#stone deserves to learn his full name and lose it

[royalydamned]

I'm actually very upset with how nobody has fun with Robotnik's name in fanfics. Y'all will be using his full name as "Ivo Robotnik". Go all in. Ivan Sergeyevich Robotnikov. Even better Ivan Ivanovich Robotnikov. It's fucking stupid. Commit to it. Nobody cares what's canon.

#jimbotnik #stone deserves to learn his full name and lose it #stobotnik

[taraljc]

Loki meta. So much Meta. Part 1.

Loki’s story started with one simple plan: stop Thor’s coronation.

Sure, there would be collateral damage—the Destroyer would kill a handful of Frost Giants. A few lowly guards might die before the Destroyer did its work. But he deemed that acceptable. Because it would give him what he wanted: to prove to his father that the golden child, the favoured one, their heir wasn’t ready to be king. Might never be. And that he, the second son, was more than just the spare. That he was fit for more than standing in his brother’s shadow for the rest of eternity, offering wise council to temper Thor’s arrogant, reckless, dangerous nature. To be bound to a life of constraining, only existing for the sake of the growth of those around him.

Things were never supposed to get so out of hand.  They should never have reached Jötunheimr. He wasn’t supposed to allow Thor to bring Asgard to the brink of war after a thousand years of hard-won peace. He hadn’t intended Thor to be stripped of his rank, title, powers, and abilities and cast out, banished until he could learn humility.

He wasn’t supposed to learn that there was a reason he would never be more than what he was. That his parents had protected him from the truth because they never wanted him to feel different and apart. But it hurt because even when he believed himself to be Frigga’s son, Odin’s son, just as worthy as Thor and born to be a king, he was different. He had always been held different and apart.

He wasn’t supposed to in his explosion of grief and anger send Odin into the Odinsleep—a coma from which he may never wake. He wasn’t supposed to hurt his family. But once he had, he did absolutely everything he could do to keep them from finding out. He couldn’t bear the shame and regret, to be judged for his choices and lose what little standing he had in their eyes.

He had lost his identity, his sense of self. He didn’t truly know who he was, and what he wanted.

When he was handed Gungnir, and his mother looked at him with respect and love and addressed him as ‘my king’ and told him to make his father proud, Loki mistook that golden throne for what he had always truly desired: Love. Acceptance. Respect. Loki believed that the only way to get what he wanted was by amassing power—and doing anything he could to hold onto it.

He wasn’t supposed to sit on the throne of Asgard. But once he was on that throne, he believed it was his chance at last to prove once and for all he was worthy of the name Odinson, and the throne. And as events spiralled out of control, he asked himself who he was willing to sacrifice to keep what he had and get what he wanted. When he decided the answer was Thor, Sif, his friends, and an entire people—he deemed the loss acceptable. That it was just collateral damage. But it would be worth it, because he would finally have what he wanted. What he deserved. What he was owed.

That was why Odin said ‘No’ as Loki hung suspended over the dark void of space. Dangled off the broken bifröst by the tip of his father’s spear. Because you can’t earn love, respect, and acceptance by paying with someone else’s blood. That there is no such idea as an acceptable loss, victory without sacrifice.

That was why Loki let go. Because annihilation is easy. Leaving is easy. Staying is hard. Hope is hard.

Before this story, you could always trust Loki to act in his own best interests. So over the course of the first season—the swagger, the smarm, the pompousness, the superiority, the entire façade is stripped away. Underneath is someone who hurt other people because he had been hurt and didn't know how not to lash out because he was terrified that he was alone and always would be. He saw an entire drawer full of Infinity Stones mixed in with other flotsam, like the handful of paper clips, bobby pins, and scraps of paper you’d find in any junk drawer. He saw his own brutally short future, and experienced the one thing he wasn’t expecting: ego death.

The journey he was on was one of self-discovery, self-acceptance, taking responsibility for his actions, and finding a new purpose.

Loki makes Sylvie his purpose. At first it was merely a scheme—helping the TVA was just a way to stay alive. But while he worked side by side with Mobius, he became invested. Not just in besting his rival and proving he was the superior Loki. He became invested in the actual problem-solving because Mobius treated him like an equal. He wasn’t the sidekick; they were partners. He made a genuine connection with someone, because he wanted Mobius to believe in him. It gave him a reason to strive to become better, to live up to his expectations.

Then he and Sylvie are stranded on Lamentis and she goes from an abstract concept to a real person. At first all he can see if their differences. But then he begins to look at everything from a different perspective, precisely because they’re so different. When they are about to die, they hold hands and smile because for the first time in both their lives, they are not alone.

So her mission becomes his mission. Her goals become his goals. He feels needed, and has no problem taking a place at her side and following her lead. He puts her life ahead of his own, and would have allowed Alioth to devour him if it gave her the chance to bring the TVA down.

He admits that he had betrayed everyone who had ever cared about him. But he will not betray her, because that’s not who he is. He has changed. For the first time, he is acting selflessly, putting Mobius and Sylvie’s needs above his own. Even as Sylvie is shouting at him to fight her the exact same way he had once done to Thor in Heimdall’s observatory, he drops his sword and puts himself in front of her blade to try and stop her because he genuinely cares about her—but he also is finally seeing the big picture and it’s so much bigger than he’d realised. The stakes are so much higher because he has so much more to lose than before.

And neither of them knew that the TemPad He Who Remains had so conveniently removed from his wrist and placed on his desk, within easy reach was programmed to send Loki hundreds if not thousands of years into the TVA’s past. They didn’t know that he hadn’t been using a ‘time twister’ to avoid their blades. He had been timeslipping right in front of their eyes because he wasn’t ‘just’ a man. He had learnt how to control time itself.

And now, so would Loki.

#loki #loki meta #loki season 1 #loki season 2 #loki finale

[nuctoria]

I don't know what to say, I'm glad you liked my AU and that it was accompanied with a cup of coffee.

I already decided on a name:

'You are what you eat'

I don't plan to write a fanfic, the reasons:

English is not my first language. Spelling/writing is not my strong suit.

Believe it or not, I don't know how to use Ao3.

I haven't played Dream Team, I don't have the best financial situation and time. I can emulate it, but I really want to get a copy and I don't know where to look.

I'm learning to draw and I don't want to do something else without finishing the other. Besides, I'm entertained with polymer clay.

Yeah... I won't be doing it in a fanfic anytime soon.

But I can give a little more about the AU.

As it says in the name; Luigi is a good person, too good for his own good and wouldn't it be funny if Antasma took the path of redemption by force/accident.

Antasma survived thanks to Luigi hiding in his dreams, it was a little difficult to have him in his clutches.

Since Antasma could not consume Luigi's energy at once, he had to resort to force in the form of biting, several bites and licking as a form of mockery, a kind of victory and because he does not want him to die from blood loss (sorry Luigi).

Antasma's terror lasted for days, because ending the fun would be boring and he wants to see all hope disappear, a bad decision.

He has captured habitants of the kingdom in a deep sleep so that they generate nightmares and he can feed himself, he will not need it.

After the bird's capture, the bat only visits him once to taunt him, but the Zeekeeper doesn't seem to take him seriously, because he knows what will happen.

Antasma not only visits Luigi to "eat" but also to show intimidation and power, Greeny takes advantage of this to extract information and form an escape.

Sometimes before "eating", Antasma likes to play with the plumber; games like chess, hide-and-seek, tic tac toe, among others... but they have a sinister side, more defeats, more bites.

Dreambert is not feeling well emotionally; He has not been able to maintain his kingdom for long, he has failed his people and the King of Bats has returned, he failed in every way.

Although Mario assures Dreambert that everything will be fine, he does not feel safe, he has gone on adventures alone, but he does not feel well and he wants Luigi's safety while he goes in search of saving him, his skin itches...

The dream world is more hostile thanks to Antasma's influence.

In Antasma's metamorphosis (transformation), I took inspiration from the Honduran white bat, slowly but surely, it is growing soft blue fur (I still haven't decided what shade of blue), it must be funny to present itself in an intimidating way while you have that blue fur spreading, it's not uncomfortable and it's one reason why the bat ignores this (that color doesn't look so bad on him).

I have a headcanon that Antasma has an unsatisfied hunger, no matter how many nightmares he consumes it will never be enough, until Luigi appears and his stomach is starting to feel full, he finds it strange, but not inconvenient, that the green plumber is more participatory, maybe he is accepting his defeat (no).

This new power (I don't have a better name) is not what it seems, at first it is indestructible and invincible, it is not the Dream Stone but it is almost the same; However, we are talking about Luigi, he would never hurt someone who does not deserve it and he would seek to help/save everyone; This affects Antasma's attack where he does the complete opposite of chaos and begins to feel fear; which leads him to the decision to stop consuming Luigi's energy thinking the situation would get better, it doesn't.

It seems like he is losing control, he is, satisfying that hunger to have a full stomach, but he doesn't want to consume more, he is scared; he visits Luigi not to eat but to make him face what he is doing to him, the plumber only confronts him, this is what he wanted, right? he tries to get closer to the bat to which he moves away and ends the conversation; Antasma needs to concentrate, he starts by looking at his appearance and doesn't seem to recognize his reflection; claws and fangs not at all threatening, there is more blue than purple, too much fur for his taste and since he had not realized that his belly had increased in size... and despite this, he was not scared, with his "claws" he began to explore, it's soft... sensitive... nice... maybe this isn't bad... maybe this is what I really want...

NO!!

He is the Antasma, King of Bats, Bringer of Nightmares, Terror of the Night

He's not going to give up on something as pathetic as this.

(he's just delaying the inevitable)

In the final battle, before Luigi takes a desperate measure to end this once and for all, he looks into Antasma's terrified eyes... he is... crying...

Luigi feels a little sympathy for him, pressing his lips together, he senses that this will do good not only for Pi'illo Kingdom but also for Antasma.

Phew, it's too much but I don't regret it and there's still the after of this adventure. A new Antasma was born.

Have a good day.

Thank you very much for adding a bit more detail in certain parts of your story, I honestly really love it and keep going back to it when I can.

As for why you won't turn it into a fanfic, I completely understand and won't pressure you into writing it. English isn't my first language either but given you well you've written these, grammar and vocabulary mistakes won't matter all that much to the readers if the plot is this good, it'll just annoy you a bit when you spot it and give you the itch to edit it out. When I first learned of Ao3, I could not use it at all and ended up not liking it just because of that and I still have trouble using it to some extend.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I haven't played a single Mario game ever and have just watched gameplays on YT, I especially loved watching Super Mario Galaxy when I was really little and it's some of my best memories. Take all the time you need and manage your money according to your needs before deciding to buy the game if you want it. I'd suggest trying to find a used copy on Ebay or Facebook store since the used ones are usually cheaper.

Also, good luck on improving your drawing skills and working with clay, I bet you'll do great and find an art style you can use and like.

#luigi #antasma #mario & luigi dream team #anon ask

[anchanted-one]

Legend of Lightning Chapter 57. Keeping Busy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/113713498

Keleth, Tython

Vajra left his dwelling after the shaking stopped. The air outside felt slightly cool to his skin, so it must be quite cold by human standards. It had rained the night before, and the river nearby was flowing in full force. He tried to listen to the sound of gushing water, as that always calmed him down. There was little else to hear; perhaps all nearby animals had run for the hills at his scream. Somewhere in the distance, a bijo owl’s doleful hooting was the only animal call he could hear.

Most predators like the horanth and manka cats had learned to leave the Jedi alone… or ex-Jedi, as he now was. Their numbers had been thinned since the Order arrived on this world, as zoologists had deemed their numbers dangerous for the ecological balance of this forest.

Vajra picked up a few stones and skipped them across the rivers surface, one after the other. He tried not to think about the vast majority of his nightmare, but one thing kept nagging his mind. Why didn’t he feel anything towards his family? Did he care so little for them? Had time made them lose value?

No, that wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. He remembered them all. Vaguely, but still. He had memories like playing, eating, hunting, singing, dancing, and traveling with his clan. He remembered a lot of names too!

And many of the activities were fun… they should have some emotion there… so why didn’t they? Did I seal them away, to protect myself? Or did someone else do that for me?

Master WenSuul could not influence the mind to this extent… but there was another Master who may have done it.

Master Oteg.

Vajra sighed. There was no point in thinking about this now. He was never going back to the Jedi. He was done.

Aware that he wouldn’t be able to sleep again tonight, he decided to start his day.

First things first, he had to keep his old game going. He retrieved the wooden plate that sat atop a nearby stone shelf and placed some dried jerky on it before putting it back.

He then took off his outer robes and took a running dive into the river. The cold water did wonders for his mood, as did the hour-long swim that followed.

He was breathing hard when he got out of the water, and sat down on the riverbank once he’d towelled off. He focussed on getting his breathing regular, and once it was, he continued to concentrate on the rhythm. It was, of course, not long before his thoughts ran free of his control again. Two opposing voices fought in his head for dominion.

What’s the point of this? Are you going to spend your life like this? Alone and forgotten?

That’s right! But it’s not like you can go back to the others, not after this! But there IS another way…

STOP IT!

He leapt to his feet and Summoned a blade to his hand, one of several he’d looted from a droid armory. He began practicing Lightsaber katas. He started easy, but within ten minutes, he dived into the most complex, intricate, and elegant sequences; movements which required perfect timing, balance and agility. What was more, he was practicing in a real-world environment without footwear, so any missteps could hurt his foot.

Or worse, he could take a nasty fall. If he hurt himself out here, it might spell disaster.

He recalled something Jasme had told him about Raudra resilience, but he did not relish the thought of waiting aimlessly to recover. His thoughts would eat him alive.

Thinking about Jasme made his conscience lash out at him. She had given him her trust and her love. She had adopted him as her younger brother, and given him some really valuable lessons in curiosity and learning, not to mention some of the best times of his life. And he had left without even a proper goodbye.

His sword halted in midair as he found the rabbit hole swallow him up.

Well, what else could I have done? There’s no way she’d have let me go. No, that’s not right. I couldn’t have left. But I had to. I had to! She deserves better. She deserves better… I’m just… I… just…

He pinched himself hard and resumed his forms, trying his hardest to suppress all thought mazes before they enticed him down the first turn.

He pushed harder, put all his concentration into the steps and rhythm. His muscles started to burn, but still he swung his blade. His limbs trembled, but he did not allow his grip to weaken. His feet picked up a collection of cuts and scrapes from the small pebbles around them, but he did not slow down. The only breaks he took were for water.

Eventually, he moved to freeform training. He imagined a legion of training droids charging at him and duelled them all in turn. His blade shook underimagined impacts with his opponents’ bodies and their own weapons. He blocked wave after wave of dreamed-up blaster fire.

After hours of training, he was startled out of his trance by a loud crash close to his room. The return to reality showed him just how exhausted he was; he fell to the ground, unable to stand on his aching legs. Every one of his muscles burned painfully, as if white-hot metal serpents were coiled around them. As he gasped for breath, he was shocked to find that it was still dark.

“That’s not possible! I was training for at least a few hours! Why isn’t it light out, already?” Had he trained for a whole day? That was the only possible answer… it was no wonder he was dog-tired. His bottle was empty, as should have been expected. He crawled to the river bank again, his legs suddenly too weak to take his weight, then dipped himself in the stream for a few moments to wash off the sweat.

He massaged his abused feet, which would likely remain numb for a while. He drew the Force into himself like a rejuvenating current, and felt it heal his overworked body. If only it could heal his mind as quickly…

His inner voice began berating him again, but he was too exhausted to hear it clearly.

I need to sleep. I can’t stay up much longer.

He returned to his camp, and saw at once what had caused the crash. Someone had tied up a bunch of spare droid parts in a net, which had fallen off the tree it had been tied to. He could see the other end of the rope tied to a vertical grill on his window. There was a candle on the stone shelf nearby, which stood between the tree and the building. The candle had burnt the rope little by little, until it had snapped under the weight.

Someone—and he knew exactly who it was thanks to the shelf—had set this up so that they’d have time to get back in hiding by the time he was alerted by the loud clanging of metal.

After all, the shelf was where he normally kept the wooden plate that he used to keep up his year-old game with his tail. It was still there now, but it wasn’t empty like it normally was after his offering had been claimed.

There was a portion of hot food on it, and a note placed underneath. He opened it and read the handwritten letter.

‘Good morning, Jedi. I’m your mysterious admirer. Congratulations on working out for two whole days. While impressive, I do hope you don’t try that again. There are easier ways to delight my fellow fans, you know! Growing children need plenty of rest. Leaving a spare wristcomm near your bed so that you can keep time better. And don’t worry; it’s clean. And enjoy the food. You’ve been feeding me all this time, so it’s about time I returned the favor. Warm regards. Call me Mercy. PS. I did miss not getting your present for two mornings straight. I think I’ve gotten too used to it!’

He sighed. The note was peppered with cute little drawings meant to accentuate its tone.

He ate the food—which was quite delicious aside from still being hot. He fully expected his utensils to be hot as well, if he decided to investigate. The spy had somehow managed to whip up a reasonably tasty meal with only his stores and what few seasonings they could find in the Tython wilds. Under ordinary circumstances, he’d have marvelled at her stealth, but no amount of practice would allow someone to mask the smell of food being prepared.

No, this was a result of his own inattention. If she wanted him dead, he’d be dead. The thought should have frightened him.

He relished each bite, smacking his fingers eagerly. He couldn’t praise her sneakiness, but he could her cooking skills. Not to mention, her nerve. Her concern also touched him. There was a strong chance she was Imperial, yet here she was, telling him to take care of himself.

He cleaned up as meticulously as he could manage right now, before tucking himself. Exhaustion carried him off at last to a deep, dreamless slumber. It was a little disconcerting; it felt like he only closed his eyes for an instant, but the sunlight pouring in through the windows attested to the passing of time.

He yawned as he made his bed. His body was still sore from his reckless practice, so he was forced to a slow start. He picked up the wristcomputer which the spy had left beside his table, and marvelled again at how she’d managed to get close to him, disturb his camp, cook him a meal and rig that alarm clock without him noticing.

