#* thrice born ; thrice cursed / out . | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nklsdttr · 2 years

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* like for a starter !!!!

#* thrice born ; thrice cursed / out .

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cypressvs · 11 months

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DON'T TWIST THE LION'S TAIL

pairing: jing yuan/gn!reader

cw: suggestive but not explicit, workplace romance?, reader is an unspecified long-life species

wc: 1.0k | join the taglist

Jing Yuan is a cat. You're sure of it.

He's abnormally agile. Foxians were born with heightened senses and naturally superceded an average human when it came to their predispositions but even they would think twice, thrice, before jumping off a three-story high building. Not Jing Yuan though. He just leaps, twirls his Guan Dao with an ease unparalleled, and even had the grace to catch the tea set you managed to throw into the air in fright before speeding off to catch the runaway criminal with a carefree smile.

How many years ago was that? You didn't count but it had to be a good few hundred years since then because that day, on your first meeting, Jing Yuan was a nobody. He was just another face among the ranks of the Cloud Knights that wasn't memorable enough to be remembered. Now, he was a general and his pictures sell for a concerning amount of Strales. No one in the Xianzhou who's in their right mind would not know his name and by extension, yours since you're practically attached by the hip.

Officially, you were an unemployed nobody but everyone in the Seat of the Divine Foresight considered you to be the General's caretaker. The legal matters that concerned the affairs of the Xianzhou were rightfully managed by the secretaries employed there but the more menial and more... troublesome duties were handed off to you. Sometimes, you meet their gazes and they're filled with nothing but respect and gratitude because no one, not a single one, wanted to be the holder of your duties. Why?

Because Jing Yuan was a cat. A temperamental, needy, and mischievous one.

You'd never think of it if you didn't know him first but Jing Yuan was a picky eater. You have to feed him from your hand if he's eating something for the first time. If not that, he'll randomly send you to buy snacks in the middle of a work day. You tried to refuse once but you learned the hard way that not doing as he wishes involved him mocking you by refusing to budge an inch from his seat. At this point, it was easier to just fold and give him a bite after every five papers signed.

Jing Yuan also likes warm spaces. On days when work is more manageable, he'll drag you outside for a stroll but you always end up seating under the shade of a tree in an otherwise empty field. He lies around with eyes closed and an immoveable smile on his face as he enjoys the soft breeze. All the while, you're cursing the static in your legs as Jing Yuan doesn't just lie anywhere, no, he lies on you because he'll be damned if he lets you work while he lazes around. Or so he says.

Other times, Jing Yuan will ignore you entirely, not even sparing you a gaze, yet pouting (in his very own Jing Yuan way; indecipherable to most but not to you) when you don't attempt to console him. He lingers around your peripherals but otherwise refuses to utter a single word to you until you sigh and pull him to you, brushing his hair gently as you tell him about your day. Scrimping out on the details is not allowed. You have to tell him about every little detail from the food you ate for breakfast to your meeting with your visiting relatives or else he'll just sulk even more. You can't figure out the pattern to his attitude but you do remember vaguely that it was the worst about a hundred and two years ago. Such a shame that you had to appease him, hurriedly leaving your poor cousin in the market alone. He says that he understands with a knowing laugh but you don't quite understand yourself. What is there to know anyway?

Jing Yuan, much like a cat, does whatever he wants with almost no care for the rest of the world. Maybe that's why you're in this position now.

You're made intimately aware of how intimidating he can be with how he towers over you, casting a deep shadow on your frame as he firmly pinned you down his desk. His gaze is deep, molten and hiding behind a mystery you were never able to unearth until now. You try to tug yourself out of his grip but that only shuffled the paperwork your back is pressed into.

"Jing Yuan—" your words die down on your throat as he finally shows the first drop of emotion on his face. A smile. Nothing you'd never seen before but for some reason, a shiver climbs down your spine. Alarms flag inside your head as heat pooled under your skin. It floods your muscles that ached—screamed—at you to run. You exhale shakily but when your eyes meet his again, all your will to fight dissipates.

"What else must I do, hm?" He whispers and it might just be your imagination but you swore you saw his teeth glint under the moonlight. "What more shall I give to keep your eyes on me?"

You swallow and you're reminded of something. With your back pressed and with no way to escape, you are nothing but a predator's prey. One that he taunts as you spy the almost imperceptible lilt to his smile. The realization makes you avert your gaze, embarrassed by the heat that races under your cheeks.

"See? You're doing it again. You're warm," he whispers as he lowers his face closer to yours, "then you're cold. Tell me: what conclusion was I supposed to derive from your behavior?"

When you don't respond, Jing Yuan continues. "Logic dictates that you're disinterested but your body—" One hand slides from your wrist to settle on your waist. He gives you the opportunity to run yet somehow, you hesitate. "—says otherwise."

His hair cascades over his shoulders, a lock falling over like a moonbeam by your check and it tickles. It does not go unnoticed, and Jing Yuan chuckles; he delights in the muffled whimper he was able to draw out of you and rejoices at the needy breath you release when he grazes his lips over yours before stopping all at once.

"Well?" He hums. "It appears that I am indeed growing older. My patience is not what it once was. So tell me, little bird, while I can still restrain myself: what is it that you want from me?"

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines #jing yuan x y/n #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #jing yuan fluff

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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If there’s one thing Will is, it’s committed to the bit.

Is there, perhaps, a touch of regret in his heart as he shivers, freezing, clad in nothing but his t-shirt and cargo shorts? Had he been told, before he left his cabin, by his long-suffering siblings that he was going to regret not wearing a sweater? Was the none-too-gentle reminder sixty-four percent of the reason he’d stubbornly refused the sweater he’d originally been planning on wearing in the first place?

Yes, yes, and no, surprisingly; take that, predictability allegations. He’s spontaneous as shit.

(Eight-three percent.)

(Whatever.)

He walks under a shadowy tree, briefly enveloping him in a deeper cold. He tries and fails to hold back a shudder.

“You’re cold,” says a critical voice to his left.

“I’ve never experienced even a mild case of hypothyroidism-borne boreal temperature intolerance even one time in my life, di Angelo, so check and mate.”

Unfortunately, the second half of his sentence is garbled by both his chattering teeth and his throat beginning to close. Curse you, Apollonian inability to lie. Will has people to gaslight, and a reputation to protect.

“You’re an idiot.”

Will wheezes. After three or four attempts, and the threat from his brain to his lungs that he will self-tracheotomize, really, he will, just try and fuck around cause you will sure as shit find out, bitch, he manages to clear his airways enough to employ his vocal chords (which, actually, are inaptly named. They are not chords, they are membranophones. Obviously).

“Nuh uh.”

