#I learned that courage was not the absence of fear

[lvrdrafts]

No Time To Lose

Summary: Bucky is going to confront you for why you have been avoiding him but when he comes home he finds out you have been kidnapped

Warning: Mentions of kidnapping and torture

Part 1 Part 3

Bucky couldn't bear the growing distance between you any longer. He knew he had to talk to you and stop the tension that had been building. The constant absence of your touch, your laughter, and your presence had made him realize just how much he needed you.

One evening, as he mustered up the courage to have the conversation, he decided to surprise you at home. He wanted to show you that whatever he did wrong he deeply regrets it and stop whatever had caused this sudden change in your behavior.

However, when Bucky entered the apartment, he found it eerily quiet. The atmosphere felt heavy, and his heart clenched with a sense of foreboding. He called out your name, but there was no response.

Panic surged through his veins as he quickly searched every room, hoping to find you. It was then that he noticed something off—a broken vase on the floor, shattered glass scattered across the room.

Bucky's hands trembled as he desperately dialed your number, hoping against hope that you would answer. But each ring went unanswered, intensifying his anxiety. Fear gnawed at his heart as he realized something was terribly wrong. Where were you? Why weren't you picking up?

Unable to waste any more time, Bucky quickly dialed Sam's number, his voice filled with urgency. "Sam, it's Y/N. She's in trouble. I can't reach her, and I don't know where she is. I need your help."

Sam's voice conveyed his concern as he responded, "Don't worry, Bucky. I'm on my way. We'll find her together. Just hold on."

Bucky's mind replayed every moment, every conversation, searching for any signs he might have missed. Anything that could show what had happen to you. Bucky's mind raced with worry as they searched for any sign of your whereabouts. Doubt gnawed at his thoughts, questioning every decision he had made leading up to this moment. Did I miss any signs that something was wrong? Should I have noticed your distress sooner?

But as the minutes ticked by, Bucky's conviction grew stronger. Deep down, he knew you would never willingly leave him without a word. Your love had been genuine, your connection real. It didn't make sense that you would simply disappear without a trace. His gut told him that something was terribly wrong.

That is when he saw Sam walk in with a computer in his hand. "Well I asked the landlord for the security cameras and he was happy to give it to Captain America." Sam says laughing trying to lighten the mood as he sits down, but no reaction from Bucky. "Well what did you find?" Bucky says eagerly. "I see that Y/N got captured while heading in, but its a little blurry to see the number plate." Sam says while showing Bucky "But I do know someone who can get it, wait here." Sam walks out to make a phone call.

The guilt intensified, a suffocating presence that threatened to consume him. He blamed himself for not being there, for not protecting you when you needed him the most. His mind raced with a barrage of "what ifs" and self-recrimination.

Sam comes back awhile later to inform Bucky he found where Y/N is held captive and they rush off to find you.

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Y/N's heart raced as she found herself trapped, held captive by Brock. She knew Bucky would come for her, and she held onto that hope tightly. But the more Brock tortured he, she felt as if all that hope was slipping away.

"Poor, poor Y/N I really thought your boyfriend would save you" Brocks says putting a knife near your neck. "I can't believe he would let someone as precious as you thrown away"

"I don't give a fuck what you believe" you say spitting at brock

Brock punches you and you feel blood come out of your moth. "You need to learn to not be a bitch, before we can play". You can see the look Brock gave you and it didn't make you feel good. He starts to walk away and comes back with collar and puts it on you. You try moving your neck but you feel a sudden pain of electrical shocks.

He lifts your chin up "You better hope your boyfriend comes in time, because a few more shocks and your dead" he says with a smile while he walks outs.

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A few hours later you see the door open in but the tears in your eyes make it hard for you to make out the figure. There was so many of Brock's henchman here you couldn't tell which one was Brock or not.

That is when she caught a glimpse of Bucky hiding behind some crates. Bucky gave you a soft smile while he disapeared into the dark.

However, luck seemed to elude him as a creaking floorboard betrayed his presence. The sudden sound alerted Brock's henchmen, who immediately converged on Bucky, trapping him within their grasp. Bucky's heart raced as he found himself outnumbered, but he refused to back down.

As the first henchman lunged at him, Bucky swiftly dodged the attack. He retaliated with a powerful punch, sending his assailant crashing into a nearby wall. But there was no time to savor the victory as the others closed in, their fists flying.

