#char: perseverance

[verdemoth]

Perseverance! Rookie member of the EEG’s field research team. She’s a nerd-jock newbie who wants her idols to like her sooooooooooo bad.

-> Biology major with a particular interest in ecology! And bugs she likes bugs. And really all sorts of fun crawly invertebrates.

-> Perse is no stranger to the EEG headquarters, she’d been coming here for years before her official admission to the team! With two older relatives to shadow, she got to know a lot of the older members during her frequent visits. She greatly admires all of them.

-> She maintains some terrariums to raise and study copepods and amphipods. As well as several potted plants.

-> Perse has the same level of passion discussing a new and as of yet undocumented species as she does showing off the cute little house moth that almost gave Maven a heart attack.

-> She’s a hobbyist photographer with a Leica 1(A) 35mm. She’s into wildlife photography, and though her work isn’t very technically impressive, you don’t need to be an ace at something to have fun with it!

-> Perseverance maintains that she is NOT a nerd like her cousin, Maven, is a nerd.

-> She’s very athletic and energetic. She enjoys a daily jog, and plenty of exercise both indoors and outdoors. She loves going on hiking or full on camping trips with her uncle Phoenix.

-> She and Phoenix are very close. They’ve got a really easygoing and playful dynamic, with plenty of in-jokes built up between them. Phoenix was a constant in her early life, almost a third parent. He’d often visit to play with her and to babysit so her dads could enjoy a free evening every so often. He still dotes on her as much as Perse will let him get away with, but he respects that she values having a more adult relationship now. Still with plenty of fun, of course!

-> Perse and Maven weren’t really around each other as young kids, but became friends as they got a little older. Maven’s scientific leanings led to Perse finding and developing her own passion for study and exploration. Maven and the rest of her family have been nothing but supportive and nurturing, and she’s grateful for it. But she wants to make sure they know she’s not just a little girl anymore, and she’s ready to be the one offering support when needed.

-> She’s more than willing to get her hands dirty and to do ‘boring’, menial work. Especially if it means the people she looks up to see how diligent and cooperative she is :)

-> Perse is very needlessly competitive, though in a lighthearted sort of way. She doesn’t mind taking a loss, because it’s more about the challenge than the winning. It’s about the thrill. But don’t expect her to go easy on a challenger, because she still plays to win. Game night is a disaster

[aroaceleovaldez]

they girlbossed Sally Jackson

[primsycoldbottles]

i rlly should start drawing my ocs again in prep for artfight... aughhaa

[morgandekarios]

restarting my current playthrough in honour mode to get minthara and the foehammer achievement 👍

[jgracie]

WHO’S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME?

masterlist | rules

♡ dedicated to giselle @pinkdiorluvr <3 our leo/ttpd/aphrodite parallels resulted in this epic crossover... love u sm !

in which leo was tame and gentle ‘til the circus life made him mean (alternatively, the one where you teach a son of aphrodite how to love again)

pairing son of aphrodite!leo valdez x roman!reader

warnings self-loathing (happy ending tho dw), ooc / dark!leo? idk tbh but this is a deep dive into his mind lowk 😭 also this is kinda long sorry in advance LMAO

on the radio . . . who’s afraid of little old me? (taylor swift), the only exception (paramore)

an aphrodite cabin leo my beloved… read the comments under this for a bit of context :) also in this they know the ghost of the battery is venus cz it fits w the story ok

If you looked up the word ‘tragedy’ in the dictionary, Leo was convinced you’d find his whole life there. It’d take up half the book, listing every event that’s ever happened in his life from the moment his mother died in that fire, her body so charred there was nothing to bury, until present time

It would talk about how after that, social services arrived, and how his aunt had refused to take him in, calling him a diablo and shouting at the social workers to take him themselves. It would talk about how none of his other relatives wanted him. It would talk about all the foster homes he’d run from, both the okay and the ugly (because they were never good. They didn’t want him either) opting to sleep under the Houston bridge for months instead. It would talk about how Leo was completely and utterly unloveable

Years of his life being this endless cycle of misery resulted in Leo toughening up. He was no longer the sweet boy who’d sit on his mother’s lap as she worked with pieces of metal, who’d run to get her a hammer or a screwdriver before she even asked for it, his heart so full of love for her he was close to exploding. No, this was a new Leo. This Leo learnt to deal with the bullies and the streets and everything else life decided to throw at him, his skin calloused and his heart cold. Sure, he was still elvish and scrawny, but he wasn’t afraid. That alone was enough

Eventually, he befriended Piper. She was nice. For once, he was around someone who didn’t seem to mind his company. But no matter how much Piper liked him, she still liked Jason more. Leo wasn’t an idiot, he knew from the moment Piper laid eyes on the perfect blond that this was her dream guy. And he was happy for her, she was his friend after all! However, he couldn’t help but resent her feelings towards him. He found himself left out again - unloveable Leonidas Valdez, that’s who he’d always be, now that his mom was gone

Then, he discovered a whole new world of Gods and monsters and for a moment in time, Leo thought everything might finally begin to click. He never fit in with the other kids in his foster homes because he wasn’t like them, he was a demigod, of course he couldn’t fit in. For the first time since his mother’s passing, Leo became an optimist. Maybe things would turn around? He’d get to meet his second parent and they’d explain it all, possibly even reward him for his perseverance? Leo toyed around with the idea, replaying the fantasy in his head. In the end, to him, just getting a glimpse of them would be enough

He got claimed as soon as he arrived. Usually, that would be considered incredibly lucky, and Leo really tried thinking of it in that way. Annabeth had told him some campers wait years for that symbol to float over their heads, to finally be able to move out of the crowded Hermes cabin and have people they can genuinely call siblings, a place they can genuinely call home

Leo would’ve been happy if his Godly parent wasn’t her. Aphrodite. What a sick joke. How could the Goddess of love be his mother? No one loved Leo, even Piper and Jason saw him as a nuisance at times. They tried to disguise it, but Leo knew. Years of being bullied had given him excellent training in reading the emotions of others. He knew that whenever the three of them were together, they wished they could be alone. He’d almost refused to sleep in cabin 10, but his new siblings grabbed him by the arms and dragged him over, excited to meet a fellow child of their mother’s

Luckily, it didn’t take Leo very long to get a quest. He, along with Piper and Jason, left Camp Half-Blood to go find and save Hera from the cage she was trapped in. Although the quest was hard and there were many times he’d come close to death, Leo was happier away from the cabin that reminded him of everything he should be and was not. The trio came back to camp just in time and immediately started planning their journey to Jason’s home, Camp Jupiter

The days Leo was building the Argo II were some of his happiest. He had an excuse to not sleep in his cabin (the Hephaestus cabin had kindly offered him bunker 9) and he was around the one thing he truly did love - machinery. The smell of oil and clang of metal reminded him of his mother, the one person who’d truly ever loved him. Sure, Leo did occasionally find himself yearning for human interaction, but every time he felt that ache in his chest, his fingertips longing to touch another, he’d push it down and continue his work. Just because he was a son of Aphrodite, doesn’t mean he deserved love. If he did deserve love, surely, he would’ve gotten it a long time ago

Soon enough, the ship was finished and Leo, Jason, Piper and Annabeth set sail for Camp Jupiter. On the boat, he felt less pressure to fit into the constraints of the stereotypical role of a child of Aphrodite, consequently becoming more like one. Away from land, he could shed the Leo Valdez who was tough and hard as stone, becoming as fluid as the sea instead. He wasn’t anywhere near as social as the others, but this time, he didn’t lock himself up in his room. He taught Annabeth about the mechanisms of the ship and teased Piper and Jason whenever he caught them kissing

From above, Aphrodite watched and hoped the Fates were feeling kindly towards her baby boy. It broke her heart watching him lose faith in love, but she couldn’t do anything about it - not with Zeus keeping a close eye on her

“Okay, I’ll show you the ship. Come with me,” Leo told Octavian - Camp Jupiter’s joke of an Oracle. The boy annoyed him, reminding Leo too much of some of the manipulative bullies he had to learn to fight back, but he knew giving him a tour of the Argo II was essential for gaining the Romans’ trust. Surprisingly, it was going well. Octavian was quiet as he examined it all, only making a few snide remarks about the ‘obviously Greek methods’ Leo had used

Then it happened. Leo felt his mind go blank and his limbs move against his will, heading for the ballistae. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. He fired on Camp Jupiter

Other than Jason, who had gotten hit by a brick and was currently passed out, everyone was fine. What wasn’t fine was the fact that the Romans were no longer on their side. The others gave him accusatory glances, even though he’d insisted didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Only Piper seemed to be on his side, but even she was a little hesitant, a little confused

You were the anomaly. Leo didn’t notice you - quiet and observant, wanting to see how this would play out - until you spoke up to defend him. You, a Roman who’d just had the only home she’s ever known destroyed, who’d just been labelled an outcast by all her friends and family thanks to him, had defended Leo

“Guys, I don’t think he meant any harm,” you said, immediately silencing the other six members of the Great Prophecy. Leo’s mouth was agape, unable to say anything as you continued, “why would he fire on Camp Jupiter on purpose?” You asked, “isn’t he a part of this eight, one of us?” Then, turning to Annabeth, you said, “isn’t he your friend? Why aren’t you defending him?” She blushed and looked down at her feet, unsure of what to say

You smiled, happy that another problem had been solved, “let’s not ruin this quest before it even starts, okay? We can’t save the world from Gaia if we don’t act as a team.”

For the first time since his mother’s death, Leo felt loved. However, he knew all too well how good things never last

Leo distanced himself from you, as well as everyone else on the ship. After that day, he’d decided to coop himself up in his room and work on upgrading the ship instead, only coming out when absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, you eagerly got to know everyone else who was part of the prophecy, intrigued about the differences between Greek and Roman demigods. The one person who you desperately wanted to know, though, was Leo

No matter how hard you tried, he always seemed to escape your clutches. You’d been worried for him ever since that first day on the ship, and after finding out he built it, you were dying to know more

“Venus only appeared when Reyna was alone, so I don’t think any men can come along,” Jason said. Yet again, you were splitting up for another quest. This time, it was seeking the ghost of the Battery, who you’d deduced was Venus, the goddess of love. Suddenly, you had an idea

“Shouldn’t Leo come along? He’s her son, isn’t he? She’d show up for him,” you said, giving the boy a kind glance, which he averted. He really didn’t want to meet his mom. She didn’t care for him, so neither did he for her. If she cared, she wouldn’t have left him to fend for himself all those years. She was no better than his Aunt Rosa

Unfortunately, everyone on the ship agreed with you. Venus would probably be more helpful if her son was there. It was settled, you and Leo would go find the ghost of the Battery

The walk was awkward. This was the first time the two of you had been together since the first day on the ship. You made small talk, asking him about the ship and Camp Half-Blood. He thanked you for that day, and when you’d given him a toothy grin, your eyes sparkling, Leo felt as if Cupid had shot an arrow right through his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He’d never been more overwhelmed with love

“Lady Venus?” You said, your voice tentative as you looked around, suddenly doubting your plan. Immediately, she appeared in front of you. She was beautiful, with curly brown locks and fiery brown eyes. Her smile was kind, making you feel a warmth spread throughout your body. Then she noticed Leo. Instantly, her fiery eyes became sad, and… were those tears?