“You really are an idiot. A frozen one.” Nico huffs. There is the sound of rustling, and for a moment Will is blindingly jealous of his friend’s night vision. He wants to snoop around in the dark to identify rustling sounds. How come he only glows when he’s embarrassed? He gets the stupidest Apollo powers. “Take my coat.”

Before Will can do much as protest, a heavy, undoubtedly warm jacket is shoved in his pockets.

“If you don’t wear it I’ll shadow travel to Slovakia,” Nico threatens. “And it’s winter for them right now, too, so I’ll pop out and immediately succumb to the elements.”

Will’s turn to be huffy, he slides the stupid jacket onto his arms. Immediately, he’s filled with a warmth so potent he feels as if he can almost fix his many mental problems. It’s glorious.

“Jacket smells like you, stink-face,” he says instead. He buries his nose in the collar and takes a deep inhale, closing his eyes as he savours the smell of woodsmoke, leather, and, amusingly, a little bit of oregano.

“Remind me to stab you tomorrow morning. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been three days,” Will argues, but dutifully makes a mental note.

Nico seems pleased.

They finally break through the woods’ borders, stepping into the torchlight of camp, late evening. Will spots three couples sucking face behind their cabin. He then spies thrice as many Hermes kids up to nefarious deeds, such as attaching timed fireworks to windows and doorways for a fun morning surprise. Will makes a mental note, under the stabbing reminder, to prepare burn salve tomorrow morning. And to hide Cecil in his office for his own protection, because he’s a good friend like that.

“Thank you for getting herbs with me,” Will says, turning to Nico. He smiles, trying to pour as much gratitude into his voice as he can. “I hate going alone.”

“Yeah,” says Nico, stiffly. He looks everywhere but Will’s face. When Will does not look away, he glances over, scowling at Will’s broadening grin. “Whatever, Solace. Don’t be so needy, next time.”

Tactfully, Will refrains from mentioning that he had not asked for Nico’s accompaniment at all, actually, and was halfway to the forest with a list of ingredients when Nico had shown up, red-faced, and snatched Will’s list clean out of his hands and muttered something about incompetence and monster baiting fools.

“I still appreciate it,” he says diplomatically, and then, because he is an asshole and also struggles with impulse control, he leans down and pecks Nico’s forehead. “Smooch of gratitude,” he explains when Nico freezes, facial expression resembling that of a squished pear.

“Ha nngh mfgh,” Nico says after a moment. Or perhaps he said hangry muffins, Will’s not sure, sometimes his hearing aids go wonky.

“Indeed,” he says anyway. He leans down to smooch Nico’s forehead again, because it was nice, and because he didn’t get stabbed the first time. “See you in the morning, Neeks. Love you bunches and bunches.”

“Hngh daga,” Nico responds, and when Will pouts he clears his throat and rectifies, “I love you…too?”

Will nods, satisfied. “Yes, exactly. Goodnight.”

He jogs off, waving. It isn’t until he gets back to his cabin and is immediately accosted by his siblings that he realises that he has stolen Nico’s jacket.

“Hm.” He glances down at it. It really is a wonderful jacket. And, plus, Nico didn’t give him a return date, or anything, so it’s probably fine if he keeps it a little longer.

He doesn’t want to get cold, after all.

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twstgarden · 6 months

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❀ ❝ 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲'𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 ❞

━ malleus draconia x gn! reader ━ hating how your body works will always be a feeling you've grown accustomed to. at one point, your dearest lover found you breaking down and loathing yourself and he attempts to comfort you and show you just how much of a gem you truly are. (f/n means first name)

cw: (including, but not limited to) topics of self-loathing, talks of dysphoria

requested by: @meleanorsslave <3 <3 request type: oneshot - hurt/comfort trope requester's message: i'm hungry for some hurt/comfort and i saw that your requests are open. May I request fluff oneshot of malleus with a reader who is physically weak? like, malleus comforts the reader while the reader vents out their frustration about the way their body works totally not bcs that's relatable. oh, not to forget, I hope you're feeling alright, eating 3 meals a day and having a good rest!! don't overwork yourself, mina!! <3 florist's note: this request hit a liiiittle bit too close to home. apologies it took a while~ my own writing is making me cry with how realistic this is lololol. and to everyone who self-loathes or those with bdd, please know you are loved and you matter. you are perfect the way you are <3

this work does not contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia's arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

within the confines of your dorm room, there you stood once more by the mirror, unable to look at yourself in the eye yet brave enough to stare at your own body with so much hate and disgust.

it's not your fault, they say, but it feels like it is. every physical education class always ends up with you either getting left out of the activities or getting to work twice or even thrice as hard as your other classmates - all because you were physically weak.

why were you like this?

why were you born so weak?

what mistakes could you have possibly made in your previous life that you ended up being cursed this way?

all those thoughts roamed in your head as you kept staring at yourself in the mirror. it's not like you haven't tried to improve yourself. you've done a lot of things to improve your weaknesses. every suggestion and every advice was taken into consideration, yet it never seemed to work.

your eyes glazed over yourself as you stared at the mirror, looking at your arms, legs, shoulders, and even your torso with great hatred. i would trade everything i have just to not be like this, kept chanting in your head until you started tearing up.

not only am i physically weak, but it was enough to send me crying like a goddamn baby, your voice echoed in your head as your tearing up turned into soft sniffles and sobs.

unbeknownst to you, someone was passing by your room and heard your muffled sobs through the door. footsteps were then heard entering your room before he knelt down next to you.

"f/n? what's wrong? did someone hurt you?"

malleus' voice somehow made you sob even more. you felt pathetic now that even your boyfriend caught you like this. he immediately brought you close to him, holding you in his arms as you kept crying and mumbling words that sent him worrying.

"why am i like this...?"

"what?" malleus responded in shock as he continued holding you, but looked down at you to see you crying into his chest, completely surprised at your question.

"why am i so weak? why was i born like this?" you sobbed as you tightened your grip around him, making him caress your hair as he realized what you were saying.

you sniffled as he held your hand and brought it up to his lips, planting a soft kiss on them as you looked up. he continued to trail kisses from your hand to your arm before moving to your forehead and cheeks.

"every spot that gets a kiss means they are perfect," whispered malleus before he continued showering you with soft and gentle kisses, "i don't ever want to hear you doubt yourself, my love. you're magnificent the way you are."

"you're not weak," whispered malleus once more as he placed a kiss on your shoulder before placing a finger under your chin to make you look at him, "what made you loathe yourself so much?"

you cast your gaze away from him as you mumbled in reply, "i just... it was always like this, but... today, i... was left out in class again..."

he frowned at your words before pulling in for another hug. you felt comforted and safe in his arms, his warmth and loving touches gave you a sense of security, almost as if he was your safe space.

well, he is your safe space.