He went back out and picked up the wooden plate to clean it. He cut up a few fruits and vegetables and placed them on the plate along with some meat. He put in a thank-you note on today’s plate.

‘Thank you, Mercy. I’ll be more careful. The food you left was great! Would you mind telling me where you found the seasonings, or how you prepared the meal? Maybe I can spice up my cooking. I’ll be sure to treasure your kind gift as well. Sorry for making you worry. Love, Not-a-Jedi-anymore.’

He cooked some eggs and fish for breakfast, missing the comforts of civilisation like bread or salt. Perhaps he could set up a small farm for himself… yes, that would definitely help him keep his mind occupied. But how to get the seeds? The Kalikori—no, they had enough to worry with.

And someone like himself didn’t deserve such comforts. Perhaps he didn’t deserve a reprieve from his thoughts either.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try his hardest.

He began today with a shorter swim than his last before doing an inventory. He had some food stored in the containers he’d scrounged up from the ruins to last the day, but he needed to get a hold of more by the end of the day.

“Time for a hunt, I suppose!” He got up and stretched, looking around the shelter. It was full of tools he’d fashioned himself over the past few weeks, mostly spears and nets, though there were also some traps. He had almost finished constructing his bow, so he would need to start making arrows soon. He left on his hunt with three spears, a sword, a multi-purpose knife, and his pack.

*

Vajra found a good hunting site a few kilometers away from his home. A lone male horanth, probably out to mark his territory. As he understood it, most hunters outside the galaxy—the primitives at least—would not necessarily aim to fell their prey in a single shot. That was difficult indeed. No, they mostly tried to hit a major blood vessel; they tried to bleed their prey, or cripple them so they could be run down and finished off in close quarters.

But that was needlessly cruel. His clan instilled in him their way to hunt, which was to sneak up on their prey and take them down in one hit. He left a pair of his spears near a tree and crept closer to the beast, centimeter by centimeter. The tall grass hid his approach, though he had to be careful to keep them from ruffling too much.

He felt the ground with his fingers as he moved, making sure he didn’t press or shift stones. Every once in a while, the beast took a look around. Once or twice, its gaze locked in his direction, but it relaxed again eventually.

Finally, after nearly an hour, it got up to leave just as he was within striking distance. It yawned and shook itself. At that moment, Vajra pounced with his spear aimed at the horanth’s jugular. The beast didn’t even have the time to notice him. It went down with a surprised hiss.

Dark blood spurted out of its wound. Vajra knelt beside the dying beast and prayed as his family had taught him. The carcass was too big for him to carry back the whole way unaided, so he used the Force. On the plus side, it would last him at least a week. On the way back, he supplemented his hunt with some wild fruits and vegetables. Satisfied that his stores would keep him fed for some time now, he returned to his camp to prepare the meat.

*

Night, some time after

Vajra tried to meditate on the one Keleth stone he had kept for himself, the white crystal. Its song was one of indestructible love, and he really needed to feel some of it for himself.

But even with the gem’s kind encouragement, all he could give himself was scathing self-loathing. Worse than just having so many people he loved killed right in front of him, he had thrown away everything that he fought for, and pretended he was doing it for justice.

He remembered still, just what he’d done to Angral.

It was not very Jedi-like of him, nor of the Raudra. Master Orgus would have been ashamed of him.

Do not lose your soul.

That was exactly what he had done though. He remembered Jasme telling him that he was already worshipped back home on Raudraksha, and wished he could go home and destroy his idol himself. He deserved condemnation, not praise!

He tried and failed again, to remember his feelings for his family. It was like trying to grab hold of a hologram. It was definitely there, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t feel it.

In his effort to remember his family, he got to the final memory; their death.

All his recollections were snatches.

He was startled awake by quite a strong alarum in the camp. He left the tent at once, spear in trembling hand, to find everyone far busier than normal for the hour.

His father raced upto him and his younger sister, Nitya, and hugged them tightly. “Danger approaches,” he whispered. “Stay with the tribe, be silent. Obey your elders. Do not slow them down."

Their mothers had followed, his own first, followed by her two sister-wives. She’d whispered something to her only child before adding that it was his turn to accompany Aparajitha from today. She was not leaving with the warriors, she said, but she was going to be travelling separately for the next day or so. Vajra had only been five, but he had been able to understand that something terrible was happening. He tried to hold himself together as well as a child that age could.

He'd stuck to the tribal elder’s side like his favorite flute. He had helped him pack, and helped him walk.

But about an hour after dawn, the danger caught up to the caravan. Vajra didn’t remember the exact course of events, but there was a lot of shouting, screaming, lightning, and the sounds of people taking their final breaths. On instinct, he had dragged Aparajitha off the trail, but the old man had roared in horror when he watched his great-granddaughter Vrinda get crushed by a wagon. That was the first time Vajra saw their attacker, a thick being with skin like powdered chalk, and a shell like a tortoise’s. A small coil of lightning danced between his fingers, and his lips were parted in a cruel grin. Rocks jumped off the ground and hurled themselves at the clan.

On seeing his son’s grandchild’s death, Aparajitha had limped out of their hiding place and started to throw things at the creature, things that might take half the village to merely pick up, let alone throw. The enemy was taken aback by the onslaught. Even so, he was about to stop the old Raudra’s momentum when the clouds above him swirled and dropped a spear of the densest Lightning that Vajra had ever seen. It struck the white creature, and only that creature. Aparajitha stumbled and fell, dead before Vajra could reach him.

Vajra had stayed by his side for some time, before he thought to start looking for his mother. He found her lying in the path, and lay down beside her, trying to get her to respond to his voice. And there he had stayed until he was rescued.

Vajra remembered all of this, but could not feel anything about it, except for his rather weak fear of the Sith who had killed his tribe. And the stronger fear that he could become him someday.

Vajra stirred. This was not helping. Uncrossing his legs, he summoned four swords into his palms to practice quad-wielding. Perhaps a little exercise could curb his thoughts.

*

#star wars #star wars the old republic #the old republic #swtor #fanfic #swtor fanfic #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #Jedi Knight #hero of tython #cipher nine

[edenmemes]

ghost of tsushima starters

❝ promise you’ll remain the good man i know. ❞   ❝ only fools have no fear of death. ❞   ❝ i am very much alive. but my patience is dying. ❞   ❝ i’ll make sure you are remembered. as a great warrior...a wise leader. ❞   ❝ the strength we need is all around us. ❞   ❝ the past cannot hurt you. ❞   ❝ this whole journey, and i never asked your name. ❞   ❝ fear drives you to be stronger. fight harder. ❞ ❝ sometimes...our only choice is to walk away from everything we know ❞ ❝ we do what we must. that is why you and i are both survivors. ❞ ❝ i can do good! i just...need practice. ❞ ❝ may your next life be more peaceful than this one. ❞ ❝ i knew it was too good to be true. ❞ ❝ i'll see what i can do. but if you’re lying to me... ❞ ❝ you’re too comfortable with that power. ❞ ❝ don’t ever try to kill me again. ❞ ❝ turn your back on a foe...and you will die with a sword stuck in it. ❞ ❝ youre not slipping away that easily. ❞ ❝ just stay closed. keep your sword sheathed. and let me do the talking. ❞ ❝ the things i saw still haunt my nightmares. ❞ ❝ i dont even know if you're real. ❞ ❝ victories don’t have to feel good. ❞   ❝ killing your own family...it’s harder than you could ever imagine. ❞   ❝ it’s safer for everyone if i just disappear. ❞   ❝ next time, leave some glory for the rest of us. ❞   ❝ peace doesn’t always come quietly. ❞   ❝ some people respond to kindness. others require a glimpse of steel. ❞ ❝ i am nothing if not honest. ❞ ❝ stop using people, and start thinking about how you can help them. ❞ ❝ you’ve had your vengeance. don’t stand in the way of mine. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to do it alone. ❞ ❝ not all words need to be spoken. ❞   ❝ there is time yet for revenge. i will savour their cries of pain when that time comes. ❞ ❝ i have learned to love the cool, damp dark. ❞ ❝ the last thing i saw was faces filled with hatred, rage... ❞ ❝ you didn’t think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you? ❞ ❝ we will celebrate when this is all over. ❞ ❝ what’s wrong with you? one moment we stand shoulder-to-shoulder, the next you’re ready to cross blades. ❞ ❝ a warrior learns from their mistakes, or they are buried by them. ❞ ❝ remember your training...and never leave my side. ❞ ❝ well...i guess this is goodbye. ❞ ❝ your visions will grow worse, driving you to madness and death. ❞ ❝ i can only pretend for so much longer. i’m not like these people and never will be. ❞ ❝ i loved you all my life, but i could never work up the courage to tell you. ❞ ❝ the proud do not last, and the mightiest of us perish like dust before the wind. ❞ ❝ you’re a vision of mercy. ❞ ❝ not bad, but only half-good. ❞ ❝ we make a good team, don’t we? ❞ ❝ an archer’s aim relies not on eyes...but on body, mind, and spirit. ❞ ❝ this is my fight. i don’t need your weapon. ❞ ❝ being right doesn’t always make things better. ❞ ❝ there is nothing easier than to prey upon the vanity of ambitious men. ❞ ❝ you weren’t looking so good. i let you rest. ❞ ❝ your intentions this time were...better than usual. ❞ ❝ what are you not telling me? ❞ ❝ trouble sticks to you like shit on rice. ❞ ❝ it’s strange being back after so many years...everywhere i look brings back memories. ❞ ❝ only a child expects perfection of their elders. ❞ ❝ when this is all over, what will you do? ❞ ❝ you are ruled by your emotion. ❞ ❝ is this how you want to be remembered? ❞ ❝ perhaps great men share all the aspects of their lessers, but more. great wisdom, but even greater cruelty. ❞ ❝ i cannot imagine the burden a leader like you must bear. ❞ ❝ our greatest enemies are the greatest teachers. ❞ ❝ death’s shadow embraces me. hand in hand we walk. ❞ ❝ breathe. you can’t fight if you hold your breath. ❞ ❝ i know you well enough by now, my friend. ❞ ❝ i can’t go back...to what i was. before this. ❞ ❝ i hope you one day forgive me for the choice i made. ❞ ❝ the wounds you dealt my spirit will never heal. ❞ ❝ why did you turn away from me? ❞ ❝ if you can keep moving forward, so can i. ❞ ❝ it’s a bad idea to sneak up on me. ❞ ❝ promise me something. don’t become like me. ❞ ❝ let me undo the damage i’ve done. ❞ ❝ ...and you want me to clean up your mess. ❞ ❝ the path ahead may take a lifetime, but i will walk it with you. always. ❞ ❝ whatever you believe i’ve become, i will always be your family. ❞ ❝ i wouldn’t be here without you. ❞ ❝ i’ll hunt you past the horizon if i must. ❞ ❝ can i count on you to do what needs to be done? ❞ ❝ that’s over now. you’re here. with me. ❞ ❝ i thought i’d lost you, i should’ve known you’d never give up. ❞ ❝ you can’t continue down this path. ❞ ❝ be careful. demons are everywhere and they fear nothing. ❞ ❝ corpses can’t answer questions. ❞ ❝ you deserve greater respect than this. ❞ ❝ it’s just like the stories my father told me. ❞ ❝ what you become tomorrow is your choice. ❞ ❝ just ask the last man who questioned my sincerity. you’ll find his head covered in flies out back. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t have lied. i still would have helped you. ❞ ❝ we came this far. we’re not turning back now. ❞ ❝ how do we survive if we don’t trust each other? ❞ ❝ without my help, the fear and pain will overwhelm you. ❞ ❝ whatever happens, we don’t retreat. ❞ ❝ the stories are true. i’ve never seen anyone fight like you. ❞ ❝ see how the enemy fear you? you are a true warrior. ❞ ❝ you want to share a drink...with me? ❞ ❝ maybe you should’ve just ran away. like you always do. ❞ ❝ good people have nothing to fear from me. ❞ ❝ your promises are just like you. worthless. ❞ ❝ as you wish, since you asked so sweetly. ❞ ❝ i know better than to argue. ❞ ❝ i hope i can find quiet places like this one, untouched by war. ❞ ❝ we grew up together, but you threw it all away. ❞ ❝ it was so chaotic. i felt you grip my wrist and then nothing. ❞ ❝ desperation can bring out the demon in the best of men. ❞ ❝ i don’t want to leave without you, but...i can’t stay. i hope you understand. ❞ ❝ a grown man, and you still can barely sit still. ❞ ❝ and i heard you had no sense of humor! ❞ ❝ knowing and doing are different. ❞ ❝ trouble follows me everywhere. ❞ ❝ indulging violence weakens the warrior...like too much food or drink. ❞ ❝ i can always tell when you want to ask me something. out with it. ❞ ❝ i am proud to fight beside you. ❞ ❝ i didn’t nurse you back to health to watch you throw your life away. ❞ ❝ all i want...all i need is to start a new life. ❞ ❝ look twice and shoot once. ❞ ❝ i think they’re afraid of you. you can be...intimidating.. ❞ ❝ you don’t even try to hear me. it’s like talking to a stone. ❞ ❝ so you try to kill me? have you lost your mind? ❞ ❝ you’ve sacrificed everything. for revenge. ❞ ❝ we can’t let anger consume us. or blind us to our friends. ❞ ❝ there is only one way this ends. ❞ ❝ i gave you everything. and you threw it away. ❞ ❝ do not question my integrity again. ❞ ❝ your father would be proud. ❞ ❝ the worst one can do is take advantage of their own people. ❞ ❝ you follow trouble. you should ask yourself why.  ❞ ❝ some of my favourite memories happened at this place. ❞ ❝ i told you this was a bad idea! ❞ ❝ keep fighting. we need people like you. ❞ ❝ are you the one who finally kills me? ❞ ❝ a warrior’s most important weapon is themself. lose control, and you risk defeat. ❞ ❝ first, get some rest. this is killing you. ❞ ❝ see that? i told you. there’s always hope. ❞ ❝ i hope the skills i gained through hardship can be of use to the people here. ❞ ❝ you have skill...but you nearly died rushing into battle. ❞ ❝ in the midst of battle, true leaders must stay rooted, stand firm. ❞ ❝ every time i get in a mess like this, i’m as scared as the time before. ❞ ❝ don’t be the next to disappoint me. ❞ ❝ save what we can, but know that everything passes away. ❞ ❝ i hope you understand, this is just a job. ❞ ❝ that’s a sad way to look at the world. ❞ ❝ seeing you like that...i’m still shaken up. ❞ ❝ sit with me a moment. ❞ ❝ doubt and indecision have destroyed armies. ❞ ❝ it’s so painful to...see you weighed down by sadness. ❞ ❝ on the slim chance some good comes of this...lead the way. ❞ ❝ you fought well, but we’re finished. ❞ ❝ the warrior’s mind is quiet but alive, like rustling bamboo. ❞ ❝ i’ve trained with a blade since i could walk. ❞ ❝ the visions...they’re still happening. ❞ ❝ in our world, being intimidating isn’t a bad thing. ❞ ❝ you have a talent. it’s time you use it, for the sake of our land. ❞ ❝ i've tried to teach you all i know...but you act more like a poet than a warrior. ❞ ❝ your path leads to madness and death. ❞ ❝ that’s twice you saved my life. ❞ ❝ these people stay because they believe in you. ❞ ❝ i didn’t choose this life. it was my only option. ❞ ❝ you came at me like i was your mortal enemy. almost broke my arm! ❞ ❝ i could use your help...in the fight ahead. ❞ ❝ you can be a little rough, but you have a good heart. ❞ ❝ i don’t want to kill you, stop! ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? afraid i’ll get more famous than you? ❞ ❝ war brings out who we truly are. ❞ ❝ take care where you place your faith. ❞ ❝ you seem lost in thought. ❞ ❝ i was getting tired of waiting for you. ❞ ❝ without my wisdom, you will lose your soul to madness. ❞ ❝ peace is an unattainable dream...but a dream worth fighting for. ❞ ❝ i’ve killed a thousand men. every death was sweet. ❞ ❝ what is the point of prayer when we are doomed? ❞ ❝ you’re like your father in more ways than you know. ❞ ❝ if you want my respect, earn it. ❞ ❝ and how many wars have you fought? ❞ ❝ you’re quite the butcher with that sword. ❞ ❝ people who sow chaos must be punished. ❞ ❝ i can’t help but wonder if you enjoy the violence. ❞ ❝ i kill only to protect our people. i think about that every time i reach for my sword. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry if my lack of skill offends. ❞ ❝ it’s the first time in days i haven’t felt like i was about to die. ❞ ❝ you fought like an animal...or a demon! ❞ ❝ there’s nothing more painful to me than a perfect bow...ineptly used. ❞ ❝ victory is won by warriors, not weapons. ❞ ❝ i couldn’t leave you to die. ❞ ❝ i made my choices. even knowing what they’ve cost me, i’d make them again. ❞ ❝ when’s the last time you slept or ate? ❞ ❝ you don’t get to give up. this land needs you. ❞ ❝ oh you pretend we are different, but we fight for the same thing. ❞ ❝ there are still places of beauty to remind us of what truly matters. ❞ ❝ true mastery begins where individual ego ends. ❞ ❝ a warrior faces danger with courage and resolve. this is how they endure. ❞ ❝ those stories...they're not entirely true. ❞ ❝ even the youngest warrior needs a full belly and a rested sword-arm. ❞ ❝ bad men are good at hiding their true natures. ❞ ❝ there is nothing left for me here. my hope is lost. ❞ ❝ i did what i had to. for you. ❞ ❝ forgive my manners. i spent all my time alone. ❞ ❝ is that any way to greet a visitor? ❞ ❝ if you continue down this path...you’ll be no better than the enemy. ❞ ❝ i am grateful for the times we share...but, i always want more. ❞ ❝ you lived your life in a castle. it made you soft. ❞ ❝ i used to know what i fought for... ❞ ❝ face them as a warrior with honour. not a monster. ❞ ❝ i don’t take lives, but i am not a coward. ❞ ❝ i wonder if i’ve crossed a line. ❞ ❝ you can’t expect everyone to understand what you’re doing, or why. ❞ ❝ your methods were brutal...impulsive...without honour. ❞ ❝ there’s plenty to fear without worrying about folktales. ❞ ❝ i hope you’ll find peace again soon. ❞ ❝ you do what you need to survive. and yet you despise others for doing the same. ❞ ❝ is that your excuse? your reason to kill? ❞ ❝ we have to keep pushing. even if it costs us our lives. ❞ ❝ cowards without honour deserve no mercy. ❞ ❝ i’ll fight beside you until the end. ❞ ❝ whatever happens, your forgiveness won’t change who i am. ❞ ❝ why should we settle for scraps when we deserve to be legends? ❞ ❝ only cowards strike from the shadows. ❞ ❝ the proud do not endure. the greatest of us fall in the end. ❞ ❝ perhaps some good will come of this. ❞   ❝ you will see nothing but death to the end of your days. ❞ ❝ legacy is more than a name. ❞ ❝ im sorry. i know what it means to lose family. ❞ ❝ one day we'll escape the endless wheel of suffering. ❞ ❝ is that a 'thank you'? ❞ ❝ i know what it means to be hunted. ❞ ❝ you personify fury and regret. ❞ ❝ that's all right. i want to hear you dig your own grave. ❞ ❝ either way, we’ve got nothing to lose. ❞ ❝ i’ve done what i can. the rest is up to you. ❞ ❝ forgive me, but you look fatigued. have you endured much hardship? ❞    ❝ i hope you find true honour in your next life. ❞ ❝ you deserve nothing less than death. ❞ ❝ this is foolish. surrender, and you can live. ❞ ❝ i too have pride in family. and i know what it’s like to live in their shadow. ❞ ❝ you were gone so long, i knew you were in trouble. ❞ ❝ so many of us here owe you our lives. ❞ ❝ what's wrong? what did they do to you? ❞   ❝ you’re lucky to be alive. ❞ ❝ i know your language. your traditions. your beliefs. which village to tame and which to burn. ❞   ❝ i cannot lose you again. ❞   ❝ i don’t seek revenge. but i will fight for peace. ❞   ❝ we will meet again soon. until then...travel safely. ❞   ❝ this is war --- not a test. ❞ ❝ we can save our home together. it doesn’t have to be like this. ❞ ❝ fear is a weapon. don’t let them use it against you. ❞

#rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #long post for ts /

[the-broken-truth]

Can I request RE8 women (Lady D 、Donna...etc,you can pick who you want to write!)be protected by a human who wear full Knight's armor,use sword and sheild to fight,and they think that knight is a man.