She floated past you and towards Leo, cupping his face in her hands. He flinched, about to pull away before remembering she’s a Goddess and could easily smite him if she were in a bad mood. His eyebrows remained furrowed, the crease in his forehead only deepening when she said, “my boy, my Leo. You’ve grown so beautifully.”

You could tell Leo’s relationship with his mother was strained, despite never meeting her. He scoffed, gaining the courage to remove her soft hands from his rigid face

“I am not your Leo. I am Esperanza Valdez’s Leo. She’s dead, in case you can’t recall. She died and you did nothing to stop it, nothing to ease the pain. I will never be your Leo. I’m only here for the sake of the quest, so please just tell us what we need to do and we’ll be on our way,” with every word, you could tell Venus’ heart shattered into several tiny pieces. Never in a million years did you think you’d see a Goddess look so heartbroken

She tried to reach out for him again, but this time, Leo didn’t let her, inching closer to you instead. Sighing, Venus opted to use her words, “look, I’m really sorry. You have no idea how bad I feel. I wanted to help you, really, but Zeus–”

“It’s always Zeus with you Gods, isn’t it? No, you don’t get to tell me you feel bad. You wouldn’t have survived an hour in my childhood. Do you know how horrible it felt, being wanted by no one? Do you have any idea how much it hurt finding out your own mother, the Goddess of love, didn’t do a single thing to help, choosing to leave you feeling unlovable instead? If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have given up just because of Zeus.”

Venus was quiet after that. You looked up at the sky, afraid Jupiter would strike you with his lightning bolt at this very moment, but he didn’t. With tears in her eyes, she said what was necessary and as soon as she was done, Leo got up and began walking away. You, however, stayed. You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the Goddess, even though Leo was in the right

“He likes you,” she said, breaking the silence, “but he thinks he’s incapable of love, and it’s all my fault, I know, but I beg of you, please save my son before it's too late.” Her hand was tightly gripping yours, and you gave her a sad smile before going to catch up with Leo

You found him crying behind a bush. He had his face in his hands and sat with his knees touching his chest as horrible, gut-wrenching sobs left his open lips, desperate for some air. Calmly, you sat next to Leo. You didn’t do anything - no stupid words, no trying to fix his issues, you knew that wasn’t what he needed. Leo just needed some love. So you wrapped an arm around him and let him let it out on your shoulder

With the grass leaving indents on your skin and the light breeze cooling your bodies, Leo opened up. He didn’t say everything, but you got the gist of it all. You also got that seeing Venus face-to-face and crying afterwards had taken a load off of his back. With every word he said, Leo’s face seemed to brighten, his curls gaining shape and his eyes becoming a warmer shade of mahogany. The realisation hit you like a truck: he looked just like his mother

As the days passed, you paired with Leo for quests more often. He was more comfortable around you than any of the other crew members, which didn’t go unnoticed by them. They were glad Leo had found someone he could let loose with. Your journey across the Mediterranean continued and your friendship blossomed and bloomed, every late night conversation proving to Leo that maybe love was something he could achieve in this lifetime after all

Despite this, he kept his distance. A part of him was scared you stayed out of pity. As a son of Aphrodite, he knew that wasn’t true - he could read people like a book, after all. But he would never forget how his life is an endless loop. Just as he’d think he was finally getting a break, the universe would greet him with the worst event he’s ever experienced. Soon enough, something awful would happen. Something that’d push you away. You should be afraid of him, an unstable boy with extreme detachment issues and a history of bad relationships. What was there to love?

Everything. To you, there was everything to love about Leo. From the way he always had a piece of scrap metal to fiddle with in case he got nervous, to the way his nose would scrunch up when he’d laugh. Leo Valdez had ripped your heart out of your body and decided to keep it, and you were okay with that

Your confession had happened after Percy and Annabeth fell into Tartarus. Everyone was absolutely gutted, of course, but no one more than Leo. He blamed himself for their descent into the deep pits of hell, and you began to see him slowly go back to the Leo he once was, the Leo he was used to being. The difference was that this time, you were there

You forced him to give you and the others some of the watch shifts he’d assigned to himself. You made sure he ate and drank water and took care of himself. You were there to pick the pieces back up again

One night, it was just you and him

“Why do you do this? Am I not a burden to you?” Leo had asked, just as you were about to leave his room. After finding him half asleep at the wheel, you dragged him to bed, tucking him in yourself and making him swear not to leave until the morning

You turned, your eyes holding a mix of fondness and hurt. Not for yourself, but for the boy who has never looked into the mirror and seen a person worthy of loving. Your voice as clear as the sky above, you said, “because I love you. You could never be a burden to me, because I want to do this.”

“Why? Why do you love me?”

Making your way over to his bed, you sat on the edge, cupping his face, just like his mother did during your first adventure together. This time, he didn’t flinch. In fact, he seemed to melt under your touch. You felt anguish in your heart at this - no matter how much Leo insisted he should be alone, he still craved another

“Because you’re you. You’re sweet and you’re loyal and most of all, you’re so deserving of love. That’s more than enough reason for me.”

As Artemis rode her moon chariot across the starry sky, you shared a tender kiss. You saw Leo for everything he was - a black dog, a broken boy, the definition of the word ‘tragedy’, and chose to love him anyway

You weren’t afraid

[fallingstarsandthemoon]

Cookie Run x MCYT AU-ANCIENTS, anybody?

Feel free to send in asks and requests for this AU alongside my other AUs! Fanart is welcomed WITH CREDIT!

This is a little creative project I’ve been working on for a couple months now, (I usually draw faster than that, but procrastination is a bitch and some of these were hard to design due to it being a stark contrast from the usual style I have,) but I’m proud I got the ancients out of the way, whom I decided would be OG MCYTs. Here are their mock in-game descriptions:

Diamond Cookie (DanTDM)- Perseverance:

In a dark, yet lively, effervescent cave leagues below the surface, a radiant diamond cluster, naturally forged by the thickest molten sugar and pressure to withstand almost anything, surfaced within the cave. Little did it know that it would become the main ingredient to a legend. Diamond Cookie sticks true to his resistant and valuable ingredients as well as the Soul Jam of Perseverance, believing if something isn’t working out, try, try again. As a  past scientist, engineer, adventurer, and now a hero, he’s had several mishaps and failures over the years, but he still picks himself up again and keeps moving, seeking to help inspire others to push forward and make something new out of the broken and old.

Even if he or everything he’s ever loved is crumbling around him, he’ll fight to the bitter end.

Berry Soda Cookie (LDshadowlady)- Empathy:

Among the shimmering sands, the vibrant coral reefs, and the open blue, there lives a guardian and a master of the waves and tides, wielding a glittering trident and the Soul Jam of Empathy. Berry Soda Cookie, baked with a myriad of berries and having lived on both land and sea, she has a vast understanding of other’s distress and feelings. If there’s worry or a change in the usual nature of her domain, she’ll be the first to know about it. She loves getting to know about every perspective and lifestyle she can. She has eyes all over the ocean wherever the light touches, from the shallows to the deep blue, and tends to act as a mediator in most situations. She’ll do everything she can to keep a stable balance. That is, until that fateful day that caused her to retreat into the darkest depths of the sea.

Will her soul ever see the light once more?

Golden Cream Cookie (Stampy)-Compassion:

Baked with the sweetest and richest of merengue and cream, Golden Cream Cookie has a compassionate spirit for his denizens like no other, hence his Soul Jam. While he can’t exactly read minds, he always does his best to help those in distress. After all, his kingdom among the plains and forest is known for their bustling trade of goods and services. Despite being a king, he’ll help those communities in even the lowest of classes. He does have a tendency to overwork himself or sometimes misinterpret the cookies’ needs, but it doesn’t change the fact that he has a heart of gold. He promotes mutualism and color in life and strives for himself and others to leave Earthbread better than they came. He forgives many for their wrongdoings and does his best to guide them to fix it.

Even so, there’s always the hard truth to face that he can’t help or forgive everyone.

Cherry Choco Cookie (Captain Sparklez)- Harmony:

There stands a calm, solid, rhythmic presence at the center of the Chocolate Citadel. With a rose golden crown adorning his head and his Charred Cherryblade by his side, Cherry Choco Cookie firmly believes there’s harmony and unity in all things, hence his Soul Jam of Harmony. Where there’s chaos? There’s order. Where there’s death, life is sure to come in its steed. He was baked with the sweetest cherries and the most bitter cacao after all. In a way, it’s a miracle how he worked his way up from being just some bard to an expert swordsman and a king. He’s a soul of few words, but he means well, and he’s just as musically inclined as most of his kingdom.

Where has this sovereign of harmony gone? What has he seen?

Pure Iris Cookie (Aphmau) - Creativity:

There’s nobody who understands the diversity of talent more than the bold and energetic Pure Iris Cookie. Born from the petals of a perfect iris at the rebirth of summer, she started out as a simple mage who encouraged cookies to forge their own paths. She believes everyone has something they’re good at, no matter how common or rare, and that anything can be made into something special. No wonder her garden kingdom was a capital of the arts in Crispia. All cookies have to do is find their spark, which can be easier said than done at times, but the end result is what matters. She’d give anything to get the same glory of her old kingdom back… whether it be the petal feathers off her back or her own life…

She won’t fail them again. Over her crumbled dough and withered petals.

[dxckgrxsonx]

Out on the Roof

Pairing - Dick Grayson X Reader Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Public Sex - Fingering - Dirty Talk - Canon Typical Violence - Fighting - Swearing. Words - 2k Notes -  I watch one video playthrough of Gotham Knights and this is what happens. Big thanks to the anon who gave me inspiration for this. This is for you!!