"my treasure, let no one in this world make you feel like you are anything less than worthy because they think you're weak. you're not. you've always been one of the most resilient people i've met," spoke the dragon faerie as he gently rubbed your back for some more comfort while hugging you close.

"but..." you trailed off, making him look at you as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

"you're not weak just because you aren't as physically resilient as everyone else. strengths come in different forms, my love." his words brought a sense of comfort in you, especially with how gentle and loving his tone was. he then placed a kiss on your forehead as he whispered, "i love you, f/n. if you feel this way again, please don't ever hide from me."

you nodded a little in response as you hugged him tight, sniffling softly as your crying died down a little, "...thank you... for being there for me..."

a faint smile ghosted over malleus' lips as he caressed your hair, "why are you thanking me? i'm your beloved. i'd consider myself a failure if i could not even comfort the person i love the most in this entire universe."

you didn't know how to respond to that as you looked up at him, "i... but still, thank you... you've been the best partner to me and..." malleus placed a finger on your lips to make you stop talking as he smiled, "don't thank me, love. how about we buy your favourite dessert? we can stay in and eat your treats while watching your favourite movie."

you smiled in response to that and nodded, which gave him permission to carry you in his arms while walking out of your room and leaving the dormitory to buy some snacks in sam's shop or visit the cafeteria to see what they have in store.

while he was walking down the main street with you in his arms, you kissed his cheek with a sweet smile and said, "oh, and i love you, too. more than you could ever know..."

a sweet smile found its way onto malleus' lips, "how cute of you, child of man, and because of that, you can buy as many treats as you want."

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus x y/n #twst malleus #malleus twst #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus x mc

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boyfridged · 25 days

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“You just want me gone because you don’t love me.” It does not afford him even a glance. “Don’t be stupid. If I did not love you, I could have dumped you at any corner of this cursed city when you were still a baby.” “Like you did with the foetuses or the dead women you took them out from?”

his mother says all the love in the world might not be enough for him.

– (1430) 1/1, friday night (also on ao3)

My mother did her best. Once, she said there will never be enough love in the world for you, but in the dream she meant it fondly.

– acie clark, intoning

Rationally, Jay knows it has been just two days (or one and a half, really), yet he cannot help but check for the results. He has to press the laptop charger with a book to make sure it stays steady; otherwise, the old brick will shut down at once. Then, the website loads on forever.

And he has to refresh it right away. He refreshes the Wayne Foundation academic mobility scholarship application page twice, thrice, the screen blinking with its contents– Only for him to once again be faced with the bold red letters. His hand trembles slightly as he clicks on the mouse frantically. The same.

He jumps to his feet and opens the door to the big room; the only appropriate name for what contains a kitchen, doubles as a living space and serves as a makeshift bedroom, the areas and functions blending into each other. He takes a breath in, fidgeting in the threshold. Despite its humble size, the room is meticulously organised, even the dim lightning coming from strategically placed small lamps instead of the main, ceiling one.

“Mom?”

“Mhm?” Sheila is seated on the sofa, engrossed in a magazine. There are rollers in her hair, and she’s dressed in a neatly ironed collared blue dress, so she might be planning to go out later tonight. Which means maybe he should have taken the initiative to make dinner himself instead of waiting for her summons. But that’s a problem for later.

“The website says the documents were not received.”

She reads on, replying only after turning a glossy page: “Hm. Maybe they haven’t updated it yet.” She still does not look up at him: “Besides, you already got into that Star school, didn’t you?”

The realisation sinks in.

"You didn’t do it,” he stutters, “You said not to post them because you’d bring them in person— And—" His voice catches with emotion, and he hates it, but he cannot help how the confusion blends with an immediate, raw sense of betrayal. It’s the knowledge he could have taken care of the matter himself, and yet– He left it in his mother’s hands, stupidly, because despite her undeniable lack of enthusiasm, she promised.

“It’s the better option, that Queen scholarship. The location. And even a preparatory summer school included-”

But that was plan B. The fact that he applied there first was just an issue of the application timelines- He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He wants to stay in Gotham. He wants to stay in Gotham so badly his face gets hot all over with emotion.

Jay blinks rapidly to prevent the tears from welling up in his eyes, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he stumbles forward. On a drawer, there is a vase so ridiculous that the antique shop almost gave it away for free. His mother always acted like she was made for the finer tastes, despite not being born into them or being able to ever afford them. He pushes it away to access the stack of envelopes and find the one with the Excelsior’s logo, similarly ostentatious.

He feels as immature as helpless when he slides the letter out to start tearing it. The pristine, thick paper falls to the shabby, lacquered wood of the floor.

"We have a PDF of that, you know." Sheila's response is typically delayed and typically pragmatic, punctuated by a slight raise of eyebrows. Her calmness makes it all seem inevitable.

His throat is clenching. The accusation barely manages to make out of it:

“You just want me gone because you don’t love me.”

It does not afford him even a glance.

“Don’t be stupid. If I did not love you, I could have dumped you at any corner of this cursed city when you were still a baby.”

“Like you did with the foetuses or the dead women you took them out from?”

In the following bout of silence, Jay expects his mother to stand up. He expects it so readily that he can almost see it in real time. He expects her to slap him, because there was a time when she would, and short years have not served to prevent the sting in the cheek, even the purely imagined one. In that instant, he almost wishes it was real.

She does not make a move. She does, however, finally look up at him.

“That was crude,” she huffs.

He doesn’t care about crudeness. He cares about staying home.

“Dad would never-“

“And where’s your daddy?”

“I’m going to see him,” he announces, turning to the door.

“You’re going to walk to Blackgate,” she says, unimpressed.

“Yes.” He grabs his jacket.

“At 9pm,” she adds, even though it’s barely 8. “Outside of the visiting hours.”

“Yes,” he repeats. He can’t suppress his tears anymore, so that final confirmation is more of a weep than an articulated response. Sheila’s grey eyes bore into him with the same hardened indifference they usually do the second he starts crying. It is only marginally better than the open frustration he could be met with.

He shuts the door and skips every two steps. The bottom of the stairs is cold to touch as he sits down, putting his father’s stiff denim on and curling in. The tears now fall earnestly. The corridor smells mildly of dampness, maybe even mould. It is almost silent, only muffled voices from the ground floor flats for his company, and he allows himself the first two sobs to echo, before hiding his head between his knees.

Jay wants Dad. He can’t have Dad until next week. It makes him resent him, just a bit, just for a moment, because mom was right; he is not here for Jason; not now, nor truly ever. Bringing up Dad in a fight was no more efficient than betting on a losing dog. He always does it anyway.