But one day, that knight take off the helmet,and they are wrong,the knight is a woman.👩 ⚔

Sorry if I misspelled something, English is not my first language.

Broken Truth (Sharpening my sword): Hm, Dimitrescu or Donna... Dimitrescu or Donna... Hm... Why not both? Let the words weave together!

[Mother Miranda's Chapel - During A Lord Meeting]

"Thus, it would be better if you all were to... Alcina!" The Raven Winged Woman yelled out all of a sudden, causing the regal woman to jolt in her seat and almost drop her cigarette.

"Huh?! What?! Yes, Mother Miranda?" She asked as she looked at the woman in the golden mask.

"In case you forgot where you are - we are in the middle of a meeting and you are allowing your mind to wander instead of remaining focused. Care to explain why you are so distracted?" Miranda asked as she folded her arms with a glare under her mask.

"Please, forgive me, Mother Miranda - I was still...trying to analyze something that happened yesterday. You see - a few of the village's man-things decided to attack my castle." Alcina began.

"What's new about that? You report an attack on your castle once every two to three weeks; what makes this one so different that it's distracting you from the meeting?" Miranda asked.

"Well, Mother Miranda - It wasn't the event itself but the person who came out of nowhere and slaughtered all of the opposers." Alcina said with a slight blush on her face.

"Person? What person?" Miranda asked.

"Well... A Knight."

[Flashback - The Day Before - Attack On Castle Dimitrescu]

Once again - the reckless males of the village gathered again to attack the residents of the grand castle that overshadowed their home, but there were more of them than last time. The full moon shined over the castle, lighting the area around the - there were at least 50 or 60 humans there; armed with farming equipment or small handguns. Alcina and her Daughters were standing before the grand door of their castle - claws and sickles ready - the first man who held a pitchfork made a dash for the eldest daughter but before he could even get close to her, the silhouette of a caped figure shrouded the light of the moon before the figure came crashing down in the middle; acting as a bridge between The Dimitrescus and the Opposers.

The figure rose to their feet and the light of the moon made their features known to all. They were tall - at least 7 feet tall - dressed in a black metal armor that bore wolves on the shoulders and in the chest plate, the eyes of the wolves had rubies for eyes; even the helmet was in the likeness of a wolf and the back of the legs had a tail made of fur - was it real or did the wearer hunt down a beast and take its tail as a trophy. By their side, the pommel of the sword shined in the moonlight and even that was a wolf.

"Who the hell are you?!" The man said.

"Silence, you waste of flesh and blood." A deep voice came from the helmet, making the man flinch - a male was in that suit? That would explain the height. "You dare rally drunken minds to harm your masters? You have no honor and thus no worth, therefore..." His hand came over his side and wrapped around the handle of the sword before slowly pulling it out of its case, "You have no lost your privilege of life for even having the thought of harming House Dimitrescu!" He howled as he darted at the crowd of men with the speed of a beast on the hunt.

With a single swing of his sword - the first 10 men were killed. Alcina and her daughters watched in awe as this armored man slaughtered men who harm on the Dimitrescu Family. With another slash of the massive blade, 8 more were killed. He kept at it until the last man - the one who poisoned all the others to fight a losing battle; he was shivering and dropped his weapon as the tall man walked over to him, his armor and sword dripping with the blood of his lackeys.

"You are the orchestrator of this madness - the one who weaved chaos and delusion into the hearts and minds of these men." He growled as he raised the bloody blade over his head. "It is your fault that wives have become widows, children grow without parental guidance, and fathers...bury their sons; let that weigh on your mind...as you face your creator for judgment." The sword came crashing down upon the man - slicing him right down the middle.

"That...THAT WAS AWESOME!!" The excited cry of the youngest Dimitrescu Daughter as she buzzed over to the knight and began asking him questions: Where did he come from? Where he learned to fight like that? Where he got his sword and armor? If he could teach her how to fight? The Armored Man just stared at her.

"Daniela, that's enough." Alcina said as she cleared her throat and walked over to her daughter and savior, "I thank you for your but assistance but my daughters and I could have handled them." Alcina said.

"A Lady of your stature doesn't need to sully herself with dirt - it's not worth your time or the time of your daughters. Your time is precious and should be wasted with trivial matters such as this." He said before turning on his heel and jumped so high that he was once again cast in the moon's shadow before he fell in the forest somewhere, leaving the daughters and Lady of the castle just standing there...with a light blush on the lady's face.

[End of Flashback]

"HA HA HA HA HA! Lady Super-Sized Bitch has a crush! Oh, this is so rich!" Heisenberg laughed to the point he almost fell out of his seat.

"Silence, you stupid man-thing! You're just mad that he is more of a man than you will ever be!" Alcina roared at her brother who was going to shout back when...

"Hold on, ya talking that a tall dude - black armor with wolves all over it?" Angie asked from Donna's Lap; Alcina looked at her confused.

"Yes, that's my knight." She said.

The doll burst out laughing.

"Your Knight?! That's Donna's Knight! He saved her just last week!" Angie smiled.

"WHAT?!" Alcina yelled - jealousy clear in her voice.

"Yeah - it was late one night; we were looking for a plant that grew on the edge of the valley wall when..."

[Flashback - The Valley of Mist]

"AHHH!" The Dollmaker cried out as the rock under her feet broke away and she began to fall down into the misty darkness of the valley she called her home - tears in her eyes, reaching for the growing moon in the sky that seemed to get smaller and smaller with each second. She closed her eye, waiting for the sudden impact that would end her life of misery when she felt another force - an arm secured itself around her waist and she was pressed a cold chest, she kept her eye closed until she came to a stop and slowly opened them when she came face-to-face with a metal face in a wolf snarl.

"Are you alright, my lady? That would have been quite an unpleasant fall." The deep voice spoke from the metal wolf's locked jaws - Donna's eyes widened at the shining [E/C] eyes that looked back at her from the holes in the helmet.

"I...I am alright." Donna's voice came in a whisper.

"That is good to hear. Now, let's get you back to your companion." The Wolfish Knight said as he looked up and lunged himself up the wall with one clawed hand while holding Donna with the other, refusing to let her go. The moment they reached the top, Angie ran up to them.

"Donna! Are you alright?" She yelled.

"Worry not, Little Angel; your mother is safe, I was not going to let anything happen to her." The Knight said.

"Who are you?" Angie asked.

"I have no name, Little One." The Knight said as he held his hand out to Angie, "Now, take my hand and I'll get both of you back home, it gets rather dangerous around her at this time of night." He said.

Angie looked at the black clawed gauntlet for a moment before she took it and was pulled into an embrace and sat in her mother's lap before the knight rose to his full height and carried the woman bridal style before jumping into the trees - leaping through them like a Forest Cat - before falling to the ground in front of Beneviento Manor and sat them both on their feet. The knight gave them a nod before turning away and leaping away once again - gone from their sight.

[End of Flashback]

"Well...Just because she knew him first doesn't mean that she can have him." Alcina said.

"And what makes you think you deserve him? He saved us first and Donna even saw his eyes; you didn't have a decent conversation with them." Angie said.

"He is my knight and I shall not let anyone take him from me, not even my little sister." Alcina growled at Angie.

"Hey, you can't claim him for yourself if he doesn't want you!" Donna said as she rose from her seat.

"And what makes you think he wants you, little dollmaker?" Alcina smirked.

"I don't know what he wants but if he were here, I would as him!"

Oh, fate - how you be a lady.

The Window above Mother Miranda's head caved inward and two figures came crashing into the stone floor of Mother Miranda's Chapel - the first being one of Karl's Massive Lycans - The Varcolac - and...

THE KNIGHT?!

He was holding the beast by its head as it tried to sink its teeth into his armor. The Varcolac's hand lashed out and knocked the knight into one of the stone walls - making a large hole in it.

"My Knight!" Both Alcina and Donna yelled out before glaring at each other, "Your Knight?!"

A flash of black bolted out of the hole and metal arms wrapped around the beast's neck before twisting - snapping its neck. The Knight dropped the dead creature and exhaled before the wolf face he wore began cracking and broke away: revealing [H/L] [H/C] hair, [E/C] eyes, [S/C] skin with a scar across the face and...

A feminine face?!

THE KNIGHT WAS A FEMALE?!

The knight looked up at Miranda and the other lords before bowing in apology. "Forgive me for this interrupting, this beast attacked my home and I had to put it down." She said. Alcina was quick and was at the knight's side with her hand on the knight's shoulder.

"It's quite alright, cavalerul meu (My Knight). You had to do what needed to be done to keep your lady safe. If you wish, I can bring you to Castle Dimitrescu for a meal and a safe place to recover; it's the least I can do, Darling." Alcina blushed at her words while the woman in armor just looked at her in confusion before she was pulled away from Alcina.

"Hey, Tall One! It's been a while! Thanks for saving us from that thing. Sorry about your mask, Donna and I can get it fixed for you and you can stay with us while it gets fixed." Angie said while Donna smiled.

"Excuse me?!" Alcina said as she marched up to her little sister, the knight moving back. "I was the one who invited my knight to stay at Castle Dimitrescu while she heals, you can't roach on my bonding time with my future partner!" Alcina yelled at the veiled woman.

"And who said she wants you, Alcina?! Didn't you see if was uncomfortable with the way you were touching her?! It's clear she doesn't want you!" Donna yelled back.

"She does! Don't you, cavalerul meu?!" Alcina turned to the knight...only to find her gone. "What?!" She looked around, "Where did she go?!"

"She jumped back out that window while you two were arguing. Looks like she doesn't want either one of you." Karl smirked.

"SHUT UP, KARL!!!" Donna/Alcina/ and Angie yelled at him.

[End]

#resident evil 8 #alcina dimitrescu x female reader #donna beneviento x female reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #re8 x reader

[esamastation]

Breath of the Wild snippet

Link is bored. It's a little startling how easy it's to see – how easy he's to read these days. Where before, hundred years ago, he'd been as unreadable as a brick wall, a look of serious determination as though permanently etched to his face, now he's an open book, covers flung wide. The serious frown still makes an appearance, of course, it's his default expression, Link's face simply rests in a way that makes him seem as though he's almost scowling, but now, should an emotion cross his mind… he does nothing to hide it. 

Like now, as his attention strays and his eyes wander and every so often he smothers a sigh or a yawn or a longing look directed at the door. It's in part painfully and in part endearingly clear how little attention he's paying to their meeting, and how much he wishes he could be elsewhere.

Zelda smothers a smile and then realises she's allowed herself to be distracted, and quickly turns her attention back to the meeting taking place in Impa's house.

"... a little difficult to test," Purah is saying. She's sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor, her seat cushion abandoned and papers flung about her – most of them about her anti-aging rune. "I can't even promise the test subject will survive the process, never mind that it will work even fifty percent of the time... so finding people to volunteer has been an issue."

"What, no old folks interested in regaining their misspent youth?" Robbie asks with a slight snort, adjusting his goggles. "I'd happily test it, if my work wasn't too important to risk!"

Purah gives him a look. "Well, duh. Most folk are the same," she says and shakes her head. "And besides, the population and age statistics don't exactly trend towards the elderly these days. The average life expectancy of both Hylians and Sheikah both trend about forty years younger than it used to be pre-Calamity. And the only way for people to reliably grow old these days –"

"Is to have a family or other support network, helping them," Impa muses, rubbing at her chin. "Which means they have things too dear to lose, for an uncertain chance."

"Just so," Purah says and folds her little arms, adorable in her seriousness. "I did post queries around Hateno village, of course, but I only had a couple of takers, and they all turned tail when I explained the risks. And we can't improve the chances without further testing. And we can't do further testing without candidates. And we're not likely to get more candidates with the chances being what they are - it's a vicious circle." 

By the door, Link looks ready to nod off. 

Zelda hums, looking at the papers Purah had brought, conflicted. It's incredible work, just as a concept, and Purah hadn't just left it at theory – and the results certainly speak for themselves! Purah is now, what, hundred and twenty, hundred and thirty years old? And she looks as though she is a girl of six, with all that time ahead of her and not behind. If the technology could be made reliable, it would no doubt change the future in ways Zelda can scarcely imagine… for the better, she hopes, for all the people of Hyrule.

But right now, she has more selfish reasons to make enquiries into the rune.

Zelda looks at Impa, sitting on top of a pile of pillows, her weathered, aged face thoughtful. Their eyes meet and Zelda steels her resolve. "Might there be any potential candidates in Kakariko village, Impa?" she asks.

"Hmm. I doubt it. Young Zain, maybe?" Impa muses. "Well, he's not so young. He's in his seventies, he has bad knees and no surviving relatives to support or be supported by. Bit of a sour grape, that one, though. Sceptic. Hard to convince."

"I'm sure if the Lost Princess and the Hero who stopped Ganon ask for it, anyone would be happy to give it a go!" Robbie says, slapping his folded knees. "Especially if they learn what it's all for!"

Zelda smiles, wincing, and looks down. Using her standing for such a thing… sure she'd done things of that nature before, pleading people to join their cause, ages ago… but never with the risks so high, and potential results so uncertain. She'd never liked asking people to risk their lives, for her or otherwise. Even with a cause so important...

"It would be a somewhat awkward thing to ask, though," she muses and looks down. "It is an awkward thing to ask. I'm… I'm sorry to have to ask it of you."

After all this time, all these years, all the service they'd already put in, to ask for so much more of them… but she had to. No one woman could rebuild a kingdom by herself. She needed help, she needed allies – she needed Impa and Robbie and Purah. With such a foundation, Hyrule might yet rise, better than ever, but for that to ever happen… Impa and Robbie needed to go through what Purah already had, and extend their already prodigiously long lives even further. They all deserved their quiet retirement, after all the effort they'd put in, but for Hyrule, Zelda would make this cruel request.

"Ha!" Robbie says, striking a pose. "Like I wouldn't do this without being asked! As soon as Purah can improve the odds – no, as soon as we can improve the odds –"

"What's that, you old coot, what do you mean by we?" Purah depends, bouncing to her feet. "If you think I will let you ever into my lab, mister, you're sorely mistaken –!"

"If we work together, combine the efforts of Akkala and Hateno tech labs, we're sure to succeed! With Cherry's incredible computing power and your Stone –"

"Your creepy ancient furnace is getting nowhere near my Guidance Stone!"

Link startles awake at the noise they're making and Zelda smothers a giggle while Impa sighs.

"I will ask Paya to check in on Zain, maybe he will be interested," Impa says and shakes her head. "But it's still a small test study, with only two subjects. I'm sorry, Zelda – as much as I wish to do this, I am with Robbie on this. The chances are too low and I have too much to lose, right now. Paya is nowhere near ready to take over for me here. There needs to be more candidate's, first, and I don't know where we can get them. But," she hums and looks away. "There might be someone who does."

Link yawns and then freezes, finding all of them staring at him. Then, clearly baffled, he points at himself quizzically, and Zelda offers him a smile.

Impa chuckles. "You've been all over Hyrule now, Link – you've traveled farther than probably anyone has in a hundred years. Better than anyone, you know the state of her people. Do you think there is anyone out there who might be interested in Purah's study – in regaining their youth, even at a risk?"

Link scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully and then takes out the Sheikah Slate, opening the map with an easy, well practiced wipe of his fingers over the screen. Zelda leans in, once more amazed – and a little jealous – of how far he'd gotten with it, how full of markers the map is. Hundred years ago, she'd estimated that there might be as many as a dozen sites of ancient Sheikah technology all over Hyrule. Link had discovered over a hundred. They now glow on his map, like glittering blue gems, the Towers and Shrines he'd seen and mastered.