MASTERLIST

**

He drops out of the sky without a sound.

The grumbling whoosh of his glider echoes over your head and you catch the flickering edge of blue engines before he lands in the centre of your world like a nuclear bomb. Devastation rocks the ground under your feet and there are three of your guys on the floor before you take in a full breath.

Combat is an art form and Nightwing makes it look like a dance. He takes out the legs of one man and immediately kicks his body into a flip so well controlled it feels like whiplash. Lands on the balls of his feet before striking out with his escrimas and dropping two more men without a sound.

Slinking out of the shadows you vault into what you hope is a blind spot and kick your leg up in a high arc, intending to smack Nightwing in the ribs. Your movement is quick and silent but a strong hand grabs your thigh and before you can readjust you’re against the wall, an escrima stick pressing horribly at your throat.

“I’ve gotta say, that was pretty stupid of you.���

A smile tugs at your mouth, a little flash of teeth, “Yeah, not disagreeing with you on that.” Over Nightwings shoulder you see one of your men take aim with his gun and there’s an odd pinch at the base of your spine. “Hm, that’s not ideal.”

Whipping around to evade the shot you dive out of his reach.

Rubbing quickly at your throat you swallow thickly and the raised line of scar tissue over your jugular prickles as your fingers trace over it. Dropping your hand before the discomfort hooks into your shaking muscles you unsheathe the pair of batons strapped to the small of your back.

A few feet away Nightwing throws his body into a fantastic aerial kick and you barely manage to dodge the body he launches your way.

“What the fuck, Batboy.” You snark.

In the middle of discarding another one of your men, Nightwing shrugs, “Aw, no need to ask for special treatment. I’ve got moves for all of you.”

Interest sparks like fifty thousand volts in the pit of your stomach, “Oh really? What sort of moves?”

Nightwing doesn’t falter and a trickle of sweat slides between your shoulder blades when you realise that you’re the last one left standing in the wake of his nuclear fallout. Bodies litter the damp concrete and you lock your body into a fighting stance, low and loose and ready for him to make the first move.

“Well if I told you that, it’d ruin the surprise.” He answers, stalking towards you with the skill and perseverance of an apex predator. “And I want to save the best ‘til last.”

His head snaps to the side as a door bangs open on the roof and you drift backwards between the rush of men charging an attack, not once taking your eyes of him until someone launches their fist at his head.

Against the wall is the computer terminal you were in charge of hacking, and you sheathe your weapons before tapping at the keyboard.

Working with those trying to bring Gotham to its knees feels like betrayal. It feels like dousing your home in petrol and flicking a match through the door; it feels like charred wood and endless roaring fire.

It feels like having your throat sliced open.

But a debt is a debt, and even though the guilt threatens to choke you, you do not hesitate. Not until someone grabs your shoulder and sends you cartwheeling through the air in a flurry of limbs.

Controlling a fall is reflective, automatic. Twisting your body to land on its feet is something you’ve been doing since you were able to walk. One foot in front of the other. Relax your body. Bend your knees. Spring back into the face of the enemy before they can react.

Nightwing flinches backwards when you bounce into his space, surprise echoing in his suddenly defensive posture.

“What?” You grin, suddenly giddy, fired up with adrenaline and something lustful. “Think you’re the only one with good moves?”

Going for his legs, Nightwing flips over your head and strikes out at your exposed back. Leaping forwards, you drop into a forward roll and just manage to clear the sparking tip of his escrima sticks.

Whirling around you use your forearm to block his next attack and fling the stick out of his hand into your own.

Twirling the weapon through your nimble fingers you raise an eyebrow, “This thing is surprisingly well balanced. Mind if I keep it?” Nightwings mouth pulls up at the edges and you fight off the butterflies in your stomach. You can’t deny that he’s pretty. “Promise I’ll give it back when I’m done.”

“Don’t go biting off more than you can chew.” He warns.

Considering his words you flip the stick into a better hold and sink your teeth into your bottom lip, “I just don’t think you like someone using these things better than you.”

Nightwing laughs and the sound knocks you off kilter.

“Alright, I’ll let you keep it if you manage to take me down.” He offers, voice suddenly cocky, unbelievably confident. “I’ll even put mine away, make it even easier for you.”

Raising an eyebrow you shift your stance, “You’re on, pretty boy.”

He smirks, “Flattery won’t help you.”

Circling him you shrug, “Thought it was at least worth a try, you are very pretty.”

“Thanks.”

Striking out, Nightwing blocks your arm and you throw the stick in a perfect arc from one hand to the other. Jabbing it into his side you thumb the button on the handle and electricity courses into his ribs.

Nightwing grunts but recovers so fast it’s alarming. Slamming a fist into your stomach you double over and he rolls over your back, hooks an arm around your waist and launches you to the floor.

“Fuck.” You wince, breath knocked from your lungs. “That hurt.”

“Good.” Pressing his foot to your chest he keeps you pinned. Holding out his hand he gestures for you to hand over the stick, “Give it back, you don’t deserve it.”

Grinding your teeth you jab your free hand into the back of his knee. As his leg gives out you roll to the side and flip to your feet just in time to dive on his back, wrap your legs around his waist and twist your hips to force him to the ground.

Straddling him you shove the stick against his pulse point and pause, breathing heavily.

“Hi.” You say when he looks at you. “What are you doing down there?”

Huffing out a laugh Nightwing smooths his hands up your thighs, the sensation makes you tremble, has you distracted just enough for him to recover control and flip you over. The world spins and you choke out a swear before your back hits the floor again, rainwater soaking into your suit.

Snatching back his escrima stick, Nightwing slips it back into its holster over his shoulders.

The weight of him sitting on your hips makes you dizzy, constricts the amount of air you can pull into your struggling lungs, “Has anyone ever told you you’re really fucking heavy?”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Uh…no?”

Using his own move you slide your hands up his thighs, revel in the firm muscle under your palms. Nightwing locks eyes with you, eyebrow cocked up in silent challenge. Skimming the very tops of his thighs you twist and stroke the tips of your fingers along the crease where his thigh meets his groin.

His leg twitches and you press your tongue against the backs of your teeth.

Interesting.

Dragging your knuckles over his covered cock you hear him suck in a breath seconds before he grabs your hands and pins them over your head.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” He growls, body tense, coiled tight like a spring.

Slotting both of your hands into one of his own, Nightwing uses his free hand to unbutton your tactical pants. The sound of your zipper lowering has you shaking, has your body lighting up like a fireworks display.

Shoving your underwear to the side, Nightwing drags his fingers through your pussy, catches on your quickly swelling clit and circles it until you buck your hips up. The look on his face is lethal, locked tight around unhinged, positively feral.

Your eyes slip closed when he circles your soaking entrance, dips his fingers just barely inside before pulling back. He teases your fluttering hole and smirks when your body tries to squeeze at his fingers, tries to suck him in.

“Someone’s needy.” He comments and you keen in response, tone breathy and high. “Has it been a while?” Knocking your head back against the concrete you try to pull your hands free but he doesn’t let you, just tightens his grip even further.

Nightwing pushes two fingers inside you, all the way up to the third knuckle. Your mouth parts on a moan when the stretch burns slightly and he chuckles, scissors his fingers to spread your hole open around him.

Crooking his fingers he drags the tips over that soft, sensitive spot inside you. Immediately, your hips kick up and you cry out, feel yourself gush all over his hand.

Humming mockingly above you, Nightwing focuses his attention on that spongy spot, grins at the embarrassingly wet squelch of your pussy as he adds a third finger.

“Wow, three fingers.” He says. “I never knew you could take so many.”

“Shut up.” You gasp, “Just shut your fucking mouth.”

Picking up his pace he twists his wrist just slightly and you choke on a desperate whine, mouth hung open. Slotting his thumb against your swollen, throbbing clit he rubs at it in quick circles until it starts twitching.

“Admit it,” He suddenly says, voice awfully smug. “You bit off more than you can chew.”

Whining in response you find that you can’t think past the pleasure biting at every last nerve in your quivering body.

“Please.” You finally manage. “Nightwing, please!”

Still sliding his fingers into your soaking pussy he releases your hands and you immediately brace yourself against the floor. Pulling out you whine at the emptiness he leaves behind but Nightwing shifts until he’s knelt between your thighs. Grabbing your legs he spreads you open, has your thighs over his hips.

Yanking your tactical pants down to your mid-thigh he pushes his fingers back inside you and seeks out that sensitive patch of nerves. Finding it with expert precision he drags over it and you squeeze around his fingers so tightly he struggles to move.

“Open up for me.” He breathes, “Stop tryin’ to push me out.”

Whimpering, you arch your back, “Nightwing, please, please, please.”

Sliding his thumb up to swipe over your clit you shudder, nerves firing in a collective uncoordinated frenzy. Pulsing around his fingers your pussy contracts with each talented circle of your swollen clit.

“M’gonna–” You cry, “Gonna come.”

“Oh really?” Nightwing coos, doubling his efforts to drag you convulsing up to the edge. “You’re going to come all over my fingers like a slut?”

“Shit–fuck…yes!”

“Go on then.” He urges, thumbing quickly at your clit. “Come for me.”

He pulls your orgasm out of you like it wasn’t yours to begin with. Babbling out a string of moans and whines, you pulse and twitch around Nightwing’s fingers. Pussy clenching and gushing, wetness soaking over his palm. Nightwing fucks you through it, doesn’t stop until you flinch and whimper.

Going slack, you thunk your head backwards.

“Guess calling you pretty does work.”

Tugging your pants back up over your hips Nightwing zips them up and rebuttons them. Gently removing your legs from either side of his hips he stands up, glances down at you before unsheathing his grapple.

“My advice?” He says, voice serious again. “Get out of this business before you get hurt.”

Your fingers touch at your neck, the scar there flaring awake and itching, “It’s a little too late for that.” You smile, but it’s all wrong on your face. “But thanks.”

Firing his grapple, Nightwing disappears from view.

You hope that he’s smart enough to notice the USB you slipped into his pocket when you ran your fingers up his thighs.

Gotham is your home and even though you’re indebted to those trying to tear it down. It doesn’t mean you can’t help where you can.