But there was plenty more Jason could add; for example: I would rather have Cathy than you. That, he never says. Thinking about Cathy makes his breath catch violently, and cry harder anyway. Dad’s in prison, and Cathy’s dead, and he’s running out of both tears and parental figures to turn to.

He reaches into his pocket to take out a loose, slightly crumpled cigarette and a lighter. It tingles his throat even before he even takes a drag. The actual drag makes him cough.

“These women would rather be dead than mothers,” was what Sheila said once, right after Jason found out. Sometimes recalling that defence comforted him; it did not ease the irrational guilt, but it did mean that he, at least, was not unwanted enough for her to entertain other ideas. On other days, the easy sympathy with which these words were laced haunted him instead. He chews them over again, for what feels like forever, their taste sour.

“What did I say about stealing my cigarettes?”

He startles at his mother’s voice and nearly drops it, but Sheila quickly grasps it before it burns his fingers. She extinguishes it against the wall. It was already yellowing from all the indoor smoking anyway.

“Come eat dinner.” she says, her tone curt. Her hair is relaxed. She waits patiently for him to wipe his blotchy face and follow her back. He does. The anxiety curdling in his stomach stings as he walks upstairs, watching the elegant curve of the back of her dress.

The dinner on the table is frozen pizza, because it’s cheap and because his mom hates cooking, and a green smoothie, to compensate for the quality and the lack of nutrition. And next to that bizarre meal there’s a transparent folder. The text on the paper is still blurry to him, letters spilling away from his vision, but he recognises them for what they are; the documents requested by the Wayne Foundation along with the application form. An unfair taunt.

“I will hand it in tomorrow morning. They will accept it,” his mother says.

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then I will speak with Wayne himself.”

Jason half-sniffles, half-chuckles.

“What’s so funny, hm?” she asks, reaching to gently brush his curls out of his face. The touch is so light it’s barely there. But the coldness of her hand relieves the headache he has not yet noticed, probably a result of dehydration. He takes a sip of the smoothie first. It tastes spinachy, and strangely bitter–sweet.

“Sometimes,” his mother says, her shadow dark beside, “I feel like all the love in the world wouldn’t be enough for you.”

She might mean it fondly.

#yutro writes #jason todd #sheila haywood

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aashi-heartfilia · 1 year

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The Ultimate Hero: Uravity

So, I guess the biggest plot point I have noticed for Ochako is to not let people go.

On one hand, we have Deku:

The greatest asset for the heroes; all tattered and bruised running away from his own comfort and happiness to protect his loved ones because the hero society has brainwashed him into thinking that heroism is all about sacrifice and he is the only one who can offer that.

And then, we have Toga.

A cunning villain according to the heroes, a constant thorn on their side.

But in reality, Toga's not a monster that she's perceived to be. She was just an unlucky girl born with a cursed quirk that led her friends and even family boycotting her.

A teenage girl, whose feelings are all over the place. A girl who loves heroes and wants to be like them. A person whose biggest question is that her life matters or not?

And then, we have Ochako.

More under the cut_

Who has failed thrice in reaching out:

First, when she didn't go after Bakugo. She convinced everyone else too, to not go after Bakugo in the Hideout Raid arc because of her own passiveness.

And then she even regrets later and tries to fix things up. But well we know how it goes.

Then she failed to save Sir Nighteye. He was a hero, that died in her arms and there was nothing she could do but helplessly watch.

We see some character development as she rushed to save Deku from the Black whip but just mindlessly running into danger without a plan in mind is not the best solution to a problem Chako cheeks.

But, baby-steps.

We have Toga. It's because she failed to answer Toga's question properly during the war (not that I blame her for it, considering the situation) that Toga turned into the villain she is now.

And finally we have Deku. A product of the society who's brainwashed into thinking that it's his Destiny to suffer in silence because he's a hero.

And yes, there is reason Ochako is highlighted here.

Deku isn't just a random person. He is her best friend and a fellow hero who is willing to suffer in silence for the greater good.

But doesn't he deserves to rest?

This is the bigger questions of the story asked several times.

Who is a Hero?

How do you define a hero?

A figure who doesn't flatter in a situation no matter how dire?

Or someone willing to stand up against the injustice?

Or just a tool of violence to keep villains down?

And that is exactly why Deku is the first person that Ochako saves. Not his life, bit his heart.

It's noticable how much importance heart is given in MHA. A story about saving the hearts of people.

This is also the reason why Ochako succeeds where even Best Jeanist fails.

The No#03 hero, Best Jeanist, a fan favourite, failed to convince the angry and panicked mob because he said that Deku is their biggest asset in this war and that they need him to win. Because in their eyes, an asset is what he is.

A tool, a weapon.

And tools can be kept anywhere. They don't have feelings. Why UA?

Because he's also a human.

More precisely, he's a High-schooler.

He shouldn't even be fighting there.

He has plenty to learn himself.

And like how All Might gave him the right to be hero..

Ochako gave him the right to rest, as human.

For Toga:

We've seen that Ochako looking back to her fight with Toga at the mansion. She was regretting about her actions as a person, something she did not considered before.

And now, she's on the battlefield ready to save both heroes and villains because they're both people. They are powerful but they're just as helpless when it comes to them.

They have bad pasts and horrible things happening to them.

They make mistakes and they're put on pedestal, but

Their lives matter.

Their happiness matters.

Their smile matters.

So, Uraraka's arc is about humanizing both heroes and villains. How they both are the victims of this superhuman society and how they both deserve peace and quite.

Which is why I think Ochako will be the turning point of this manga, now that everything have possibly gone wrong in the worst way possible.

Toga is out with her sad man's parade and dabi is there too, along with AFO all because Spinner's voice reached Kurogiri.

Ochako's name means a 'bright and sunny day' and her power is literally making things weightless. So what if she makes this entire deals weightless by getting Toga on their side?

Principal Nezu already said in his speech that they're just one step away...from understanding each other. And taking that first step is always hard...and when someone takes that impossible step, it leads to the birth of a true hero.

And yes, URAVITY is that hero.

A symbol of hope.

The greatest hero that will surpass even All Might.

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teensywars · 8 months

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Why Skirmish Games?

There's a story about how roleplaying games were born from skirmish games. The first time someone declared their fighter would be using a short sword, even though it had worse stats, because he wanted to look their opponent in the eye was the moment RPGs were born.

That kind of cool moment is only possible in a game where you're able to care about each of your figures individually.

Skirmish games aren't about the sweep of war or grand strategy. They're little tabletop factories where your characters go in and stories come out. By the standards of wargames, they're random dice-fests, but you aren't going to remember your dice hating you months later.

You're going to be telling the story of the time your medic held off Vulgar Thrice-Cursed for two turns using only a shovel.

You're going to be telling the story of your Frostgrave hireling who worked his way up to becoming your wizard's major domo through sheer tenacity.