Link zooms in on the map and then puts down three other markers. One in Zora's domain, one in Gerudo Town and last in Lurelin Village. Turning the slate around, he shows the map to everyone.

"Of course," Zelda breathes in realisation. "The Guardians never reached so far, so their populations were never so scattered or scarred. In Zora's domain, in Gerudo Town and in Lurelin, people can grow old peacefully, without fear of attack."

Link makes a face and a wobbling gesture with his hand and then shrugs. Zelda smiles, sadly. "Aside from monsters and other disasters and misfortunes, of course," she agrees. "But without fear of attacks by Guardians, they were allowed to prosper."

"Not the Rito, though?" Robbie asks, his goggles whirting and shifting like the eyes of a gecko as he looks between the map, Link and Zelda. "Or the Gorons?"

Link shrugs, rubbing at his neck.

"Gorons age like rocks, Daruk always said," Zelda muses. "And I suppose with Rito it can be difficult to tell their ages. If we send out invitations to the study, we should include them as well – assuming that the treatment by the rune isn't Sheikah exclusive…?"

Purah rocks back and forth on her feet thoughtfully, almost as though she's about to dance. "I… don't know? I calibrated the first version based on my own physiology, so it might be best to stick to Sheikah and Hylians for a start – but I can't see why it couldn't be adjusted. Gerudo are closer in structure to us than Rito and Gorons, or Zora for that matter. Might be best we start there, when we begin making modifications to include everyone."

"So, begin with Lurelin," Robbie says and nods. "How do we do that?"

"We'll make some posters and Link can zip in and out of Lurelin Village to post them," Purah says and strikes a pose. "It's just a snap for the Sheikah Slate."

Impa hums in agreement. "Best we make advertisements for Kakariko and Hateno as well, and perhaps some of the stables," she muses. "You never know who might take us up on it, and getting this technology to work at hundred percent will be a benefit to everyone."

"You're right," Zelda agrees, nodding. "Purah and Robbie, I suppose you two know best what should go on the poster. Can you make it?"

"It'll work much better, with your name under it," Robbie points out.

"We'll write a draft and you can copy it and put your royal touch and seal to it," Purah says and does an excited little dance. "This is so exciting! We'll get so many applicants and my little Guidance Stone will get to do it's thing!"

Zelda offers her a smile, all the while wondering, not for the first time… how much of a royal she even is, at this point. With the castle in ruins and the Kingdom in shambles, with no one to rule it for a hundred years… all that Zelda is now... is a story. The Princess that went to fight Calamity Ganon as the Kingdom fell asunder all around her. Not many even believe it. That might change with this meeting and the following cooperation, especially when they'd begin reaching out further, but right now… 

Princess of nothing indeed.

"So much was lost," Zelda murmurs, carefully resting her hands in her lap to keep herself from wringing them. She shouldn't concentrate on the losses. Not when there's so much to do. "It will be good to build something for a change. To improve things."

"Indeed," Impa says, nodding her head, her heavy hat tilting. "But if Calamity Ganon taught us anything, it is that we should take all due caution."

"Yes. And speaking of which," Zelda says and lifts her eyes to Robbie. "Your research in Akkala – I would very much like to hear more about it. Link showed me the armour and weaponry you made, they're very impressive – how did you manage it?"

Robbie all but launches himself into the story of Akkala Ancient Tech Lab, the research he'd done there, the progress he'd made, enthusiastically recounting the creation of his Ancient Furnace, Cherry. Zelda leans in, allowing herself to be drawn in, and by the door Link settles down with a sigh and begins nodding off again.

-

Hmm hmm. Took me 3 years, but I finally finished botw.

I might continue this one and it might end up a Stargate crossover. Who knows.

#fanfiction #botw #loz #breath of the wild #legend of zelda breath of the wild #spoilers

[spartanxhunterx]

(I’ve watched like 8 episodes so forgive spelling mistakes or wrong names)

Ok, this might get long so… fair warning.

For this AU I was thinking, What if Aang wasn’t frozen on the night he was but Many years later.

When he’s in his late thirties.

The general idea being that, when the comet came and the Fire nation attacked, Aang did not run. He stayed at the temple to help as much as his 11 year old self could.

He watched Master Gyatso Die that day, as he suffocated himself and a room full of Fire Nation soldiers. This caused him to enter the Avatar state due to sheer rage, the state allowed him to be able to save many but not all members of the temple.

For years afterwards he would seek out a waterbender and Earthbender master is teach him, all while fighting off the Firenation and slowing their spread of destruction.

He was able to Master both water and Earth but could not find a Firebender willing to teach him.

During another night of travel he was besieged by a storm and frozen in the Ice like in Canon.

-

When Sokka and Katara accidentally free him he is much quicker to pick up that a lot of time has passed and while Cautious about possible close by Fire nation soldiers he’s still as nice and goofy as his 11 year old self.

He is, however, very concerned about how he can see signs of trauma on the two of them but is willingly to not push for details.

Aang is a lot more serious at times, having matured quite a bit over the years. He knows that the two kids who saved him deserve to be happy though, so he still explores with Katara and gets her to penguin sled down the hill, gets her to be the kid that she is.

Things progress pretty normally like in canon, so when Zuko turns up at the village all Aang can focus on is that scar, that deep burnt scar.

He knows Firebenders are resistant to fire, he knows it takes a lot to burn one of them. So he’s wondering who and why would someone grab onto this boy, this child, for so long that he has such a visible burn.

After he escapes, he does try to send the kids back home but also knows that they’ll probably be targeted should they be left undefended, so he lets them stay with him.

Besides, who better to teach Katara to waterbend then an Avatar whose already mastered Waterbending?

They still make their way to the South Pole anyway, as a way to lose Zuko’s ship but also so that Katara can be formerly recognised Waterbending Master.

When on the Kyoshi islands it’s Aang who encouraged Sokka to learn the Kyoshi Warriors fighting style, cause he knows that non-benders need every advantage in the world, also that Sokka could do with a big helping of respect woman juice.

When they make it to the earth Nation city (where bumi is) Aang doesn’t play the “old grandpa and his grandkids” gag. No, he says he’s an Earthbender and proves it by, you know, earthbending in front of the guards.

(It sends the Cabbage guys last Cabbage off the side of the cliff.)

Bumi and Aang do recognise each other immediately and Aang is able to pass the tests, up until Bumi still kicks his butt in the fight. But the whole thing is a joke on Sokka and Katara, with them in the growing rock watching it all go down.

The lesson here being that, people can be deceptive while also being in power.

-

Any time Aang encounters Zuko he always prioritises talking to him over fighting, trying to get him to see how he’s been mistreated, how the burn on his face is proof of his nation’s cruelty, even towards their own.

This does result in Zuko questioning everything a bit sooner but his uncle did a lot of the work over the three year period anyway.

-

Meeting Toph results in a switch going off in Aang, he hates seeing the way Toph is treated and while she can clearly take care of herself, she shouldn’t be treated the way she is. So he manages to convince (Read: Threaten) her parents into letting her join him.

Aangs main goal is to find a Firebender willing to teach him and to get the small gaggle of kids he’s dragging along to learn from masters and see the beauty of the world, even in its current state, all while teaching them that they can still be kids and there’s nothing wrong with that.

One of the best parts is that Aang isn’t the “last” Airbender in this AU. He’s the last “known” Airbender.

This is cause during his time before he was frozen he managed to get many of the Air nomads from around the world to hide, in a secure hidden place wedged between mountains so steep you’d need a Flying Bison to get there by sky.

The only other way is to Have a Master Waterbender, Earthbender and Airbender create an air bubble to travel under the surface of a deep lake where the other end come out in a large pool connected to the area inside. The earthbender being required cause the actual passage is blocked off by stone.

Or, have an Avatar do it all.

Which is why they have never been found. Cause all the Air Nomads are in the place, the Earthbenders refuse to help the Fire Nation and the Waterbenders keep getting killed.

Ultimately the Air Nomads are safe for as long as Aang is the Avatar.

Aang promises to take them to see the Air Nomad home some day. (Maybe after he’s ripped the Fire lord a new one for burning Zuko.)

I was thinking maybe Zukka? Or what’s the ship ugh… Zuko/Sokka/Suki with Katara & Toph being like sisters.

Just, Dad Aang whose somehow adopted a gaggle of feral children. Really.

#atla #atla au #atla aang #atla sokka #atla katara #atla zuko #atla toph #atla suki #The Air Nomads live cause I say so

[wreckofawriter]

Magnolia Final Part

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death

Summary: idk dude just read the other chapters first or this is gonna make no sense

A/n: I did this instead of studying for my finals, also it could probably use a neither round of editing but I was anxious to post it. And I really don't give a fuck if this is historically inacurate all research done for this was from Pirate of the Caribbean.

Part 1 Part 2

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

You considered the stars your friends, their predictability and reserve made them easy to get along with. You had been taught to read their language from your early days of ships and oceans. As a child, you would speak to them, whispering secrets from your bedroom window. Your young nights had been filled with time spent stretching from the top of your magnolia tree to try and grasp their beauty. Even now as you stared up at the heavens you wished to cradle them like priceless jewels, their wonder never faded. But you supposed their mystery is what made them so appealing, everyone wanted something they could never quite reach.

The news of your captured prince had spread like fire in a dry wind, the letters you had sent to Aldir and their neighboring kingdoms throwing many into action. Sirius’s kingdom was large, powerful, and merciless. Some wanted the prince for leverage, many others wanted blood; revenge driving them to empty treasuries and sharpen swords. At first, you had been sitting pretty, letters of bids coming to you at every stop you made. Eventually, prices got too high and kingdoms decided it would be easier to take than to pay.

Ash burned in the back of your throat, you stared at your feet as the second ship that week crumbled into the ocean. Its flames were heavy on your back, reflecting in the greys of the sea. A particularly large crack of the fire made the breath catch in your throat. Your fear of the element had persisted for years filling your nightmares with smoke and screams. 

As the distance between you and the defeated ship lengthened your heart began to calm. The air was thick with moisture, purple clouds bruising the dull sky. The ocean was frothy, waves lapping tirelessly at the sides of your ship.

Your mind felt dizzy, the taste of blood still thick in your mouth. Two more men had been lost in the fight which had taken place just minutes ago. One flung into the ocean and the other struck by a bullet. That was six bodies that you had been forced to dump into the sea the past month. 

You had to get rid of Sirius before more corpses were to be fed to the sharks. This had never been so strikingly obvious before yet, you hesitated. Nails dug into your palms, the voices in your head fighting a clamoring war. Your feelings were illegible, their messy colors smeared together in an uninterpretable painting. So you threw them away, ignoring the throb in your chest and taking a breath. Sirius was to be sold to the highest bidder and that was that. You felt your past’s grip on your throat loosening. There was only one way to get rid of what used to be, you had to kill it. 

   

Sirius had never been so bewildered before. His life had been a book that was written a thousand times over. The prince falls in love, the queen doesn’t approve, the love runs off, the prince finds the love, and then happily ever after. But life wasn’t as sweet nor simple as a children’s story and this may be the first time that he had ever truly realized that. All it took was the prince to be tied in the love’s basement ready to be sold to his death. 

Sirius woke with a start as metal clattered inches from his face. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as his breath slowly returned to his lungs. He stared at the plate which had woken him, it was piled higher than normal with two rolls dropped next to it. He peered up at the giver of this gift.

He recognized the small blonde as the one he had threatened a few weeks before, the fear he had seen in her eyes that moment now replaced with pity, bitter and soft like rotten fruit. 

“I wanna talk.” She said plainly, toeing the plate towards him like a bribe, he supposed that’s exactly what it was. 

Sirius sat up ignoring the hammer of his head. His hair stuck to his cheek, slick with sweat. The woman whose name he never learned dropped to a squat beside him, a small knife held in her hand. His eyes widened as it glinted in the small gas lamp hanging above his head. 

“Relax.” She sighed cutting the rope that tethered his hands behind his back. 

Sirius felt his shoulders groan in protest as they fell forward, his wrists aching and rubbed red. Hot pin pricks filled his fingers as he clenched and unclenched his fists. 

When he looked back up Adrie was now seated in front of him, her legs crossed. She glanced down at the food and then back up at him, “You can eat if you agree to answer some questions.” Her demands were simple. 

He let silence settle for just a moment, “Fine.” After all, what did he have to lose? His dignity? His pride? They had been sleeping with the fishes for ages. 

She pushed the plate towards him, watching him quietly as he began to eat, “You don’t look like much of a prince to me.” She hummed after a moment.

Sirius swallowed, licking his lips, “Does anyone after two weeks locked in the bottom of a ship full of scum?"

Adrie cracked a smile, “I suppose not.” 

She stared at him still, she was lying a bit. Years held prisoner couldn’t erase the royalty he was raised with, it stuck to him like wet stuck to water. Nothing and everything proved him a prince, you could take his crown but you could never take his title.

“How do you know y/n?”

Sirius was startled by the suddenness of the question but not remotely surprised it was asked, “She hasn’t told you?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if she had,” Adire responded, her tone was blunt. 

He bit into a roll thoughtfully taking his time to chew slowly, she was patient, her blank expression, not faltering.

“I thought you were friends.” He mumbled with a full mouth. 

Her jaw tightened, “Y/n doesn’t speak of her past.”

“So you’ve come to me for information?” Sirius said mild mockery in his voice.

“Obviously.”

He eyed the woman curiously, she was not what he had expected of your right hand man. Sirius smiled loosely, “You sure you wanna disobey Captain’s orders?” 

“Start talking or I take the food and hang you by your ankles.” 

Sirius huffed glancing between her and his food, “Fine, you win.” 

“Good. Tell me everything.” She demanded.

Sirius felt his throat tighten around the potatoes he had swallowed, his mind ached with hazy memories of summer days and speeding hearts, “There isn’t much to tell.” 

“You’re a bad lair.” Adire hummed. 

Sirius sighed, eyes falling to the bright white scars which laced his hands. He wasn’t sure where else to start but the beginning. He told of a loud baker girl who snuck over the walls into his garden and brought him pastries and friendship. He continued with vague details, of growing up together with swords and stars, reliving each moment he shared. 

He felt his words stiffen as he spoke of falling in love with you. Part of him felt like he was talking of someone completely different. Someone who had burnt up with her parents in a small bakery a million miles away. What was left, muffling cries above him, was a shell of that girl her soul replaced with seaweed and smoke. He pushed the thought away, swallowing it with the lump in his throat as he continued to speak of a proposal he regretted and the consequences of disobeying his mother. 

The broken fairytale cut his tongue filling his mouth with a bitter taste. He attempted to wash it down with the rum his listener had brought to him but its flavor was just as bad, it's only redemption was the warmth that filled his stomach.

Adrie looked at him blankly, "I don't blame her for wanting you dead." 

Sirius wished she had stayed silent. 

"But I pity you, you don't deserve death." 

He didn't look up and instead finished his drink, "Your pity means nothing to me." 

She sighed standing to her feet, "I never thought it did." 

When her boots disappeared up the ladder he let his cup drop to the ground, it rolled knocking into his heel as tears dripped from his chin.

By the time you had dropped anchor just off of Haran, the moisture had dropped from the air. Dry winds and clear skies greeted your crew. 

Rowboats were dropped in the water quickly, the sun was setting fast and a night of cheap ale and cheaper women were in the forefront of many a man's heads. 

You were tired, the happiness of your crewmates falling short at your feet. Exhaustion had replaced all anger and sadness you had harbored for the past weeks making your eyes grow dull as the bags beneath them. The satchel burned under your arms had a note you had written agreeing to the Yerith King’s price. You had singed your finger on the wax used to seal the envelope, it still throbbed a bit with the unsteady beat of your heart. You tried not to think about much on your way to land instead filling your head with that faint burn and fog of the setting sun. 

Adrie watched as you played with the diamond strung around your neck, a new piece she had only seen in recent days. She assumed you had taken it from one of the ships which had recently burnt into the sea. The bright stone was so different from the rest of your jewelry she was surprised you wore it all. Obnoxious gems had never been your type.

She was wrong on this thought, large jewels used to be what you would stare at as you passed shop windows, wishing you had the money to clutch one in your hand. They used to be a dream and a wish, now they were just things you stole and sold to the highest bidder.

Sirius had been briefly told of the plans for the evening. Two men whom he had become somewhat accustomed to during his stay had tied him up. The knots were tighter than usual as they were to be gone for the night. In his usual nature, Sirius complained about the ache of his wrists and the cramps in his legs. His grievances went unheard and his company disappeared from sight. The boat was quiet within the hour, nothing but the creak of old boards and calls of gulls far above his head breaking the silence. 

He drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours, time passing in its usual way, slowly. Finally, a clear thought came to Sirius’s head, he had the whole boat to himself. That meant there was no one to stop him from escaping his certain and quickly approaching death. 

Sirius tried to twist his hands out of the rope for what must have been an hour and only resulted in drawing blood from his wrists. Switching tactics he began to slowly shuffle and roll around the cabin he was in, searching for anything that could cut rope. As the sun’s light began to fade his task was growing difficult. Just before he gave in to his exhaustion Sirius found a bent nail sticking about a centimeter out of the ladder that led to the upper deck. The next two hours were spent rubbing his binds against the dull metal until they finally snapped. 

    After a month of being held prisoner, freedom left him stunned. He stumbled up the ladder until he reached the ship’s deck. The warm breeze which washed over him felt like a gift from the gods. A smile stretched his aching cheeks and for the first time in a while Sirius Black let out a genuine laugh. 

He quickly found a small boat which he could lower to the water. He could be miles away before the sun rose and you found his binds cut. Judging by the port you had stopped at he was only a few days' row from neutral lands. There he could gather himself and write for help. He was saved.

Sirius’s glee was cut short as he realized that he was missing one vital thing; you. The only reason he was out here in the first place was for you. He had spent years following rumors across the sea, he had given up his place as king, he had spent hundreds of thousands on supplies. But the truth was even if he hadn’t done all that, even if he had stumbled across you within a week and spent no more than ten doubloons he still wouldn’t leave this ship alive unless you were by his side. 