**

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a human soldier reader x a wounded and "dishonored" Marauder protecting him? Like a Marauder too wounded to defend himself gets saved by a human soldier that got separated from their troop, and is trying to stay sane in hell. Saw a Marauder, and went "Ah, demon I can talk to" and takes the guy out of desperate loneliness

"Well this day just keeps getting worse..how did I even get to this point?" You mumbled to yourself, standing before a tall decrepit church with an upside-down cross affixed at the top.

It was hard to fathom how you got into Hell itself.

One moment, you're playing cards with your troop, laughing and cracking jokes..

And the next, you're hopelessly alone in this infernal landscape with very little ammo and very little chances of survival.

This is definitely not what you signed up for when you joined the UAC. You wanted humanity to thrive, but didn't really agree with all the experiments and such the organization did to bolster its continued existence--especially when you knew damn well they let billions of people die already and didn't care.

Fortunately, your UAC division had some sane people and wasn't just full of cultists.

But unfortunately, one of them was not your commander--who thought that taking the fight to Hell itself like the Doomslayer did would somehow intimidate the demons and convince them to stop invading Earth.

He had always been a fanatic about him, ignoring your remarks that unlike him you were just ordinary people without the godlike powers that helped the Slayer survive. He believed rage alone enabled him to persevere, and he expected your troop to go in with that same mindset.

But if anything, your commander simply sent you to die and become new additions to the demonic army.

The moment your troop stepped out of the portal, you were ambushed on all sides by various demons. It's like they knew humans were coming.

So you did the only sensible thing and fled.

Unfortunately, nobody else thought the same, and before you knew it..

You were all alone.

You weren't sure how many hours or days have passed since, but somehow you're still alive, living off roasted meat from some deceased giant demonic beast.

Communicating with the other side was out of the question, given your radio broke and there's no WiFi service in Hell...so your cellphone was useless.

Curiously enough, there was ammo littered around the realm--probably left behind by soldiers who weren't as lucky as you--but none could replenish your rifle. There's only a single bullet left in the chamber.

You had a knife and grenades, but what if those weren't enough to protect you?

What if you accidentally pissed off one of those Titans you'd often see roaming in the distance?

Your knife will be like a little prick to them before they crush you flat.

Shaking your head, you decided not to think about the dozens of ways you could possibly die here, and tried to remain optimistic. You weren't even that scared anymore.

If anything, you felt....lonely.

You were so used to being around your squad, as well as all the interns at the UAC, but now that it's just you and your thoughts...how could you cope with that?

You certainly couldn't just talk to any demon here. They'd murder you on sight...and probably wouldn't understand what you were saying, anyways.

You sighed and proceeded into the church, hoping that nothing was lurking inside. All you wanted to do was rest your feet for a moment and see if you could make this place into some hideout.

Yet upon stepping through the doors, you were surprised to find not a single demon, but rather the remains of many.

Fresh blood and guts caked the walls, and dismembered limbs and skulls were scattered around--some frozen, others charred like burnt marshmallows.

It looked as though the Slayer himself charged through here, guns blazing-

'Wait...that's right..only the Slayer could have caused a massacre like this..' You realized, a feeling of hope fluttering in your chest for the first time in what seems like forever.

If you were correct, then he must've passed through here recently, which means he could still be somewhere in Hell..

He might be able to help you!

Meeting him would be a great honor. While many talked about him like he was some god or the living manifestation of humanity's rage, you simply saw him as just...a man that Hell pissed off one too many times.

'Damn, my commander would've been so jealous...I wonder if I could get his autogra-'

Suddenly, an ethereal howl startled you out of your thoughts, and you spun around in alarm, rifle trained on....

An orange wolf?

You blinked in bewilderment as it stared at you, realizing it was merely a ghostly image. But you weren't sure if it was some demonic entity ready to attack you, or if you were just hallucinating.

"Um...good dog..?" You didn't know what to say, although judging from how its ears perked up, you knew for a fact it was real.

The wolf spirit turned tail and began walking towards the front of the church. You were compelled to follow it.

But upon seeing what it led you to, you froze in fear.

It stood by the side of a wounded Marauder.

You've heard about them before: they were once Sentinels who were converted into demons after betraying their oaths to their people and fighting for the Maykrs. It's even said that they were previously allies to the Slayer himself...so they were nearly just as powerful as him.

Yet this one was just slumped against the wall, looking utterly defeated, covered in blood with a chunk of his flesh torn out, exposing the ribcage.

He still had fight in him, though, as upon seeing you he became alert. With a snarl, he reached for the shotgun attached to his leg. And you tensed up, stepping back to aim your rifle in case you had to return fire.

However he suddenly grunted in pain and stopped, allowing the shotgun to clatter to the floor as he clutched his bloodied arm. It's useless. I've already...lost..." He rasped, exhausted.

You blinked in surprise, partially because you forgot some demons can speak your language, and also because he was actually giving up.

"Y-You're..not gonna try to take my soul?" You carefully began, not wanting to provoke him in any way.

"I never asked for this life. I only thought...I was fighting for the wrong side, and so I betrayed my king, my brothers...myself." The Marauder lamented. "Now I am nothing."

Honest to god, you weren't sure what more to say to him in this moment. But he still seemed remorseful and hated being a demon, so...he had a little bit of humanity left.

You held just a smidgen of sympathy for him.

"You, come closer." He abruptly demanded. "Now."

Hesitantly, you stepped a few feet closer to him. "Why-?"

Your eyes widened as he suddenly grabbed the barrel of your rifle, holding the muzzle against his forehead as he sat before you, on his knees.

"Woah wait, wait....what are you-?!"

"I've led a life of dishonor and shame...and that turned me into this abomination." His large hands trembled. "Let me die with what little dignity I have left, human. You only have to pull the trigger."

You could only stare down at him, shocked by his request. But you just shook your head. "I-I can't do that. I'm on my last bullet."

"It shall be one well-spent. Please end this suffering...don't leave me to the Slayer's judgement." He begged.

You blinked. "He attacked you?"

"He desecrated me." In case you didn't believe him for whatever reason, he ripped off his face mask, exposing the rest of his skull and broken teeth. "And then he left with some urgency..but I fear he will return to finish the job, and if not, then I will surely be punished for my failure."

Yet despite his pleas for a merciful death, you hesitated, trying to pull your weapon away.

You weren't sure why, but despite him being a demon, the idea of him willing to die by your hand just made you extremely uncomfortable. He could crush your gun and rip you apart with his bare hands easily, and still he refused to.

"Well..my judgement says it's wrong to murder someone who's defenseless..."

"Wrong?" He repeated incredulously, glowing eyes becoming wider. "We've slaughtered billions of your people...I thought you'd rejoice at this opportunity for vengeance."

"I....listen. Let go for a second."

"Why?"

"Just...trust me. Please let go." You firmly commanded.

When the Marauder released his grip from your weapon, he watched you take a step back. Thinking you were going to finally execute him for his crimes against humankind, he closed his eyes and bowed his head, hoping that he'll never be resurrected again.

Wherever he went had to be so much better than this..

You loaded your last bullet into your rifle, aimed strategically...and fired.

But he felt no pain whatsoever.

There was a small explosion, and he snapped his eyes open just in time to see a Lost Soul shattering to pieces. One of its horns fell into your hand, and you examined it, finding it perfectly intact.

"Sweet." You chuckled, pocketing your little souvenir with pride, before looking back at the Marauder..who seemed shocked.

"You told me that was your last bullet."

"Yep, but now I have a reason why I can't kill you. I'm all out of ammo." You shrugged. "Sorry."

"......."

"What? That flaming skull would've killed me had I shot you first! It's not like I asked for it to be there in that exact moment..what do you call those, anyways?"

"A Lost Soul. Damned remnants of mortals who seek a final death." He explained bitterly.

"...oh, well...I'm glad I gave them some peace." You chuckled, although you fell silent as he scowled.

"Yet you'd deny me that same release?" He scoffed. "Why is that? Pity?"

"No, I just..I guess I was...lonely."

"..lonely?"

Sighing, you took a moment to set down your rifle, before reaching up to remove your helmet, inhaling the air.

Just as you expected...it was hot, humid, sticky, and reeked of death all around. You were already starting to sweat a little. But you resisted the urge to gag, instead putting it down on one of the seats.

The Marauder was surprised that you willingly showed your true face to him, although he was still unsure of your intentions.

"Look, I've been stranded here for god knows how long..and every other demon I met has tried killing me. And they can't talk. None except for you, of course." You kneeled down in front of him. "Call it pathetic but..I'm just glad to talk to someone."

"You took a great risk in approaching me, human." He huffed, leaning back against the wall. "If not for my wounds...this could have ended differently..and even still, I could easily-"

"I know, but I don't think you really wanted to. Otherwise, your little wolf spirit would've eaten me alive already."

He was silent for a moment, looking to the ghostly apparition beside him. "My Hellhound...did not attack?"

"Nope. It just led me straight to you. I thought it was a trap at first, but...it must've known you needed help-"

"Help? Granting me an honorable death would have been more than enough "help", but you're too soft to even do that.." The Marauder scorned you. "Just leave me be. Don't waste your breath..I am beyond salvation. Go home."

"That's the only problem...I can't. I'll die before I could even figure out a plan to get back home." You shook your head. "For now I just wanna rest, and since you're here..maybe I can patch you up. O-Or at least uh..patch whatever I can."

He blinked at your offer. "You..would do that for me? What would your leaders think of you aiding a demon?"

"....to be honest? I don't give a shit what they think anymore. They probably think I'm dead."

"I see..very well then.." Sighing, he put his mask back on and gazed at you for a few moments. "If you heal my wounds, I will give you protection until you find a way out of this accursed place..or until the Slayer finds me. I fear I cannot protect you from him."

"Yeah, same. I'm not sure if I can convince him to spare a demon's life, but I'll do my best to hide you." You awkwardly smiled.

He hummed in agreement, before he picked himself off the ground and gathered his weapons.

You grabbed your rifle and donned your helmet once again, breathing in the fresh oxygen your suit pumped out. "Ah, much better...no offense. But the air quality here is sh-"

"None taken, human." The Marauder looked to you. "I can still stand, but not fight...at least for right now. I do know some places the Slayer would not care to look."

"Alright, then..lead the way. I'm trusting you."

He quietly chuckled at the idea of a human trusting a demon so easily.

But he was still a solider with a built-in code of honor.

If his enemy spared him, then he'd have to spare them, too.