You're going to be telling the story of your little dudes, who are yours and yours alone. That's why you should care about skirmish games.

#wargaming #kill team #frostgrave

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musing-and-music · 5 months

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For the kiss ask: Braime and 7. To shut them (him) up. Because it fits so well. Lol.

I'm only a few months late! Thank you for the ask!!

A kiss… to shut them (him 😉) up.

"I already didn't like the North the last time I went here, but now that winter has come, I can hear Ned Stark saying it each time that thrice damned wind makes me shiver!"

For the next ten meters, until they had entered the main building of the castle, Brienne endured the flow of curses coming from Jaime's mouth, as she had for the last moon after he'd arrived with a part of his army, the other having stayed at Harrenhall, where it was said the last stand of the living would take place.

"How can you stand this freezing weather, my Lady?" he asked as soon as they had taken shelter behind the heavy gate.

Brienne turned to him, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't, ser Jaime. The cold is particularly unforgiving on my cheek. And I'm also a girl from the South, from an island where winters have always been mild, and I was born during the last one."

Jaime's gaze softened, and Brienne caught the slight move of his hand toward her before he stopped.

"I understand this pain," he said in a whisper. "I'm sorry you have to bear it."

"Don't be. I knew what I risked when I defended those children, and I'd do it again if needed."

Something crossed Jaime’s face, and his eyes darkened. "Does that mean that you'll put your life at risk once more, uncaring about what may happen to you even though your loved ones suffer because you get injured or worse?" Brienne had heard the strain in his voice once, when she'd been recovering from the fight against the Brotherhood, but didn't understand it then. Her heart pulsed faster, and anticipation seized her guts. "Brienne, I can’t see..."

With one hand on his cheek and the other on his hip, Brienne leaned on and kissed him, interrupting his rant. Jaime froze and let a surprised moan out, before he mellowed in her embrace and wound his arms around her. She tasted his lips, and when his tongue tentatively asked access to her mouth, she complied eagerly.

By the time they parted, their cheeks were flush, their breathing short, and Brienne felt the warmest since she’d arrived in Winterfell.

"Thank you for caring for me, Jaime. But you can't expect me not to protect innocent people when they need it."

Jaime relented. "Then, please, do it when I'm here so I can help you. If you can avoid being injured thanks to me, I'll feel better about it." His eyes turned mischievous. "What about that kiss? Was it only to shut me up?"

Feeling her cheeks warm even more, Brienne shook her head. "I realized it's time for us to be honest with each other about our feelings," she whispered. "... And that was a good way to shut you up."

Jaime’s smile brightened, and next thing she knew, she was back in his arms, his lips happily exploring hers.

kiss prompts 💋

#ask game #vayalda #jaime x brienne #fanfiction #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #asoiaf #musing writes

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caenith · 1 year

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Then his sons raised up their father and bore him back towards Mithrim. But as they drew near to Eithel Sirion and were upon the upward path to the pass over the mountains, Fëanor bade them halt; for his wounds were mortal, and he knew that his hour was come. And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father. Then he died; but he had neither burial nor tomb, for so fiery was his spirit that as it sped his body fell to ash, and was borne away like smoke; and his likeness has never again appeared in Arda, neither has his spirit left the halls of Mandos. Thus ended the mightiest of the Noldor, of whose deeds came both their greatest renown and their most grievous woe.

I've always loved what Tolkien did with Fëanor as a character. The guy was not only a brilliant craftsman, but also a talented linguist. Basically a golden child of the Noldor. He managed to bring doom upon himself, his family and his people by making a series of Not So Wise Decisions, persuaded a significant part of the Noldor to follow him to the Middle Earth without a clear plan (not to mention the oath and its consequences that he must have known about - c'mon, he wasn't an idiot). Then he... died, just after arriving to the Middle Earth. Literally in the first battle he fought in. But no, no, no. That wasn't enough - his last words were "Morgoth's a bastard, don't forget about the oath and pls avenge me" spoken to his sons just before he spontaneously combusted.

So iconic <3

#tolkien #silmarillion #silmarillion daily #feanor #And before the Feanor's apologists come after me - I know that not everything was his fault #I know Miriel's death and Finwe's decision to remarry affected him a lot #that the Valar made some dumb decisions themselves #Please respect my right to post a shitpost 🤞

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cornus27florida · 1 year

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Frederickas Vegetation (+ curse idea!)

With how green his eyes is, like a vegetation..

He really becomes one with nature hmm?

It's thrice time officially, the first is as seaweed

and the second time with shrubs too getting deja vu..

The thrice (thrid time)is this scene:

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Also I like to shout out big thanks for Isaac for giving the idea of Frederick curse of Sunflower, what if it like he's used to be a sunflower but brought out to life instead?? Is possible xD

Tinfoil Hat thought(I do not believe this at all): Frederick is a sunflower that is cursed to be human, in the same way that Thermidora is. For his plan, Leland needed three children, but he and Isolde could only conceive two, so, in order to get the third, he went the 'unorthodox' route. The reason why Frederick is born frail and sickly is because originally being a plant, his body was trying to reckon with being human, and stripped of its ability to procure its nutrients from the sun by way of Photosynthesis; though humans do in fact take nutrients from the sun, specifically the D Vitamin, his body, remembering how it used to procure nourishment, and to what degree, knows that a shift had taken place, and for some it is not getting enough nutrients to as it recalls is needed to compensate for it's former state, couple that with the fact that Frederick is now bigger, and there might be a multitude more things to support in his biology and physiology with him now existing as a human. In this train of thought, Chlorophyll would be the reason for his green eyes. (This is nothing but a bunch of gibberish, I know, but we all gotta let out our gibberish sometime) -> Isaac's words

(Headcannon if a Sunflower curse is exist) My words:

Aaay I love this idea, espc we in universe has something similar but as a mop (inanimate object) - but we haven't got the plant yet For timeline wise, Leland 'cursing' a sunflower to becomes human and claimed it as his son (in his royal garden) once he learnt that Lilyth and Jack expecting another child this deliberately want to have another son by any means necessary. Bringing a BBQ tongs to live is possible, so why not a plant to becomes human?

Frederick's eyes is so much like vegetation's green so it fits and I really think a plant brought to life is not far fetched in CPC universe - it's just we never seen it but the very first mention of sunflowers from Frederick make fandom guessing him might be cursed - and related to Sunflower

For Biology aspect, the older he is the more he becoming to accustomable to the Human Biology (like accepting to not Photosynthesizing anymore, and eats like ordinary humans so 'chemosinthezing') instead like the Plant as he used before but he still maintaining some plant characteristics;

like loves to basking in the sunlights (and kinda wilted each nights) and don't mind to be rained down/drenched in water

Like this scene might have internal monologue of Sunflower!Frederick as "actually I don't mind getting rains"

#cursed princess club #HC #vegetation

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nklsdttr · 1 year

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* smash the heart and i'll put my ahs hope playlist on shuffle and write a dialogue starter based off the lyrics !!!