Sirius cursed, slamming his fist into the deck. His eyes darted around in what felt like panic. He was trapped between your love and his life and while he had chosen the former weeks ago he had no way of securing it. 

In the dark, a glint of light was seen. A crate of liquor stowed next to the captain’s quarters revealed itself to the pale moon. The man's mind buzzed, he realized quickly that he would need to act fast, the hours of the dark he had left must be well used. 

The deal had been easy, one glance at the large gem and you had a buyer offering hundreds. You walked away with 400 doubloons knowing it was worth much more. Not that you cared, you had been hours from chucking the necklace into the sea. 

It was late at night now, the golden light of pubs and brothels spilling onto the gravel road you walked. Your legs still felt weak, they were accustomed to the sway of boats on sloshing waves not the strange sturdiness of the ground. You hadn’t been able to sleep well on land since you had stepped off it, you had always opted for a swinging hammock over a still cot. 

You swung your bag of coins round in circles as you made your way to the beach. The water was smooth save the ripple of waves drawn by the full moon. Sand glistened silver under your boots, the light crash of water on rocks echoing around you. 

You had never intended to spend the full night on land, your crew was well aware of this fact and none would be surprised to find you gone in the morning. You shoved one of your beached row boats back into the water, splashing about ankle deep before leaping into it. 

When you reached your ship, you sensed something was wrong immediately. The small voice which you tended to ignore was screaming in the back of your head. As you climbed onto the deck the strong scent of liquor overwhelmed you. You heard a soft splash and glanced down to look at the puddle you had stepped into. Swiping two fingers through the fluid and plopping them into your mouth you hummed. There was no mistaking the sharp taste of gin. You looked around to find the leak and instead locked eyes with a figure who stood about 20 meters in front of you. 

“Sirius?” You asked though you already knew it was him, you didn’t think you would ever forget his face, even if it was obscured by the shadows of the moon. 

He gapped at you, unsure of what to say.

You took a step closer and caught a glance of the bottle he held in his hand. Its thin neck was stuffed with a piece of cloth, the soft glow of a gas lamp flickering behind him. The second you realized what he had planned your gun was pointed at his chest.

“Drop the bottle Black.” you hissed with a steady voice despite the fact that your gun was rattling in your hands. Your thoughts were now fogged with fear, plagued by smoke and flames.

Sirius had suddenly found his voice, “I know you’re not stupid enough to fire that. One spark and we’ll both go up in flames.”

Your breaths quickened, vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. “Why are you doing this?” You croaked. “Why do you want to ruin everything I’ve built for myself?”

“I’m not leaving without you y/n.” He shouted, “I can’t live without you. Just come with me. Please. Just come with me and it will all be fine.” 

You shook your head, “No.”

“Please, please! I need you y/n, I can’t go back without you!” He begged, snatching the lamp from behind him, “I won’t be able to live.”

It was in that moment that you understood he was just as desperate as you, just as lost and hopeless. You dropped your gun to your side, tears sliding slowly down your cheeks. Your throat tightened holding back a sob, “Okay.” You said with a broken voice.

Sirius cracked a small smile, “I knew it.” He sighed, “I knew you still loved me.” Setting down the lamp he opened his arms walking towards you. You met him halfway burying your face into his rough jacket.

“God I missed you y/n,” he whispered as you slipped a knife from under your sleeve.

“I’m so sorry Siri.” You mumbled in response before plunging the blade into his back. 

You held him as he collapsed forward, choking back on his own blood. You had begun to sob, hand still clutching the hilt of the blade which was lodged into him. Eventually his weight became too much to bear and you both fell to the ground. Sirius rolled off next to you, his hand still clasped around your own. The two of you started up at the stars listening as his breaths slowed. Just before they stopped completely you felt a small squeeze of your hand and for just a moment you saw the soft pink of a petal floating towards you.

You weren't sure how long you lay there, staring up at the sky but it was long enough for you to finally realize that you were the villain of your story. It was an odd thing to recognize considering in all of the books you had carried as a child you took the place of the protagonist; the one who swung the sword to save the kingdom You had always been the one to end your life with a happily ever after. 

Now you had realized that you had never been a hero. You had spent your life as a villain in the making, each step you had taken leading you closer and closer to your undeniable fate of evil. You had your chance to be the princess trapped in the tower, but you had ignored the prince and now took the shape of a witch. A witch who stole and killed and burned all that she hated. Some had to do it after all, we can’t all be heroes. There is no story without a villain, at least not one worth reading.

As much as the small baker girl who rested amongst the magnolia tree would have hated you, the woman you saw when you looked in the mirror was okay with who you had become. And if she was okay with it, then why did it matter what the past would have thought? You had been running from it for years and now you would never have to again. Because now your past ran from you. 

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@april-showers-and-flowers @fleurmoon @chaosinparadise @re-zerohora @pregnant-piggy @approved-by-dentists @theweirdobella @fific7 @whitewashedghanianlol @artemis1orion @justmesadgirl @bberree @songforhema @wangmangagavroche @evyiione @atomicpunkrock @fairywriter-oracle @moon-zodiac @secretsofageek @accio-rogers-blog @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings-blog @coldlilheart @suseptiable-bur-siriusexual @inglorious-imagines @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa @teheharrypotter @sarcasticallywitty15 @rosieweasleyy @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines

so many of u changed ur urls so if I have the wrong person tagged or the wrong username let me know

Masterlist

#harry potter fandom #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfics #sirius black imagines #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black x oc #sirius black imagine #young marauders #harry potter marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders x you #marauders x reader #marauders imagines #marauders imagine #marauders era fic #marauders #harry potter au #sirius x oc #sirius and regulus #sirius #magnolia #harry potter #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #fem!reader

[robininthelabyrinth]

Time-traveling JGY to right after his dad asks him to kill NMJ, he decides to do things the opposite way to the first time so he sulks around looking pale and sad for a day or two then allows his two sworn brothers to drag out of him what his dad asked him to do.

ao3

First order of business: don’t underestimate Nie Huaisang, Jin Guangyao decided when he figured out that the bizarre talisman he’d found that promised to abrogate his greatest regrets had actually somehow implausibly worked and he was back in the past.

Back at the right point in the past, no less – he’d spent a considerable amount of time meditating in front of Nie Mingjue’s head and wondering what would have been the right point to have changed things, and he’d settled on here and now. The point at which he’d already defeated Wen Ruohan and earned back his name, ceremony completed and everything sealed, but before his ‘family’ demonstrated how little they thought of him, before he’d sealed his fate by killing Nie Mingjue and losing himself to his family’s schemes forever. 

The time when he’d already broken Nie Mingjue’s trust once, and thought he’d lost it forever.

He’d been an idiot, of course.

He’d seen Nie Mingjue’s harshness and assumed it was hatred; he’d listened to his scolding and thought it was disdain; he’d thought that Nie Mingjue had sworn brotherhood with him for the sole purpose of humiliating him, when of course it was only that Nie Mingjue had already shifted over to thinking of him as family and didn’t actually know what to do with family when he wasn’t lecturing them.

Such a waste.

He had considered going back to before – to the time before he’d murdered a man and lost Nie Mingjue’s trust the first time, because nothing that was broken could ever be returned to how it was originally, but that was far too risky. What if him having never left Nie Mingjue’s side meant that they failed to defeat Wen Ruohan? Wouldn’t it all be for nothing, then?

Not to mention the personal inconvenience – he’d lived through war and spying once, and he had no interest in going through it again, thank you – and besides he’d already gotten used to the name Jin Guangyao. It’d be such a bother to have to reaccustom himself to something else if he had to obtain through some other means the name that he had promised his mother on her deathbed that he’d get, and who knew if those other means might lead to some other break with Nie Mingjue.

He deserved for it to be Jin Ziyao, of course, but since when had anything happened the way he’d deserved? Since when did he ever get anything in his life that he didn’t have to scheme for and fight for?

Except perhaps for Nie Mingjue’s affection, that first time.

Oh, he’d schemed to get his attention all right. On his way to Qinghe, he’d listened at every campfire he could, gathered information and rumor about what Sect Leader Nie – the most open-minded of the sect leaders when it came to accepting talent regardless of origin – liked and disliked, and using his mother’s teachings he’d planned a meticulous campaign based on what he learned. A careful balance of being useful and being pitiful, appealing to the man’s respect for competence and his pleasure in standing up for the innocent, engendering good feelings that could be turned to his benefit when he eventually sought out a position of power, slowly at first to avoid giving him the impression that he was using him, and then climbing little by little…

He’d barely gotten past the first step or two of the plan before Nie Mingjue was rushing past him, freely giving him the power and authority he so desperately craved, giving him respect he hadn’t even known was possible to get from someone so different. Nie Mingjue had treated him as far more than a mere deputy, more than a trusted advisor, treated him as a friend.

Nie Mingjue freely gave Jin Guangyao warmth of the sort he’d lacked since his mother died.

Jin Guangyao had been a fool not to realize the value of that, in his first life. Only when he had all the power in the world and none of the love had he realized how much he had had, how much he had lost.

How pointless all that power was, without the love.

It had been an understandable mistake for him to have made – at that time, it hadn’t been so long since he lost his mother, after all, and she’d loved him dearly, so thoroughly, so all-consumingly, that the honest and sincere affection he received from Nie Mingjue didn’t seem so important when it was compared to his ambitions.

Of course, having achieved all of his ambitions through all his schemes only to be brought down by vengeance born of that same Nie warmth and love had been – very educational.

And yet…not quite as educational as the other part of it.

At what had happened between him and his sworn brothers, in the end.

Jin Guangyao’s heart was made of stone, he knew, and it had only ever been moved twice in his life. He had only ever felt his heart beat fast because of the two men who had treated him well with no expectation of receiving anything in return. Lan Xichen, the beautiful and perfect gentleman who smiled at him and relied on him, and Nie Mingjue, the brave and powerful sect leader that found him pleasing and gave him everything, even his trust - at first.

In his past life, he had put Lan Xichen on a pedestal in his heart, the man appearing in every way the very image of the ideal cultivator that Jin Guangyao had dreamed of when he was a child. It had pleased him to be the one to save Lan Xichen, the one to protect him, to provide for him – it had made him feel strong, powerful, even before he actually had the power in his hands. For all that his cultivation was weaker, his age younger, Jin Guangyao was the stronger one between the two of them, and not only when he had saved his life, but after, too. Lan Xichen’s sect relied upon his Jin sect for their rebuilding, and Lan Xichen himself, a yielding personality that hated conflict, often relied on his guidance when it came to politics.

Jin Guangyao had fancied himself the man’s patron, luxuriating in the feeling of having made it so well and so thoroughly that he could keep a man like Lan Xichen, and in so doing he’d fallen for the same trick that each and every prostitute ever born had used on a willing mark since the beginning of time.

What had he not given Lan Xichen, in his first life? What had he stinted on, except perhaps the truths that would only hurt the man to know?

And what had it gotten him, in the end?

A single word from Lan Wangji, with his head turned by Wei Wuxian as always, had been enough for Lan Xichen to ban him from the Cloud Recesses without even a discussion, all the money and time and effort Jin Guangyao had put into rebuilding that very place forgotten as if it had never happened, as if the Cloud Recesses had resurrected itself without outside aid, or perhaps that it had never fallen at all.

A few rumors by prostitute and a bribed maid, and Lan Xichen believed the worst of him.

A child’s trick by Nie Huaisang (though Jin Guangyao hadn’t yet realized all that he’d done), and Lan Xichen had run him through without so much as a blink.

Jin Guangyao did not delude himself into thinking this was a tragedy unique to him. No, he was exactly like every other rich man who’d been squeezed dry by a beauty for his money and his power and abandoned the second it ran out.

Jin Guangyao had been angry, in his first life, that Nie Mingjue had – in his mind – cast him aside when he’d violated the man’s principles, but in the end Lan Xichen had done the same, and it was far worse because Jin Guangyao had given so much more of himself to him.

Chivalry, honor – who needed it?

Certainly not Nie Huaisang, who for his brother’s sake had thrown away every last bit of respectability his birth had ever given him to wade into the muck to fight Jin Guangyao on his own terms and win; barely even Nie Mingjue, who might have clothed his deeds in respectability but who had gone to war – had dragged the rest of the cultivation world into death and despair – in order to avenge his father.

If it had been Nie Mingjue at the temple, not Lan Xichen, would Jin Guangyao had been run through? Or would Nie Mingjue, of the strong will but even stronger heart, have in the end stayed his blade, his terrible Baxia, and allowed Jin Guangyao to flee, just as he’d done so many years earlier?

It was only now, in thinking it over in the harsh light of hindsight, that he even thought to compare them.

He had only known Nie Mingjue for a few years, compared to the nearly two decades he had devoted to Lan Xichen, and yet in those years Nie Mingjue had never, even at his worst, sought to kill Jin Guangyao, even though he could have easily done so. Even full of poison and rot and deliberately instigated madness, driven to calling Jin Guangyao the insult he knew he hated most – although Jin Guangyao could admit to himself in retrospect that he was, at that precise moment, acting especially like a son of a whore – Nie Mingjue had held back his fearsome strength when he kicked him down the stairs of Jinlin Tower.

He hadn’t even bruised a rib in that fall. When his father had kicked him, he’d broken three.

If he had had two decades to work his way into Nie Mingjue’s confidence, earn his love…would Nie Mingjue have so easily turned away from him?

No.

Nie Mingjue would have sought him out to hear his side of the story, the way he always did back in the army camp when troublemakers spread rumors about him in an effort to displace him. He would have called him to the Unclean Realm to explain himself, rather than banning him without a word. He would have refused to listen to rumors presented without basis and insisted on proof, on seeing for himself, insisted on letting Jin Guangyao have the opportunity to defend himself.

He would have protected him from his enemies even as he shouted at him – he would have thrown himself between the sword and Jin Guangyao rather than let him face the penalty of his actions alone.

He would not have run him through so thoughtlessly, as if he were a ghoul rather than a friend.

He would have let him go.

Yes, Jin Guangyao was sure of it. Nie Mingjue would have let him go.

Damn the man, too much an older brother to be able to put any conditions on his love, the naïve idiot probably wouldn’t have stopped there; he probably would have given Jin Guangyao money to help him on his way, wanting to make sure that the life he lived in Dongying would be a good one.

He would have done the same way if it had been Nie Huaisang that had been accused of so much evil. The same way he’d dragged his feet about going to fight Wei Wuxian at the Burial Mounds, even though his own men had been killed by him; the same way he couldn’t bring himself to kill Jin Guangyao even after he’d murdered Nie disciples right before his eyes…

The way everyone in the Nie sect had to train, without exception – except for Nie Huaisang, because Nie Mingjue loved him.

He’d loved Jin Guangyao, once. Loved him enough to swear brotherhood with him despite the blood of those Nie sect disciples scarcely having been washed off his hands – if Nie Mingjue could forgive that, then surely the murder of a few dozen other sects wouldn’t have mattered nearly as much, not the way they mattered to Lan Xichen.

Or, well, maybe they would have, but Nie Mingjue would have broken himself for him anyway.

And then Nie Huaisang would’ve had to find a way to plot against him from a distance, which would be much harder for him, no matter how smart he was. Of course, that was assuming that Nie Huaisang would have plotted against him, instead of scheming to find a way to whitewash Jin Guangyao’s name in order to bring him back to make his brother happy, the way he’d so obviously (in retrospect) done with Wei Wuxian on behalf of Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, who had been his friends.

First order of business: don’t underestimate Nie Huaisang.

Second order of business: get Nie Mingjue on my side.

It wouldn’t be that hard. Jin Guangyao was older and wiser now, less impulsive than he’d been, a little wiser in the way of people, perhaps. It hadn’t been until he saw the depths of what Nie Huaisang had done – his uncaring eyes that only a few days before had been crying into his shoulder as if Jin Guangyao was the only person in the world who loved him – that he realized that what Nie Mingjue had hated most about Jin Guangyao’s betrayal had been the treachery of it, not the specific actions he’d taken.

He’d presented himself as someone pure and innocent and clean, someone who would never do such a thing, and so when he had done it Nie Mingjue had realized that he had been lied to for all that time. That he had extended trust, and received none.

By the point in time he was at now, Nie Mingjue knew what type of person he was: ambitious and cutthroat, ruthless, a liar and a murderer. And yet, knowing all this, he still had still sworn brotherhood to him – had still extended his trust.

All Jin Guangyao needed to do now, thus, was to extend that trust in return.

For real, this time. Or at least – as close as he ever came to real.

His father’s request that Jin Guangyao use his connections to his sworn brothers to make Nie Mingjue stop his pestering over Xue Yang – so carefully couched in words that could be denied later, and were – would work perfectly. He would pretend to sulk, reluctant to admit what was wrong; Lan Xichen would fall for it at once and try to coax the truth out of him.

He would tell them.

Lan Xichen would be filled with horror, livid at what Jin Guangshan had asked of him, at what he was being forced to do – furious on his behalf, leaping to his defense. The perfect gentleman, as always.

Nie Mingjue, though, wouldn’t trust a word he said. Later, when they were alone, Jin Guangyao could look him in the eye and admit that he’d considered it. That he’d weighed the pros and cons of it, the love of his father and filial duty and, yes, even power –

It’s a waste, he’d say. I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong, da-ge, you know that, but I know that I don’t want to lose you.

Nie Mingjue would believe him.

He wouldn’t believe the sad and pitiful version of him that Lan Xichen had always liked, but he’d believe the ruthless Jin Guangyao, finally tricked back to the side of righteousness by some unnamed emotion that caught him by surprise – yes, Nie Mingjue would like that.

Lan Xichen wouldn’t.

Jin Guangyao had always known, hadn’t he, even in his first life, that he would only ever be able to please one of them perfectly. He’d known that doing what he needed to do to ensnare Lan Xichen, who loved rescuing the pitiful, would anger Nie Mingjue, who hated hypocrisy; he had decided, his eyes full of the pure moonlight, that he preferred Lan Xichen, and acted accordingly.

Well, Jin Guangyao was not and had never been a stern absolutist, inflexible and unbending. He knew how to learn from his mistakes.