[lady-of-imladris]

CHAPTER 5 - PLAYING WITH FIRE

Synopsis: Thranduil fights a dragon, Anarríma is... not happy about it. When he comes home, he is not the same anymore.

Word count: 4.6k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: smut, battles, death

Additional tags: SMUT, breeding kink, bondage

Link to the chapter overview

Read the end notes for a special announcement!!

You drew up some good faith treaties I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone You said I have to trust more freely But diesel is desire, you were playin' with fire - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

The early years of their marriages were happy. Filled with joy and laughter and passion. The people loved their king and queen and Thranduil and Anarríma loved each other. There seemed to be no evil left in the world, only light and happiness. Anarríma often travelled to Lothloríen to visit her parents, and sometimes to Rivendell to see her sister Celebrían and her nephews Elladan and Elrohir.

But recent years were not so kind to them. Reports reached the king and queen, of a gigantic serpent that spewed fire, terrorizing people far up in the north. Thranduil sent out scouts and their worst fears were confirmed. The threat was real and something needed to be done. Queen Anarríma begged her husband to seek council with Elrond in Rivendell and Celeborn and Galadriel in Loríen, but he refused. He had sent word of the threat to Elrond, who had dismissed the reports as human superstition.

After a lengthy and heated discussion, Thranduil convinced his wife that their best course of action was for him to go north with a small party and investigate. Eliminate the threat if it was within his power. The silence between them was tense as Anarríma helped Thranduil put on his armour on the day of his departure. “I will not be gone long, meleth nin,” the king promised. She grunted in response. He had refused to let her come with him. He could not bear it when she was angry with him. “I do not accompany you either when you visit Lothloríen, so there is no reason for you to come with me now. Besides, someone needs to keep this kingdom running.”

She glared up at him. “I am visiting my mother. You are running off to hunt a dragon. That is hardly the same.” Thranduil bit back a remark he would surely have regretted, but Ana shot him a look that told him that she knew what he was about to say. “Thranduil I swear to Ilúvatar if you are comparing my mother to a dragon right now, I will make your life hell!” Thranduil started laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Anarríma’s fist connected with his arm. “Do you think this is funny!? You could die! I could lose you! The entire kingdom could lose you!”

Tears were streaming down her face when Thranduil had finally processed her words. “I will return to you. I swear it.” He wrapped his arms around his reluctant wife and pulled her against his chest. The cold metal of his chest plate did little to comfort her. Nevertheless, she leaned into his embrace. The king ran his hands through her hair and whispered sweet words into her ear as they stood there. A knock interrupted them. “Aran nin, we are ready for departure,” a guard called from outside. Ana pulled away from Thranduil. “Go and kill that dragon,” she grumbled, “and then come back to me.”

Thranduil moved to kiss her on the lips, but she stopped him. “No. You have to earn that privilege.” She turned his face slightly, kissing his left cheek instead before turning away from him. Anarríma could not watch him walk through that door. It did not matter if she looked or not. Thranduil was gone and she had to pick up the pieces. She allowed herself five more minutes before going to the bathroom, splashing her face with some cold water to conceal the fact that she had been crying. Anarríma put on her crown and an ornately embroidered robe and made her way to the throne room. The kingdom would persevere.

Thranduil and his group followed the forest river upwards, making their way towards the Ered Mithrim. They buried the charred remains of the villagers which confirmed that they were on the right track. The hunting party made their way west, crossing the rivers that would merge into the Anduin further south. The weather was good and they were certain that crossing over the Misty Mountains would not give them any trouble. Until they encountered that which they had been hunting for. The dragon.

The king had been a young prince during the War of Wrath and yet he had been there to witness Ancalagon the Black. He had seen Elrond’s father Ëarendil kill the beast. The dragon they were dealing with now was obviously much smaller. Still, Thranduil wished that Ëarendil were here now to take this task off his hands. He’d even be grateful for Elrond at that moment. But it was just him and his men. Too few he had brought on this quest. But they had no choice but to kill the beast. The dragon had seen them already.

He dispatched his fastest rider, and dearest friend, Feren to the nearest elven kingdom - Rivendell. “Tell Elrond we need reinforcements. As many soldiers as possible.” He took off fast, stealth was of no use anymore. Thranduil and the rest of his men got into position and drew their weapons. “Goheno nin, Ana. I have no choice,” he whispered under his breath. The king did that, which he had hoped never to do. He drew his swords and approached the dragon.

“What foolish creature dares to disturb me,” the dragon asked calmly, its voice not indicating any plan to attack. “The King of Lasgalen,” Thranduil answered, the voice he was using usually reserved for particularly annoying members of his council. “And what do you want?” The monster was playing with him. “I seek to end you,” he told the dragon truthfully. It threw its enormous head back, roaring with laughter. It was off-putting not only to Thranduil but also to his men. Their king was a fearsome warrior, did the dragon have no sense of self-preservation? Or were they all doomed?

It took the dragon a while to stop laughing. Thranduil just sighed and shrugged. “If you leave the shores of Middle-Earth and vow to never return, I will let you go free,” he offered, hoping the dragon would accept, but knowing that it was highly unlikely. The dragon chuckled dangerously. “Stop playing for time, princeling and attempt what you came to do. You will-” Thranduil did not wait for the dragon to finish his sentence. He gave the archers the command to fire. And a storm of arrows hailed down on the dragon. But none could penetrate its thick skin.

The next hours were spent running, dodging, shooting, slicing and stabbing. Thranduil’s best warriors died. One after the other he lost them all to the fire. The dragon taunted him, made fun of him, called him a fool and weak for daring to defy it. Thranduil did not care. He only had one thought left in his mind. Anarríma. He could not die. He had promised her he would come back. In a last, desperate attempt, Thranduil managed to distract the dragon by redirecting the sun with his swords, causing the glittering stones in the mountains surrounding them to sparkle so brightly the dragon could not look away. The king attacked the dragon from the side, thrusting his sword into its eye, but it was too late for him to move out of the way. The fire burned him.

The world was dark around Thranduil. Dark and hot. So hot it felt freezing cold. He heard someone call his name but whether or not it was real he could not tell. He was floating “Ana,” he whispered, “goheno nin.” And then he was gone.

Feren groaned loudly as he lifted Thranduil onto his horse. “Ana,” he heard the king whisper. Feren huffed a laugh. “If you survive this, my friend, she will kill you.” Elrond had foreseen it all. When Feren had arrived with the message from the king, he had told him that it was out of their power to do anything now and he had sent Feren back to save the injured Thranduil. “Stupid Elrond and his stupid visions,” Feren grumbled and mounted the horse.

The next time Thranduil awoke, everything was too bright. Everything hurt. And Elrond’s face seemed to be floating over him, appearing almost translucent. Then he passed out again. The following week passed in a similar manner. When the king was awake, there was only pain. And when he was asleep there was also pain. But she was there as well, dancing in a meadow in that damned purple dress he loved so much. In his dreams, she laughed and smiled. And she was pregnant. Thranduil smiled in his sleep, making Elrond smile as well as he tended to the king’s wounds. Let him be happy for a while. A bitter awakening waited for the Elvenking.

“Thank you, Galion,” Anarríma yawned as she accepted the letter without looking up from the papers she was looking over. Ruling a kingdom took a lot of work, and Thranduil had been gone for far too long. The queen was working from sunrise to sunset, and on this day, she had not even changed out of her nightgown yet. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, absentmindedly opening the letter from her sister. The soldiers that rushed in, reacting to their queen’s blood-curdling scream only saw a piece of paper, slowly slipping out of Queen Anarríma’s shaking hands. “My Queen?” one of them approached her carefully, “Your majesty, are you hurt?” Ana did not react. Galion, who had come running just after the guards had entered, commanded everyone to leave the room. He knelt down beside his queen. Galion picked up the letter and read it hastily.

“My dearest sister, It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the incident in the Hithaeglir. The Lord Elrond has foreseen it, too late for us to interfere, and the dragon was too great a threat for such a small force to handle. His Majesty the King has been gravely wounded and he will have to remain in our care for the time being. He has not yet awoken but rest assured, he will recover. As for your soldiers, you have my heartfelt condolences. Lord Feren, beside your husband, is the only survivor of the group. You may wish to come at once, but I beg you, please reconsider. Your most important duty and privilege is, and will always be, to serve your kingdom. I wish you courage and strength in these dark times. Celebrían, Lady of Imladris”

The king was wounded, healing in Rivendell, and Anarríma was here. Galion put the letter back on the desk and decided to forgo all decorum, taking the queen’s hands in his. “Your majesty,” he tried carefully, but her gaze remained fixed on the loose thread on the curtains she had been wanting to cut off for the longest time. The queen shrugged off the butler’s hands and rose from her chair, walking slowly towards the window. She reached out, forcing her hands to stop shaking, and carefully ripped the stray thread away, inspecting it briefly before letting it fall to the ground. “I need the addresses of the families of my husband’s guards,” she commanded Galion without turning around, “and let my maids know that I will need help getting dressed.”

Anarríma thought that it would get easier, but it did not. With every house she visited, it just became harder and harder to tell them that their beloved father, brother, or husband had been slain. Every single stop on her tour was the same. The people were happy, albeit a bit confused, as the queen came to visit them. She told them that their loved one had passed into the Halls of Mandos. They cried. They screamed. They begged for it not to be true. And Ana had to fight against the tears every single time. “I am so sorry,” she told them every time, as if it had been her fault, because to her, it felt like it was. She had sworn to protect those people, and she had failed.

Feren’s mother was the last on her list. Galion had suggested the queen should also bring the good news in person, not only the bad ones. She knocked on the door hesitantly. The Lady Alweth had been like a mother to Thranduil. After his own mother had not been able to care for her son, Feren’s mother had taken over, and she would have loved the king like her own son, had King Oropher not forbidden her from seeing him again after the young prince Thranduil had called her Naneth once. Thranduil had never told Anarríma what had happened to his mother and she did not dare to ask him.

The door opened and Alweth emerged, hair tied back, wearing a flour-covered apron. She smiled widely and bowed her head when she saw the queen. “My queen,” she greeted, “please, come in.” Anarríma walked through the door, holding up her hand, indicating for the guards not to follow. “Sit and say your bit,” Feren’s mother commanded and pushed the queen into a comfortable chair by the fire. “Feren is fine,” Anarríma said and she could see Alweth relax instantly. “And Thranduil?” she asked concerned. Ana sighed and let her head fall back. “He lives.” “And the others?”