Amidst the chaos, Bucky caught a glimpse of Sam swooping down from above. The familiar wings of his Falcon suit glinted in the darkness.

You saw while Bucky was fighting the henchman, Sam was taking you out of the facility and to the hospital. "You okay there, were almost to the hospital, then I'll go back for buck" Sam says holding you tightly as he brings you to the hospital. But you eyes start to close slowly, you didn't want to hold on for life anymore, you didn't want to be Bucky's burden, you just wanted some peace.

@vicmc624 @cjand10 @marygoddessofmischief @matchat3a @blue-chup @floralwsloki @kentokaze @internet-infuencer @666yourmomdotcom @zzziea @maddieislost @madi-is-kinda-lame @openup-yourmind @almosttoopizza @specialsnowflake-gabbi

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader angst #james barnes x reader #james barnes x reader angst #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #lvrdrafts bucky barnes x reader #lvrdrafts bucky barnes x reader angst

[flower-cage]

To Serve

by @flower-cage Ao3 | Masterlist Aemond Targaryen x Servant!Reader Summary: That morning, the crown Prince entered the young Queen's chambers and changed your life forever.

Words: 3,768

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dubious consent, power imbalance, humiliation kink, voyeurism.

A/N: Here's that random smut I was talking about (two weeks off-schedule rip). It is not as edited as my other pieces, thus much cruder, and I enjoyed not stressing over every single word on it. I just let the story guide my writing hand and had fun with it! I hope you enjoy it too! Minors, do not interact.

Your new role of serfdom started not unlike that of attending to the needs and whims of the Dragons. Up before dawn, you ensured that dresses were washed and perfumed, jewelry and shoes polished. In the late morrow, you served tea to the Queen and her mother. At luncheon, you would have taken the chance, in their absence, to clean and tidy their chambers, had it not been for your newest promotion.

That morning, while his sister and mother broke their fast, the crown Prince entered the young Queen’s chambers and changed your life forever.

He had always paid you close attention. In truth, only seldom were you ever in the presence of the one-eyed Prince, but whenever chance brought you together, you felt his lingering, insistent gaze on the hairs in the back of your neck. Always. 

It did not take long for others to take notice of it, too. Often the maids would tease you for the interest you had awakened in the Prince known to be harsh and cold and cruel like a winter storm.

“You are fortunate he does not take after his brother’s depraved malversations,” you would often hear.

This was what the whole of Westeros knew of him back then, before the Dance.

That morning, you had twisted your hands in your apron, standing outside his door and garnering the strength to raise one of them to the wooden slabs.

“It is unlike my son to show interest in a lady,” the Dowager Queen had told you, clinking a silver teaspoon against fine porcelain, “or anyone at all, for that matter.”

Your guts knotted of their own accord. Your spine shuddered cold.

“I would like you to tend to his needs from now on,” she had announced easily, breaking apart a piece of crusty bread. “All of his needs.”

Now, you often wonder if she would have offered you so unashamedly if she had known he would mature into such an unscrupulous man. Or, you wonder most often, perhaps she had always known. Perhaps she had hoped he would satisfy his dormant savagery, then inhibited by a pretense of duty and propriety, if only she delivered him a feast before it fully wakened.

And feast he would, though his hunger would never be sated.

In the end, he would teach you everything you learned of this world of carnal indulgences.

He had risen leisurely from his seat of leather, strode to you lazily, smiled self-assuredly. You stood stoic, hands fidgeting and sweating behind your back, a half-step away from his chambers’ door after courage and fear had finally coaxed you past it.

He stalked toward you until his nose brushed yours faintly and your back rested against the cold wood. His eye roamed you freely, his masculine scent of leather and cedar crowded your senses, and your body shuddered beneath his desirous stance.

“I shall not take that which is not freely given,” his whisper tickled the shell of your ear, “and I shall not award what is not yet desired.”

His promise stretched on for days on end.

You tended to him much like you had his sister: tending to his chambers, washing his clothing, learning his habits. You served him wine at supper and tea in the morrow. You dressed him before Small Council meetings and bathed him after his daily practices.

Until you didn’t.

“Prince Aemond requests your services,” a familiar knight announces after rapping on the door.

