do so blunted its attention to the axe in Gimli’s hand as he hacked at its knees. The creature roared belatedly in anger, even as thick blood wept down its legs. It reached down to try and swat Gimli away, and Legolas scampered across its shoulders and drove his long knife in deep into the troll’s eye. Even that was not enough to kill the beast, but when two Rohirrim came up with long spears the troll was too woozy with pain and blood-loss to bat the weapons away from its throat.
It went down with a thud and a cry of rage rose from the orcs in response. Legolas skipped away from the body and landed on the ground again at Gimli’s side. Shaking with fear, anger, and adrenaline, Gimli caught him by the wrist and gave the elf a shake. “Don’t do that again!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
Legolas laughed, fey and unfettered, his merriment as sharp and keen as his arrows. He slashed his knife through the throat of a climbing orc and twisted easily away from the resulting spray of black blood. “Gimli, we are all going to die here,” he said, wiping the blade clean on the skirt of his tunic before sheathing it and drawing his bow once more. “Put aside your fears, my dear; we have moved beyond that now. All that is left to us is to make our deaths worthy of those that came before us, and to sell our lives dearly enough that we might hope to buy enough time for others to save all those who may come after from this Shadow.”
His arrows flew true, burying themselves in throats and eyes and black-blooded hearts even as he looked back at the dwarf more often than he did at the oncoming orcs. In Legolas’s eyes, Gimli could see the glimmer of all the years together they would never have; could see the crumbling eternity of an immortal life cut short and the unscalable chasm that lay forever between the fates of elves and dwarves, sundering them from one another for all time even unto the breaking of the world.
This, he realized, was all the time they were ever going to have.
Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter. It was not enough. It would never, ever be enough—and it did not matter, because there was no more to be had.
Gimli shook his head, swallowing down the urge to weep; he had to focus on the orcs. There were too many coming up the sides of the hill now, too fierce; it was all Gimli could do to swing his axe in time to block their blows and cut them down. It was all he could do to keep close to Legolas’s side, the elf now reduced to fighting with nothing but his long white knife. There were maybe half a handful of arrows in his quiver yet, but even elvish speed was insufficient to allow for proper archery at sight a tight distance in this tumult.
Oh, why had Gimli not seen to it that his elf was better armed before they rode off to this final battle? Legolas was deadly with that little knife, yes, but oh it seemed so short in his long fingers. Why had Gimli not sought the armories of Gondor, and borrowed some mightier blade for his friend? Why had he not sought the forges, and made him one to suit his lanky frame?
He was such a fool. What had he been wasting his time on instead, when he could have—should have—been seeing to Legolas’s safety?
When he could have been kissing him?
Gimli growled, and swung his axe harder, and watched one burly uruk go down gurgling and clutching at its guts. Gimli swung again, and its head toppled free and he could turn to the next enemy, the next threat. Beside him, Legolas whirled and slashed in a flurry of golden braids and a black-blooded blade. He lunged over Gimli’s head to slit the throat of an orc that was angling a spear towards Gimli’s ribs as Gimli kicked-out low and took the feet out from under another orc that had managed to get a grimy hand around one of those bright braids.
“Away from him!” Gimli bellowed, and the orc feel back squealing over the stump of its arm. Gimli stepped closer to the elf—his elf—and they ended up fighting back-to-back, or back-to-shoulders at least; their disparate heights should have made them terrible battle-partners, but it was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Legolas, a balancing of their skills and statures. Legolas spun high with his short knife and Gimli swung low with his broad axe, and the enemy gave way before them.
But more came, replacing those that fell. Always more came, and the fight went on. Gimli could feel his limbs tiring, his bones aching from the weight of his blade and the blows that had glanced off his mail. A dozen small cuts he could not remember taking bled sluggishly, adding a dull sheen of red to the viscous black liquid that splattered his armor and his skin.
More came, and the Nazgûl followed, and all around them men shrieked and cowered beneath that mindless fear. Gimli fought on, so numb with grief that he barely startled at the cry that the eagles had come. That felt unreal, like something out of some other story; one that had a better ending than theirs. Despair rolled thick across the Host of the West and even Gimli, stout-hearted dwarf that he was, faltered for a moment before it—
And then Legolas laughed.