He’d given Lan Xichen a lifetime, and it had turned out – well, for a while, and then terribly.

In this lifetime, he’d see how far Nie Mingjue could take him.

Next order of business – don’t underestimate Lan Wangji. It’s always the younger brothers…

#mdzs #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #reevaluation #Anonymous

[imaginedxlan]

loverboy (neville longbottom)

a/n: i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, i am a SIMP for neville longbottom. also yall...  one away from 1k, how’d that happen? you guys rock my socks and i love you the absolutely most! sorry this one is kind of short i just liked the concept.

you’ve been friends with neville longbottom since first year. becoming comfortable with the shy boy and his frog over the years, you began calling him a nickname that makes him wish you would see him as anything other than your best friend.

warnings: zero baby just pure fluff

neville doesn’t open up to just anyone. after years of being shut down in every conversation, left out of nearly every house activity, he’s built a wall to protect himself from the people of hogwarts who constantly make him feel less than. you’re one of the lucky ones. you’ve seen beyond his high walls, he’s opened up to you about his parents, his insecurities and eventually pulled him out of his shell to talk about girls with you.

the nickname started when he told you about his small crush on luna lovegood. he seemed so entranced by her, he kissed the ground he walked on. once you caught on to his pining, you’ve called him loverboy ever since. it’s not to be mean or tease him, you actually admired how much he devoted his time to thinking about her.

what you didn’t know, however, is that it was never luna lovegood he was talking about. when he would describe his feelings for luna her name was only a placeholder for yours. he’d loved you since the moment he laid eyes on you, thinking even your crooked teeth, frizzy haired eleven year old self was the most beautiful creature he’d ever see.

“good morning loverboy,” you call sweetly as you sit next to the dark haired boy in potions class. you never found this class particularly interesting, but being able to sit next to neville made it at least slightly more fun. his heart aches at the nickname, trying to conceal the blush that is creeping on his cheeks. “sleep well?”

“hardly,” he replies, still keeping up his façade. “harry talks in his sleep all through the night. keeps me and trevor awake for hours.”

you smile at the mention of his beloved frog. “oh my dear trevor! how is my favorite amphibian?”

neville can’t contain his smile or his heart that hammering in his chest. you’re the only person who’s ever shown interest in the things he likes, the things he goes on and on about for hours. you’ve never once stopped him from going off on a tangent about his mimbulus mimbletonia or how he’s lost trevor for the tenth time that week. you’ve never rolled your eyes when he comes to sit with you in the library. you’ve never shied away from sitting next to him in herbology though many students find his chiming in rather annoying.

“he’s good,” he replies, trying to stop himself from gazing at you for too long. “i think he misses you.”

you laugh at his response, you really do love that frog. “you better make sure i’m not replaced as trevor’s favorite girl when you finally make a move on luna,” you tease but his heart drops. he knows it’s only a joke but he can’t imagine loving anyone other than you. “if i’m losing one of my loverboys i don’t think my heart could take losing the other as well.”

except you could never lose him. he can’t think of a time when his heart would belong to anyone else. he couldn’t say the same for you. as much as he wants to be around you and knows the nickname isn’t meant to make him sad, it only reminds him of the fact that he’ll never truly be your loverboy. the time will come when you go for a weasley or maybe even that ravenclaw boy you’ve talked about in defends against the dark arts with you and neville isn’t quite sure his heart will survive it.

as professor snape opened his book at the front of the class, the class quieted down. veritaserum. you had heard about the potion, mostly from the weasley twins slipping it in their younger brother’s drink once or twice, but you’d never used it. neville begins to fidget nervously beside you, and you think you know why. privacy has always been very important to the boy and something forcing him to talk about his deepest darkest fears or worse, his parents, is probably eating away at him.

you’re wrong. he’s so nervous because he’s afraid he’ll slip up if he takes it and someone will accidentally ask him about you. he won’t be able to keep his secret anymore.

“s’alright nev,” you whisper to him, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it slightly. an act of intended comfort made him nauseous. “i won’t let anyone pull any secrets from my loverboy, promise.”

you give him a sweet smile which only makes his heart race more. you’re so beautiful, even without the potion he could’ve let that thought slip to you if he wasn’t too careful. as class goes on, he thanks his lucky stars he isn’t chosen for the demonstration. watching you brew the potion to perfection surely would have made it difficult for him to keep back all the feelings he has for you.

later in the evening, however, he did not get so lucky. the twins somehow convinced seamus and dean to slip a few drops of the potion they’d learned to make that morning into neville’s pumpkin juice at dinner. you didn’t notice or surely you would have taken it from them and scolded them for picking on the boy, but you were to engrossed in a conversation with hermione to catch it. neville almost immediately realizes what’s happened when seamus begins asking him questions.

“how your feeling, longbottom?”

“tired, honestly kind of sweaty, really think i need a shower after dinner,” he says before he can stop himself, he smacks his hand to him mouth and his cheeks go red. dean and seamus burst out laughing making all of you turn to the three of them.

“sweaty? why would you possibly be sweaty neville?” dean continues the interrogation.

“been nervous all day, especially in potions. couldn’t get my mind off the stupid veritaserum and if anyone would ask me about y/n,” neville replies with his cheeks turning more red by the minute. you now had your full attention in the boy and he couldn’t stop the word vomit spilling from his lips. “you should have seen her, she brewed the potion perfectly. she’s so smart. godric and beautiful, i-”

you immediately stop him by smacking your own hand to his mouth. “merlin’s sake what did the two of you do?”

dean and seamus have a cheeky grin spread across their lips. “fred and george gave us veritaserum to put in his juice, didn’t think this would happen.”

without a second thought you pull your best friend from the table and out of the great hall to spare him of any more embarrassment he would have to endure. neville follows you blindly, grateful that you didn’t sit there and start laughing at him. when you get to the common room it’s empty, everyone being at dinner. you pull him to sit on the couch in front of the fireplace, he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you look in the glowing flame.

“are you okay?” you ask, pulling your hand from his to look into his eyes. “i’m sorry they did that nev, you didn’t deserve that.”

“i’m more than okay,” he replies with a lazy grin on his face before switching back to his stone cold face full of nerves. “i like it when we’re by ourselves, wish it happened more often.”

“what do you mean, loverboy?”

“i wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he snaps but immediately regrets his tone. “not if you don’t mean it.”

“what are you on about? i mean it.”

“not in the way i want you to mean it...”

you’re trying to wrap you’re mind around what’s happening. sure you and neville have always been close and you compliment eachother here and there but this is different. you don’t want to take advantage of him, not when he’ll tell you everything you want to know while you can sit back and enjoy the show. you swiftly get up and tell him you’ll be right back. he sits on the couch confused as he watches you run out of the room. you make it to the great hall and everyone is looking at you as if you’ve gotten answers out of him that they’d want to know but you ignore him. you lift the tainted cup that neville had drank out of just minutes ago and take a swig.

“y/n!” hermione shrieks and you swallow the liquid. “what do you think you’re doing!”

“getting answers.” you say simply before running out of the room. you don’t feel any different, maybe it hadn’t worked. once you reach the common room again neville is exactly where you left him. “back.”

“what’d you do?”

“i drank the veritserum too,” you tell him and his eyes go wide. “this is going to be a fair conversation.”

neville swallows the lump in his throat at the thought of the two of you being completely honest with each other. he’s partly afraid the truth he’s about to hear is that you only want to be his friend, or that him confessing his feeling for you will only push you away. but there’s another part of him that’s hopeful, you took the veritaserum so this would be “fair,” that has to mean something.

“what were you doing to say when i stopped you earlier?” you ask him. “you said ‘i’ but i stopped you.”

he tries his best to push down the answer but it keeps making its way up his throat. “i was going to say i couldn’t keep my eyes off you all class.”

blush creeps onto your cheeks but you’re not certain why. you noticed him looking at you in potions but you assumed he was trying to understand how to make the potion.

“you’re turn.”

he thinks for a while, unsure of what he should ask you. “do you like matthew, the boy you talk about in ravenclaw, like like him?”

“i like him as a friend, nothing else,” you say back, your heart beginning to race. “do you like luna?”

“i never did, i like someone else.” he answers. you wish it was your turn again, you want to ask him who, part of you knows he’s going to say you given what you’ve learned this evening. you reach out to hold his hand and his touch makes your skin burn. “have you ever thought of us as more than friends?”

you want to say yes, you know it the answer he wants to hear, but it’s not the truth. you can’t lie to him even if you wanted to. before this moment, you only thought of him as a friend. not because you dislike him or think he’s unattractive, it’s just all he’s ever been to you. you take a deep breath and turn your eyes down to the floor.

“honestly, no,” you say back, neville swears he can hear his heart break within him rib cage. his heart burns at your response. he’s gotten his answer. “when did you start to think of me as more than a friend.”

he never came out and said he had feelings for you, but you’ve connected the dots. everything he’s answered, all the questions he’s asked points to him looking at you as more than just his friend. you’re not sure how to feel about it.

“first year, the minute you spoke to me i couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful girl i’d ever seen, i still do, ” his words make your heart burst. you turn your head to meet his eyes again. they’re burning into you’re gaze. “what is it about me that’s made you only think of me as a friend, do you think i’m ugly?”

“godric no!” you say a bit too quickly for your own liking. “i never thought of you that way because that’s all we ever were neville, friends. i noticed how handsome you were last year, the long hair suited you, but i think you look nice any way you are. i had a dream about you at the christmas last year, i think that’s when i noticed how handsome you were. i guess i just never entertained the thought because you never gave me the impression you wanted anything more than this.”

he feels less shattered, less like you just ripped his heart out with your bare hands. hearing that you think he’s handsome sent butterflies to stomach. he’s quiet and so are you.

“do you want to stop?”

“no, i have another question,” he replies, pulling his hands from yours and backing away from you. you miss his touch already. maybe you did like him a little more than you thought. he braces himself for what’s about to come out of his mouth, for your reaction to what’s about to come out of his mouth. “if i asked to kiss you would you say no?”

“no.” you tell him quietly, if you thought your heart couldn’t pound any faster, it did. it feels like it’s about to jump from your chest. “do you want to kiss me?”

“merlin yes,” he almost whispers. he doesn’t move from his spot, eyes avoiding yours at all costs. always being the braver of the two of you, you take matters into your own hands. you pull yourself closer to him and rest your hand upon his cheek, forcing him to make eye contact with you again. you suck in a breath, the closest the two of you had ever been. “i’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“i know.”

you lean forward only a few centimeters until your lips are barely touching. you hesitate only because you know after this moment you can’t go back to being just friends again, this is going to change everything. even so, there’s like a magnetic pull between you too, you’re craving the feeling of his lips against yours.

while still deep in your thought and hesitations, your eyes drilled shut as you try and decide what to do, you feel his lips press against yours and you melt. it’s better than either of you could have imagined. while neville had be dreaming of this moment for six years, you had only just begun thinking about him in this way minutes ago. you place your free hand on the side of his neck and he places his on the small of your back, pulling you closer into him. You move yourself so that your sat on top of his thighs, attempting to expel any space between the two of you. his hands rest on your hips just before you pull away from him to catch your breath. his eyes flicker between yours, looking for an answer to what you’re feeling.

“i’m sorry,” he says sheepishly, thinking the worst. “do you want to stop? we can pretend this never happened.”

“i never want to stop.”

you connect your lips with his again, slinging your arms around his neck to feel the closeness again. you know he’s never done anything like this before, he’s probably nervous out of his mind, so you attempt to ease his worries by guiding his actions. in just the few minutes you’ve spent with your lips on his, you’ve because obsessed with the feeling. you can hear how heavily he’s breathing as his hand moves from your side to be entangled in your hair. you can’t help but smile, this moment is pure bliss.

you eventually pull away from each other, you decide it’s best to keep this night to just his first kiss. you lean forward and plant a soft kiss to the side of his neck before burying your face in the soft skin. eventually his breath evens out, and he moves his arms to wrap around you.

“what happens now?” he asks, hoping the veritaserum can give him some sort of clear view into your brain.

“i don’t know,” you reply, it’s honest, you have no idea what happens from here on out. “what do you want to happen?”

“i want to kiss you like that a million more times,” he breathes out which makes you laugh into his neck. looks like ther veritaserum hasn’t worn off just yet. “can we just sit here for a minute so we don’t have to think about what’s gonna come?”

“you read my mind, loverboy.”

#neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom #neville x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter

[pennyserenade]

tags: nameless female oc x javier peña, nameless female oc x javier pena. rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language, talks of violence, unprotected sex, heavy angst, mentions of death, guns, pregnancy.  word count: 3k+ summary: not everything can be spoken the way it can be felt.  notes: i somehow managed to do this despite feeling entirely unmotivated all day, so that’s nice. this takes place during episode 3, season 2, near the halfway mark.   original gif by: @javierian

una guerra sin piedad 

scene eight, scenes from a marriage

Javier is a good husband, or at least he tries to be. He doesn’t mean to do this--probably doesn’t even recognize that she knows he’s doing it. He is faced with so many objectives in a day's time, Javier doesn’t realize how easy it is to catch on to his lies. They are hardly coated, though, obvious to anyone who pays attention to him as much as she does, but that’s just it--he doesn’t pay attention at all.

He’s unaware that his fingers are shaking right now. It is a subtle act, a tremble hardly notable to the untrained eye, but these are the fingers that have been touching her for twelve years; she has seen them and felt them and come to know them better than her own. They have remained steady and nimble even after too many cups of coffee and one too many pieces of harrowing news, because they are trained to be fingers that don’t give way to anxiety. A stone body, a man meant to be unflinching in the face of the most awful of tragedies, but here with her, it allows his lies to leak out without his consent. It’s pleading, this body, asking for respite because he won’t go easier on it.

She holds his hands, keeping them steady before they can reach out and lay flat against her growing stomach. Javier looks at her and confusion sprinkles across features that are too pale to be normal, even to him. His eyes reveal an undeniable sadness, too, some sort of impact from war that he’s on the verge of losing simply because he refuses to ask for help. He is all alone in there.

“Me estás mintiendo, Javi,” she tells him, voice level and collected. “Te mientes a ti mismo también.”

He looks startled, and perhaps it is warranted. The glass case he enclosed himself in wasn’t so transparent or frail to him, after all. 

He takes his hands away slowly. 

“No,” he responds. “About what?”

“No sé. Not completely,” she shakes her head. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“Javi.”

“What?”

“The cigarettes.” 

She watches his face fall. 

“You smoke them when you think I’m asleep but I do your laundry, and I can smell them when you get back in bed,” she shrugs. “You don’t hang out the window far enough either, and you always get ashes on the ground.”

“I can’t quit,” he confesses. “Not now.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Yo sé, pero…” he begins, but falters. “I wanted to.”

“I would rather you smoke than you lie.”

“Okay, but that’s all,” he confirms. “Only the cigarettes.”

“Javi.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You of all people should know withholding information is just as incriminating,” she huffs, “I’m stronger than you ever give me credit for. You aren’t the only one who sees the blood in the streets, you know. I saw it too, still do, because we live here and that’s the reality and I’m sick of having to deny it.”

“Baby,” he groans. “Please. I don’t ever ask you to postpone these things, but I cannot do this tonight. I cannot.” 

“What happened tonight, Jav?”

He shakes his head. Lips straighten into a tight line and his Adam’s apple bops. 

“It was nothing.”

“Please,” she pleads, in the same vein as his own. “You don’t know how bad I need to know what is happening in your mind.”

“Nothing.”

His eyes start going blank again, despite the small smile he forces onto his lips. It has gone quicker than it had come. 

She frowns. 

He senses that his control over this situation is ebbing away. Lies, denial, the cruel act of simply not telling—it oozes out of him. 

Deception ages poorly, if this is anything to go by. It is grotesque what the truth can do to something beautifully fabricated as their marriage has been the past few months. Those tiny cuts that had existed before are now bloody wounds, infected with the spoils of their selfishness.

He cups her face in his hand; she lets him. He swipes the pad of his thumb over the warm skin, and looks into her eyes; she lets him. He leans forward to kiss her; she does not let him.

She’s never done that. It hollows him out, digging deeper in the already sensitive heart he’s carrying around.  

“Te amo mucho,” she begins, taking the hand that cradled her face in her own, “but you are hiding from me and it hurts to see.”

He face twitches, as if he’s going to say something, but he grows hesitant. He realizes what he might lose, realizes what’s at stake. 

It is not that she hasn’t seen the violence, or that he thinks her too weak to handle it. He knows what she can bear, knows that before he ever met her she was reporting on what he found. Anyone in Colombia, reporter or not, knows, because this is what happens. Violence. She can’t not know. 

What she can avoid knowing is his involvement in it. Withholding the truth is just as incriminating, she is right, but she’s been here long enough to know that crime runs rampant. It infects the entire country with its allure—that promise of getting to better places faster—and he is someone who has been swept dangerously up in its tide. 

She does not need to know. Some things shouldn’t be told, just as those things shouldn’t have been done. 

Doesn’t need to know it had been a boy. Just a fucking mouthy kid who had been washed into a war he didn’t deserve to comprehend let alone contribute to. 

The gun was held by someone who should’ve protected him, too. Noble American hero he was, Javi stood by and watched. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Steve—was coerced out the way he refused to be with her. 

He swallows harshly and thinks once more about the line of English he muttered before it had happened. It was a plea the boy wouldn’t have understood or grasped, said because deep down Javier knew what was about to happen. He didn’t say it in Spanish, though. He has to reconcile with the fact that the plea was more for himself than it was the boy with the gun in his face. Has to reconcile with the fact that he won’t speak about it again, too, even though he knows it’s wrong. She doesn’t need to know that, does she?

“I’m not going to tell you,” he speaks with a harsh finality. Maybe it’s not so harsh; maybe it’s just the fact that it’s so final that really hurts.

She holds her breath, the pain of his answer sharp and sudden and irrevocably real regardless. 

“I can’t,” he repeats. 

There’s no way he doesn’t know he’s hurting her now, and she supposes he’s doing this for a good reason, but the ache of it still burns just as bad. 

“I know,” she says. Then, a sacrifice, “S’okay.”

