#but I think every other tes game should be fine

[doctor-disc0]

I want to make an Elder Scrolls character based on my last D&D character but it's. Very hard. Because she was such a unique and weird character that it is hard to translate that into an in-game character (info on her and my thoughts about how I could adapt her into an es character below the cut).

Her name was Eva "Halfblood" Akannathi, and she was a half-orc, half-goliath 18 year old bard (college of valor). But she was kind of an unconventional bard. She hated lying and dishonesty. Like, really loathed it. This girl has not lied once in the 18 years she's been alive and does not plan on ever doing it. She also considers illusions to be a form of lying.

This made playing through the campaign very interesting. At certain points of the campaign, she had to roll wisdom saving throws whenever her party had to lie to someone. If she succeeded, she managed to keep quiet. If she failed, she would blurt out the truth. She also disliked whenever her party members lied about anything. It didn't matter if it was for the greater good. She would rather die than tell a lie, and she wishes others felt the same.

Now, adapting her into a playable Elder Scrolls character is a bit tricky. You would think going with the Bard class would be the obvious choice. However, one of their major skills is Illusion, and given Eva's stubborn dislike of illusion, that's not exactly going to work. I could, of course, make a custom class, but I have so much anxiety about getting custom classes exactly right that it ends up just stressing me out whenever I try to create a custom class. But, maybe I'll try a custom class. That would probably be the best.

The race is a little less tricky, but there's still that "damn, I wish I could choose two races." Her in-game race would probably be orc, since that's the race she looks the most like. In my head, though, I'm thinking she would be half-orc, half-nord. I mean, D&D goliaths are resistant to cold damage and are tall, and Nords are basically the same, even if their coloration is different (goliaths have greyish skin and markings on their face, whereas Nords have white skin and no natural markings). What I really wish I could do is just take the cold resistance from Nords and just replace the Orc berserk thing with it because going berserk isn't really Eva's style lol (she's no barbarian!). But whatever, I suppose she can survive without her cold resistance.

It just really sucks because I loved playing her so much in D&D, and now that that campaign is over, I kinda miss her. But she's such a weird character that she's hard to play in any other setting.

[pablitogavii]

Anger Issues

Summary: People keep coming at Pablo for being 'too aggressive' on and off the pitch and that makes him frustrated. He tried to shield you from it all but when they start assuming he must be just as aggressive with you, he completely looses it!

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Reader

Warnings: light angst/ fluff/ smutty ending ;)

pablogavi

Get up when you fall! Vamos Culers!! @fcbarcelona

comments:

halamadrid: So much aggression from this overrated tiktok star #nogame!! vini>>>>> liked by 1200 others

madrileñoslovemadrid: siempre agresivo!!

realmadridislove: because he doesn't know how to play!!

gavirafanclub: jealousy!!!

madrileñoslovemadrid: nahh pretty boy just a kid!

viniciusthegoat: little kid wants to act like a big star but all he does is push players! #weak!!

brasileños: go back to La Masia kid!! liked by 1500 others

y.n.bebe: te amo bebé <3

pablogavi: <3

You saw all the horrible comments on Pablo's newest post so you hoped that yours will at least make him smile weakly. People were so harsh with him, always calling him aggressive kid who doesn't belong in the first Barça squad.

They had no idea how wrong they are...Pablo worked hard every single day, training tirelessly without complaining, and the only time he does act 'aggressive' is when he is being provoked into it.

When he came home, you tried talking to him but he just says he is 'fine' before going to take a shower he really needed after all morning of running around the pitch.

"I don't know Becca. He won't talk to me...but I can tell this is getting to him. Does Pedri know anything??" you said into the phone after a few days when Pablo definitely started feeling worse still not letting you in avoiding the conversation whenever you would bring it up.

"Bebé do you want to talk to me about it now?" you said when you laid down in bed and he just pulled you back so that your back was glued to his chest and he rested his chin on your shoulder shaking his head.

"What are you reading cariño?" you sat in between his legs on the couch seeing that he was once again reading some stupid post he was tagged in that did nothing but humiliate him. You took his phone away and nuzzled your face into his neck once more trying to talk but he said he just wants to sit there with you in silence and that he will be alright.

"Pablo...I think you should talk to me" you said when you saw him clenching his jaw suppressing his anger from boiling over and cause him to break everything in his proximity. Apparently, Vinicius Jr said in his interview that Gavi is nothing more than an 'angry kid' that got destroyed in the last El Clásico. "There is nothing to say amor! He is stupid hijo de puta! I need to go for a run!" was all he said before rushing out of our apartment faster than I could say anything.

"Pepi said Pablo has been on edge recently even during training..hitting grass when he would miss a goal and avoiding to joke around with other players" Becca said and you knew it was just a matter of time until he bursts not knowing what to do to get him to open up to you.

During the next game, you went to support him hoping that would give him some push and reassurance that he is still campeon in your eyes and that he shouldn't let those mouth breathers ruin his confidence.

First half went great with Barça scoring one goal, and keeping many more but the moment the second half started you could tell they were provoking Pablo again.

You knew him well to notice the way his shoulders shift and his jaw keeps clenching as he played knowing this will end in a disaster. He was running towards the goal scoring it and making the whole camp jump to its feet when the referee said it was off-side without even sending it to the VAR room.

Pablo was angry with this hitting the ground (gif) and once he got up some opposing players purposefully bumped into him as he walked back to his position. They were really pushing their luck.

All of the sudden there was crowd in the middle of the pitch and you immediately knew who was in the middle of it- your Pablo. When players started moving as referee rushed to the commotion you saw Pablo yelling with his hands in the air repeating he didn't start anything. But it didn't matter, since he received red card being sent off the field and your stomach dropped.

As he walked off, he looked up to meet your eyes and you gave him a weak smile he returned before being quickly distracted by one of the opposing players form the bench yelling 'bye bye Pablito' and as he was about to rush towards him, Xavi grabbed his shoulders pushing him towards the changing rooms.

You rushed back with your 'family pass' knowing that you might be only person he would want to see right now. You saw Xavi leaving him inside the dressing room telling you that he is in pretty bad shape and that he asked for you.

"Bebé?" you opened the door looking up with tearful eyes and you quickly rushed to him sitting on his lap and hugging him tightly not caring that he was sweaty in that moment.

"I'm sorry you had to see that..I'm so sorry princesa" he was crying into your neck and you kissed his head pulling back a little before moving hair off his sweaty forehead pecking his lips a few times sweetly.

"Don't apologize, Pablo..I am still proud of you..It's not easy when everyone is provoking and pushing you around..and you still menage to score the goal and keep playing..you are my campeon bebé" you say seeing his eyes sparkle at the praise he haven't heard in a long time.

"I know I've been pushing you away too.." he said and you shook your head telling him you understand and aren't going anywhere.

After a few minutes, when Pablo finally calmed down just by being in your presence, you walked out of the changing rooms holding hands not expecting to come face to face with the same player who got Pablo kicked out. He must be substituted and you felt Pablo's hold on your hand tighten as his anger returned.

"What a win for us huh?" he said smirking and Pablo's eyes opened wide knowing that when he left, Barça was still leading. You saw that he tried not to let his anger out again but the player was really provoking him badly right now.

"It's okay, Pablito..this is a big boy game..maybe La Masia should take you back??" he said and you placed your hand on Pablo chest saying you should both go watch till the end together and to your surprise he agreed walking off without doing something 'angry bird' like.

y.n.bebe

mi campeon! @pablogavi @fcbarcelona

pablogavi: te amo princesa! <3 liked by y.n.bebe

fcbarcelona: Golden Boy! liked by y.n.bebe

its.becca.girl: Vamos Barça!!

y.n.bebe: siempre hermanita!! <3

siramartinez: supporting our man!

y.n.bebe: always!!

gavifangirling: she is such a supporting gf!! Love it!! <333. liked by y.n.bebe

madrileñosforevaa: girl he is like so aggressive!

halamadrid: nahhh vini>>>>>

gavihateclub: he is probably just as aggressive with her!! @pablogavi

"Now they are saying I am being aggressive to my girl dad!" Pablo couldn't believe the things people were saying online after the last game.

It was one thing to call him a kid, or say that he didn't know how to play but to pull you into it and say he would ever do something to hurt you is past the limit. He can't stay silent anymore! This was taking it too far now!

"Amor?" you said when he just rushed in your shared apartment not even saying a 'hello' before walking into your shared bedroom and tossed himself onto the bed.

You sighed knowing that he must have seen the awful comment someone left on your post which hurt you heart as well. Pablo was the most caring and gentle boyfriend in the whole world to you!

"Bebé can you look at me please?" you said after sitting down on the bed next to him and rubbing his back while hearing his softly sob into the pillow. It broke your heart to see him like this.

He just shook his head knowing that the moment he looks at you he won't be able to stop crying again..he could deal with all the shit they throw on him but when it comes to you, he wants everyone to know that he treats you like an absolute queen because that's what you deserve!

You laid down besides him kissing the back of his neck before nuzzling your face further kissing his cheeks and making him slowly turn around so you can straddle his hips and peck his lips finally.

"Am I too aggressive with you?" he said and you dried his tears your heart breaking that he could ever question you about this. Those people really got into his head.

"Amor, you are the most caring and loving boyfriend in the world..you always make sure to see me every day even when you are away you always face time me before bed...you buy me roses out of nowhere and write me cute notes when you have early morning trainings..you mi cariño are not aggressive person they are portraying you to be..not in football and especially not to me" you say as he listened carefully before pulling you down and kissing your lips feverishly.

"I love you so much princesa..please don't ever leave me" he said and you smiled into the kiss before kissing down his neck and messing up his hair playfully.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Gavira!" you said while laying down on top of him and his arms engulfed you tightly while he kissed your head.

"Good. Because I couldn't imagine doing this without you nena.." he said feeling exhausted and you smiled cuddling up and slowly dozing off together.

The next day you wanted to surprise him with a little trip to the beach with all of his friends knowing that it was a day off for everyone and that he could use being with people who love him.

Even Aurora and Javi joined and the whole day Pablo was smiling and joking with everyone, stealing kisses from you and enjoying being 'normal'.

You were glad everyone showed up and showed how much they care for him especially when you saw his happy little face. You never wanted that smile to disappear again!

"Can you take a picture of us Becca?" you said giving you your phone and pulling Pablo towards the ocean before jumping into his arms and he held you up easily leaning in to kiss your lips while everyone cheered. He was so happy when you finally kissed before he put you down and held your face for a few moments.

"Thank you princesa.." he said and you smiled when he kissed your forehead.

"Always, cariño..I love you" you smile getting another kiss before you returned to hang out with the rest of your friends.

"Today was amazing, hermosa..I really enjoyed" Pablo said when you returned to the apartment and you felt really glad to hear that.

"There is something I need to do still.." you said opening Instagram up on your phone.

y.n.bebe

Para el novio mas amoroso del mundo! Te amo amorcito! <33 Gracias gracias por tratarme como una princesa siempre. @pablogavi

liked by 100K others

comments:

pablogavi: porque tu eres mi princesa <33

y.n.bebe: amor!! <3

barcafanclub: he is the sweetest boy! to his fans and to his girlfriend! those saying he is aggressive with her are rude and stupid! Siempre Amor!!! @pablogavi @y.n.bebe

its.becca.girl: sweetest couple en toda la Barcelona!!

pedri: them and us amor lol <3

y.n.bebe: double trouble pepi!! lol liked by pedri

pablogavi: estamos suerte hermano! liked by pedri

gaviiifan: people should stop hating on him for being a good player and clearly the best boyfriend bruh!!

viscabarcasiempre: Gavi! Gavi! Campeon!!!!

gairagirl: people saying he is not a player but a tiktok star are just jealous of his success! they hate him cause they ain't him! @y.n.bebe a lucky girl <33. liked by@y.n.bebe

siramartinez: girl being treated right! shutting up the haters!

y.n.bebe: siempre! <3

ansufati: amor para mi hermano! we all know you the best! @pablogavi

pablogavi: hermano <3

@_rl9 I have known @pablogavi for such a long time now, and the boy is truly the kindest down to earth kid you will ever meet. He shows up to all training ready to go and he never complains! His talent and heart shouldn't be questions! Tue eres chico orgulloso! liked by y.n.bebe pablogavi and others

pablogavi: gracias lewy! te amo siempre ídolo!

[ariscats]

Jameson analyzes part 2: Traumas (or a very long rant against Emily Laughin, who I cant be bother to learn how to spell her last name)

“Cause I've made some real big mistakes/ But you make the worst one look fine/ I should've known it was strange/ You only come out at night/ I used to think I was smart/ But you made me look so naive/ The way you sold me for parts/ As you sunk your teeth into me, oh/ Bloodsucker, famefucker/ Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire”

So there is this girl, who comes at his house every summer and has a heart diesse. She cant live so everyone has to do whatever she asks to make it up for it. Then one day she gets a surgery and now she gets to live, and who is her ticket to living? Jameson and Grayson.

Emily is his first kiss. However, 3 seconds after SHE KISSES HIS BROTHER WHO HE ALREADY INSECURE ABOUT BECAUSE OF HIS F. GRANDFATHER. And you have to be pretty dumd to not realize that what emily really wanted in the scene is Grayson to kiss her and she just used Jameson because she could (I still can’t believe that Emily did “loved” Gray more than Jameson).