There was nothing merry in that sound, and the only brightness was the sharp brightness of a pale blade flashing out of the shadows of tall black trees. It was a laugh full of teeth, and claws, and all the dark and dangerous things that lurk within a wood. It was the sort of laugh that would send wise folk fleeing for strong walls and sturdy doors; the sort of laugh that might send children shivering to hide under their beds and wait for dawn. It was the laugh of a wild thing, untamed and dangerous, and it rang out light and sharp-edged above the gutteral shouts and screams of the orcs and the roaring bellows of the trolls.
Legolas laughed, and Gimli smiled to hear it. He lifted his head high against the weight of Mordor’s bleak despair and raised his axe high once more. Legolas was right; there was no longer any cause for fear. They had faced the end already, and the end was here; there was no sense cowering before it. Better to stand tall, and die fighting proud and unbowed, defying the power of the Dark Lord to the last.
And then—and then, on the other side of fear, after all hope seemed so long lost it was little more than a memory, everything changed.
The Nazguûl fled; the army crumbled; the towers fell.
Sauron was destroyed. And they had lived.
They lived.
Gimli could hardly process it. He turned to Legolas, still at his side, the both of them weary and blood-stained and heartsick from the tangled mingling of hope and despair, and he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out.
He saw all their tomorrows flow suddenly back into Legolas’s bright eyes and the elf swayed, as though the sudden lifting of the Shadow had left him unsteady on his light feet. Gimli caught his hand and held him steady.
“Legolas—” Gimli began.
“Tomorrow,” Legolas interrupted him with a smile. “Let us help the wounded now, Gimli; we will talk on other things tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Gimli said, rolling the taste of the word around in his mouth; rolling the feel of it around in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow. To think that there will be such a thing!” He laughed from bewildered joy and squeezed his elf’s hand once, tightly, before letting go and turning back to the grim battlefield. “Tomorrow. We will talk on all things then.”
Legolas bent and pressed a light kiss to Gimli’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said again, the word heavy with promise, and then they walked off together into the carnage of hopes renewed and deaths well-fought.
“Tomorrow,” Gimli murmured once more to himself, and there on the bloodstained soil of the Black Land, he smiled.
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roleplayfinder · 4 months
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So now on to the rules. There are not many so here we go. Please be over the age of 18. , I love long posts but i do understand that sometimes we really get going and shorter replies happen. I love OOC chat. Please I have no life and i enjoy talking to people, tell me about the weather, your pets anything you want let's just talk and be friends. I am really drawing a blank on the other rules that i have so sorry. Be kind, like i said I have no life so i can reply pretty much all the time. I kinda prefer female rpers. I will rp with males but just now I am looking for more romance and fluff. I do like drama so that will be in there as. I am on pretty much daily but I also know that not everyone has the same freedom as I do. If i don't hear from you within 3 days than I will message you to check on on you. I will kinda keep checking in at different times for about 2 weeks and than I will stop for awhile and I may just randomly check in on you.
So here is what I am looking for and who I would like you to play. And yes I do double.
I am really looking for a Star trek Abrams rp. I would love to find someone to double as Spock.
But I also do
The Hunger games
Smallville
Marvel
Atla
The vampire diaries/the originals
True blood.
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goodfellowe · 7 months
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Everyone she knows has moved on and is well on the route of putting their lives back together, and Kid doesn’t even know where to start on picking up the shattered remnants of her own. Despite everything, she still can’t get herself to fully let go of the past. Most days, being home is enough. More often than not, though, that sentiment never seems to last.
The Way Time Twists (AO3)
Epilogue: Sunrise
Kid reflects on the past few months, and what she's made of it.
Art by @mebssann.
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aliveaudiencegang · 1 year
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annabeth chase went from being terrified of cyclops to having one as her future brother in law
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It's all in good fun
Next->
<-Previous
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pancakeke · 2 months
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bewilders me when people say they live in a small town but when I look up its population, that "small town" has 15x the population of the town where I grew up. buddy, you do not know small. count your blessings.
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kylermalloy · 2 months
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When I was in high school I used to perform gospel songs at church with one of my best friends. She sang, and I played accompaniment and sang backup. We were actually really close! Then I went to college and we suddenly weren’t anymore—she’d stopped talking to me so she could date this grown man she liked, who I hated.
So when I came home from college that summer, I stopped singing songs with her and started performing at church on my own. The first one I sang was about how people change for the worst slowly, over time. Anyway that’s MY silver springs
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