Anarríma shook her head and let the tears fall freely. “Gone. All of them gone. How can I expect the people to trust me as their queen if I fail to protect them? I cannot do this anymore Alweth.” Alweth dropped a slice of freshly baked cake in front of the queen. “May I speak freely, your majesty?” Ana looked up at her and nodded. Alweth had visited them often after Oropher’s death and she had become very fond of the “little Lady of Loríen”, as she had called her. Alweth sighed deeply and plopped down on a chair next to the queen inelegantly.

“He left you weeks ago, dear. Has anything burned down? No. The kingdom is safe, and if I had to guess, I would say that you are weeks ahead on Thranduil’s paperwork.” “Spit it out Alweth, you did not ask permission to speak freely for nothing,” Ana mumbled. “To be honest, you look awful. The kingdom is fine, but are you? When have you last eaten, or taken a bath, or even slept?” The queen seemed to shrink back in her chair with every accusation. “And what would the king think of such negligence?”

When Anarríma had returned to the palace, Galion noticed that she was looking better. In truth, he had scheduled the visit with Alweth not only so that Anarríma could deliver the news, but he knew that Alweth would insist to take care of the queen. She even managed to smile at him as he arrived to pick up the letters she had written. Two of them. To the Lord and Lady of Imladris, and to Thranduil. The queen seemed to be in somewhat of a better mood, but the content of the letter to Elrond and Celebrían was brutal. Had Elrond not shrugged off the warning from Thranduil as he did, this whole situation could have been avoided.

“My dearest Lady Celebrían and Lord Elrond, I thank you for handling the situation as well as can be expected. If only my husband had notified you of his plans earlier, then you could have sent reinforcements and the whole situation could have been avoided. Please arrange for the bodies of our soldiers to be returned to us at your earliest convenience, their families deserve to bury them in their homes. Queen Anarríma of Lasgalen, Lady of the Woodland Realm”

“Thranduil, Your kingdom is still standing, take your time. You idiot. Ana”

Thranduil chuckled when he read the letter, the entire left side of his face stinging so badly that he groaned loudly. Elrond had healed him to the best of his abilities, but the scars would remain forever and he would never regain vision in his left eye. When the king had first seen his reflection, he had smashed the mirror against the wall and refused to eat, drink, sleep and speak. He was angry. Mostly at himself, but also at the whole world. How could he return home like this? How could any child that he might have with his beautiful wife ever look at him and not be afraid of its own father? He was a monster.

Mithrandir had come up with the solution. Elrond had sent for him, hoping that Thranduil could be healed, but there was no healing for the wounds the dragonfire had caused. Mithrandir had taught Thranduil a simple spell that concealed his injuries. It was hard for the king at first, and holding it up caused his head to hurt. He often lost control over it in the beginning, scaring his young nephews one evening, as he read them a bedtime story. The pain would remain, Elrond had told him. It would improve over time, but he would never fully recover. Within weeks, Thranduil had mastered the spell, easily upholding it without having to pay any attention at all. Yet he hesitated to return home.

His best warriors had died. He blamed himself. Anarríma was alone. He had almost made her a widow. What would have become of their realm? Who would have attempted to take the crown from her, with no heir to the throne? The letters kept coming. His wife had been patient until Elrond had told her the truth. Thranduil was fine. Perfectly healthy. Anarríma’s next letter was less friendly. Thranduil would have to return home. He did not wish to face the consequences of his actions and the wrath of his wife. Just the former was bad enough.

Their reunion in public seemed very affectionate. But Ana knew that Thranduil was hiding something. He refused to go to bed with her, telling her he needed to work and not exiting his office for three days. On the third day, Anarríma threatened Feren until he finally told her the truth. Thranduil was still wounded and would never fully heal. She barged into Thranduil’s office that evening. “My darling, what can I do for you?” He smiled at her. She squinted. His smile looked different. “My love, it has been days since your return.” Thranduil turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

“You refuse to join me in bed. I have been waiting for you,” Ana said seductively, hoping he would take the hint. “My apologies, I have been quite busy.” She huffed a laugh and threw her arms up in defeat. It was hopeless. The queen walked around the king’s desk, took the papers out of his hands and sat on his lap. “My love, I-” “Shut up,” she interrupted him, reaching between them and opening Thranduil’s pants. “Ana,” he warned her. His cock was hard and he groaned as she ran her hand up and down his shaft. Thranduil grabbed her wrists and rose from his chair, pinning her against his desk. Anarríma saw something flicker across his face, apart from the burning rage and desire.

“You can stop pretending now, I know the truth,” she hissed at him. His hold on her wrists was uncomfortably tight. He released her and took a step back, turning around. “And what is the truth, wife?” Wife. He had never said it like that before. “You are hurt. You will never fully recover.” Thranduil stormed out of his office and started pacing up and down in their bedroom instead. “Sit,” he ordered. Anarríma sat down on the bed and he came to a halt in front of her. “Don’t scream.” Thranduil’s face twitched in pain as he partially let the spell fade away.

“Oh Eru,” Ana gasped in shock as she looked upon her husband’s face, the skin slowly disappearing, revealing the deep wounds in his left cheek. Neither of them knew what to say. Anarríma was crying quietly as she inspected the damage. “You must be in so much pain,” she whispered with a shaky voice. She took his hand into his and slowly pulled him onto the bed next to her. “I want us to change sides on the bed,” the king confessed. “Of course, my love. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.” He shook his head and sighed deeply before removing the rest of the spell, revealing his eye. “I told you once that I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last before I go to sleep. I will never regain vision in my left eye, so I need you to be on my right side. Always.”

Thranduil carefully laid down, his head on his wife’s lap. “You killed a dragon,” the queen said quietly and began to run her fingers through Thranduil’s hair. She was afraid to touch him, he knew it. “But at what cost, meleth nin?” The tears that ran down Thranduil’s face hurt him, even with the added layer of protection the spell provided. Elrond had told him that he should try not to cry, but how could he? His men were dead and he was not, and he was glad. “I had a thought,” he tried to broach the subject as gently as possible. His wife nodded at him, telling him to go on. “If I had died, what would have happened to you? To our kingdom? I’m certain our people have accepted you as a ruler but we have no heir. Who would carry on our legacy after you? You could not have remarried after my death.”

He looked up at his wife as she processed his words. He pressed a soft kiss against her stomach over the thin fabric of her nightgown before sitting up. “We will not leave this room until you are pregnant,” he ordered. Anarríma swallowed. “Yes, my king,” she answered him shakily. “That’s my good girl. Now spread your legs, I want to taste you.” She gasped, thinking about all the times she had wrapped her legs around his head. “But what if I hurt you?” When she looked into Thranduil’s eyes, Anarríma fought the urge to back away from him. She had never seen him so full of desire before. “I must simply tie you up so you can’t move,” he stated plainly as if it were the only logical choice.

Anarríma gasped when she felt the silk restraints being pulled tightly around her wrists, thighs and ankles. She could not move in the slightest, however hard she tried. He had pushed her nightgown up to her waist, happily noting that his queen was not wearing any underwear. “You remember our safeword, my love?” Thranduil asked before settling down between Ana’s thighs. She nodded. “Yes.” The king wasted no more time. The queen moaned loudly as she felt his mouth close around her clit and suck it harshly. She had been untouched for months at this point.

Thranduil began thrusting his fingers into his wife hard and fast as he pleasured her with his mouth. When her moans and whimpers became louder and more frequent, and her breathing quickened, he stopped. He chuckled at her sounds of protest and rose from the bed, taking his time to undress, before returning to the bed, slowly stroking his cock. The king removed the restraints and almost ripped his wife’s nightgown as he took it off of her. He pulled her against his naked body in a tight embrace, pushing his hand between them and resting it on her belly. “You will look so good when you are round with our child,” he whispered in her ear, “now get on all fours and spread your legs so I can take you.”

Anarríma obeyed. She desired nothing more than to be fucked by the king until his seed was dripping down her thighs. He took his time, approaching her slowly. The queen inhaled sharply when she felt his hard cock against her entrance. “Please,” she begged him. “Please, what?” The queen took a deep breath in. “Please fuck me, my king. I want you to fill me with your seed.” Thranduil laughed. It sounded cruel. “Your wish is my command, my queen.” Thranduil groaned loudly as he thrust his cock into her wet cunt. He had missed her so much. His pace was brutal and the prospect of impregnating his wife spurred the king on even more.

She gasped as she felt one of his hands against her chest, pulling her up against him, as the other hand found her clit. It did not take long for Anarríma to reach her climax and as she gasped and moaned loudly, legs shaking, unable to control her body, she felt Thranduil’s cock go soft inside her. He held her still for a while, both of them breathing rapidly, as he kissed her shoulders. Ana tried to free herself from his grasp, assuming that it was done, but Thranduil’s arms held her back. “Once more, just to make sure,” he whispered into her ear.

Once more turned into approximately ten more times. Anarríma was sure she would be sore for days after Thranduil had fucked her so thoroughly. He had taken her in every position imaginable, moaning the filthiest words into her ear as he forced orgasm after orgasm out of her, filling her with his seed again and again and again, before they finally collapsed on the mattress. The spell was gone and Thranduil’s scars were clearly visible to her. The queen did not mind. He was still hers. She could feel it inside her body already. Elves knew almost immediately when they were pregnant. Anarríma smiled at Thranduil joyfully. She took his hand and put it over her stomach. “We did it.”

Thranduil smiled as he kissed his wife’s forehead. “You earned it now,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the lips more lovingly than she had ever done before. “By the way, what did Elrond do to that dragon carcass?” she asked casually, as if they had not just spent more hours fucking than most elves did in an entire decade. Thranduil shrugged. “I suppose he burnt it. But Feren saved some of the scales from its stomach. They shine as bright as the stars. I am currently having them made into a crown.” She smiled as she curled up against his side. “All hail our dragon-slaying king,” the queen proclaimed. Thranduil gently cupped her cheek and tilted her head up. “It is for you, my queen.”

Anarríma smiled hesitantly and kissed Thranduil’s neck, before laying her head on his chest. She could not hear his heartbeat from this side. But she did not mind, at least he had returned to her alive. With a crown of dragon scales for her to wear. Thranduil had Galion give him a report of what had happened during his absence. Anarríma was the queen he needed. She was his bravest warrior. He drifted off to sleep, exhausted but happy, as Ana remained awake. The treasure of a dragon was cursed. Was it wise to wear its scales atop her head? A fluttering feeling in her stomach reminded her again that she was pregnant. As if the child had wanted to snap her out of those negative thoughts.