Then she moves to his city and goes to his school. And, as far as a bitch she is, she must have been rl something because she became the most popular girl at school.

(Now, this is where things get tricky. I’m going to use the version fo what I believe happened. If you have another version you can picture like that)

Then they start dating. They borh want to live and do things because they can rather because they should. She got her golden ticket to freedom and he got the attention he’s been craving his whole life. They do everything together because she wants more and he wants more and nothing is never enough for them. So Jameson takes her to do everything they have the right to because Jameson is, at te end of the day, a good boyfriend.

But, its still not enough for Emily. Because she goes after fucking Grayson AND HE DOES THE SAME TING AS JAMESON BECAUSE THEY ARE THE OPOSITE SIDE OF THE SAME COIN.

Then they start fighting. Best friends for their whole life, but they slowly start to hate each other because fucking Emily turned everything INTO A GAME, MAKING LOVE A GAME THE SAME WAY TJEIR FAMILY HAS BEEN TRAUMATAZING THEM THEIR WHOLE LIFES. AND SHE KEEPS A FUCKING SCORE OF WHO HAS MORE POINTS, BY VOICE RECORDING.

Then one beautifull day Rebecca decides that betrayl by both ends doesnt hurts and tells Jameson about the scores and sends him the audio Emily made.

Jameson Hawthorne had to listen the girl he ruined his life for for over a year sumarize him and his love as some points. He breaks up with her, and she decides to go after Grayson. And then she jumps. But he is also there, because love and family are never that simple and jameson is a tiny bit (read in the level of therapy) of a masochist. And then SHE BLINKS AND LAUGHS AT HIM AND WHEN HE FINALLY MANAGES TO GO AWAY SHE START HAVING HEART PROBLEMS. BUT SHE HAS PLAYED HIM SO MUCH THAT HE DOESNT KNOW WHAT REALITY IS ANYMORE, and she hadnt had any heart problems for the past 4 years. So he leaves and she dies, and hell breakes lose.

He lost a girl he has know his whole life. He just “learned” that his love arent worth more than some points, he just got out of a increadibly toxic relasionship that ruined his life. The healthy thing would have been if he had some safe space to talk about what Emily did to him and have a strong support system. But everyone he knows is muroning her. They see her as an angle, so everything she did to him goes under the traps because how do you even dare to say something about dear angle Emily. And he has to live with the fact that he belives he killed her. And he cant also talk about anyone about that, for obvious reasons (but his grandfather knows and uses that against him).

Remember what I said about him being a masochist? Now is the era of his great self destruction (with an almost suicide attempt there, that his grandfather was present again and used that agaisnt him, *again*). Its all buttom up in him and he feels angry and sad and nothing. And between these 3, he chose anger. Also, Thea blames the Hawthorne for a death they didnt cause because who dares to say something bad about angles emily? So she puts the whole school agaisnt him and makes school unberable to him. Everyone likes to joke about Jameson missing school but has anyone ever wondered why he hated there so much? He didnt skiped class because he was a rebel 😝🤘but because everyone f. hated him and made his life hell.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (10/13)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: You read that right! I have a final chapter count! We are nearing the end, and I can't thank y'all enough! I hope you enjoy these concluding chapters (they'll be updating on Mondays and Thursdays) and don't yell at me too much. (Actually, go ahead. I kinda like it 😘)

Much love to my @kmomof4 and @ultraluckycatnd for being amazing cheerleaders and betas! Love you, ladies!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six  / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine

Part Ten

“What sort of game is he playing at now, do you think?” Killian murmured as he and Emma made their way to the showers.

“Who the hell knows,” Emma groused. “I’ve given up trying to understand him or even attempt to stay ahead of his demented games.”

“Aye.” Killian sighed and gestured Emma towards the working showerhead, allowing her to go first.

“Not that I’m not relieved that our fears seem to have been… premature,” she said, stepping into the spray and wetting her long tresses.

Killian swallowed past the bolt of lust that always manifested when he saw her like this and added, “It is hard to enjoy the current peace and quiet, knowing there is likely a sword of Damocles hanging over us, though.”

Emma swiped the cascades of water from her face and gave him the look she usually employed whenever his “nerd side” came out, complete with an eye roll and stifled grin.

They spent the next few minutes in silence while Emma lathered, conditioned, shaved, and rinsed. In an effort to keep his libido in check, Killian let his mind wander over the past two plus weeks since he and Emma entertained Pan’s guests.

They’d gone to sleep that night with the worry of what Pan might have in store for them next and Killian’s dreams had been nightmarish reflections of those fears. None of which had come to fruition these past weeks. In fact, Pan had demanded very little of them at all, leaving them to their own devices much of the time whilst lavishing them with unearned gifts.

It was downright unsettling.

Killian’s eyes drifted down to his Swan’s lower abdomen and his jaw tightened from the equally unsettling knowledge that their recent activities may have already begun to bear their natural consequences, yet there was no way for him to know for certain. He knew she had not yet had a period, but he did not know whether that was unusual after the removal of an IUD. Of course, Emma was completely unaware that she was no longer protected from an unwanted pregnancy, therefore a lack of period was of no concern for her. He wondered, should they be fortunate enough to dodge the bullet of conception, what her reaction would be if and when her period did occur. Would Pan expect him to continue the charade of not knowing?

The continued deceit and knowledge that every aspect of their lovemaking wasn't completely consensual caused Killian’s stomach to tighten and churn painfully with guilt. He hated keeping it from her, but what other choice did he have?

“Your turn,” Emma said, pulling him from his tormented thoughts. His eyes snapped up and met the concern expressing itself through her furrowed brow and curious expression. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, love,” he replied, waving off her scrutiny with a quipped bit of sass that wasn’t entirely untrue. “Just a bit vexed by our esteemed host.”

Emma hummed her understanding and agreement, rubbing her hand down his arm affectionately as they traded places.

Once back in their now very cramped room, given the number of ‘luxuries’ Pan had provided them in the wake of their exhibition, they went through their normal, post-shower routines before settling back on their bed.

“Do you think he’d let us visit the terrace again without having to complete a ‘Pan Says’?” Emma inquired softly, tucking her legs beneath her in an attempt to get comfortable. “Like he did with the shower?”

Killian pondered her question. He knew they had both been surprised at the lack of quid pro quo when they’d finally broken down and begged Pan for an opportunity to shower. After all, it had been over two weeks since they’d been given leave to go and have a proper wash-up, and there was only so much a rinsed and reused washcloth, a small sink, and a vanishing bar of soap could do at this point. Killian had braced himself for the expected, unpleasant demand of a Pan Says in response to his and Emma’s request, but when Pan had simply agreed and opened the cell door with a reminder to not stray off the blue line, they’d both found themselves unnerved. Begrudgingly grateful, but mostly unnerved.

“Might be best to not push our luck,” Killian replied.

Emma’s shoulder sagged in disappointment, but the action was followed with a relenting nod of concession that he was probably right. He hated to dishearten her, especially when he’d love nothing more than to go out and breathe fresh air whilst basking in some sunshine. However, until Pan showed his cards and revealed what this new round of the game would entail, he didn’t want them lured into a false sense of security or led into a trap of their own making.

“So,” Emma said, changing the subject. “What will it be? Reading? A movie? Board game? What do you wanna do today?”

Choosing an activity - from the myriad of options their host had provided them over the past fortnight - that might keep them occupied, they spent the rest of the day, and the subsequent days afterward, in relative peace.

Too bad that peace couldn’t last.

“Pan says, you two are going on a field trip.”

Killian balked and noted the way Pan’s unexpected announcement had caught Emma off guard as well.

“A field trip where?” Emma asked warily.

“To another part of the compound,” Pan replied. “There’s something I wish to show you, so…” The cell door screeched open and revealed two Lost Ones standing at the ready. “Pan says, follow the orange line until my Lost Ones indicate you’ve arrived at your destination.”

~/~

Emma was probably going to end up with a crick in her neck from the way she kept craning it to look over her shoulder. The distraction of attempting to ascertain whether these were their original Lost Ones - the ones who seemed to have a connection to her and Killian - had her stumbling over her feet a number of times on the way to their mysterious destination. It was no use, though. Pan had changed their outfits, including their masks. Where before an opening had remained at their mouths and eyes, this new mask covered their faces completely. Emma doubted she’d be able to tell for sure, so she returned her focus to the new areas of the compound the new line led them through.

The orange line had run parallel to the green line, the one that led to the garden terrace, but branched off at the stairwell that led to the upper level. Killian had been silent since they’d left the room and hadn’t glanced her way once since the lines had split off. She knew it was because he was taking in every detail he could and adding the new information to the map in his head. He did finally peer over at her when the Lost Ones ushered them into an elevator, his hand still wrapped firmly around her own as they squeezed in beside the Lost Ones.

“So…” Killian drawled, startling Emma with the way he broke the silence within the elevator. “Are you them? The Lost Ones responsible for us being in this nightmare?”

“Killian,” Emma hissed in admonishment.

His eyes cut down to hers and met her incredulous expression. Why would he ask such a thing now?

“It’s not as though it’s a secret,” he said, turning his attention back to their guards. “Nothing escapes Pan’s attention, so I’m certain he’s well aware of the information one of you gave Emma. So let’s stop pretending we don’t all know you two are the reason Emma and I are here in the first place.”

Neither of them responded, though Emma did notice the guilty shift in one of the Lost One’s stances. Given the raise of his brow, Killian did, too.

Before he could question them again, the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. The first Lost One exited as the second gestured for her and Killian to follow, dropping in behind them both as they continued down the orange lined hallway. They hadn’t gone far when the Lost One stopped and punched in a code into a numbered keypad mounted to the wall. The click of a lock releasing echoed through the hallway and the door swung open, revealing an entryway one might see in a swanky city apartment.

“Come in! Come in!” Pan’s voice crowed excitedly from the speakers in the room beyond. Squeezing her hand, Killian led them through the door and entryway, until they were standing in a naturally lit, warm and inviting living room, lavishly furnished and a sight more welcoming than the cell they’d been inhabiting for the past six weeks.

“What…? Where are we? Who… Who lives here?” Emma stammered, trying to take in not only the spacious living room but the other spaces connected to it as well.

“That will depend entirely on the two of you,” Pan supplied with a familiar note in his tone that alerted them both of an impending Pan Says on the tip of his tongue.

“Let me guess,” Killian snarked in reply before Pan could issue the edict. “Pan says this will be our new home if… we agree to whatever depraved, humiliating, new heights of degradation he has planned for us now?”

Again, Emma stared slack-jawed at Killian. What on earth had gotten into him today?

“Actually,” Pan began, his words carrying a hard edge that was difficult to miss despite the light tone he was attempting to keep. “It’s nothing new. In fact, my request is for you to do a Pan Says you’ve already completed for me once. Rather successfully, as a matter of fact.”

Ripples of dread cascaded down Emma’s spine as she exhaled on a panicked breath, “You want us to do it again. You want us to… entertain them again.”

Killian stiffened at her side, his posture becoming even more menacing than it had in the elevator. “Absolutely not. Separate us if you must, but I’ll not have Emma endure that again!”

“Separate you?” Pan parroted in mocked inquiry. “Why on earth would I separate you?”

“But…” Emma began, a myriad of emotions sweeping through her all at once. “Last time you said if we didn’t, you would--”

“Well, that was before you proved to be such a smashing success with my guests,” Pan told them. “You wouldn’t believe the praise I received for delighting them with such a feast for their debauched tastes… or the amount they’ve offered to pay for a repeat performance.”

“And if we say no?” Killian questioned.

“If you say no, then my guests won’t get a repeat performance… they’ll get an entirely new experience with the two of you.”

“What does that mean?”

Pan paused, allowing the tension and dread to build before explaining, “I’ve never been very good at sharing my toys with others, which is why my monthly exhibitions have always been just that. Exhibitions. Performances. Looky, but no touchy. However…” Another pregnant pause stretched through the room and Emma met Killian’s anxious eyes with panicked ones of her own, both of them now deducing what Pan was about to reveal. “If you will not allow my guests the voyeuristic experience they’ve already paid for, then perhaps I’ll give in to the obscene amount they’ve offered to allow them a more… hands-on role this month.”

“No,” Killian grit out from between his clenched teeth.

“Oh, yes,” Pan oiled in reply. “You can either allow my guests to watch you ravage each other for one night, then have the freedom and luxury of this apartment to dwell in afterward, or I can have you tied down and give my guests what they truly desire. The opportunity to ravage each of you for themselves - in some cases several at a time - for All. Three. Nights. The choice is yours.”

Emma wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled over, a mournful cry catching in the back of her throat as Killian roared next to her, picked up a vase from one of the end tables and chucked it at the wall, shattering it into oblivion.

“Now, now,” Pan tsked over the speakers. “I’ll give you some time to mull it over. We’ve another week before my guests arrive. Pan says to have a look around and talk it over. You can let me know what you decide before my Lost Ones take you back to your quarters.”

Feedback rang through the speakers, but it was nothing in comparison to the ringing in her ears. Reaching up, Emma placed her hands against her hot, flushed face, wet from tears yet also clammy to the touch.

“Swan,” Killian said, somewhere off to her right, his words a mixture of apology and commiseration. His hand ran a soothing caress down her spine, but it did not have the calming effect he intended. Instead, Emma felt her stomach lurch.

