sorry it's dark but i like my room to be cave like

Look, we need to talk about this Ok

This wasn’t some happy go luck episode, this wasn’t the sweet cool Starco episode everyone is trying to make it out to be or whatever. This was intense. This kid as been traveling and fighting for 16 years.

Marco traveled to every single dimension,(without sicors), He faced hundreds of monsters, he learned amazing things. He blew out every single flame of every single clone

Marco grew up guys. he grew UP. He built a life for himself. he lived for 16 years alone in the roughness of uncivilisation, with only himself to look out for. Constiantly tracking down clone after clone after clone.  He becomes a warior.

And yet, when he arrives at her doorstep, he doesn’t  attack her, and she doesn’t attack him. Infact, when he arrives, she’s already forming his scissors

She’s content, She’s plaesed. She has accept his work, and delcared  him worthy of the responiblility of having dimensional siccors. 

And marco has a similar reaction as well, he doesn’t immedetly take the scissors, doesn’t blow out her light as soon as possible. No, he sits down, gets comfy. he relaxs and tells his tales to her.

“you barley escaped me on the exploding flames of endor. And when I lost your trail in the mist of the never zone, I thought I’d never find you.”

They know eachother. This isn’t the first time he’s seen her. The REAL her since their first encounter when he was fourteen. They’e meet before, they’ve battled, and ran and talked formed an odd frenship out of their bond.

And then He rises to blows out her flame, and she lets him. She stands there, content as he softley, blows it out

“Not bad for a human. I underestmated you.”

And then, Star bust in….

And of cousre, Marco is happy to see her. He hasn’t seen her in over, and I’ll say it again, 16 years (reminder, normal people go to school for 12 years! First grade to senior. Marco has been working for those things, longs than the normal person goes to school.)

Now, I’m not here to go through this episode slide by slide, so lets move on. Marco finds out he’s only been gone from earth for 8 minutes, he get annoyed, ut then Star encourages him to come back home with her, so that everything can go back to normal.

Here’s the thing guys. Marco has spent the last 16 years matureing, fighting, living, He’s been spending the last 16 years BUILDING A LIFE. he doesn’t want to go back. he likes his life.

He likes the adventure, his sword and his dragon-motercikle pet thingy. The likes the life he’s build for himself here.

And this scares her. She pleads with him. BEGS him even. “But, what about your parents, your freinds….Me?” Star puts Marco in a position where he has to pick between his life, what he likes and her.

And here’s where this show gets really deep. he looks at his pet.

Guys you can feel that stabbing pain in your heart right? Right?  Oh man and then he looks at Hekapoo. This girl he’s chased for 16 years. 

“Don’t look at me, those siccors are yours now…you can come back here, anytime you want.”

So he makes his decision

But before he goes, he bids them goodbye. He asks Hekapoo to look after his pet. His one compainion on the road. And she agrees. 

Then he turns to her. Like when he entered, he greets her like an old freind, because that’s who she is. She’s not someone he resents, She’s some one he trusts. Someone he has faith in and who he know he can depend on.

“Likewise”

I mean, I’m sorry, but have you SEEN the way they’ve been looking at eachother this entire time? Their eyes, relaxed, smiles oh so small.Serriously, go back through the pictures I have here. you’ll see what I meant Mabye I’m crazy, but it almost seems like they’re in love. 

ha hah hah just kidding…sort of.

 Back to buisness.

Look at this. This is her thing. She’s been doing this to him since they first meet. It’s a way she “shows [her] affection” in the words of Toph

It’s what she does. He has something simillar to that as well

“Later H-poo.”

“Don’t call me that!”

They know eachother. They’ve know eachother for 16 years. They’ve been teasing eachother all that time while he’s been chasing her and she’s been slipping through his fingers. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like some wicked love story. 

But it’s not, because she’s some, immotal being and he’s a human and he’s ment to be with Star…That’s fine. I get that but still!

I meanserriously, when Hekapoo  creates siccors, she makes them individually for the owner, and look at marco’s

The blade’s are thick, and kind of resemble a sword, given how that’s the wepon he’s been using all this time, and it’s part of his pasword..but look at the that little flame where the blade conects to the handle? Doesn’t that look like her flame crown?

no, actually, it doesn’t. But it DOES  look like her clone’s crowns. The clone’s he’s been chassing and fighting al these years. She placed a bit of herself in his siscores because she was that important to him. (or at least she was important to his mission)

.

.

.

Ok, Ok, Ok….now here’s 

The most important stuff. 

Marco is back in his 14 year old body. He’s back on earth’s time line, and Star thinks its all fine and dandy…but it’s not.

Marco isn’t the same guys. He’s been gone for 16 years. He’s 30 years old mentally. Watch as he takes in his room, observing it like some alein place.

And he walks over to his computer, almost scared to touch it. These last few years, Marco’s probablby survied off of whatever he could kill or make with his own two hands. This kind of advancement…it might make him feel uncomftorble, like he’s cheating at life. 

“Password..? I don’t remember my password.”

For last 16 years, Marco has  probabbly been sleepin gon rocks, on the ground in caves. watch how catius he is lowering himself onto his bed. After two years, most soilders in the army can’t handle sleeping on beds because they’re “too soft” Imagine how marco feels. I mean, his sandwitch is still warm, as if none of his life had ever happened

This isn’t some crazy Narnia junk where Pete, Edwin, Lucy and Susan half forget what their life was like in narnia when they de-age after walking through the wardrobe. Where they go back to being kids mentally as well, as though their entire adventure was a dream.

NO.

Marco remembers it all. And this is HUGE. The show brodened on that. they showefd how uncomftorble he looked as he stood in his room all alone, because it was essential to show the effects that were left on him. 

This isn’t some happy Starco episode. this isn’t some cool ‘lets drool over adult marco’ episode either. This is some dark, bittersweet life. And you guys need to stop trying to weasle out of these facts.

“Hey, Barold?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you dead?”

Barry’s head pokes into the dining room table, the Neverwinter Times folded into his hands. He looks down at himself, pokes his own nose. “I don’t think so? I don’t look dead.”

Lup looks him up and down, then says, “Yep, you really don’t.”

“Why?”

In response, Lup takes the package she’s been holding, grabs it by the ends, and turns it on its head. Letters - bundled into packs bound with black ropes, spare ones scratched on torn napkins, envelopes-within-envelopes written in deep dark ink - spill all over the table.

“What are these?”

“Consolation letters,” Lup says, grinning. She plucks the first one off the table, slits it with a brightly-painted red nail, and begins to read. “‘Dear Lup Taaco, my cult and I would like to express our condolences for your loss.’ Aww, that’s so sweet, they’re cult-bonding.”

Barry narrows his eyes. “Is that a necromantic cult or a religious one?”

“Dunno.” She tosses it aside, picks up another one. “‘Dear IPRE, sorry for your loss. We hope Barry feels better soon. We know most people don’t feel better after being dead but he’s done it before.’”

Barry drifts forward, looking at the stack in apprehension and slight awe. He picks one up at random, skims it, and turns white. “Why do these people think I’m dead?”

“Don’t know, but there’s definitely a consensus, babe,” Lup says. “Aww, someone sent a bunch of dead flowers! I’ll pass them onto Merle.”

“Lup, no, this is weird. This - this is weird.”

“Yeah, for sure,” she says, leafing through the next letters. The mound grows intimidatingly the more Barry looks at it. “What did you do?”

“I - I don’t know.”

“Huh. Maybe someone started a dumb rumor. You never know the kinda shit floating around Faerun these days.”

True? Okay. Okay, no, this is just another mystery. Maybe there are clues in the truly preposterous number of letters sitting on the table. Carefully, Barry picks the first one up, a letter wrapped in a satin ribbon and addressed in dark ink so black it almost looks tar. He tears it open gently and sets the envelope aside, then begins to read.

Dear Miss Lup,

I’m really really sorry your husband is dead. I want you to know that my mom and my dad love him too and that if you ever need someone to talk to because death is a really really bad thing then you can send us a letter any time. I’d give you my mom’s frequency but I don’t know it.

Love,

Carnila

Below is an address. It’s from the far east, a remote village that Barry only knows because he passed through there while hunting for Lup a couple of years into his search.

He’s not freaking out so much as very, very confused. He’s certain he’s alive. Pulse beating in his throat and everything. So why does everyone think he’s dead?

He goes through a couple more without finding any clues. Most are of the same vein - sorry for your loss, hope you’re doing better. A couple recommend Lup some therapists in Neverwinter. Two cite him as his inspiration for practicing necromancy. He’s gonna need to pay those fans a personal visit. Probably with his scythe.

“Barry?” Lup says after a little while. She’s set the letters down and is now looking at him strangely.

He opens another one. This one’s written in blue ink. All the others have been black. Really goes to show what kind of person picked Barold J. Bluejeans, lich and necromancer-turned-reaper extraordinaire, as their favorite of the seven birds. “Yes, dear?”

“When you died, you picked up your bodies, right?”

Barry freezes. He thinks back to those ten years on his own, dying repeatedly. He’d had a process - he’d freak out, flicker a little bit, and pull himself together - with admirable speed and courage, of course. Then he’d grab his jeans (can’t leave those behind), a couple hairs, a bunch of blood (which wasn’t typically too hard to collect), the coin, some supplies, and take off for Wave Echo Cave.

He’d leave the body, though. He didn’t need it.

“Barold J. Bluejeans,” she snaps, setting down her letter with a thwack on the table. “Did you leave your corpses strewn all around this continent?”

“I only needed a little blood to make a new body!” he yelps. “I was a lich, it wasn’t like I could pick up my body and carry it with me!”

“You managed to keep the same clothes for ten years!”

“I’ve had these jeans for a hundred years, they’re precious to me!”

“That’s fair,” Lup says, grinning too widely to be angry. “So you’re telling me, these people stumbled across your dead body and thought it was you?”

“Probably,” he replies sheepishly. “I mean, in my defense, I didn’t think anyone would find it. I kinda fell off a mountain range.”

“And you didn’t go collect them when you got an actual body?” she asks, gesturing toward him.

“I was a little busy creating your body.”

Lup sighs, exasperated. She throws an envelope at him. It drifts unimpressively down to the table. “This is it, Barold. This is what you get when you don’t show up at press conferences ever. People start to think you’re literally dead.”

“I hate them,” he mumbles. “Too many spotlights and reporters and questions. I get all sweaty.”

“You’re one of the seven birds, babe. People want to know your story.”

“They already do, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but they want to hear it from you.” She glances over her shoulder at the Taako Time™ calendar hanging on their wall and grins. “Babe, there’s one tomorrow and you’re going.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines. “Lup, they…they suck. All the reporters and the microphones and the spotlights….”

“No arguments, dear,” Lup says, standing and crossing her arms over his head to rest her cheek on his hair. “Lucretia hates them too and she goes.”

“She was the Director of the Bureau of Balance, she’s good at that shit now,” Barry grumbles. “Besides, Davenport doesn’t have to answer questions.”

“Davenport’s at sea, babe. Getting to interview him is like finding a Shiny.”

Barry groans, tugs on a strand of Lup’s hair. It’s dyed red toward the ends. “If you loved me you wouldn’t make me go.”

“I love you,” Lup affirms, “so I’m making you go.”

“Can I at least - ”

“No, you can’t wear your tuxedo T-shirt. You have to wear the sweater vest I bought you.”

Barry slumps his head toward the table. Lup slides down his neck to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Cycle forty or sixty-eight,” he asks, words muffled by the table.

“Forty,” she decides. “I won’t make you do sequins.”

“Thank the Queen.” He straightens. There’s ink on his forehead. Lup laughs, then licks a thumb and wipes it away. “Gross.”

The letters flare in the corner of his vision. Sighing, Barry tugs Lup onto his lap. She sits with a laugh, gleeful and teasing, and reaches reaching for a letter of her own. Leaning her temple against his, she slices open another letter, and begins to read.

“Wow, babe,” she says after a couple minutes. “You’re really an inspiration for some up-and-coming dark magic babies.”

“I know,” he sighs. She chuckles and ruffles his hair affectionately. “I’m gonna have to go talk to them.”

Lup’s counterproposal is cut off by her Stone of Farspeech buzzing against her collarbone. She picks up without looking and says “Heyo, Blupjeans household, whaddya want?”

Barold J. Bluejeans!” screeches her brother’s voice through the receiver. Barry jumps. “You wanna explain to me why my dining table is fuckin’ swamped with condolence letters?!

Lup and Barry turn to stare at each other in horror. Then, right on cue, Barry’s Stone rings. He checks it. It’s Magnus’s signal. They stare at it.

“Oh Gods,” Lup groans, and picks up.

Barry? Barry, are you okay?” comes Magnus’s voice. There are a couple of dogs barking in the background, as there always are when Magnus calls. “I heard you were dead, I know it sucks, like, serious ass to be without a body, I wanted to check in, and also tell you that I’ve got a ticket for Neverwinter on hold if you need me down there - ” he says.

Lup and Barry exchange glances. Barry begins to laugh.

Omens, Goblins, and Suicidal Wolves

So, the Friday Game I’m in had been running for a few weeks. We had a small party consisting of a gnome rogue (me), a warforged sorcerer, a human ranger/alchemist, and a human bard. Though the party had been through some stuff together, due to some character related reasons (gnome’s a racist, ranger is dependent on potions, bard is … a bard, and the warforged takes everything literally), the group hadn’t quite been able to mesh well. Particularly when it came to combat. (Two of us had already died and been resurrected.) But, what I’m about to recount to you is the wonderful mayhem that happened once we got a FIFTH member of our little band, a human cleric.

Highlight 1:

(Setup: My gnome, upon learning the cleric was going to be joining our group, immediately set up a prank, placing a booby-trap on the door to the cleric’s room so that when he woke up that morning, he’d set off a trap that would cover him in flour if he didn’t make the dex save. He didn’t.)

DM: Alright, as you open the door of your room and step out into the hallway … a ton of flour falls over your head, covering you completely.

Cleric OOC: Hold on, I have to check to see what sort of omen this is. *rolls percentile dice*

DM: And?

Cleric OOC: It’s a good omen! ((He’d been rolling bad omens until then.))

Party: *bursts into fits of laughter*

Ranger OOC: I see this right? I’m in the hallway, going to my room. I f'n see this, don’t I?

DM: Not only do you see this priest get covered in the flour prank you know that the gnome set up, you also see him pause for a moment and then nod to himself and say, “Good omen.”

Party: *begins to die of laughter*

Ranger: *rolls their eyes* And you said I was the weird one. *walks into their room*

(The Cleric continues the rest of the session still covered in flour, having not even bothered to try and clean it off.)

Highlight 2:

(Setup: The party is sitting down and discussing how to best deal with the threat of the goblin warband that had formed just outside the village. My gnome had been slinging insults at the cleric most of the morning and was far too pleased with the prank’s success. Side note: My gnome DESPISES goblins to her very core.)

Cleric: So sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t really know much about goblins, you see. Would someone mind telling me a bit more about them? Should I be worried?

Me: (attempting to frighten the cleric) *grins* Oh, goblins are vicious. They’ll rip your throat out as soon as look at you.

Cleric: *immediately and without thinking* Kinda like you then? *eyes go wide as he realizes what he said*

Entire table: *a mix of shocked faces and people holding back laughter as I reel back in shock*

Me: *raises eyebrows and fixes the Cleric with a death glare* … Excuse me?

Cleric: I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!

(I proceeded to glare daggers at the Cleric throughout the rest of the strategy meeting.)

Highlight 3:

(Setup: We’d made our way to the goblin caves, implementing a strategy of distraction to lure most of the goblins away from where we’d be infiltrating. We were inside the caves, having killed a couple of goblins already when two wolves came out of the darkness. One had already been shot with a crossbow bolt, and our bard had been holding his action to do vicious mockery on the next enemy that came into range.)

DM: *moving the pieces across the play mat* So the wolves charge forward and-

Bard OOC: Oh! I was holding my action! Can I do a vicious mockery?!

DM: Okay, which one do you mock? They’re charging at the same time, so they come into range at the same time.

Bard OOC: Does it matter?

DM: Well, one has a crossbow bolt sticking out of its side where the gnome had shot it, and the other one hasn’t been hit by anything yet.

Bard OOC: I’ll mock the one that the gnome hit.

DM: Mock away.

Bard: Hey wolf! You’re so stupid! You let stupid orange morons ((Referring to the goblins)) tell you what to do!

DM: *rolls the saving throw* And it failed the saving throw. What’s the damage?

Bard OOC: *rolls the damage* *jokingly* Please don’t tell me I demotivated it to death? *laughs*

DM: *smirks* As the wolves charge forwards, this one hears your shout. It pauses and then decides that you’re right. It takes a sudden turn and plunges into the river where it gives up and drowns.

Entire table: *laughs as the bard looks horrified*

Bard: Wait-no! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!

DM: -You cry out as you watch the wolf’s body, still covered in faerie fire wash downstream.

Bard OOC: Well now I just feel like a horrible person. I didn’t think it’d actually kill it!

Highlight 4:

(Setup: The boss of the caves has appeared behind us, the hobgoblin who has formed the other goblins into the warband. The target we decided to attempt to take out.)

DM: *as hobgoblin* You, you lot must truly have a deathwish. You come into MY home, burn down MY forest, and kill MY people without provocation- *clearly has more to this speech*

Me OOC: Yeah, my gnome is gonna try and shoot this guy in the throat.

DM: *pauses* Really?

Me OOC: Yeaah … Also, I was hiding. Am I hidden from him? Cause I’m pretty sure I get advantage and sneak attack damage if I am.

DM: What was your stealth roll again?

Me OOC: Modified 20?

DM: *rolls dice* Yeah, he doesn’t see you. Roll with advantage.

Me OOC: *hits* So, as I shoot my crossbow, I scream “For Tordek!” ((The gnome’s mentor who was killed by goblins))

DM: *sigh* You interrupt the hobgobin with your cry and the bolt hits him in the shoulder. He pauses and then laughs.

DM: *as hobgoblin* Fine then. If you want to hasten your death …

DM: Aaand we’ll end it here for tonight.

Entire table: *groans*

(On the way home, I complained about the cliffhanger, and the DM complained about me interrupting his speech in return.)

Protégé [Part 1]

Originally posted by eatupbangtan

A series of three raps to your door in quick succession had you dropping your hands to your desk, the application you were going over losing your attention. 

“Come in.” You said, not raising your voice because you knew you didn’t need to. You would be heard. 

You wiped a hand over your face, hoping to rub away the dull ache of tired eyes. You’d been reading over files for a good portion of the evening, and it was starting to wear on you. The door of your office swung open, revealing the familiar face of Jaebum, who offered you a courteous smile with an undertone of apology for disturbing you.

You returned the smile, but said nothing. Jaebum had been working for you long enough to know that if he came into your office, it was for a reason or with a purpose. 

“Got a walk in for you.” He said, hovering just inside the doorway. 

Your brows that had been raised in intrigue fell as you pursed your lips. “It’s Saturday at four in the afternoon, the doors aren’t even opened yet.”

He nodded his head along with your words, as if he’d already anticipated them. “I know, I’m sorry. We tried to chase him off a couple of times, but he won’t leave. Says he wants to talk to you in person.”

“Well for Christ’s sake, Jaebum.” You sighed, leaning back in your chair as you lightly slapped your palm flat against the top of your desk. “Tons of people want to talk to me, it doesn’t mean they can.”

“I know.” Jaebum nodded again, clearing his throat after a long beat of silence. “I really don’t think he’s leaving though.”

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ot13; the ways you said "i love you"

Originally posted by 12fools

feat: reader x seventeen 

genre: marshmallow fluff, random au with each member

word count: 6283

summary: the thirteen ways seventeen shows how much they care about you

rated p for terrible puns and tastefully executed profanity

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Coming Home (Chapter Nine)

Yikes, this is something of a rough chapter guys. I think canonically Tony doesnt have the best coping skills, but MCU really skipped over all the issues he would have had after Afghanistan, so this chapter explores it a little. Tony struggles, but Bruce and Rhodes are there for him!

MASTERLIST HERE

Tissues, babes. Grab some. 

**********************************

“It needs to be lighter.” Tony shook his head at the simulation. “This is– it’s like a brick in my chest, Bruce. I can’t hardly breathe. Make it lighter.”

“No problem.” Bruce tapped a few keys, switched out the theoretical materials and they watched the computer screen as the simulation ran through some more tests. “I think that’s as light as we can get it without sacrificing integrity and power.”

“That’s fine then.” Tony rubbed over his chest and winced, and Bruce grabbed the heated blanket Pepper had brought down earlier, plugging it in and tucking it under Tony’s arms, as high up on his chest as it would. “Thanks.” Tony leaned back and closed his eyes as the blanket started heating up. “I think I’m going to be cold for the rest of my life.”

“We’ll figure it out, Tony.” Bruce sent him a quick, concerned look, then turned his attention back to the computer. “And if you’re still cold, you have a whole Tower full of people who gladly keep you warm.”

“Bruce–” Tony frowned. “I cant–”

“Why are you keeping yourself away from the team?” Bruce spread his hands uncertainly. “You know Steve has been down every day asking to see you. I think Nat is two seconds from blowing the door off the lab. Bucky is too nervous to even come down the stairs, but Clint and Sam are desperate to see you. Why are you doing this?” 

“I cant–” there was a desperate edge to Tony’s words. “I cant let them see me like this.” 

“Like what?” Bruce’s glasses clinked on the table as he took them off to rub at his eyes. “Hurt? Needing to be held? Unsure of whats happening? Reacting to a horrible situation like a normal human? There’s nothing wrong with needing time and help from loved ones to make it through tough times.” 

“Its not very Alpha of me to need other people to put me back together, is it?” Tony sounded miserable. “They don’t want to see me like this.” 

“Since when do you care about what’s considered alpha?” Bruce narrowed his gaze. “You know damn well our family wants to see you no matter what you are going through. You also know its hurting you to be away from them, just like its hurting them that you wont let them near.” 

“Yeah I guess.” was all Tony answered and fell silent again.

Bruce sighed and changed the subject, not willing to rile the Alpha up. “So you started to build a suit?” Bruce tactfully didn’t mention the cave, and Tony’s mouth twitched in a grateful half smile. “Tell me about it.”

“You’re gonna help me wreck some havoc?” Tony asked without opening his eyes. “Interesting.” 

“Tony.” Bruce took a deep breath. “I’ll help you wreak all the havoc and vengeance and destruction you want.”

“That doesn’t sound like something my mild mannered scientist would usually say.”

“Yeah well.” Bruce clicked into a design program and started filling in some dimensions for an armored suit. “I’m only a mild mannered scientist most of the time, remember? The other times I am a raging, hulking monster who has no compunction about obliterating anyone and anything that hurt my Alpha.”

Tony cracked one eye, watching the green climb Bruce’s neck at a frightening speed.

“You’re not a monster.” he said quietly. “You’re not.”

“For the people that hurt you?” Bruce shrugged and kept working, looking deceptively calm despite the bright jade eyes that glowed in the light from the computer. “Monster doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

**********************

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Sparks Fly

Reader x Klaus Mikaelson

(NOT MY GIF)

*Requested

Imagine: In 1919, while looking for ripper Stefan, who went missing nearly a year ago, you have a very pleasant meeting with one the oldest vampires in existence: Klaus Mikaelson. 

Warnings: slight smut, bad words and, oh, well, it’s a vampire imagine, there’s gotta be a little blood. haha

N/A - Not quite as you requested, but I hope you like the same way, anon. :) Also, you guys could read this while listening to Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift. I heard it repeatedly when I was writing this one. 

Word Count: 2326 

Dear Damon,

I am aware of the promise I made to sent you a letter every month, so you know that I’m alive, but things have been a bit messy lately. Moving from one place to another has not given me much time to write; actually, my only true focus is finding our brother and getting him back to his oldself. Perhaps I’ll be able to do that here in New Orleans, which, by the way, is a wonderful city. You should be here to see the night lights and cheerful dances.

Oh, shucks! That reminded me I have got to meet up with my friend Lexi in twenty minutes at this famous pub. Apparently, the Original family is here (yes, the one who created all other vampires) and goes there every evening, she thought it would be a cool way to blow off some steam while we don’t find Stefan.

She might have a solid point.

Well, I will not extend myself, for I have to leave, however, don’t worry about me, everything is fine and I got the feeling this it. So, soon enough, we’ll be joining you in Paris.

I miss like crazy those cold winter days…

Anyway, kisses and hugs to you from your loving sister

                                                                                                    Love you,

                                                                                                                      Y/N.


You dropped the exquisite pen on the table and sighed, thinking that what you were telling him was more than enough. Sure Damon would be pleased to hear you were still breathing, because, in his mind, chasing emotionless Stefan was dead end job. Not that he was wrong, but you were never the kind of girl who would leave someone behind, especially if that someone was your own flash and blood.

“Y/N Salvatore!” A voice cut through the silence of your house. “I can’t believe you’re not ready yet.”

“Hey, Lexi.” You smiled and stood up, moving smoothly towards the majestic mahogany wood wardrobe. “I completely forgot we were supposed to go out tonight! That’s why I’m not…”

“Don’t make excuses!”

“I’m not making any.” This time an angry huff slipped, as you diverted your eyes to the well hung dresses, not being sure which one you were going to pick.

The blonde woman, who was with arms crossed against the wall next to your door’s bedroom, rolled her eyes and cave in, as usual, approaching to help you get dressed. She always had a good eye for those stuff, making anyone advised by her look hauntinly fabulous.

A short time later, after your friend decided what was suitable for the place, you stared yourself in the mirror, feeling ready to steal any man’s heart because the baby pink gown you had on highlighted your every curve, also giving an insinuating gleam to your once innocent traits. Absolutely perfect to a girls night out.

“We should go.” Lexi blurted out, after checking on the huge clock placed in one corner. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m sure that doesn’t matter” Your reply was gentle, as you worked on your Y/H/C wild curls. “But if it means that much to you, we can go now. And, maybe, we’ll find Stefan there, or at least a lead on his whereabouts.”

“Oh no.” The girl rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “We’re shutting off the ‘get my baby brother back’ thing for a night.”

“Lexi!”

“Shush. Don’t argue with me.” Now her index finger was pointed sharply on your face. “And listen: I know you love him and that he is very important. However, not everything is about Stefan. Or Damon. You are your own person, so live a bit and enjoy the pleasures of life.”

Somehow, you were not able to shout out a rude response. Instead, after a couple of minutes, you exhaled tiredly and nodded, agreeing that she was right. Lexi squeezed the nude skin of your shoulder and you glanced at her, finding her so sweet and so comforting brown eyes.

“Can we please have some fun now?”

“Sure, blondie.”

“Now that’s the Y/N I know.”

You two shared a quick laugh and left the cosy pension room, going to your natural habitat: the darkness.

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freakinamask  asked:

Hey so for your prompt thing if you're still doing those have you any thoughts about what might of happened if Jyn had been found by those storm troopers and been captured with Galen?

The expression on Saw Gerrera’s face is hard to read. 

It’s hard to read, and that, more than anything—more than his band of scruffy Partisans, bristling with weapons and grinning like mnira wolves—sets Jyn teeth on edge. She doesn’t like being stared at.

“Is there a dress code I should have been aware of?” she asks narrowing her eyes at Gerrera.

Jedha has turned her Imperial greys to a sunbleached, dusty ash, but it wasn’t as though she’d had time to pack. Papa had woken her in the middle of the night, she’d barely had time to shove on her boots before he was dragging her down the corridor to the docking bay. (It was the only time Bodhi had smiled, the entire nerve-wracking trip from Eadu to Jedha. Your shirt is inside out, he’d said with a tentative smile, and Jyn had laughed herself breathless for the sheer, pressure-relief of it.)

The silence stretches on too long. “Well?” Jyn demands. “At least you could tell me where you took my pilot—”

“You look so much like your mother,” Saw Gerrera says, and it lands like a concussive missile. 

The silence after that is worse, somehow.

Jyn exhales. “Oh,” she finally says. 

She folds her hands together behind her back to keep them from shaking, even though she knows it makes her look like a cadet at parade rest. Krennic told her that once—she’d dropped out of the training program entirely just to spite him for it. (He dragged her back a week later, after he found her holed up in the base’s dense labyrinth of undertunnels, but Jyn had won that round.)

Gerrera is still looking at her. “I—yes, I know,” she adds hurriedly. “My father’s said. I have her eyes.”

Gerrera has a clear crystal on a length of cord around his neck, and he’s turning it over and over in his hand now. There’s something oddly familiar about the gesture, though Jyn can’t quite place what. 

“Lyra was a brave and devoted woman,” Gerrera says. “She served our cause loyally, even—before there was a cause. We were…she was my friend.”

“I have a transmission from my father,” Jyn blurts out, before she does something embarrassing like cry, or demand he turn over the strange crystal to her, or storm through the compound looking for Bodhi. Anything to distract her from the way fearsome Partisan leader Saw Gerrera said ‘friend’ like it carries terrabytes of encoded data.

“Your pilot mentioned that,” Saw says, and there’s a cruel amusement in his expression now. Terror and anger flood through her, and she lunges forward.

“If you’ve hurt him—”

“He’s well enough,” Saw says, warding her off with a hand. “Maybe a little spooked, but the boy’s got nerves like manka cat. I get the sense he’d startle at loud noises.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Jyn says fiercely, even if there’s more than a little guilty agreement curling in her gut. Galen helped Bodhi wean himself off the stimulants the Empire poured into TIE fighter pilots like water, but his hands will always shake, and even behind the console of a freighter he’s skittery, anxious.

But when Galen had asked him to defect, to take his only daughter to Jedha and meet with the dangerous Partisan insurgents, so that they could deliver a crushing blow to the Empire, Bodhi hadn’t hesitated. He’d reached for Jyn with his shaking hands, and clutched her forearm in a grip like durasteel.

I’ll take her, Bodhi had said, and Jyn had been sure of him as the stars over Eadu.

Something thoughtful has taken over Gerrera’s face. He’s watching her—or studying her, maybe. It’s like being put under a scope, only now Jyn feels shy, wrong-footed. She wonder if he’s seeing Lyra standing where she is now.

“Someone go bring Miss Erso’s pilot out,” Gerrera says, and one of the Partisans breaks away from the mob, disappearing into the depths of the complex. Jyn exhales.

“Now,” Gerrera says. “I think you ought to show me Galen’s message.”

Jyn pops the first few buttons on her uniform, and is a little annoyed when Saw doesn’t react, merely raises his eyebrows like Papa did, whenever she was being particularly obnoxious. She feels herself flush, and after she fishes the transmit-chip from its carefully-hidden pocket, thrusts it at him. 

“There,” she says.

He takes it from her gingerly. The chip looks so small, impossibly fragile in his enormous hand. “Have you watched it?” Gerrera asks, and there is gentleness in his voice.

Jyn nods. 

(Jyn, my Stardust, never doubt how much I have loved you, how sorry I am—)

Gerrera passes the chip to another of his Partisans, a xeno in heavy armor and striking purple eyes. Jyn tries not to stare, but she’s never seen so many xenos in her life. She has vague memories of her childhood on Coruscant, one of her little friends having a Twi’lek tutor, another claiming that his father traded with Toydarians, but it was all secondhand stories.

It’s different, standing in a crowd of species she could never hope to identify. 

They pull out an older holo-imager, and the xeno Partisan slips the transmit chip into the drive. Jyn sucks in a sharp breath as her Papa’s image flickers into view, and she braces herself—

Jyn’s almost grateful when Bodhi is frogmarched into the cavern, the sight of him enough to distract her from the holo. The Partisan guard isn’t gentle, and Jyn darts forward to catch him before he falls to his knees. “Hey,” Bodhi mumbles against her shoulder. “Did we do good?”

Jyn holds onto him tighter, until she feels his hand come up and cradle her elbow. And they stay like that, the cavern silent as a tomb except for distant water and the voice of Galen Erso, saying, Saw, if you are watching this—

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anonymous asked:

Never have I ever written a Hunger Games AU

Well I hadn’t, until this devious little ask came along.

sorry not sorry


Lance volunteers.

Lance volunteers in his brother’s place, when his older brother - just two years older and in his last year of eligibility for the Reaping - gets picked instead. Lance takes one look at the heartbreak on his mother’s face, the bitter desperation on his father’s and his aunts’ and uncles’ and grandmother, and makes his decision. He’s up to the front too fast for anyone to stop him, and it doesn’t occur to him until later that maybe he hasn’t spared his family from heartbreak after all.


The other Tribute from District Twelve is a young girl, just turned twelve. No one volunteers for her.


Everything happens so fast. Lance gets a few brief minutes to say goodbye to his family - and to Hunk, who yells and shakes him and clings to Lance in a hug that only rivals the one Lance’s mom gives him.

“Stay alive,” Hunk begs him, yells, “You’d better stay alive, and you have to come back and tell me everything.”

“You’re gonna see it,” Lance points out, and winces after the words slip from his mouth.

“Don’t remind me,” Hunk groans, “But all the rest, Lance - what the countryside’s like? What the Capitol’s like? What the food is like? You have to come back and tell me. Promise? You have to.”

“I promise,” Lance says, “Assuming Keith doesn’t kill me.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Hunk says, as sharp as Lance has ever heard him. “He would never. He’s not going to be your mentor, anyway.”

“I hope you’re right,” Lance says.

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anonymous asked:

"Soulmates who can feel each other's (read: emotional) pain" for nurseydex? If you could make it more nursey-centric that'd be great, but if u don't that's still fine 👍

Thanks for the prompts! Hope you like


Dex was in the kitchen when it felt like the floor fell out from under him.

The bowl of batter in his hands clattered to the counter. “Holy – holy fuck,” he gasped. Everything in him ached. There was a pressure in his head. His chest felt like it was about to cave in. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed, and gripped the edge of the counter to keep from falling to the floor. He had no idea what had caused this pain, when moments before he’d been perfectly content. He hung his head and scrunched his face and now, along with the hurt, he was angry, angry that something, someone, had made Nursey feel this way. He had nowhere to direct the anger. It hurt so much. It ripped out of him in a wordless yell as he slammed a fist to the surface in front of him.

“S- sorry, Tango,” he gritted out, eyes still screwed shut.

Tango stood next to him. He held his hands in front of him, like he wanted to touch Dex but was afraid. He looked worried. “What’s wrong? Do you know what’s wrong?”

Dex picked his head up and turned to Tango. “No.” He wiped at his cheeks. They were wet. He didn’t know when he’d started crying. “But I’ll find out.”

Dex really was sorry. He hadn’t meant to scare Tango. It was just – the pain was so much, too much for him to hide. He climbed the stairs to the attic, trying to muffle his sobs.

The attic door was closed. Dex knocked lightly. This pain was not his. Just because he felt it didn’t mean he could intrude where he wasn’t wanted.

He heard a muffled “come in,” and pushed the door open slowly. Nursey was on the bottom bunk, wrapped in blankets and curled on his side, facing the wall.

Dex projected his hurt outward. His breath rasped through him, and tears gushed down his face, and each exhale was a soft moan. Nursey’s pain was directed inward. He was still and silent, his breathing calm. Dex would have thought he was asleep.

Dex walked across the room, taking his shoes off as he went. He pulled back the covers and pressed himself to Nursey’s back. He clutched at his middle and shoved his face into his shoulder blade. He pressed his cries into the soft fabric of Nursey’s hoodie.

A few minutes passed, then Nursey turned over and nuzzled his face into Dex’s neck. The pain ebbed slightly. Tears continued to stream from Dex’s eyes, but he was silent. “What – what’s wrong? What happened?” he stuttered between uneven breaths. He stroked a hand through Nursey’s hair.

Nursey heaved a sigh. His breath tickled over Dex’s collar bone. “I’m gonna sound like an asshole.”

Another wave of pain. “Never,” Dex sobbed.

“And I’m even more of an asshole, because you have to deal with it too. This is shitty. You shouldn’t have to feel like shit just because I do.”

Nursey felt things strongly. That was something Dex loved about him.

He pushed at Nursey’s shoulders so he could look him in the eye. Dex could see the sadness there. “Nurse. There is no wrong reason to feel like this.” He wiped a palm over his eyes, the better to see his boyfriend, his soulmate. “This isn’t some, some inconvenience. You matter, and what you feel matters. And I want to do whatever I can to help.”

Nursey bit his lip, and his eyes turned glassy. “You were in the library today?”

“Of course.” Nursey knew he’d been in the library. They’d been studying together when Chowder had rushed up, bursting with excitement. He’d hauled Dex up out of his chair, jumping as he shouted about how he’d gotten into grad school, he’d applied to Berkeley, and they’d accepted him, and he was going to grad school. Dex was grinning, his smile splitting his face, when Chowder turned and did the same to Nursey. They all jumped and hugged and shouted until a librarian asked them to leave.

“Chowder – of course I’m happy for Chowder.” Nursey paused, struggling to figure out what he wanted to say. He took a deep breath, let it out. “I just – it’s scary. Everyone’s leaving. Jack, Shitty, Lardo, Rans and Holster, Bitty – they’re all gone. And now we’re gonna graduate. Chowder’s leaving. It might take you longer, but you’re gonna leave, too. And you’ll all forget about me.” He choked the last part out, his voice breaking. He ducked his head back into Dex’s neck. His neck felt wet, because now Nursey had started to cry.

They held each other as sadness ripped through them both. The sun went down, and the room was thrown into darkness. Eventually the sadness ran its course and left in its wake numbness and silence.

“I won’t leave,” Dex whispered.

“I know,” Nursey mumbled into Dex’s skin.

“Not just because we’re dating. Chowder won’t leave, and no one will forget you. We mean too much to each other.” He paused. He thought. “You mean too much to us,” Dex amended.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” Nursey sighed. “Sometimes I just forget.”

“That’s alright.” Dex kissed Nursey’s forehead. “I’ll remind you.”  

In The Dark Of Night

Summary: A break up with Bucky goes horribly wrong. 

Pairings: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, torture, gore, breakups. One shot.

Word Count: 958

A/N: This is for @tilltheendwilliwrite Fic Celebration, with the prompt: “Help me pack or get out. You’re in the way,” This was supposed to be fluff. It’s not.

It was dark. Not the darkness you could see through in the middle of the night, the kind which you can see by given enough time. No, this was the dark of a cave. Blinding. Oppressive. The kind which makes your eyes dart, seeking any form of reprieve. The kind that steals your breath and stalls your mind. It was the kind of darkness you linked to fear. It settles in your chest, a suffocating weight, squeezing the air from your lungs. Your mind dims at the edges. Your limbs feel like they are chained to the floor. It’s visceral. You can feel the gloom crawling across your skin, forcing its way into your pores and wrapping around your cells. It’s squeezing the life from you, dimming your light.

You’re dying, alone in the pitch black of night. My fault, your mind whispers as it wills your neurons to fire. My fault.

He could have been here to save you. He could have been here to hold your hand, smooth the hair from your face. You could have seen his face one last time. Seen his smile.

It was agony. An unparalleled torture. One you could not survive.

I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.

He can’t hear you. He’s not with you.

You left him standing alone in the middle of the apartment, shell-shocked and abandoned. Your need for more, more time, more commitment had obliterated any hope the relationship had.

“Tell me where he is and the pain will stop little bird.”

A sharp stinging pain flares in your side. The warm flow of your blood the only heat in the small room. You attempt to scream. Not a sound makes it past your lips. Your vocal cords were long past saving. You had screamed yourself past the point of no return hours ago, and now your limbs were numb, the chains cutting off the circulation.

Your only reply is to spit in the general direction of the voice. It laughs maniacally in return, a high pitched sound which sets your hair on edge.

“I do not need your words, little bird,” he says gently, almost friendly.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. Bucky had regaled you with tales of his past and you knew what Hydra would do to you. You had no defense against it. They would know where the base was. They would find him and the rest of The Avengers, and it would be entirely your fault. They would die, or worse, and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

The chains around your arms and legs fall away. The pain of the blood flow returning to the appendages near overwhelming. You’re dragged mercilessly through the building, blessed light stinging your eyes.

It feels like hours before you’re thrown haphazardly into a metal chair and strapped in, a large device is placed over your head. A mouth guard is shoved into your mouth.

You’re surprised by the action. You hadn’t expected any form of protection.

The whirring of the machine throws your mind back into the present, and you’re surprised to find you can still scream.

*****

Earlier that day:
“Help me pack or get out. You’re in the way,” you snap harshly at the figure obscuring the doorway.

His chocolate locks frame his face, oceanic blue eyes scrutinizing you intently. His arms are folded tightly across his chest, his jaw set in a hard determined line. “No,” he replies simply.

Gritting your teeth in frustration, you throw the last of your clothes into your suitcase, zipping it closed hurriedly. “You can’t stop me, Bucky.”

He scoffs, shoving off the doorframe and stalking towards you. He’s furious, his jaw ticking in anger. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

The fury which bursts from you makes you nauseous. “Regret?” you scream. “Do you know what I regret?”

Bucky growls, actually fucking growls, like a caged animal coiled to spring at any moment

“A year of my life gone waiting for you to come home! A year worrying you never would! A year pretending I didn’t want more!” You turn away from him, suddenly unable to look at him, to watch him digest your words.

“So you leave? Pack and go. No talking it out? You’re a coward, (Y/N)!”

The slap you plant across his face rings throughout the room, your chest heaving with anger.

He grabs the offending hand and pulls you flush to his chest, his eyes challenging. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll let you leave right now,” he demands.

And that’s when you realize how spiteful you are, how petty you can be, because the next words you utter lands you straight in Hydra’s hands and leaves Bucky standing alone in the apartment, watching you leave.

“I don’t love you.”

He lets go instantly, an infinite torture flashing in his eyes.

You wish you could take it back. You wish you could rewind the entire day and start over. Instead, you pick up your bag from the bed and walk away, slamming the door behind you when you leave.

You were jumped not two hours later, tortured and beaten, stripped of all that you knew. The serum pumped into you, all viable information taken from your head and then wiped. Every trace of Bucky wiped from memory.

“я готов отвечать.” Ready to comply, you mutter dumbly, looking dead ahead.

“Very good, little bird,” your handler replies excitedly, clapping his hands, a jovial little laugh sounds in the room.

“Hail Hydra!” the call sounds.

You raise your arm, your voice sounding with the rest. You had only one mission.

Destroy The Avengers. Bring the asset back. Rid the world of its freedom.

Hail Hydra.

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Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader- Stalker From Another Universe (Part 4)

I was about to post this, but then my mind got side tracked and then I fell into the void that’s named Tumblr.  When I finally snapped out of my daze, I forgot that I was posting something….. This is what you do to me Tumblr!!!

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

Warning: Swearing, blood.  There’s nothing to worry about here….

Tagging: @cheyennethefangirl, @its-scarlet-witch-bitch

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Line Repair

This is for @cerusee and I do not apologize at all for the lack of angst.

Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd father/son bonding. Gen, a Tiny Bit of Strong Language


The air was deceptively cool, a lazy breeze drifting up from the river the highway ran alongside. The sun was pleasantly warm at first and only gradually turned to hot. Jason Todd knew there was a long line of mature trees only fifteen feet away that he could seek shelter under, that might even be sort of wonderful if he had a lunch and a book, but he had a hard time walking away from problems.

His current problem was something under the hood of the non-descript Audi he’d borrowed from the Manor. And he had actually borrowed it for once, at Alfred’s urging. It was a slightly older and trusted car from the massive garage, and when he’d mentioned as a slight warning that he’d been itching to get out of the city for a bit– a warning he felt he owed Alfred at this point, if no one else– it hadn’t taken much from the older man to convince him to just borrow the car.

Because it was Alfred.

Now, if there was any consolation at all to be found in bending over the now-cooled but previously smoking engine, getting dust and grease all over his worn tee, it was that at least it had happened to him and not Alfred, somewhere in the middle of Gotham.

He had been tinkering around for thirty minutes, coming to the reluctant conclusion that it was the oil line and he didn’t have the tools and was going to have to hitchhike or walk the couple of miles toward the nearest help and then deal with the car itself instead of going further from the city and the life there he just needed a break from.

Nothing spectacular had happened to drive him away– no case gone wrong, no pile of bodies, no bitter injury or trauma or anniversary. But the city itself sometimes grew too big, too heavy on his heart and mind, and he just needed space even if he knew he’d run back within days or weeks.

Jason wiped sweat off his forehead and stepped back from the car and sighed.

That was when the other car approached, the rumble of its engine preceding it on the quiet road. He leaned back over the open hood and made a show of being engrossed in the components there, while keeping an eye on the road to see what would show up. The car passed him, already slowing, and pulled to a stop on the graveled shoulder just a couple of yards ahead.

Jason tensed. The road was quiet enough that any concerned passerby would likely slow on the blacktop and roll down a window, offer help. Maybe it was a cop. The car was unmarked but black.

He stood, wiping his hands on his already ruined shirt, and plastered a warm smile on his face. He turned and froze.

Bruce climbed out of the other car.

“The fuck,” Jason exclaimed, his smile falling.

“Hello to you, too,” Bruce replied mildly.

“I didn’t steal it,” Jason spat out. “Alfred told me to take it.”

Bruce ducked back into the car he’d emerged from and when he straightened, taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he was holding a paper sack of food and a cardboard drink carrier.

“I know,” Bruce said. “He told me.”

And maybe it was the ingrained paranoia, the fine family tradition of subterfuge, or just the tiny (and mildly glorious) sense of knowing someone else so well, but comprehension hit Jason like a thunderclap.

“He knew,” Jason gasped. And it irked him that it was Alfred and that he couldn’t cuss him out, even absent, without feeling about a hundred times as guilty as he would with anyone else.

“That the line had a slow leak?” Bruce asked, walking toward him. Whatever he had in the bags smelled amazing and it was about an hour past lunch. Jason had decided to push ahead to the next small town, eager for the miles between him and Gotham, and then had been forced to pull over in the middle of nowhere. Bruce held out the bag. “He did.”

They might not have the smoothest relationship, but it was Bruce out of the suit and it was a bag of food and even if Jason’s stomach hadn’t grumbled, he would have taken it. He peered inside.

“Are these pepperjack chicken sandwiches?” Jason asked, incredulous.

“And tea,” Bruce answered, lifting the drink carrier slightly. He looked a little apologetic, a worried frown around his eyes. “I didn’t think Gotham chili dogs would stay hot for the drive. But there’s a Wendall’s just ten miles back, the last one going west.”

Jason leaned against the bumper of the car and then cast a glance toward the shaded bank. He was still watching the trees and not Bruce when he asked, “You really drove three hours to catch up with me?”

“I did,” Bruce said. He reached out and bent the sack toward himself. Jason let it happen. Bruce pulled one of the sandwiches out. There were boxes of shoestring fries underneath. “I brought tools. And a new line. A drain pan and a few quarts of oil. But let’s eat first.”

“Okay,” Jason said faintly, looking into the bag again. He took off, long strides carrying him toward the trees and the river bank. It didn’t smell like trash and sewage out here. “But I’m not gonna bake while I eat,” he called, without turning. He left the words making it to Bruce on the whim of the wind.

Whether or not Bruce heard clearly, he followed and sat down next to Jason on the grass. They sat shoulder to shoulder, with enough space between them that Bruce set the drink carrier down.

“How early did Al wake you up?” Jason asked, glancing over at Bruce’s pale face in the sunlight. He hadn’t bothered with any of his usual makeup to hide the dark circles or the days-old bruise on his cheek, the stuff he wore for work. It reminded Jason of days when they had breakfast together at the gigantic dining room table, before getting ready for the world outside the Manor.

“He let me sleep a whole two hours,” Bruce said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “It was supposed to be my day off.”

“Sorry,” Jason grumbled, which was hard to do around a mouthful of chicken sandwich.

“I’m not,” Bruce said. “We’re not good at lunch dates.”

Jason choked when his surprised and bitter laugh interrupted swallowing. Bruce reached out a hand, hesitated, and then clapped him on the back anyway. Jason sucked down tea to chase away the lingering itch in his throat. “No,” he said when he’d recovered. “No, we aren’t. Midnight snacks are more our thing now.”

“I think that’s my fault,” Bruce admitted, taking his own tea.

“I dunno,” Jason said, taking another bite. He knew he hadn’t exactly made himself easy to get along with or seek out.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, eating, then Bruce brushed his hands against each other and swapped his crumpled sandwich wrapper for a box of shoestring fries.

“Anyway,” he said, letting the quiet draw out again. “I’m not angry Alfred set us up. This is nice.”

“It is,” Jason agreed, with only a little reluctance. “Figures Al would figure out how to make it happen.”

“Where are you headed?” Bruce asked, gesturing with a slight motion of his shoulder toward the Audi.

“Haven’t decided,” Jason said, slurping tea from the crowded ice in the cup. “Just wherever, I guess.”

“We’ll fix the line and you can go find out,” Bruce said. “Need anything else?”

“No,” Jason said, feeling as calm as the river looked. It was nice, to sit and munch on fries and talk without shadows looming over them, without the weak glow of street lamps or the halogen bulbs in the cave. “I’ll be good. Thanks.”

“Send me a postcard,” Bruce said. “So I know where you end up.”

And even though it was just an escape, a tiny vacation from his usual life, Jason was reassured by the implication: I care but I’m not tracking you.

It was a comforting feeling, the freedom and the connection.

“Sure,” Jason said. “How are you doing?”

Bruce looked over at him, a long and steady look, and when Jason tore his eyes away to stare at the river again instead, Bruce sighed.

“I’m worn out. I need a vacation soon, too. Alfred keeps dropping hints. Maybe Iceland.”

For the first half of the minute that followed, Jason was tempted to say something joking or disparaging but he struggled to come up with something that satisfied the impulse. There was another delay as he realized the difficulty was rooted in the lack of any sour emotion to spur it. “You should go,” he finally settled on saying.

He could feel Bruce studying him, probably with that unrelenting and undaunted expression he often had while figuring out a problem or gathering information.

“I think I will,” Bruce said, exhaling softly. Jason turned to him and tried to grin, but he knew it came off as more genuine and less rakish than he’d meant for it to.

“You gonna eat those fries?” Jason asked, leaning over to look into the box Bruce was holding but not doing anything else with.

“No,” Bruce said, holding them out. “Want them?”

“Hell yes,” Jason said, accepting the box. “Only you’d waste good fries.”

“Want me to start on the oil line?” Bruce offered, beginning to stand.

“Nah,” Jason said. “We can do it together. Don’t rush me. Some of us actually learned how to savor food when Alfred taught us, instead of eating like machines.”

Bruce chuckled and leaned back on the grass instead of rising. “Alright.”

The French fries were crisp and salty and Jason alternated chewing them and sucking watery, frigid tea through the red and white striped straw. The river lapped softly at the baked mud bank beneath them and wind tumbled through the treetops overhead.

“I’m done,” he announced, more than five minutes after actually finishing the fries.

“Hn,” Bruce answered, sounding far from fully awake.

Jason stretched out in the grass and put a boot on the bag of trash so it wouldn’t blow away.

“If I wake up covered in bug bites, it’s your fault,” he said, closing his eyes. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy was just enough to keep away an actual chill.

“Hn,” Bruce said again. “We should lock the cars.”

“You do it,” Jason said. “If you’re so freaking paranoid.”

There were two clicks of automatic locks from near the road. Jason felt his pocket but the keys were still there and it just figured Bruce would have another set, but he kind of didn’t care.

It over an hour before either of them moved again.

anonymous asked:

Different anon than the one who asked about Iruka and Urahara, but your response got me thinking of just who else in Naruto-verse, besides Oro, has pulled enough shit to deserve the creepy courting rituals of one Mister Hat-and-Clogs, and my evil, broken brain spat (T)Obito at me, so now I'm sharing the pain. Just imagine them though: two overly-strategic, manipulative bastards with a penchant for trolling everybody by masquerading as happy ditzes. (1/4?!)

The cat-and-mouse game between them would be epic and utterly obnoxious to everyone forced to witness it, but Obito without a mask must have a critically weak pokerface and it’d probably take Kisuke no time to tease out that all he needs to break it with a blush is lay the innuendo on thick. That pale Uchiha skin. The rest of the challenge for Urahara is entirely based on managing to contrive excuses to get in Obito’s personal space without him using Kamui to slip away, because I’m of the opinion that every Obi-pairing ever, in any universe, should include touch-starved!Obito eventually getting scooped up and overwhelmed with cuddles. For a side of angst, they’d have to work through Kisuke’s tenuous grasp of scientific ethics when presented with someone with such a fascinating hodgepodge of ridiculous powers, colliding with Obito’s probable PTSD and body-horror from cave time with Madara and Zetsu. :( 

 But since my real OTP is Obito/ANYbody-big-enough-to-cuddle-him, in any universe, eventually Kisuke’s gotta sneak some snuggles. Maybe right after Obito genjutsus the fuck out of Aizen for being another wannabe-god, and it’s the sexiest thing Urahara’s ever seen. Just. If any Naruto character is enough of a karmic mixed-bag  to deserve being affably harrassed and poked at and force-fed sweets by goddamn Urahara Kisuke, isn’t it Obito?

For the record, I hate you muchly and this is now a thing I ship. Whyyyyy. 


Gin knows he’s going to die.

It’s not as if this was ever in question; betraying Aizen isn’t something survivable, and Gin’s been aware of that from the very first. That doesn’t mean he’s going to stop, though.

Rangiku is worth more than that, and so is getting revenge for what was taken from her.

The Hōgyoku pulses in his grip like a heart torn free, and Gin doesn’t think he’s ever hated anything except Aizen himself more.

In the rubble left behind by Kamishini no Yari, something stirs. Gin glances up, muscles winding tight, because of course it wasn’t going to be as easy as snatching the damned thing from Aizen’s chest and beating a retreat; he’s bought himself some breathing room, a calm like the moment before a hurricane hits, and—

The Hōgyoku trembles like it’s going to wink out, and in the same instant a scarred hand closes over Gin’s, all five fingertips glowing incandescent violet.

Gin jerks, startled into flight, but another hand grabs his wrist as his head snaps up. Not Aizen, because he would be dead if it was, but a complete stranger, scarred and grim with eyes like red-and-black pinwheels.

“Seal,” the stranger commands, not so much as looking at Gin, and Gin yelps as a burning heat races across the skin of his abdomen. The Hōgyoku shivers like struck crystal, then winks out of existence, and simultaneously Gin feels it. There’s a rush of heat through his whole body, a tingling awareness that it’s there just beneath the surface, and he collapses to his knees with a gasp.

In the same moment, there’s a scream of pure fury from Aizen, out of sight beyond the rubble, and Gin realizes that the overwhelming pressure of the Hōgyoku on the town around them is entirely gone.

“Sorry,” the stranger says, releasing Gin’s wrist, though he doesn’t sound all that apologetic. “That was the thing all of this is about, right? The perverted bastard’s pet project?”

Well. Gin’s more used to hearing that phrase used to describe him, but in this context he’s going to assume the man means Urahara. “What did ya do?”

“Sealed it,” he says precisely, as if this answers everything. “If the Kyuubi no Kitsune can’t break an Eight Trigrams Seal, neither can that thing. I’m sorry it had to be you I sealed it into, but I was kind of short on options.”

On the list of things Gin truly Does Not Want, having the Hōgyoku sealed inside of him probably ranks up there with kissing Aizen full on the mouth. Still, it’s definitely better than the alternative, and he gets his feet under him with an effort and pushes upright. His shihakusho is already tattered, and he tugs it aside to find dark, heavy lines written across his stomach, a spiral of black ink surrounded by neat characters.

“I don’ think I want ta be a butterfly,” Gin says, a little faintly.

The stranger blinks, clearly startled, and then snorts. “You’re not going to transform. It’s sealed. You can’t use its power, and neither can anyone else.” Apparently dismissing the matter, he turns away, just as a familiar figure staggers around a broken street corner with seething fury in his face.

“You,” Aizen spits, bringing Kyōka Suigetsu up like a threat. “What have you done?”

Despite himself, Gin almost takes a step back. He’s never seen Aizen truly angry, even at the moment of his betrayal, never seen raw shock on his face like this before. It’s…terrifying.

But the stranger just snorts, facing him squarely. His eyes flicker past Aizen’s figure, to where Urahara Kisuke is just stepping down onto the street with narrowed eyes and an unreadable expression, and he smiles.

It’s not a nice expression.

“You’re not the first would-be god I’ve dealt with,” he says flatly. “And compared to the actual god I’ve faced, you don’t even begin to match up.” A step, and the air warps around him like a vortex. He vanishes, winking out of existence, and Gin shifts forward before he can help himself, not entirely sure what he means to do beyond help, and—

Aizen spins, sword slashing through the air, but it passes right through the stranger ass he reappears. Then he’s abruptly solid again, just in time to whirl and kick Aizen in the gut.

A flicker of flash-step and Urahara appears next to Gin, one hand holding his hat in place and a small, quirked smile on his lips. “My, my,” he says, and the tone is light but his eyes are sharp. “It seems our visitor from another dimension has lots of tricks up his sleeve.”

Gin glances at the stranger just in time to see him slam a hand against Aizen’s chest, fingertips glowing again, and Aizen cries out as every last trace of his reiatsu vanishes from the air. “You were keepin’ the kid in reserve?” he asks, because this is definitely not something Aizen knew Urahara had.

It’s hard to tell whether he’s getting more satisfaction from that thought or from watching Aizen get his ass kicked by a man who doesn’t even seem to be trying.

Well. Both, probably. Scratch that, both definitely.

Urahara chuckles, tipping his hat down over his eyes a little more, though his gaze doesn’t leave the rather one-sided fight. Gin had known that Aizen had never excelled at hand-to-hand the way he did at kido, because he’s spent decades learning the bastard’s weaknesses, but even knowing that it’s easy to see the stranger is good, on top of his ability to turn intangible. “No, no. Our cute little visitor didn’t even know about Aizen until a few minutes ago. He must have felt the two of you appearing in the real Karakura and come to find me. Such an adorable tsundere, don’t you think?”

Gin watches the adorable tsundere deliver an uppercut to Aizen’s jaw that audible cracks bone, and refrains from commenting.

There’s no need, anyway; without the Hōgyoku, without his reiatsu, the blow knocks Aizen back on his heels, and a final roundhouse kick catches him in the side of the head. He crumples like a puppet without strings, collapsing into a heap on the ground, and the stranger pulls back, breath still even as if he hadn’t just gone up against a man who practically laid the Gotei 13 to waste.

“Oi, pervert,” he calls, without looking away from Aizen. “You want him gift-wrapped or something?”

Urahara laughs merrily, flash-stepping to the strangers side. “My, my, Obito, you’re certainly thorough.”

Obito turns a dark look on him, though it holds more aggravation than true anger. “I just watched him kick your ass. And Yoruichi’s. Was I supposed to go easy on him?”

“Revenge? For our sakes?” Urahara asks cheerfully, and before Obito can dodge he catches him around the waist and pulls him into what’s either a hug or an octopus’s stranglehold—Gin can’t quite tell. “How sweet of you!”

With a squawk, Obito tries to pry him off, but doesn’t get far. “Let go, you damned creep! Hey! Where do you think you’re putting your hands—hey!”

“Ouch,” Urahara says in mild protest, though his wince isn’t entirely faked. “I’ve already been abused once today, you know.”

Tellingly, Obito stops struggling instantly, practically sinking back into Urahara’s hold. “Idiot,” he says, and there’s more relief than anything in his tone. “You know I would have helped if you had just asked.”

“How was I supposed to know out new freeloader had experience taking out gods?” Urahara protests with something that’s probably supposed to be a pout. “How rude, keeping these things from your lover, Obito.”

“Who’s my lover?” Obito retorts without hesitation. “Stop saying when it’s not even true!”

“But it could be—ow.”

“I changed my mind. Go die,” Obito snarls, shoving Urahara back by the face. “Let me go, you can deal with the butterfly bastard—”

“Gin!”

Gin turns quickly, catching a flash of color out of the corner of his eye, and just has time to open his arms before Rangiku plows into him. He huffs, staggering back a step, and feels her hug him impossibly tight for three full seconds. Then she pulls back, expression shading towards fury, and slaps him full across the face.

“You bastard, you knocked me out,” she hisses, though her eyes are distressingly damp. “You can’t just apologize and then disappear, I thought you were going to die!”

“Ah, Ran-chan—”

You were?!”

Rangiku has always been able to read him far too well.

Somehow it’s that thought above all others that makes Gin suddenly realize that—they’re done. Aizen has been beaten, and while Gin won’t relax until the bastard is nothing but ashes, he’s certain Central 46 will take care of that soon enough. The man looks small and pathetic inn defeat, and Gin can’t help but laugh, slumping forward as every muscle goes weak with relief.

Rangiku catches him.

Of course she does.

“It’s over,” he tells her, just in case she missed it.

There’s a long pause, and then a careful kissed pressed to his hair. “It is,” Rangiku agrees. Amusement shades into her tone as she asks, “Their doing?”

Gin doesn’t look to where Urahara and Obito are still bickering, just hums quietly in agreement.

Then, without any warning, a truly massive beacon of reiatsu practically explodes into existence. Gin wrenches around on instinct, shoving Rangiku behind him as he grabs for his zanpakuto, and a figure in black with daylily hair seems to spontaneously appear before them.

There’s a long moment of silence as Kurosaki Ichigo blinks at Gin and Rangiku, at Obito still shoving at Urahara as the exile clings to him, at Aizen unconscious in the dirt. Then, in a tone of utter bewilderment, he says, “What?”

A laugh cracks out of somewhere deep in Gin’s chest. He staggers with the force of his mirth, hanging onto Rangiku to stay upright, and doesn’t stop laughing for a very long time.

It feels better than anything has in almost a hundred years.

Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 23

Thanks for sticking with this story even though I can’t update it every week now. I appreciate each and every one of you. This story wouldn’t be here without you guys. I’m honestly so excited to see where this story goes and to finally be able to share it with all of you. 

I couldn’t have made such a great story without my partners in crime @diversemediums and @outlandishchridhe. Ish is faithful with her peanut gallery comments and DM has truly made me a better writer. This story has evolved and developed because of these two.

Read Part 22 HERE and the ficlet about William Fraser HERE


Jamie stared down at the woman in his arms. She slept hard, curled around his arm. Their legs were tangled in the sheets and each other, but he was comfortable. A peace stole over him, suffusing every fiber of himself with her. Claire. His Sassenach. His Sorcha.

Keep reading

Young!Sirius Black x Reader: Novelist

AN: Two in one day, look at me go! I made Remus very uptight in this one and that makes me laugh.

Warnings: N/A

Requested by: Anonymous

“Babe.”

“Babeee.”

“Baaaaaabbbeee!”

“What, Sirius?!” Y/N called out, slamming her book down in exasperation.

He looked mock offended, flipping his hair over his shoulder and pouting his bottom lip. Y/N stared straight ahead, determined not to be drawn in by his fake attitude.

Keep reading

this is what you want

length: 1.9k

type: angst and lovely fluff

warnings: blood, killing a monster

  • Based on this quote:
  • “Sharing a room you hate most is like sharing a room with a siren. (The kind on police cars, not the kind who try to entrap you when you cross the English Channel.)” -Simon Snow, pg. 166
  • AU where Simon and Baz cross the English channel on a quest, but Baz gets seduced by a siren on their way

thank you to @acraycratfangirl and @the-jeans for being my amazing betas!


Keep reading

New Constellations, A Rhys/Lucien AU Prequel fic

When Lucien flees the Autumn Court, it’s not Tamlin he seeks.

[in the same continuity as my fic Insufferable] [on ao3]

***

Lucien Vanserra is dead.

They say he stumbled north, drenched in his lover’s blood and mad with grief. They say it was suicide, technically: no one would approach the Night Court alone and unprotected like that if they didn’t want to die. They say his brothers’ murderous pursuit turned to a search for a corpse but they never found the body, that the beasts must have eaten him whole.

They do not say that Lucien collapsed, ragged and half-delirious ten miles from the border, a name, a summoning, in his mouth, and that the forest trembled with the beat of answering wings.

Keep reading

“The family’s girl.” (Batfam x reader) Part7

Hello my lil wings!!

How are you doing?

Here the new part of Tfg! Now the villain of the story rises!! And soon Dick will come back!

Tag: @hamsterforlive @plethora-of-things 

If you want to be tagged message me any time!!

Part1 Part2  Part3 Part4   Part5 Part6 Part7(Here we are!)  Part8

oh, And HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIM DRAKE!!!

Now,

Enjoy!


“Grandfather?!”

“Hello, Damian.” Ra’s Al Ghul said, while holding a small frame with a photo of your parents and you. “She’s pretty, isn’t her? Reminds me of my sweet Sora…”

“Let her out of this grandfather!” Damian growled. “What do you want!?” he asked, ready to attack.

“My, you’ve grow weaker than I expected. I was just checking on my grandson training.”

“I’m not following your commands anymore grandfather.”

“It will be a real shame if something were going to happen to her” Ra’s smirk send chills down his spine.

“I won’t let you.” Damian growled.

Ra’s smirked. “Careful, my boy. It’s not wise to threaten me.”

“Tt.”

“Now I must leave. Remember boy, don’t cross me.” Ra’s smirked before disappearing.

“…she can’t stay here. I need her to talk to father.”

///*\\

“Timmy!! Hey!” You smiled at Tim, who was waiting outside for you.

“Hey, (n/n) want to go out today??” Tim smiled cheekily. “ Only us…like a date.”

“Sorry, Timbo. Gotta take care of dami. He’s been alone all morning.”

“Oh….” Tim’s smile faltered.

F*cking Demon.

“We were going to the zoo, I promised him we’ll go and then to the new vegetarian place.”

“I’ll go with you! I’ll help you control the demon- I mean, my baby bro!” He grinned.

“ Aw,, he is a good boy.” You smiled softly.

“Yeah….the best..” Tim frowned.

“ Then its settled! Come with me!” Hold his hand and walk home.

OMG OMG SHEES HOLDING MY HAND!

WE LOOK LIKE A COUPLE!

YAAAASSS!!

As people walked and look at you two, Tim smiled proudly and held your hand tighter.

You smiled at Tim as you two went up to your apartment.

“Dami! I’m home!” you sing-sang

“(y/n)!! We nee-Drake what are you doing here” Damian glared at Tim and then pushed him away from you, breaking your hand hold. Dami hugged you.

“Awww damiiii!!”You hugged him back. “Grab your things! We are going to the zoo!!”

“And what’s Drake doing here.” Damian glared at him

“I’m coming too.” Damian snarled at Tim’s shit-eating grin. “Problem?”

“no.” Damian’s teeth clenched.

“Let’s go!!” You smiled obvious and held both of their hands.

///*\\

“(y/n) YOU CAN’T PET THE LIONS!!!” Screamed Tim as he ran behind you and Damian.

“CUUUUBSS!!!!!!” You smiled at the baby lions who yawned cutely. “AWWWW!”

“They should be in the wild. Or with me, I would take care of them.” Said Damian looking with sparkling eyes at the cubs.

“THANKS-GOD!” Tim took a deep breath. “DON’T DO THAT AGAIN!!”

“Sorry, Timmy…” You smiled awkwardly

“Tt.” Damian looked away from the cute cubs to Tim.

“Let’s go eat, it’s getting late.” Tim said as he held your hand.

“okay.”

“Can we take them home?”

“NO.”

“Tt.”

///*\\

“I’ll take the tofu burger.” Damian said.

“I’ll take the (f/v/f) m, thanks”

“I’ll have the same as her.” Tim said.

“okay! Be back in a flash!!” The waitress smiled amicably as she went to the kitchen.

“So, (n/n) you ok living with the demon?” Tim said as he held your hand.

“He is a sweetheart!” You smiled at Damian as you brushed his hair. “And he like me , right dami?” You smiled as Damian blushed.

“Tt.” He said as looked away.

Tim looked suspiciously at Damian until his eyes widened in surprise and his mouth opened.

“you li-“ What Tim was about to say was interrupted by Damian’s kick. “auch!”

“Are you ok, Tim?” You asked.

“The demon just-“ Damian kicked him harder. “auch!!stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Damian said.

“You kicked me!”

“I didn’t! AUCH!” Damian said. “Drake you’re a child!!”

“Said the child!!”

“Here is your food!!” The waitress smiled as she let your plates in the table.

“Thank you.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your food!” She smiled and left.

The three of you ate in silence, Damian and Tim keep glaring at each other when the door was broken by Ivy.

“Look at those killers!! All those plants dead!!” Ivy smirked as vines came out of the floor, one of them grabbed you and raised you high in the air. “Look, a pretty flower in a group of monsters.” More vines appeared holding you still. “Harley, take all they have.”

“Aye, Red!!” Harley came into the room an one by one took all their things.

“He have to escape, they have (y/n).” Tim whispered. “Grab that knife to cut the vines.”

“tt” Damian carefully grab the knife and cut the vines, freeing him and Tim. They crawled to the bathroom and changed to their uniform and banged in the room. Damian fought Harley, knocking her out as Tim took on Ivy, he cut the vines holding you and carried you off of danger.

“Ma’am please stay here, your friends will join you shortly.” He said

“Wait, how do you- Tim? Tim is that you?”

“What, no!”

“Then robin is Damian??”

“I must go.”

“NO WAIT!”

Red Robin came back to the battlefield and knocked Ivy out.

“How is she.” Robin asked.

“She knows.” Rr said.

“What? How?”

“She just does. Bring those two to Arkham.” Red said. “I’ll bring (y/n) to her home. We wait you there.”

“Tt.” Robin grab the two knocked out villainesses and jump out.

Tim sighed and ran out to where you were sitting.

“(Y/n), lets go back, ok?” Tim smiled as he carried you bridal style to your apartment.

Tim open your windows and let you inside, he entered behind you and took his mask of.

“Tim, since when?” You looked at him and he sighed softly.

“Since I was nine.”

“…Timmy..”

“I didn’t want you to know. It’s dangerous for you to do…and I didn’t want you to worry…”

“Tim, its ok.” You hugged him. “Your secret is safe with me. I won’t lose you for this. And I can kick ass!!”

Tim smiled softly and grabbed your face and pulled you up for a sweet kiss.

Your eyes opened wildly but seeing his closed eyes and smile you whined and kissed back.

“I’m..sorry, (Y/N)…I just…love you” He kissed your lips again, “So much…”

“Tim..” You whined. He pulled you closer and kissed you hard. One of his hands hugged your waist and the other was lost in your hair.

“Hey (y/n). Can I…. come, in..” Said a man as he fell inside your living room.

“JASON!” You screamed as you ran to help him to your couch.

“I’m going for the first aid kit!” Tim ran to the bathroom and brought the kit.

“Jay, what the hell? Who shot you?” You said as you teared his shirt open and stopped the bleeding.

“A…thug, he was selling drug * hiss* to kids. He had to be stopped.” Jason hissed as you applied the clothe in the injury.

“Here! The first aid kid!” Tim gave you the kit. “And this for him to bite when you pull the bullet out.” Tim put a towel in Jason’s mouth for him to bite.

“Now bite hard, this is gonna hurt.” You grabbed a pair of pincers and introduced them slowly in the wound.

“HIIIISS!” Jason bit the towel hard as you extracted the bullet of the wound, then disinfected it and wrap a bandage around it.

“Jay, you need to be more careful.” You kissed the wound and smiled. “You hungry?”

“Yes, thanks babe.” Jason smirked at you and you got up and let the first aid kit in the counter before cleaning your hands and preparing a small dinner for jay.

“Replacement you’re in suit she-“

“She found out on her own.”

“…Bats won’t like that.”

“I know.”

“Jay here!”  You let a trail with warm food. “Eat everything ok? I’m going to put my pajama.” You walked to your room to put your pajama on, when you got out Jay had fallen asleep on your couch and Tim in the ground.

“Hey Dami.” You smiled at Robin.

“ What’s Todd doing here?”

“He got hurt and came to me to cure him.” You kissed his forehead. “Go sleep, little robin.”

“Good night (y/n)”

“Night , dami.” You smiled as he disappeared in his room.

You looked at Tim and thought for a moment.

Why not?

You dragged him to your room and let him in the bed. He made himself comfortable and sighed happily. As you were about to leave he pulled you in the bed and cuddled you.

“Tim-“

“Good night, (y/n)” You felt a sweet kiss on your forehead and you thanked that the light was off, or he would have seen your red tomato face.

“Night Timmy.” You smiled before hiding your face on his neck, the smell of his cologne calmed you and help you fall asleep.

Tim nose buried in your soft hair and smiled, soon falling asleep.

“I love you, (y/n).” Tim sighed to himself before closing his eyes.

///*\\

“Father” A woman walked inside a dark cave illuminated by the green of the pool.

“Talia, my daughter…The moment has arrived. She’s almost ready my dear child.”

Talia smirked at the woman in the green water.

“Welcome back, mother.”

To be continued…