#*unburdens my guilt*

[tomurakii]

I know I have a semi-popular post about how Gale would not have made a good teacher and that's why I'm so happy that it does happen canonically. It shows so much growth in him: not only does he learn to love himself regardless of his magic ability, that love extends to others. He can now educate students in the field of magic that has always clearly been his true favourite without being "irked by their ineptitude". He shares the art he loves and his enthusiasm, talent, and newfound patience make him a great teacher. With Tav by his side he becomes a happier, less guarded, more caring person and I can't think of anything better for him.

#hes also so cheeky ugh the teasing before the kiss followed by the fucking nose boop he is GORGEOUS TO ME #like it just shows how unburdened he is. we've always seen him dulled by the weight on his shoulders. his guilt. his uncertain future. #and its so lovely to see how free and full of joy and wit and sarcasm and jokes he is without all those burdens #plus I had always envisioned him becoming a professor alongside my galemancer tav Redeema so I am happy that thats the canon ending #they live in waterdeep together. gale teaches illusion at blackstaff academy and redeema teaches kids to FIGHT in the STREETS #bg3 #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate #gale of waterdeep

[starsinmylatte]

An Early-morning Surprise

What happens when the three first years find out that Nanami's wife has tattoos?

Pairing: Nanami x Wife!reader

Warnings: None! Just fluff and comfort with a side of domestic bliss (aka what we all deserve)

Word Count: 1k

This work can be read as a companion piece to my other Nanami x tattooed reader work: Baby, It's Cold Outside (18+ for smut)

Click here to join my taglist! (By joining my taglist and/or interacting with my 18+ posts, you agree that you are 18+)

Thunk… Thunk… Thunk….

The distant banging on your door ripped you from the arms of a well-deserved slumber. You blinked, stretching blearily and looking around as the noise showed no signs of letting up. Nanami was still fast asleep next to you, his golden hair splayed across the pillow as he snored gently. The moonlight shone on your husband’s peaceful, unburdened expression, and the sight brought an affectionate smile to your lips.

“He’s worked so hard recently… I don’t want whatever this is to wake him.”

It was honestly a minor miracle that Nanami’s arms weren’t wrapped around you like usual because you’d never have gotten out of bed without waking him. Gingerly, you slipped out of bed, trying to be quiet as you found a pair of house shoes and tiptoed into the living room. 

The culprits behind the early-morning wake-up call revealed themselves before you got to the door. Three vastly different voices could be heard bickering back and forth, and you couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Of course, it would be the three first-years both of the Kentos had a soft spot for. 

“For the last time, I don’t care who won rock, paper, scissors… I am not calling Gojo.” A familiar, absolutely disinterested voice grumbled. 

“Megumi, please? I can’t find my key, and I don’t want to keep banging on the door! It could wake even more people up.” Itadori wheedled.

“I’m not the one who needed to go to the convenience store at two in the morning-” 

“I don’t care who calls who or who all gets woken up. it’s COLD out here.” Nobara interrupted snarkily.

You raked your hair into a presentable shape and opened the door before any more verbal warfare could be waged. 

“Morning all,” You yawned, shivering at the cold breeze that blew through the doorway.

“I am SO sorry to wake you up,” Itadori immediately dropped to a knee and apologized, his hands clasped in front of his face in penance. “But we got locked out of the dorms….”

Megumi stood off to the side, blushing slightly with his arms folded over a convenience store bag. Nobara stood next to Yuji, shivering in an oversized hoodie that she had clearly taken from the more easily guilted boy. 

You smiled, opening the door wider, “Come in, then. I’ll get you some blankets, and you can sleep here. Nanami can take you back to the school in the morning.”

The three students all remained quiet and didn’t move a muscle, even as you held the door open for them. Instead, they all blinked at you rather owlishly. You looked at all three of them in slight confusion. 

Yuji opened his mouth twice before words finally tumbled out. “Uh, how long have you had-” WHAM.

Megumi smacked him upside the head, and the pink-haired boy pouted slightly, “Ow, what was that for?”

“It’s rude to ask!” Megumi hissed back quietly. 

Meanwhile, Nobara simply walked up to you and gently touched the ink on your arm. “Did they hurt?” She asked with a look of slight awe. 

You glanced down at her hand on your arm, and it finally clicked: you hadn’t bothered to put on a robe in your rush to answer the door. Your sleep attire consisted of pajama shorts and an old t-shirt selectively thieved from a certain stoic sorcerer, so your many tattoos were visible to the students for the first time.

You laughed out loud, breath steaming into the cool morning air. “Why don’t you all come in? I might answer a few of your questions if you don’t wake Nanami,” You teased gently.

The students obediently shuffled in, their curiosity beaten by their desire to be out of the cold, and you shut the door behind them with a solid click. You turned to head back into the living room and ran directly into Yuji, who was intently studying one of the tattoos on your arm.

“Woah there,” You giggled, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep the boy from falling into the wall. “Let’s at least get into the kitchen first.”

You put some water on to boil for tea and Yuji’s early-morning ramen while the students looked on with hushed curiosity. Soon, everyone was curled up on the oversized couch in the living room with plenty of blankets and a mug of something hot to thaw them out. 

After the thirtieth question from Itadori alone, you gave up on the plan of them getting any sleep and spent the remainder of the time bonding with the kids. Nobara seemed fascinated and approved of the designs, stating that “only the most badass women have tattoos.” Megumi didn’t ask many questions, but the stoic boy did seem impressed. As usual, sweet Itadori was curious and just happy to be involved. 

—

Later that morning, Nanami woke to an empty bed and a sense of vague confusion. To his knowledge, you didn’t have anything scheduled for the day, and he couldn’t hear you moving around in the kitchen. Your husband poked his head into the living room and chuckled quietly at the sight before him. 

His beloved wife sat on the couch, gently snoozing under a blanket and wholly sandwiched between two of his students. Nobara’s arms were wrapped around you like she was holding a big stuffed animal, and Itadori was snoring away contentedly with his head on your shoulder. Several tea mugs lay forgotten on the coffee table next to a half-eaten bowl of spicy ramen. The usually closed-off Megumi was passed out in the corner of the couch with a foot on Itadori and one of his divine dogs directly on top of him. Its tail wagged lazily, thumping against the boy’s back as the fluffy shikigami greeted Nanami.

The blond sorcerer smiled, taking a moment to commit the scene to memory. He pulled out his phone to snap a quick picture before anyone could move. A few minutes later, the inhabitants of the couch woke to the smell of frying bacon.

— Bonus —

Later that day, you borrowed Nanami’s phone to check something, only to see the photo as his newest home screen.

You scrunched your nose in protest, “Ken, I’m drooling in this picture.” 

He leaned over to fondly kiss the top of your head, “I happen to love this picture.”

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecreampuff @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @khaleesihavilliard @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff

[xzaddyzanakinx]

| Not Yet |part two

An Anakin Skvwalker X FemReader Oneshot

18+ MNDI

Warnings: Eventual Somnophilia, Cockwarming, oral, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, CNC, dacryphilia, name calling, choking, maybe more?? Idk

Aggression, anger, biting, pinching,

Info: Unburned Anakin, Darth Vader Anakin - No Mask, Established Relationship, Anakin is broody but but he adores you, He destroys something of yours and he’s not sorry.

Personal Headcanon that I let leak into this fic very slightly: Anakin is gross. He is so nasty during sex and I love it. Makes me absolutely feral.

Anakin POV

She’d come to find me, I could hear her in the hall just outside my office. She knew me well enough to realize I’d bury myself in work to avoid confrontation with her.

Just as I thought I’d be met with an angry fist rattling the metal door, I heard her walk away. I reached out through the Force, just to feel her, make sure she was okay.

Guilt, she felt guilty. Because of me.

I signed, letting my head drop onto my desk and turning to look at that stupid fucking mask. Taunting me with its unforgiving hollow eyes.

Was it really worth it? The power, the fortune? Is it worth it if this is what becomes of me?

What if one day I put on that helmet, and it stays on even after I take it off? Is it even a facade anymore?

No. I’m still me. The Great Lord Vader, would never sit at his desk twirling a pencil in the air as a distraction from the tears streaking his face. I’m still human.

I am. I’m still human, humans make mistakes.

I stepped into the living room, ears on high alert. It’s 2:00 am and if I woke her up now she’d be even more angry at me.

I folded my outer robe and sat my helmet on the couch. Running my hands down my chest to smooth out the wrinkles in my pajama shirt from the heavy fabric that had crumpled it.

Not that I cared, I was just wasting time. Trying to brace myself for the potential of the nearest object to her being chucked in my direction. I’ve seen her angry, but never like this. This was a different kind of angry, it was hurt and sadness disguised as anger.

I couldn’t feel her waking presence, so she must’ve been sleeping. It felt like I’d been knocked down a few notches when I realized she’d fallen asleep alone. In all three years we’ve been Lord Vader and his Empress, I’d never been late enough to miss a goodnight kiss.

I walked cautiously to the bedroom, standing in the door way and watching her gentle breathing. She always looked so serene like this, unblemished, unburdened, pure bright light against the blackness.

I ground my knuckles into my eyes until I saw spotted colors, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. A few stray tears had made their appearance again at the sight of her lying there alone.

I contemplated sleeping on the couch. Maybe she didn’t want me to join her, she always waited up for me.

‘No. She was upset, she was just tired.’ I told myself as I walked around to my side of the bed, but I was quickly proved wrong.

Is that?

That fucking bitch.

Her pink vibrator was laying on my pillow. She’d fucked my pussy without my permission.

How did she even find that?

It stayed put away, for this exact reason. She knew the rules, she knows I’m the only one who can use that on her. Yet here she is, blatantly disobeying me, flaunting it. She purposefully left it on my pillow.

No worries. I can make sure this never happens again. My hand shot out to grab the vibrator as it flew through the air, upon impact with my palm I closed my fingers around it until I heard it snap.

The shards of plastic and torn silicone felt to the floor and scattered in pieces. It must’ve been loud enough to startle her because she shifted her body and I stood as still as possible. Despite what I’d just done, I didn’t want to wake her.

My eyes locked on her leg as it moved and flopped to the side limply. I thought maybe I was seeing things, but as I double checked my mouth watered.

She’d fallen asleep without putting her panties back on. Her pussy still coated in her arousal, the soft starlight shining through the window cast an ethereal glow on her lower half. As if the gods themselves were encouraging me to have a taste.

| flash back |

Panting I picked up the pace and changed angles ever so slightly. “All you can do is drool for me?”

Once again, no answer.