You rise from where you have been sitting at your vanity table, combing your hair to a shine as is your Prince’s preference. You fix the sleeves on your dress, but it does not grant you any decency whatsoever, not when its translucent, iridescent silk ostensibly reveals the shape and shades of your bare body, not when the slit that travels up your right thigh cuts up to your hip bone. 

Such are and have always been your Prince’s preferences.

“Where is your uniform?” he asked you sternly when you met him at the training grounds.

He took the cup of fresh water from the tray you carried, gulping down its contents to then wipe his face and short hair with the towel you brought him.

“M-my Prince?” you asked timidly, breathless at the abrupt inquiry and at the sweat that glistened his pale skin.

“The dresses I gifted you,” he pressed, displeased. “I thought I made myself clear - you are to wear them henceforth. You are to solely wear them.”

His sharp gaze was menacing, surely, but the disappointment was there, too, hidden in the glint of his blue eye to chastise and guilt you. Though mortified at the improper implications of his demands, the thought of disobeying him was what truly shook you to the core.

The White Cloak takes you to a set of heavy doors and pushes them open to reveal King Aegon II’s Small Council. He was once the depraved son of King Viserys I, but he is no longer the exclusive bearer of such a title.

Your Prince sits to the left of the King now, across from the Lord Hand, in a great position of power. The Dance had reshaped many things in the Realm, and he had been no exception. 

He doesn’t cover his monstrous gash and sapphire stone like he used to when his mother was still alive. He hasn’t held many habits of propriety since. More scars cut across his milky skin, some even crawling from beneath his collar, and the long white mane he used to proudly maintain in honor of his heritage is kept short to enhance all of his additional, menacing features.

His body is that of a man, now; no longer slim and taut but large and burly from battle, and yet his most striking transformations had not been bodily.

You walk toward him surely but quietly, eyes fixed on him whilst he does not award you a single glance. He is engrossed in the scheming that does not halt at your entrance, but you know he wants you when you see his parted knees, when you see leather pulled tight over his stiff shaft.

His jaw is clenched tight and the fingers on his right hand fiddle around thin air, so you know to step silently between his parted legs and descend to your knees underneath the table. The rough fingers that do not worry over it snake around the back of your head to gently thread through your hair. He needn’t say nor command anything else.

You stroke him to full hardness, grazing your teeth against the base, running your nose along the shaft, and then unbuttoning him quietly.

He is as silky and warm as always against your tongue. He drags against your cheeks when you hollow them and his skin, taut around his swollen tip, pulls back and forth when you suck on it. You don’t recall when you first enjoyed his weight in your mouth.

You risk a glance at him. He pays you no mind, and his stoic façade gives away nothing, but his chest moves up and down rapidly and you know it means you’re being good. You suppress a whine at his modest appreciation.

He is impossibly handsome as he towers over you, gaze sharp and jaw tight as he ignores you. You want nothing more than his praise and attention, so you lick and please him slowly, lazily and patiently. He is busy, you remind yourself, and he will reward you when the time comes. He always does.

Between your thighs, your skimpy dress slickens with your arousal as it builds steadily to an insatiable ache. It has become second nature for your body to give in to him in this way, even when he has yet to touch you. He has trained you this way.

“Have you kept it wet for your Prince?” he whispers against your neck each time he comes back to his quarters in the early evening. 

The question is often accompanied by a slithering hand, like a snake that seeks warmth, it buries itself in your cunt to confirm it is to his standards. He hums in satisfaction each time.

“When in my presence,” he had told you once, depositing you in an armchair across his desk, “I want to marvel at my cunt freely,” he explained as he hooked your knees over the armrests and bunched your skirts around your waist.

And you awakened breathless, hours later, with his tongue licking inside you and his nose on your pearl of pleasure. 

You had stood no chance. To you, he is intrinsically bound to that feeling that crawls under your skin, that under his touch erupts in elation.

Now, you are wide awake, and it is you who tastes him eagerly. 

When he begins to drip, hot and salted, your fingers grip his thighs harder as your own quiver in a need you haven't been able to control in a long time. You look at him again. His cheeks are hollowed, jaw locked shut, eyes slitted in fury.

The lords in the Small Council haven’t halted their discussion despite your interruption and it is clear what they discuss displeases your Prince greatly. If not, he might have not summoned you.