She knew that this child would be her sunshine, that one little green leaf that remained, even when all the other leaves turned brown. “Legolas,” she whispered, as she put one of her hands over her stomach, on top of Thranduil’s. This child would be her ray of light. And times were about to get dark for Lasgalen.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment <3

Announcement: I have hidden a reference to a popular LotR meme in this chapter. The first person to find it gets to request a oneshot! <3 (channeling my inner @somebirdortheother today because those bounty hunts are fun!)

Everything Taglist: @fenharel-enaste @nevermcre TGW Taglist: @queenmeriadoc @spnbandwagon1019 @somebirdortheother @some--morphine @hc-geralt-23 @legendary-maddie @vellichormybeloved @bookflowersnerd This Chapter Taglist: @wareagleofthemountain

You can join my taglist here <3

[died-but-not-dead-propaganda]

Dave Miller Propaganda

ok i love this mf a lot so i'm gonna talk abt him a bit

his mentor [henry] literally studied immortality, undeath and souls and carried out multiple experiments on him

if you're familiar with fnaf lore and springlocks, basically dave suffered a springlock failure deliberately caused by henry. dave died in the suit on stage, but he repossessed his own corpse due to his devotion to henry being so powerful.

henry causes him to die over and over to get him to prove his devotion and to study him, even doing experiments and removing his organs. he came back to life every time.

he becomes a walking corpse and yet still continues to live and act like a normal human being [more or less]

between game 2 and 3 dave gets springlocked once again and possesses his suit [similar to springtrap] and once again continues to live

this game is so well written for a series that started as a joke, dsaf 3 has amazing lore and honestly i like it more than fnaf. dave is the best example of this trope that i can think of, if he doesn't make it in i may actually cry /j

and i hope i've convinced you to check out this series if you didn't already know about it, that would be very cool of you

!!SPOILERS FOR DSAF AGAIN!!

man got in a springlock failure 🤕 (char #2: electric boogaloo) but he POSSESSED HIS OWN BODY AGAIN OUT OF THE SHEER WILL TO LIVE. he is alive simply because he wants to be. paraphrasing the creator of dsaf, 'dave & jack are opposites & compliment each other perfectly, as dave is alive out of pure determination, & jack is alive against his will, like perseverance or something' (i apologize for bad paraphrasing)

anyway its implied that dave had multiple other springlock failures (& perhaps died in more ways? mans done some crazy things...) & continues to possess his dead body again & again. of course, as the PURPLE GUY😨 he gets springlocked for a final time as davetrap & continues to live as that nasty thing. then, finally, he dies for a final time depending on the ending.

bro has died countless times he is the king of dying /j

dying and coming back to life repeatedly are his entire gimmick. he's done this about three times by now, not sure how to count glitchtrap and burntrap both existing at once.

he always comes back (i wish he would just stay dead)

He just keeps on dying but not dying. Literally any character from dead could be entered here lol. Especially Elizabeth

[diamond-dangeresque]

Day 1 — Race

1327AE, Divinity’s Reach

Chihiro sits on his family’s brownstone porch, dressed in a white shirt held together by leather strings and loose slacks, lamenting the heat of this summer season. The cup in his hand offers little solace of cooling as the ice inside melts and dilutes the chilled tea. His cherished violet blindfold sits around his neck, blocking sunlight but also soaking in sweat. In a few days the anniversary of the botched “Queen’s Jubilee” will come ‘round. Jennah will probably try to host it again, promising better security this time around. Human security specifically; clockwork knights will be toned down in favor of paid actors and actresses, a boon to the local troupes and the Tyrian Actors Guild both. There will be free food yet again. There will be free drinks yet again. Fun and festivities for all involved.

He wants nothing to do with this mess. Not since last year. Because of last year. Even with the profuse apology letter from the Queen herself, and the pretty bouquet she’s sent to go with it. It’ll be good mulch for the communal garden.

Instead, he heads back inside and lets his niece Matsu know they’re heading out in thirty minutes; she hollers back confirmation from somewhere on the second floor, no doubt picking out clothes she won’t sweat herself to death in. Good. He heads to the bathroom in the cellar, the coolest room in the two-story office-home by far, and gets ready to clean himself up. A good distraction from the heat. A great distraction from the festivities winding up in a few days. In the isolation of the bathroom, walls insulated thanks to dirt and stone and wood, Chihiro holds back an ugly sob. He smells the smoke again. The charred flesh. Sees the pieces.

No, he tells himself. Strikes himself twice on the cheeks, jaw tingling. Grandma told me herself. I keep going.

Keep going. Keep moving. Stay strong.

Hanae’s family moved to Kryta decades ago fleeing the persecution of the hermit empire. Their ancestors were heroes. Literal fucking heroes. Saved Cantha from Shiro. Saved Cantha again from Reiko. Aided the Sunspears when Nightfall opened portals all over Kaineng City. And what was their thanks? For the older sister to be chased out of her own home. According to Grandma, ‘Sumiko wasn’t even allowed to bury her sister, who died alone somewhere in Raisu Palace.’ And yet, where this would destroy most other people, Sumiko moved on. Kept moving. Decided Kryta wasn’t too bad and moved there. Settled down. Founded a nice family on the back of what wealth she could take with her. Left behind her old moniker of ‘Hero’. A cursed title best left buried.

(Well, buried until he dug it back up.)

The story of Sumiko Yadora, assassin-turned-monk-turned-hero, was one of many tales barked about during the Queen’s Jubilee. A grand celebration of “Humanity’s resilience,” Queen Jennah says. A microcosm of Humanity as a whole: perseverance through tragedy. Endurance through horror. Life past misery. Humanity’s story is one unending, one full of trials and tribulations, but always with an answer at the end, always with a resolution to the conflict ahead. Chihiro would almost buy the tale if he didn’t understand the Queen to be full of shit.

He takes a deep breath. In, out. In, out. Takes off his clothing with wanton care, but delicately undoes the knot of his blindfold and sets it on a table away from his clothes. Matsu and he would make their first of hopefully many yearly visits to Hanae, Niko, and Qin Xue at the Commons Columbarium over by the local temple of Grenth.

He hopes Matsu will be of strong enough will to see her aunty and her brothers again. He knows he won’t be. But he’ll try.

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Untitled 1/?

This is going to be a one-shot, but since Ao3 is down, I figured why not offer what I have so far as a teaser. This'll then be posted in parts.

Summary: Sally knows when something is off with her boys. A growing up Tracy fic.

New POV for me :D ~*~

The oven was smoking again.

Why it always seemed to do that - and only for her - escaped her.

She was a doctor and a pilot, dammit, not a cook. Though, she’d never admit she struggled her way through a recipe. Sally Ruth Tracy was, if nothing else, persistent. What Grant used to always call “stubborn”. But her husband had always said it with a wry grin that told her he was more amused than anything else. The stubborn recognized their own, in Sally’s opinion. Her Jeff had inherited that trait. So had Scottybird. The perseverance, she knew, would service him well in university.

As she fished around Jeff’s kitchen for the potholders, she smiled at the memory of her late husband, one that she both kept close to her heart, and yet saw in her children and grandchildren every day. When she opened the oven, a black cloud escaped, and Sally waved a hand over back and forth across her face to clear it. Her glasses had fogged over from the heat, but once she could safely retrieve the cookie sheet, the char of the cinnamon rolls she had been trying to make for breakfast made themselves known.

“Oops.”

Salvageable? Unlikely, not this time. Not only had the bread crusted into char but something unknown had melted into a disastrous scar across the tray.

Sally opened a window to let in the fresh air and let the smoke clear, though unfortunately, the chaos of a school morning didn’t stop over burnt rolls. As the fog escaped, hurricane Tracy entered, seemingly unaffected by the smell in the kitchen. Scott was a month into his second semester, and Jeff was chatting future plans with his good friends Lee and Val. Even without them Sally felt fully capable of taking care of a herd of boys, even better equipped in some ways.

Alan, the youngest shuffled in first, which was always the way – the younger kids started school later than the older kids, even though the older kids needed to make sure they got a full night’s sleep. Alan wasn’t an early bird, per se, but in the mornings he was eager to jump right in where he left off in his games the night before. Alan gave her a toothless smile where Gordon had accidentally tumbled into the youngest’s baby teeth the other day, and Sally gave him permission to play on his holo-pad for half an hour only.

When Sally was younger she played Candy Crush. Games had come a long way since then, and Alan’s favorite was a VR resurgence of math blaster. A bit more advanced for his age, but the dear was a chip off his older brother’s shoulder, and he’d be following in John’s footsteps soon enough.

Speak of the devil, John eased in next, silent but impossible to miss behind the messy ginger of his unbrushed locks. He brushed by her as she scraped the mess of breakfast into the trashcan, wishing her dreary good morning. Every morning was too early for her John, being the absolute night owl he was. Probably up until 2 AM again. John pushed his glasses up to the center of his nose as he investigated the refrigerator for the cream cheese and selected the jug of apple juice beside it.  With his help, Sally was able to get some bagels in the toaster oven for the kids, while she started on their bagged lunches for the day.

Gordon and Virgil entered together, the older practically nudging the pre-teen into the kitchen while his squiddy limbs wiggled back towards the bedrooms in rebellion.

“Found him reciting the beginning of Treasure Island to his beta fish,” Virgil told her. “Sorry for being late.” No doubt teaching the fish about his namesake, as Gordon had named him Hawkins after the protagonist. If he didn’t succeed at his goal of being an Olympic medalist, Gordon was well on his way to growing up to be a pirate. He was just as obsessed with sea stories and ocean legends as Jim.

At least he’d read it, she thought, and she said as much.

“It was the Muppet version.”

Ah, well, she’d learned about the Odyssey from that literature dog tv show back in the day.

Alan giggled, not really sure what he was laughing about, but he saw the amused expression on Virgil’s face and the indignant one on his partner in crime, and figured it was an appropriate reaction for Gordon being the topic of a joke.

Virgil pulled up the calendar on his phone. “Grandma, I’ve got practice for the spring musical until 6:00, Alan’s got scouts after school, and Gordon’s got Coach 5:30-7.”