Javier’s eyes shift down to her stomach. He has found an increasing need to keep his hands and arms wrapped around her nearly all of the time lately. Given, he has always loved the way she melts into his body when he wraps himself around her, but this is different; it is a sort of comfort that stems beyond liking the warmth of her. This is a need to protect. 

His feelings about the child still lean more towards confusion than they do anything else, but he’s begun to accept the fact that it is real. It’s hard to deny such a thing as her stomach begins to grow, but a part of him sort of likes knowing that it’s there now. He has given her something that isn’t pain, something that will be beautiful and innocent. He watches her, too, sees the way she holds her stomach and hears the way she speaks to it when she thinks he’s in a different room.

He remembers when she had told him that she was meant to be so much more than just someone’s mother or just someone’s wife. That felt like a century ago, those two people entirely different than the ones that lay here now and talk with each other. He doesn’t mourn for it, that time and those people, but he does think about them. 

She is still so much more than a wife and a mother, to be fair. Maybe she never accomplished everything she had envisioned when she had told him that, but there’s something so fiercely independent about her still, something entirely separate from anyone, even the one who grows inside her. 

She kept her last name. She reads all the time and piles books all over the house, adding personality in a way he never favored beyond his own shit until she came. She still writes. She’s compiled an entire record collection, full of artists and bands he’s never heard, and sometimes ones he has, the special sort that remind him of being a kid. She can sew. She is good at puzzles. She always burns her own toast but never his. She is good at oral because in the same way she had dedicated herself to a lot of things in life, she had also dedicated herself to learning how to suck a cock (her words, not his). She is filthy in a way that makes him ache sometimes, it’s so goddamn hot. She is kind. She is his everything. 

He isn’t happy or proud of the fact that he cannot find it in himself to admit what he has done. He knows she doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship filled with lies, ones so concealed she can’t even begin to find out what they are. Cigarettes are nothing in comparison to the things he witnessed tonight, and even those break her heart. 

His love for her is selfish, but it is still the very best part of him. 

“Let me touch you,” he whispers, hands ghosting lightly over her bare arms. “I just wanna make you feel good right now. Will you let me do that?”

She nods, and then, without him asking, she raises the slip she wears over her head, leaving her perfectly naked on top of him. He leans forward soon after and takes a nipple in his mouth. Her fingers rake through his hair as he runs his tongue against the sensitive flesh, but this time they do not tug. There is no rush or hunger in the way they are choosing to be with one other right now. Their bodies are too weak from emotional ware and tear, and their minds too numb from resisting the confrontation of the heaviness tonight has brought upon them. 

His fingers travel down to her core and when they find her clit, she pulls her back from her chest and kisses him, stealing a moan from his mouth. She breathes into him. After she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his own. Javi focuses more intently on her pleasure, measuring his success from the way her breath begins to quicken and the way her hips begin to rock up into his hand, desperate for more. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she bites down gently at the skin of his shoulder, muffling herself as his fingers quicken the pace. She’s getting close, he knows. 

“That’s it, mi amor,” he tells her as she works herself on his fingers. “Use me, baby.”

It doesn’t take long until her lips part from his skin and find themselves letting out sharp moans, hips coming to a slow halt as she finishes working herself through the wave of her orgasm on his fingers. 

She presses her lips onto his, panting gently as she does so. When she allows herself to rest against him, he can feel how wet she is through the fabric of his boxers. 

He grabs onto the back of her neck and deepens the kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and begins to rub herself against him, and he lets her for a few moments, enjoying what he can of her like this, before he rests a hand on her hip to stop it. 

“I want to taste you,” he tells her. She just looks at him. “Por favor.”

She nods, beginning to get off of him, but he grabs at her again, stilling her. Her eyebrows raise in confusion. 

“Sit on my face.”

“Javi, I’m too—“

“No you’re not,” he assures. He begins to lay down, pushing a pillow beneath his head. “C’mon, you like it.”

“Baby,” she hesitates. 

Javi tugs gently on her hand, urging her forward. She sighs, but caves in. 

He helps her, guiding her forward on his chest and she goes, but he can feel how nervous she is still.

He nips at her thighs before he adjusts herself over him. “I like doing this,” he tells her before he guides her forward the last few inches, and immediately he can feel all the tension ease from her as his tongue dips into her. 

She grabs a handful of his hair and licks between her folds, lapping up the last bit of her previous arousal. His nose grazes gently over her clit every so often and she cannot help the moan that escapes from her when it does. He is losing himself in her, transforming all the lies into nothing even for the briefest moments. 

He may not be the best husband, but he can make her feel good. He likes it too, genuinely enjoys the taste of her on his tongue and the accomplished, satisfying feeling of knowing he makes her legs weak and is the cause of the moans that part from her when she truly gets lost in this. And God, how they fall now as he sucks her clit. She unintentionally moves her hips forward. 

“Sorry,” she says, but Javi is quick to gently shake his head, not wanting to lose her. His hands wrap around her ass and he encourages it, going as far as moaning into her when she begins to develop a good pace. He gropes at her ass and she cums again, twitching gently this time. Javi cannot help the grin that forms on his lips as she does this. 

She guides herself off of him, collapsing next to him in the bed. Before he has the chance to wipe her arousal off his lips, she’s pulling him into a kiss. 

She loves this man. He may hurt her and hide from her, but she never feels unloved in his presence. Maybe that is enough. Maybe asking for any more than that is wrong. He is a good man. 

She kisses a trail down his chest, moving back in between his legs before she reaches the halfway point. 

“No,” he says, holding out his hand. 

“Why?” she questions.

“You don’t need to just because I did,” he says. “You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“I want to, Javi,” she tells him, hands shimming down his underwear. 

She kisses down his happy trail, then peppers light kisses around the base of his cock. His breath hitches, anticipating her next move, and he is delighted to find it is her tongue licking the underside of his sensitive member. He nearly jolts out of her hand, the sensation of her feels so good. 

He cannot help but tell her, saying, “Fuck, you do it just right.”

Despite all the ache still present in her, she manages a soft, unaffected laugh. He notes that, feels just as moved by that as he does the way her mouth wraps around his member and begins to be worked. 

She twirls her tongue around the top each time she comes back up, and she moves back down slowly, drawing multiple moans and “fucks” from his lips. He cannot look at her while she does it, unable to refrain from coming in her mouth if he does. He’s already dangerously on the edge as she includes her tongue when she’s going back down on his choke, running across each vein and causing his hips to twitch just as hers did. 

“I’m gonna—“ he pauses, fighting the urge to release with all he has in him. “I’m going to cum soon and I want it to be in you. You—“ he pauses again, breath leveling, “—you gotta stop or I won’t make it.”

“I don’t want you to,” she manages, before returning to his cock, going up and down at an increased rate. His fingers clench the sheets beneath him as she does this, losing it when she moans against him. He can’t stop it, can’t resist the urge any longer and doesn’t truly want to, knowing she’s not going to let him. 

He opens his eyes and watches her wipe a line of his arousal from her chin before she swallows down the rest of it. Tired and spent as he is, he still manages to rise from his back quickly to kiss her. He can taste himself on her lips, but he does not mind it. The kisses are not as lust filled, more tender and caring, and he is all the more pleased when she guides him backwards again, before settling next to him and wrapping one of her legs around his. His heart beats rapidly and his mind is not yet void of thought (he isn’t sure if it will ever be), but the tension between them has dissipated. Even if it is temporary, and even if it is something that is going to come back ten times worse, Javi values this for what is now and appreciates her submission once more into this fantasy land with him. 

She herself wonders, despite all the unspoken heartbreak, and despite all the unknown truths, what their baby might look like and what qualities it might possess from him as she lies silently next to him. Wonders because what she has learned is that the future is her friend and that imagining it does no harm.

It is a place where nothing is broken or harmed, the future. A place where she can cling to the vestiges of hope she’s granted even when he holds her and doesn’t tell her what he’s done or seen. It’s a place beautifully untouched by the unfair quality of truth and pain; a place where he stands in the doorframe of their bedroom with a small, newly born child and looks happy in a way she hasn’t seen in so long; a place where she will never have to fret about whether she will ever get that from him or not, because it is hers and she does. 

The future has always been kind to her, kind in the way the present never, ever seems to be. She clings onto Javi and even manages a sad sort of grin at the thought of a child who’s hair curls the same way his does when it gets too long. 

She doesn’t share these thoughts with him, though—hardly ever does—because she needs things for herself. Admitting these notions into the world is to corrupt them, or to corrode the meaning they have to her now. She loves him, but these are her thoughts the way whatever he battles are his. 

This is a scene of a war without mercy; this is scene eight from a marriage. 

javi tag list : @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @over300books

forever/everything tag list : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo​ , @amneris21​

scenes tags: @gravegoth​ , @sarahjkl82-blog​ , @cmonkeepmoving​

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x oc #javier pena x nameless oc #javier peña x nameless oc #javier pena x female reader #narcos fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #fanfic

[stars-are-just-ghosts]

harrisco 12.

Here it is! I hope you enjoy it! -QD

* * *

It was nearly two a.m. by the time everyone began to leave the West's house, the Christmas party fully wound down and people exhausted from the frivolity. Harry had never really been much for parties of any sort before getting close to Team Flash. And normally, he'd been able to weedle his way out of them. Claim he was content on his own, or tired, or busy. None of which anyone really believed, but they also knew how stubborn he was.

The problem there was Cisco Ramon could be just as stubborn at times.

This time, he'd practically shoved an ugly Christmas sweater into Harry's face and demanded that he get off his 'tall-dark-and-brooding ass' and get moving. When Harry barely budged, he then informed him he'd hidden Harry's pulse rifle and was not ever giving it back unless he came.

The result was Harry begrudgingly wearing a very colorful and festive sweater with a depiction of Grumpy Cat in a Santa hat, and following... well, grumpily... along.

He never counted on enjoying these things.

It always surprised him when he did.

Watching Caitlin and Barry sing on the pint-sized karaoke machine, the lady Snow half buzzed off of spiked egg nog, had been a small delight. During dinner, Iris ended up inhaling a bit of too-spicy apple cider and flipped a spoonful of pumpkin pie at Joe's face during her coughing fit, which had Harry chuckling before he could stop himself. And at one point, he even let himself enjoy a badly played game of charades with everyone.

Though the highlight of the entire evening, start to finish, was Ramon.

The man was effortless in his joy and happiness tonight. It oozed off him, sinking into everyone around him. And for some reason, he seemed to be doubling down his efforts on getting it to latch on to Harry. Not that Harry would complain in the least. A slightly clingy, pushy, somewhat buzzed and completely glee-ridden Cisco Ramon was a gift in itself.

The easy bickering between them flourished with each passing hour, till they'd been practically in tune with each other's words in a way that only they ever seemed to accomplish. Cisco spent a great deal of time sitting right next to Harry, lined up side by side like he was trying to steal Harry's warmth. Or maybe his soul. It was hard to tell. And Cisco would touch him a little more than usual.

There had always been this thing between them. Nothing Harry could ever put a name to, nothing he could accurately describe. It hung in the air like a promise... like a piece of mistletoe, just waiting for one of them to make a decision.

And after tonight, it was very clear to Harry now what decision he would make. If he trusted himself enough. Truth was, he'd fallen for Cisco Ramon a long time ago. But he would never allow himself to tell the other man. It wasn't the idea of rejection, or even of losing their friendship. It was the idea that he could ever hurt Cisco. And he knew he could. His temper, his past, his... everything. He wasn't an ideal partner, not for anyone. He was better off alone. And Cisco was better being with literally anyone else. Or so Harry tried to convince himself.

Tonight, it was a little bit harder to feed himself his own lie.

They'd been walking for nearly ten minutes, Harry's hand hooked easily into Cisco's arm to keep him from slipping all over the place. It had snowed that morning. Nothing heavy. But the ground was wet and slushy and Cisco was one or two more drinks away from being drunk. He was also tired, Harry could tell. By the heavy way his eyes blinked, and how he would breathe in deeply every now and then just to let the cold air wake him enough to keep walking.

Cisco could have taken a cab, but had insisted on needing the fresh air. Harry hadn't been about to let him walk alone.

"You're glad you came tonight." Cisco said as they got to a crosswalk, looking up at Harry. Ramon's cheeks were slightly flushed, steam billowing out from between his plush lips into the cold air, his hair somehow still perfectly in place, his scarf haphazardly wrapped around his neck and shoulders. He looked... delightful. He looked like a dream.

He was a dream.

"You're assuming." Harry forced himself to say. Cisco chuckled and began walking again.

"Don't think I didn't see you, Harry. You can't deny how much fun you actually had. I was watching you the whole time." Cisco's comment made Harry raise a brow, slow his steps once they got to the other sidewalk. Cisco paused as well, both men stopping. But Ramon was looking at him with curiosity.

"What were you doing watching me?" He asked pointedly. Ramon's brows slowly went up. And the flush in his cheeks got even redder almost instantly.

"I, well... ya know. You..." He stopped talking, something thoughtful passing over his features. Harry couldn't help but stare right now, at the sparkling in Cisco's beautifully dark eyes, at the way he focused on Harry's own hues. It took Harry's breath away, like it almost always did. And he almost always could hide it. But something passed over Ramon's features, a look, a knowing. "What are we doing?" He suddenly asked. The question made Harry's brows furrow lightly.

"We're talking?" Question for a question.

"No duh, Harry." There was a soft dusting of humor in Cisco's eyes. "I mean... all the time. You and me. We're... close. Not just friend or colleague close. Closer than that. And I feel like we're getting closer every day." He stepped right into Harry, reaching up and tugging Harry's coat lapel a little flatter. "But we're always dancing around each other, ya know?" His words made Harry's heart stutter, flare, and ache all at the same time. But Cisco couldn't be saying what Harry thought he was saying. It just... wasn't possible. Right?

"I don't recall there being any dancing tonight. Unless you count Iris attempting to do the macarena during charades." He smirked a little, the slight curve of his lips catching Cisco's gaze. The shorter man chuckled and shook his head.

"Not what I meant, Harry, and you know it." Ramon sighed a little. "If I'm wrong, and I really don't think I am, then tell me I'm wrong. Right here, right now. And I'll never say another word about it." Cisco demanded, but softly.

Harry could read nearly every emotion Cisco had to offer by now. And what Harry saw on his face, in his eyes, was hope. And fear. Hope that Harry wouldn't reject him. Fear that he might. It made Harry swallow hard, his own anxiety flaring. Because, fuck... he didn't want to reject Cisco. Not Cisco. Never Cisco. But could he live with himself if he went into this knowing that someday he might just hurt him? Could he really so selfishly subject Ramon to his anger and grief and self-loathing ways on such a level? Could he-

Harry froze in place.

He didn't get the chance to finish running through his thoughts and reply to Ramon. Because the shorter man had a much different idea.

The feel of Cisco's cold but softer than soft lips on his own erased every thought, every worry, every possible argument Harry might have had. And before he could think logically about it, he was relaxing. He let himself move against Cisco, their lips slipping together in deliriously wonderful presses. Harry brought his hand up to the back of Cisco's head, fingers curling into his hair, his other sliding around to Ramon's back and holding him firm. Cisco's hands had minds of their own, clinging to Harry in near desperation as they began to deepen that kiss into something far more encompassing.

Cisco tasted like eggnog and warmth and... did joy have a taste? Because he tasted like joy. The way his tongue slid along with Harry's was just like dancing. And Harry couldn't get enough of this, would never get enough of Ramon.

The kiss ended naturally, leaving them both heaving hot breath into the winter air, hands still decidedly stuck to each other, foreheads pressed together as though separating themselves would be a truly horrible idea.

"I knew I wasn't wrong." Cisco whispered, then smiled. Bright, beautiful, joyous.

"Are you sure about this, Ramon?" Harry had to ask, had to know. He lifted his head, studied the slight swollen quality to Ramon's mouth, brought a thumb up and slipped it across Cisco's lower lip. Goddammit, he was delicious. He blinked at the urge to take those lips again, and forced himself to look in Cisco's eyes. Because this was important. Very, very important. "I'm not..." He swallowed, cleared his throat a little, let his hand fall, "I shouldn't be anyone's first choice." Cisco's expression grew stern in a heartbeat.

"You think I don't know what kind of asshole you can be?" He scolded. "Cause I do. And I know you think you don't deserve to be happy, either. Which is total crap." He sighed a little at what had to be a stunned expression on Harry's face. Then he brought his mouth back up, a soothing kiss lingering for a few breaths before he pulled away again. "I also know you're the strongest, bravest, most intelligent, caring, loving man I've ever met. Which means I'm good with all the stuff you think I shouldn't be. Because I can handle all that, as long as it means I get to have the rest."

Harry's smile was slow, but full-blown affectionate in a way he would never be able to disguise.

Kissing Cisco again was all the response he had.

Eventually, they made it the last two blocks to Ramon's apartment building, just to stop on the stone stairs and kiss again. And again. Now that they could, it was like they didn't want to stop.

"You can spend the night, if you want..." Ramon offered, when they'd separated just long enough to get a word in. Harry chuckled, pulling back enough to really examine Cisco's face. "And don't you dare ask me if I'm sure, because I am. I'm very..." Cisco inhaled sharply as he looked Harry over, "Very sure."

Harry couldn't say no to that.

He'd learned he couldn't say no to much of anything when it came to Cisco Ramon. Not that he regretted that in the least.

He did stay the night. In fact, he rarely slept in his own bed again after that.

Life went on exactly as it had before. He and Cisco kept their well-earned rhythm, their dynamic changing only as much as how physical they were with each other and how annoying it was to everyone else.

Cisco never once thought it had been a bad decision. Harry found himself steadily agreeing, a little more every day.

And eventually, he began feeling something he didn't know he could feel... joy.

All thanks to the stubborn love of Cisco Ramon.

#eeeeek #okay this turned out cuter than i thought it would #writing prompt #QuietDarkness #cisco ramon #harry wells #harrisco #I hope you enjoy!