“Swan, I’m so--”

“I’m gonna be sick!” Darting through the living room, she just managed to make it to the sink in the kitchen beyond before emptying the contents of her stomach through a series of retches.

“Emma!” Killian cried out in concern, making his way to her in time to hold her hair back for her. She wished he wouldn’t. Wished he didn’t have to see her like this. Wished… so many things, actually.

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian continued to apologize. “I shouldn’t have let my anger get out of control like that. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make things worse. I--”

“It’s okay,” Emma said, clearing her throat and reaching for a paper towel to wipe her mouth with. “Could you find me a glass?” she asked him. “I need some water.”

“Of course!” He tore open cabinets until he found one with drinking glasses. Handing it over to her, she could feel his scrutiny as she filled it from the tap and took small sips.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a turn to apologize for her own lack of ability in keeping it together. “I don’t know why I responded like…” Her words trailed off as something occurred to her. Something that nearly made her heart stop as she instinctively began to reach down towards her abdomen then thought better of it at the last minute, hopefully before Killian noticed.

No. Surely it would be too soon for that if I were…

“You’ve no need to apologize, love,” Killian soothed, though his voice was tight and strained. Glancing up at him, she noted how he only held her gaze for a moment before cutting his eyes away. His Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscle at his jaw flickered. When Emma followed the path of his eyes, she saw the shards of the vase littering the floor.

“You don’t need to beat yourself up either,” she told him. “I don’t think either of us was expecting…”

Killian slammed his hand against the counter, causing her to jump. “That’s just it!” he hollered. “We never expect it! We’re always several steps behind when it comes to his schemes! I’m tired of never knowing what’s next! Of always being on the defensive, never letting our guard down! I thought… I thought we might have the upper hand for once! I thought this might have been our chance to thwart him, but now…”

“What do you mean? Thwart him how?”

Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to take a calming breath. “I thought he might threaten to separate us, like he did the last time. I thought… even though I’d hate being parted from you and having someone else… I thought it would at least mean we could keep one another safe from…”

“I know,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. “I was thinking the same thing.” His eyes snapped to hers and his lips parted in surprise. “As much as I don’t want for us to be separated, I couldn’t help but think how choosing to do so would mess with his plan.”

“Aye,” Killian said on a heavy breath. “Instead, he’s backed us into a corner once again. Leaving us no option but to comply.”

“At least we know what to expect this time,” she said, offering up that small consolation as she looked around the apartment. “And unlike the last one, this prison cell has windows,” gesturing towards a glass door at the back of the kitchen, she quipped, “and a balcony we can throw ourselves off of if it all gets to be too much.”

“Not funny,” Killian clipped even as a smile twitched at his lips. Releasing another heavy sigh, he took her hand. “I suppose we ought to take the full tour,” he groused, nodding towards the big screen tv in the corner of the living room with Pan’s most recent edict scrolling across, “before our jailers come to fetch us.”

~/~

Begrudgingly, Killian had to give it to Pan. The flat was magnificent. Several times he had to remind himself that a gilded cage was still a cage, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to share the space, and the sense of normalcy it might provide, with his Swan.

The kitchen was state-of-the-art and fully stocked with all their favorites. It opened to a balcony that stretched the full expanse of the flat, giving access to the bedroom, bathroom, and…an additional room.

The bedroom was outfitted with a king sized bed, lush linens, a reading nook, and a spacious closet already filled with garments more keeping to their life before their incarceration. Adjoining, there was a luxurious, spa-like bathroom with a shower large enough for both of them to bathe at the same time, as well as a two person soaking tub. The room next to the bedroom was a bit perplexing, however.

“What do you think this space is meant for?” Emma asked after they’d swung the door wide to reveal a cozy, not yet furnished bedroom.

Killian swallowed thickly and shrugged his shoulders, hoping Emma would not take notice of his sudden change in demeanor. He had a pretty good idea what potential use Pan may have had in mind for the small room only steps away from the main suite, but just as he had when his suspicions had run rampant in response to Emma becoming violently ill earlier, he tamped them down and put on his best poker face. Fortunately - or unfortunately - he was spared from having to bluff further.

“Well?” Pan’s voice echoed in from the living room. “What’s the verdict?”

Making their way back to where the obvious camera was, though Killian knew there had to be many more hidden throughout the space, he and Emma glanced at one another with an affirming look before Emma sighed and said, “When do we move in?”

Pan practically crowed in response to their answer. “How about now?”

Killian and Emma both balked. “Now?” Killian said, incredulously.

“Why not?” Pan replied. “Call it a token of my gratitude and a reminder of how generous I can be.”

Killian wasn’t certain how to respond and found himself murmuring an astounded thank you alongside his Swan.

“Just remember my benevolence this weekend when it comes time to entertain my guests,” Pan commented with a slight warning in his voice. “Oh! And I have a few notes to go over with you later this week in preparation.”

“Goody,” Killian grumbled under his breath, earning him an elbow in his ribs.

“Until then… enjoy your new home.”

Killian shuddered and huffed out an exhale. Turning towards Emma, he was met with a stern look and disapproving hands on her hips.

“What has gotten into you?” she demanded.

“What are you--”

“Don’t give me that,” she countered. “You’ve been off all day. Earlier in the shower, then confronting the Lost Ones in the elevator, sassing Pan, smashing vases… Killian,” her expression softened as she reached up to cup his cheek. His face nuzzled into her touch as it was prone to do. “What is going on with you? Talk to me.”

Killian opened his mouth, but the words kept getting stuck in the back of his throat. He didn’t want to lie to her, didn’t want to keep this secret from her, but the alternative…

“I’m scared,” he choked out in no more than a whisper. “Scared I can’t… protect you. Scared that there will come a time when we are truly faced with an impossible choice, or that I’ll have to betray you in some way in order to protect you. Scared that I might be forced to do something you could never forgive. Something I could never forgive myself for.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” she said in an attempt to assuage his fears.

“You don’t know--”

“Yes, I do.” Her tone left no room for argument, but she continued on just the same. “Do you know how I know?” Killian shook his head. “Because I have the same fears. Because I know all of the terrible things you have imagined us having to endure and I have already forgiven you for each and every one of them.” Pressing her forehead against his, she closed her eyes and wet her lips before flicking her gaze up to his once more. “There is nothing - NOTHING - you could ever do in response to Pan’s insanity that I would not forgive you for, just as I hope you would be willing and able to forgive me for--”

“Always,” he said, cutting her off. “There is nothing I would not forgive, love. Nothing.”

A smile ghosted over her lips and she pressed in closer to him. “Then what do you say we get the broken vase cleaned up then make ourselves something to eat, hmm?”

“I suppose I could eat,” he said, pulling back slightly so he could gaze down at her. “Any requests?”

Emma’s brows shot up her forehead and surprise colored her features. “Don’t tell me you can cook.”

“I’ll have you know I am quite deft in the kitchen, Swan.” Waggling his brows, he added, “Almost as much as I am in the bedroom.”

Emma giggled and pulled him in for a kiss, but not before she murmured a final, affirming, “Yep. Total. Forgiveness.”

Part Eleven

[projectbluearcadia]

Prologue

Letter

To my dearest Lucifer, There are no words that I can say to you, other than "I'm sorry." I have grown to hate myself to a degree that I fear would cause you endless suffering. Ever since my "death," I have slipped further and further from my humanity to become an cruel existence driven only by my own desire. It is a selfish thing. A terribly, irrevocably selfish thing. But, after all, I think Elizabeth was correct, both in the past as well as now. I have never been selfless once in my life. Maybe this was expected from the moment I entered the Devildom. Maybe you've been putting on an elaborate act, as much as I don't want to believe it. I have done too many things I regret. I ask with every fibre of my being that you do not look for me. I ask with every ounce of my soul that you forget about my existence. This is our parting. Te amo. Annelie Glasgow

[ 6 weeks earlier ]

Annelie: Lucifer, you really are unbelievable... I can't believe you asked for my parents' blessing right under my nose.

Lucifer: If you knew about it, it wouldn't be a surprise.

Annelie: Still though!

Satan: God, just shut up and be happy, you idiot.

Belphie: Yeah, I think we're all tired of hearing about how carefully Lucifer orchestrated that whole thing so that no one knew about it.

Mammon scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. Levi notices.

Levi: No freaking way... how did you of all people know about it?!

Asmo: Oh...

Levi: What? Oh?

Asmo: You remember how Lucifer took some time away from Ellie after Mammon burned dinner the one night?

Mammon: Hey, I didn't ruin all of it!

Levi: What? Are you saying-

Lucifer: Yes, I had Mammon give me a second opinion on the engagement ring I was buying for Annelie.

Levi: But why Mammon?

Mammon: Hehe, obviously because I have good taste.

Lucifer: No. I used your suggestions as things I should avoid.

Mammon: ...you could've let me dream a little...

Lucifer: I think Annelie has already made it clear that she doesn't like flashy or gaudy things.

Annelie: I mean... I would have been fine with a piece of string, honestly; you didn't have to go through this much trouble... I mean it's very beautiful, don't get me wrong-

Lucifer: Oh, hush and let me give you something nice.

Lucifer pats her back.

Annelie: Then... I'll buy the rings!

Lucifer: No, Diavolo's already insisted that he's the one who will do that.

Annelie: What? Why?

Lucifer: ...he was very excited and insisted on taking care of all the details. I have a feeling he's going to make our wedding a much larger affair than I want it to be...

Annelie: This coming from the man who proposed to me in one of the most flashy ways possible.

Lucifer blushes.

Lucifer: I- Look! I was planning to do it here! But then I found out people seem to think that you're seducing me for political power!

Belphie: Well, not entirely incorrect, given the shit I've heard...

Asmo: Yeah, I never would have imagined our Lucifer was a switch <3

Satan: Please. Stop. Talking.

Levi: Your room isn't even close to theirs, Satan. I have to go to sleep with headphones on.

Asmo: Aw, but Ellie's so cute when she screams~

Lucifer: ...Annelie.

Annelie: Please no.

Lucifer: Do you remember the Quiet Game?

Annelie: Please don't do this just because you're jealous.

Lucifer: I'm not jealous. Although I will be sure to see Asmo later about this.

Asmo: Eh? Lucifer? Why? My room's right across from yours, so it's not like I can help it. Lucifer?

Lucifer smiles.

Asmo: ;;;;;

Annelie: ;;;;;;;;;

[zombeebunnie]

Game development Trembling Essence update:

Hi guys and welcome new followers. Here's another update about the game development progress so far which is fairly short! A very special thank you to those that have been sending thoughtful messages, I really appreciate it! :]

A lot of progress has been made on the final route! I mainly did a lot of writing and adjusting variables as I went along so I don't really have a lot to discuss right now. It was fairly fun experience since it gave me more ideas that might get implement into the game!

Both of my play testers went through it and didn't have any complaints outside of grammar mistakes here and there. I thought the route might've been too short since I adjusted some things to keep it from being too long but they reassured it's fine the way it is! :,]

In my last update post I mentioned that this route would most likely be dialog heavy.

Originally I was going to make each choice that lead to this have their own unique path. As I went through everything I realized that it would be too much for the player and I don't want to have too much going on to where it can become overwhelming and confusing.

To fix this I went ahead and made certain situational segments and/or scenarios all go through a specific direction(s) together versus making every single one all have their own separate path. It's going to require a good amount of variables to make it work correctly but hopefully this all makes sense!

I only have two more to go in terms of cleaning everything up so that's going to be my main focus until my next update post!

I also took the liberty of going through my Tumblr and organizing things a bit so it's easier to navigate through! Some things were slightly edited or removed since I don't align with it anymore or I just didn't like some of my old drawings.

To know and understand Noah through Asks and random posts about lore, they'll be under #Get to know: Noah

For updates about the game, they'll be under #TE Updates

If there's any other #'s I should add to keep things organized, please let me know! :]

With all that said I think that covers everything, thank you guys for believing in me and supporting what I'm trying to create! :,]

[calandrinon]

ok there was a poll about national anthems and I have what I think is one of my best ideas yet, thanks to Aotearoa for the inspiration.

For those who don't know, the national anthem of Aotearoa has a verse in te reo Māori and a verse in English, which is an excellent idea for a titchy little country with one unified indigenous language but is not so easy in a vast expanse where there are thousands.

So do we all know I Am Australian by the Seekers?

It's been proposed with varying degrees of seriousness as an alternative national anthem, but my proposal goes one step further (ok, many steps):

I suggest that the Australian national anthem should be the chorus to I Am Australian, in English and in every available indigenous Australian language.

"but cal that would make the anthem 1000 minutes long" yes but obviously we wouldn't sing every verse every time! In practice the version of the anthem sung would include those languages that are appropriate. So everyone would get to learn the anthem in the language of the Aboriginal nation where they live, and at events in that nation you might sing the anthem in English (usually) and in that language. If you move to a different area you learn the anthem in the language of that area. If you are not great with languages that's fine, as long as you have a go, and if all you can do is belt out "I am you are we are Australian" at the right time and on roughly the right notes then at least you have the right spirit.

Here's how it might work:

If you're at a sporting event where the anthem is sung, like the Anzac Day match at the MCG, they'd sing the anthem in English and the Woiwurrung language (covers both teams and the ground itself).

If the world turned even more upside down and Freo played GWS in the grand final, you might hear English (native language of most players and the competition), Woiwurrung (the holy MCG), Nyoongar (Fremantle) and Dharug (GWS).

In practice there should be a cap on the number of verses because otherwise someone would definitely take the piss, but this should not be legislated because sometimes you need someone to take the piss.

If the anthem is sung to highlight the achievements of one person, it might include the verse(s) most appropriate to that person - where they were born or grew up, where they live and work, where their ancestors are from. This is an occasion where I can imagine the English verse could legitimately be omitted.

A sporting team or other group representing many languages could choose to nominate one or more verses to be played. Maybe if it's Alex's 50th match then they sing Alex's verse that game, then at the next game they sing Pat's verse because Pat had to leave the tour for the birth of their child, and of course opinion will be split between "aww that's really sweet" and "stop messing with it".

Most importantly, there should be no single official version. Any definition should not specifically include or exclude any single verse, not even the original English verse. Preferably the definition should be broad enough that we could all sing a verse in te reo Māori for Barnaby Joyce and it would be legit.

Anyway please feel free to expand on this and/or tell me I'm an idiot genius, I have a dog who requires attention

[dankar-camoran]

Mr. Mankar Cameron himself!

The Mankar the Mythkar the Legendkar

First Impression: the hell is this guy even talking about who is lorkhan wait the heart of lorkhan was that thing from morrowind you hit to kill dagoth ur I guess it makes sense it belonged to a guy called lorkhan that's a cool robe (I am 11 years old)

Impression now: TAMRIEL AE DAEDROTH. This guy is a charismatic genius of a cult leader whose machinations led to the end of the Septim Dynasty while also having his head too far up his ass in esoteric daedric lore to see the practical (let alone moral) drawbacks of his actions. He's not looking for power, he's not looking for glory, he is a willing instrument for Mehrunes Dagon's latest scheme. He's horrifying, he's amazing, every TES fan has a Weird Little Guy and he is Mine.

Favorite Moment: Wearing the Amulet of Kings. It's the MacGuffin you're chasing for most of the main narrative, you know it can only be worn by the Dragonborn Heir, and the game doesn't let you wear it when you've got it. And then you see this guy, not a Septim, no evidence he should be able to, and yet there's the Amulet of Kings around his neck. Even to a player like me at the time, not paying much attention to the lore, I remember thinking "How is he doing that??" And he's got no practical reason to even wear it! It's not enchanted to give him extra powers or whatever; It's just his own way of adding Insult to the Injury that is the Oblivion Crisis, and telling Akatosh to stick his Divine Right of Kings up his Draconic Ass. Stunting on the Divines, he's so petty.

Idea for a story: I've got ideas that could feasibly work well as vignettes about various points in his life, from living with his mother, to learning about the Camoran Usurper, to organizing the Mythic Dawn and so on. It'd focus on his shifting motives and goals, and his journey from being an idealistic guy trying to fight imperialism to becoming groomed by Dagon and made a harbinger of Oblivion who is fine with all the death and destruction it will bring.

Unpopular Opinion: I'm not sure. I haven't seen a lot of strong opinions about him one say or the other. I guess I like to half-jokingly call him a More Successful villain than Dagoth Ur or Alduin, which is obviously debatable depending on your metric of success.

Favorite relationship: in my own headcanon, his relationship with his mother, Kaalys, and its gradual collapse as he gets more involved in the sort of things she was trying to keep him away from. In Canon, his only relationship with any depth is with Dagon, even more so than with his own children. The Mythic Dawn is probably the most significant group devoted to Dagon in a way that views him with more depth than just being Diet Molag Bal, and iirc the Commentaries imply Mankar has spoken personally with his Patron, which could make for some interesting stories.

Favorite Headcanon: Where to begin?? His mom Kaalys killed his father the Camoran Usurper shortly before giving birth to him, he was initially an Altmer nationalist who had a romanticized view of his father (much to his mom's despair) as a Revolutionary fighting the Septim Empire, his wife was named Ruma and she died in childbirth with their twins so he named their daughter after her and dedicated a passage of the Commentaries to her, his infamous mixing up of Princes and their Planes was a sign that all his dabbling in Esoteric Deeplore Shit was taking a toll on his mind, and had he lived long enough it would have progressed in a manner like dementia which would have been fine with Dagon since by that point he wouldn't need Mankar anymore

[tossball-stick]

its crazy how many of my previous interests have just been enveloped by cowboys. it feels like every game i was into, besides like valve, rdr2 overshadows in every way.

overwatch? i mostly liked it because the characters were generic archetypes i could project onto and make my own. rdr has that but with more depth. theres still more meat to chew on but theres also still plenty of space for you to write in your own details. its honestly apalling. cole cassidy vs arthur morgan is just hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby and somehow coughing baby is coming out on top. spit on that man arthur give him tb make him feel like a reeeeal cowboy

borderlands? at least 90% of my interest in borderlands was because of jack and i wont even kid you it all stems from him. but now ive got an even more interesting lying backstabber whos abusive to his kids. dutch is literally just better to me in every possible way. i still think jack is fun but dutch is just....... better. it feels like literally everyones relationship with dutch is on the level of complexity of jack and tim or jack and angel. hell id argue some of them are even more complex than the most interesting one in borderlands, whatever you think that may be. rdr2 is also somehow more anticapitalist and antifascist haha

every time i wanna play a bethesda rpg its just in my head how racist it is. how it coos at you if you wanna side with fascism and racism, tells you that "mm well. this isnt _good_ but you should have the freedom of choice!!" like. sorry i cant play skyrim anymore i start thinking about how this series jerks off genocide at every turn and hollowly says we dont think its bad. but youre never allowed to see the oppressed's perspective. even if you choose to play as an argonian or khajiit you dont even experience fuckin racism man. at least in rdr2 i can look at the pepple who idolize micah n dutch and go "are you stupid?" because the game literally in no uncertain terms tells you these are bad bad bad people. the game tells you time and time again that everything, war, death, colonization, illness, starvation, is awful. it constantly points at all of this, it HAS to show you just how awful the victorian united states were because it was BAD. and it doesnt shy away from this. and then you have skyrim where every great historical figure in it is constantly jerked off for genociding millions of elves or beast races. there are so many stories about religious oppression but how am i supppsed to care when literally everyone is fine with wiping out entire races of people. the elder scrolls isnt nearly as humanizing as rdr2. in rdr2 you can really feel for some of the characters who have shitty biases and awful morals because one of the core messages of rdr2 is how everyone is human. everyone is a living human person with relationships and feelings and thoughts and death is bad. death is really really bad it fucks you up!!! so you can see these characters and sympathize with them, to a degree. even with the ones you actively want dead, it feels. human. the hatred of micah in me is so vitriolic because of how much death hes caused. i only value his life so little because of how little he values life as a whole, his own and other peoples. you want to kill the bigots because they hurt people. meanwhile in skyrim youre told to kill the bandits and youre not allowed to even think about what their lives couldve been like. theyre just bad guys. no other reason. and when there is another reason it doesnt matter. you slaughter them all the same. UGH sorry mgmmhkgkfngndn ive really stopped liking tes recently. cicero is still my babygirl but like. im prolly just gonna steal the dark brotherhood at this point and stick them in something else i cant do this. a lot of this applies to most fallout games too btw. new vegas excluded sorry that im basic but its made me actually feel things for the characters i talk to. its great at humanizing people. oh also rdr2s open world is infinitely better than anything bethesdas put out ever. im sorry its just literally flat out better

idk im trying to think of other games i used to like but theres not a lot others i can directly look at in comparison to rdr2 and say "well. the cowboys game provides everything i like from this one and more. theres no point anymore"

[onlysomethingamazing]

Kelechi quotes

All of these quotes , you said. I have not fabricated or spun any of these up. I obviously couldn't get all of the cute things you said to me , because then i would be here forever , but here are the few i caught.

Enjoy 

" It doesn’t matter what you wear, there’s more to love about you than your hair" 12/02/13

" c: i’m not perfect, but I’m fine if I can make you happy" 10/26/13

" she has a fox face , i don’t like fox faced girls" 11/13/13

"FFBP" 11/14/13

"i love you " 10-23-13

lol

you are wanted

i want you next to me

so rather than htis heater

I can cuddle with you

and we can warm each other

and talk

and fall asleep in each others arms

12-11-2013

 me :when did you fall for me ?

 Him : “lbh, i dont know the exact moment

but i realized when i pick up my phone waiting for your text

when i told you about my dad and you listened

when you said you pray for me

when ilegit got worried when i didnt hear your reply lmao

i

was

so

scared

#embarassing

paranoia

sometimes its good

sometimes it isnt

i dont know exactly when

but its a series of events

when i find myself wanting to tell everyone about you

or interject you into my conversations

and bring you up

"just casually, my girlfriend…"

then i have to stop cuz paranoia’s a bitch

and no loose ends

and if this is gonna work, its gonna stay under wraps

and i thought to myself

fuck, i hate this

having to be quiet

not being able to shout out yea she’s mine

and then i knew i fell for you c:” 12-19-13

"so i’m happy if you’re happy" 12-24-13

me: describe the year 2013 in 5 words

him: “the year I  met  osa “ 

12-26-2013

"no matter wherever in the world you are, as long as i have this * points at me * , it’s adequate

12-27-2013

*after jamming to Hakuna Matata*

"I looooooove seeing how happy this makes you feel" 12-30-13

Me : ” What if we didn’t talk for a whole week, Could we do it?”

Him: ” if you wanna start it and do it. go ahead. we could, if necessary we will. But it’d be very hard for me to leave you alone and i imagine likewise. therefore, i dont want to. I love talking to you. I enjoy your company. I, for lack of better words, need you. So could I? Yes, if the continuance of our relationship depended on such, I would. If not, I feel no need to torture myself. I am a masochist but not that much” - 1-4-14

"in the eyes of the world, there is undoubtedly another woman who is more… "womanly", "dateable" etc than you. In my eyes however, you are quite special for many reasons and you are the best c:"  1-4-14

sumn  Hey, lemme tell you sumn Don’t live in fear of what’s to come  Cuz, then you don’t truly appreciate what you have now. I love you, alot. And you’re what I find myself thinking about. I usually don’t think about this topic very often if any at all Cuz I wanna enjoy our every moment together.” 1-5-14

"and no matter what, I’m always gonna be here to let you know that we can share the burden ,we’re in this together. and i can help you carry your cross" 1/10/14

"  you're a peice of art but i dont think God when he made you based you on anything else c:" 1-20-14

Me: give me 5 reasons i should stay 

Him:  

I love you 

You love me 

We listen to each other 

We support each other 

I need you 

-2/1/2014

"

you

me

"twas great tonight babe

i had sooo much fun wiht you

and i miss you already

i just got home

wow.....

tonight was surreal

you were there

we were safe

no lookin over shoulders

no nothing

you were mine

and i was yours

and we kissed alot

though i missed some of your hints at first lol

too usy watching the game

but the time with you

invaluable

priceless

  cute

arousing

fun

sexy

in a word, surreal

it was hard not msiling in the car

but now in my room

i'm beaming

and reliving every second of tonight with you

te quiero mi amor y espero que podamos hacer eso mas"

2-07-14

"Tu me fais tellement heureux

too many reason

your smile

yo face

yo eyes

that blush giggle you do

your morning texts

asking me how i'm doing

supporting me

being there to listen

being a friend

but also my closest companion

being the ray of light after the nsun in my world is dead

and then brightening my day

loving me

accepting my love

understanding me for the wreck i am

and dealing with me despite that

for taking my jokes

and responding with even feistier oines

for helping me realize that i'm a great person

and not ugly

and not shit

and that i deserve good

for entrusting me

with

the closest thing to you

the thing that is you

your heartand allowing me to give you mine also

for gifting me

with your inner secrets and trust

for giving me the honor of reassuring you that you are beautiful

sexy

intelligent

honest

caring

wonderful woman

not done

also

for being intimate with me

for gifting me with many ofyour firsts

and also for accepting mine

for being honest

trustworthy

considerate

in a nutshell

for loving me, and being you

thats how you make me happy

*loving me/lettingme love you"

02-08-14

" You wore it a long time ago, but then again you're always on my mind"

02-11-14

" Flawless , you can call me Queen K"

02-24-14

" It's big but it small, it;s small but it;s big , if you keep it close it will never fall"

I can't remember the rest but it was really mysterious loll

4/17/2014 

"omg

you're awake!

i'm so happy

i thought youd slep

it was finna be a lonely night

i miss you

ok that was gushy and nasty

heehehehehheh"

6/1/2014

"You don’t shake for a passing breeze. Be a pillar and stand still because you know it won’t affect you/bother you."

06/23/14

  Me: Stop staring , it's weird

You: Staring is ok , if it;s at a work of art 

06-22-14

It’s over ten years in the future and these still make me smile. The puppy love was strong. But what is beautiful is how the love has matured for the better.

I love you Kelechi Basil.

Always have, always will.

-Bubby

[rjinswife]

Tbh i don’t think Sweden fall in the ’fire’ category. The players, when asked by media which is the only time they really talk about it, says that they are fine with, and like to play in Göteborg . The only thing is that they are open to play at other stadiums once in a while to meet audience from other parts in Sweden, as well as to play some of the bigger games in Stockholm which has a bigger stadium.

It is not really a question the players are fighting for at te moment, neither have been in the past. It is just that during a camp, every swedish player gets one day they have to do media and the media seems to ask this question at least once every camp. So yeah, they would like to play more in other parts of Sweden and the fans are on the same page

The issue is that friends arena is the home stadium to AIK, a top league team. And the pitch is absolutely awful (it is common knowledge, some hybrid shit). Meaning to be on the safe side, they shouldn’t play there whenever AIK has a homegrown within probably a week is so, otherwise they can’t really guarantee the pitch. And when AIK don’t play games it is lots of times booked for concerts etc which turns the pitch even worse

The other big stadium in Stockholm is turf so that is a big no

yes I know they said they're okay with it but my comment was more in general, that most of the time women in sports don't get anything unless they fight for it. there are many many examples in many different sports. also it is important to note that the ranking number 1 team in the world in women's football should be given the best if they can give them the best. I think sweden and the swedish players have proven themselves enough to be given the best the country can offer. that's all.

[late-nite-scholar]

TES Shiptober- Day 1-3: First Meeting

Hey, happy to be here for some prompts, courtesy of @hombrediablo​! For this first prompt, I have three (3!) posts for you all. Probably won’t do that for every one, but this is a nice intro to the 3 Last Dragonborns I play/write. Will there be prompts from other TES games? Maybe! I’d like to bring out my Hero of Kvatch and Nerevarine for this at some point, so fingers crossed! I’m also doing Fallout-tober, so we’ll see how things go. Anyway, onward to the first of my first meetings! This is Besharat and Farkas, my Redguard (and canon) LDB.  

Warnings- none

Length- around 500 words

(I don’t have a picture of their first meeting, but this is an early-game one that I really like from Ustengrav)

***

I was finally close enough to see what was happening; three humans fighting a giant. I raised my pilfered bow and fired an arrow, praying it would fly true. It did, and hit the creature in the back, stunning it enough for the three to finish it off as I ran to get closer.

“Good shot!” One of the women said as I came up beside them, tossing back her long, red hair. She wore diagonal lines of green paint across her face like slashes, though now split by her smile. 

“Yeah, well done!” The second woman, in fur-lined armor, slapped me on the back.

“I just got lucky. Not that I think you three needed help or anything…” I demurred.

“An extra arrow never hurts.” The red-haired woman nodded, as if to dispel any further argument. She pointed her chin in the direction of their third. “And it gave Farkas time to put his sword through the thing and finish it off. You new to these parts?”

“Yeah, actually. I was heading to Whiterun.”

“Well, you’re in the right place. Whiterun’s just up the road.” She pointed to the city that rose up from the plain most impressively. “Now, let’s see if this thing had anything worth taking before we get rid of the body. Give me a hand, Ria.”

The two women went to work. Their companion remained at my side. Tall and broad, he carried a two-handed sword on his back and wore black warpaint around his grey eyes. He cut quite the imposing figure. Or did, until he gave me a friendly smile that made my heart skip a beat. Nord men were proving far too attractive, on the whole.

“That was a good shot. Aela doesn’t say that to just anybody.”

“Thanks. I’m usually more a sword and shield kind of person. I think I just got lucky this time. Farkas, right?”

“Yeah. And you?”

I hesitated. Should I give out my actual name when the Empire might be looking for me? “People…uh, call me Earth-Breaker.”

“Well met, then.”

“You, too. So, what were you three doing fighting a giant, anyway?”

“It was a job. It’s been harassing the farmers out here. We’re part of the Companions.”

“Oh! I’ve heard stories! Your hall has a boat for a roof!”

“That’s the one. When you’re in Whiterun you should come up to Jorrvaskr and see it for yourself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You look strong. You could come be a Companion!”

“You think so?” I flushed a little, but the idea sent a flood of warmth through my heart.  

“Kodlak is the one who figures that out, so talk to him about it when you get there. But I think you’d do good.”

“Thank you. I’d…I’d really like that.”

“Oi, Farkas, come give us a hand!” Ria yelled over. It looked like they had finished whatever they’d been doing and were ready to move the dead giant.

He shrugged. “I guess that’s me.”

“Will you three need help?” I wasn’t sure even three Companions could move such a large corpse by themselves.

“We’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Farkas assured me, gifting me another breathtaking smile.

“Okay. I should probably get going into the city, then. But it was nice to meet you.”

“You too. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“I hope so.” And I meant it. But then he went off to help his friends, and I was back on the road again. I took a deep breath and muttered to myself as I walked.

“First Ralof and now this one? Morwha preserve me, if all Nord men are this, then I might be in trouble!”

[theweasleysredhair]

Flustered [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 3077

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: “You make my heart skip a beat.” In which Georgie is a chaotic, flustered mess in love with a Hufflepuff chaser.

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: For the lovely Erica - I really hope you enjoy it angel! I may have been working on this all week and rewritten it like three times so I’m hoping I got George being all flustered yet cheeky right 😂

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Wow, you really like her don’t you,” Fred commented as he watched his twin staring hopelessly at the h/c girl a few metres to his left.

“What?” George snapped out of his daydream just as he walked straight into a pillar, knocking him back on his feet and he groaned in pain as Fred and Lee laughed.

“Might wanna watch where you’re walking instead of staring at Y/n, mate,” Lee joked, watching as George rubbed gingerly at his nose. “Love really is blind, eh George?” Fred sniggered.

George groaned, half at his nose hurting and half at his friends’ teasing. It’s not his fault he was so distracted - how could he be expected to focus on where he was walking when you were a few metres away from him?

“Oh shut up, the pair of you. You’re acting like you’ve never fancied a girl before. I distinctly remember you falling on your face, Fred, when you first started liking Angelina,” George scowled, nudging his brother.

“That’s because you tripped me up!” Fred said indignantly. George feigned innocence, “I would never do such a thing.”

And then suddenly his focus had fallen back on you, his previous conversation fading into the background, barely paying attention to Lee’s laughter at his expense.

“She’s the best chaser in Hogwarts I reckon,” he said dreamily, watching as your head fell back as you laughed with your teammates.

To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. You’d made a name for yourself since you’d joined the team a couple years back, and were the best player on the Hufflepuff team. Luckily for George, he knew Harry was a better seeker than Cedric, but he knew you were a force to be reckoned with - you’d scored the most points since the year had started and by a longshot at that.

“You know, we have three perfectly good chasers on our own team you should be complimenting,” Lee pointed out as he opened the doors to exit the castle.

The sun was out, warming up what would have otherwise been a mild morning, dew still covering the grass as hoards of Hogwarts students were milling around, waiting for the match to begin.

The boys began heading towards the quidditch pitch, knowing Oliver Wood would already be there to prep the team on which strategies they’d be using today.

George sighed, “Yeah but... they don’t look like Y/n do they. Or act like her. Or sound like her.”

“I swear to Merlin, if you lose us this match because you can’t stop staring at the girl then I’ll personally kill you myself,” Lee threatened playfully.

“No worries about that, I’ve got a plan!” George announced proudly, straightening his back and pushing his chest out proudly.

“You made a plan? Without me?” Fred came to a sudden halt, making Lee bump into his back as the older twin dramatically clutched his chest as if he was heartbroken.

“Yep. Made it just this minute... I’m gonna flirt with her whilst we’re playing, to distract her,” the younger twin said determinedly.

There was a moment of silence before Fred and Lee burst out laughing laughing, continuing on their journey to the pitch. “You can’t flirt. You can barely speak to her,” Lee chortled, grabbing onto George’s shoulder for support.

“‘S not true. I had a conversation with her the other day!”

“She asked you if she could borrow a quill and you stared at her with heart eyes for a solid couple of minutes before I handed one to her instead. Wouldn’t call that a conversation, Georgie,” Fred said pointedly.

“I wasn’t referring to that - thanks for reminding me of that by the way,” George fake-glared at his twin, “I actually saw her in the library.”

“Oh yeah? What were you doing in the library?” Lee asked in disbelief, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I was studying,” George said simply.

At the sight of Fred and Lee raising their eyebrows, George sighed, “Okay fine, I was hiding from Filch. And I may have seen her walk in there before me. The point is, we had an amazing conversation and she called me cute.”

“Everyone stand back, Georgie’s been called cute and had some really hot, passionate eye contact!” Fred called out sarcastically.

George looked unimpressed, “Oh ha-ha, very funny.”

As they arrived at the stands, the twins bid goodbye to Lee who headed up to commentator’s box.

Around 15 minutes later, the twins were in their quidditch uniform and had just finished with the match briefing. They walked out, laughing and joking when Fred nudged George and nodded over to where you were stood in the middle of the pitch with your team, in your own quidditch uniform, holding onto your broom.

George picked up his pace, taking his place in front of you. He smirked at you, “Heard you’ve been practicing night and day for this, shame we’re going to beat you anyway.”

You looked up and were pleasantly surprised to see the younger twin standing across from you, in his starting position for the match. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy he’d chosen to come and see you instead of speaking to his team.

You scoffed and shot him a grin, “I’m gonna fly circles around you in this match.”

“Bring it on, love! Gryffindor are the best team going,” he bragged, puffing out his chest playfully and making you laugh (something he was extremely happy to have done - he’d never get sick of hearing the melodic sound).

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that,” you said determinedly, climbing onto your broom.

The match began and George made it his mission to compliment you every time he flew past you, to distract you from scoring. Usually, nothing could stop you from getting the quaffle into the hoops but there was something about the ginger boy that had you flustered, heart racing every time he’d throw a smirk your way.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you look right now?” He’d said to you as he flew past you, distracting you just long enough for Alicia Spinnet to score a goal and making you grit your teeth in annoyance.

When you had stolen the quaffle from Katie Bell and were just about to score, he came up beside you saying, “Always knew you were an amazing chaser, babe.” And that was enough for you to miss the hoop by barely a fraction of a centimetre.

The last straw was when you’d just managed to throw the quaffle past Oliver Wood, after having to flip over on your broom to avoid Angelina Johnson flying past you in an attempt to steal it from you, earning another 10 points for Hufflepuff when the younger twin flew past you again, “Well that was hot as hell, love.”

And suddenly you forgot where you were for a moment, staring after him as he flew off, mouth open in a slack ‘o’.

Your team captain flew past you, yelling, “Flirt in your own time, L/n!”, making you realise that you were, in fact, in the middle of a quidditch match. And with that, you decided to give George a taste of his own medicine.

“‘M really glad you keep passing us the quaffle, love, making it so much easier for us to win,” George teased you. “Anything for the most handsome beater around,” you retaliated, batting your eyelashes at him. Sure, you could’ve come up with something better but for being in the middle of a game and thinking on the spot, you didn’t think it was too bad.

You were right as well, because as soon as you said it, George stopped mid-air, frozen in place. Because... did you just call him handsome?

His heart was pounding as he stared after you, your h/c hair flowing in the wind and making his breath catch in his throat.

And then suddenly out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a bludger coming straight for you. With a glance over at Fred, who was busy trying to ensure Angelina - who had the quaffle - could score, he realised that the other bludger was heading towards Katie Bell.

George raced into action, beginning to head over to help Katie, who moved to dodge said bludger, before suddenly swerving on his broom over towards you, smacking the iron ball away from you merely seconds before it hit you.

He turned to you, all previous playfulness gone and replaced with concern, “Are you okay?”

You barely had enough time to nod, still in shock from the near-hit, before George was called off again by Fred.

“Maybe focus on your own teammates, eh Weasley?” Oliver shouted angrily at George, who looked around and realised Katie Bell had been hit with the other bludger.

“Sorry Ollie mate, had to protect what’s mine,” he called back to his captain.

“And because of that my shoulder got hit!” Katie yelled out.

“Sorry, Bell,” George shrugged, before heading off to hit a bludger away from Alicia. Of course, he did feel bad that Katie got hurt - quite guilty, in fact - but... to him, it would’ve been worse if you’d have been hit - or worse again, had fallen. He didn’t think he could handle that.

“You’re lucky we won,” Fred said to George after Harry had caught the snitch, “Otherwise I reckon Oliver would try and drown you in the showers for saving Y/n instead of Katie.”

“Y/n is my priority to be honest,” George replied as they landed their brooms on the grass, “Plus, I knew Katie saw the bludger coming and had at least a chance to swerve. Y/n had no idea. I couldn’t let her get hurt, Freddie... I couldn’t.”

“Guess we’ll have to work on distractions in the next practice,” Oliver said pointedly on the way past the twins, although the didn’t seem too upset - probably considering Gryffindor had won - followed by Katie who was holding her shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” George said sheepishly. If he was honest though, it wasn’t really a hard decision for him to choose between saving you and saving Katie.

Katie didn’t make his heart race like you did.

The rest of the team headed after the cheering crowds, whooping and hollering at Harry.

Fred followed on, screaming excitedly into the crowd. George went to join when he felt someone tap his shoulder.

He turned around and was met with the sight of your nervous smile, rocking back on your heels as you looked up at him, “Hey... I um, I just wanted to thank you. You know, for hitting that bludger away from me. You didn’t have to do that and I never got the chance to thank you in the game.”

“Don’t you worry love, it was nothing. Gotta protect your pretty face, don’t I?” He said cheekily, making a blush rise on your cheeks.

“Well, it wasn’t nothing, it saved me a great deal of pain and possibly a nasty fall so... I guess I owe you,” You grinned, before leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You thanked him again and then shyly waved him goodbye to join your teammates.

George felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, his mind racing and heart beating fast as he reached up to the place where you’d kissed him. You’d kissed him.

“You look happy with yourself,” Fred commented with a grin from a few metres away, having walked back after realising his twin wasn’t following.

“She kissed me,” George announced in amazement and pure awe. “Yeah, on the cheek,” Fred grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That still counts!”

“No Georgie it really doesn’t, but I’m glad you think so,” the older twin replied in an amused tone.

-

“D’ya reckon she fancies me?” George asked suddenly as the twins headed down to the Great Hall for lunch. For a moment, Fred was confused, looking around for some kind of context, but then realised his twin was talking about you.

“Well I mean you are the less attractive twin and all but you do have some good qualities I suppose,” Fred replied, looking like he was in thought.

“Oh yeah, like what?” George asked seriously, hoping for some actual advice.

“Well for starters you have an amazing twin brother.”

George stopped, staring at Fred’s grin and sighing before elbowing him - slightly harder than he intended to so Fred nearly fell into the wall.

“Now now Georgie, I’m simply trying to tell you that I am offering you my services at helping you win her over,” Fred said with a laugh, nudging his twin right back.

“At this point I’m open to anything.”

“Well, this may seem a bit out there, over the top, dramatic - but how about... you just tell her directly how you feel. You have no problem being all sappy about her to me. I’m sick of it really,” Fred sighed with a shake of his head.

“I can’t do that.”

“You’re George Weasley of course you can mate.”

“D’ya reckon?” George glanced over to the group of students heading down the same corridor, most likely to head to get some lunch too.

“Yeah I do. Or, even better, just walk over and snog her the next time you see her.”

As much as George liked that idea - and was imagining it right that moment - he decided against it.

“What if there’s someone else?” Fred decided mess with George. The younger twin’s head whipped round to look at Fred, “What do you mean?”

“Oh wow your face, you’re really gone on her... poor Y/n,” Fred laughed, clapping a hand on George’s shoulder, “All I’m saying is, my dear sweet twin, what if there’s someone else?”

George swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that. What if there was someone else? He hadn’t seen you with anyone and knew Fred was winding him up but what if?

“Then I’ll just beat away the other competition,” George said with a cheeky grin, hiding his worry but his mind was reeling at the possibility.

Fred groaned at the pun, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to reply to his twin when they heard soft laugher from behind them, “Oh don’t you worry, no one could ever beat you, George.”

The twins turned around in shock, George’s heart pounding as his eyes rested on your figure.

“Oh dear Godric, marry her,” Fred groaned as he walked away towards the Great Hall, mumbling something about bad puns.

George felt his cheeks redden, reaching up with one hand to scratch the back of his neck, “You um.. you heard that?” You bit your lip before grinning, “I did.”

“Is it too late to pretend I’m Fred?” George asked with a nervous smile. He could feel the tips of his ears burning and he had no doubt they were most likely blending in with his hair at that point.

You laughed, “Well you could but I’m quite fond of you as yourself if I’m honest.”

“You are?” George’s mind raced, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He then mentally cursed himself for acting so stutter-y and nervous as he ran a hand through his messy hair, “I mean, that’s good because I’m quite fond of you too.”

“Of course. There’s not many guys who would go out of their way to protect me from bludgers... especially when they’re not on my team or as handsome as you are,” you said with a small shrug. You giggled a little noticing a strand of hair sticking up from George messing with it, so you reached up and flattened it out, making him swallow from how close your lips were to his.

He could easily close the couple of inches between you if he wanted. Well, he did want to - badly - but just as he built the courage, you’d stepped back a little further away.

“Some things are more important than who’s on what team... don’t you worry love, I’d protect you from bludgers all day long if you asked me to,” he replied with a cheeky smile.

“Is that an offer you make to all the girls?” You asked with a laugh. “Nah, just the ones I fancy,” George admitted.

“You’re sweet, you know that?”

“Now that you mention it...,” he pretended to think, before shooting you a grin, “Yeah I know.”

You laughed and his gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips and back again as his tongue darted out to swipe across his own bottom lip. You were still stood close, he could - what was it Fred said? He could walk over and snog you.

Your laughter had dropped to a comfortable silence before George broke it, stepping forward so the distance between you became nearly non-existent, “You know, I was thinking, maybe we can- or I could- can I-”

“Kiss me, Georgie” you interrupted his rambling.

“Oh bloody hell- yeah absolutely,” he breathed as he grabbed your hips, pulling you to him and crashing his lips to yours. Your hands made their way around his neck as he slowly turned you to press you against the nearest wall, one of his hands on your waist as the other cupped your jaw to better angle himself.

He sighed happily as you tugged at strands of his hair, the hand that was on your waist moving slightly so it gripped the back of your hip, pulling you closer to him.

You pulled away a little to take a breath and before you knew it he was kissing you again, showing you how long he’d waited for this moment.

“Hey Y/n?” He said in a low tone as you pulled away, pressing another kiss to your swollen lips before resting his forehead against yours. “Yes Georgie?”

“You make my heart skip a beat,” he said with a proud grin.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, “It took you all that time to come up with that?”

“In my defence, I had you - looking like you do - in front of me, being all distracting. And then you let me kiss you. You try coming up with something better,” George scoffed playfully, giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

“Oh I could easily beat you at this game,” you replied immediately, grinning up at him. His mouth dropped open a little and his eyes lit up, staring at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky,

“Merlin, Fred was right: Marry me?”

[musicallisto]

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, of course, until you showed up.

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

“Leo?”

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

“Leo Valdez, behind you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

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

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

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

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

That was more than enough.

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

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

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

“Actually I left in April, but —”

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

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

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

“Leo...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jupiter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it was a good day after all.

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

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

[fallingoverharrypotter]

Torn a New One

This is based on the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt for pretend, and got very long. Heres the ao3 link :).

The shirt is supposed to make Harry look like that one Bratz doll meme; you know the one. 

Thanks for reading <3 <3

Harry is a stoic man. That’s what Hermione calls him.

He’s sitting on Ron’s plush carpeted floors in his shiny new flat. Ron himself is passed out on a couch that costs more galleons than a year of Hermione’s tuition, with Hermione herself teetering on the edge of both her couch and hers and Ron’s refusal to bring up that they’re still fucking on the side of their tumultuous breakup. She brings up Harry’s problems to distract herself, and Harry tells her not to bother. Harry also tells her that she and Ron should just own up to their idiocy and sort their crap out sooner rather than later, and then Hermione yells loud enough to wake Ron with: Harry James Potter, you’re a complete and utter hypocrite. Ron does wake up when their voices raise like this, and then cordons Hermione off to the main bedroom leaving Harry to pretend that he’ll floo home, before the three of them end up eating cereal whilst sitting at/on Ron’s granite countertops the next morning.

All three look a right picture. Hermione is staunchly refusing to acknowledge that she’s wearing a t-shirt of Ron’s – old Canon’s merch that she’s absolutely swimming in. Harry, in solidarity, is also wearing one of Ron’s shirts without pants – the newest Wheezes rollout collection, classic stylized lettering (Ron’s got this beautiful flat because every single Witch and Wizard between the ages of 14 and 37 owns Wheezes now). And Ron himself is shirtless and in nothing but underwear.

They’ve seen more of each other than is completely normal over the last 15 years, but they’re still indulgent enough not to bring up any of the shit they refuse to talk about. They need a balancing force, Harry often thinks, someone who is outrightly honest and refuses the stupid little games that the golden trio fall into to avoid talking about their true feelings. That’s what Harry thinks inside his head, but his body ends up groaning and bending forward so his forehead smacks the countertops none too gently. His consciousness sounds more and more like someone he refuses to think about whenever he’s been drinking. Merlin save him.

“Oi,” Ron admonishes without looking up from his bowl. He’s leaning atop the counter on forearms and staring into his cereal, swirling the spoon around the stodgy mess and eating no longer.

Harry grunts first, and then says “gonna sick up, Ronnykins?” and gets glared at by Hermione who is onto her third bowl of cereal at this point. Right. Can’t joke about Lavender either, apparently. That fling definitely didn’t help the dynamic, Harry reminds himself.

“Jus’ don’t wan’ you bruising my bench with your fat head.”

Harry kicks out at Ron with his closest foot and makes contact, gets an immediate groan for his efforts, before Ron’s pulling up from his slouch and getting Harry into a pretty tight headlock. Harry resorts to elbowing Ron in the gut over and over. Ron groans and releases, making a mad dash for the fancy powder room into which he projectiles.

Hermione, for all she looks dazed and noncommittal this early into a hangover, manages to give off an air of created aloofness about the violent noises coming from down the hall. Harry smirks at her, and gets his own kick in response that makes him exclaim “ow, fuck. You two are so bloody violent.”

Before she responds, there’s a tapping at the window. Owl. Hermione stares at Harry to let him know that there’s no way she’s moving from her lounging for the bloody post, so Harry straightens up to open the window for the tawny. Efficient things these post owls are this morning; just drops the paper on the countertop near Harry’s bowl before flying right out the window without even waiting for a treat.

Harry’s shaking his head to brush away the last fuzz of the evening with the assistance of the scent of fresh air. Hermione gasps out loud. That makes Harry turn around quick enough for whiplash, and then he wishes fervently for death by sustained head trauma when the figure on the front of the paper, unfurled and sepia, winks right at him.

“Fuck,” Harry says. His gut churns, and then he’s running down the hall, past the occupied powder room to Ron’s master bath, and vomits up his guts.

 ***

Ron’s back in the kitchen by the time that Harry stumbles back in. Three strong cups of tea are quick-brewing under Hermione’s wand, even though both her and Ron’s attention is maintained by the Prophet’s front page. Because that is Draco Malfoy wearing a Wheezes “I shagged Harry Potter and all I got was this stupid shirt” collectable.

“It’s ironic!” Ron and George had insisted on its’ inception 4 years back. Only 100 had been made, a necessity: scarcity is key. They resell for a lot of money these days. Harry would rather die than see another in person. His face, a terrible photo of him caught by photographers during a pretty brutal night out, is plastered right on the middle along with stylized fireworks that go off every couple of minutes. He’d been convinced into making them, to try and control the narrative or whatever bullshit the Weasley’s had spouted just a couple of days beforehand when Harry had started stomping around the burrow or the floor of the joke shop or Hermione and Ron’s old shoebox apartment in anguish. It worked, he guesses, and he doesn’t see many of them anymore, as they’re kept in the strongest of imperturbable charms and modified protegos by anyone lucky enough to get one. But this one. This one he didn’t know about.

Hermione’s been muttering to herself as she read the accompanying story, when her voice perks up. “Merlin, listen to this: ‘this intrepid reporter asked what I’m certain all our readership will be most curious to uncover now that we are sitting down with the one and only Draco Malfoy. When we had sat down in Mr. Malfoy’s beautifully appointed drawing room, I too was especially shocked at his choice of attire,’” Hermione pauses here to roll her eyes and mutter “oh here we go,” before continuing in a higher and haughtier voice. “‘We all know the poise that Mr. Malfoy holds, one of Wizarding Britain’s most darling Stars, his performance in Wizarding Wireless serials having taken our world by storm the past 6 years. I must myself mention the serialisation of the modern take on the Wizarding classic story of Millicent Mimbletonia’s Marvelous Manor; captured this reporter’s heart, it did.’ What a load of absolute nonsense.”

“Oh, come on, Herm,” Ron says and knocks into her arm to get her to continue the story.

“Fine, but this is all absolute tripe. What was Draco thinking! Okay. Blah blah blah, you can’t believe how long this person goes on about Draco’s drawing room, blah. Okay here. ‘On questioning Mr. Malfoy’s choice to wear the now famously collectible Wheezes’ Harry Potter shirt, the gentleman seems to look slightly pensive.’

“‘‘Monsieur,’ our Star addresses me, ‘when you have been in the business of telling stories for as long as I, you start to have a great fondness for truth. I must now admit to you, and all of your lovely readers, that I bought this shirt on release and whilst under Polyjuice’. Now readers, you must bear with Mr. Malfoy here. Yours truly was very shocked-’ Good God, can this man obfuscate. Okay, then Draco says, ‘‘I’ve kept my ownership of such an item close to my chest, and away from my closest relationships. I have found over the years that true mutual affection, friendship, and love, have foundations built on beds of uncertainty and trust simultaneously, and thus I was afraid to expose myself.’ I but in here and ask what we must all be thinking at this admission: is he such a big fan of our Saviour that he is ashamed? But Mr. Malfoy continues: ‘No, monsieur. In all honesty, I am the man’s biggest critic.’’” Harry ducks his head, his hands shaking as he reaches for the now over-brewed tea.

Hermione looks up at Harry and Ron with wide eyes. Ron looks back at her wide eyed too, glancing small looks at Harry every now and again when he finds something particularly salacious, but he says nothing. Harry is hiding his trembling hands and trembling mouth behind a blisteringly hot cup of tea. She receives no objections, and continues. “‘‘I am livid that he’s been out of the public eye for so long regardless of his exceptional ability to bring about change in those around him; Potter has worked the same archival job in the Ministry for 5 years, with no end in sight, I fear. He refuses to allow those outside of his closest friends and family to know him in any sense, and I would argue that this is truly detrimental to his relationship with the Wizarding community. Although I disagree with the man on many things, I will be the first to say here and now that if any person deserves privacy, it is him. But the relationships we build with those we love-’’” and Harry snatches the paper out of Hermione’s hands.

“Harry,” Ron starts, reaching out a hand and grasping his upper arm. Hermione too has hopped down off the counter and is crowding Harry’s other side. He wants to shake them off, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at the paper in his hands with Draco’s figure. Draco’s white blond head of hair turned beige on paper, his eyes sharp and flirty to readers, his hands restlessly gripping at his shirt. The shirt with Harry’s face.

Harry is a stoic man. Hermione tells him that exactly, Ron tells him that adjacently, and Draco. Draco has said the same thing in so many ways and at so many times that Harry has had it drilled into his head. His eyes are watering now, a little. And he can’t read much more of the article, but he doesn’t really need to. Because Draco will skate around enough of his personal life that it seems as though he’s come clean about something when he’s actually just marketing his next serial; it’s what he does.

This time, though, he’s wearing one of those terrible shirts that almost single-handedly sparked the Wheezes fashion line and bought Ron this apartment, and he’s saying things here that Harry knows are true. Knows are directed right at Harry. Knows because a week ago Harry had walked right out of Draco’s “well-appointed” drawing room, slamming the door and not answering the following owls. Harry hasn’t slept at his own sparse flat for a week. He’s spent time at Ron’s, spent time at Hermione’s, spent time at the Burrow. He’s even spent time in the dark halls of Grimmauld, which he hasn’t wanted to touch for years, no matter how many people around him shared their opinions on it being the perfect. Home. One day.

They’re standing there, the three of them, when a knock sounds on Ron’s front door. Harry freezes, but Ron staggers out into the hallway, still in nothing but underwear.

“Sweet Merlin, Weasley, could you put on some bloody pants? You do know it’s ten o’clock?” Says the visitor, and Harry just lets his back go limp, setting out to truly bruise Ron’s beautiful granite countertops with his forehead once again. He can hear Ron sarcastically mumble something along the lines of ‘yes Malfoy, of course you can come in’. Hermione grips his arm slightly in sympathy, but turns to face the entrance to the kitchen anyway. Like a traitor.

“Hermione, lovely as always. I see the three of you are in similar states of distressed undress this morning. Have you finally succumbed to your polyamorous destiny?”

“Nice to see you too, Draco. Lovely article.”

“Thank you. Do you like the shirt, too? Catches a sweet mint in resale these days.”

“You don’t say…”

“Yes, yes. Now, Harry, please pick yourself up off of the place we civilised people prepare our food.”

Harry groans into the cool surface, but can’t stop himself from responding. It’s a natural reaction to the bullshit that comes out of Draco’s mouth most times. “If you’ve ever made a meal by yourself in your life, I’ll eat the countertop.”

“Harry,” his voice is menacing, and his footsteps are getting closer, “I’m not civilised.” And at that Draco grabs Harry by the shoulder and turns up around and back up against the counter top with not a small amount of force.

Harry’s reply comes out breathless from the impact. “You said ‘we’.”

“It was a universal ‘we’.” Draco says this through gritted teeth. His blond eyebrows are sitting right on top of his grey eyes and they scream murder louder than they’ve ever done before, which is saying something since Draco was once a Death Eater, no matter what the admiring general Wizarding public would like to remember.  

Harry doesn’t have a retort prepared, per se. It would be a more concise comment on how Draco hadn’t taken a single English language course his entire life, and what would he know about the universal ‘we’, but Harry meets Draco’s eyes and he’s a bit lost. A week of blanket non-communication. A bit extreme. Not gone longer than a couple of days without talking for years, have they.

“Cuppa, Draco?” That’s from Ron.

“Yes. Two sugars. Level.”

Ron scoffs, but Draco beats him to it. “Weasley it’s two-level sugars, please, for once, reorient your sense of balance before you spill the entire sugar pot into the cup.”

“Just don’t give him any sugar, Ron. He’s obviously already mental, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.” This from Hermione.

“Uh-”

Draco scoffs before Ron can respond. “Settle down Granger. I’m not going to pretend to like black tea for some sense of superiority like some of us.”

“It’s better for your-”

“You know what’s good for your health?” Draco all but yells and spins around to face Ron and Hermione. Ron, still next to naked, and Hermione drowning in Ron’s clothes. She’s back to sitting on the counter, Ron leaning back next to her. They look like they’ve looked for the past 10 years – drawn to each other, allies, et cetera. Draco huffs. “What’s good for your health is you two sitting down and talking about your absolutely bloody insane coupling. What’s good for your health is not getting blackout drunk every Friday night and ending up sleeping with each other, and then not talking about it, until the next week when you can do it again.”

Ron and Hermione are shifting where they sit, Hermione, looking as though she’s getting herself ready to argue back, and Ron in a more protected position behind his ex-girlfriend. Harry feels a little sorry for them, getting the third degree from Draco when he looks as unhinged as he does now. The Harry on his chest, a mess when the photo was taken, is now looking at them disappointedly like he’s on Draco’s side. Like a magical recreation of a Harry who was in quite an intense meltdown at the time has any right to be “on Draco’s side” about any issues of wellbeing.

Hermione does get the strength to pipe up. “Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy.” But that’s all she can get out. Harry’s pretty sure she’s stumped. Doesn’t have an argument. Draco, Harry knows, has refused to get involved in this situation. Has watched from the side-lines and stewed. Harry’s been all for letting the two of them work their shit out in their own time, but he’s a stoic man, what does he know about all that?

“Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy,” is Draco’s retort, mocking back in a high-pitched squeak that Harry winces at. Hermione was about to hop off the counter, he could see, but Ron’s sudden arm around her waist kept her down. “You two just have to talk about it. So what if Hermione slept with Lavender? You guys weren’t together at the time!”

Hermione splutters, eyes wide, all thoughts of advancing physically on Draco gone. Ron sat eyes wide too, flicking between Draco and Hermione as if waiting for more.

“Wait-” he starts.

Hermione wails “Ron I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. It was such a bad thing to do-”

“No wait! You’ve been acting weird because of that?” And Ron looks incredulously at Harry. Harry sends him an incredulous look back, equally as surprised that Draco hit the nail on the head.

“What! You knew?” Hermione is still wailing.

Ron turns fully to face her and wails himself: “Of course I knew! How could I not know! Harry told me! Draco told me! Lavender told me! Hell, a month ago you got so drunk you told me.”

Hermione’s eyes are so wide that Harry’s afraid she’s going to start crying, and he grabs Draco’s arm in shock. Draco tenses all of a sudden and then Harry consciously remembers why he’s not doing that and shrinks back again. Ron and Hermione aren’t really focusing on anything but themselves now, so they don’t notice how Draco turns slowly back to face Harry, backed against the kitchen’s island like he has been since Draco arrived.

“And you, Harry Potter.” Draco pauses, and Harry has time to do a quick pass over. Draco on the front page of the Daily Prophet and Draco in the middle of Ron’s stylish London flat are two very different Draco’s. Quiet, pensive, charming and loveable Draco in the papers. Thoughtful. Friendly. A bloody myth.

This Draco. Angry, flustered, dishevelled, loud. This is the same Draco who, when Harry slipped up the other week – the week when everything changed – went red, went silent, went unresponsive in so many ways. Harry, fresh off the first love confession he’d ever given, so incredibly off the cuff that it had shocked him and scared him, had had to storm out of the apartment, slam the doors behind him, and apparate away to his own flat he barely spends any time in.

He’d slipped up. They’d never even suggested anything romantic between the two of them. They’d been close for a long time at this point and. Feelings. His feelings. They were supposed to be unspoken. He’d been nursing the growing beast of his feelings behind his stupid chest, which was okay as long as they were unspoken. Pretending every day that they weren’t eating at him alive.

Eating at him when he woke up in Draco’s spare room on more mornings than he’d liked to count, early enough before work that they could sit for breakfasts in Draco’s kitchen. And then Harry’s co-workers at the Ministry archives asking him questions about Draco’s new shows or his schedule or his favourite foods. Draco and Harry having dinner with Ron and Hermione at hole in the wall restaurants in the muggle world. Birthdays together; dinners at Draco’s or Ron’s nicer flats; bickering over anything and everything they could get their minds on.

“You hate my job.”

Harry’s eyes bulge open. Did he mean to say that? Sweet Merlin. It was definitely him, and now Draco is staring at him in confused consternation, as if he has to come to terms now that Harry’s gone insane.

Harry doubles down, though. Trusts his subconscious decisions. “Yeah, you hate my job!” he repeats.

“Are,” Draco starts, slowly, “you kidding me.”

He could respond, but Harry just shakes his head instead.

Harry’s thought Draco’s been properly angry this whole time. He was wrong. “I hate your job? Who doesn’t hate your job!” Draco’s arms reach out and grab tightly around Harry’s upper arms. Harry’s not above flexing, just a little. He tells himself it’s to test the grip, but honestly, he’s hoping to distract Draco from the rage.

“It’s not that bad!” Harry repeats, and Draco groans loudly.

“Not that bad? Are you trying to give me a stress induced ulcer?”

“What do you know about stress induced ulcers?” comes a faint response from Hermione.

Draco turns his head, hands still tight around Harry’s biceps, and says “don’t you two have make-up sex to attend to?”

Harry responds. “Ron’s sick.”

Draco glares back at Harry for a second, and then turns back to where Ron and Hermione haven’t moved. “Get out, you’re distracting him from the fight.”

“We’re the emotional support,” and “lame fight” come respectively from Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Draco yells in their direction, but Harry’s sure that he’s ignoring Ron’s comment. “Emotional support! You two have let this wanker,” a thumb thrown at Harry from over Draco’s shoulder, “probably crash on your couches rather than forcing him to face me. You’re all as bad as each other.”

“Draco,” Harry feels he has to say, and draws Draco’s attention from his two best friends who definitely have been letting him crash on their couches and had not once tried to force Harry to face his problems. He loves them a hell of a lot.

“Don’t you try to lessen this, Harry Potter.” Harry’s been on the receiving edge of worse glares from Draco, so this one isn’t that bad. Harry’s actually feeling a lot better now that Draco is in the same room as him. Feels his terrible, traitorous heart almost relax. “I’m sick of you three. You’re the worst bloody enablers for each other.”

Harry scoffs. Sure, they’d never force him to do something he didn’t want to, but it’s not like they agree with his decisions all the time.

Draco hears the scoff of course, and gives up on trying to chase the others out of the kitchen. He turns around towards the entrance, faces away from all of them and talks to himself at top volume. “This is what my life has become. The sole source of constructive criticism for the bloody Golden Trio.”

Ron snorts to cover up a laugh.

“I survive working for a fascist dictator, successfully rebuild my image, forge a new path for myself in the world, but I’m here. An overworked, under-rewarded, glorified therapist!”  

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchange glances. The other two look at Harry in commiseration, but Harry is starting to think that Draco has a bit of a point when he realises that Ron’s arm is still around Hermione’s waist who is leaning right into his side.

“Okay.” Draco takes a deep breath and turns around to face Harry. “Since they’re not leaving, you all get to hear this.” He steps closer. “I hate your job. I hate your flat. I hate that you won’t face up to hard things, and I refuse to be okay with any of that.”

Harry swallows hard.

“People are letting you get away with anything at the moment, and when you told me you loved me, I got scared. Because I thought that I’d become one of those people to you too.”

“That’s not-”

“No.” Draco stops Harry for butting in. “No. We’re not pretending any longer. I love you-” thump goes Harry’s heart in his chest, eyes bulging and smile unable to be stopped “-but sometimes I seriously don’t like you.”

Harry’s smile does dim at that, but only slightly.

Draco looks away at last, his hands on his hips, and starts pacing. “I couldn’t believe-” sharp glance at Harry through the pacing, “-you just left after you said that. I couldn’t believe you’d actually not answer my owls. You’re an absolute coward sometimes.”

“You didn’t say anything…” Harry mumbles.

“Oh,” Draco responds with an eyeroll, still pacing, “so you get to freak out for a week, but I’m not allowed longer than a couple of minutes to compose myself?”

Harry ducks his eyes, ashamed.

Draco hmphs, and pauses in his pacing to look down his nose at Harry. “That’s right. You should feel bad.”

Shirt-Harry shakes his head at real-Har- “God Draco, take the shirt off!”

“What?” Draco is shocked into pausing his restless movement. “Take my shirt off? You haven’t even apologised and want to get me half naked like the rest of you? I think not!”

“That’s not- ugh, forget this.” Harry reaches forward and grabs Draco mid-pace. “Draco.” Deep breath. Harry meets Draco’s eyes. Draco looks like he’s been through his paces. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, he just looks like the culmination of a week of stress. Ron and Hermione are eating dry cereal right out of the box from their perch as they watch, and they both give Harry nods and a thumbs up in encouragement when his eyes stray to them.

He’s a stoic man: Draco and Hermione are right. He hasn’t had to be brave in a long while. This is a moment that’s worth it though, even if he has to fake it at first.

“I’m sorry.” He has to pause at that, because he can feel the emotions bubbling up a bit too high. He takes a deep breath, and makes sure that Draco’s eyes don’t stray. “You’re… you’re right. About a lot of that-”

Draco buts in with “I’m right about all of it, actua-”

“Shut up, do you want me to get this out?”

Draco concedes.

Harry takes another breath, but the nerves have disappeared in the face of Draco’s unfiltered verve. “I shouldn’t have left. I was-”

“A coward.”

“Draco.”

“…sorry.”

“I was. I was a coward. I was scared. You didn’t respond, which never happens. You’re so good with your words.” He has to take a minute to collect his thoughts, but finds the right thread. “I love you, and have done for a while. I ran because I kind of didn’t mean to say it then. We were already fighting about something, and it just came out, which wasn’t right, and sometimes I’m so afraid that things will change, because you’re my best friend-” “Hey!” “-my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You should have said that then.”

Harry closes his eyes. God, feelings are so bloody hard. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Oh well, as long as you know.”

“Draco. Shut up.” He swallows. “I like my job.”

“No, you don’t. You come home-” a sharp breath “-you come to mine, I mean. You come to mine after work and you can’t stop complaining. We like our jobs. I’m sure when Hermione finishes her ChP and becomes the Minister she’ll love her job too.” (“It’s a PhD, Draco, I’ve told you a million times.” “Maybe another time, Herm.”)

Harry has to breath deeper, because his blood is pumping a bit too fast in his ears. He drops his hands from Draco and takes a couple of steps back. A retreat. “I think,” and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can force the words out of his throat. He looks up and meets all of their eyes. “I don’t think I can do important things anymore. I. I don’t want to- I.”

“Merlin sakes, Harry.” Draco says. “I think it may be time we force you into therapy.” And Draco just looks impatient. “You can’t keep pretending it’s not a problem, and we can’t keep letting you!”

Harry. Harry nods. He thinks he nods. It’s what he wants to do, but he’s not really looking at anyone anymore, eyes to the ground, heart a bit too fast in his chest for comfort. He wishes that he was still eating soggy cereal in the kitchen before the post arrived this morning. He’s a stoic coward.

Draco seems to take a deep breath, and then he turns around to face the others. “Okay, get up. I’m sick of standing in Weasley’s kitchen.”

Harry takes a pause and looks at Draco’s face. He’s perfectly serious, and so is the Harry on his shirt.  Harry’s heart is still racing, but Draco just looks resigned and present. He can’t help himself from smiling a little when his eyes catch on Draco’s. He gets a pretty severe glare in response, before Draco just walks right out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Harry follows, and hears the small grunt from Hermione hitting the ground behind him. Two sets of feet follow his own.

“Don’t forget my tea, Weasley!”

Ron scoffs, but still walks back into the kitchen to make a tea he’d promised about 20 minutes earlier.

Harry sits down on the floor in the same place he sat last night. Draco’s chosen the armchair near the fire; where he usually sits. Hermione stomps over to take the seat on the couch closest to the armchair, and Ron can be heard pottering around the kitchen.

“PhD.”

Draco looks to Hermione with a frown. “What?”

Hermione looks haughty yet contrite. Like she actually can’t help herself from making sure that Draco knows he was wrong, and feels a little bit sorry about it. “It’s a PhD, not a ChP or whatever you called it.”

“Honestly Granger, what does it matter?”

A harrumph from Hermione as she settles back into Ron’s expensive couch cushions. “It’s a very important thing.”

Harry chucks her a grin, and she smiles back proudly.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Why do you all insist on patting yourselves on the back constantly. You don’t see me singing my own praises.”

Ron let’s out a violent laugh from the kitchen, and Draco flushes a little bit, his eyes flicking to Harry who grins at him too.

Mugs float out from the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. Harry grabs his out of the air and cherishes the sent of the strong tea. He can’t help but laugh when Hermione grimaces at the taste of her milkless cup, and Draco looks at her as if he’s won something.

Harry’s won something. He’s won Draco sitting here in Ron’s expensive apartment, Draco rolling his eyes when Hermione chides him about his too sweet tea, then Draco chiding Ron when he argues that Ron made it too sweet anyway, and that if he has to have teeth work done it’ll be Ron’s fault.

“You can make your own tea, you know, you’re not that famous.”

“Actually, Weasley, I’m more famous than all three of you, currently. The only thing getting you through is dumb luck and a gullible consumer base. I get by on pure talent.”

“Sure, Draco.”

“Also, I expect thanks when Wheezes gets the significant boost in sales it’s sure to this week, what with the Prophet this morning.”

“Sure, Draco.”

Harry smiles. His arse will probably start hurting before his mug is drained, and the sounds of arguing will get tiring soon after that. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt a little. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Therapy. I’ll do it.”

Ron and Hermione smile at him like they knew it was coming all along, pressed up against each other on the expensive couches. Draco just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for who knows what. Probably an oral manifesto of Harry’s recognised faults and his plans to change them. Harry just smiles right back at Draco, wide and unashamed. Draco shakes his head a little bit, lips pulling up too.

Harry’s worried that if Draco keeps looking at him at all that he’ll have to walk over there and kiss him without warning. He picks his mug up and keeps sipping though, pretends he doesn’t absolutely need to do just that. Because there’s going to be time. Lots of it.

His stoicism has its uses sometimes, maybe.

[windfighter]

Finally got around to typing te story out. I got distracted by sleep because apparently that's a thing my body needs? Anyway story is inspired by this post by @hermitcraftheadcanons and some cobbled together fanons I've stumbled over while stalking the hermitcraft-tag

no beta we die like the villagers during Grian and Scar's sith-arc

Summary: Grian always hides his true self, both to protect himself from the memories and to protect others from the horrors of his past. But in the quiet of his mansion, in the empty rooms, he can let his disguise fall. No one will see him there, no one will find out, especially not with everyone busy with their projects.

But Scar's project is done. Almost. Maybe he could use the input of one of his friends to help him with the last details.

-------

Grian let his disguise fall as he entered the mansion. His perfect skin slowly faded, instead revealing skin covered by white and pink scars in all shapes and sizes. His left eye faded as well, leaving only void and darkness behind, and his right eye became grumbled, but it was a long time since he relied only on his eyes to see. The magic coursing through his veins gave him the ability to sense his surroundings. Not enough to see colors and textures but Pearl used to help him with that and now he was good enough on his own. His magic couldn't help his hearing, but at home he didn't need to hear the emptiness of the mansion and he took his hearing aids off and put them in a chest by the door. He pulled his hand through his hair, flinched as his fingers found one of his scars. He held the hand infront of his face, his one eye staring at the hazy shape it formed infront of him. Did it actually hurt or was it just the memories? He couldn't tell any longer.

His friends were all busy putting the finishing touches on their projects and Grian had planned to work on his own. His mansion was almost done and he wanted to get it completed, but he was so tired. The disguise didn't use a lot of magic, it was easy to maintain since he had worked hard on transferring the image to his subconscious and sometimes he'd even wake up in it, unaware of having summoned it. But he had kept it up for weeks now, while working in Aque, on the HCBBS, on the barge, and it was wearing him down. He stretched, scars across his joints protested and he curled up slightly again. His wings ached, hidden under his sweater where they wouldn't be visible. But everyone was busy working and maybe for once Grian could let all of himself out.

Grian's sweater fell to the floor and two wings flapped slowly behind Grian. He closed his eye, relaxed his shoulders for the first time in months. There were no windows in the mansion, no water where he could catch a hazy glance of his reflection. Nothing to remind him about the Before except the ache in his scars that would never quite heal no matter how many times he respawned. He yawned as a new wave of exhaustion swept over him.

”A bed, a bed. My kindgom for a bed.”

He stumbled more than walked through the empty halls. He didn't need any magic to navigate it, the hazy sight his eye provided was more than enough. There was no furniture, no pets, nothing he could stumble over as he made his way forward. His body ached with every step, the exhaustion making him unable to filter out the pain that was always present and he could usually ignore. He fell into the bed, greeted by Professor Beak. He rolled over to his side, fixed his eye on the parrot.

”We've been through a lot, haven't we?”

He closed his eye, prepared for sleep to pull him under. Professor Beak flew down, landed on the headboard of the bed. Grian's body shuddered as he took a shaky breath.

”It's better now though, isn't it? Taurtis?”

Professor Beak whistled an answer and Grian was pulled away from consiousness.

-

ScarX was done. Scar stood on top of his giant drill and looked at what he had achieved. Every detail he could think of had been added, no stone left unturned, there were Jellies everywhere. Still, something was missing. He scratched his head, carefully touched the scar on his cheek. Maybe Badtimes could help him figure the missing pieces out. But the Helshermits were just as busy as the hermits, everyone working hard to finish up whatever they were doing. Badtimes would probably just suggest fire anyway and that wouldn't be as helpful as Scar would have liked. Scar fiddled with the communicator in his pocket before deciding to send out a message to his fellow hermits.

GoodtimewithScar: ScarX is done but it feels like something's missing?

Etho: TNT

iskall85: TNT of doom

BdoubleO100: Definately TNT

Tango: Sounds like a job for the Boomers

GoodtimewithScar: We are not blowing up my base

MumboJumbo: Can we blow up mine? It's almost dead anyway

Xisuma: Alright, I think we all need a break.

iJevin: And some TNT

Xisuma: Let's all meet up at the moopop café for some relaxation and games. We've been working hard this past week.

Scar put the communicator away again. TNT was not missing from ScarX, but someone had been missing from the TNT-discussion. He frowned and turned in the direction of Grian's mansion. Grian would never miss a chance to blow something up. Maybe he should make sure all was fine and that Grian hadn't gotten stuck in obsessed build-mode again. And despite their differences in buildstyles, they still had similar ideas when it came to building so maybe Grian would be able to help him find the missing detail. He jumped off the drill, fired off a rocket and took to the sky.

-

Something woke Grian up. A tingling sensation in his neck. Something was coming? Or wrong? He blinked, tried to shake the exhaustion off himself. How long had he slept? Taurtis would wake him up if he slept for too long. He sat up, untangled his legs from the blanket and looked around. A shape was standing in the hallway, staring at him, and Grian's magic was sent into overdrive. His regular disguise started creeping over him, hiding his torn skin and destroyed eyes. Another flash of magic rushed towards the figure and smashed straight into Scar's magic. Grian got to his feet. Scar took a step closer. Could he joke it off? Force Scar to forget it? He clenched and unclenched his hands. His mouth was dry. Watcher magic was coursing through his veins, demanding to be used. He could ban Scar from the server, use his magic to override the code of the world, cause a permadeath. Scar was his friend but no, Watchers didn't have friends and no one could know about Grian's history. He didn't want questions, hugs, pats on the back and pitying looks. Scar took another step closer and Grian still didn't move. Taurtis lifted from the headboard. Professor Beak lifted from the headboard and Grian wanted to tell him to flee. Scar took another step, he was too close now, close enough that Grian didn't need to actively send his magic out to sense Scar. Scar's magic was pressing against Grian's, aggressive in a completely different way than the Watcher's magic was. More unhinged and feral and Grian had never felt it so strongly before. Wings sprouted on Scar's back, thin things that wouldn't be able to carry anyone if they didn't have magic as well. Scar's skin shifted, changed.

Scar was close enough that they could almost touch. Grian's breathing was quick. He needed to have done something five minutes ago and yet his body remained frozen. He wanted to blame the magic oozing from Scar – it was an unknown factor – but he knew there was another reason; he cared. He had allowed himself to relax, to let the perosn infront of him get close. Scar looked at him, his eyes empty and yet so focused. He held his palms towards Grian, as if approaching a scared animal. Grian took a step back, getting closer to cornering himself, but Scar didn't follow.

”You don't have to hide here, Grian.”

Scar's voice was heavy with barely held back magic. It vibrated through the air around them, through Grian's body, and his and Scar's magic worked in unison to get the words past his worsened hearing. Grian shivered. He didn't want to answer, knew he would be unable to keep his own magic at bay if he did.

”We all have our secrets”, Scar continued with a softer voice, ”and we might not understand yours, but we're here when you're ready to tell us.”

Grian couldn't breathe. Scar took a step back, his magic and shape retreatng, returning to normal, but Grian no longer knew what was normal about his friend. Grian got ready to dash past his friend, to send the whole mansion flying with Scar still in it because Scar was too close, Scar knew too much, and there was no way Grian could hide it all back, make it unseen, because watchermagic couldn't fiddle with time in that way. Scar took another step back, started looking through his inventory. Grian prepared to bolt, was just about to run when Scar pulled a piece of red fabric out of his inventory and offered it to Grian.

”Everyone's meeting at the moopop café, you should come. And then I can help you with the mansion and you can maybe take a look at ScarX?”

Grian's hand shook as he reached for the sweater in Scar's hands. He stared at Scar's face, fake black eyes locked onto fake green ones. He had questions, still considered escaping, once again hiding the truth. His fingers touched the fabric. It was more than a sweater at the moment and Grian knew, understood. It was a promise. A promise that Scar would be there, help him keep the secret as long as he needed it and support him through the troubles he had with it. By taking the sweater Grian would accept that, accept Scar's friendship in a deeper way than he had before. By taking the sweater Grian promised that one day he'd stop hiding, at least for Scar.

The scars on Grian's hand ached when he grabbed the sweater, his wings ached as he pulled it over his head and squished them against his back. His body felt drained but he smiled towards Scar.

”Sounds fun. Should I bring the TNT?”

Scar laughed and Grian knew he had made the right choice.