“I can walk Alan over to scouts,” John offered, not looking up from his book. His remote college classes both kept him busy and made him more flexible to help out when needed. Lectures were recorded, reading could be done any time, and the important part of his courses were the dissertation due dates and finals.

“That means it’s just you and me this afternoon, kid,” Sally said, squeezing Gordon’s shoulders lightly. It only lasted a second, but she thought she saw his smile falter at the reminder of his swimming lesson. She may not be able to cook well for her family, but she knew how to recognize when shadows grasped their hearts.

She wouldn’t stand for it, determined to find out by the end of the day just what was troubling the ray of sunshine.

[inkys-neos-n-names]

undertale-themed neos

Fuck it, indulging my special interest

Soul/souls

HP/HPs

DT/DTs

Mon/monster

Hu/human

Under/underground

Sur/surface

Tale/tales

Time/timeline

Re/reset

Re/refuse

Fall/fallen

Fight/fights

Act/acts

I/item

Mer/mercy

Stat/stats

Skele/skeleton

Butter/buttercup

Pie/pies

Deter/determined

Bra/brave

Just/justice

Kind/kinds

Pa/patience

In/integrity

Per/persevere

Save/saves

RPG/RPGs

Game/games

Soul/soulless

Choice/choices

End/ends

Ruin/ruins

Snow/snowdin

Water/waterfall

Hot/hotlands

Core/cores

Frisk/frisks

Char/chara

As/asriel

Flow/flowey

Tori/toriel

Blook/blooky

Sans/sanses

Papy/papyrus

Un/undyne

Undy/undying

Al/alphys

Metta/mettaton

As/asgore

[scienceoftheidiot]

The tired General WIP please! Do tell us more about it! 😀

Ooooh well x) I'm not sure this will please all Royai people but eh lol

The tired General is of course Roy after the Promised Day (I just love to push him to his limits haha). This is a Havoroyai fic that's going to be pretty explicit ^^"

Basically Roy, who's now Governor General of the East region, is drowning in work and meetings, and has to go to a number of those and other stuff in Central. To which he has taken with him his faithful Captain and Lieutenant as an escort... ^^ except when they're finally able to meet without prying eyes, Roy's too exhausted and grumpy and sends them out. But that's not counting the perseverance of Riza and Jean ^^" who just want to take care of him.

Here's a (perfectly safe) snippet if you're interested :

“General Mustang, sir!”  Roy squinted at the blue silhouette in front of him — damn was he blurry.  “... Berthier?”  The sergeant assigned to him in the absence of his escort saluted. He was young. Very young. Roughly Roy’s age when he’d been sent to Ishval. Too young.  Why the hell do you need to think about this now? Look at you, already smelling charred corpses in the distance. Not now!   “Yes, sir. You have a message waiting from — are you alright, sir?”  “I’m jolly, Berthier, what gives you this idea,” Roy grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes. “I have a message from?”  “From Captain Hawkeye, sir. She says she and First Lieutenant Havoc went sightseeing and it was wonderful. She also warns you that she’s noticed you had not brought all your paperwork with you, and that you should go back to the hotel not too late so that you can fill the attendance forms for tomorrow’s State Alchemists symposium.” Fuck, there’s that, too.  But at least the message was good news. Roy didn’t know if he would act on it — right now his main preoccupation was to shut the office door behind his back, turn off the lights and rest his forehead on the desk — but the hotel rooms weren’t bugged and all clear for whatever they would like to do, and Riza wanted him back not too late, which was basically an open invitation. That soothed him a little. 

Thank you for asking ! <3

[ivyprism]

Break the Barrier? (Hollyhock, Horrortale H)

Warnings: Implied impaling, death, etc.

Hollyhock sat up from the ground, grumbling gently. She glances about, perplexed, seeing just white and shades of black. She pulls herself up. She just avoided being skewered by a particularly hostile Empress Undyne.

"Ow, ow…" She sighed gently as she pushed herself up. She merely wanted to find a way to protect the Underground's freedom and avoid being impaled by numerous versions of Empress Undyne, Sans, and Papyrus… plus a lizard woman she'd never met. She rips the bottom of her shirt and wraps it around her leg. She takes a careful glance around, seeing nothing but white and black. "Where am I…?" She gets to her feet and gingerly grabs her chest.

"The Barrier…" She looked about, slightly terrified, as a small voice in her thoughts said. She shakes her head and holds her head.

"I really am losing it..." Hollyhock whispers as she begins to walk down the unchanging corridor. She can't hear anything, yet she says she can hear glittering. "There is nothing here… I'm hearing stuff now, which is fantastic…" Hollyhock walks with her head held high. She searches for something, anything… A door, perhaps a window…? But she doesn't see anything. She was strolling when she swears to see something in the distance. "Am I seeing things now…?" She sighs and shakes her head.

"Pay attention." Hollyhock's head shot up as a voice snarled. She looked left and right but didn't see anyone. She shakes her head, it's official, she's losing it. However, she quickly notices something new… It looks like a lock…? What?

"What on Earth...?" Hollyhock approached and examined the lock. It was shaped like a heart. It was a dull red, but when she got closer, it reflected a dark blue tone. She reaches to touch the heart.

"Present the items of the Fallen Humans." Hollyhock looked around fast after hearing the command. She paused for a bit before grabbing her bag. She knelt and took out the belongings of the Fallen Humans.

"Patience." The heart lock glowed a light blue, the speaker remarked as she put out the fading ribbon and toy knife.

"Perseverance." The voice continued as she displayed the notebook and clouded glasses, with the heart lock illuminating purple.

"Kindness." As she walked onto the charred pan and the stained apron, the heart lock became green, and the voice continued.

"Justice." The voice eased out as she displayed the empty rifle and cowboy hat, and the heart became yellow.

"Bravery." The heart had turned orange as she pulled out the rugged glove and masculine bandana. She was beginning to question why she was doing this arduous task.

"Integrity." As she lay out the ballet shoes and the old tutu, her voice growled. She was about to bring the other items out. "The items of the Fallen Humans." It repeats, and she knows she was included. She placed down her pen, which was out of ink, and her satchel. The heart lock turned dark blue like earlier.

"Determination." The soul went red as she laid out the stick, a bandage, a heart locket, and the worn locket. As souls were conjured from these materials, including her own, it began to shine brightly, and she flinched in astonishment.

"Wha- What-!" When Hollyhock saw two cues materialize in front of her, she choked up. She blinks as she notices a "Yes" box and a "No" box. She was perplexed as she looked around.

"Break the Barrier?" The voice repeated and Hollyhock blinked in surprise. She stared at the prompts. She reaches her hand out and hesitates for a second. She reached for the "Yes" button. That's when the light flashed and she heard a crash.

Little did she know... The effects this small action would have.

------

@kioko-noodles / @kiokodoodles @miscneilleaneous @und3rwat3r-a5tr0naut @hearty-dose-of-ranch @underfell-crystal

[fxckingmoran]

File; Abbott, Charlie

      It was the first week of basic training. The army had been a shock to his system, the early starts and shit food weeding out the weak. Three had already packed it in. Couldn’t take the push-ups in the pissing rain. The embarrassment they were put through upon leaving was enough to make Sebastian persevere. There was no fucking way anyone was calling him a pussy. Still, it was difficult. Every day was exhausting - It wasn’t helped by the lack of sleep. He was finding it difficult to share the barracks with so many other people. Half of them snored and the rest were either crying or talking in their sleep. He was starting to feel like there was nothing positive about the whole experience. Then he met Charlie Abbott. 

        In the beginning they hadn’t really seen eye to eye. They were competitive with each other. Both wanted to be the best. Over time it changed. It took a while but eventually there was a realisation that perhaps their disagreements in the beginning had been more rooted in sexual tension than they’d been willing to admit. It started casually. An agreement that that’s all it would be. A release of tension. Sneaking a quick ten minutes whenever they could, both emerging afterwards flushed and smiling but going their separate ways. No-one could ever know. It was a secret affair that would’ve been detrimental if it’d been found out. 

        Eventually though the ten minutes turned into twenty minutes. Then to half an hour. Soon, they were spending all of their time together, everyone assuming that they were just best friends, bonded together by this shared experience. The subtle touches went unseen, the nudges underneath the table and the cheeky winks serving as their own secret language. It was at the point where their time alone now wasn’t solely for sex. They’d just sit there, talking, holding hands, kissing - For all intents and purposes, they were a couple. It was never really said, both afraid that the feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. Too stubborn to see the situation for what it was. When they were allowed off the base they’d flirt with new people, inciting jealousy in the other. The flirting didn’t matter, they always went home with each other. 

         It took Sebastian being shot for the feelings to be spoken out loud. It was only a graze, nothing serious, but it’d been enough for the both of them to whisper out in a rushed panic “I love you” - “I love you too”. 

         They were together for years, eventually reaching a point where suggestions were being thrown around about buying a house and spending their lives with each other. Maybe they’d get a dog. And travel. See the world through eyes that weren’t the lens of the military. They were well respected and established in the army - Charlie knew how to handle Sebastian, talking him down when he was angry and lifting him up when the moods hit. They bolstered each other, no matter how difficult things got, it was them against the world. They believed that nothing could change that. 

They were wrong. 

The explosion came first. Truck rigged with a bomb. Sebastian can still remember the screams. Charlie’s voice was torn and raspy as it split through the air.  They’d been ambushed. 

Eyes had frantically looked through the scope of his rifle, trying to spot Charlie in the street below. “The fucking smoke - I can’t - CHAR -” He didn’t give a fuck who heard. He needed to find him. All attempts to get up were stopped, fellow squad members holding him down. “You’ll be fucking killed if you stand up, Moran.” Eventually he ceased, hot tears blinding his eyes as he sobbed into the dirt. 

To this day he doesn’t know what happened to Charlie. He didn’t have the courage to look it up. Couldn’t bear to see the little cross beside his name. Very soon after, he was kicked out of the army. A combination of drinking, grief and Charlie not being there to calm him down meant that he’d taken it out on a new recruit. Practically split his head in two, the guy was lucky to survive. 

Sebastian landed back in London with nothing, only a bad reputation and a few photos. 

He doesn’t talk about Charlie aloud. Won’t mention his name. Even after all these years, it’s still too painful. Sometimes though, when he’s alone, he takes out the photographs and allows himself to think back. He thinks back to the cheeky banter, the flirty smiles, and thanks every little decision in life that brought him to those few years of happiness with Charlie Abbott.