“Say my name,” I laughed at her loudly watching her struggle “I’ll stop right now princess. You know I will.”

I slowed my movements before she finally spoke, “No! No pl-please don’t stop.”

“Let everyone know who’s pussy this is hmm?” I teased her collarbone with my tongue, nipping at the thin skin.

“Yours. Anakin it’s yours.”

“Fucking right it’s mine. You know what I do with what’s mine?” I growled lowly flicking her earlobe with the tip of my tongue.

“Y-you take it wh-when you want, whenever you wa-want.” She barely managed to choke out the words I’d been waiting to hear.

“Whenever I want. You’d let me fuck you awake huh? Get this pretty pussy dripping before you even know what’s happening.” The mental image flashing in my mind was nothing less than unholy.

“Fu-huck, baby you want that? Pussy’s squeezing me so tight.” I groaned, resting my forehead on hers.

She nodded, trying to pull me closer for a kiss but I stopped her.

“You want that? Want me to fill you up while you’re out cold? Say it. I need to hear you say it!” My tone was demanding, now that the thought had crossed my mind I desperately wanted confirmation that she’d be okay with it.

Her hot breath ghosted my lips and I leaned in, sucking her bottom lip between my teeth and pulling gently. A strangled whine of ‘oh god yes’ rolled out of her straight into my mouth and damn me to hell if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.

| end flashback |

I shook the memory away, clearing my head to truly weigh my options here. Go to bed, or take what’s been offered to me?

My dick made the choice for me, it’s hardness becoming uncomfortable to the point that I was stripping my clothes before I even realized I was doing it.

I tip-toed to the bed, carefully assessing just how deep in sleep she was. Feather light touches along her calves turned into lips on her thighs. Tongue gliding along the smooth flesh on her inner thigh, I stopped where her leg and pussy meet, pressing my nose into the crease and inhaling deeply.

Her scent had me salivating, I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to have a taste.

I laid my tongue flat against her folds, gathering up as much of her slick as possible just to swallow it all down with a satisfied smile… she didn’t even flinch. I delved back between her folds lapping at every centimeter I could. Leaving no place untouched, no part of her neglected by my tongue’s caress.

Getting alittle braver at her lack of response I pushed my luck. Pressing my nose against her sensitive clit, already beginning to swell from my touch. My tongue slithering into her entrance, I couldn’t help but groan as the warm wetness dripped down my chin.

Her hips moved suddenly and I found myself holding my breath, fully expecting her to jump up and smack me, but she didn’t. I waited a moment, watching carefully before returning to the task at hand.

The moment my lips suctioned on her perfect little clit she moved again, no… not just moving.

She was trying to fuck my mouth. God she’s perfect. Even in her sleep she’s desperate for me.

I decided to go a bit further, slipping one finger between her folds followed soon after by a second. She was so wet that it hardly took any effort at all to finger fuck her, my finger tips hooked and dragging against the spongy spot inside her.

A whimper escaped her lips and I just had to have her back in my mouth. I pinched the top of her clit, pulling it up gently to roll it between my fingers while flicking my tongue across it. Alternating with gentle suckling until she ground her hips against me.

Her walls clamped down on my fingers and I knew she was close, I sped up my fingers, applying pressure as I massaged her hole. Keeping her clit between my fingers and at the mercy of my relentless tongue.

Before I had time to react, my face and hands were dripping, my mouth coated in her juices.

Did she just?

“Oh fuck.” My cock jumped when I realized what happened, she’d squirted, all over me, all over the sheets. It left a gorgeous little puddle on the bed beneath her.

No drop went to waste, I cleaned my chin with my tongue, savoring it. My cock rocking into my slick fist while I slipped my middle finger past her lips, she deserved to taste some of that hard work didn’t she?

What was left on my hands I licked from my palms and sucked each finger clean, running my hands over my chest and stomach for good measure.

I lined up with her, my cock barely brushing against her folds already had me weak in the knees. I could’ve unloaded into her the moment my head was enveloped by her soaked pussy. The squelch as I pushed deeper into her was obscene, disgustingly delicious.

As slowly as I could bear I finally sheathed myself within her, her eyes fluttered open momentarily before shutting again so I completely stilled all my movements. My cock practically grew a mind of its own, as hard as I tried to stay still my hips rocked into her anyway.

She moaned, a full, throaty moan when she jerked under the stimulation of my tongue sliding along the underside of her jaw. My cock twitched and I had to squeeze my eyes shut tightly, stopping my movements again as that familiar white hot feeling tried to envelop me much to early.

“N-no. No. Not yet.” I whimpered, close to tears as I tried to hold it in. “Not yet. Not yet.”

“God fuckin’ damnit!” I slammed my fist into the wall, not caring when the noise made her jolt, I was too busy pumping her full of my cum. The sticky substance dripping out, I watched closely where our bodies met, mesmerized by the sight of it.

“Shh-shit fuck.” I groaned, my dick throbbing painfully, every second I was fully sheathed in her like this was as if I stood on the property line of heaven and hell. Giving myself as much time to recover as I could stand too.

I couldn’t keep torturing myself like this, so I gave up on being gentle enough to keep her asleep. I sped up every so often, trying not to startle her to much when she began to wake up.

I concentrated on sloppy kisses across her shoulder, caressing those perfectly perky nipples to draw out an angelic whimper from her plump lips.

Fuck. Those lips.

Passionately I let my tongue graze her bottom lip, nipping it between my teeth. Her eyes fluttered again as she subconsciously tried to kiss me back. I must’ve moaned too loud or gripped her waist too tightly because her eyebrows furrowed and she sleepily opened her eyes.

“W-what’s? You’re back?” She managed to get those few words out as her lips were still trapped under mine.

“Mhm, I’m back princess.” I let one hand come up to cradle the back of her neck, tipping her head back for easier access to the tenderness of her throat.

“Why- what’s are you d-doin’ Ani?” She moaned, still not fully awake, so I thrust a bit harder and watched as realization washed over her face.

“Shh shh baby it’s okay. Jus’ taking care of you.” I guided my other arm beneath her waist to pull her into me.

“Wanted t-to say sorry. To make it up to you,” her cunt clenched tightly at my words, “fuck baby you can’t be doing that, don’t wanna cum.”

She slowly returned to the land of the living, her moans growing louder with each slap of my balls against her ass.

“Hear that baby? You made a mess for me.” My voice deep and gravely in her ear, the nasty *shlick* of each thrust being audible made it hard to keep focus.

“Did? I did?” She questioned.

“God yes baby, fucking drowned me, you tasted so sweet.” I began to ramble off nonsense to her, my brain getting fuzzy.

“Ah- huh… Anakin” her words cut short, whatever she was saying got swept away as her orgasm stole her breath.

Her chest heaving, tits bouncing as I pounded into her. Eyes becoming unfocused as her pupils dilated and her legs wrapped around me shakily.

“Fucking squeezing me so tight.” If I clenched my teeth together any harder I might break a tooth.

I slid my arm from under her feeling the hills and valleys of her curves on its way to her tender neck. Giving a gentle squeeze on either side of her throat, just hard enough to make her vision go blurry.

“Ani- please.” Her mouth hung open wide, eyes looking up through her lashes at me.

“What is it princess? I’ll give you anything baby.” I lifted my other hand and gripped the head board firmly to leverage myself as I change pace to relentlessly pound into her.

“Need more.” She whined, digging her fingers into my biceps as she held on.

She yelped at the sudden change and her cunt fluttered around my cock, my thrusts faltering slightly as I felt myself get closer. I watched her eyes roll back, enjoying the way her face twitched as I rubbed harsh circles into her clit via the Force.

“You forgive me baby?” Innocent enough that she wouldn’t question my motives.

“O’course.” She groaned beneath me as a tightened my grip on her neck.

“Good.” I growled, “now I don’t have to feel guilty about doing this.”

“Huh?” She was confused and I laughed at her contorted face.

“Huh? What do you mean huh?” I moved my hand from her throat to grip her chin and force her to look at me.

“You fucked this pussy without asking didn’t you?” There was no answer, just a look of lustful fear in her eyes.

“Was it better than this? Could that fucking piece of plastic make you feel like this?” I shook her chin, digging in my fingers.

“N-no it was-wasn’t even close.” She stuttered looking to her right, expecting to see the pink vibrator.

“Shhh it’s okay baby. I made sure you’ll never have to worry about that piece of shit again.”

Her eyebrows knitted together looking at me confused. So I decided to do something alittle creative.

“Wanna see?” I asked, condescending tone sneaking into my words. I didn’t wait for an answer, I just reached behind myself and called the broken pieces to hover above her face.

“Who’s the only one who can make your pussy feel like this huh? Make you cum on their face in their fucking sleep?” I shook her chin again, leaning back slightly to change the angle of my thrusts.

“So cock-drunk you can’t talk?” Her eyes rolled back in her head as her pussy spasmed around me.

“Oh… gods.” She tried to speak but that’s all she got out.

“Fucking answer me!” I shouted, sending the plastic shards straight into the wall where they stuck in the metal.

“An-Anakin m’ so sorry.” She sniffled under the intensity of everything I was doing.

“Look at you, pathetic.” I laughed at her tears as she tried to wipe them away.

“No. No leave them. Wanna see how sorry you are princess.”

I drew back my hand as she tilted her head back to moan loudly, taking the opportunity to slap the shit out of her just to hear her squeal.

“Je-Jesus. You liked that?” Her body shook and I felt a new gush of slick coat my cock.

She nodded fervently, eyes begging for more. So I gripped her throat at the base squeezing tightly and watching her eyes cross as I pinched her clit with the Force.

My hand drew back… and I suddenly had a wicked idea. Bringing my palm to my opposite shoulder preparing to give her the hardest back handed smack she’ll ever receive. As soon as my knuckles made contact with her cheek she produced a noise I’d never heard her make before, an animalistic groan that shot electricity straight to my dick.

“G-god damn.” I watched her body convulse under my touch, her eyelids fluttering uncontrollably, she came with a loud shriek that forced me to cover her mouth quickly.

“Y-you… oh fuck.” My teeth clicked together as I felt my resolve slipping. “Look at those pretty tears. Crying for me while you take my cock so well.”

I leaned down to lick the salty tears from her face, paying extra attention to her red hot cheek, soothing it with sloppy open mouthed kisses.

“God this cunt, this perfect little cunt.” My hips grinding against hers as I let the dam break feeling my cock twitch deep inside her. Babbling incoherent nonsense into her shoulder as I shuddered against her.

“Fuckin’ dream about it, god I’d fucking live in it if you’d let me.”