This is not the first time the Prince has had you in their presence, it is not the first time he has had you in the presence of others at all. If it had been, perhaps you would have been capable of greater shame.

When he took you in and you proceeded to tend to him exclusively, little of your customary routine changed. But when his demands started to reflect his true intentions, his true desires, it couldn’t be said you were still a palace maid.

That first time, you had been brushing your hair at your vanity, as you often now did, and applying to your skin the feminine oils your Prince preferred. In an immodest lavender dress of his choosing and delicate jewelry he appreciated, you tended to yourself as he demanded.

The doors to his sleeping chambers push open to allow a small entourage of maids to set his breakfast - your breakfast. Your jerk reaction is to look away from them, the people who had once been your colleagues, and hide your healthy, pampered face. 

Your eyes land on his lavish, sunny balcony where he leans against the railing directly across from you. He loves to watch his beast terrorize the city below with her sky-bound rounds first thing in the morrow. But he watches her no longer.

He shines brightly and god-like under the sun; his messy short hair glows a halo above him, and the sapphire lodged on the left side of his face glints to highlight the cut of his scar like thunder. Despite the warmth of the morning shine, he is cold, white-cold, with his silver hair and porcelain skin, his milky chemise that reveals his milky chest, and his silky pants that bulk to reveal his salacious musings.

Your breathing quickens as you take him in fully, in all his terrifying, improper glory. Your hand holds your brush halfway through its path and your lips hang parted as he holds your gaze intently, as you watch him with a hunger that escapes your agency.

When he pushes off the stone ledge, you let your brush hit the floor. Such is the effect he has on you, such is the extent of his influence.

He drops to frame you within his arms, leveraging against the cushioned seat of your vanity desk, to take your lips in sloppy teasing, giving you just enough of a taste that something within you quivers wantonly.

Behind you, the porcelains and silvers continue to clink against the wood, chairs scrape across the stone, and heavy cloth slaps in the still air.

“What’s this, then?” he whispers and deprives you of his tongue too quickly. You grasp onto his strong arms to center yourself, breathing heavily against him. 

Fingers run up your inner thigh and you shiver violently, desiring him violently.

“Are you ashamed of serving your Prince?” he grins maliciously.

“O-of course not my-” you choke on a gasp when he brings his hot lips to your neck, sucking on the spots that have you dripping under your skimpy gown.

He takes your left knee and hooks it around his hip, pulling you flush against him as he presses you down on the long chaise. A yelp escapes you when you feel his hot girth against your cunt.

“Or are you ashamed of how thoroughly you enjoy it?” he grunts against your lips, thrusting his clothed bulge against you. You bite your lips closed painfully as you are painfully aware of the people behind you.

“I didn’t say you could leave,” he barks, glancing upward to your utmost horror. You hear the servants scurry behind you, imagining their bowed heads and embarrassed looks. Your own embarrassment grows until tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

“Not until she comes,” he adds, looking at you, grinning widely, while he snakes a hand between your legs and burrows his fingers deep inside in a swift stroke.

You burn in shame when your eyes roll to the back of your head and a long whine is forced out of your lips.

“It won’t be long now,” he continues, watching your tears spill, fucking your cunt fast, “she is wet and swollen already.”

Indeed, the noises coming from between your legs are excessively obscene. And he is right, he knows your cunt - his cunt - too well.

When he plugs you with his thick girth, you whine and moan in complete abandon. And when he plows you fast enough to make the chaise scrape against the floors, you scream and beg for him before soaking his cock in unlimited ecstasy.

The first time he’s ever had you in the presence of others was long ago.

Now, you know that when his fingers tighten on your nape you are to release his hard cock quickly. You know to mount it instead.

You make quick, silent work of it not to disturb him and the processes of the court that still unravel behind you. You straddle his thighs, tuck your toes behind his knees, grip his leather vest tightly, and hide your face in the crook of his neck. The hand that had been in your hair now rests on your hip, thumb hooked under the scandalous slit of your dress to bury in the crease where your thigh meets your hip.

You count the time that passes in the drops of sweat that roll down your temple, in shaky breaths you rein against his skin, in the thrums of your blood.

Your cunt, dripping and dripping, quivers weakly around him. Though you refrain from moving and driving yourself to your insanity, it throbs on his shaft as you feel the mere ghost of his touch on your most pleasurable spot.

