#· ˚ ⋆ we could be heroes just for one day 『 main. 』

[marinettesaltprompts]

Marinette Salt Prompts: In which Max saves Paris by being himself - Part 1

Prompt by yours truly :)

Warning: Long Post!

When Max first became Pegasus, he was initially excited to become a hero. Getting these cool awesome powers, being able to help the people of Paris and be seen more than just a computer geek had put a spring in his step.

And it still was! ... For a time at least.

But then one day following an akuma attack in which Max lost conciousness (from a wasp attack? did Chloe get akumatised again?) Ladybug came by with a new suit and a declaration that she was the "Guardian" (whatever that had meant). Nobody questioned the declaration, even Max.

This of course, meant that Pegasus became a hero more than not.

This didn't seem so bad at first ... but then the weariness began to set in. More and more akuma's appeared, resulting in Max having to be called more often, leaving him tired and exhausted as a result. While Max was lucky enough that he had not managed to to be hit by an akuma's power, seeing one of his hero allies just disappear sent shivers down the poor genius's spine. Especially when Roi Singe was hit (even though Max had no clue who he was, he seemed familliar).

It didn't help that Ladybug and Chat Noir, the main Heroes of Paris, had begun to fight a lot more. At first it was just simple disagreements, but then it became louder. Max noted that Chat kept trying to get close to Ladybug, but the latter kept trying to push him away. At first Max had assumed that it was due to Chat's well known crush on Ladybug, but now he was not so sure, especially when she began to get snappy with others even if Chat had said nothing the enitre fight (which in itself became more and more uncommon). Ladybug was obviously stressed, but whenever anyone commented on it, she would either deny it or get incredibly angry (especially if it was Chat Noir that made the statement)

It was only after a long and terrible akuma battle that Max began to see things differently. More than half the heroes had been "disappeared", only to be returned back to life with the Miraculous Ladybug. A lot of the heroes looked very uncomfortable, but had said nothing as Ladybug once again congratulated them on a won battle.

Max finally spoke up.

"Um... actually, I have a question?"

The way Ladybug seemed to snap her head to him almost made him jump back, but seeing as she had some sort of smile on her face, he continued.

"These akuma's have started to become more and more problematic recently ... more than half of us were... vanished, when normally that doesn't happen..."

Of course it happened more often, they just didn't say anything. But this is the worst one yet. Most of them vanished. ONLY vanished. We don't say kill because thats impossible to think about without feeling sick to the core

"... perhaps we should approch the problem with the akumas a bit more differently?"

Ladybug paused, the smile disappearing from her face as she contemplated what he said.

"...Well... sure. I suppose we don't spend enough time actually training. I mean, me and Noir have a lot of experience but all of you are much newer than we are ..." Ladybug snapped her fingers in excitement "Oh I know! How about we meet up for a training session? Perhaps we could all take the time to learn how to use our powers better!"

Despite the well intentions behind it, Max actually felt sick at the idea of having to spend more time in the costume. He actually had his own life to worry about thank you very much. (Unbeknwnst to him, several others felt the same way).

"N-No! I-I mean that was what I was going with, we are ok with using our abilities." Max said hurriedly, avoiding the subtle displeasure on Ladybug's face. "What I meant to say was... shouldn't we try and solve the issue directly."

"What, you mean the akumas?" Ladybug asked.

"No ... I meant Hawkmoth. Shouldn't we do something about finding him?"

The question caused everyone to perk up at the thought. Even the now-normally silent Chat Noir raised his ears at the suggestion.

However, Ladybug's face remained stone cold.

"That's ... not possible."

"What do you mean its not? I mean, we have these powers right? Couldn't we use them to find him?" Max said, even as the others visibly shrinked with anger.

"I'm saying its not as simple as you think. We don't have the time to find him. We already spent enough time dealing with the akumas. Don't you want to go back to your normal lives?"

(The irony that the akuma's had left them busy to begin with remained lost on Ladybug's mind, even as the others inwardly cringed at the statement)

Max however refused to back down on this however. "Ladybug, with all due respect, we have been fighting an akuma every few days now. Some weeks we even had to fight every single day! Shouldn't we try to stop the problem at its source?"

"The problem," Ladybug said through gritted teeth. "is that Hawkmoth is too well hidden. We need to focus on being ready for his next attack, not wasting time on impossible goals. We can stop him for good when he finally gets cocky and shows himself."

"B-But we can't rely on that! Ladybug, he has no reason to show himself because his powers don't require him to be close to be effective. Too many of us got ki- got vanished! If this happens again we could actually be in serious trouble!"

"Look, I'm trying my best here! My plan was still able to work! We succeeded in the end right? We saved the day! That's all that matters! That's all we can do for now!" Ladybug said, her voice getting louder.

"And what if it fails the next time?"

"My plans haven't failed yet! Can't you trust me Pegasus?"

"I do! B-But you haven't been performing optimally! Every time you call us you look extremely tired, and you've begun stuttering at times when you're making a plan in battle! You've been coming to every akuma fight all tense and stressed and-"

Max's voice died out in his throat as the rest of the team flinched. He didn't want to say that word, but it slipped out on accident. The whole teamed had learned that nobody should call Ladybug stressed. But he did.

The effect was near instant. Ladybug's eyes constricted and she began to visibly tense up and shake.

"OH GREAT, NOW ITS YOU TOO! CAN'T YOU SEE YOU'RE NOT THE ONE HAVING TO STRUGGLE HERE?! I'M THE GUARDIAN! I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT THAN YOU WASTING MY TIME ON STUPID QUESTIONS!"

Pegasu- no, Max, flinched, but tried to stay strong. Emphasis on tried, even as his confidence began to falter/

"Ladybug look, i'm sorry, but if you could jus-"

"NO, YOU DON'T GET IT. I'M THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN STOP HAWKMOTH. ALL I ASK IS FOR THE REST OF YOU TO JUST LISTEN TO MY PLAN SO THAT WE CAN BEAT THE AKUMA AND GO HOME. BUT NO, YOU HAVE TO QUESTION EVERYTHING I DO LIKE IM DOING EVERYTHING WRONG! I HAVE TO MAKE THE PLAN! WHO ELSE CAN PURIFY THE AKUMA? WHO ELSE CAN SAVE PARIS?" Ladybug yelled as she stormed up to Pegasus, furiously tense and visibly sweating.

"But how are we supposed to save Paris if Hawkmoth is still a threat?!" Max said suddenly, a wave of adrenaline overcoming him as he momentarily met Ladybug's eyes. "We can't keep doing this forever like we have no one that won't miss us, we have our own lives too! We can't keep running off to save Paris when our families don't even know where we are! My mom doesn't know where I am!"

Ladybug narrowed her eyes.

"So this is what this is about?" Ladybug asked questionly with hostility. "That you can't keep up with being ahero? Being a hero means that sometimes we have to do what is necassary for the greater good! Not everyone can run away when you're the only one who had the power to fix it. Its about sacrifice!"

"...but this isn't sacrifice. It's a slaughter." Max said, his voice suddenly going hoarse. He felt tired in that moment, a wave of exhaustion ovecoming him as he slumped forwards. He wanted to be back home, not on these rooftops, but with his best buddy Kim and his great robot friend Markov. His family.

As the rest of the heroes stared in shock at the genius hero looking so defeated, Ladybug stood silently as she appeared apathetic to Max's outburst, merely glancing at him as she looked at her (former?) ally.

"You know what? Fine? If all of this is such a problem for you, then I'll find someone else who can take over for you. The akuma's defeated anyways." Ladybug said seriously, ignoring the shock from some of the more empathetic heroes. "Go to your rendevouz spot and wait for me. I'll come and pick up the Horse Miraculous from you. You're off the team."

Despite having no desire to be Pegasus in that moment, the callousness in Ladybug's statement caused Max to feel angry, his hand curling into a grip as he took a deep breathe in and out.

"You know what? No, I don't think I will." Max said simply, ignoring the shock on Ladybug's face as he turned around. "I'm tired, im exhausted, and I just want to go home. You know where I live, you can come and grab my Miraculous from my house once your done with the rest of your team. I'll take the express route home."

Voyage

With a simple word, Max created a portal beneath his feet, leaving to quickly for anyone to stop him or see where he ended up.

Max crashed into his bed. Quickly detrasnforming, he looked up from his bed to see Markov flying towards him.

"Oh hello Max! You look very tired!"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that buddy." Max replied.

"Oh no! You look upset, did something happen?"

As Max sat up from his bed, he began to recount his story as he changed from his normal outfit into his pyjama's. As Max sat down at the computer, he finished recounting this story to Markov.

"...And that's where I am now. So many other heroes got hurt and I'm worried that we won't be able to take another attack like that, but now Ladybug is mad at me and now I'm off the team! Sure, I don't have to be part of the battle, but it won't help when the next monster of the day suddenly levels Paris's city flat!"

"That sounds like a problem!" Markov replied. Though his emotion program was a bit simple, he felt a bit sad for his friend (and a bit angry at Ladybug, though not enough to trigger an akuma attack).

"Yeah, tell me about it. Not to mention that Hawkmoth is still out there, wherever he's hiding."

As Markov began to ponder how he could help his friends mood, a thought came to him.

"Perhaps we could solve this Hawkmoth issue ourselves."

"W-What? Markov I don't think thats possible. I mean, I am about to lose the Horse Miraculous once Ladybug finds me, I don't think we can do much against a magical supervillain."

"True, but as you said to Ladybug, fighting isn't doing us much good at the moment either. In order to stop the akuma's we need to solve the problem at the source. By all accounts, there's a 99% probability that Hawkmoth is a normal human adult outside of his costume. All we need to do is find out who Hawkmoth is and then we can catch him off guard to defeat him! Simple is it not?"

Max contemplated the idea, slowly nodding as he agreed with Markov. "That does seem like a good idea... but where can we start? It's not like we can just track down where he lives. Paris is huge!"

"So we will just have to go for the next two best things. His akumas and his victims! If we can track where those butteflies come from and where they are headed, we can follow them back to his lair!"

"His lair Markov?"

The robot nodded. "I don't remember much when I was Robustus, but I was able to recover a still image of Hawkmoth from his perspective! Apparently he has a huge lair from which he hides!"

"Wait, you had this the whole time? Why not tell anyone?"

"... I didn't think it was useful" Markov said embarrassingly.

Max decided to let it go though as he began to formulate an idea. "So... he sends his akuma's from a lair. So in order to find the lair we need to find the where the akuma's are flying from..."

Slowly, Max looked through his room. Scattered about were serveral drones, some of which were dismantled in order to create the shell for Markov's AI. If he could create a program to speciifically track down these akuma's...

His thought process was interrupted by a knock on his window, Max turned to see the window opened by an unimpressed Ladybug.

"Max"

"... Ladybug"

"the Horse Miraculous. Where is it?"

Wordlessly, Max gave her the box. Ignoring the look on her face, Max opened his laptop as he began to write a code on his laptop.

Ladybug contined to stare at him.

"You know, I was really hoping that you would have reconsidered your actions when I asked you to go to the rendevous point. I'm disappointed to see that I was proven wrong. Especially with that stunt you pulled."

Max continued to ignore her as he kept typing.

Ladybug sniffed her nose as she turned to leave. "Don't expect me to call you again ever. If this is how you are going to act when you are freaking out, then you don't deserve to be on this team."

Max never took his eyes off the computer, even as Markov stared angrily at Ladybug, wanting to say something but feeling like he should not interrupt. His eyes smiling as his code and his plan started to form together.

"Go ahead. Find someone else. Superhero work wasn't cut for me anyways. I'm much better when i'm using my brain anyways. I know what I need to do now. Besides, if being on the team means being treated that way, I'll pass. Last thing I need is to follow another Chloe."

Ladybug flinched, before leaving Max's room, yoyo flying in the distance.

Max didn't notice though. He had a plan.

One that would surely deal with this akuma plan once and for all.

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

Hi everyone! Hope you like this new idea i've had for a while now! Sorry if it feels rushed, I wrote this while feeling quite tired. I'm making plans for a part 2 and 3, but please let me know what you guys think!

[shiftingdisaster]

My Percy Jackson DR Intro ★*•.

About me

ᯓ꩜ Alvaro Willow, Child of Auroea.

ᯓ꩜ In this dr I’m 12 years old, going along with the ages of the main characters. Whats the fun of shifting to a dr if not to experience it at the same age it’s depicted in?

ᯓ꩜ I have brown curly hair with faded teal streaks, mostly just leaving green and yellow left, I love my hair being dyed but I love swimming in the lake and warm showers more than maintaining the color. Blue eyes with brown central heterochromia and tanned skin.

Godly Parent

ᯓ꩜ I’m a Child of Auroea, a goddess I made up, in this reality at least. Auroea, pronounced (Oar-re-uh), is the goddess of mystic powers. The powers that come from the planet itself, rain, earth, wind, and magic. She was one of the first Titan-Goddesses, born of a piece of Gaea that Helios found and crafted into a god. She’s the goddess who first created the mist that separates the magical world from the mortal one. She has powers in most the domains of the olympians, though less of a connection to them as they do. Her magics are what caused many animals and people to have access to magic, despite not being of godly descent or creation.

ᯓ꩜ Auroea’s sacred animals consist of Humming Birds and Manta rays. She’s the mother of the first fae and nymphs. Auroea is also known to be a protector of heroes, specifically but not limited to child heroes, so despite not being an olympian and not having demigod children anymore, she has a cabin at camp half-blood to honor her.