#* thrice born ; thrice cursed / out .

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maythevoidnotscreamback · 4 days

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Scars of Sailor Moon 90's anime: What if

To be clear, it’s been a while since I’ve seen it and that was when they were dubbed and cut for English speaking kids’ daytime TV so shit might be missing, because the episode wasn’t aired, or remembered wrong because it wasn’t ‘appropriate’ for kids and thus cut in a way to make it 'appropriate'.

Now, is there anyone else who wonders what physical scars the Senshi, Tux and episodic victims might have if magical healing weren't involved? Does anyone else wonder if there might be various civilian group gatherings to show support not only for the Senshi themselves but for those who got attacked and subsequently saved? How they know it's all legit due to the similar scars, because some of them were attacked in a different way for the same thing (the Daimons vs Eudial's gun in S; The Amazon Trio vs The Amazoness Quartet in SS; Regular vs True Starseeds in Stars) and it shows on the people who were brave enough to show off what the baddie of the season had left behind on their bodies. Do the Heroes know about them or not? How would their various scars differ from all the regular victims due to various factors?

Read more to find out my ideas on how they'd look.

For 1st S: the girls and M have port-wine stains from the SilMil of their death wounds. Don't think Jed could've left scars with how he gathered energy but Neph could've left marks on his victims since they personally handled his cursed items. Those transformed by Zoi and Kun might have trace characteristics of their monster forms; and the Black Homing Crystal or their personal Nijizuishou could be tattooed on their body, or a tattoo or scarred outline (bald-spot/different colored fur for Rhett Butler (the cat)) of their 'Great Demon' that is believed they were just born with like port-wine stains because of the 'reset' in the finale, to differentiate between Zoi's and Kun's victims.

In R 1st half, girls and M have extra port-wine stains that look like actual scars but realize they're what they died to, wounds she died with (black where the rose vines restrained her and lichtenburg figures all over and outlining a hand on her throat) in Usa's case, when they remember. And leafed vine patterns on those grabbed by Cardians but Usa's and Mamo's are colored blue and pink respectively since they were drained personally by the reluctant Makai Tree. In R 2nd half, well they were mostly trying to take over locations more than gather energy so... maybe... Black Crystallized skin for those who were actually touched? Or nothing other than mental scars, due to the nature of their origin, and thus a simple outline of the Black Moon on the back of their necks? Dunno. ChibiUsa, at least, could have stretch marks due to being unnaturally aged by Wiseman.

In S, it's the shape of the Pure Heart Crystal literally over their heart where it came out, not the center of the chest as is seen in the anime. So, in the event one of the victims had that rare condition where their heart/organs are reversed that's where it can be seen. And if it came out the back, like what happened with Ami, then that's where it is. One can tell how one 'lost' their Pure Heart, whether it was a Daimon or the Gun, due to the size of the scar. If Daimon then it's the size of a Toonie coin but from the Gun it's the size of a closed fist. Minako's looks doubled because she handled her own Pure Heart and did so manically before collapsing. Haruka and Michiru could either have outlines of their Treasures surrounding their Pure Hearts or it's a detailed scar of their Treasures, no Pure Heart to be seen. Chibi's has a shadowy hand-print surrounding hers due to Mistress9 personally taking it while the scar itself looks gold due to Mamo acting as her life support while it was gone. Usa's looks prismatic, like it's literally embedded in her chest when it's not, due to her Pure Heart being exposed thrice, when the extraction was interrupted, when it succeeded and when she forced it out to save Hotaru.

In SS, the Dream Mirror scar is two closed hand spans across in width and fingertip to heel in height. It's the border of the Mirror and the extra scars that go with them that one can tell whether one was attacked during the Trio's time or the Quartet's. Stylized borders and 'shackles' around the wrists and ankles (blue waves for Fish, red flames for Tiger, gray tornadoes for Hawk) denote which of the Trio attacked while solid colored borders and the colored Stone (yellow for Cere, blue for Palla, green for Jun, red for Ves) on the opposite side of the Mirror scar denote which of the Quartet. Usa's is different in that black Aces make up her Mirror's border and 'shackles' due to Mr. Magic Pierrot being the one to 'attack' her. Not to mention the black lines betraying how it had been shattered and the unknown, probably never to be discovered, damage to her brain/memories/personality due to said shattering, what with dreams being products of our brains and all. Because I'm of the opinion that if one's heart can stop due to your Pure Heart being taken then one can become brain dead if your Dream Mirror is shattered. Why else would Fish be so devastated, because dreams can change and evolve or disappear when or if they are fulfilled, when her Mirror is destroyed? Chibi's Mirror is different in that her border is black but the surface itself is a shiny gold instead of everyone else's silver while the 'stone' looks like Zirconia's winged eye. Mamo's eye, the one Nehelania's piece of Mirror pierced, could be bordered by a gold ring if not making him hetero-chromatic in turning the blue itself gold. Usa could have scars on her legs, soles of her feet, due to traveling through/over vines on her way to rescue her family.

As for Stars, those who didn't have True Starseeds could have a 'tattoo' of that flower that contains said Starseeds at the border of their hairline on their forehead. Only the part that hovered there, not the full thing. And those who did have True Starseeds, that hunk of hair that the flower hovered over has taken on the color of said Starseed and is resistant to dyes or regrowing back the original hair color. Some of the women, and poor Mamo, has to weather the comments on their weird choice of color fad since... well, gold on raven, navy blue on blonde, green on brunette and red on ravenette seems... weird, right? Color your whole head, or at least in a Peek-a-boo style, if you're gonna be dying it such a different color at all, jeez! At least for the others they're close, or complimentary, to their original color, if still weird it's only that space of hair that's been colored a bit differently.

#sailor moon #sailor senshi #tuxedo mask #scars can be beautiful #what if

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whoneedslovewhenyouhaveknives · 3 months

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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a woman by the name of Lucinda Marin, and she longed for a child.

She was happy in every other part of her life, for she had a wonderful husband, a thriving business, loving friends, and could live comfortably for the rest of her days, if she so wished. But nevertheless, Lucinda still wished for a child of her own, a little one to raise with her love.

And so, one evening under the light of the moon, Lucinda slipped from her bed. She crept from the manor, venturing deeper and deeper into the woods, until it eventually felt like she was no longer in the kingdom at all.

It was there, in the Not-Kingdom’s woods, under the eerie light of not-quite fireflies, that Lucinda stopped.