Your body aches with the effort of keeping composure, keeping quiet, keeping from breaking. And every time your Prince has input on the session that stretches on, his chest rumbles and you must refrain from mewling in satisfaction.

It is not until your mind is hazy with exhaustion and your eyes spill tears of agony that the heavy chairs start to scrape against the stone floors, one by one. Your heartbeats pick up their rhythm from where they had rested in patience. 

And when footsteps follow, he pulls your face from hiding by the sweaty hairs on the back of your neck.

A small yet immensely condescending smile plays on his sculpted lips. It makes you aware of your humiliating conditions: a servant, chosen to fulfill the pleasures of her liege Prince, at the brink of insanity from entertaining her own pleasures instead.

You are lost in his mismatched blue eyes, so much so that you are caught off guard when he starts shoving your hips back and forth to grind on his cock. Instantly, it drags a long gasp from you, crosses your eyes, waters your mouth.

“Hm?” he questions patronizingly, looking down with a raised eyebrow that mocks your lustful reaction.

His ministrations are excruciating, his cockhead bullying hard and unforgiving on your most pleasurable spot. In this way, you are violently driven to ecstasy, just shy of peaking with the same intensity, when he halts all movement without warning.

But you are given time to neither cry nor beg for his mercy, for he hugs you tight to his chest, angles your hips away from his cock, and thrusts.

You gasp painfully against his leather-covered pecs when he does, and he soon pulls your head back by your hair to place your chin against it instead.

Through your pleasure-hazed eyes, you see his mirth and his composure. And it is always this way: regardless of how eagerly he takes you, no matter how passionately he desires you, you are always the one debauched and he is always the one untarnished, always viciously becoming of his royal status.

“Go on then,” he murmurs when he watches your tears roll the sides of your face, your lips parted in unbearable pleasure. “Go on and cream on it.”

Because his growl electrifies you from within, because you’ve learned to be promptly obedient, because you cannot help it, you do as he commands.

Your cunt contracts so tightly, for a second his cock gets trapped mid-thrust before he repeatedly shoves himself inside you to forcefully ride the surges of your orgasm. Your loose chin bumps against his chest, leaving sloppy trails behind, and your breasts spill, little by little, from the flimsy restraint of the fabric that skates down between your bodies.

He loves to debase you in this way.

He doesn’t stop, and you are unable to determine when your first orgasm ends and the second starts to mount.

But he can.

He hisses when he feels it - your cunt throbbing again, dripping relentlessly - and bares his sharp teeth in a sneer, watching your glimmering, dopey eyes.

His grip on your hip strengthens, the arm that loops around your back to grasp your hair tenses, and he rises to his feet only to drop you unceremoniously onto the stone surface behind you.

“Gods,” he growls, slows his ministrations, and you savor every excessive inch of his, so evident now your cunt is hot and swollen from the long wait, from the incessant grinding. “I would keep you on my cock from sunrise to nightfall.”

He holds onto your hips, forcing them down against the table so that you don’t slide away from his powerful pushes, and watches his shaft disappear within you attentively.

“I would keep you on it,” he licks his lips, “at tea with my sister,” he meets your eyes again, after appreciating the uncoordinated bouncing of your breasts.

“On my morning flights,” he continues, lowering himself to hover above you, a hand pressed next to your head. “And I would carry you, and display you on my hard cock, all over this castle.”

He picks up his brutish pace again and you gasp and whine unabashedly, and new tears spill from your unfocused eyes, and your bottom lip quivers. Such is the effect of his praise.

“What’s that now, huh?” he coos, forcing a little sob from you, but you are unable to communicate. Instead, you part your lips and plead with big, wet eyes.

He lets go of your hip to support himself fully on his forearms, hovering a bit closer now. You can feel his warmth, now, you can scent his luscious exertion.

His nose brushes lightly against your own, just beyond reach, and you can’t avoid bending your back, tilting your chin, or your tongue poking out between your teeth, desperate for a taste.

His eye darkens significantly and he tuts in feigned disappointment.

“Needy little thing,” he murmurs, only to plunge his soft tongue right where you yearned for it.

His kisses are supple and sloppy and not enough to sate you. When he pulls away and you whine in agony, he lets his drool slide down his tongue and onto yours. And the debauchery of the act drives pathetic moans from your lips and desperate rolls of your hips.