ᯓ꩜ Auroea doesn’t have many children anymore due to so many greek demigods dying by monsters hands, or claws, at young ages. She makes few exceptions over the millennia, one of which being me. The last child she had before myself was in the 1400’s and lived as a reclusive warlock in the woods.

Past

ᯓ꩜ I grew up in southern california with my older brother and dad, running around in the sun and going to my elementary school that was at the beginning of the street I grew up on. My life was fairly normal till I was 6, when I started getting visions. After having them a while, my dad concluded that it had to do with my mom and decided to take me to camp.

ᯓ꩜ Once at camp, I met Grover who ended up taking us to the big house where we were introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, They tried to figure out what was happening, because then we didn’t know they were visions, but since I hadn’t had a vision since coming to camp, they weren’t sure. But, despite that, barely a couple days after arriving at camp, I had a dream. Apollo showed up and told me what was happening. I was a prophet. My powers were supposed to show up earlier, but he held them off as long as possible so I could have a semblance of a childhood without constantly seeing the future. He told me about how he blessed me to hold off my powers, and now the blessing would work to help me have more control of my powers.

ᯓ꩜ Days later, a week into my first year at camp, I was the turning point in a game of capture the flag and once I was given a golden laurel for winning, My mother claimed me.

Apollo’s blessing

ᯓ꩜ Apollo first noticed my presence after I was given to my dad, sensing that I was going to be one of his prophets. I had a natural knack for my powers when I was barely a year old, which was when he first decided to bless me. He made his blessing so I wouldn’t come into my powers too early into my childhood and when I did eventually come into them, they wouldn’t be too powerful to where I had no control of them.

ᯓ꩜ My prophetic powers don’t have much of a physical impact on me, but they do tend to cause me to glow somewhat when in use. My visions tend to make my eyes emanate what looks like sunlight, while when I tell a prophecy my whole body emanates or rather, glows, the same light.

Powers

ᯓ꩜ My powers from my mother consist of weaker versions of her own godly ability over her domains, I can control rain and move storm clouds at will, manipulate winds to move certain directions or speeds, I can manipulate plants to grow at different paces and what directions they grow in, along with most forms of earth (dirt, rocks, etc).

ᯓ꩜ I can do advanced magics such as telekinesis, casting spells and curses, enchantments and mist manipulation. Although, I’m better at light and sun magic than others because of Apollo’s blessing.

Prophet related powers

ᯓ꩜ My visions are the more typical occurrence, my visions essentially take up what I’m visibly seeing and they show me images of something thats going to happen in clips that can feel minutes long but really my visions dont last more than 8 seconds.

ᯓ꩜ My premonitions happen constantly, they work like basic gut feelings, but much more intense. I’ll usually get goosebumps and then a STRONG urge to do something that I usually can’t ignore.

ᯓ꩜ I get prophetic dreams that are rare, but when I do get them they essentially show me extremely important details on whats going to happen soon, though they usually don’t show the right order in which things go down.

ᯓ꩜ I get trances make me act like an oracle when I tell a prophecy. I go into a vague trance where I’m still in control of my body, but my voice changes to a deeper tone and I get the obligation to go tell whoever the prophecy is for, their prophecy. I can usually go a couple minutes ignoring it if I’m in a fight but the second I’m not in mortal danger, I have to go to the person the prophecy is for and tell it to them.

Family

ᯓ꩜ My dad’s name was Gene Willow, he was 41 and died when I was 11. He was a doctor.

ᯓ꩜ My older brother’s name is Tenko Willow, and he’s currently 19. He has custody of me, even though I live at camp most of the year. He still lives in California, in an apartment that he keeps a room for me in, despite me only living with him one month a year, and he goes to university to get his degree in coding.

Items

ᯓ꩜ My main weapons that I use are my rings. I have two rings that I keep on both my middle fingers, black and white with small gold details, my rings, much like percy’s sword, can transform. If I make specific hand motions, snapping my wrists in certain directions, my rings will transform. If I snap my wrists outwards, my rings will transform into dual blades. My swords are thin and gold, with one having a black and one having a white hilt. If I snap my wrists inwards, my rings will transform into twin daggers. They look the same as the swords, but have more detailing on the hilts.

ᯓ꩜ My other weapon that I primarily use is my bow, because of Apollo’s blessing I’m almost as good as his children at archery. My bow is golden with detailing all along the base.

ᯓ꩜ My satchel is the main bag I take with me when I go anywhere, it has an extending charm I put on it so I can fit 3 times the amount of stuff that I should be able to in it.

ᯓ꩜ I constantly wear two necklaces, my camp necklace and my pendant necklace. Both have a black leather string, my pendant one just has my birthstone on it, while my camp necklace has 6 beads on it for every year I’ve been at camp.

Extra

ᯓ꩜ I have my cat, Luna, who stays with me in my cabin. She’s a tortoiseshell cat and 2 years old. I got her as a kitten for my 11th birthday.

ᯓ꩜ Hobbies include cassette making, journaling, reading, and jewelry making.

📍2016-!!

[hulloitsdani]

What do u think Kiran is

How do u think the order sees kiran

*slowly sits up in my chair*

I think Kiran is a very normal person. This is someone you and I have met before. Be that from the other side of grocery store cashier, waiting in the same elevator, or walking by on a crosswalk. Kiran is a civilian from our world trying to roll with the punches of being warped somewhere completely alien. And you can see it in how they conduct themselves.

I always have a lot of fun writing Kiran’s dialogue because their casual modern speech almost feels like a dialect in comparison to the more formal fantasy tone everyone else speaks with. An “ain’t” will never exit Alfonse’s mouth, you know? And there’s a difference in “Do you have gold?” vs “You got gold?” To me, this gives Kiran an air of unfamiliarity to anyone they interact with. Let’s use Grima as an example, because it doesn’t sound like this grammatical change would make much of difference until Kiran has the audacity to hit Grima with a bro mid sentence. But that’s just how they talk. And as sweet and friendly as they are, there’s always moments like that to remind that no one has the cultural context to fully understand Kiran. Except for the audience, who can realize that Kiran let the customer service voice drop to talk to Grima like he’s an actual person.

And that’s just about how they talk! This view is only emphasized by every other thing about them! They’re a lovable goof, which is normal chill person behavior in the audience’s eyes but feels REALLY ODD to the characters of FE’s medieval fantasy war setting. There is this air of unknown about them that the more socially perceptive will pick up on and will try to come to a conclusion about. Example, I imagine Soren would interpret a lot of this as a dangerous and deeply annoying lack of intelligence from someone he has the displeasure of sharing a tactics table with. Or looping back to the Grima example, he would totally think Kiran has greedy ulterior motives behind that pleasant facade. It takes a lot of work for those types to realize that the discrepancy present isn’t really any of those things. But I also wouldn’t be too surprised if Kiran doesn’t try to directly prove any of those assumptions wrong unless they have to.

Why? Well now it’s time for the implications! Oh how we love the implications.

Because the Summoner is a different story. No one has any fucking clue what that is.

I can tell you what Kiran has pieced together so far. Summoning people from across time and space is apparently not easy. It’s not some school of magical study that some mage could pull off with enough time and research. Trust, Eitri tried. It’s a lot of complex moving parts. For example, the contracts. The contracts Kiran automatically binds their summoned to don’t even compare to the ones Veronica used in book 1. They are far more intense and infinitely harder to break. The only way out of them is if Kiran wills it so. Not even death is an option, because Kiran can come in for the revive. If they had to guess, it’s an older, more completed version of the art. Something lost to time. But no matter the case, Kiran has the ability to take full control of whoever they manage to summon. From a lowly farmer to the divine. And their power only grows.

In a similar vein, if there was any character to canonically see the hud, I think it would be Kiran. It’s genuinely part of their power set. I have previously described Kiran as the party mage until Veronica shows up to be the actual mage, but it would be way more accurate to call them a mystic/seer. They see the map, everyone’s stats, and is doing a fast amount of math to give the combat forecast. Then, upon processing all this information their enemies couldn’t dream of having at their disposal, Kiran can telepathically communicate any change in plans to anyone under contract. Kiran is not inherently some great tactician the moment they touch ground in Askr; they simply can do things no one else can. They’re learning the actual tactics part on the fly. This makes them simultaneously the largest ace up the Order’s sleeve and potentially its biggest liability. If they fall, it could cause a whole system cascade. By that same token, some of the biggest threats the Order has faced are the ones who do their research and rightfully target Kiran.

Now. Thinking critically about all that. That’s downright terrifying. A ridiculous amount of power has been dropped callously into Kiran’s lap and they have to work extremely hard to be moral with it. It’s terrifyingly easy not to be. It would actively take less effort to ‘take the reins’ as it were. But in order to be able to sleep at night ever again, they go the extra mile to not invalidate the will of their summoned. To take over like that. To make a colony of worker bees out of people. Because oh dear god they just summoned a child and the fact that they could easily force them to fight and die for them, only to be revived and do it all over again, is HAUNTING. No. No the Order has an in house orphanage now. This kid is getting adopted and cared for god damnit or Kiran might just pop a blood vessel. And sure that child is going to be a child and there will never be a world where they get along with everyone else, but that’s just going to need be a problem they address when they get there and not an excuse to use Hubris; the power set. Now replace the word child with everyone they ever summoned and you have the wider philosophy they apply to the entire Order.

They’re hyper aware of the power imbalance. They hate it with every bone in their body. They work really hard to correct it in whatever way they can.

So Kiran might not jump on the opportunity to correct those who think lesser of them. It’s… oddly comforting to know someone is keeping a critical eye on them. Holding them accountable. Especially since so much of the order just thinks of them as this quirky yet well meaning host. And, really, what can they even do about that? They have gone over the contract with every hero they summon and despite that they still choose to stay. So, what, do they try to inspire more mistrust? The problem with that they would have to actually do acts that intentionally inspire mistrust. And even if that was successful they can’t just waste the extra man power because every other month there’s some new divine asshole who wants them all dead. And if they fail that means they have to start their life from square one and god they can’t do that again so—

Just breathe Kiran.

It’s fine. You’re fine. Just breathe.

You have work to do.

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

Grima and Final Blows

The other day I mentioned that I had an essay about Grima to write that I'd been putting off, and between that and all the great essays my fellow Grimleal scholars have been putting out recently, I decided to sit down and finally get it done.

So here you go. An analysis of Grima's difficulties with directly killing people.

Okay, so I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time, because one of my favorite things to explore when it comes to Grima is the gap between their villain act, which they actively play up in front of others in both Awakening and FEH, and their true feelings, which are hinted at in Awakening (particularly through the Future Past DLC) and made even clearer in FEH— their own evil actions are repulsive to them, and they wish they could live normally among humans, but they don’t believe they have any choice but to be the monster that “the fell dragon, Grima” is supposed to be. They are committed to this “fell dragon” character, to putting on a show for everyone, and they are so good at it that it’s easy to overlook that they… uh… aren’t very good at killing anyone important. Not directly, anyway.

Sure, Grima is responsible for numerous deaths. But what is their actual kill count? Well, in Awakening’s main game… zero. (Unless you count Chrom, but, as we witness, that was not a voluntary act on their part; Validar took control of their body. You could also make the argument that Grima “claiming the sacrifice” at the Dragon’s Table counts, but the problem with that is, although it’s obvious that Grima accepts the life force of the Grimleal members as a sacrifice, it’s not at all clear whether or not Grima personally kills them. Although it’s possible that they did off screen, it’s also possible that Validar killed them, or that they were ordered to take their own lives; there’s no reason Grima would have had to lay a hand on them.) In the Future Past, it’s… one, maybe one and half (Naga’s spirit, and Tiki, but only in body. More on this later.)

And it’s not as though Fire Emblem shies away from showing villains directly murdering people, Even in Awakening itself, the intro to Chapter 9 shows Aversa killing a Plegian soldier for delivering an unsatisfactory report, so it wouldn’t have been out of place to let Grima stab a few NPCs as a show of brutality. Especially seeing as Grima is the evil dragon final boss. As early as Mystery of the Emblem, we can see Medeus killing his cleric hostages to restore his own health if you fail to rescue them before trying to defeat him, and as recently as Engage, we get a whole cutscene of Sombron eating Hyacinth. Fantasy violence my beloved <3

Anyway, the point is, Grima could have been written to be much more violent and I don’t think anyone would have complained. Instead, though, Grima repeatedly— and consistently across the series— tries to avoid engaging in direct combat.

Let’s start with what Grima does in the main game of Awakening. We know that Risen pursue Lucina into the past, because we see them fall out of the portal with her in Chapter 1. We also know that those Risen, as well as the others that are appearing throughout the land, are not being directly controlled by Grima, because later in Chapter 13, as the Shepherds are leaving Plegia after meeting with Validar, Aversa, and the Hierophant, they are pursued by more skilled Risen, and Frederick notes that “Either they are learning our ways, or someone is commanding them…” So… It seems that sending the Risen—with or without specific orders—to attack while Grima is not themself present is a favored tactic.

