#brave ten

[zeldalizzy]

The Wild Children! Merida and Wild would get into soooo much trouble together, since they have such similar personalities. They both love adventuring, exploring, archery, and horseback riding! Queen Elinor and Twilight/Time would probably just vent about their crazy 'children' together.

I feel like out of all the boys, Wild would definitely be the most likely to get someone he knows cursed by accident. Also, he's ridden bears before (BOTW lol), and so when Merida tells him about all of her adventures, he'd probably get so excited like, OH MY GOODNESS YOU TOO?!

Also, if you don't understand what Merida is saying, she is basically just challenging Wild to hit an arrow into a far away tree 😂

I finally finished my exams!! 🥳 Can't wait to see what the poll results are so I can hopefully start on the next piece soon! Hope you all are doing well! 🩵

P.S. lol when I was writing this all I could think about was this:

[dad-fckr]

Finished c0mmission for AnonymousEDward from their 'stupid sexy Hank' fic series.

An unfortunate incident between Sumo and an unattended garden hose 😂

You can read the fic HERE

---

Art book preorders still open HERE ⭐⭐

[metacrisisdoctor]

I'm more now that I was. More than just an ordinary human. There's no such thing as an ordinary human.

[shtoproishoditemae]

Poland again

[beneathsilverstars]

also while on this topic. i do write nille as having lots of people in bambouche that she trusts and can rely on for help, including some she has a closer personal relationship with.

however, none of these people are peer friends. partially bc she struggles with some parts of socializing the same way bonnie does. and partially bc. there is not exactly anyone else in bambouche who is in their late teens / early twenties and raising an entire child only ten years younger than them.

like she's friendly w some 30-40 year olds with kids around bonnie's age! and maybe even some 20-25 year olds who have a baby or toddler! but. god is it hard to truly relate to either group.

AND she's got the most traumatic backstory in town (as far as she knows)! and in particular, raising a child when you were raised by abusive parents is a very certain kind of difficult that can make other parenting experiences seem alien. she can't relate to ANY of these well-adjusted (as far as she knows) people!

[one-flower-one-sword]

well I know what you want from me you want someone to be your reflection, your bitter deception setting you free won't you come and dance in the dark with me? show me what you are, I am desperate to know nobody better than the perfect enemy and I know what you want from me you want the same as me my redemption, eternal ascension setting me free

for @bladesmercy's fic The Fear of Falling Stars

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Make the fluffiest and spiciest hero x villain you can. This is a challenge.

Smut.

Raindrops drummed against the window by the time the hero came home. It wasn’t like them to be late, they rather risked the embarrassing sprint to catch the bus than be late for their usual dinner time but today, traffic had been everything but kind and work was aggrieving them as so often. Days became slow and steady; boring and absolutely despicable with the prospect of falling into bed alone.

Ever since the villain had left for business a few months ago, the hero found themselves in a hole they’d dug secretly. So unnoticeable at first with the tiniest hint that something was wrong not being enough for them to actually wake up and see the pain they were in.

Mad at the disruption, they threw their bag full of bloody and sweaty uniforms into a corner, certain that they would start screaming if their mind would think about work for another second. With just as much enthusiasm, they let themselves fall onto the couch and stared at the ceiling, their breath heavy. As their mind wandered to the villain, as so often, they felt a stinging hungriness that settled into their stomach.

The hero was the only person the villain truly liked. No matter if it was on the battlefield or in bed, the hero had noticed a perfected protectiveness the villain let slip occasionally that made them feel safe and sound. The question why them was always complicated and on some days, the hero felt quite replaceable — maybe because of past relationships, maybe because of anxiety in general, they could never really tell — without the villain giving them any reason to.

Evidently, the absence hurt more than the fights. It was oh so much worse than the screaming and crying and breaking down in the bathroom alone. Because when that really did happen, the villain always managed to talk the hero into opening the door to be held. Comfort was difficult for the villain. Words never really reached their true meaning, emotions couldn’t be explained steadily but they didn’t need all of that. There were times when the villain only hugged the hero and let them cry into their shoulder.

That was enough.

The villain’s broad shoulders could feel like heaven.

When the hero realised they were drifting off into a very sad and distant memory like someone under hypnosis, they snapped out of it, clearing their throat, and ordered the takeout they were craving.

It wasn’t until 11pm that they actually got to eat anything which explained the headache but not the melancholy. Decaying on their couch, trying to read, they found themselves bored to death. They debated if they should just go to bed but they figured another lonely night would (once again) keep them awake for hours. So instead, they skipped through various television shows that burned their last brain cells.

Around one in the morning, the temperature in their apartment dropped significantly, making the tiny hairs on the hero’s spine shoot up. They could see their own breath when they exhaled and they knew — hoped, rather — that it was what they thought it was.

They turned off the TV, blinking the grogginess out of their eyes. Familiarity surrounded them, drenched them in deep longing and as they stood up, searching for their lover, they felt the cold fingertips touch the sensitive skin of their lower back under their shirt.

“Jesus—” Jerking around violently, the hero froze as their eyes met the villain’s. Their features softened. “What took you so long?”