Tag List:

@tsugumiholic

@kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch

@cherrylooney

@star611

@tahliac11

@exquisit3corpse

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed!

#slutty anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #sw anakin #anakin smut #anakin x you #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #darth vader #darth vader smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x fem reader

[mishsymishy]

-Digital circus/Reader Angst¡¡ Part2-

Warnings!!!: Guilt, past traumas, past losses, pain, obsession , confusing feelings, about thinking

(first,If there is any language error please tell me, English is not my first language Imao, and I never write angst gonna be honest)

You can take it as platonic or romantic, although it is more romantic

—

Caine!

— It's an AI..So he has felt artificial love for once in his entire digutal life and their love abstracts it, well it doesn't end well. He doesn't feel guilty, because he knows it's not his fault, but if he gets too sad, he tries not to show it so that others don't worry about why it's not as chaotic as before, although sometimes his decline is noticeable.

— He won't put you in the basement, Not with the others, because he knows that you are not like the others, you are his, and his sure you remember him..At least he wants to think that you recognize him.

—He will not leave you even if you are no longer you, if now you are just a dark black mass with eyes, he still loves you and waits for the moment when he can save you from being that thing. He does everything to know that he led you to that mental void, that he needs to improve, why he doesn't want that when he saves you (he's not sure if he can do it but he want to think so) you don't fall into despair again

—The first time they told him that someone had been abstracted, he didn't care much, it wasn't like it was anything new... I don't even pay much attention to other people's words ,but he didn't expect it to be you ,so when he put the black mess in the basement and he went to look for you to see if you were okay I mean he really cares about you and couldn't wait to comfort you. After seeing that you were the one who got abstracted, He refused to cross out your door and start to panic in silence .

—He goes back to the basement and quickly knows who you are, he takes you out of that place and locks you in, but he makes it as comfortable as possible although well, you don't seem to remember him. He spends 24/7 with you, it's like an obsession that you return to your normal state, he still loves you and he's not going to stop loving you, you were the only person he ever truly loved, not even the moon.

—He still continues with his daily missions and contests, he can't let others go crazy too, he can't make the same mistake (your loss has made him afraid of being alone in the digital circus , again) Although, they are beginning to doubt his strange behavior, as if he no longer watches them as much with his millions of eyes... as if he were busy with something else

—He WILL do everything he can and has in hand to return you to your original state. he doesn't care about the others abstracts, its only you and you.

—

Kinger!

-It's already screwed, but now much more. He lost two partners, so when you were normal, he was already dedicated to taking care of you as if you were a butterfly in a cocoon. He unburdened himself with you, he told you his closest sorrows and fears. So what he was wondering is, why didn't you tell him? Why didn't you want his help? Was he the reason you left? Is he the problem?

-He feels guilty, very guilty. So much so that I no longer want to become friends with someone, he is afraid that they will leave like the others, like you. He thinks he's lost you forever, he doesn't even think about the possibility that Caine can fix you, he just focuses on the fact that it's his fault and that he should be in your place, not you. You didn't deserve that fate, he does.

-He misses you a lot, and many times he forgets that you are no longer with him. Once he came out of his pillow fort looking for you to tell you facts about ants, he stood inches from his pillow fort and muttered something quickly, getting back in, as absolute silence was heard.

- Some are worried about him, like Ragatha or Gangle (who she tried to cheer him up with her happy mask, but it's just being yelled at in the face and him running away). He was the first and the one who lasted the longest so it wouldn't surprise them if he was next, which is more likely to happen. Jax stopped him from bothering him by trying to make a joke, which he quickly regretted when he saw him in a dismal state .

- He has a pillow in his hand, gripping it tightly while he looks at it with his eyes, fixed on the pillow, he had hidden from the others in a place a little hidden from the bright. He didn't know why but he didn't want to be here alone again. He felt the emptiness inside him again, only now it was three times as painful, he squeezes the pillow tighter while closing his eyes tightly.

I didn't know when or how, but it was no longer 'him', now only it's ,him remains and one more abstraction. At least he wanted to be able to see you one more time, even if it's both this way, he doesn't care anymore. He loses the sense of thinking while it is only a black mass with eyes

—

Zooble!

-Act like they gives a shit, Although when they see you abstract they just stay silent like it's just you? and them in this whole digital world ,others at least don't notice it that your loss affected them in so many ways.Surely they will stop making annoying or realistic comments, they will miss some but they won't say more, people like Jax did notice that detail, when something with a problem happened they is no longer the usual Zooble, the one who is realistic and stops Jax from making more disasters and more,now she just leaves faster and more frequently, as if they wanted to be alone with them memories.

-they feels guilty for letting you ruin yourself in this place, they can imagine why you became abstracted and they doesn't forgive theyself. Although such a loss for a trapped person may be the end, it will only make they want to get out of there more, Having it as a main objective (the second would be to never love or get attached to anyone again in that place)

-they wants to go out for you, although they wanted to go out with you and mostly thought about scenarios of you together in the human world.Now that you're not here them desire to do everything except go out has mostly gone away, so that you can feel proud of them wherever you are, And it's good to lose them to abandon you

—

finished! YAYYY (I update it quickly because I forgot about Zooble)

#the amazing digital circus x reader #the amazing digital circus #tadc x reader #caine x reader #the amazing digital circus caine #jax the amazing digital circus #tadc kinger #kinger x reader #tadc caine #tadc #the amazing digital circus ponmi #the amazing digital circus ragatha #tadc jax #tadc pomni #angst #lovers #friendship #tadc zooble #zooble x reader #the amazing digital circus zooble

[desceros]

Y'kno. Leo could have taken that little secret to the grave. Woulda sucked to live with it and he'd have deserved some inner turmoil for treating some random chick like dirt. Yet V was naive, trusting and loving enough to let it go if he'd never had brought it up.

But no, he had to clear his guilt. Unburden himself. Dump that shit on her.

And fuck, he's so used to her giving he was probably half-expecting forgiveness for it.

Gotamn, V can't catch a break. One one hand you got a guy you thought you were BFFs with who

a) hated you

b) used you as an emotional crutch for his whole family

and

c) couldn't even shut up about it to spare you the extra heartbreak after literally EVERYTHING ELSE.

And another guy who you thought was as into you as you were into him because he apparently can't communicate about feelings since he's shut himself out from that part of life and you gotta use hyperspecific, robotic wording to not get your heart broken again like you're signing a contract with some fucked up version of the fae.

None of them are putting in the work to mend any of their personal shit and you're the giving type that gets easily taken advantage of, even unintentionally.

Honestly, neither of them are shitting rainbows to be worth all the effort you gotta put in their asses for any semblance of a functional friendship/situationship.

Also

"You weren't part of the family."

U kno what, he can keep it. They're the only people who'll be able to stand him at this rate.

so i addressed the first part of this in another ask re: ableism here but i'll briefly summarize things here.

leo didn't tell viola-chan what was bothering him because he wanted to "clear his guilt" or "unburden himself. dump that shit on her." he told her because she has made it repeatedly clear that she values honesty. i imagine he would have never told her... but keeping a secret felt like a betrayal. so when she asked, he told her. even though he knew it would hurt and change everything.

With a sigh, you fold your arms, then look at him. “What does this have to do with what you wanted to talk about, anyway?” “Everything,” Leo says, looking at you with a heavy stare. “Because… I have a confession to make. One that’s… that’s going to change how we are. One I really don’t want to make, but it’s—it’s eating me alive. And I don’t think I can continue being friends without telling you.”

that said. i'm not defending his actions. this is abominable behavior. but it's not selfish. not this time.

as for donnie. i'm going to take some righteous issue with how you're saying this. i've spoken before about ableism that's cropping up around this fic, but so far it's been pretty. hm. things i can brush off. but this, i feel, really crosses a line for me.

your framing of an autistic person needing someone to "use hyperspecific, robotic wording to not get your heart broken again like you're signing a contract with some fucked up version of the fae" is ringing quite poorly in my ears.

as an autistic person myself who has specifically made requests to my own loved ones that this is the exact kind of language i need to have smooth relationships, i don't appreciate your wording.

in symphony, donnie doesn't use the label 'autistic'. but he is. and he doesn't come up to you and say 'hey can i please have his kind of language used with me.' because he hasn't had to do that before. everyone around him has had his entire life to adapt to his needs. but viola-chan hasn't, hence why they have friction and misunderstandings. a large part of this story is the two of them learning to communicate. and part of that, i am sorry to tell you, is that autistic people often need language that can come across as "robotic" and "hyperspecific". so i'm going to ask you to deal with it, or perhaps look for a different fic. i'm not going to change that interpretation of things, because it comes from my own experiences as an autistic person.

lastly, you say "none of them are putting in the work to mend any of their personal shit" and that just?? isn't true??? this is literally just poor reading comprehension. an inability to look past the limited point of view of the protagonist. the entire first arc of this fic (ch. 1-11) is donnie stretching out of his comfort zone to tackle this serious problem he has. the second arc (12-20) is him pushing past things he's never done before so he can heal and touch his brothers again. leo comes to you and tells you about his issues with his sleep, where they come from, and lets you help him. not to mention mikey and raph, whom i assume you're leaving out of this ask since you haven't mentioned them. draxum even mentions, specifically, that viola-chan's presence is making them change. and the way he says it is very specific.

“Blue has been much more lively since you came around, and Donatello is much less crabby. Michael was also telling me you gave him some good exercises for his wrist. I was impressed. I’ve been meaning to ask you to work with Red as well on his trauma response since you seem to have a knack for it.”

work with. not on. i know i'm subtle, but come on.

anyway. this got quite long, but i'm not going to put it under a cut because i want these things to be open and visible. i've had a couple people say some somewhat similar things about donnie's part in this and i'm. getting kind of tired of it lmao. but thank you for reading, and i do appreciate you taking the time to send in your thoughts!!

#ask tag #symphony tag #symphony meta

[heavencasteel420]

Okay. I’m gonna be a hater.

I’m not against St4ncy because of the association between their first time and Barb dying. If they were good together and she really wanted to be with him, then I wouldn’t be rooting for her survivor’s guilt to keep that from happening.

I’m also not against St4ncy because of the S1 graffiti, per se. From a writing perspective, I think the show over-egged the pudding by making both Jonathan and Steve do such shitty things to Nancy in S1. I believe the creators were mainly trying to make certain things happen plot-wise (there needs to be a photo of the demogorgon, the teen confrontation needs to be immediate and public so Jonathan and Nancy can end up at the police station) and trying to foreshadow Steve’s heel-face turn by making his objections to the photos more reasonable, and they did a clumsy job of it. And I think it’s basically fine for the creators, having realized that this was all too much, to quietly drop it. Such is the nature of multi-season TV. Realistically, it’s wild that Steve and Nancy would get back together a mere month after all of that, but, unless a shipper actually says stuff like “it’s not that bad that he would do that, because he was understandably upset” or “it was just vandalism,” I’m not going to assume that they’re chill with the graffiti.

That being said, the whole “Steve’s feelings were hurt because he thought he was being cheated on and he’s young and it was all Tommy’s fault anyway and he apologized” vs. “Jonathan had no motivations other than intrinsic badness and his youth is not a factor and his apology doesn’t count and his terrible home life is not only not an excuse but a justification for Steve’s tenuously connected shitty actions” thing has soured me on large swathes of Steve fans across the board. I’ve seen too much of the so-called real-life justice system to find this attitude anything other than disturbing. But this isn’t exclusively a St4ncy shipper problem. If anything, they at least usually like Nancy enough not to act like she’s somehow at fault for the photos because she forgave Jonathan later (???) or put her “cheating” on Steve on the same level as the guys’ worst S1 behavior.

My main reasons for disliking the ship (in an exclusive endgame kind of way; I’m cool with Stoncy most of the time and I think they canonically had some good times together) are way more subjective. The first reason is that Jonathan is my favorite and St4ncy shippers invariably don’t like or get him. This is predictable, although not inevitable; Jancy shippers don’t dislike Steve so uniformly, for example. So obviously that’s not gonna work out.

The second reason is that I just don’t find the things people like about their relationship very romantic or desirable. He’s protective of her, but that mainly seems to involve trying to keep her from doing things she believes she has to do or retaliating against others in ways she finds distasteful. There’s not a lot of awareness of her perspective. He wants to be with her “no matter what,” with no consideration for the obstacles, but those obstacles seem to include “what she wants” and “what they are both like as people.” I’d get it more if he was like “I don’t know what the future will bring, but I’d like to give this a chance in the short term” or “listen, I can figure out what to do with my life in Boston as well as anywhere else,” but instead he just does not seem to know her at all or be thinking about what they would do as a couple in the immediate future. After a point, that’s just being in love with the idea of being in love.

Also—and I am not trying to be catty here—I think it’s kind of silly to compare his romantic dreams with Jonathan having reservations due to trauma, poverty, and family obligations. That’s not so much a testament to Steve loving her more as it is an indication that he is relatively unburdened by material concerns. He may be broke, but he’s not dealing with entrenched multi-generational poverty. I’m not saying these things to suggest that Nancy would be wrong to break up with Jonathan—sometimes love isn’t enough—or that Steve is less deserving of love because his life is easier, but I am saying that Steve was kinda born on third base here.

I am not convinced that Steve would do “anything” for Nancy! Nor do I think that he should! That is not a good or sexy dynamic in an equal romantic partnership to me! They should both have other principles and goals of their own! (Also. Is the guy who wouldn’t revise his college essay in S2 really gonna move to Boston for her? I think he’s changed, sure, but not in that particular way.)

#anti stancy #just dumping this all here #I’m trying to be more positive #but in order to be positive we must sometimes Bitch

[deathsbestgirl]

scully's memento mori voiceovers. her love letter to mulder. leaving him something because she can't be there.

"i feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you will read them and share my burden, as i have come to trust no other. that you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort to me now..."

trying to unburden herself, to leave him with the love in her heart and free him of the guilt of her death too.

"a faith shaken and strengthened by your convictions, if not for which i may have never have been so strong now."

telling him how he's changed her world, made her stronger and is the only reason she can face this.

"hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you"

she wants to finish the journey with him but she can't. asking forgiveness for something that isn't her fault. leaving him is the worst thing she can imagine.

"that it starts as an invader, but soon becomes one with the invaded, forcing you to destroy it, but only at the risk of destroying yourself."

this is the whole show. scully sent to spy on mulder, to debunk his work. the pilot is about them developing trust and becoming a team. becoming so intertwined that they are one, two sides of the same coin. it's the whole conspiracy and why they'll never win. to do so would mean to destroy themselves and lose their innate goodness. to be like the men in the shadow government they're desperately trying to expose and to stop.

"it's science's demon possession. my treatment, science has attempted exorcism"

connecting science & her faith. her beliefs & her skepticism. somehow one and the same when seemingly at odds.

"and if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was a possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done. and though we've traveled far together , this last distance must necessarily be traveled alone."

she doesn't want to be his next crusade. the next one he uses to nail himself to the cross. she doesn't want him to walk into every room with his eyes closed, hoping that when he opens them she'll be there. she knows him. she knows his pain and his guilt it, and she tries desperately to absolve him. love as absolution in the only thing she can give him now. these words before her death.

"mulder, it's difficult to describe to you the fear of facing an enemy which i can neither conquer nor escape."

the vulnerability she is consciously handing to him.

she writes of penny northern, a woman she loves and fears, envies and respects. because she faced what she knew to be true and tried to pass the strength and wisdom onto her.

"mulder, i feel you close, though i know you are now pursuing your own path. for that i am grateful, more than i could ever express. i need to know you're out there if i am ever to see through this."

she speaks as if he isn't out there searching for answers to help her, to save her. as if it's just his quest for the truth he's continuing. as if scully isn't the most important thing to him right now. as if his life doesn't depend on hers. but she knows. and she needs him to know everything he does is worthwhile. that she can't go into the darkness if he isn't there to light it up, even from afar. that he is light & love and making a difference in the world. in her world.

--

every time scully says "mulder" addressing him directly as she pours her heart out on page after page. leaving him with no answers, leaving him alone, dying before they reach the truth. it's a living nightmare. lying on her deathbed unable to help him, unable to give him what he needs. what he deserves. the prospect of leaving him with no one to trust, no one on his side, no one to love him and follow him. terrified he will follow her to the grave. that's what she believes her role is supposed to be, the end of their never ending line and she needs his to keep going.

#the crushing worry she feels for him #the pain of a loving a man who takes responsibility for every bad thing that happens around hum #should leave this in the drafts #SHES DYING AND SHE LOVES HIM AND HOW CAN SHE LEAVE HIM ALONE BUT SHE CANT SAVE HERSELF #her science can't save her like it's saved him #how much did mulder read #dana scully #memento mori #cancer arc #txf quotes #the x files

[terrence-silver]

which do you think is the most unusual or surprising kink for each TIG character?

---

― To me, Terry McCain always seemed like he actually, deep down, liked subbing. Or rather, someone else taking charge and relieving some of his tensions and all the stresses that come with his particular line of work --- which are many. There's a lot of stresses in being a Detective --- in being in Law Enforcement --- trust and believe. Guy's immensely dedicated to his profession, his badge, his colleagues, his duties, those he puts behind bars and does he doesn't even more so; he works too hard, he kicks, he fights, he's a bit unhinged and very impassioned by nature and needs to blow off some steam lest he blows a fuse. These are just facts. Not to mention, it's hard to explain, but something about a very temperamental man like him being so full of perverted innuendos, being so cocky, hotheaded, naturally volatile and conventionally Catholic (with a tinge of guilt that might come with unconventional desires) yields itself to be the belief that he'd enjoy being reigned in and topped and letting loose through that, even if he doesn't realize it and nobody else realizes it either, because he has all the supposed markers of someone who takes charge, right? Right!? Wrong. In my humblest of opinions, it's usually the people who are full of bravado and excessive excessiveness that enjoy being put in their place once in a while and silenced; Terry McCain is one such person, I feel.

― Gus Travis has a thing for domesticity. I think he likes aprons, housewives, someone devotedly waiting on him and he likes homes in general, or rather, homeliness and its overall setting and atmosphere; could sound unusual, but when you live a criminal lifestyle, robbing, stealing, being on the run, spending time in compounds, harbors, boats, ships and on living the life of a felon, the concept of domesticity becomes rare and attractive irregardless of the fact that Gus always just dreamed of sailing out and never coming back. One doesn't cancel out the other. He enjoys fucking someone bent over a counter. Over furniture. While they make him dinner. While they draw him a bath. He wants to approach them from behind while they iron clothes or lounge at them and get handsy while they're carrying in groceries they picked up at the supermarket as he angrily demands to know where were they and what took them so long. He might just enjoy spicing up his kink for domesticity by playing the role of a jealous husband, which is everything but a role. He really is like that. But, as for the rest? He wants to be everything he's not; A man who's happily settled down in a sleepy suburbia; the big bad criminal fucking and despoiling his person on every surface ordered from some glossy catalogue like a man on dry land should.

― Just going off of sheer logic, you know what a Vampire who's been bereft of the sun undoubtedly want most? Just making love somewhere out in the open. Unfettered. In nature. Under God's sky. Maybe a summery, abandoned beach somewhere, absolutely uninhibited and unburdened, as naked and free as Adam and Eve in the garden before the fall. That feels like Jan Valek. Profoundly so. Because, lets face it, he's for sure tried everything --- he's had six centuries to try everything, not limited by stamina, exhaustion or basic human needs. Blood play and being telepathically connected with his whole coven, feeling everything they feel, copulating with them, copulating and seducing his victims too, eating them and drinking them and all sorts of unimaginables that we could reasonably subscribe to the Father of the Damned himself, but the one thing Jan couldn't have is, say, sex under the sun. Just simply basking out there, feeling someone's skin warmed by the rays from above next to his; a fantasy so prevalent, out of reach and overidealized in his mind that it turned into a dream as well as a sexual desire. Proof his soul has been regained. That he's whole. Liberated. He's wanted this all his life and couldn't have it. Maybe it's precisely why he aches for it.

― You asked for surprising and unusual kinks these characters have, but would anyone really be surprised if I said Jack Blaylock has a fixation for lust murder as a concept? Would anyone really be surprised by that? That he's an Erotophonophiliac and Autoassasinophiliac in equal measure? That he likes death? Fetishizes it, rather. Putting someone in potentially mortal danger and bringing them back from the edge before actual harm can come to them? That he finds it to be an artistic craft? Killing in a lovely way? Killing gruesomely? Killing neatly and killing chaotically? Pretending to kill and making it look and feel real? That he finds it erotic? Like an artist painting a canvas for commission? That his sexual fixations are just as fatal as his profession? That the fact he terminates targets for hire bled into what he wants in sex? That he finds the dead beautiful? Alluring? That he could very well verge into flat out Necrophilia? Thing is, he wants to wrap his hands around your windpipes and press down enough to make you lose consciousness, or dig the tip of a sword to a jugular just precisely enough to where if he moved a mere centimeter, he'd bleed you dry. Maybe have you lay down perfectly still, pretending not to be alive anymore, while he trails his hands across your arms, legs. Yeah. There's a thought.

― Being a dirty cop who likes making his profit on the side through extortion, abductions, embezzling and kidnapping, having his professional (and unprofessional) criminal career leanings possibly blend in with his kinks, I think Cash has a deep abiding relish for when his hostages actually...get a load of this...manage to escape. Or rather, to be more precise provide good sport and offer him the opportunity of a good chase. Not so much to where they actually endanger and sabotage the mission, but certainly enough to where he can intercept them, capture them, subdue them, threaten them up close and personal and retrieve them back. He doesn't mind a good fight. A good kick. Some spitting. Some blood. Doesn't mind meekness and surrender either, so long as there was some unexpected spice to the whole issue at hand. Something to quell the often repetitive catch and grab home invasion tactic that makes him his profit and the long, tense, tedious hours and days of negotiation actually needed to earn him that ransom money. And even though he's all strictness and he might tell a hostage to sit down, stay put, be quiet and obey, Cash actually wants them to misbehave and show some spunk and teeth in spite of what he says. It's exhilarating, it's lively, it pumps up the blood, and most importantly --- it's hot.

― I think Terry Silver's tried every type of sex, fetish and kinkery under the sun throughout his life, so if one thing that could be surprising or unusual in the bedroom with him is that he's actually a sucker for plain old intimacy and someone just taking care of him. Someone he can put his guard down with. Be 'weak' with, considering he's someone who places immense value into strength and supremacy as an ideal and this is precisely why this desire for someone's dedication is so oddly transgressive for him in the first place. He wants someone he can be vulnerable with behind closed doors, as much as Terry can be vulnerable in the classical sense. A kink for someone being his savior, even, considering trauma, personhood and sexuality correlate and intermingle very deeply with him, and the many times, and that one particular crucial instance he was saved during the war quite literally set up the trajectory of his whole life from there on out. As such, on some guilty, immensely hidden and pathological level Terry gets a kick for someone standing up for him to the degree it actually turns him on because he correlates it with love. He doesn't need anyone to do it. He's stronger, more capable and cunning than anyone he goes toe to toe with, but it's the act of devotion itself --- oh, the act of devotion that works as a potent aphrodisiac when Terry sees you speaking up for him, defending him, championing him that just does something to his brain that makes him want to excuse himself to go and fuck you that very instant.

#terry silver #terry mccain #cash #gus travis #jan valek #jack blaylock #kk3 #cobra kai #excessive force #kidnapping #the kidnapping #black friday #vampires #black point #ulterior motives #terry silver x reader #terry mccain x reader #cash x reader #jan valek x reader #gus travis x reader #jack blaylock x reader #tw; kinks

[samheughanswife]

Sparkle Premier

It’s interesting seeing the very unburdened appearance of both Sam and Caitriona during press commitments and the red carpet for S7 premier. It’s evident that both are overjoyed to be in each others company this time, unlike the separation of the S6 premier (remember Caitriona all alone). Caitríona in 🇺🇸 due to Belfast commitments and Sam and the rest of the cast in London. The distance was not just physical it was emotional as well. The photos tell the story.

Two years since the birth of blonde boy it is clear that Caitriona has emerged from the fog of exhaustion and the stress a geriatric pregnancy delivered her physically and emotionally. Those of us who have been fortunate enough to have carried and then delivered safely can confirm how quickly joy and relief can be replaced with exhaustion, body insecurities and guilt if work commitments intrude in that first year of life. The difference is that Caitriona’s first year as a new mother was in full glare of a fandom that is adversarial.

Fast forward to this week and we are seeing big difference.

Giddy, happy Caitriona has been front and centre. Touchy feely Caitriona moving in for the RC embrace, - is thawed by Sam’s hands in pockets. Sam initially cautious, but then swept up in the clearly evident possessive and happy Caitriona. He has always taken his RC cues from her. He is always attune to her emotions during RC appearances. It’s all there in photos and videos, past and present. Happy Caitriona happy Sam. Conflicted and upset Caitriona, unsettled and insecure Sam.

✨✨✨

Remember the days when we never had a dime

And our dreams seemed a million miles away

But we made it baby

Facin' the bad times with a smile

Here we are and we're growin' stronger day by day

Cause we got love times love

It's always there for us to share

And girl it sure feels good to know

You're by my side

Cause we're just two high hearts

That beat as one forever on

With love times love to keep us satisfied every night

#Spotify

[ellestra]

Always be my sister

It seems for many people Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.2 is the inferior movie. The worst of the bunch (not as bad as second instalments of Iron Man and Thor but still not up to par) but for me it was my favourite until now. It’s the way it allows the character to look back at their lives and see there were good things in their past not only bad. Makes them appreciate what they already had not only long for what they wish they had. In all the damage that made their past there ware some genuine connections even if they were so small and fragile in swamped by the hurt. And they let them grow. And it happened for Peter and Yondu. For Rocket and the team (although we only can fully understand how important that was until now in Vol.3). But for me the one that really resonated was the one between Gamora and Nebula because it seemed so hopeless. 

At least we see Yondu actually want to make up to Peter in Vol.2. Nebula seems to be driven only by hate – she preferred to cut off her own hand than take Gamora’s and responds to kindness with only more aggression. Until she wins.

Gamora’s own damage made her never allow herself to be vulnerable as a way to defend herself. She learns to allow it slowly with Peter. And the little slip with Nebula is what brings her sister form the brink because that’s what Nebula really needed to show her own. It shows Gamora that vulnerability doesn’t lead only to being used by others. And it allows Nebula to slowly allow others get close without expectation it will always hurt. And it allows both of them to develop a real sisterhood and it’s beautiful. But it’s also heartbreaking because Thanos uses it against them and Gamora dies as a result. And Nebula carries this guilt with her.

But that connection, that little thread they found in their horrible past in GotG Vol.2 is what allows Nebula to save another Gamora in Endgame. To give her sister another chance at life and happiness. Nebula is willing to be there for her sister but knows she need time on her own to deal with the fallout just like Nebula needed it after the battle with Ego. New Gamora’s Thanos made scars are too fresh and Nebula understands because just a few years ago their roles were reversed and she couldn’t stay with the Guardians either. But both then and now they will be there for each other when needed.

The Gamora who was family to the Guardians of the Galaxy is gone. The memories of their years together belonged to another person and she cannot be that person. The lessons that Gamora learnt, the connections she made and the love she held belonged only to her. This new version hasn’t lived through that and never let her guards down or became a hero. She isn’t there yet. But she did find her own found family with Ravagers. She still has people who love her and make her a better person and let her heal after Thanos. It’s just not the same people. It’s not the Guardians. They are just too way ahead of her in that whole redemption arc. But she is still loved.

But she is still sister to Nebula. Look, they even wear spacesuits in each other colors. They never stop calling each other sister. Nebula has been in contact with Gamora this whole time because they are still connected by their shared history. And this is loyalty above all else so even though it clearly pains Nebula to see Peter drink himself unconscious because he’s missing his Gamora she doesn’t tell him. She knows it’s unfair to make Gamora carry the responsibility of healing the pain of a guy she barely met. She can never be the woman he misses anyway. Nebula doesn't tell the others because she understands Gamora is not responsible for solving their grief and that she has to sort her own post-Thanos feelings. She gives her sister what other Gamora gave her after part 2 - space to find out who she is. Nebula owes it to the sister who died to give this life to help Gamora’s variant get a chance of finding her own happiness unburdened by expectations of others. She owes it to her to always put her sister’s best interest first.

Nebula only brings them together for Rocket because she needs to help the friend who got her through the years of losing her sister and everyone else. Because Rocket is Nebula’s family too and she needs them all to save him and that means she heeds her sister too. But even then she makes sure to curate the interactions between her two families. She stops Quill when he gets too needy. She stops Gamora when she gets too aggressive. Nebula learnt to love them all and she needs them all to help Rocket and maybe understand each other better along the way. And they do. In the end Gamora sees why these losers became family to her other variant and her sister. She got a bit of taste of how it was to be thieves and the big, damn heroes together and learnt that they are not that bad after all. And Peter accepts that this Gamora will never be the woman he knew. That she is her own person. And he learns to listen to his own sister. She too only has his best interests in mind.

The history cannot repeat. This is just closure. They rest of Guardians and this Gamora are still strangers to each other. They are not this Gamora’s family. They are Nebula’s family. She really become all her first sister wanted to be and even the new variant can see it. But they are all connected because Nebula is still family to them all. It’s just that this Gamora and Nebula each have their own found families. They can hang out with each other’s from time to time but they longer share one.

But they still share all the years under Thanos and the connection they made with the sibling they hated the least and while saving each other during Endgame. They will still always be there for each other. Gamora knows it too and she sticks for the High Evolutionary ship rescue because she wants to save her sister. She goes with her to save the kids and becomes a hero because they always have each other’s backs. They will always be sisters.

Look at them growl at each other before each rejoins their chosen family. Their story went full circle and it’s sad but it’s also beautiful and they’ll always have their sisterhood.

#guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy 3 #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #guardians of the galaxy spoilers #gotg #gotg3 #gotg vol 3 #gotg spoilers #gotg3 spoilers #nebula #gamora #gotg nebula #nebula gotg #peter quill #rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy 2 #gotg2 #gotg vol 2

[neteyamb]

ashes to ashes: chapter two

pairing: loak x f!omatikaya reader

summary: as a healer, y/n had taken an oath to treat every patient with their best interests in mind. this hadn’t been a problem, until loak’s petty injuries become a routine. she has to swallow her pride and feign concern, feign kindness, and face the ugly hate that has been brewing between them for years. 

tags: enemies to lovers, best friend kiri, mentions of blood, tension

word count: 1.6k

notes: i literally put one (1) drink into my system and feel the overwhelming urge to write them making out sloppily but i CANT yet. bear with me.

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

billie bossa nova

love when it makes you lose your bearings / it might be more of an obsession / you better lock your phone / and look at me when you're alone / won't take a lot to get you goin' / i'm sorry if it's torture though / that heavy breathin' on the floor / i’m yours, i'm yours 

nova – a star that suddenly increases its light output tremendously and then fades away to its former obscurity

maiya’s eyes were locked on you as you watched loak storm out of the hut, tail swishing wildly behind him. your shoulders were tense, and you stared at his back with a blaze flickering behind your eyes as if you were attempting to burn a hole straight through him. she pursed her lips before giving a resigned sigh. “y/n, dear, a healer must welcome someone in need with open arms. i realize you two have… issues, but eywa has chosen this path for you. do not throw it away for this boy. you have a strong heart and gentle hands, you will grow to be a fine healer.” 

your stomach dipped at her words, surprised by the comforting gesture. you were happy to work alongside such an understanding woman, but you felt misplaced as a medicine man. the title weighed heavy on your conscience; everytime you were faced with a bloodied guest, you doubted the purity of your morals. were you even upstanding enough for them to put their trust in you? a twinge of guilt filled your lungs, compromised your senses, and made your cheeks darken in shame under her kind eyes. you turned towards her and offered what you hoped was more of a smile than a grimace before resuming your work. 

✶✶✶✶

your apprenticeship left ample room for free time. you wandered the archery grounds, absentmindedly shuffling the stones under your feet. kiri would meet you there shortly for a round of target practice. you admired the way she carried herself, unburdened by responsibilities. this wasn’t to say that kiri didn’t have responsibilities; she frequently prepared meals with her mother, watched over tuk, and wove beautiful clothing articles for her siblings. sometimes she could even be found working with remedies at your side. but she was a free spirit, balancing these tasks with ease. no singular label tied her down.

as she approached the clearing, you offered her a beaming smile and waved her over with a bow in your hand. “hey girl, long time no see!” she shouted from the trees. “i saw you yesterday, kiri. although since then my life has drastically changed!” you sarcastically shouted back with an amused grin on your lips. a loud laugh waved through her body as she came to a stop beside you. “ready to get your ass beat?” she asked, removing an arrow from her quiver. you shoved her side lightly, “it depends, is that what usually happens to the winner?” 

the playful jabs continued throughout the training, ebbing away at the worry you carried in your chest from the day before. you two were tied, each with one target to go. you straightened your spine and pulled the drawstring back, allowing it to rest lightly on your lips. you squinted an eye, inhaling sharply through your nose before letting it fly to hit dead center. you whipped your head in her direction, smug. “wow, i can’t believe i’m the best archer ever. i’d like to thank my family and also eywa for this opportunity,” you teased. she smacked you lightly with her tail, a smirk on her lips as she released her own string. “a tie again. one of these days i’ll get you. sleep with one eye open, y/n.” 

you chirped at eachother the whole way back to hometree, eventually slipping into quiet, lighthearted conversation. you lay on your back, the grass tickling the nape of your neck as you chew your lip worriedly in a lapse of silence. “kiri,” you start cautiously, “have you ever felt like shit? generally? i mean, i love maiya like a mother, but i sometimes feel like i’m wasting my days in that hut. i don’t even know if i’m cut out for it.” you avoid her eyes, instead suddenly finding great interest in the trees above. she rolls onto her stomach, pinching her nose in thought. “sometimes. like, i don’t even know if i fit into any one role, i just wander. i think loak is the same; although he’s always training with dad, i’m not sure his heart is in it.” you tense at the mention of his name, chewing the inside of your cheek as you hum in response. of course, she knew you two weren’t on good terms, but he was her brother, and you weren’t daft enough to assume he would just disappear; nor would you ever ask her to censor her life for you. “and, y/n, you are not only a healer,” she adds. you meet her eyes now, pushing yourself to mirror her soft smile. she strays from the topic, leaving the sentence hanging with promise and assurance. 

you find yourself heading back to the healing hut in hopes of finding maiya. instead, a lone figure was hunched over your fieldnotes, too tall to be the elder in question. loak, with trained ears, hears you in the entrance despite your quiet steps. you march over to him, peeling the journal from his grasp. “that’s not yours,” you spit. although the journal held only facts and data of wildlife, you felt violated that he’d looked through it. he leans back on the counter, peering down at you through his brow with a coy smirk tugging at his lips. “your writing is illegible. it looks like it belongs to some blind kid.” you seethe, flashing your canines passively while you hurriedly flip through the pages, half-expecting him to have ripped some out. they were pristine, as you had left them. your eyes meet his again, viscous like honey from the irritation swimming in them. “what do you want?” he clenches his jaw and manually removes his gaze from your own, putting his arm out to you defiantly.

his bicep is marred with blood, now dry and coppery against his cerulean skin. you surrender, remembering what maiya had told you after his last visit. while you didn’t have your heart set on being a healer, you didn’t want to disappoint her. she relied on your help; no longer swift or energetic enough to make the trip for gathering. he allows himself to be led towards the mat, feeling your prodding fingers pushing him down to sit. dusk had began to fall on the village, leaving a cool breeze gliding through the flaps of the hut. you take a cloth to his bicep, which he still holds out for you quietly. he clenches his jaw at the pressure you apply, refusing to let out a hiss of pain in your presence. 

“looks like the trainee isn’t off to a great start. i’ve been here for about an hour,” he grunts. you furrow your brow, feeling it twitch with annoyance, and press the cloth harder into his wound. “ow, what the fuck?” he barks. “don’t be an ass, i’m the only one here to help you.” your jaw juts in anger, eyes trained on him for his next move. your interactions were like a game of chess; each word aimed at destroying the other’s ego. right now, loak was losing. and he knew it. quick to retaliate, he counters, “you’re hardly any help at all.” he was struggling to control his voice, hate rising in his throat like bile. but chess was a game of calculation; whoever breaks first is the loser. 

you narrow your eyes, nipping at your cheek in a feeble attempt to keep your temper in check. you dip your fingers into the fresh pot of yalnabark that sat near your hip. “if you were a better warrior you wouldn’t get mauled every day, you wouldn't need my help,” you jeer. loak’s stomach tenses with rage, causing him to stutter under your touch. “if you were a better warrior, you’d be on the battlefield instead of fawning over every scratch in the clan,” he snaps, ripping his arm away. 

it’s wrong to hurt someone who seeks assistance in your own healing hut. you know that. he was grasping for the upper hand, and overstepped. you could ignore it if you really wanted to. fuck it, though. you shove him into the mat, shouting curses in his face. he was able to keep up with your rapidly escalating anger, growling as he pushed you back. you jolt under his weight, hissing into his chest in a blind rage. a sly grin formed on loak's face, heavy amber eyes following the movement of your mouth as it cursed him to the moons and back. it was short lived as you weighed your options before choosing to knee him in the groin. his hand gripped your forearm as he groaned in pain, pushing you farther into the floor.

the anger you carried was usually shackled tightly, hidden desperately behind thick curtains. loak was the only person you revealed it to. and when you did, instead of the usual passive, clinical, and impersonal 'calming' techniques used by others, he’d bite back with equal force. you would dance with eachother using dangerous words and petty pushes. and the both of you craved it; an outlet to drown in. 

maiya chooses then to walk into the hut, watching you aggressively jostle eachother around like children. disappointment etched across her face as she towered over the scene. loak’s eyes follow yours to meet her gaze. both of your cheeks reddened as you fastidiously removed your hands from eachother. he scrambles to his feet, providing you with one last private snarl before leaving you alone in the hut with her yet again. you locked your jaw, anticipating her reaction with a clenched, dry throat.

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

notes: the devil over my shoulder was telling me to write y/n licking him during that scene, but im a child of god.

taglist: @weasleytwinwheezes

#loak x reader #loak x you #loak sully #avatar way of water #avatar twow #avatar loak #atwow loak #loak smut #loak angst #neteyam x reader #loak imagine #loak headcanons #loak fluff #loak fic #loak fanfiction #avatar #loak slowburn

[voraciouskingdom]

Let the precise and healing energy of the Virgo Full Moon illuminate your path, guiding you to let go of the old and embrace the clarity and wholesomeness awaiting in your newly unburdened journey ahead.

"Purifying Moon in Virgo's sign, Your healing light now intertwines. With clarity, precision, and grace, Help me let go, leave no trace. Old habits, thoughts, the past's regret, Under this moon, I now forget. Release, cleanse, purify, renew, Virgo's discernment sees me through. Earth and herb, salt and flame, Free me from guilt, fear, and blame. By the release of what I write, I embrace growth, with all my might. As I will it, so it shall be, Cleansed and unburdened, I am free."

🌙💙🌙

#Snow Moon #February 24 #full moon #wicca #pagan #magick #witchcraft

[notasapleasure]

(Sorry prepare to be asked about many Lymond fics lol) But…. St Seb? Jerott whump? Feelings?👀👀

Hmm, this is one of those where I think I had a lot more of it 'scripted' in my head than ever actually made it down into the notes file. Some of it made it into bullet points, but I think I could never quite reconcile the 'way in' I found - the outsider perspective of young Walter Scott with the desire to show the Big Feels of Jerott and Francis's conversation first hand.

The idea was that a relative of Austin's heard Jerott was back in the country anyway, and decided to take his own revenge - with arrows because it's quieter than gunfire and Jerott does hang about with a lot of rather accomplished military men.

Mainly I wanted to put Jerott in a position where he has to tell Francis he loves him, then put Francis in a furious flap about not wanting to have heard that (because of the circumstances precipitating it and the fear that having unburdened himself Jerott might not fight so hard to live) with the guilt at being the reason Jerott came back to a place where Grays were seeking vengeance >:3 I think it also involved Danny angst as he supposed Jerott's feelings for Francis were going to override anything else, so when Jerott is actually recovered enough to expand on his admission it's to everyone's surprise and delight that what he admits feeling for Francis is something he's reconciled himself to in a way that he doesn't imagine acting on, and actually it's something he needed to get off his chest so he could deal with the more immediate problem of being in love with Danny. (yeah ig Danny sure is Irene)

Notes and what was written beneath the cut.

Gathering kine from a hot trod with young Scotts (Walter Scott, 4th Earl Buccleuch, b. 1549, Queen's captain 1566)

J sends Scott back and goes to round up stragglers himself

Someone has spread salt to distract them by a woodland

Jerott suspicious but confused, sword drawn to herd cattle with the flat of the blade

Young Grey gets him first, from close, neck/shoulder

Bend to horseback to make himself a smaller target, starting to back away before he wheels

Second shot to chest/side

Gets his pistol, remembers Austin, left-handed shot that would be on target if not for concurrent third shot to the leg

Wounds Grey who flees, shot alerts Lymond

Rides back to group, manages to loose stirrups so when he falls he's not dragged

Lymond makes some comment about overkill and strong tempers, rides back with young Scott

Sees Jerott's horse and flips (subtly)

Goes straight for woods after shouting Archie etc to where J fell

Danny has to fetch him: J is calling for him

Scathing about what he can do for him, everyone perplexed by his venom

But he goes and is quite soft at first, trying to find out who fired the arrows

J wants to tell him something else, F knows and won't let him - Archie etc think it's hard because they think he's not going to make it

Francis : "He's been taking orders his whole life, he'll take this one too."

Jerott still makes him hear it though Francis says he'll regret it when he comes round in comfort at St Mary's

Francis storms round in more of a mood than anyone has seen in an age, swearing vengeance on the Greys with uncharacteristic fury

Until J comes to, is able to stand by what he said and defuse some of F's anger

The fourth Baron of Buccleuch, a lank lad in his mid-teens, reined in his horse and let his exasperation be known. He was to be a commander of men, and in his troop that fresh day were soldiers who had seen more of fighting than even his widely renowned grandfather. Veterans and mercenaries, counts, generals and chevaliers, each had submitted to the orders of young Walter Scott, son of William of Kincurd.

Under Walter's direction, a solid threescore of Scots kine had been recovered before the English border and were now being driven back to their accustomed byres. Surrounded by their rain-hardened, hairy flanks, by their lowing and their shitting and the clanking of their bells, Walter should have been able to wallow in the sensation of success.

Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the stragglers who had peeled away towards a little copse. He wished to be a commander of men, not of cattle, and some of the Scottish animals had evidently discerned this, choosing to test his control by asserting their independence.

Red curls framed Walter's face beneath his polished steel bonnet, his heavy covering of freckles defied the colour staining his cheeks, and he raised his leather gauntlets to his chest as his mount reared its head under pressure of the bit. He shouted after the kine, but they did not change their course. He prepared to ride back for them, knowing full well that this level of responsibility had come to none of the other men so young, and all had first cut their teeth on the roundup before earning their captaincies. If he asked another of them to go on his order, he would deserve to be told to learn the dirty work for himself first.

Walter was surprised then, when the new man called over and waved to Walter to ride on. He was some friend of the Count's, broad-shouldered and hazelnut-skinned, with a great sword that had shed the blood of the infidel and a sardonic, severe look in his eyes.

"Are ye certain?" Walter bellowed over the sound of the herd.

The other man shrugged and turned his horse laconically, though no movement of his hands on the reins or his legs at the sides had been visible. "It's been a long enough night. I may be out of practice, but I'll still have them back faster than you, lad."

Walter paused, mouth gaping in annoyance. Then he decided that it wasn't a task worth squabbling over and nodded in what he presumed was an authoritative manner. "Thank ye."

The man, Blyth his name was - originally from some mercantile family who had long since left the country - raised a bare hand in acknowledgement as he rode back towards the copse. He'd come from Malta, they said. Had fought for the cross and battled pirates. It left Walter a little in awe, but he wasn't sure how much he could believe it, after all - why on earth would a man like that choose to come back to the borders to police families tussling over livestock?

-

It had rained through the night but the morning had come meek and clothed in the sun's silvery rays. The sky was gauzy: delicate satins overlaid by lacy clouds, a curtain that trailed its misty hem across the hills and moors. Long and rich, the grass was aquamarine studded with dewy pearls, darkening where hooves trampled through it. The Borders smelled of life.

Jerott Blyth took in greedy lungfuls of the wet air, happy to feel the chill of it in his arms. He squeezed his knees to the saddle and his horse swished its tail and broke into a trot, and he felt the dew from the grass spatter his cheeks as it was cast high by his horse's passing hooves.

The cattle, three twist-horned old milkers, red and white patched and better travelled than their young captain Buccleuch, had settled to graze on the edge of a straggling copse made up of thin aspens and holly. Jerott pushed the brim of his helmet back with a thumb and hailed the cows, clicking his tongue for their attention and thinking how much simpler this would be than organising panicked farmers among the ruins of St Elmo's.

He slowed his horse to a walk and circled the stubborn grazers. Something had certainly captured their attention among the wet grasses and cowslips, worth rooting out between the strong scented leaves of ramps and their nodding white flowers. Jerott gave a shout and was rewarded with a stare from a single pair of impassive brown eyes, raised momentarily from grazing, and no sign of intent to move otherwise.

He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes, and with a smooth gesture drew the great hand-and-a-half sword at his side and slapped the flat of it against the nearest beast's hindquarters.

The cow flinched, its legs jolting and head raised. It took a couple of steps though, and Jerott rode between it and the edge of the trees, turning it in the direction Buccleuch's party had ridden. He cast a frown at the trampled, muddied grass and noticed crystalline points of white among the greenery. It looked like salt, chipped from a block of lick and scattered down here where passing beasts might scent it.

Jerott looked about to discover the extent of the trail, and hefted his sword, thinking to give the beast another encouraging blow.

There, beneath the overhanging boughs of aspen with their fluffy pink catkins, a gust of wind shielded Jerott from all other sounds. The limbs of the trees sighed and the holly leaves scratched drily against one another and the bark of surrounding saplings. A magpie let out a cackling cry and the wings of a wood pigeon clattered desperately against the wind.

The shuff of metal and wood and grey goose feather rending the air was camouflaged. Jerott's eyes were on the puzzle of the chips of salt, his mind was on the broth waiting at St Mary's and the dry clothes in his chamber and the things he would discuss later with Francis and Danny and Adam and Archie. He was surprised to hear himself grunt, did not know why he raised his free hand at first, why it seemed worth dropping the reins to do so.

There was a shadow in the corner of his eye, like a tree-branch come too close, and it was accompanied by a deepening, spreading pain in his shoulder. He could not turn his face towards it: agony clamped hard on his muscles and he realised that he had been shot.

The arrow shaft pointed skywards, a freakish protrusion from Jerott's collar. His fingertips discovered the entry point, which grew hot and liquid with welling blood. It set contrary waves of cold pumping over his body, shock gnawing on his nerves and his concentration, and Jerott tried to draw a deep breath to counter it.

Pain drove its claws deep into his chest when he did so. It felt like the gesture somehow drew the missile further into his flesh and a cry of discomfort was yanked from between his gritted teeth. Around him, the cattle twitched their ears at the sound, but did not let it interrupt their feasting.

Jerott's body sagged over his horse's neck, and he dropped his left hand to catch himself on the saddle pommel, his sword achingly heavy in his other hand. He made himself suck in air, he drove the blackness from the edges of his vision with one determined thought, and he reminded himself that as the arrow had not finished its work then neither had he.

Training shut down panic with the ruthlessness of a portcullis descending. His body shook but he did not acknowledge it or cede to its demands. Energy rushed through the courses of his body, driven by the need to act.

His attacker had to be close for the shot to have penetrated the fabric of his plate-lined jack. The bracken had died back and the aspens were bare of leaves, but there was cover among the holly. Jerott did not worry about the number of his assailants or their motives for now - what he needed was distance, and the protection of his own cover. The rest of the hot trod would be too far to hear him hail, so he needed to manage this on his own. Jerott regathered the reins in his left hand and flexed the fingers of his right, though the grip of his sword still slipped in his palm before he secured it.

He turned his horse to face the trees and guided it in a sideways, circling trot as he searched the greens and browns for anything amiss. As he moved, he hoped to increase the tree cover between him and the archer, or to force the archer into revealing themselves.

The next shot he dodged, assisted by an impatient gust of wind that took the arrow away to his right. He knew then that they had expected one hit to suffice and that they lacked a great deal of experience in the matters of ambush: Jerott pinned his eyes on the spot the arrow had been fired from and tried to lift his sword, suspecting that a charge would flush them out in a panic. If he could get there quickly enough. His legs tightened on his horse's sides and he rested his right fist against his thigh, forcing the sword blade into the air.

The breeze swirled and he felt it cold in his wound, but it benefitted the archer this time, and though he twisted his body away from the missile, his movement was slowed by his stiffening shoulder. Jerott anticipated the impact, knowing the jack would take the brunt of it, but he had been travelling towards it this time, and his curse was swept up by the wind when he felt iron pierce cloth and plate and flesh below and his body was knocked backwards in the saddle.

He controlled his breathing as well as he could, but with a second arrow shaking in his chest it was more difficult to keep regret from seeping into his thoughts. He had come back to Scotland to settle an account on a topic that he still did not know how to broach, he had survived war and rout and siege only to have the possibility of closure snatched by some green coward intent on stealing a handful of old milch cows.

Pain pulling his mouth into a sneer of disgust, Jerott let his shoulders hunch forwards. He made his body look heavy, though his heart felt like a hare trapped behind his ribs. He slackened his fist and the sword's leather-wound handle stuck momentarily to his sweaty palm before falling heavily to the mud-churned grass. He reached for the arrow in his centre and shook at the agony in his shoulder as he did so.

When, faltering, he let his right hand drop to the saddle, he knew that then the activity of both hands was hidden from the treeline by his horse's neck. He fumbled single-mindedly with fingers grey and shivering in the pouch at his belt, extracting a bullet as his other hand loosed his gun. Loading it was a messy process, between his feigned swoons and the genuine ones, but then, still hunched in pain, he cast his head back to view the woods again.

The archer had stepped from the holly bush. A lone figure in clothes that were plain but smart, holding his bow strung as he squinted at Jerott, he did not look like a rustler, nor an assassin. He was unfamiliar; a no one.

Jerott's exhausted grimace turned into a grin as he raised his pistol left-handed and fired.

The archer's eye's widened and he raised his bow.

Bullet struck and arrow struck, and Jerott's gun dropped not far from where he had lost his sword.

-

The sound of a pistol shot reached Walter Scott and the men under his command. Walter pulled his horse up short and turned, his hand at his sword, his eyes round as marbles.

It was the Count who reached him first, his exquisitely fine features wearing an expression of mild peevishness.

"What was that?" Walter asked him, and the Count of Lymond and Sevigny looked him up and down with gentle bemusement.

"I should say it was gunfire, but there are surely more pertinent questions."

Walter swallowed. "Yeah, who?"

"Why?" The Count added. "Have you seen any sign of pursuit?"

"No," Walter hesitated, realising he had not been looking for it. "The only ones after are a few kine that went over to that copse we passed - yer friend Blyth offered to go after them."

The Count did not blink. If his lips paled one could not be sure under the bright morning sky, and the languid shift of his shoulders might have betokened anything.

His voice was smooth as ice, too. "Tell Hislop and Blacklock. Get Archie Abernethy from the front."

Walter frowned, sensing that he had ceded command, though Lymond generously left its illusion in his hands.

"And tell them what?" Walter tried not to let panic into his voice, seeing the Count's keen blue eyes had shifted to the horizon and would not be moved as he gathered himself and his horse. "It was just ane shot, it might not even ha' been Blyth."

The Count did not look at him as his horse broke into a trot. "It was. And he's not likely to be taking pot shots at the magpies."

Easing into a faster pace, Lymond rode off, leaving Walter to face the rest of the hot trod, which was now a messy column of men and cattle, some looking at him, others pointedly gazing elsewhere, two or three with eyes on Lymond, their accustomed commander, as he left.

"I need Hislop, Blacklock and Abernethy," Walter shouted, though his voice cracked as he did.

The men were already making their way towards him. The mercenary Danny Hislop shook his bare head of fine, fluffy curls and smiled sweetly. "It's nice of you to say so, Sir Walter, but we know it's Francis who called."

"Where's Jerott?" Blacklock - pencil thin, dark-haired, with a permanent air of unease - arrived at a trot.

"Well, that's it," Walter said uneasily. What was it that he was about to tell these three men about their friend?

"Ye, ah, ye heard the gunshot?"

"Stupid bastard," Hislop cursed immediately, wheeling his horse in the direction Lymond had ridden.

"How?" Blacklock breathed, but the question in his eyes was for his fellows. "It's a simple hot trod, what's he done?"

Only Archie Abernethy remained steady, his broad brown brow furrowed like a walnut. "Tell us what ye ken, lad."

Walter's shoulders sagged in relief. Abernethy was capable of reassuring even when one did not know what one might have done wrong. He related the conversation with Lymond and emphasised that Blyth had volunteered to ride back for the stray cattle.

"Is that his horse?" Hislop interrupted, just as Walter was starting to feel he had a handle on the situation once more.

Blacklock swore, and when his quiet - and, to Walter, astonishing - stream of invective ended, he heard Lymond's voice calling from the other side of the ridge they had just crossed.

Blyth's tall bay horse was ambling uneasily across the grass, its reins trailing and head down. Now and then it paused and glanced back, as though confused to find itself alone.

No command could have stayed the other men now, and Walter was left flapping his heels against his own mount's flank as he tried to keep pace with Hislop, Blacklock and Abernethy. He paused to sweep up the reins of Blyth's horse and turned it back to wherever it had left its rider.

Walter could now see the other men converging on a spot about halfway up the gentle rise of land below the ridge. At the bottom of the valley was a narrow, rocky stream, and the copse sprawled darkly on the opposite bank. The young Scott let out a sound of exasperation when he saw that the three errant cows remained busy at their grazing, unconcerned with the human drama they were witness to.

A man, it had to be Blyth, lay flat on the wet grass. Lymond bent over him, and as Walter watched, the Count pulled a binding tight about the prone man's leg, stood and snapped something at Abernethy, then re-mounted and rode away to the woods.

Blyth must have lived yet, but the Buccleuch could not say how. When he got near, Walter counted three arrows in Blyth's body: shoulder, abdomen and thigh. The latter had released a great deal of blood, and Abernethy was in the process of reinforcing the tourniquet Lymond had applied. The chevalier's dark skin had paled to a sickly green reflection of the vegetation that soaked his hair and clothes, and his hands lay open and bloodied at his sides.

Blacklock took one of the limp sets of fingers and held it in his grip as Abernethy assessed the damage done by the other arrows. Hislop dismounted, but would not go near, and paced uneasily at Abernethy's back, his white face turned towards Blyth's unresponsive expression.

#wip ask meme #my fics #my wips #lymond chronicles #post-canon #lymond spoilers

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @atypicalacademic and @thequeenofthewinter. Thank you kindly, friends ❤️

Shifting focus this week to my Skryim fic, Slither and Writhe. It's much longer than I anticipated, oops. All the comparative anatomy classes have turned me into a necromancer apologist. Is it obvious 😅

Tagging: @atypicalacademic (for the new week, heheh) @gilgamish @justafoxhound @dumpsterhipster @sheirukitriesfandom @skyrim-forever @nuwanders @wispstalk @druidx @goddess-of-sorrow @burningsilence @lucien-lachance @chennnington @thana-topsy @kookaburra1701 @sylvienerevarine @expended-sleeper

“You should have absorbed me in the womb.”

“We’re not twins, Syl.”

“Yeah, but you were there.”

“As an egg.”

Sylawen sighed and kicked the rock down the hillside where it rolled into the silvery, serpentine creek below. The splash it made was only rumor, feeble and far away, and just as soon the forest silence returned to congeal upon her ears. Even with the magelight and Masser in full, the night was such a dreary, swallowing gray, and even with Rillion beside her, she felt terribly alone. He’d been distant ever since the disaster at the party. She couldn’t resent him for it. Had she the option, she’d choose to be a little farther from herself too.

“Am I repulsive?”

“Sometimes.” Rillion shrugged, and Sylawen lashed him with a baleful glare. “What?” he said. “By the eight, Syl. You asked.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be so bloody honest.”

“You enjoy gross things, and your experiments are creepy. Necromancy isn’t a subject most people even want to think about, so it shouldn’t be any surprise that people are uncomfortable when your thralls walk into the house uninvited. I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s unnatural.”

“Death isn’t unnatural.

“Okay, but stitching random pieces of dead bodies into some macabre pastiche is.”

“They're not random pieces," Sylawen said pointedly. "They were carefully selected, and no one complains if I stitch flesh back together for a healing spell."

"Syl, please. Don't be dense. It's not the same.'

"You mean you don’t think it’s even remotely interesting?”

Rillion grimaced, shook his head without pause. “No, it freaks me out. It always did.” Sylawen's frown deepened. When Rillion caught it, his eyes flooded with guilt, and she hated how quickly he resorted to carrying it for the both of them when her poor decisions were usually at root. But she always let him. She hated that too. “How about you tell me when you discover a cure for aging," he said with feigned hope. "Maybe then I’ll be intrigued. Just make it into a salve and make it smell pretty and don’t tell me what it’s made from.”

A scoff escaped her. "Tch, immortality is for losers. Everyone and their scamp is after the secret to lasting life.” She tried to force mirth into it, tried to turn it into laughter, tried to unburden the air that had grown so unwieldy between them. She couldn't.

“Then why do you do these things? If not to help people, why?”

“I like creating, Rillion. I want to make something new. It’s that simple.”

“So make art. I’ve seen your sketches. Even the anatomical ones are beautiful. Imagine if you tried drawing something that wasn’t a dissection for once.”

“What I do is art,” she replied, a bit more harshly than intended because no matter how many times she’d explained it before, Rillion still didn’t understand, didn’t want to. “And it breathes. It exists beyond the canvas. It lives.”

Rillion shifted, placing even more space between them. “Okay,” he said. “I guess.”

“It really is a shame you can’t see that.”

“I know. I wish I did.”

With another disgruntled sigh, Sylawen laid herself flat against the grass. The sky above was charcoal black, ripe for burning. She didn't try to tell him again. Only Tazara had understood, and even then she'd left Sylawen. She'd abandoned her, given up on all they'd discovered, on all they'd almost built together. Eventually Rillion slumped down to join her, and they fell into a strained quiet, the torchbugs winking in and out all around them, and she recalled summers when they were younger, catching them in jars, the way Rillion's eyes shined with awe when she explained how the green fire in their bellies was made. Just once, she wished he would look at her that way again. That she could show someone, anyone, her work and see something other than fear reflected back. But she didn't try to explain her studies to Rillion again. She didn't say, we’re all animals when we’re dead. We can’t talk. We can’t tell our stories, but it’s all written there on the body. Muscles made stronger by so much strain. Soft mounds of flesh from kind years and warm meals. The callouses on the fingers of a writer, how they sit differently from those on the palms of a sailor. The wounds we’ve survived. The ones we didn’t.

Rillion cleared his throat. “So… if I died, what part of me would you preserve for your experiments?”

“Your hands,” Sylawen said, reaching for the one nearest her. “So I could hold them when I miss you. “

Rillion smiled weakly, and his face was bronze in the moonlight. She’d remember him like this in the days to come, a ray of warmth when alone in the bleak wastelands of Winterhold. “That’s so disgusting  Syl,” he said, but he didn't let go “I can’t believe we’re related.”

#Slither and Writhe #tes fic #skyrim fic #necromancy #I'm convinced functional morphology is basically modern day necromancy #Tag Games #WIP Wednesday #I love mages #Will I ever have a protagonist who is not a mage? Dunno #seyda writes

[penelope-regulus]

WAIT JUST ONE DARN MINUTE

IS THAT TO SAY HE'S BEEN UNBURDENING HIS GUILT TOWARD YVONNE BY DESPISING AND HARRASING MY BABY?!

AND FOR HIM TO NOT THINK HE'S BEEN HARRASING AND DESPISING PENELOPE -- JUST HOW HAS HE BEEN TREATING MY SPARKLE SPRINKLE?!

#derrick eckhart #reynold eckhart #MY BABYYYYYYYYY #DERRICK YOU----- #vadd #vadtd #ditoeftv #villains are destined to die #death is the only ending for the villainess

[this-sapphic-paradise]

Prompt: Supercorp, first morning after ;)

The slipping back into consciousness was, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, a delightful transition. Before eyelids could flutter open, the warmth of her naked skin beneath the blanket brought me such tranquility the sun could only dream of giving.

I took a deep breath, inhaling her scent, filling my lungs with the lingering smells of what we had done the night before---the culmination of longing, of love, of desire so raw it consumed, it destroyed, it created me back, like a phoenix reborn from its ashes---I breathed it all in. Her long blonde hair, fanned over the pillows, tickles my nose and just like that a smile spreads across my lips and I have to come to terms with the idea that this is my new reality---I, who once took as irrevocable truth that happiness no longer had any part in my life, am now moored to the whims of my heart who so willingly sings in delight with every push and pull of the tides of her love.

"Been wake long?" Her back is still turned to me and despite the raspiness of her voice, there's no denying the smile I hear.

"No, not long," I reply, watching her shift so she can look at me.

'Oh, how this world is cruel,' I think, observing rays of sunshine light specks of gold in her otherwise dark blue eyes. 'How cruel it is that the world kept us apart for so long.' The specks dance and I'm lured into the deep blue hoping to never find my way out.

She chuckles and, by God, Earth stands still for a second. "I'm so lucky," she says, effortlessly pulling me in, brushing the tip of her nose against mine. And just like that everything that took to get us here---to this very point in life---was worth it.

"Not quite as lucky as me," I say surrendering myself to her; cutting the ties of guilt with each nip of my teeth against her soft lips; unburdening myself of the weight of the world each time she runs her hands over my shoulders. "I love you," I say hoping those simple words can contain the infinite cosmos that she has brought to life inside me; "I love you," I say, because nothing else is truer. "I love you."

#supercorp #ficlet #thanks for the prompt! #kara danvers #lena luthor