But what about when Grima is present? Take a look at the Endgame: Grima chapter. Yes, you eventually get to engage Grima in direct combat. But not immediately. What Grima does first is…

Grima attacks the Shepherds with dark spikes from a distance, reducing everyone’s hp to 1. Now, here’s what happens next: Grima attempts to possess their past self, Robin hears the voices of their friends and breaks free, Naga heals everyone back to full health, and then the fight against Grima begins… Except actually, the Shepherds have to get to Grima first, because they’re at the top of the map and they’re not budging. Naga warns them that “Grima’s servants will beset [them] to no end.” and she’s not kidding. Grimleal reinforcements will spawn infinitely, and they can hit pretty hard. Even with everyone starting at full health, it’s possible to lose units to these Grimleal soldiers if Grima isn’t defeated quickly. Can you imagine what would happen if Naga hadn’t healed the Shepherds first?

Well, I’d guess that they’d probably all die to the Grimleal without Grima having to face them up close. Which was probably what Grima was going for.

This isn’t the only time Grima tries the dark spikes trick, either. Grima attempts this exact same move in the Future Past 3 when they face Lucina, Severa, Laurent, and Gerome.

Grima announces “With the next blow, I will kill you.” and then demands that they hand over the Fire Emblem as well as the gemstone they hold. The threat is very real. But…

Given that at 1hp, a gust of wind could take the kids out, would it not have been easier and faster to kill them and just loot their bodies immediately? And yet Grima lets the kids have an extended discussion about sacrifice, and even suggests that Lucina would indeed buy a little more time by running… Again, I cannot stress enough that Grima should be able to finish them off in one hit at this point.

So the plan was almost certainly to back off and let the Risen do the actual killing, even though that would be a lot less efficient under the circumstances. And when Chrom and the Shepherds arrive, Grima immediately turns their attention to them, saying “If it’s a reunion you seek, my soldiers shall welcome you on my behalf.” Then they once again pick a spot at the back of the map and refuse to move from it, forcing the Shepherds to fight through the Risen in order to engage Grima in combat at all.

And sure, Grima has some excuses. “I was hoping not to have to flex any muscle,” they say right before the dark spikes attack, as if to justify why they didn’t do it sooner. And of course they taunt Lucina over having to choose to whether to run as her friends sacrifice themselves for her or to stay and fight and die with them. “I must say I shall enjoy this either way!” Yes, Grima, we get it, you’ve made it very clear that you’re an arrogant asshole.

But is arrogance really all there is to it? If we look at what Tiki tells Grima in the good ending of the Future Past, it looks as though Grima’s arrogance has brought their own downfall. “If you had left Mount Prism alone, Grima, you might have stood a chance. Instead, you have brought the Awakening right to your feet.” However, when you think about it… Is Tiki’s continued existence not in itself a result of Grima’s repeated pattern of not really wanting to land a finishing blow? The game states that Grima did in fact kill Tiki… but only in body, not in spirit. This is, according to Tiki, because Robin intervened.

Now, the question I have is… Is it really possible that Robin could have intervened both against Grima’s will and without them having any idea? Honestly, it’s hard to tell exactly how aware Grima is of Robin’s resistance, because they lie about it a lot, e.g. stating that Robin’s spirit perished in sending Chrom back to his own world, even though just moments later, Robin is once again overpowering them. So, keeping in mind that Grima is a liar, was Grima really arrogant to leave Tiki’s body in Ylisstol, and to not make sure that her spirit was fully destroyed? Or was Robin simply able to capitalize on Grima’s propensity towards backing off?

Because surely the only way Grima could be unaware that Robin had acted against them is if Robin hadn’t actually acted against them. I don’t think I believe that Grima really wanted Tiki gone. Naga, sure—longtime nemesis and all. But if Grima had truly cared about seeing Tiki’s existence destroyed… Well, I doubt Robin could have interfered that much.

But maybe it could still be a matter of arrogance. Maybe Grima just didn’t think Tiki’s spirit could do anything with Naga’s spirit gone, and thus didn't care to pay attention to her anymore once she seemed dead enough.

If that’s true, it doesn’t explain why Shadows of Valentia Grima exhibits the exact same habits when fighting Alm and Celica, despite never having been outside of the Thabes Labyrinth at this point in their life. As opposed to the various Terrors throughout the rest of the Labyrinth, which chase Alm (or Celica) down in the overworld to force a fight, Grima is immobile in their room, and will wait patiently there indefinitely until the player chooses to engage. You can even evacuate from the dungeon.

But if you do choose to fight Grima, it proceeds much like the battles against them in Awakening go. The main difference is that they actually will move from their starting position this time, if you position someone in their range. That still requires a fight against (proto-)Risen who are spawning in from the sides to stop your party’s advance.

So… Now it’s starting to look like Grima actively prefers this one particular trick… And it’s a fundamentally defensive maneuver, which makes perfect sense from SoV Grima’s standpoint (they were attacked out of nowhere, after all), but is not really an obvious standout strategy for Awakening Grima, whose taunts and threats suggest an aggression that would be better supported with a more offensive strategy… Consider, too, that Awakening Grima is in fact being even more defensive than their SoV iteration, since they don’t move towards you at all.

With all that in mind, it really, really looks like Grima doesn’t want to fight, especially in Awakening. Not that they don’t intend for the Shepherds to die—on the contrary, they’ve set everything up so that the Shepherds will eventually be overwhelmed—but that they don’t want to land the killing blow.

(And gee, I wonder what might be fueling their reluctance? Being controlled and made to kill your best friend by your own hand wouldn't be totally traumatic or anything, right?)

And then... Funny thing here, I’ve been procrastinating writing this essay for a long time. I originally started thinking about it shortly before the Depths of Despair banner was released in FEH, so imagine my surprise when I saw this characterization hold up in the writing of Fell Exalt Chrom’s Forging Bonds as well… The Grima there says that Chrom was the one to kill the rest of the Shepherds. Now, it’s pretty clear that it was through Grima controlling him, but that’s not the point. The point is that once again, Grima didn't have to do any direct killing.

Look, if it had only ever happened once, I could buy that maybe Grima was just underestimating their opponents, that maybe they thought they could get away without having to put very much work in. But for Grima to operate this way so many times, so consistently, and to their own detriment? No...

Grima doesn’t like direct combat. Grima has trouble even when it’s a fight they asked for.

And when you think about it, that makes their reaction to Robin choosing to land the final blow themself in the sacrifice ending all the more understandable.

“…YOU WOULD… NOT DARE!”

Because Grima would not dare. Grima has always preferred to let someone else land the final blow.

[walkedlegacy-closed]

CLOSED STARTER : KARA SCHMIDT. ( @drkaraschmidt. )

being home with the twins had been really nice at first. it was just her and buck and the twins. what more could she want. she missed work but it was nice to be able to enjoy something that was just their's for just a little while. she knew buck would have to go back to work , and after talking to bobby she had a plan for when she would be returning to work , and they were just coming upon the twins being a month old. protecting the babies in their first month had been anya's top priority , buck's too , so waiting to introduce them to anyone had allowed for anya to really get to know her new kids.

buck was at work , and anya was home with the twins. kara was supposed to come over for her chance to meet them , as well as offer some help managing two babies while also getting daycare set up , and arranging everything she needed to go back to work in a couple weeks. she was starting on everything early , but that was so she was ready. or as ready as she was ever going to be leaving her babies to go back to work. they didn't ever really prepare you for how it was going to feel. a knock sounded on the door , and anya perked up from one of the babies she had laid on the couch and had just finished changing , before picking her ( natalia ) up , and walking to the front door to answer with a warm smile.

"good morning! and thank god. i've been needing some interaction that isn't just babies." she was only playfully complaining , turned out motherhood really agreed with her.

[deviousdiesel]

.

[scarlettcryptid]

hardcore projecting my avoidancy onto dabi in this soulmate au thing i started in november

[femvaylin]

What the fuck was that choice of BGM too? Heroes? in 2024?

[queenpiranhadon]

So, it's basically canon that Pro Heroes come to assist heroes in training at UA, right?

Just imagine the horror the new generation of heroes would face when they realize that their opponent for training that day is none other than the Number Two Pro Hero, Dynamight.

It's a hero team vs villain simulation - a joint practice between both hero course classes - Katsuki basically has free range to destroy the mock city UA had built and the students had to prevent him from doing so, which was really just a waste of money because of the Pro Hero's already destructive tendencies.

He already had to regulate himself for Pro Hero work, so this was really just waving the reg flag in front of the bull.

Needless to say, they all got their asses kicked, all 40 of them. Whether it was due to falling debris or evading explosions, all of them were forced to wave their white flags eventually.

The students weren't so much in shock, they were in awe, of how a Pro Hero could be so powerful and intimidating, and well...badass.

Their main takeaway? Katsuki Bakugou was an impenetrable force to be reckoned with.

Or... at least for a few minutes.

You can imagine the shock on their faces when the grim and serious expression on Dynamight's face melts instantly when he hears a voice speak up behind him.

"Katsuki, if you keep frowning all the time, you're going to get wrinkles."

He turns around, a rare smile stretching across his face as he stares at you, his wife, like you're the only person in the world at that moment, like you're the only one that matters.

"Tch. I don't get wrinkle lines, woman. Yer just seein' things."Despite his slight harsh words, they're softer, somehow, and the happy twinkle in his eyes is unmistakable.

The students gape at each other. The Dynamight, Katsuki Bakugou , in love? The same pro hero that was wreaking havoc and creating carnage in his wake was the same one now staring at his wife with a dopey grin and peppering kisses across your face.

"Katsuki!" You whine, but it looses its credibility as you start to laugh at his antics. "What's gotten into you, huh?" you ask, a little softer, so that only he could hear.

He looks at you, a soft look in his eyes as he kisses you gently and lovingly pulling away to admire your pretty face.

"M'just feeling sentimental I guess... We were probably their age when we started dating huh?" He says, referring to the students.

You snort, recalling the time when Katsuki first asked you out. "Aww...is my baby feeling sentimental? You were a dork back then."

Katsuki looks offended and his grumbles, nipping your jawline in annoyance."Oi. I was not a dork back then. If anything, Izuku was the dork."

You smile teasingly, kissing his nose, effectively shutting your explosive husband up.

"Is that so? Because I recall you had your All Might posters set up in chronological order of his costume eras."

Katsuki's ears turn red and his large hand wraps around the back of your hand, burying your face in his chest.

"Shaddup woman. Yer the one who fell for this dork in the first place."

You laugh, your voice muffled by his chest, but he can still hear you just fine. Looking up at him you smile.

"You may be a dork, but you're my dork."

The students watch is abosolute shock, mouth gaping open as they wonder how the hell you were able to render Katsuki Bakugou to the sappy man they saw in front of them.

A/N: He's so silly I love him 🥰

[neferaskingdom]

♡ It's Not You, It's Your Pants | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Girl roasts Charles Leclerc’s tragic pants online, then accidentally crashes into him in Monaco. Cue spilled coffee, fashion rants, and an existential crisis about how her life turned into a Wattpad fanfic in under five minutes.

A/N: Just a random crack idea I had after seeing Charles' pants on Pinterest.

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The pants in question:

Monaco was as glamorous as your Instagram feed had led you to believe—blue skies, sparkling yachts, and streets that looked like they’d been personally polished by billionaires. You’d come here for a break from your intense fashion studies, soaking up the vibes (and let’s be honest, hoping for a celebrity sighting). And maybe—just maybe—you’d catch a glimpse of a certain F1 driver whose face had become a staple on your social media, along with some questionable fashion choices.

It was your first time here, a small vacation before diving back into the hectic world of fashion school. Your excuse? Inspiration. But honestly, you just wanted to escape to the Côte d'Azur and sip some coffee.

But you weren’t just an F1 fan. You had your own little corner of fame on Instagram. As a fashion student with a decent following, your niche was breaking down and rating celebrity outfits. Recently, you’d gained serious attention for a video where you roasted none other than Charles Leclerc—the beloved racing prince of Monaco—for wearing, and you quote yourself, “blue baggy pants that looked like they were in a fistfight with a bunch of scissors.”

It wasn’t personal; it was business. And the fact that the pants had star-shaped rips in them? Your comment was basically a public service announcement.

“Look at these pants,” you’d said, holding up a screenshot of Charles sporting his, ahem, questionable fashion statement. “I mean, what are we even doing here? Are these pants or a craft project gone wrong? Who looks at a pair of baggy jeans and thinks, ‘You know what’s missing? Giant star-shaped cutouts for maximum confusion!’”

As you strolled through Monte Carlo, cappuccino in hand, you scrolled through the comments on your viral video.

“Not gonna lie, I kinda miss when Charles used to wear those skinny jeans that made him look like a confused hipster.”

“ARE WE JUST NOT GONNA TALK ABOUT THE STAR CUTOUTS?!?!”

“I think Charles Leclerc has been taking fashion advice from his 8-year-old self. Stars? Really? Babe, it’s not the 2000s anymore.”

“Not the hero we deserve, but the one we need—thank you for saying what we were all thinking about those pants.”

“Leclerc’s stylist should be fired, immediately.”

You chuckled at one of the memes someone had made—a zoomed-in shot of Charles in his infamous star-cutout pants, captioned: “I’m a star, literally.” Honestly, the internet was undefeated.

Mid-laugh, you rounded a corner, not looking where you were going, and—WHAM—collided with someone solid, causing you to spill your coffee, drop your phone, and let out a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

“Oh my God! I am so, so sorry!” you babbled, fumbling to grab your phone off the ground.

“No problem, really—”

You froze. That voice.

You didn’t need to look up to recognize that slightly accented, velvety smooth tone. The universe had decided today was the day it turned your life into a Wattpad fanfiction.

Charles Leclerc was standing right in front of you.

And not just standing. He was smiling—that damn heart-stopping smile—and then something in his expression shifted. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he was trying to place where he knew you from. You, meanwhile, were contemplating whether it was possible to will yourself into nonexistence through sheer force of embarrassment.

“You’re…” Charles blinked and then a glint of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Wait, you’re the girl from that Instagram video. The one about my pants.”

If your life was a movie, this would be the part where someone hit pause so you could have a full existential crisis. Unfortunately, reality didn’t work like that, and all you could do was stare at him, jaw slack, as your brain tried to reboot.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unsure of how to explain to the very person whose fashion choices you’d roasted in front of millions of people that it wasn’t personal.

Charles tilted his head, his smile widening. “You really didn’t like my pants, huh?”

Oh God. This was happening. This was actually happening.

“I mean, it’s not that I didn’t like them…” you began weakly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were currently being confronted by Charles freaking Leclerc. “It’s just… they were, you know, kind of…” You gestured vaguely toward his legs as if that would somehow help explain your deep-seated hatred for the star-ripped monstrosities.

“Kind of what?” he asked, clearly enjoying watching you squirm.

You took a deep breath, deciding to just go for it. “Okay, look. They were confusing. Like, were they pants? Or was it some weird attempt at turning your legs into a constellation? I couldn’t tell. They had star-shaped rips, Charles. also, why were there so many weird cutouts? Are they… windows? Are your pants ventilated?”

Charles let out a snort, clearly struggling to keep it together. “Ventilated?”

You nodded, gaining momentum now. “Exactly! They look like they’re half-torn on purpose, but not in a cool, grungy way. It’s like someone started cutting them up and then gave up halfway through. And the bagginess? Charles, I don’t even know where to begin. It’s like you bought them two sizes too big, but then tried to fix it by adding rips. And it just… doesn’t work.”

Charles burst out laughing, his hand covering his mouth as he tried to rein in his amusement. “You really think they were that bad?”

You blinked at him, dead serious. “Charles, those pants looked like they got into a fight with a pair of kindergarten scissors and lost.”

He was full-on laughing now, and you felt a small victory in that. At least he wasn’t offended. Although, considering how often people talked about drivers online, he probably had thicker skin than you’d given him credit for.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think anyone would notice the stars,” Charles said between laughs, wiping away a tear from his eye. “But you? You gave them a whole five-minute segment.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to turn it into an entire rant! It just… it snowballed.”

Charles grinned at you, his expression softening a bit. “No, it was funny. I saw the video. My brothers couldn’t stop laughing. Arthur sent it to me like five times.”

You blinked. “Your brothers… sent you the video?”

“Yep. They even gave the pants a name. They call them ‘the constellation pants’ now.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted. “You should burn those pants. Like, immediately.”

He looked down at his legs, pretending to think it over. “They’re not that bad.”

“Charles,” you sighed, suddenly feeling a wave of passion wash over you. “Those pants were an abomination. They weren’t just bad—they were like an insult to pants everywhere. Like, what even were they? Baggy, ill-fitting, with random star-shaped rips? Did they start out as pants or was it some kind of tragic attempt at upcycling? Because I swear to God, it looked like a fabric store exploded on your legs.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting you to dive headfirst into a passionate rant about pants, but there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me wrong,” you continued, gesturing wildly. “I’m all for experimental fashion. I love a good risk. But those pants? They looked like you lost a bet to a five-year-old. I’ve seen better craftsmanship at a kids’ summer camp sewing class. They were offensive, Charles. Offensive to pants, offensive to legs, and offensive to anyone with eyes.”

Charles looked back up at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Okay, but what’s so wrong with adding a little personality to my wardrobe? Stars are cool.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Not when they’re cut out of your pants, they’re not!”

“Fair enough,” he said, still smiling. “But now you’ve got me curious. If I did burn the pants, what would you suggest I wear?”

Was this a trick question? Was he seriously asking you, the random fashion student who insulted him online, for fashion advice? What was your life?

“Well…” you began, mentally assembling an outfit in your head. “For starters, how about something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a bad 2000s boyband? Maybe some slim-fit jeans that actually fit properly. And—oh!—ditch the weird rips. You’re Charles Leclerc, not a rejected *NSYNC member.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by your decisiveness. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’m just saying… you’ve got the face, the career, the whole package. You shouldn’t let the pants drag you down.”

Charles grinned, leaning in slightly. “So, you think I have the whole package?”

Your brain screeched to a halt. Did he just—? Did Charles Leclerc just flirt with you?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, star boy,” you shot back, smirking despite the fact that your internal monologue was currently having a breakdown. “I’m only here trying to fix your fashion sense.”

Charles chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. And that’s when the next bomb dropped.

“Well then, maybe you can help me shop sometime?” He said it so casually, like he wasn’t currently turning your entire existence upside down with one smooth sentence. I THOUGHT CARLOS WAS THE SMOOTH OPERATOR.

“I—wait, what?” You blinked rapidly, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. “Did you just… ask me to go shopping with you?”

He smiled again, that devastatingly charming smile that should probably come with a warning label. “Yeah. I mean, you clearly have strong opinions about what I wear. Might as well put them to good use.”

Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were standing in the middle of Monaco, and Charles Leclerc—your internet crush since forever—was asking you to go shopping with him. Totally normal. Just another Tuesday. Nothing to freak out about.

Yet your inner monologue was screaming, “MY LIFE IS A WATTPAD FANFICTION, WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“I, uh…” you stammered, trying to process this. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Charles replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got to fix my ‘constellation pants’ problem, right? Who better to help me than the girl who went viral for hating them?”

You were pretty sure your brain had short-circuited at this point. But somehow, you managed to respond, your voice steady despite the fact that your insides were doing cartwheels. “I mean… I guess I could do that. If you really want fashion advice.”

Charles nodded, then casually pulled out his phone. “Great. Let me get your number, and we’ll sort something out.”

You stared at him. Was this real life?

He handed you his phone, and you slowly, robotically, typed in your number, still half-expecting to wake up from this fever dream.

After you handed it back, Charles shot you a grin that could probably melt steel. “So… how about lunch tomorrow? We could discuss your fashion intervention plan.”

Your internal monologue was now full-on screaming. WHAT IS THIS LIFE?

“Lunch? Uh… sure?” you replied, feeling like a character in a rom-com who was two seconds away from tripping over their own feet.

“Perfect,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ll text you.”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc—the man whose fashion sense you had ruthlessly destroyed in front of the entire internet—waved goodbye, leaving you standing there in a daze, wondering if you were hallucinating or not.

Your life? Officially. Unreal.

[wheelscomedyandmore]

You Might Not Ever Guess

Captain Kangaroo passed away on January 23, 2004 as age 76 , which is odd, because he always looked to be 76. (DOB: 6/27/27 ) His death reminded me of the following story.

Some people have been a bit offended that the actor, Lee Marvin, is buried in a grave alongside 3 and 4 star generals at Arlington National Cemetery . His marker gives his name, rank (PVT) and service (USMC). Nothing else. Here's a guy who was only a famous movie star who served his time, why the heck does he rate burial with these guys? Well, following is the amazing answer:

I always liked Lee Marvin, but didn't know the extent of his Corps experiences.

In a time when many Hollywood stars served their country in the armed forces often in rear echelon posts where they were carefully protected, only to be trotted out to perform for the cameras in war bond promotions.

Lee Marvin was a genuine hero. He won the Navy Cross at Iwo Jima. There is only one higher Naval award... the Medal Of Honor

If that is a surprising comment on the true character of the man, he credits his sergeant with an even greater show of bravery.

Dialog from "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson": His guest was Lee Marvin Johnny said, "Lee, I'll bet a lot of people are unaware that you were a Marine in the initial landing at Iwo Jima ..and that during the course of that action you earned the Navy Cross and were severely wounded."

"Yeah, yeah... I got shot square in the bottom and they gave me the Cross for securing a hot spot about halfway up Suribachi. Bad thing about getting shot up on a mountain is guys getting' shot hauling you down. But Johnny, at Iwo I served under the bravest man I ever knew... We both got the cross the same day, but what he did for his Cross made mine look cheap in comparison. That dumb guy actually stood up on Red beach and directed his troops to move forward and get the hell off the beach. Bullets flying by, with mortar rounds landing everywhere and he stood there as the main target of gunfire so that he could get his men to safety. He did this on more than one occasion because his men's safety was more important than his own life.

That Sergeant and I have been lifelong friends. When they brought me off Suribachi we passed the Sergeant and he lit a smoke and passed it to me, lying on my belly on the litter and said, where'd they get you Lee?' Well Bob.. if you make it home before me, tell Mom to sell the outhouse!"

Johnny, I'm not lying, Sergeant Keeshan was the bravest man I ever knew.

The Sergeant's name is Bob Keeshan. You and the world know him as Captain Kangaroo."

On another note, there was this wimpy little man (who just passed away) on PBS, gentle and quiet. Mr. Rogers is another of those you would least suspect of being anything but what he now portrays to our youth.

But Mr. Rogers was a U.S. Navy Seal, combat-proven in Vietnam with over twenty-five confirmed kills to his name. He wore a long-sleeved sweater on TV, to cover the many tattoos on his forearm and biceps. He was a master in small arms and hand-to-hand combat, able to disarm or kill in a heartbeat.

After the war Mr. Rogers became an ordained Presbyterian minister and therefore a pacifist. Vowing to never harm another human and also dedicating the rest of his life to trying to help lead children on the right path in life. He hid away the tattoos and his past life and won our hearts with his quiet wit and charm.

America's real heroes don't flaunt what they did; they quietly go about their day-to-day lives, doing what they do best. They earned our respect and the freedoms that we all enjoy.

Look around and see if you can find one of those heroes in your midst.

Often, they are the ones you'd least suspect, but would most like to have on your side if anything ever happened.

Take the time to thank anyone that has fought for our freedom. With encouragement they could be the next Captain Kangaroo or Mr. Rogers.

Send this on will you please? Nothing will happen to you if you don't, but it will tell what a "real" HERO is made of.

[thebubblesareevil]

Who’s the bad guy here, really?

(This is pretty rushed, but I completely forgot about this and didn't want to abandon it. Hope you like it)

Danny was tired.

It had been 3 months since he ran away from home and joined the league…well technically he joined the JR league. Apparently, once the league realized he was actually a 15 year old, they decided that MAYBE they shouldn't have him fighting Bizarro on his own.

Danny didn’t get it, but they got him enrolled in school and made sure he wouldn’t miss too many classes so that was a bonus.

That was about a month ago and Danny was certain the main team was mad at him for lying about being a half ghost. He thought he made some real friends before they moved him to the Jr squad, but no one was answering him.

Any hero that DID answer him always gave the same excuse.

“I’m sorry Danny, I’d love to hang out but we have to deal with this new villain duo!”

What’s worse is that any enquiry about the so-called villains was greeted with nervous glances and swift retreats.

(Danny was sure there were no new villain, the team would have heard about them by now)

The team did their best to cheer him after every evasion, but it really wasn't helping.

He did this to himself, but that was fine. His family was safe and that's all that mattered.

Three months ago, the GIW launched an all out war against phantom in amity park. Anyone that was suspected of having anything to do with ghosts was taken in for questioning and wouldn't come back for days. They even started to get aggressive towards his parents after they started advocating for Phantom.

So Danny did the only thing he could.

He left, as publicly as possible, Danny ran away from the only home he had ever known to protect his family.

And now his friends had ditched him because he lied.

Danny felt like shit.

---------

"This is the third attack on a League base in 2 weeks." Batman said sternly to the heroes surrounding the table. He pressed a button.

A holograph appeared over the table depicting 2 Villains carrying large weapons, destroying everything in their wake. The 2 were incredibly resilient. The larger of the two was taking hits from wildcat and the smaller tossed canary across the room, completely ignoring her screams.

Both had been stationed at the outpost to guard against these exact 2 villains, and both were still recovering.

Their threat level was raised, now it was their turn to step in.

-------

Danny dragged himself out of bed as he got up early for training. He heard a knock at the door.

"Come in." He shouted as he put on his shirt.

Conner walked in, scowling as he saw some of the scars littering Danny's chest.

"You ready? We're training with Batman today."

Danny scoffed. "Ready? No. No one's ready for Batman, I am excited though.

The two headed towards the dining room to eat before training when suddenly the alarms blared. They rushed to the comm room, meeting up with M'gann on the way.

"What's going on?!" She asked, bracing herself as the base shook.

"No idea, whatever it is its not good."

As they rushed into the comm room they greeted by the sight of a woman fighting hand to hand with Batman. Superman was on the floor covered in green goop while a large man was getting ready to toss Green Arrow across the room.

The teens stood in shock. Though only one spoke.

Well, maybe spoke wasn't the right word.

"MOM?!?!? DAD?!?!" Danny yelled.

The man spun around suddenly, casually tossing green arrow across the room.

"DANNO!!! MADDIE ITS DANNY!!!"

The man raced over, only to be cut off by the Flash blocking his path.

"Danny, run! We'll hold them off, just get out of here!"

Danny stood there dumbfounded.

His dad on the other hand, wasn't.

"You stay away from my son you damn creep!" He shouted as the Flash charged him, somehow not noticing the man pull out...a baseball bat?

Danny winced as flash got hit with the Fenton anti-creep stick.

"Dad! Stop! They're my friends!" He tried to placate his dad.

"Friends don't convince you to run away from home to join a cult!" He then noticed the other two teens. "Holy Fudge! MADDIE THERES MORE KIDS!!!" He shouted as his wife held off the creep from Gotham.

"Dad! The League didn't make me leave! And it isn't a cult!"

This made the man pause.

"I left to protect you guys! The GIW was gonna come for you, so I led them away! I only joined the league so I could keep helping people!" Danny yelled.

The orange-clad man stopped, giving his son a sad look.

"It's not your job to protect us son, it's our job to protect you." He said picking his son up and wrapping him in a bear hug.

Conner just stood there confused as M'gann clapped and grinned out the outcome.

"Now can you tell mom to stop trying to mace Batman?" Danny asked when his dad put him down. The two turned to the fighting duo.

"Let's give them 5 more minutes. Your mom hasn't had this much fun since she ditched that cult in Asia."

(Feel free to take this idea and run with it. I like the idea that the fentons are a force of nature that defies explanation..but Maddie definitely stole their early ecto samples from the lazarus pit)

[kasagia]

Skin and bones

Pairing: Halbrand/Annatar/We know who x fem!elf! reader Summary: Ever since Galadriel revealed Halbrand's true identity, you've been having some very strange dreams… dreams that aren't the innocent figments of your imagination you thought they were. Warning: I HAVEN'T WATCHED THE RINGS OF POWER. All my knowledge is based on fanfics, short scenes posted on yt and uncle google. I just couldn't get this guy out of my mind... And I don't regret anything. Inspired by: David Kushner - "Skin and bones" Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"Y/N…" A cold shiver runs down your spine as you feel HIS hot, quiet, velvety whisper in your ear. You keep your eyes tightly closed, not wanting to see what image your mind, tired from today's meetings, has put before you this time.

For days now, your imagination had been tormenting you with strange dreams. Dreams in which you were haunted by him.

Halbrand.

You avoided speaking his true name. Somehow, the face of the one you should have hated with all your heart did not match the face of the one who had spent so many weeks by your and Galadriel's side.

And it scared you immensely. So much so that you weren't sure you could pretend to the light elf that you were haunted by the shadows of your past.

Galardiel once told you that to know true light, one must touch the darkness. But what do you do when that darkness becomes more attractive than light? What do you do to resist that magnetism? How do you enjoy the glow of pure light on your skin again when you still have spots of darkness on you in the shape of HIS fingerprints?

"Y/N." Another whisper, another brush of warm air against your cool skin, this time on your neck. Goosebumps rise up your spine, your hand shakes uncontrollably, trying to desperatly grasp something you can't see. "Let go. Just let go. I'm waiting here for you. With open arms, mime írima kal (my lovely light)."

The feathery touch of HIS lips against your earlobe sends a shiver through your body. Even though you are in complete darkness, you are perfectly aware that he is near, that his presence is right next to you.

Physically you could be miles away from each other but spiritually... spiritually he has made sure that he will haunt you every night.

"You miss me. You miss the feeling of power I gave you. The darkness you could hide in, when you were too tired of playing the hero no one appreciates as they should. Just as I miss your light. Your laugh. Your mind. Your lips. Your body..." His lips move with each sentence down your cheek and to your neck, leaving a gentle kiss as if he was appreciating your skin and paid tribute to it.

He was right. You missed this. Him. He was addictive. And like any addiction, you should cut yourself off before it goes too far... but hasn't it gone too far already?

"Do you think you can hide from me? That any elven friend of yours could disrupt my vision of you? That I would stop watching you at night in the darkness of your chambers, waiting for the moment when you finally realize that the cold you feel is caused by my lack of physical presence with you? Tell me, my beautiful, stubborn elf, when will you realize that the warmth you long for is found in my darkness and not in the light of your golden sunlight?"

You gasp as HE suddenly grabs you by the neck and uses his fingertips to force you to turn your head towards him. His mouth attacks yours with a huge force of possessiveness, anger, frustration, lust, as if he were going to conquer you by using only his soft lips and a silver-tongue trained over the centuries he spend on seducing others to his will.

And you promised yourself that you wouldn't be the next victim of his games and manipulation.

That's why you let him kiss you. Not because you enjoy it and miss the feeling of his lips on yours. You tangle your hands in his hair, shivering as you feel the cold metal of his spiked crown against the pads of your fingers.

You managed to let his guard down, letting his tongue tangle with yours in a familiar, passionate dance you used to indulge in when you knew him not as a Dark Lord but as a mere blacksmith. An electric jolt runs through you, stealing all the air from your lungs and making your mind cloud with lust—but not strong enough to make you completely forget about your plan.

Before he can realise it, you bite his lower lip and push him away from you. You summon all your power that he hasn't timed in your sleep and push him out of your unconscious mind. You can hear his loud growl of rage and the clang of his metal armour against the rocks as you fall into nothingness.

A loud thud echoes through the room you and Galadriel have rented as you fall from the small bed onto the wooden floor. You groan, propping yourself up on your elbows and cursing under your breath as you wake up from yet another dream HE has taken over.

"Another one? Which one is it this week? Third?" You sigh at the question from the elf sitting on the bed across the small tavern room. You nod reluctantly and stand up, dusting off the dust and dirt from the floor.

"I'm not counting. I lost count about a two months ago anyway." You mumble, ignoring the fact that these dreams started much earlier. You turn your back to her, hiding the blush that blooms on your cheeks as you remember how… naughty your dreams were.

Before you realized that your… night visions weren't just yours, you and he… were doing all sorts of things. Most of them weren't really things you could speak about out loud. And as much as you're ashamed of them, you have to admit they were the best nights of sleep you've had since… you found out the truth about him.

"I keep wondering how he creates this connection with you? It's a bridge that shouldn't be created without… the willingness of both sides."

“It’s Sauron.” You reply, making sure to pronounce his name with just the right amount of disgust in your voice. "He has powers that allow him to break the rules. You know that."

"Still… they shouldn't be that strong."

"Are you suggesting something, Galadriel? Do you think I would really seek him out willingly? He has deceived us. He has deceived you and me. He wants to destroy Middle-earth, do you think I would willingly seek contact with him for any other purpose than to finally kill him?"

Your accusatory tone comes out a little stronger than you intended. You wrap your arms around yourself and take a few calming breaths, trying to calm the anger boiling inside you.

"I trust you. If I trust anyone, it's you, Y/N. I'm not your enemy here." She responds calmly and walks over to you. She cups your cheeks in her hands and rests her forehead against yours.

"I am highly aware." You respond and place your hands on the sides of her neck. "I'm just... tired. That's all." You sigh and rest your chin on her shoulder, snuggling into her.

You hold each other like that until she gently pulls away from you. She grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes.

"We all are. War is coming. Darkness is descending upon more of our lands. But together we will prevail. Sun and moon. We must work together if we are about to defeat him and Morgoth." Galadriel spoke, tightening her grip on your hands.

"I know." You mumble and shake your head. You remove your hands from her grip and turn to face the window, watching the sun slowly rise. “Which doesn’t mean he won’t see it coming. Because he will. We have to move faster, think five step ahead than he does if we want the light to break through his army of darkness.” You say not turning to face her since you're too afraid of what she'll find in your eyes. Galadriel sighs but doesn't try to catch your attention anymore.

"I guess we won't get any more sleep tonight. Get ready. I'll go find Erlond." She looks at you a little longer, her gaze burning on your back, but you stubbornly stare out at the valleys lit by the glow of the sun breaking through the morning mist, not yet feeling ready to face what is outside.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the door closes behind her. You turn one of the rings forged by HIM, which you have placed on your necklace, in your hands, quietly wondering if you should really do what you were about to do. But since he's decided to play dirty against you for weeks... you might as well start returning his little blows, too.

You close your eyes and place the ring on your finger. You hold your breath as the familiar surge of power makes your blood pump a little harder and your eyes sharpen to your surroundings. The outlines of the valleys in the distance become much clearer, and you can almost smell the forest that lies miles away.

You know he can sense where you are if you let him. So you take a little risk and remove the protective shield that keeps you away from him. And Sauron bursts through your slightly ajar door as if into a rabbit hole.

"If you're out there somewhere… if you can hear me… know that you've given me enough darkness to rip your black heart from your chest without blinking, mime melin cotumo."

Maybe calling him your dear enemy wasn't the best thing to end your threat, but the only thing that could leave your lips when you addressed him were such nicknames. Never the names you knew him by. Especially the name under which he hid when you so naively gave him part of your heart.

"Are you, Y/N?"

His whispered question echoes through the empty room. You immediately throw him out and slam the door on his ghostly presence, blocking his vision of you again. You want to celebrate this small victory over him, showing him that you are still in control, but you both know it's just an illusion. An illusion you're desperately trying to fall for. Unfortunately, you guess you're not as good at them as he is.

"I don't like him." You say to Galadriel, eyeing Annatar carefully.

You held little Celebrían in your arms and watched as Celeborn, Celebrimbor, and Annatar chatted in the distance, enjoying the party Celebrimbor had thrown for your arrival.

"He is… quiet around us. But that doesn't mean we have to be hostile towards him right away. We can't be overly suspicious." Galadriel says and takes her daughter from you, who begins to cry quietly. You sigh, looking at the child in her arms.

"In these times we can be as suspicious as we want, Galadriel. Middle-earth is even more divided; we elves do not have such a solid, strong united front. If Sauron decides to attack with his orcs, they will crush us one by one. We must act, not be stuck in pointless parties."

"Parties are also part of diplomacy. I'm off to melt the hearts of the ladies of other lands with this sweet little bundle. Try not to spit venom at others. We need allies, as you well noticed." And with that, she leaves you to drown your bitter thoughts in a glass of wine completely alone.

You snort, not paying attention to what's going on around you. The ring that hangs around your neck under your clothes burns your skin mercilessly as you try with all your might to push away the memories of the nap you took after arriving.

Warm, black furs clung to you as you slept soundly in your soft bed. In the background, you could hear the crackling of the fire burning in the fireplace. You were tucked into warm pillows and blankets, the tip of your nose exposed to the cool air outside, being the only thing that was bothering you from resting in your bed.

After a while it turned out that it wasn't just one thing that was supposed to bother you.

You gasp as a strong arm suddenly wraps around your waist. The blankets are lifted, and the cool air assaults your skin, sending goosebumps up your spine. A moment later, you feel yourself pressed against someone's bare, muscular chest.

"Is my queen comfortable enough?" He whispers teasingly in your ear and nuzzles your temple, tightening his grip on you as you try to squirm out of his arms. But he doesn't give you that chance.

He grabs both of your wrists and presses them to your chest as he straddles you. Black fur clings to his back, the only covering he's wearing.

"Do you intend to defile me in your dreams when in reality you cannot lay even the smallest fingertip upon me? You grow more pathetic with the passing centuries." You growl at him angrily, kicking beneath him and trying to break free from his grip.

"You will beg for my touch. I will make your cries heard throughout all the Middle-Earth." He murmurs a promise against your lips and leans down, capturing your lips in an aggressive, passionate kiss that sets every fiber of your being on fire.

The surroundings around you change rapidly. Suddenly, you are completely alone in a black and gold throne room. The only source of light is the rays reflected off a golden throne engraved with a sun.

You glance around frantically, searching for him and a weapon you could use against him. You take a few steps back, heading unconsciously toward the two thrones on the dais. You gasp as your foot touches the tiled mechanism beneath you.

The throne room begins to change, darkness giving way to light, the black marble turning white. But the entire chamber, instead of being divided in half by two colours, blends into grey. The golden throne turns white, and the black as night one becomes a lighter shade of black, almost greige. You turn your face to the landscape outside the window and gasp at what you see.

All of Middle-earth. Divided, but still... a coherent whole. Each of the lands was arranged so as to separate races that got in each other's way, where conflict could arise. The lands of the Orcs were in a barren wasteland, where life could not have arisen anyway, but they made their kingdom on it. All separated from each other by walls of mountains so high that even from the height where the palace was located, it was difficult to see the top of their mountains and the paths of the passes.

You shiver as the heavy, cool metal of the crown settles against your temples. He quickly grabs your shoulders and digs his fingers into you. He holds you against him, forcing you to stare at the land before you, a land you barely recognise anymore.

"We could have that. All of that. I would place a crown on your head, make them all bow to you. Make them bow to us. I would heal Middle-earth of strife and war, make them all live in harmony in their own worlds."

"Would you confine them within the boundaries of their lands? What if they run out of space? Would you move mountains? Would you remake the world? You won't fix them this way; you can't avoid wars and bloodshed. Who do you think you are to decide how the world is suspposed to look like?" You ask him angrily, turning in his arms.

You bravely hold Halbrand’s watchful gaze as he analyses your words carefully, probably thinking of ways to make you join his side, ways to make you see his case in a completely different light.

And you hope you'll have the self-control to reject every single one of them - every little tempting suggestion of the future he wants to show you.

"Amil! (Mommy!)" The joyful cry of a child and the dull thud of tiny feet hitting the floor later are the only warning you get before something small pounces on your legs.

You stubbornly don't look down, but into the eyes of the man in front of you, because you know that once your eyes land on the little projection of a child he wants to show you, you'll be haunted for the rest of your life by the image of what you could have had with him.

“You won't even look at our son, Y/N?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you, daring you to show him how much you don’t care or care about the future he has to offer you.

So you gather all the strength you have inside you and lean down to take the little boy into your arms. He mumbles something, playing with the necklace around your neck.

The boy has his dark hair. And your eyes. And he's too damn cute for you to ever forget the vision he shows you, that he created to torture you forever.

"How long would it take you to instill your dark, poisonous thoughts in him?" You ask with a trembling voice, giving him a look full of pain and dismay.

"I've told you many times, mime melin hon. With you by my side I would have no darkness within me." He mumbles and reaches up to stroke your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I will make you mine. Even if it was the last thing I would do. With or without your consent, I will bind you to me and make you who you were always meant to be: My queen."

You shiver as he places a tender kiss on your forehead. You hold back a broken sob as the weight of the baby on your hip begins to fade and his touch becomes just a hazy memory as you wake from this beautiful and terrifying dream.

“Can you do me the great honour of dancing with you, my lady?” You shiver when you suddenly hear someone's voice next to you. You turn around and barely keep a grimace from forming on your face when the platinum hair of the hated elf catches your eye.

"Lord Annatar. I thought you weren't dancing tonight?" You say in a forced, pleasant tone of voice and nod towards the elf whose invitation to dance he declined. He becomes embarrassed at this and clears his throat awkwardly.

"I simply have been saving my first dance in the hope that my lady of the sun would consent to grace me with it." You present him with your practiced smile, internally cursing him for being so thoughtful with his choice of words. Refusing him would be like spitting in his face - something Galadriel would clearly disapprove of.

"How could I be so cruel in this situation and refuse you, Lord of Gifts?" You tease him flirtatiously, seeing an opportunity in his obvious little affection, and offer him your hand.

You tremble as an electric shiver suddenly runs through you. The strange reaction to his closeness makes your brain buzz with thoughts. Especially when the ring hidden under the material of your dress begins to heat up.

"I may be… but right now I feel like I've received the greatest gift from you, my lady." He says, placing a soft kiss on the top of your hand. He confidently leads you onto the dance floor and pulls you close, wrapping his arm around your waist and being a little too close than was required for this particular dance.

His closeness overwhelms you. Not in a positive way. He seems suspiciously too familiar. Your body doesn't react to him as to a stranger; on the contrary, you immerse yourself in his touch as if it were familiar, comforting. You sense that something is wrong, but you can't say what yet.

"Do you like the rings we've been forging lately? Galadriel probably won't be too keen on his... idea."

"Because he follows in Sauron's footsteps. Perhaps we can dissuade him from this path. Together." You see his jaw tense slightly at your words. His grip on you tightens a little and he seems... flustered.

You narrow your eyes at him slightly, trying to understand his reaction, as well as why with every little touch he makes the ring on your chest burns like it's on fire.

"I truly believe we would be a great unit, úrin-o i world." You tremble when he calls you the sun of the world just as you tremble when he places his hands on your hips and lifts you.

He's in no hurry to put you down. It's as if he was deliberately prolonging this moment, and you let yourself be caught in the hypnotized state that his eyes bring you to.

For a moment, nothing exists except the two of you. It's just you and him. The dancing couples swirling around you momentarily become a blur.

You gasp when, for a moment, instead of Annatar's face, you see Halbrand. His mesmerising blue eyes pierce through you, making it all you can do to lean closer to him.

Your vision ends the moment one of the couples crashes into you. You land awkwardly on Annatar's chest, only his arms keeping you from falling. The couple apologizes and he just nods, pulling the two of you to the sidelines to a more secluded place.

You sigh, staring at him, your breathing heavy, not from the exertion of the dance, but from what you saw when you danced with him. Or rather, who.

"What are you?" You ask suspiciously, but he raises a surprised eyebrow at you, as if your sudden hostility was unfounded.

"You know who I am. Don't you, my Lady of the Sun?" You swallow hard at his question, but before you can answer him, Galadriel steps between you and him. A very angry and irritated Galadriel.

"He is of an unsound mind. How can he ignore what is so obvious? No one who follows the path that Sauron trod can call himself anything but his ally. I am leaving first thing in the morning. We cannot waste time while he is somewhere nearby, preparing an army against us."

"Perhaps you are giving him too much thought, my lady?" Annatar makes a sarcastic remark, but Galadriel ignores him and walks furiously away from the two of you, not even waiting for her husband, who has just reached the three of you.

"Galadriel..." You call out to her but she ignores you. "Galadriel!" Celeborn nods apologetically and follows the elf with the child in his arms. You stand in shock in the middle of the room and stare at the leaving elves.

"I don't blame them. You know what they're talking about... and about who they're talking." Annatar says, nodding at Celebrimbor. He stands alone in the corner, looking around nervously. "It would be best if you followed your lady." He advises you like a nasty snake that coils around your leg and whispers unwanted things in your ear.

You flinch and turn so you can fully look at him. He liked to play games. So he'll get one from you. You won't leave this palace without a promise from Celebrimbor to join you in case... if HE tries to attack.

Galadriel wanted to resort to desperate measures—she wanted to warn Adar that Sauron lived and wanted to use orcs in his plan to change Middle-earth. If you were to choose allies, you would rather heal the mind of an elf in whom you saw even a shred of light.

"I am my own lady. I do not have to follow anyone. Besides, I think you could use some help here, dear Annatar." You reply with a sweet smile. You see his jaw tense a little at your words. He clearly didn't want you around - that's why you had to stay here and see what the Lord of Gifts - the supposed envoy of the Valar was really doing in Eregion.

"Hm... that would be an honour to have you as our guest, my lady."

He says, smiling mysteriously at you. A shiver runs down your spine, and you already know that this won't be as much fun for you as it will be for him.

As if on cue, you drift off into blissful, dark unconsciousness.

"Fighting by your side… I felt like I could hold onto that feeling. Bind it in my very being."

"I felt it to." You mumble, staring at Halbrand's slightly bruised and scratched face.

You often had dreams like that. Flashbacks of past events. Sometimes they were real, and sometimes he was just playing with you in dreamland again, reenacting past events and laughing in your face, mocking you as you relived the same thing.

So I guess nothing has changed… if, knowing who I am, you still kiss me with such burning passion, my sunshine.

Cheap line. You managed to punch him for it many times. But that only seems to make him more cocky. So you stopped and instead looked for some way to get out of these dreams.

But now, as he leaned down and kissed you as sweetly as he had before... you could do nothing but moan and grab his hair in your fist as you pressed yourself against him, hating every bit of armour that covered your bodies and was separating you from him.

"The Valar must have spent aeons crafting those raspberry-sweet lips." He mumbles against your lips and cups your cheek in his hand. He pushes you back gently, your back pressing against the tree trunk you were sitting on.

You pretend you didn't notice that that little comment never came out of his mouth back then, and you take advantage of his moment of distraction. You take out your dagger and press it to his neck, pushing him away from you.

He needs a moment to process what happened. He chuckles raggedly and shakes his head slightly—just enough so that your blade doesn't even scratch his skin.

"What gave me away?"

"Sweet lips?" You mock him, pinning him against the rough tree trunk.

"I tried to be romantic with you, my beloved nemesis. Almost the same as that Lord of Gifts of yours, wasn't it?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. The cocky smirk doesn't leave his face even as you straddle him with the blade at his neck. You want to pierce all of his arteries, but his comment about Annatara catches your attention more than the murderous urge he's inspired in you.

"Jealous?"

"Intrigued. Do you like him?" He corrects you and asks a question that makes you want to laugh. As if there was anyone else besides him who could hold your attention for longer…

"Are you afraid that it will take your place as the worst, most venomous snake I have ever encountered?"

"Oh please… we both know that's not the only thing I'm best at. I remember one night perfectly, when…" You press the metal of the blade to his neck and draw blood from him. A black stream runs down his skin, soaking into the tree trunk, which instantly rots. "I understand. You want to be the one to dominate today?"

You snort in frustration at him and push yourself away from him. You take a few steps away from him and watch him closely as he slowly stands up and catches up with you.

"Only if you let me plunge my blade into your black, cold heart."

"Only if you acknowledge the fact that it beats only for you." He whispers and gently cups your cheek with his hand. You tremble, unable to move away from him or make any movement except to stare at him. Anger and something else—a feeling you're terrified to admit to—boil inside you like crazy. And that's all because of him.

"As if you could love anyone but yourself." You answer shakily as he leans toward you. He kisses you again, more gently, more tenderly.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, demanding full access to your mouth, as if the way he kisses you is to prove to you that he is capable of love—that he is capable of giving himself over to a mad passion that he cannot control, as if you were truly his lady.

And it is out of fear that he will manage to squeeze out of you that little challenge that he so desires that you reach for the dagger you had abandoned earlier and brutally plunge it into your heart, bypassing the plates of your armor.

You gasp, tearing yourself out of the dream he has entangled you in, but only to find yourself in a real nightmare.

You look around in panic as you see only orcs above you. The dead body of a dark elf is being torn apart by them, as if they were performing some kind of ritual over the dead. They are talking to each other in the black language, clearly too distracted to pay much attention to you.

You reach out for their abandoned weapon beside you, but you can't move much. You groan as a foot steps on your wrist, hard enough to pin your hand in place but gentle enough not to break or crush your bone.

You lift your head and bite your lip, drawing blood when you see who is standing over you.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, my sweet nemesis." Annatar says and nods to the two orcs closest to you. They walk over and hold you by the arms, lifting you to your feet.

"Sauron." You snap at him furiously, putting as much venom and hatred as you can into saying his real name.

"Hello, darling. Many years, centuries even, but it still seems like one day, right?" He mockingly responds to your seething fury. You watch him closely and freeze when you see that he holds not only his crown in his hand but Galadriel's ring as well.

He had two of the three forged for the elves. The last one... hung around your neck. And he could have taken it anytime he wanted. But he would have to pry it off your dead body if he really wanted it.

"You were more handsome as a brunette." You spit insults at him, trying to stay as calm as you can as he begins to walk forward. The orcs lead you right next to him.

"I can transform back into Halbrand just for you. Would you prefer that, my lady?" You press your lips together in a thin line, about to answer him, but he's already using his powers, and before you can do anything, Halbrand appears before your eyes.

You turn your gaze away from him and try to focus on the burning desire to draw some blood that the orcs' touch on you inspires as they lead you toward what looks like a camp.

"I'd rather have you rotted in Mordor."

"Ahh… such ugly words on such a joyous day? After all, you don't get married every day, do you?" He asks casually, too excited for your liking; if the orcs weren't forcing you towards the large tent, you would have stopped dead in your tracks and stared at the back of his head in complete shock.

"Married?" You repeat his words stupidly. The orcs hand you to him after you enter the large tent and quickly flee at their lord's beck and call. Halbrand... Sauron sets his crown down at the foot of the makeshift bed and turns to regard you, a huge, cocky grin on his face that you once found sexy. In the current situation, it only irritated you more.

"I promised you I would make you a queen. My queen. I have a crown, an army, and land. The only thing that is missing is you by my side—exactly as the Valar planned." He’s been explaining this to you for the umpteenth time, as if you were a carefree child to whom he had to explain something in a simple, banal way. You clench your fists and take one deep, calming breath.

"I'd rather die."

"No, you don't. Don't blaspheme like that. We both know that's what you want. I'm only doing you a favour by taking away your free will, giving you the illusion that I'm forcing you to do this against your will, so you don't have to feel guilty about acting on your heart's desires." He answers confidently, stubbornly, in a tone you knew—a tone he had used a thousand times when negotiating with kings, queens, and nobles.

Back then, when you thought he was just a man, you were charmed by his chearism, his self-confidence, and his unwavering actions. Now you saw how dangerous that was.

"You don't know my heart's desires." You whisper as he stops in front of you. But he doesn't move to touch you, does nothing but stand there and watch you.

You want to curse him for turning back into Halbrand and for showing you this illusion. It was much easier for you to reject Annatar than him... ironic, since it was Halbrand that betrayed you more than any other being.

"Another lie. I think you've gotten a lot better at it than I have in my absence, my dear sunshine."

You snort when he calls you that. The moment you open your mouth to answer, he leans in and steals your kiss and your breath. He pulls you to him by the material of your dress and perfectly ignores any thumps in your chest you give him. You jerk against his grip, bite his lip, and do everything to pull away from him. But he doesn't let go. Not until you're gasping for air and your lips are swollen, your clothes and hair a mess just like all of you.

"You know... I am not surprised you lied to me all this time. I mean... living for so long can trick your mind. You probably don't know your true self anymore, do you? When was the last time someone called you by your true name? Not with insult or fear, but with affection, maybe even sympathy?"

"Why? Want to change that, I úrin -o mime coiv- (the sun of my life)?" He asks, slowly pulling away from you. You ignore your instincts to follow his touch and stand frozen in place as he walks over to his abandoned crown.

"Are you just going to rule them? In the hopes that they won't kill you again? That I won't convince them to do so?"

"Fear is a powerful ally. And something tells me you'd rather have me alive than dead." He answers calmly and places his crown on your head. You frown as the cool metal settles on your temple.

You let him play with you for a moment and treat you like a doll he can do anything to. You waited for the perfect moment to attack, to throw him off balance. You wouldn't give in to him without a fight. Not when you still had at least a shred of strength to resist the darkness calling out to you.

"Not as powerful ally as love." Your response makes him more thoughtful. He stares at you, contemplating the sight of you in his crown, as if trying to forever engrave the image in his mind… to bind it to his very being.

"Indeed. But you either have one of them." He nods and runs his fingertips over your exposed shoulder. You shiver as he grazes the metal of your necklace.

"And what did you want? From me?" You see him soften noticeably at your question. Something like affection… maybe even tenderness or love appears in his eyes as he moves his hand to your neck, cupping it gently.

"You know my heart's desire, Y/N. Just as I know yours." He mumbles your name barely audible and leans in closer to you. You shiver as his bearded cheek brushes against yours, his soft lips caressing your earlobe as he whispers: "I don't have to say it out loud for you to know it."

"No… you don't have to." You respond and cup his cheek in your hand. He freezes at the sudden display of affection from you and involuntarily buries his face in your palm, closing his eyes. You lean down and press a small kiss to his cheek. He sighs tiredly, as if he had travelled a truly polynomial distance, and allows himself to melt in your touch. "Because I'd rather cut your tongue out than listen to another lie from you."

Before he can react, you're already reaching for his dagger. You press it to his neck, but he shakes off your little seduction and pushes you away from him roughly. You fall with the yak onto the mattress behind you, the crown falling off your head with a clatter to the floor as you stare at him intently, both of you aiming your blades at each other.

"In some races dagger is considered as one of the love's language." She mocks you, wiping the black blood off his neck with her free hand. He licks it off—a demonstration at which you hold your breath for a moment. Bloody bastard.

"I always preferred to consider it death's language." You respond and lunge at him again. He blocks your blade with his own and grabs your arm. You hiss at the hard, painful swipe of his fingers against your skin as he leans toward you, giving you one of his long, enigmatic, dark stares.

"You know what the difference is between me and them, Y/N? They fear you, what you can do, the power you wield with such grace, like it's nothing. But I'm willing to burn in the light of your sun if it means having you by my side."

"Rather, if it means gaining that power for yourself." You growl and kick him. He falls on his back in surprise at your strength, which you take advantage of and run forward—straight to the exit of the tent.

You run through the camp and quickly take the ring from your neck. You put it on your finger and, using the power it gives you, cast illusions on yourself, becoming invisible to the orcs. You hear Halb... Sauron's shouts behind you, ordering the orcs to find you and bring you alive to him. He himself gives chase through the forest. And you have to admit that he is not so far from you.

You run as long as your legs give you strength. You stop in some clearing with a small stream. You try to find a safe hiding place, hide, and wait out the mad pursuit. And just when you think you've made it, he emerges from behind the trees.

"Y/N! I know you are here! I can feel you! I will always..." He pauses, his voice shaking, and you realise this is the second time you've seen him so... vulnerable and open. It's a dangerous reaction from him. Either it's real... or he's using it as a card in his game to win yet another game he's playing with you. "I would make you a queen. In a heartbeat. You don't have to do anything. Just come with me."

And you really wish it were that simple. But you don't know if you could look at yourself in the mirror if you just so blatantly betrayed them and everything you know for… him and his lies. As beautiful and tempting as they were.

"Queen of slaves like you!" You scream, comming out from your hidding place and attack him.

"Yes! I am a slave! I am a slave to you, Y/N. At least I have the courage to admit it to myself and to you. And you, my queen?" He says each sentence every time your blades strike each other with a metallic clang.

"Don't forget about Mogoth, my king." You mock him and hit him more and more aggressively, each of your blows a precise attack on him.

"You're going to bind to me. Willingly or not, and I will relish every moment of it." He growls and finally knocks the blade out of your hand, and he grabs your wrists, twisting your arms behind you and pressing your back against his chest, the blade at your neck gently teasing your skin, as do his lips against your temple. "Let go. Just let go. I know you are tired. Let me help you. Let me carry for you all your worries and the hatred of the Middle-earth. Let me make you my queen. Heal this world with me."

"Only if you will made ma a crown from your skin and bones." You gasp, fighting his grip, trying to twist from the iron grip his arms have on you, but it's not as easy as it might seem. He pins you to the ground, straddling you, and stares at you, breathing heavily.

"I will wrap you in them, if that's what I need to keep you at my side!"

His cry echoes through the empty clearing. For a moment, you stare at each other, not making a move. The sound of the stream around you is the only other song playing in accompaniment to your heavy heartbeat, which you can hear in the deafening emptiness that surrounds you. The world stops. Again, when you're close to him.

"I did not desire power as much as I desire you. You hurt me more than Morgoth ever did; you poison me more than the darkness. I think of you every morning, afternoon, and night. You are like a poison that I cannot draw from myself. You are the light that blinds me, that destroys me, but I cling to it like a child in the dark. Even though the darkness has been a much longer and more loyal companion to me than you." He mumbles, pressing wild kisses to your face.

You moan as his lips and rough beard abuse your neck worse than the blade he had brought to you moments ago, which he had driven into the ground beside you. You had nothing. No weapon to attack him with, to protect yourself from his sweet lips and the burning touch that stirred desires so shameful and so familiar in you.

"A pathological liar." You gasp as he hastily undoes your dress. But you do nothing to stop him. You can't anymore.

You feel exhausted, both mentally and physically, all the running away from him, all the fighting with him. Maybe you really were a lost cause; maybe you were always meant to blend with his darkness and try to balance it with your light. You don't know that. What you do know is that he feels too good against you for you to fight him any longer.

"Both of us. But I'm the only one here who doesn't deceive myself."

"I'd rather deceive myself than allow myself to think that I could desire someone like you." And it's awful that as you say that, you reach for him and help to undress him.

You were only proving that you really were a terrible liar and hypocrite. But how long could you hold back from touching the darkness that called out to you so sweetly?

"We both know this is much more than simple lust." He whispers, stroking your hair tenderly and pressing his lips to your forehead. His hands roam your exposed body, caressing every little part of you. And if you concentrate hard enough, you can forget for a moment who he really is—you can only see Halbrand and not HIM. "Tell me… what's it like to want to simultaneously pierce me with a sword, burn me at the stake, and cherish me in the privacy of your chambers, my dear sun?"

"Maddening." You whisper shakily, admitting what you feel.

A single tear rolls down your cheek—a tear that he quickly licks from you. He groans at the sweet-salty feeling of your tears and holds you tightly with his one arm as the other slowly begins to toy with your most sensitive place, preparing you for complete failure and defeat.

All you can feel is blissful pleasure as the darkness is touching you.

And just when he is about to bring you great pleasure, when he is about to unite the two of you as one after so long, he stops completely. You fidget, toss, and turn, seeking renewed contact with him that he does not grant you.

"I'll come for you. In one form or another. I'll make you my queen, whether you want me to or not. I may be a fraud, Y/N, but I don't have the strength to deceive myself. You'll understand when you will be my age. And I'll wait for that. I will wait for you to realise that I am the only one who sees you, accepts you, and adores you as you truly are. All you have to do is call for me." You almost cry in frustration as he pulls away from you, leaving only a ghostly touch on your skin as he continues to hold your wrists. "The sun is also having an eclipse, Y/N. I am your eclipse. And you will beg me to give you my darkness."

He places one last kiss on your forehead and then disappears. You sigh, looking around you, and realise with a shiver that he was never really there.

He tricked you. He connected with you through the ring you still wore on your finger and entered your mind as another illusion. You cry, your hand shakily pressed to your mouth as you try to keep from making any sound for fear that he and the orcs might still be nearby and sense you.

You bite your fingers as a pitiful cry wants to escape your lips; it starts as your mouth forms a cry of his name, but at the last moment you stop yourself. You grit your teeth and stand up from the ground. You dust off your dress and look around you.

The rising sun illuminates your face, but you no longer feel the familiar warmth spreading throughout your body as you greet the morning light. You feel emptyness. A festering, burning emptiness. And the visible touch of HIS lips on your neck...

Sauron may have defeated you in your dreams and mind, but when it came to duels, when you faced each other in your own skin and bones, he lost. In the crucial moments, when he was about to make you his, you managed to slip away from him. You only fear how long you will be able to do so.

Especially since he has robbed you of all joy in the light and awakened a lust for the darkness you have touched with him...

And as you stared at the rising sun, you already knew that there would be no salvation for you, nothing that would make you forget about the electric thrill you felt every time you embraced the darkness with him.

Halbrand, Sauron, Annatar, whatever form he took, you were drawn to him. And you could either die, try to fight it, or accept it and try to save the little bit of light that was left in both of you. You didn't believe that after all the darkness he'd poured into you, he wouldn't get an ounce of your light from you in exchange. And if that tormented him as much as his darkness tormented you... then you felt at least a little less pathetic for falling in love with the Dark Lord of the Rings.

[justatypicalwizard]

Katsuki doesn't believe in love at first sight

Katsuki never believed in love at first sight. How could someone meet eyes and feel as if a thunder ruptured down from the skies and struck them? To love someone means to accept every part of them and to be able to incorporate them into your everyday life. It means building a brand new everyday with that person.

In order to do so you need to know a lot about them. Who they are, what are their plans for the future, what is their character and so on. Then you need to see if you are compatible in many spheres. You need to invite them to your friends group to see if it’ll hit off, you should try living together, they need to get to know your parents.

There are simply so many things to check off the list in order to be able to say you love someone. Otherwise it’s just empty words. I love you here and there. I love you for a week. I love you when you do as I please. Bullshit.

Mina constantly pestered Katsuki that his definition of love feels more like a chore or a job interview than like something a human would be able to accomplish. It wasn’t his fault he had some standards everyone else seemed to lack.

So even now Katsuki doesn’t like to admit that he fell in love at first sight, because it wasn’t the first time when he looked at you.

A quiet ping of his phone tore him out of his work. A new message from someone he didn’t recognise. Without much thought he opened the text.

[Hi, you may not know me but we go to the same lecture on Wednesday at 1 PM. I heard you have neat notes and wanted to ask if it wouldn’t be a problem if you send me today’s ones. I  got sick and couldn’t come and I wouldn’t want to fall behind with the material. Thanks!]

Geez, was there a longer way to type it? Couldn’t you just write: can you give me notes? On the other hand he always complained about people being douchebags.

Clicking onto your profile Katsuki saw a cheesy photo and a few posts from your daily life and vacations. Nothing much to be honest. Yet, he could vaguely remember your face around the people who entered the lecture hall. It won’t hurt to help.

[Sure]

[File attached]

Pushing his phone to the far end of his desk he went back to work. A few minutes later there was another quiet ding and this time Katsuki felt irritation bubbling inside him. It was you once again.

[Thank you so much!]

[I owe you]

[If you ever need anything feel free to write]

Whatever.

It only took a week for Katsuki to be indeed looking for help from someone. Once in a while, during his hero training, he was forced to pair up with someone in order to work on his rescue skills. Usually they’d use dummies but some fucktard in the course planning team decided that it would be most helpful if the students could train with a real human.

Normally Katsuki would ask Mina. He’d swallow his pride and force himself to listen to her babbling for two hours. Just to get it done. Unfortunately, Mina dumped him today, leaving only a [sorry, not feeling well, find someone else]. Damned flu season.

Who was he supposed to ask now, Denki?

As he scrolled down his chats, your profile pic flew by making Katsuki halt.

If you ever need anything feel free to write.

Screw it, you said it yourself, might as well find a person already and move on with his day. He typed a quick explanation and pushed the send button. The day was nearing the afternoon when you responded.

[Sure, if it’s two hours I can make it. Send me when and where I should be]

He shrugged and gave you the address for today's training.

In the early evening Katsuki found himself trotting towards his usual fighting ground absentmindedly. He was thinking about something related to work at Miruko’s when the idea flew out of his head. You were there, he could see you from afar, walking in circles in front of the main door.

Were you an idiot? It was the middle of winter and the early evening cold tore through layers of warm coats to sink into your bones. Why weren’t you entering the building to warm up a bit.

That’s why Katsuki is so stubborn about the whole love at first sight thing. It certainly wasn’t that exact moment when his heart skipped a beat because of you. You were shivering, hiding your chin and red tinted cheeks deeper into the collar of your winter coat. When you spotted him you reached out a gloved hand and waved.

“What the fuck are you doing outside, get in there or you’ll catch another cold.” He persisted, ushering you towards the entrance.

“Wow, good evening to you too.” You looked at him from under your woollen hat, surprised to get yelled at first thing you see him. Though, you did hear the upcoming pro-hero Dynamite, who went to the same lecture as you, was rather intense. “I don’t know, this place just looks fancy. Didn’t want to stand inside like a dumbass not knowing where to go.”

“So you stood outside like a dumbass not knowing where to go.”

“Exactly.”

He let you in and showed you around. After leaving your coat and getting a warm tea (his idea), you were ready to help with his training. The support students and university staff running around asked you to take off any unnecessary piece of clothing such as jewellery or sweaters that could get in the way. You gladly went through with their instructions.

You b-lined another student, a senior support course, who showed you the place where you’d be waiting to be rescued. The spacious arena was moulded into the shape of a city. Some buildings were fine, others rundown as if a villain attack rolled over them. There were paveways and roads, streetlamps and plastic trees. You even spotted a car, though it didn’t look like it could take off anytime soon. 