A dangerous ecstasy consumed them from head to toe, ate them raw and left no hair, no bones. The hero was head over heels, completely obsessed with their nemesis and they were, by god, not gonna do anything about it in a million years.

This was their idiot. Their person.

“Is traffic a poor excuse?” the villain asked, crossing arms in front of their chest. Every time the villain tilted their head, the hero could feel their own self-composure crumble.

“You can teleport,” the hero reminded them. A soft smile answered.

“Doesn’t mean I abhor road trips. There’s little space in a car.” The hero’s eyebrows bunched.

“What does that mean?”

“Limited possibilities regarding your position,” the villain said. They looked quite proud of themselves. “I like challenging you. Figuring out your limits.”

The insinuation made the hero blush and as so often, they felt like a sinner walking into a church. Sometimes they wondered if they would burst into flames if they kissed the villain one more time. Being greedy and sleeping with the enemy was wrong but falling in love with them?

Understanding their motives a little too well? That was a free ticket to hell.

“I missed you,” the hero said tenderly. A sarcastic laugh was all the villain managed.

“You missed my body.”

“I missed you.”

Silence. Two pairs of eyes staring into each other a bit too deeply. It was the kind of stare the villain gave them when they edged the hero to a climax. They loved to observe, loved to see the hero’s reactions, loved to feel them.

“You’re rude. Didn’t even knock.” The villain hummed and averted their eyes hastily, almost as if they were embarrassed.

“Sorry.” They took a step forward and snatched the hero’s wrist. Slowly, they led the palm of their hand to their face and closed their eyes. The villain drowned in the touch just as much as the hero: leaning into it, kissing the hero’s hand gently and mumbling words like so soft gave them away.

“I don’t have to stitch you up again, do I?” the hero asked eventually but the villain’s hands were already sliding down their forearms, finding their waist too easily. At this point, it was simple muscle memory. The villain knew where to touch and more importantly with which pressure.

“No, I was careful. I knew I’d get an earful if I wasn’t.” Their hand found the hero’s ass and squeezed gently. It made the hero almost jump. “I’ve been good, I promise.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” The hero felt their pulse rushing through their veins. Almost there. Only a few inches and the villain would kiss them. They crucified themselves in their mind.

“Judge, jury and executioner,” the villain purred. They leaned in and their warm breath tickled the skin of the hero’s neck, the tip of their nose brushed the shell of the hero’s ear, forcing a needy heat into the vulnerable spot between the hero’s legs. “Condemn me.”

“I—” Before the hero could respond, the villain pushed them back into the couch and kissed them sweetly. Their mouth was still closed and it could’ve been viewed as very innocent if it wasn’t for the villain’s fingers gliding under the hero’s shirt.

“No.” The hero pulled back with their hands on the villain’s chest. Putting more distance between them wasn’t what they wanted but they needed to make one thing very clear. For a split second, the villain looked horrified. “I get on top today.”

“What?”

“No answer from you for months. No texts, no calls — nothing.” Now it was their turn to cross their arms in front of their chest. Surprisingly, the pounding of their heart helped with the words, made the trail of thought a straight line instead of a whirlpool of words.

“I apologise, I didn’t know you’d—”

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to suffer.” Now, the villain looked concerned but they didn’t have time to say anything. They got flipped around, their back being pressed into the soft couch.

With a mean precision the hero had learnt from the villain, they rocked their hips carefully. Skin rubbing against clothes and clothes rubbing against clothes rubbing against skin — the villain moaned sweetly as their fingers pressed into the hero’s hips. A cruel satisfaction came over them as they watched the villain’s expression. Just a few movements and the criminal was completely under their control.

“Fuck…” Their eyes were closed and their head thrown back, completely caught off guard. Why the hero’s brain drew parallels to a fallen angel wasn’t important. It was important that it was right. They looked like some kind of saint. Something so unholy and untouchable that you wouldn’t hear from them for months.

“Never realised you can be such a good whore for me,” the hero whispered and as they saw the blown-up pupils of their lover, they began to truly enjoy this torture. “You’re always doing the work, always so eager to please. I should’ve known…”

“Please—” The villain’s usually cold body had become a heat pack, making even the hero sweat. Soon enough, the villain’s clothes fell to the ground and as the hero stared at the villain’s bare chest, tiny drops of sweat on them, they learnt something about themselves.

They wanted to lick it up. So they did. They just took what they wanted, what they needed.

The villain moaned pathetically and pulled on the hero’s hair but the hero didn’t stop there. Mouth and tongue travelled down the villain’s stomach in a low and teasing pace which the hero would use later on the villain for the whole night.

“You’re always so spoiled,” the hero said. They bit into the villain’s hip. “But I’m gonna teach you to be nice. I’ll edge you until you learn.”

[movedtodykedvonte]

I think it’s be funny to have a Spider-Man that is genuinely just a kid, not like a teenager or a kid who understands the gravity of his abilities but a kid who does heroics simply because that’s cool to a kid.