Though she had not been kingdom-born and did not know the in’s and out’s on how to worship or pray, Lucinda’s family was still an old one. Their stories, their warnings, their instructions had been passed down century through century, from a time when gods were still young.

And so, following the rules of her mother, and her mother’s mother, Lucinda sat lightly on a flat stone, pulling out of her bag a blanket and small bits of food, such as a tiny jar of honey or a trio of bright apples or, the crowning jewel, a miniature cake, frosted and decorated with berries.

She laid the blanket on the stone beside her, setting down the food like a mockery of a picnic. She didn’t dare partake in any of the food.

This was not for her.

It was an offering.

“Traveler, Traveler, may I partake?”

The question came from behind her, in a soft, child-like voice, and it was only due to her family’s teachings that Lucinda didn’t flinch.

“It depends,” She responded, keeping her eyes straight forward and pulling from her memories. “What might I partake in, in return?”

A giggle. “Clever, clever. My trade is of fortune, as well as its lack. If you wish for luck on your house, or a curse on your enemies, then we can make a trade.”

Lucinda shook her head. “I’m afraid I am not looking for your trade today. However, you may take something from my spread, if you so wish.”

“Very well.” The voice said, before a shuffle came from the picnic-like setup. “May you have luck finding what you’re looking for.”

After a moment of quiet, Lucinda glanced over at the food, noticing that the small jar of honey was now gone.

“Traveler, Traveler, may I partake?”

This time, the question from behind was gruff and cracked, bringing tree bark to mind.

“It depends,” Lucinda said once again, still not looking behind her. “What might I partake in, in return?”

The voice huffed, before chuckling. “My trade is of health, as well as illness. I can cure those you love of disease, or make a rival sickly and limp. The choice is yours, of course.”

Once more, Lucinda shook her head. “I’m afraid I am not looking for your trade today. However, you may take something from my spread, if you so wish.”

“Ah, so polite.” With another shuffle, the voice spoke. “May you stay in good spirits while you search.”

After a long minute, Lucinda let out a shaky breath, looking over at the food again. This time, the cake was missing, having been carried off by the last voice.

Lucinda turned back forward, gripping her skirts and forcing herself calm. She knew the rules discouraged asking more than thrice a moon, so if the next offer didn’t have what she seeked, Lucinda would have to wait until the moon waned and waxed again.

“Traveler, Traveler, may I partake?”

This time, the voice was soft, and almost silky-smooth, with an unearthly lilt to their words.

“It depends,” Lucinda said softly, with a waver in her voice as she gazed at her lap. “What might I partake in, in return?”

The voice hesitated, before simply asking “My lady, are you alright? You sound sorrowed.”

With a hitch in her breath, Lucinda sighed, telling the voice behind her about her search to have a child.

“...You do know,” The voice says, once she has finished, “That any child born of a trade will be born inhuman. Your child could be born Drained, or Fair, or Moonstruck. And that’s only the obvious choices.”

Lucinda nodded, shoulders slumping. “I know. That does not change the fact that I and mine would love the child, no matter who they are or who they’ll become.”

A pause, before the voice huffs out a breath, a smile in their voice as they say, “Well then, little one, let me introduce myself. My trade is of birth and burial, and I can give you the babe you seek.”

Lucinda’s breath caught in her throat. “...Truly?”

The voice laughed, before three crunching sounds were heard, one after the other. Between one blink and the next, the holder of the voice had placed the three apples in Lucinda’s lap, one red, one yellow, and one green, each with a single bite taken out of them.

“On your way home,” The voice said, quiet as a secret, “Eat each fruit, one after the other. The tart first, for the pain of birth. The scarlet second, for the strength they will gain. And finally, save the sweetest for last, and luck will forever be on their side. Plant a seed from each fruit by your home, and you will have your child by year’s end.”

#fairy tales #original fiction #writeblr #creative writing

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audaciousanonj · 1 year

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Hybrid Inviability

[Ao3]

The Uchiha and Senju forbid their members to have children with any of the opposite clan. It's not out of malice or spite.

Once, a marriage was proposed to end the war between clans. A Senju wife and an Uchiha husband. The treaty demanded children, but the only child the wife did not miscarry or deliver stillborn had blond hair (like the friend she had visited nine months earlier).

Twice, a marriage was proposed to end the war between the clans. An Uchiha wife and a Senju husband. The treaty demanded children, but all of the children she brought into the world were sickly, and none survived two winters.

Thrice, a marriage was proposed to end the war between the clans. Uchiha and Senju. The treaty demanded children, but after their daughter was born without eyes, it was dissolved.

The gods had made it clear. Any child born of the union of these two clans would be cursed to be sickly or deformed.

Once, a village was proposed to end the war between the clans. Generations later, an Uchiha man took a Senju woman for a lover. He died on a mission, and she in childbirth, but their son seemed to be healthy. Dark haired and dark eyed, ten fingers and toes, he lasted two winters and ten winters more. The Uchiha clan head watched the boy from afar as he trained to be a shinobi, and his wariness for the boy shrank the longer nothing happened.

One day, the boy went on a mission with his team. One day, the boy experienced a situation that would make any Uchiha's Sharingan activate. As an Uchiha, his eyes reacted.

As a child born of the union of Uchiha and Senju, his eyes reacted.

The gods had made it clear. Any child born of the union of these two clans would be cursed to be sickly or deformed.

The Uchiha and Senju forbid their members to have children with any of the opposite clan. It's not out of malice or spite.

#aj writes #naruto fanfiction #naruto

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weekend-whip · 2 years

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garmadon, H?

H. Someone’s Greatest Fear (this could read either as post NS10!Garmadon or Legacyverse!Garmadon in general, take your pick. Also with some light Crystalized speculation but technically not spoilers)

(Send me a letter and a character and I’ll write a small fic!)

AO3 Version

. . .

“What’s your greatest fear?”

Four words. A common icebreaker against lesser willed individuals. A invoking thought passed around for simple metaphorical discussion. A question asked so casually in times of calm and peace, a question designed to dig deeper into the minds of others, to invite understanding into another’s worldview...

It is a question that should not be taken lightly.

It’s a question Garmadon’s asked himself time and time again, yet each and every time the answer has been significantly different.

He’s been afraid of the dark as a child, but darkness is and always has been something synonymous with his own soul, something capable of destruction and chaos on a whim. It’s his essence, it’s his very being, it’s the thing he knows better than anyone else in the world. And now, darkness has become something of an old friend. Darkness is only terrifying if you let it be.

He’s been afraid of the venom as well, ruining his family’s love for him, ruining any sense of friendship he’d once had with the Elemental Alliance, ruining his perception of himself, terrified of what it would turn him into. He once looked at a reflection of himself and saw a monster that haunted his dreams until the day those dreams turned to nightmares and the nightmares came true.

But perhaps the venom, too, had become something of a comfort. Something of a crutch to weigh all his sins upon, something to place the blame upon when the divide between his compulsive desire for evil and his own personal vendetta against the world became too blurred to separate. It made him believe he was invincible, infallible, incapable of feeling inadequate—or at least, that’s what he would tell himself.

Because how could you fear anything when you were the very thing so many others feared themselves? When you were someone else’s greatest fear?

How could he invoke terror into others if he were to be terrified himself?

And his horrid excuse of a life had hardened him against anything that could’ve possibly brought him down to his knees in cowering shame. He thought he wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything anymore when his wife took their newborn child and fled from his influence, when his brother finally drew the battle lines between him and his greatest dream, when divine lightning struck him straight down into the Underworld with the hopes of leaving him there to rot...but none of it lasted for long. He picked himself up each and every time, his ambitions renewed like the rising of a phoenix.

He doesn’t have the time to be afraid, even after ages of being alive.

He could have the venom purged out of him by the power of love, his family tortured for the power they possessed, forfeit his life to be banished to the Cursed Realm by his own flesh and blood, and be forcibly born anew without purpose, without proper personality, and without pretense...and still, could there be nothing in this realm that might paralyze him to the core with terror?

...well, once, long ago, there may have been one thing...

...maybe, just an ounce of dread bloomed within him when the Four Weapons of Spinjitzu twirled around his son in a dance of Green and Gold to deem him the Chosen One...

...of being told that one day, to fulfill the prophecy, Son would have to face down Father...of knowing that his son possessed a power that far rivaled his own and paralleled that of the First Spinjitzu Master...

...that Garmadon would one day have to look into the eyes of his son and try to kill him (or, vice versa)...

...and he’d thought that day had come and gone already. Twice or thrice over, even.

But now, he beholds that very son of his, right in front him, embodying everything that everyone’s ever hated, despised, and feared about Garmadon...and everything Garmadon’s always hated about himself since being alive.

It stands reflected in Lloyd, bleeding out through his rage that rolls off him in unrelenting waves and the tears that stream down his face as finally, the weight of the world has become too much to bear. As finally, the pressures of responsibility, expectations, and his own personal beliefs crush what remains of his soul into a paper ball and turns it inside out, reflecting only the ugliest parts of Lloyd that have been kept within for far, far too long.

Garmadon beholds his son giving into the temptations of power, and anger, and hated, and vengeance, because he’s denied it for so long, and even the strongest being to ever be has their limits. Even a god gets tired, and in their fleeting moments of rest do the unexpected things happen. Garmadon knows this. He’s felt these things before, lived through these things...

...and knows exactly what it is like to be so sick of your circumstances beyond your control, to be so fed up with being stuck as who you are when who you are is something you never wanted to be.

Lloyd, pausing for a miracle of a moment in his crystallized rampage, looks at Garmadon with eyes filled with such pain, agony, and sadness, and for the first time in a long time does Garmadon feel something tug within him. Something he doesn’t like, something that makes him want to fight, flee, and freeze all at once.

Something...that makes him want to grab Lloyd and hug him with all four arms he’s got.

. . .

He’s been asked time and time again what it is he fears the most in this unforgiving world. A question he’s pondered so many times, and never truly had a concrete answer to pacify himself with.

But this time, honestly and truly, Garmadon knows what his greatest fear is.

It’s looking at his son...and seeing himself at his worst.

. . .

...And perhaps, a fear even greater than that...is to be powerless to do anything to stop it.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lord garmadon #sensei garmadon #lloyd garmadon #ninjago fanfiction #fic tag #well this got out of hand

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klausbens · 7 months

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writober 2023 | DAY FOUR · lantern

When Atlas releases the pixie, Astarion can’t stop annoyance from bubbling to the surface. Curses get stuck in his teeth, almost out but not quite. He finds it harder to object to his questionable good deeds these days, and even when he does he tries not to be too rude about it. It doesn’t always work, but Gods, is he trying—and it’s worrisome.

Atlas is charming, truly, adorable in the way a pet can be. Which is not to say Astarion thinks of him as a pet, mind you; he respects him. He’s not lying when he swears he does, either: Atlas has shown him ample respect so far and, frankly, Astarion had forgotten what that felt like. So, he figures the least he can do is return the sentiment.

Atlas is captivating, intriguing, and that is a problem.

When you’ve lived for as long as Astarion has, life loses part of its shine. He wouldn’t say all of it, though under Cazador’s rule he’d wished for oblivion every single night. But there is always something to revisit, something born anew, something different than it was the day before. Small mercies of a neverending life, in its neverending death.

It’s never enough to hope, though. Never enough to thrust you face-first into the deepest of yearnings, grappling for a second chance at something you didn’t get right two-hundred years ago. But even more than feeling the sun on his skin again, warm and inviting and a little scary, too, it’s Atlas who’s bringing him close to the edge. With his wit, his impish humour, his nimble fingers stroking the chords of his trusty lute each night, to delight them. And his kindness—unbearable, unguarded kindness, seemingly infinite, and stupidly so.

Dolly Thrice flies out of the Moonlantern, and just like that, it is no more. Astarion knows pixies can’t be trusted, though that might seem presumptuous coming from him. Yet, Atlas has a way of reaping benefits out of recklessness that might well be considered a talent, so his hand doesn’t fly to his dagger yet.

Without her help, they’re done for. They need her magic to traverse the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and if Cazador has taught Astarion anything, it’s that violence wins, always. In the end, it all comes down to one single well-aimed strike, and he’ll shove the little bastard in there himself if she refuses to cooperate. Living in a cage for longer than he ever lived outside of one should have made him more compassionate perhaps, but then again, maybe it should have made him worse. All he knows, and all he’ll ever know in this boundless lifetime of his, is that after one breath will come another. He doesn’t know what man he is now, nor does he pretend to be a good one.

Later that night, Astarion stares at the crooked remains of the lantern that had been their lifeline for a full day. He never would’ve dreamt to look inside it, never would’ve cared. But Atlas did. Of course he did.

He glances at the sleeping tiefling, legs and arms spread wide, like a starfish. He isn’t afraid of the world, this one. Not afraid of being gentle with it. He’s open, like a starfish, all the time. Welcoming, bright, better than the sun—which for all its warmth can be scorching, harsh.

Dolly Thrice’s blessing glows beneath their feet wherever they go, and it will until they rid the lands of this engulfing darkness. A strand of pink hair falls over Atlas’ closed eyes when he tosses and turns in his sleep. Astarion almost reaches for it.

There’s always tomorrow.

#writober2023 #tavstarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 tav #tav bg3 #writober #frankie writes #this is just shameless appreciation for my tav i love bardie sm

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