“It will look the same over and over. You sit or lie down in the place where I leave you and wait for your hero.” Your guide briefed the rules. “And every time pick out a different scenario and tie the band in the place that is put on it.” He handed you a dozen of ribbons with small notes attached to them. The first one you grabbed read: broken arm (tie around elbow).

“Sure.” You nodded your head and he left you on the second floor of a wannabe office building. There were a few chairs scattered around and a table that had a weird bite mark on it. You obediently wrapped the band around your arm and sat down on the floor, waiting.

You wondered how it’ll be, to get fake rescued. You were never in such a situation, always watching the villains from the comfort of your TV rather than first hand. What was Dynamite’s quirk? Suddenly you felt stupid for not knowing. On the other hand, you were never up to date with new heroes and all the popularity polls or colourful magazines. Guess you’d just have to wait and see.

Katsuki didn’t leave you for long. You were counting the pieces of shattered glass beneath your feet when a series of explosions passed beside the building. The small pieces you were meticulously adding shook and you let out a squeak when something heavy hit the wall behind you.

“Shut up, it's me.” Craning your neck, you saw Dynamite’s face, upside down, looking at you. He was halfway through the window. “What have you got?”

“God, you scared me.” You chuckled but quickly shut your mouth. The guide asked you to play the best victim you can. Victims shouldn’t laugh.

Dynamite hopped in front of you and crouched to read the note attached to your elbow. He mumbled something in the lines of fucking scenario and looked you straight in the eye.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.”

There wasn’t anything dramatic going on, it was even quiet outside save for a few shouts here and there. Yet, there was just something in a bulked man looking at you and promising you protection, one secured by his own arms. You felt like the guy from the firefighters video.

You couldn’t stop the giggle at the thought.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Dynamite spat.

“Nothing, nothing.” You shook your hands in front of your still laughing face. “Oh shit, this one’s supposed to be broken. Okay, just save me already.” You really fought with the snicker but the cheesiness and awkwardness of the whole situation had you in a chokehold.

“Whatever.” The hero sighed, visibly annoyed, and scooped you into his hands like a sack of potatoes. “I’ll need you to wrap your legs around me. Push the broken arm into my chest and use your healthy one to hold onto me.”

You did as instructed and glued yourself to him as tight as you could. He still held you with one of his arms and just when you started to wonder how the two of you would get down from the second floor he jumped out of the window.

A scream escaped your lips but it was muffled by a loud explosion.

For the next two hours you flew through the air in Dynamite’s hands over and over again. He held you in different ways, depending on your supposed injury, but every time you landed into the safe zone, you realised you were the first or nearly the first. That guy was quick like hell.

The last scenario rolled over and it was a panic attack. You were supposed to be physically fine but otherwise unresponsive and difficult to work with due to your shock. Dynamite tried to take extra steps to calm you down, speaking about how he’ll take you to safety and how it will all be over in a second. It looked like he was having a hard time.

“I need to touch you to take you somewhere safe.” He said, wrapping one of his hands around you.

When you were both at the safe zone, with cardboard paramedics to take care of you, Dynamite did something different. Instead of leaving you in the place where the group of injured would grow, he carried you straight to the ambulance.

“She has a panic attack.” He said to the empty fake vehicle and you just couldn’t take any more of it. You erupted in a fit of laughter. Your body shook in his hands and you gripped the X on his uniform to steady yourself. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You tried to explain but the laughter squeezed your throat. “I’m a shitty actor.”

“I see that.” Dynamite grumbled.

“Do you really need to talk to cardboard people and empty vehicles for two hours every week?” You asked, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“Is it really that fucking funny?”

“No, no! I get it.” You finally calmed down, letting go of the front of his costume. “It’s not that funny, maybe a bit but not that much. I think I’m just in a good mood.” You shrug your shoulders. “It was fun, flying with you, like a free rollercoaster ride.” You gave him a big, big smile. A big genuine smile. A big, genuine, lovely smile, with your eyes closed and teeth out and cheeks tinted pink.

People are stupid. That’s what Katsuki thinks. It’s not love at first sight. It’s love because of a single sight.

Even though Katsuki came to some fundamental conclusions in the topic of love he would get all defensive and intense when he was asked about how the two of you met. It would sound way better if he could say the two of you met, then started to talk more, then went on a date and agreed to meet each other and so on. He just felt so stupid, so awkward and silly when he had to admit that all it took for you was a single smile to make his heart skip a beat.

The worst part? It felt a little pathetic honestly, as if people never smiled at him, but truthly they didn’t, not like that. Not like you.

Katsuki still doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Yet, every other piece of his meticulously calculated equation of love was torn down and rewritten, all of which he gladly took.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Late Date

Summary: It’s your birthday and Tyler’s going to do some wrangling to make sure no tornado can ruin your day. Unfortunately, that also makes him and the Wranglers a bit late to your party. 

Notes/Warnings: Fluff. It’s not angsty at all, despite how the summary may sound. Inaccurate meteorology/tornado stuff. Slight jealousy. This is based on a lyrics request: “you’ve got long hair slicked back white t shirt and I’ve got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.” It’s just meant to be kinda cute, and I did my best, so hopefully you guys like it. Comments make my entire world, so if you do like it, let me know :)

Words: 1650

Tyler Owens Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

It happens often. You and Tyler are enjoying your time together when Disaster suddenly puts you in her path. A picnic in the park, a late-evening rodeo, a dinner date for him to meet your mother—all ruined. And yes, you believe Disaster does this intentionally. Disaster, in the form of a funnel of warm air and moisture, is as much in love with your boyfriend as you are, and she’s a jealous bitch, always calling him away when he’s in the throes of life with you. 

Luckily for Tyler, you’re not as jealous as his tornado. You’re not as greedy. When he leaves you to meet her, you let him go because he’s the town hero, and you don’t let your emotions get in the way of his job. After all, he does what he does to save the things he loves—this town, his family, you. And regardless of the time he spends with her, you know you’re his number one. 

Today, however, you could do without his job. The jealousy that you have rarely felt up to this point seeps through as he throws your favorite white t-shirt of his over his sculpted chest before buckling the belt wrapped around his jean-clad hips. He stomps one foot down into his boot and then the other before rifling through the dresser chest at the base of the bed.

“You have to do this on my birthday?” you ask, trying not to pout from your seated position on the mattress. The silk sleeve of your robe falls down your shoulder, exposing bare skin, and despite the chill, you don’t pull the garment back up your arm. Anything to keep him in this bed, you think, and for a moment, you you’re satisfied that it might be working. Tyler pauses on his hunt for a clean flannel as his eyes glue to your chest, your pebbled nipples just barely hidden by the rest of the smooth, thin material. 

You sit up on your knees and wrap your arms around his neck, but it’s from your touch that Tyler finally blinks, shakes his head, and says, “Darlin’, wouldn’t you rather feel reassured that your evening tonight will go tornado-free? I’m just going to go with the guys, disrupt anything that’s already formed, and observe the conditions as best I can so we don’t get any coming our way when we’re supposed to be celebrating another year of your life.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he hits you with logic, but it’s made harder by the pout on his face. That is supposed to be your pout. He’s the one leaving you on your birthday—decent reason or not—not the other way around. 

“Fine,” you say.

Tyler grins from ear to ear. He leans in and captures your lips in a long kiss before pulling back and brushing your unkempt hair out of your face. “We’ll meet you at the bar, ok?”

Nodding, you say, “Yea,” and untangle your arms from his neck. He gives you one last kiss. 

“Happy Birthday, darlin’” glides to your ear in his smooth, low voice, and then he’s out the door. 

—

“He’ll be here,” your cousin tells you. You’ve been staring at the bar door for a half-hour, disappointed with each new blond cowboy who walks into the crowded space. “When has he ever let you down?”

You sigh. “I know. But why did the bitchy tornadoes have to run wild today of all days? He said they chased four between here and the next town over, and two of them put up a real fight,” you say, relaying the information of Tyler’s earlier texts. “Plus, it’s raining now. That’ll only make it more difficult for them to get back.”

The bartender offers you and your cousin the drinks she ordered. She winks at him and downs the entire glass in one gulp—which he seems to find very impressive—before nudging your glass closer to your folded hands atop the counter. 

“Well, the only thing to do is drink up,” she orders. “Might as well have fun while we wait.”

—

You’re two drinks in. Your cousin has knocked back four, and while she’s no lightweight, the effects show in the uptick of her flirtiness with the bartender. She’s agreed to wait around until his shift is over, which was quickly retracted when she remembered that it’s your birthday and the fun she is meant to be having is with you, not the hot guy who stopped charging her for drinks an hour ago. But you assuage her guilt, knowing you have no intention of hanging around a crowded bar until two in the morning unless your boyfriend is going to be with you, birthday or not. 

With the acceptance of your third drink, you hope to easier ignore the appreciative glances from the blond cowboys on the other side of the mass of dancers in the center of the room. You must be a sunny-haired, country boy’s type, but they aren’t your man, and to be honest, you’re surprised they’re daring enough to look so long. The town is small enough that you figured by now everyone knows you’re Tyler’s girl, but clearly, that’s not the case. Either that or they just don’t care. 

When you start to feel it—the slight high, the looser inhibitions—you decide the best course of action is to simply ignore them, and so you hop down from the stool and make your way to the dance floor to do exactly that, planting yourself in the middle of a group of like-minded women swaying their hips to the tune. Like that, you let yourself go, alcohol allowing you to surrender to the flow of the feminine voice coming through the speakers. Your mind drifts, your eyes close, and when you feel a hand on your waist, you think of Tyler. When hips grind against yours, you think of Tyler. When lips touch your neck, you think of Tyler. And when your eyes open, you see Tyler.

He steps into the bar with the Wranglers in tow, his soaked white t-shirt clinging to his torso that every woman—even those invested in men of their own—notices, his hands slicking back his damp locks. With a grin on his handsome face, he glances around the space in search of you, but when he finds you, that grin drops faster than a rock can hit the ground. 

It’s then that you realize the paws on your body are not his. The breath hitting behind your ear is that of a stranger. Tyler’s stomping his way over to you, but you don’t need him to release his building rage because you have plenty of your own. 

Flipping around, your palm meets the cheek of one of the knock-off Tylers. He yelps and rubs his face. His irises turn red, and he looks ready to give you a scolding or call you some sort of vile name, but his eyes widen at the shadow that suddenly looms over you and he shrinks where he stands. 

“Y-Your girlfriend?” he eeks out. 

It’s fascinating to see the demeanor shift. Tyler must have more of a reputation than you realized. You haven’t lived in town long—you moved in with him three weeks ago after a year of long-distance dating—but you’ve known for a while that he is well-loved and anyone who crosses him crosses the town. What you didn’t know was that the people’s devotion to their tornado-wrangling hero could incite such fear. And honestly, you’re a little impressed; a little turned on. 

Tilting your chin up, the back of your head lands against your boyfriend’s chest. His arm comes around your waist, hand flattening over your stomach. “You think?” he spits. 

When knock-off Tyler skitters back to the gaggle of knock-off Tylers, your Tyler turns you around to face him. With a cocked brow, he says, “Now, darlin’, what was that?”

You shrug. “Thought he was you.”

Tyler looks over your shoulder to the group of blonds. His eyes narrow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve had a bit to drink,” you chuckle.

His mouth parts, an ahh sound leaving his throat as if to say, ‘That explains it.’ “Where’s your cousin?” His gaze follows yours to the familiar woman whose body is half thrown over the countertop, her lips connected to the guy whose neglect of other patrons is about to cause a riot. But you don’t care about a likely-to-be-fired bartender; you care that your boyfriend was absent for so much of your birthday.

“What took you so long?”

You’ve started to gently sway with the music again, this time taking the correct Tyler with you. Your hands clasp behind his neck as his link around your waist, pulling you in close. 

“Sorry, darlin’. It was rougher than we anticipated,” he says, and though you expected to be much more put out, you feel settled with that explanation. You’re just happy he’s with you now and not standing you up for a date with his unpredictable weather. “You look pretty,” he tells you as his palms slide down over the skirt that’s snuggly fitted around your hips. “I haven’t seen this one before.”

“Bought it today.”

“For me?”

“For me.” You roll your eyes. “But I might have guessed you’d like it.”

He hums, gaze raking appreciate up your body to your mouth. “I do,” he says, then he presses his lips to yours. However, remembering the scarlet hue coating your lips, you quickly pull back. 

“Your whole mouth is going to be red if you keep kissing me.”

Tyler’s brow pinches. One hand’s fingers glide up your body and slip between the strands of your hair. “Good,” he says. “Then people will know we’re a matching set.”

[walkedlegacy-closed]

@lvebug: send 🤕 to be by receivers bedside when they wake up from a coma.

the coma was induced by the doctors. when the worry of organ failure became a real worry , they placed her in a medically induced coma , to give her body the best chance at recovering from the bridge collapsed , that had managed to crush her abdomen , placing her in a bit of a danger zone. the coma did what it was supposed to do , and when she was brought out , the doctors were fairly confident that she was going to be just fine , and wasn't at any foreseeable risk of back pedaling after being brought out. like always . . . anya performed with flying colors.

she'd already technically come out , her family being the first to see her when she woke , followed shortly by her team. she didn't really remember much of that though . . . before slipping back off to sleep. man that sleep made her feel like she had been hit by a freight train. when she focused a little more , she saw andie , and made a slight hum to clear her throat. "i see they're sending in the next wave of visitors. must mean i'm doin good."