[musicallisto]

Ψ — 𝐜𝐨́𝐦𝐨 𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫; (leo valdez x reader)

@fives-cup-of-coffee​ requested: Hi can I please get Leo Valdez (Hoo) + number 142? Tysm,bb ! Love your blog💗💗 song: morat - cómo te atreves | 𝄞

summary: In which Leo Valdez was having a good day. That is, of course, until you showed up.

word count: 1.9k author notes: at first I wanted to make it light-hearted & comical as the song would suggest and then it progressively got more serious and angstier and then I just have no idea where it went lol I hate it here. I hope you like this! + stan Morat they’re amazing warnings: there’s like one bad word in Spanish and I hope it’s not too Spaniard bc I looked everywhere for a Mexican equivalent of “cagüendios” asdjdj Mexicans please correct me

𝐋𝐄𝐎 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐙 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 have had the boldness of saying he was having a good day. No bloodthirsty monster nor megalomaniac Titan had decided to take over the world or rip him to pieces; he hadn’t had to dodge a meteor or plunge into the heart of a volcano; and to top it all off, he had not heard Percy sing once.

No, really, despite the cold, biting wind that froze the February morning, Leo Valdez was having a good day.

That is, of course, until you showed up.

Maybe it was his wind-swept curls blocking his eyes, maybe it was the whirring of Festus’ mechanical breathing under his fingertips, maybe it was the total peace of mind that inhabited him as he whistled to himself, but he had been impervious to his surroundings, surrendered to the memory of his aerial stroll with Calypso earlier in the morning, completely devoted to patching the dragon’s attrition up, so much so that he hadn’t heard you approaching at all. In his defense, he wasn’t expecting your visit after this many years, especially not on a cold morning in the woods of Long Island.

“Leo?”

“Woah, buddy, your clicks are starting to sound more and more like a real human voice. I might have to celebrate your first word soon.”

“Leo Valdez, behind you.”

He whirled around, and stupidly enough, the first thought that went through his mind was disappointment—so Festus wasn’t learning human communication after all, despite his best efforts. But when Leo pushed the hair out of his face and devised for the first time in four years your slightly embarrassed figure, hands buried in your pockets and abashed smile on your face, he couldn’t stop his jaw and heart from dropping.

So the suspect, gravelly grunt he had heard just before was not Festus protesting—duly noted. It was you, impatiently—and rather awkwardly—scratching your throat to catch his attention... You! After four years!

“Y/N?” he called out, and the way your name rolled off his tongue, with incredulity yet ease, was enough to remind you of how familiar his voice had once been.

“In the flesh. Ta-da,” you tentatively exclaimed, unsure about whether you should step toward him.

Leo seemed just as lost and confused as you were, eyeing you without truly processing it. No one, nothing had ever prepared him to face the return of someone he’d loved so dearly after losing them for so long. No prophecy had foretold any of this, no mischievous god had ever sent a cryptic message in a dream or smoke patterns. One day he had more or less started to accept the unshakeable hole you had dug in his heart when you left, and that he had tried to fill up as well as he could with new memories and songs and adventures — and the next you were waltzing back into his life as though he hadn’t spent the better part of four years struggling to forget you?

He took a small step forward without realizing it, but his body language read all but cordiality. A bubble of irritation started to form in the pit of his stomach and throat; he had started to fidget with his adjustable spanner.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Behind him, Festus grated, a low and rumbling sound like still water stirring upon the approach of a storm. Leo swore he heard his heartbeats echoed in the loyal beast’s enormous ribcage.

“What do you want from me, Y/N? Haven’t you done enough?”

Oh, you had done more than enough. When you were friends and he had first fallen for you — you had mended his broken heart, stayed by his side as everyone went on to celebrate life and renewal and he was stuck in the downpour that Calypso’s first departure had wreaked. That was more than enough. When you were just a little more than friends and he had started to learn anew, step by step, what it meant to love, and first and foremost let himself be loved — you had been patient and kind, you had walked hand in hand with him on the road to healing, never pushing him to go further than he could. That was more than enough. When you were definitely more than friends, and he had found himself falling deeper in love with you with each passing day — you had loved him all the same, or so you promised, and made his every day an adventure and a safe embrace like no other. That was more than he ever deserved.

When you had left without warning for some foreign place on the other side of the world, leaving him only a note and a handful of colored glass shards, never to give a sign of life in four years...

That was more than enough.

You had dared to take one step forward, palms outstretched as if you were calming a wild animal. A frenzy of conflicting flames bubbled in Leo’s stomach — you were a stranger now to him, and he was once again happy with Calypso. Then why did he get the overwhelming urge to jump into your arms and rediscover the sweetness of your embrace?

“I’m so sorry, Leo, I never wanted to leave, I truly didn’t, but you have to understand —”

“Understand what? That whatever business you had to attend to was more important than me? That I meant so little to you that you just left me a post-it note with a sad smiley face on it and never came back? You didn’t send a word in four years! I bet you didn’t even think about me on February 29th!”

“Actually I left in April, but —”

“Can you imagine how hard it was for me to get over you? To forget you? No, scratch that—I haven’t forgotten you, no matter how hard I try to convince myself. But I was doing just fine, and you have a whole lotta nerve coming back now that I’m finally happy without you! ¡Pues huevos! ¡Al carajo todo esto!”

And he went on and on in a string of all the curses he’d remembered from when his mother argued on the phone, his cheeks reddening progressively, his breath faltering.

You stayed immobile, just an arms’ length apart from him until he had spewed out everything he’d carried for years. His chest trembled, shuddering at all the dust and waste it had swept under the rug, now displayed in full light before him; and you ached for him, underneath your cool composure, you truly did, just as you had ached yourself when you had left. How could you not? Leo had been light and warmth and fire and a comforting smell of smoke and gasoline and coffee-stained fingertips on your cheek and your neck... and most of all, the heart you would least have wanted to break.

“Leo...”

You murmured his name a few more times, until he looked up at you. Oh, that face, red and weepy and distorted by rage and overwhelm! How you hated it in those moments, like a cheap mask over a Roman statue!

“Leo, I’m so sorry. I know it doesn’t excuse anything, but trust me, I would never have done that if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“What was, Y/N? What was more important than me?”

“I... I can’t tell you, Leo. I would if I could, but — “

“Of course! Even after four years, you’re still so full of secrets!”

“Jupiter told me not to say anything. To anyone.”

Leo’s parted lips, already fuming with more witty remarks, closed shut, and his chocolate eyes widened. The god of gods’ name was always enough to temper even the most boisterous of heroes’ fumes of anger, but not Leo’s erratic heart.

“Jupiter?”

“I got a mission from the gods. That’s why I left. To Rome. But they made me swear I didn’t say anything... not even an excuse.”

Leo swallowed, with difficulty, as if the information was a toxic flame permeating his throat. Before he could even register it, you continued, breathing deeply to steady your breathing:

“I owe you more than an apology... an explanation, at least. If you want to hear it... meet me in the woods at the gate of Camp Half-Blood at sundown. I’d understand if you didn’t come, but... just know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

For a split second, you were traversed by the thought, almost automatic, of leaning over to kiss Leo’s cheek, just like you had done it thousands of times to wish him goodbye; but you cut your impulses fast enough, only staring at his eyes for a few long minutes of dumbfounded silence before you turned on your heels and left.

In a single blink, the wind had caught your silhouette and carried it into the shadows of the trees.

And Leo stood there, colder than he would have admitted, motionless and partly oblivious to Festus’ impatient whirring over his shoulder. His chest rose and fell rapidly, quicker than the leaves rustling in the breeze; it had dried in his eyes too much for any tears to well up, despite the painful pang spreading in his chest. Had it not been for the weight in his ribcage, he could’ve believed you were but a ghost in the forest...

When you had left him without a word nor even a glimpse of a smile, Jason had admonished him to be brave and stronger than whatever misery you had inflicted; to not let any of your little games gnaw at his head and drive him wild. It was how Jason had always dealt with heartbreak and hardship because he was built of cold marble and electric stone; but despite Leo’s best efforts to follow his advice, he was Hephaestus’s son. Neither of them was exactly known for their fine handling of matters of the heart...

He had believed his inalterable strength would come back to him with Calypso. It was an endless ebb and flow between the two of you, each consoling him after the other left and tore a little piece of his heart. She had promised she’d be better — better than you, or than herself the first time around, he didn’t know, but he had believed her all the same.

But maybe what Leo had mistakenly taken for strength when he laughed himself to death with Calypso and captured her entirely with his lips, might have been solely absence. He had always had a knack for following in your steps... just like you had slipped from his embrace without a word, he had disappeared from himself imperceptibly.

Maybe he loved Calypso, truly and sincerely... but not in the way that allowed him to find himself.

Well, to hell with courage, with Jason’s heroic virtue and rectitude. Leo was realizing just then that the reason he clung so desperately to your memory was that he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet, and if it made him a coward, he accepted the fate with open arms.

“Come on, buddy,” Leo exhaled, a little shaky still. “Let’s get you patched up before sundown.”

Maybe it was a good day after all.

Or just a less-than-awful one at the very least.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee​​ @softeninglooks​​ (all my writing) / @lxncelot​​ (Riordanverse)

#mywriting #riordanverse #pjo #hoo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #leo valdez #pjo imagine #hoo imagine #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one-shot #leo valdez x reader #fives-cup-of-coffee

[calumxkisses]

One Last Dance | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: angst

warnings: death and blood (not too graphic)

summary: servant!calum au x princess!reader.

a/n: hi! i’m still not really good with au imagines, i changed the request a little because i had no idea how to write someone getting beheaded. sorry for beign late and hope you like it!

you should read this imagine while listening to: the night we met

✰ ✰ ✰

“I love you.” He whispers before he closes his eyes for the last time. You see his soul leaving its body and, as much as try to shake it, you know that he’ll never wake up. His face lies on your hands, leaning against what was once the dress of your dreams, once white, now stained in red, the diamonds on the corsage reflect the hell you are experiencing as your lips cry out in pain.

His lifeless body is lying on the floor, getting colder and colder and you can't think of how it was transmitting heat just a few seconds before. The sword that took your happiness away lies next to your lover's body, its owner is now gone but you know where to find them, they rest in the same rooms where you once took refuge from nightmares and sought peace.

Peace. A word that sounds almost funny now, so taken for granted and appreciated now that it's gone.

Peace, that you felt as you were lying on the hill, far away from the castle, with your head on Calum's lap, while your hands intertwined daisies and his mouth told tales of monsters and princesses, princes and weddings.

Peace was what you felt when his hands, calloused by all the hard work done during the day, caressed your face during sleepless nights, in the dark, hidden from prying eyes and from a world that would never accept your love.

Peace was what you felt when his strong arms made you spin between laughter and kisses, in that white and gold room, on that same floor that now sees your smile transformed into pain and your kisses transformed into tears.

The crown falls from your head as you lower your face to caress his face and it makes a shrill noise, like a broken dream, and like never before you hate all those stones and all that iron. So many times you have prayed to be normal, to do a humble job, to wear old and filthy clothes and to be free to be able to look at those eyes in the sunlight, amid the laughter of children and the screams of peasant sellers, while some little girls looks at you and dreams of a love like yours, where nothing matters besides you.

You feel your heart tug, break, get stab, every second is more painful and you know that it'll never stop hurting.

The sun is rising from the window on your right, the mirror reflects the first rays of the sun that struggle to shed light in the darkness of the night.

Soon, someone will walk through the door in front of you, unaware of the love that has been interrupted and of the life that has been sacrificed for an alliance of peoples, for a stupid belief in social classes and gold, land and castles.

They will cross the threshold of that door, mentally repeating the chores to do just to see the princess cry over the body of a humble servant, too young to know things like love but grown up enough to fight for it. They will wonder what happened as they cover their shock with their hands and crouch down next to you, making sure you’re okay and telling you to dry your tears, because the people must not see the darkness that is hidden behind the castle gate.

And while their clothes will try to clean the blood from your hands, you will have to explain how the king, the man they acclaim so much, is unable to love, such a simple thing compared to the thousand daily feats for which he gets celebrated.

You will have to tell them about the way his sword pierced the heart of a young boy, unarmed and full of hope, without hesitation.

You will have to tell about the way he looked you in the eyes and the ice that surrounds his heart, how he did not care for the happiness of his daughter, the same daughter he shows and compliments in front of generals and other kings.

He was not supposed to know, not like this. Your father was supposed to see your love from your eyes and know about it from you, he was supposed to listen to you telling him how much Calum meant to you and to bless your secret marriage, not finding it out from jealous servants and interruping it with a murder because he promised you to someone else.

So you close your eyes and squeeze his body even closer to yours, its scent fills your nostrils and surrounds your body. Your mind starts wandering and you let it go, every place is better than the reality you are living.

He was just a boy! He had his whole life in front of him, he had humble dreams and a passion for life that only children have. He was passionate about what he did, he enjoyed learning new languages ​​while cleaning horses and serving kings of distant lands, he loved playing a small instrument he had found in the garbage but which he treated as the most precious of treasures.

And no matter the time it was outside, he was able to bring sunshine even on the darkest days. He did his work with dedication, never left anything unfinished and helped others whenever needed. How were you supposed to move on?

He knew you loved the stars and had walked miles just to learn facts about astronomy from the best of astronomers so that he always had something new to tell you. He had been taught how to write so that he was able to tell you how much he loved you even when he couldn't speak. He had collected every flower on the lawn of the castle and put them in a small jar for you, so that you could admire their beauty even in winter.

And when the tears ran down your face, he had embroidered a handkerchief on purpose to be able to dry them, because such special tears could not be wasted.

As your mind wanders through the memories of his spontaneous kisses when he passed by by chance, you hear music in the distance.

The piano plays sweet melodies, surrounding the two of you like a warm blanket during a winter day. You stand at the center of the white and gold room, on the ballroom floor. Your white long gown whisks against the ground as he holds a hand in front of him.

He stands before you, looking beautiful as ever. His suit fits him perfectly, his brown eyes drawing you to him.

“My love.” He whispers with a sad smile on his face. There’s no trace of blood in his clothes and his eyes are still sparkling with life inside of them.

“Calum.” His name is the only thing you’re able to say. You know that it’s just a dream and any word won’t express enough what you’re feeling.

You don’t want to close your eyes, the fear of losing him again it's too much to even risk blinking. You can’t leave him again, you just can’t.

“Don’t be scared. You have a whole future ahead of you, love. You’ll reach your goals, make your dreams come true, you’ll have a happy life and I’ll be there, always by your side.”

“But you won’t be really there! We had so many plans for us, like that little house in the countryside and you promised me to teach our future children all the fairy tales you told me. It's not fair.”

You see a tear running down his face, his hand wipes it away but the sadness in his eyes can’t be wiped away that easily. Not anymore, not with a kiss or not with a sky full of stars. He won’t see them anymore, he won’t feel the sun on his skin or the warmth of the fireplace in your secret place, over the hill, to the right of the lake.

“You had a life ahead. We had so many things to do, so many dreams to fulfill, so many lands to explore. I can’t do this without you.”

“You can and you will. You are a bright, intelligent woman. You are capable of doing anything you want. I know we had so many dreams for us, but I'm sure you’ll manage to make them true in your own way. I will always be next to you, you will not see me but I will make sure that nothing else happens to you. You deserve to move forward, to become the woman you are meant to be. I believe in you. Now, come here, please. Let me hold you one last time.”

And you know that you can say whatever you want but any word will make him come back to you.

He takes your hand, holds your waist and pulls you closer. It’s a familiar thing for you, you’d danced this way a thousand times before, in this very room, the enchanting music enveloping your new world, just the two of you.

This time, thought, is different. He was about to fade away forever, you’d have to leave him behind, his smile would never bring joy to your life anymore. It feels like heaven but hurts like hell.

So, as he pulls you into his embrace, spinning you around the room, you try to ignore the tears that are running down your face. You just want to enjoy the warmth of his hugs and his hand on yours for the rest of your life, is that too much to ask?

As the music comes to an end, you feel his hands shaking and the tremor on his voice as he whispers: “It’s time to go.”

“One more song, please.” You whisper, burying your head into his shoulder, tears brimming in your eyes.

So he spins you around more, his hands never letting yours go. There’s not much time left and you know it.

“Do you remember the night we met?” You ask, a smile forming on your lips at the memory.

“I do, we were just children but I remember every detail. You were wearing that small red dress, too caught up on the lanterns flying in the sky to notice that I was looking at you. I explored all the castle and yet you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And when you finally saw me, instead of screaming at me because I wasn’t doing my job, you asked me if I was okay and if I had eaten enough, before telling me the story of the lanterns.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay before boring you with my words.”

“You could have never bored me. You were the first one to show kindness to me, to treat me like one of yours.”

“Your heart is richer than any king's treasure, Calum.”

As the music fades and the weak flames of the candles in the room flick out, he holds you even closer, not bothering to hold his sobs any longer. The ballroom is getting colder and his body it's not as warm as it was before. He’s starting to feel lifeless again but you don’t want to let him go.

You’ll come back to reality, where love is hated and war is celebrated. You’ll have to pretend to be fine, showing a smile that hides an unimaginable pain. You’ll look into the eyes of your father and the irises that once never failed to reassure you will now be the reason for your cold heart.

Mostly important, you’ll have to live in a reality without Calum in it, without his smile in the morning or his kisses under the moonlight. A reality that was certainly not worth fighting for, not as much as the love you were meant to live.

“I love you too, always.” You whisper, gazing into his beautiful brown eyes, filled with so much sadness that it was almost unbearable. He smiles.

You open your eyes, your body still lays close to his, his eyes are closed and his voice is not asking you one last dance.

There’s a small smile on his face but you’re too distracted by footsteps outside the room to notice it.

#calum hood imagine #calum 5sos #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum hood #5 seconds of summer #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #michael clifford #angst #au imagines #calum au #calum angst #calum x you #calum x reader #calum hood imagines #calum hood x reader #calum hood x you

[immortalcoelacanth]

Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.… 

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

                                                   xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.  

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-  

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.  

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

                                      xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #dsmp tubbo #mild angst #tw mentions of abuse #borrower!tommy #the lads are orphans #the start of found family #dream smp borrower au #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic