#in a world of anger a hand extended in friendship is bravery or whatever the quote it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiki-shortsnout · 3 years

Note

For intimacy prompts: #17 laying your head on someone’s shoulder for Frostiron! 💚❤️ Thanks!

I'm back!!! Sorry it's taken so long, but I'm back to answer my prompts! Thank you so much for this one! I enjoyed writing this!

***

Loki stumbled as the Bifrost set them both down, too exhausted to shake off Thor’s steadying hand on his elbow, his brother’s own exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. Loki had no strength left in him to make a jest about Thor’s overprotective tendencies, instead looking around the Midgardian cityscape he’d come to think of as a second home, his limbs limp.

Part of his atonement for his war crimes was to take a more active role in defense of the planet he sought to enslave. His mother and brother’s pleas not to imprison him swaying his father from a harsher sentence. He was a…tolerated member of the Avengers, a proverbial thorn in the side for most. He’d formed a tentative, begrudging respect towards the Black Widow, but he was a constant source of irritation for the rest of them.

Well, someone needed to keep the Avengers on their toes.

Loki was still called upon to keep Asgard and the realms it protected safe, and that was where he and Thor had been, subduing marauders on Vanaheim, listening to whispers of an event called a Convergence was impending, a cataclysmic occurrence that had them all on edge.

It felt as though his very bones rattled as he trudged across the roof of the Avengers Tower beside Thor, like his skin was stretched too taut over the excruciating ache of his muscles. As they came into the hanger, they both looked around, used to having at least one member of the Avengers greet them after their excursions off world.

Despite being used to being treated with distrust and trepidation, the bitter sting of their rebuke still penetrated the fatigued miasma clouding Loki’s brain.

He’d managed to convince one Midgardian that he was not the nemesis that all perceived him to be, that it was an illusion he portrayed to hide the crippling weakness he felt. This one Midgardian had seen through Thanos’s manipulations of his mind, had shattered the deception he shrouded himself in. It was Anthony he looked around for now, bewildered as he was met with nothing but silence, not even JARVIS speaking to them.

‘Is Earth under attack?’ Thor questioned, wiping the grime from his eyes as he frowned, moving towards one of the huge windows. Loki reformed his daggers as he took a step forward, ears straining to hear, his body sluggish and unwilling to cooperate.

The door at the far end of the room creaked open, and Loki teleported beside it in an instant, flinging it open and pointing his dagger at their enemy.

‘Pepper?’ Lowering his dagger, he immediately noticed she looked as tired, if not more so than the both of them. Her usually glossy hair was dull and frazzled, wisping around her face in auburn tufts, her eyes encircled with grey smudges.

‘What has happened?’ he asked, his words curt despite how he’d promised Anthony he would respect this mortal. It was an easy promise to keep, treating the two people Anthony treasured above all with care. Loki genuinely liked Pepper, her attitude, her bravery, her fiery temper. He and Rhodes tolerated each other, their mutual like for Anthony the only thing stopping them from attacking each other, settling instead for snide comments.

‘It’s Tony, he…he’s been really sick, Loki,’ Pepper gasped, her lower lip trembling as she swayed into him.

‘Where is he?’ Loki demanded, catching her by her shoulders. It was as though his body had been invigorated with lust for battle, any fatigue he’d felt moments ago burned away. Instead of the adrenaline he usually felt under such circumstances, his body felt cold, terror seeping down the back of his throat, stroking its clammy fingers across his skin.

Why wasn’t I here?

‘He’s in his room now-’

‘Where was he before?’ Thor asked before Loki could even put words to the thoughts scattering in his mind, the guilt webbing in his lungs, tugging at him with every breath.

‘The medical bay downstairs…JARVIS has the most extensive anatomy files because of the arc reactor and-’

‘Thor, look after her for me,’ Loki ordered, teleporting away despite them calling after him.

Anthony was huddled in his bed, the numerous blankets piled on him quivering as he trembled. The sickly scent spiraling in tendrils through the air made Loki recoil. This…was not something he was comfortable with. He’d never cared about another enough to warrant any actions of concern from him, had never been able to see past his own arrogance and selfishness to consider others.

‘An…Tony?’ he called, scared at what he was going to find, at how sick his mortal was. He’d seen Tony sick before, seen him with what they called a cold, all snuffy nosed and demanding and clingy. This silent, still, Anthony frightened him. What ailed him so? What illness had made Pepper look like a shadow of herself? Why had he needed to go down to the medical bay? Loki had seen Anthony after a battle, had seen him spit venom at any who dared suggest he seek medical help when he was injured, only allowing Loki to tend to his wounds hours later when the pain had grown too much to bear. Even then, he’d pretended it was for his own sake, that he was the one who couldn’t bear to see Anthony in pain.

He took a step backwards, wanting to flee, wanting to escape the fear plucking at him. He’d been in countless battles, fought with odds against him, had stood and waited for punishment by his father. This, seeing someone he had grown to care about like this…why was this affecting him so?

Anthony had reached out a hand in friendship despite all the atrocities he had committed in both Midgard and Jotunheim, the countless lives he had taken and lasting repercussions, Anthony Stark had given him a home, a means to make penance for those he had wronged. He hadn’t forgiven him, not straight away, that had taken time and trust to develop between them.

It was that belief in him, an emotion that so few beings were unwilling to extend to him which made Loki fall in love with the Midgardian, a feeling he had not given life with his words yet. It was this unnamed feeling which made him shove all his selfish fears aside.

Anthony needed him.

‘Anthony?’ he called again, peeling back the covers, his breath hitching at the sheer heat radiating from the man.

‘Hey,’ his voice cracked, his lungs rattling as he drew in a breath, hands tightening from where they were wrapped around himself in a pitiful hug.

‘What…what happened, should you even be here?’ Loki asked, dropping to his knees by the side of the bed, his hands hovering over Anthony’s body, uncertain, scared to touch this fragile creature.

Anthony rolled over in bed, and Loki was horrified at the sunken look to his skin, the waxy grey pallor, the red-rimmed eyes.

‘Oh, beloved,’ Loki breathed out, his hand stroking through clumped together hair.

‘Not a pretty sight,’ Anthony wheezed out. ‘You should’ve seen me a few weeks ago.’

Weeks? He’d left him behind in a worse condition than this for weeks?

‘How did your health deteriorate so fast? You weren’t in this condition when I…’ Loki’s eyes narrowed when Anthony’s gaze dropped, one of his tells when he wasn’t telling the entire truth. ‘You were ill when I left.’ Loki didn’t phrase it as a question.

‘Honestly, Lokes, don’t-’ Anthony’s protest was cut off with a wracking cough, the sheer force of it scaring Loki, sweeping aside whatever anger that had been beginning to build a few moments ago.

‘Why did you not tell me? If I had known-’

‘Thor needed you,’ Anthony said weakly, sagging back into his pillow. ‘Besides, this isn’t…this isn’t what we do.’ He closed his eyes as if the mere act of breathing pained him.

He was correct in his assumptions. They laughed, talked, had sex…keeping everything light and frothy and pleasurable, avoiding anything that encompassed feelings, vulnerabilities, neither wanting to be beholden to the other. It was a foolish act on Loki’s behalf, wanting to keep a distance from attachments, fearful of what Anthony could mean to him.

‘Move aside,’ Loki commanded, shrugging off his cape and unfastening his arm bracers.

‘Loki, what?’

‘Unless me joining you is going to impede your recovery in any way?’ Loki hesitated, suppressing his smirk at Anthony’s interested, fatigued gaze on his now naked torso. Lying beside his mortal, Loki gathered him in his arms, arranging them so he was on his back, Anthony half on top of him, his head on his shoulder.

‘Listen to me,’ Loki whispered, the words delicate, but infused with such meaning that it made them hang thickly between them. This was a precipice on which he stood, a moment he had read about in countless epic sagas. The hero baring the depths of their love after a heroic deed, or a noble act of self-sacrifice… not holding a sickly mortal. ‘I am not…not very good at this,’ Loki finished, his voice trailing off pathetically.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ Anthony said instead, wriggling his body closer, enjoying the cooler feel of Loki’s skin. ‘I’m a shitty patient, and I didn’t want you to see me like this.’

That Loki could understand. Only his mother dared to face his wrath when he had been sick, her gentle hands and calming voice the only things he would tolerate. But there was a deeper meaning behind Anthony’s reasoning too, the unwillingness to reveal a weakness, the fear of being abandoned.

‘I am not angry you did not tell me. I am infuriated with myself for not recognizing the signs of your ailment, of leaving you behind for such a long period of time when I know you do not like seeking help.’

‘Then what-’

Loki clutched his mortal closer, resting one hand on his brow to both to measure Anthony’s temperature and to cool him down.

‘I have never felt this way towards another being, mortal or not. I am sorry that you felt as though you could not tell me you were unwell, that I acted as though my intentions towards you were not serious. You plague my waking thoughts, my unconscious dreams, beloved, there is none I would rather be with.’

Rather than receiving a heartfelt confirmation of Anthony’s own feelings, the mortal stiffened in his grip, his rattling breathing halting. Fearful his illness had gotten worse, Loki rose a little from his waist so he could look down, confused at the angry frown Anthony was displaying.

‘Anthony-’

‘This is going to keep happening,’ he interrupted with a snap. ‘My insides are completely wrecked, my lungs, heart… Christ my liver…they’re all damaged and I’m not as young as I once was. I don’t know about you, but this is a wakeup call for why we shouldn’t be fooling around…let alone catching feelings for me.’

‘It is not for you to tell me my feelings are wrong,’ Loki admonished gently.

‘Loki, look at me. I’m a mess. I got a simple cold and it morphed into pneumonia. I might be out of the medical bay, but it’ll take weeks to-’

‘More of a mess than I am? Loki, the God of Mischief who manipulated my brother into going to war with my birth world, who allowed myself to be manipulated by Thanos-’

‘Loki you were tortured…’

‘And I threw you from a window, killed innocent people.’

Anthony didn’t answer that.

‘I know my actions of New York were not wholly my own, that I agreed to invade under duress, that my thoughts were not my own. Anthony, those thoughts were not just placed there by Thanos. I had always regarded Midgard as a lesser race. Those emotions might have been warped and heightened, but they were my own. I tricked my brother into a war against Jotunheim because I was jealous of the attention my father bestowed on him. These are not trivial things to be forgiven. They are sins I will atone for the rest of my life, and still, you found a way to love me.’

Anthony’s breathing hitched, turning into a cough, and Loki ran a comforting hand over his back to calm him.

‘I care not if your body is injured, that you are more susceptible to illness. It does not make you weaker in my mind, it highlights the battles you have endured, the strength it takes for you to continue living,’ Loki told him, lifting a hand to place it over Anthony’s arc reactor, protecting it. Despite his earlier fears earlier, the words he spoke were the truth, and it pained him that he had waited so long to tell him.

Even as he held his sick mortal close, wishing he could create a spell to eradicate any vestiges of this illness, Loki was plotting. He wouldn’t let Anthony be snatched from him by something trivial like time or illness. Technically he needed his father’s permission for his plan, but he knew his mother would see his way of thinking, would be happy he had found another to share his life with.

‘Feels like you’ve been shortchanged here,’ Anthony grumbled, settling his head back down against his shoulder.

‘I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like you are degrading yourself after I’ve confessed my feelings for you. This is meant to be a momentous occasion and-’

He laughed as Anthony silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

‘Alright, alright, you’re lucky, I’m a peach, I get it.’ Anthony burrowed closer, his sweat-slick hands wrapping around Loki’s middle.

‘Next time, promise me you will tell me if you are feeling unwell.’

‘You had to go- ‘

‘Nothing is more important to me than you. Father and Thor can protect Asgard. We have an army for that reason. I will always fight for Asgard, for its people, but not if you need me.’

Anthony squeezed him close, his legs twitching as he drew closer to sleep.

‘Thank you.’ Loki felt the words formed against his skin rather than hearing them, and he smiled, holding Anthony closer.

‘I love you too,’ he whispered when he was moments from sleep, and Loki didn’t respond, knowing his beloved needed rest, that he would be here to watch over him while he slept.

#writing prompt #fanfic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#thanks for the ask!#frostiron #tony x loki #tony stark #mcu loki #sick fic

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labyrinth-runner · 3 years

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"You don't have to worry I'm never going to touch you" with Dan pls????

Title: War of Hearts

This is definitely an AU and I am not apologizing. I’ve been watching the American TV show North and South. This is what happened.

When the war office had contacted you to let you know that your father was missing in action, the world had slowed. Your mother fell to her knees, and you saw her pray for his safe return. It was an act of desperation she had not shown in the years since your father had left to fight in the war, saying that she trusted God to bring him home and to pray for his safe return would be an act of doubt. Now, you watched fear overtake that feeling of assuredness. You watched her break as she buried her face in your skirts. Your roles reversed as you found yourself comforting her as she had always comforted you.

Locking eyes with the officer on your front step, you nodded. He gave you a regretful nod and left you to pick up the pieces.

Since then, days in your household were quiet. It was almost as if your mother were afraid that showing any sense of normalcy would be to show some higher power that your father was not truly needed, but you knew the truth. Your father was the other half of her heart. Without him, she was only half living. It was hard to watch, especially since you had no way of helping her cope, because you couldn’t fathom what it would be like to be so tethered to another person.

One day, you were sitting on the window seat in the parlor. Your needlework rested in your lap as you looked out at the sun shower on the other side of the glass. You always found sun showers to be a hypocritical kind of weather. It was as if the sky were offering hope while also mourning a loss. Looking to the west, you could see clearer skies, which you looked forward to, contemplating on taking a ride before dinner just to get out of the house.

Movement caught your eye, and you turned towards the source. There was a horse riding through the gate of the house at top speed with two men atop it. One seemed worse for wear.

You were to your feet and running to the door, calling out for your mother. The door was thrown open as the horse came to a stop in front of the steps.

Feet raced towards you and your mother was out in the rain helping the wounded man from his horse. “Oh, darling,” she cried as she reunited with your father.

The other man wrapped an arm around your father’s back to lead him back into the house. Together with your mother, they got him up and into bed while you sent for the doctor.

Once the doctor arrived, you were making tea to serve to this other man who had accompanied your father home. Out of the corner of your eye, you appraised him.

He was handsome, albeit a tad scruffy. Then again, the war had run long and you figured that men weren’t as concerned with their physical appearance as much as they were concerned with survival.

“Tea, Captain?” you asked as you set the tray on the table.

“I’ll have a cup, since you went through all the trouble,” he murmured, taking the proffered saucer. He watched you wearily, a look of sympathy in his eyes.

“You must have ridden for a long time,” you murmured as you settled on the sofa across from him.

“We road for days, Miss,” he replied, looking down at the amber liquid in his cup, no doubt wishing it was something stronger. “After the battle, we were separated from our unit. Then we came across a few rebel scouts. Your father was injured while we... dispatched them. I promised him I’d get him home to recover.”

“Father’s last letter through the lines said he was marching South and we would not hear from him for a while. You’re meaning to tell me that you made your way through rebel lines just to get him home?” you asked, wide-eyed.

“Miss, the General has always had my back. I just wanted to have his,” he said with a small smile.

You nodded, “I see. Well, if you’ll excuse me, Captain...?”

“Torrance,” he murmured. “Dan Torrance.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Captain Torrance, I’d like to check on my father,” you replied, getting up to leave.

When you reached the upstairs bedroom, you found your father propped up in bed. His eyes lit up when he saw you, “Well, if it isn’t my pride and joy.”

Your corners of your eyes crinkled as you came over to sit on the edge of his bed. Taking his hand, you placed a kiss to his knuckles, “You gave mother quite a scare.”

“I always keep her on her toes,” he said playfully, but there was guilt in his eyes.

“We’re just glad you’re home,” you murmured, “Captain Torrance told me he snuck you through Rebel lines.”

“That the boy did. I’ll see to it that there’s a promotion in his future,” your father grinned. “He’s a fine man.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“And he’ll make a fine husband.”

“I’m sure his wife will be lucky to have him,” you replied absentmindedly.

“I’d like to see the two of you wed before he’s called back,” your father said pointedly.

“Wed?” you asked, trying to keep your voice under control. “But, father, I hardly know the man.”

“Darling, I want to know that should something happen to me, that you and your mother will be taken care of. I trust Captain Torrance with my life,” your father said adamantly.

“And I am expected to trust him with my heart?” you asked incredulously. Shaking your head in disbelief, you got up to leave, ignoring how your father called after you.

Making your way down the stairs, you locked eyes with the Captain through the doorway as he sat across from your mother, no doubt regaling her with tales of his bravery. You felt hollow. The world seemed to spin like when your corset had been laced too tight when you were younger. You needed air. Stumbling towards the door, you walked out into the sun shower, walking blindly towards the garden.

A sun shower, you thought with disdain, the sun shining because my father has returned, yet mourning the loss of my freedom.

Footsteps thudded on the ground behind you and the rain stopped pelting your back. You looked up to see an umbrella over your head as the holder stood in the downpour.

“I take it he told you,” Captain Torrance sighed.

“Were you expecting a blushing bride?” you sniffed, “Because you will be sorely mistaken.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

You rounded on him, “Oh, so you don’t even want me?”

Somehow, that hurt worse. You could see it in his eyes that he knew he regretted the words.

“Please, just come back inside,” he pleaded.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded and followed him back into the house. You parted ways with him once inside, retreating to your room.

Captain Torrance stayed with your family, but you skirted around him to the best of your ability. Part of you figured that you should try to get to know him, seeing as he was to be your husband, but you needed to work through your own feelings first.

Anger melted into nervousness as your wedding day approached. As you stood in front of your mirror, turning this way and that in your dress, you felt your heart fluttering in your chest.

“He’s a nice man,” your mother stated from the doorway.

“So I’ve been led to believe,” you sighed, smoothing out your dress.

Your mother crossed over to pick up your veil from the vanity. Carefully, she nestled it into your hair. “Your father wouldn’t make this match if he didn’t trust him.”

“I know,” you admitted, turning towards her. “Part of me just hoped that I would have some say in such a momentous decision.”

“That’s a luxury few have,” your mother said with a small smile.

“But you love father,” you replied.

“I didn’t always,” she sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Your father and I were married as part of an arrangement our fathers made when they were at West Point together. It further solidified their friendship. Growing up, I greatly disliked your father.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “He used to pull my pigtails and made fun of my freckles during the summer.” A far away look entered her eyes. “Then we grew up. He was no longer that boyish brute I had known. He grew into a handsome man with kind eyes who protected me from the world. When we married, we were only friends, but my dear that is the best foundation. Love grew swiftly as we learned to laugh with one another. Then we had you,” she smiled wide, “and I realized that I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone else.”

You leaned against your bed post, “Do you think I can have that with Captain Torrance?”

“I think you can have whatever you dream as long as you keep an open mind,” she replied, getting up. “Now, come along, dearest. Everyone is waiting.”

Nodding, you let your mother lead you down the stairs to where your father was waiting. You took his good arm and walked with him down the aisle.

Although the priest was speaking, you barely heard him over the thud of your heart. In truth, you weren’t very present in the moment. Instead, your mind was racing ahead to that night, wondering what was to become of you. Your betrothed vowed himself to you in words you did not hear, and you repeated your own back like you were reciting a poem. Captain Torrance’s hand was so warm around yours as he gave you reassuring squeezes every once in a while. Every squeeze brought you back to the moment and sent you drowning in a concerned pair of blue eyes.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride,” the priest stated.

You tensed up, expecting it to be awkward as Captain Torrance cupped your cheek and leaned in to kiss you. It was short and sweet, and for some reason you were disappointed. However, it wasn’t disappointment in the kiss itself. It was disappointment in the fact that it was so short.

The two of you turned out to face your guests, walking through them towards the reception. As you split apart to mingle, you came up with the brilliant idea of dancing the night away with anyone who would ask, hoping it would extend the night and make you too tired to perform your marital duties later. You took turn upon turn around the room, passing hands and entertaining your guests. At first, you didn’t care what your new husband did, catching him talking to your guests here and there out of the corner of your eye. However, you found it strange that he did not ask to cut in.

As the clock struck nine, you gracefully removed yourself from the dance floor to find him. He was nowhere in the house. Only when you stepped out into the cool night air did you find him on the porch with a glass in his hand. Drawing closer, you noticed it was just water.

“No liquid courage?” you teased.

A sad smile settled on his face as he looked down at the glass in his hands, “No. I only run on true courage or cowardice these days.”

“You can’t be a coward if any of the tales my father has told me this week are to be believed,” you murmured as you leaned against the railing next to him.

An awkward silence settled between the two of you as you looked out into the night. It was as if both of you didn’t know the words to say. You noticed him studying you, eyes trailing down your features as if trying to memorize them. His hand rested inches from yours, but he didn’t dare to move it closer.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said softly, “I’m never going to touch you.”

“Then what exactly do you get out of this arrangement?” you asked, turning to face him.

“Enough that I won’t ever demand that of you,” he replied.

“Right,” you smiled ruefully, “I’m sure the stocks in my father’s company that he undoubtedly gave you can buy you the finest ladies.” The words were said with a tinge of resentment at the fact that you were now trapped in a marriage while he could still look elsewhere.

Dan wet his lips before turning away, “I refused them. After all, I didn’t earn them.”

You turned to him in shock, “Then what do you get out o this arrangement?”

“A companion,” he said before downing the rest of his drink, “Now, we should head back inside before our guests miss us. After all, I believe I owe you a dance. If you aren’t too tired of dancing yet, that is.” He held his arm out to you. After a moment of bewilderment, you took it, allowing him to lead you back into the fray.

Once inside, his smile slid back on his face and you somehow felt at ease. But, in the back of your mind you registered just how strange your situation was. You were the wife of Captain Torrance. You knew he was a good man, but in your heart you also knew you had just married an enigma. There was so much more beneath the surface that you could only wonder if you would ever truly know him.

#dan torrance x reader #dan torrance #doctor sleep #dan x reader

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ivoryandbonerpg-blog · 7 years

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♔ NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM ♔

( the basics. )

AGE: 18 LINEAGE: Pureblood SCHOOL / ALUMNI: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry HOUSE: Gryffindor ALLIANCE: The Order

( personality. )

✓ / ✗ : introverted, self-conscious, brave, determined, loyal

( biography. )

• No matter how hard he’s tried, Neville Longbottom has never really felt like he’s properly fit in anywhere for the entirety of his existence. Born to two revered war heroes who sacrificed their lives and sanity for the sake of defeating Lord Voldemort at the curtail of the First Wizarding War, Neville Longbottom grew up believing that he didn’t belong in the family he’d been born into. As a chubby, awkward child with a slight stammer and a severe dip in self-esteem and confidence, Neville didn’t think he was worthy enough of taking the great, respectable Pureblood name Longbottom as one of his own. One or two times, Neville considered begging his gram, who remained his fierce, sole parental guardian throughout the duration of his life, to strip him of his title just so he wouldn’t have to bear the shame and disappointment that would surely come whenever someone spotted him and realized he had come from the loins of the great Frank and Alice Longbottom. And when Neville, a perpetually anxious child who constantly feared saying the wrong thing to upset his elder relatives, failed to show any signs of wizardry by the proper age, he knew that he had embarrassed and disgraced his parents’ names. Though his grandmother thought that yelling and smacking magic into him was the sure fire way to kickstart Neville’s magical instincts, and his great uncle Algie strongly believed that terrifying Neville into fatal situations would scare the magic into him, Neville knew he was doomed to a mundane life of hopelessness. He was a failure, and it was a mantra Neville proceeded to chant to himself at night, locked in his room and muffling his tears with his pillow.

• But somehow, miraculously, Neville’s powers showed themselves eventually--and not a moment too late! His extended family was relieved that the magical gene had been passed onto Neville, and none were more pleased than his grandmother when Neville’s acceptance letter to Hogwarts arrived through owl post just shy of his eleventh birthday. But where being magical--a real wizard--should have filled Neville with joy, it instead cursed him with perpetual anxiety. Now that he was as magical as both of his parents, Neville realized he had something to prove--to his grandmother and to his parents--in order to keep the title of “wizard” a valid and well deserved one. His mother reminded him constantly of his parents’ accomplishments and valiant struggles, and told him to never lose sight of what was important--what was lost and what was gained--because people like his mother and father had sacrificed themselves for the greater good. So it was with the courage of his father, Frank, and the optimism of his mother, Alice, that led Neville Longbottom and his little toad, Trevor, traipsing onto the Hogwarts Express that fateful day in 1991. When the time came for Neville to be sorted, he feared he would be declared a Squib publicly by the Sorting Hat and told to pack his belongings and head home where he belonged. But instead, the hat--with a great deal of debate--finally decided to place Neville in Gryffindor...the House of his parents. The House of his family. So overwhelmed with joy and relief, Neville scrambled off the sorting stool and ran to the table before realizing the hat was still placed firmly atop his head (and grumbling the entire time).

• Though sorted into the House of bravery and ferocity, Neville felt that he was anything but. His peers mocked him--even those who were supposed to be housemates--and the worst part was that Neville couldn’t exactly blame them. He was awkward, fumbling, and didn’t seem to understand classes that others, like Hermione Granger or even local bully Draco Malfoy, seemed to handle with grace and ease. He destroyed almost any potion he touched, couldn’t handle flying lessons if his life had depended on it, and struggled with even the most basic lessons in Transfiguration classes. But despite the academic struggles that laid so painfully before him, Neville persevered--year after year. He didn’t have friends, per say, most of the time, but--he had endurance. And the reminder that he was doing everything he could to make his parents proud, in the slim chance that one day, should they come out of the spell-induced cloud Bellatrix Lestrange had placed them in...they would be ready and pleased for him. That he would be ready for them.

• Though school was difficult and Neville’s own repeatedly failing confidence was a constant hindrance in his life, his eventual friendship with Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood proved to be some of the most important of his life. He liked to think he was friends, on a very base level, with the Gryffindors who were often dubbed the Golden Trio--Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley--but with Ginny and Luna, he felt as though he had friends who cared about him, even when he wasn’t around. They became his confidants in every sense of the word; Luna gave Neville the inspiration to be himself without worrying what other people thought of him and Ginny gave Neville the courage to stand up for what he believed in, no matter the cost. So when his fifth year arrived and no one believed Harry Potter’s declarations that Lord Voldemort had returned, Neville Longbottom stood up as a willing addition to what eventually became known as Dumbledore’s Army, if only to soothe his anger and frazzled nerves after hearing that Bellatrix Lestrange had escaped from prison. Neville might have been just a boy, but he wanted to avenge his parents’ for the crimes that had been so foully committed against them. And, perhaps most importantly, Neville wanted to be a part of something that mattered--just like his father and mother before him.

• Though the original Dumbledore’s Army eventually crumbled and fell, leaving Neville dejected and furious with the wizarding government for blindly disregarding what was directly in front of them, he never gave up hope of making a change after that. He had learned he was strong enough--stronger than the child who had mustered all of his courage to stand up to a childhood bully, and even stronger than the boy who cried himself to sleep at night for thinking he wasn’t magical enough. Neville Longbottom’s life had been one entirely about endurance and perseverance, and he refused to let anyone take that away from him. So when the Golden Trio set off in search of horcruxes following the collapse of the Hogwarts they knew and the tragic passing of Albus Dumbledore, Neville started up another attempt at Dumbledore’s Army in Harry’s absence. The 1997 version of Hogwarts was no longer safe, as they quickly realized, and Neville attempted to penetrate the thick cloud of corruption and darkness that surrounded the world they’d once all loved so dearly by rallying members to join him in an effort to support Harry, Ron, and Hermione while they traversed the globe in search of Godric only knew what to stop Lord Voldemort from rising to power fully again. Neville did what he could at Hogwarts, protecting those who were unable to defend themselves and meeting in secret with those brave enough to help, before what remained of Dumbledore’s Army eventually fled through underground tunnels and escaped Hogwarts with as many innocents as they could. The school had turned against them all, and Neville had the scars and marks from standing up to Death Eaters to prove it.

• Now, Neville is a very involved member of The Order of the Phoenix, doing whatever he can to help the war effort and protect those who need proper protection. And while his grandmother has assured him she can take care of herself perfectly fine, Neville grew fearful after she fled from a potential Death Eater raid and has placed her in work at one of the safe houses located in Ireland. She’s farther away than he’d like her to be, but at least he knows she’s safe for the time being. He has grown a great deal since his Hogwarts days and, while he still stammers a bit and struggles with his self-image more than he’d care to admit, Neville Longbottom is now longer a wallflower. He’s in full bloom, and he’s ready for whatever may come.

( sexuality. )

up to player

( connections. )

⚔ Ginny Weasley: Ginny was one of the first people to ever show Neville a shred of genuine kindness and decency at Hogwarts, and for that, he can never forget or repay her. Ginny has grown, over the years, into one of Neville’s absolute greatest and closest friends; he worries for her in the outcome of this war, but knows if there’s anyone who can hold her own against a handful of monstrous Death Eaters, it’s the youngest Weasley.

⚔ Luna Lovegood: Luna Lovegood is one of the only people in the entire world that Neville feels completely at ease and comfortable around. While Ginny showed Neville the power of inner strength and defying what is wrong in favor of what’s good and right, Luna showed Neville that there’s strength in being yourself. While Neville knows that Luna can take care of herself, he’s more concerned about her than any other in this war; he can’t help but feel protective over her.

⚔ Romilda Vane: Romilda is Neville’s greatest despair and regret. While Romilda had been one of the first (and most eager) to rejoin Neville’s revamped version of Dumbledore’s Army back in 1997, she was also the first to skirt away and leave after the tragic death of her mother and sister at the hands of Death Eaters. Neville can’t help but feel responsible for the deaths of her family, and wishes more than anything he could take everything back. But half the time these days, he doesn’t even know where Romilda is--or if she’d even want to forgive him.

the role of NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM is currently OPEN.

#diverse rp #hp rp #hp roleplay #lsrp #lsrpg #neville longbottom #char #male #order #open

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