The gimmick is that the villains think it’s a gimmick and Spider-Man(?) fucks with them by acting like a kid to make ‘em feel bad or embarrass them only for them to realize he’s a literal child due to a forced team up where they like offer him a brewski afterwards and he’s legitimately like “Mr I am 9 years old, I just do this cause my aunt can’t take me to the park every afternoon.” And they grill him on adult things and he sits there just blanking cause he’s fucking 9.

[firecooking]

Something something parallel

[adolin]

god I can't wait for Alicent and Rhaneyra to fuck nasty in the dungeons

[simcardiac-arrested]

i am in some sort of bug hell

[ranticore]

being a writer & writing books ppl enjoyed to read was the only thing i ever wanted

[madsgogowild]

okay guys, it's time to embrace 2013 madison as she drags 2024 madison back into the rabbit hole of rise of the brave tangled dragons, futuristic four, and hope kids 😭

[attackfish]

AU where Iroh is given a choice by an ancient spirit to bring his son back from the grave in exchange for his nephews life.

The first time he has the dream is mere days after Lu Ten died. The spirit never shows his face, and with the logic of a dreamer, Iroh never questions it. The spirit asks him to trade the life of his nephew, little more than a fond memory after the long years away, for his only child. Of course he says yes.

He doesn't think about the dream. A grieving mind does strange things. He goes home to find his father dead and his brother's wife gone, the throne in Ozai's hands, the world turned upside down, and everything dark and gloomy as he feels. That night, he has the dream again. He begs the spirit for his son back, whatever it takes. He sees Zuko's fear and pain as death comes, and for a few moments of dream, Lu Ten is in is arms, a child Zuko's age. He wakes in the middle of the night with tears on his face.

The next morning, his nephew knocks on his door, and he turns him away.

The dream plagues him. It comes back again and again. He always says yes.

It comes the night Zuko is banished. Iroh sits by his bedside as he shivers and cries out in fever and pain, and doesn't know if Zuko will wake. He seems so terribly small. When he falls asleep at his post, he dreams, and the spirit asks him. Iroh can barely speak, he is so angry. Why does the spirit ask this? Zuko may be dying, why would he put his life in Iroh's hands? The spirit laughs. Isn't Zuko's life already in Iroh's hands? Iroh sees the spirit's face for the first time. It's Ozai's.

The dream comes back again and again, every time Zuko is particularly difficult to deal with, every time one more potential lead on the Avatar turns out to be nothing. Iroh has the dream every night. He doesn't always tell the spirit no.

When he tells the spirit yes, he gets Lu Ten back, sometimes as a child, sometimes as he was just before riding off to battle. The spirit keeps his bargain. Zuko dies.

When he tells the spirit no, Zuko only spits in his face.

Then they find the Avatar. Zuko throws himself into danger. And worse, he's fighting against what is right, against what the world needs. And Lu Ten died fighting for that same cause. That night, Iroh sees the spirit's face again. It's the young Avatar's.

Zhao captures the Avatar. Zuko goes to steal him. Iroh tosses and turns, and finally sleeps. The spirit comes to ask his question, and Iroh lunges for him. His hood falls away, and his face is Zuko's own.

It's been three long years since Zuko was banished, and Iroh's niece comes to take them both prisoner. Iroh stops her from killing her brother with lightning. The spirit wears her face that night.

They sneak into Ba Sing Se. The spirit wears the face of an Earth Kingdom Soldier. Zuko fights off another teenage boy, Jet. The spirit wears Jet's face that night.

Zuko joins his sister beneath Ba Sing Se. Iroh sleeps in his cell and screams at the spirit to leave him be. The spirit laughs at him. It has his own voice.

It never matters which he chooses. He still wakes to a world with Lu Ten dead and Zuko alive.

It matters so much which he chooses. Why should he be forced to choose? How can he?

He goes back to Ba Sing Se. His nephew rules wisely and well, as he cannot. The world is at peace. Lu Ten was part of the old world, the world people like Ukano want to bring back. Knowing that he died fighing for what Iroh taught him to fight for, and that it was wrong hurts. It hurts more than Iroh knows what to do with.

When he dreams of the spirit now, he gives it no answer. Eventually it stops asking.

[frozenartscapes]

*All the Edelgards standing around the counter in their apartment, staring at a broken kettle*

Hegie: So... Who broke it? I'm not mad - I just want to know.

*tense pause*

Christmas: I did, I broke-

Hegie: No, no you didn't. Beach?

Beach: Don't look at me! Look at Brave.

Brave: What? I didn't break it.

Beach: Huh. That's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Brave: Because it's sitting right in front of us, and it's broken.

Beach: Suspicious.

Brave: No, it's not.

Flame Emperor: If it matters - probably not - but Student was the last one to use it.

Student: Liar, I don't even drink that crap!

Flame Emperor: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the tea cart earlier?

Student: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows I prefer teatimes with- Nevermind...

Christmas: Ok, ok! Let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Hegie.

Hegie: No! Who broke it?

Brave, looking suspiciously at Legendary Edelgard: Hegie... Legend's been pretty quiet lately.

Legend: Really?

*fight breaks out*

Hegie, aside: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.

*looks back at the chaos, turns around with a grin*

Hegie: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

[jonathanbyersphd]

In conclusion, Will Byers makes Mike Wheeler feel braver