Above you, your Prince moans and hisses, then plunges himself against your sweetest spot with renewed, unstoppable vigor. And yet again you cry pathetically, eyes crossing and mouth hanging open, tits flying and slapping, cunt gushing and thrumming.

“I fucking love it when you get like this,” your Prince grunts viciously behind gritted teeth, shoving his girthy length in and out without mercy for your sanity.

“Wet,” his hand lowers to grope your plump bottom, “hot,” he forces you against his unforgiving plows, “utterly dimwitted for your Prince’s cock.”

He loves to debase you in this way, and the response you manage is a string of blabbering, dimwitted pleas.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he grunts again, panting above you as his crazed movements and your lascivious reactions burn his muscular body, “I’d think you’re falling in love with it.”

“Oh, I am!” you yelp, long and loud, mind entirely lost in the bliss he fucks into you. “I love it… I love my Prince’s cock,” you whimper timidly against his lips and he angles his cock to bully that spongy, swollen button of yours.

“Yeeess,” you moan again. “There, there,” you beg with your cries and beseeching eyes.

You come on a scream that reverberates through the tall, stony walls of the Small Council. And though your walls contract viciously, your Prince pushes through them determinedly, driving you to an immediate third peak that absolutely floods your cunt before he even dumps his hot seed inside you. 

You come on his cock long and hard, and you come still when he too finishes. And when he drops his weight onto you, finally, and his head thumps against the table next to yours, your cunt still flutters from the sensorial memory of the onslaught it endured.

Your skin is impossibly hot and sweaty, and your body impossibly exhausted.

And yet.

“Tonight,” your Prince starts after long moments of silence, raising his head only to meet your eyes, “we will hold a private audience for the King.”

Your body shivers cold, your eyes bulge out, but your cunt contracts around him meekly.

He watches you closely, with his eye delighted and a wide grin, malicious. 

“I want you on your best behavior,” he warns, teasing, “just like this.”

He loves to debase you, and you love to serve him.

#hotd fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #aemond x you #aemond x servant reader #hotd smut #lol not me posting another one at 3am on a sunday #work is going to suck tomorrow i guess

[gatitties]

Hello again my little butterfly 🦋✨

I came to place another order if that's ok! so, the scenario is a One Piece AU, where YN has an arranged marriage with Shanks, who is one of the richest men in town, but even so, YN decides to run away on her wedding day and throw herself off a bridge, but she can't, they find her and the family manages to bring her back to the wedding, Shanks is a man very much in love with YN, the moment he sees the sadness in YN's eyes when she walks up the aisle and puts the ring on her finger Shanks, he decides to conquer her and make her the happiest wife in the world! ( PS: Shanks is in a desperate situation when he learns that his beloved literally decided to throw herself off a bridge rather than stay with him, even little sad :( )

─Shanks x wife!reader

─Summary: you didn't want to be part of that ceremony, but you're not brave enough to run away either

─Warnings: slight mention of suicide attempt, modern AU

Oh hi hi love!! 🫶🏻🦋 you really like angst 😳

You ignored the perplexed looks of people, without stopping or thinking about a second option, you gripped the thin white fabric of your wedding dress harder so as not to trip over it, your shoes had long since disappeared so you could run more comfortably. You didn't want this, you didn't want to marry an unknown guy, no one thought about your feelings? It's not something your parents have the right to play with and you weren't going to let them ruin your life for financial convenience.

The moment adrenaline started to increase when you saw how you were now being persecuted, probably due to the absence in the ceremony that was taking place in the nearby church, you felt bad for the man you had been engaged to, since it wasn't his fault either and you didn't even know him enough to determine that he was a horrible person, but this decision was too hasty and you definitely didn't agree to this.

With your heart in your throat you ran until you tripped over your own sore feet, your breathing accelerated even more when you heard shouts of your name, taking courage again you stood up with a new impetus, although when you noticed how the distance between your pursuers was shortening more and more, your brain began to draw an extreme line in your thoughts.

Would it hurt? Could you die? Well, you were going to see for yourself what it felt like to jump off a bridge just to avoid facing an unwanted fate.

You quickly climbed onto the thick railing, stabilizing yourself standing on it, the next few seconds felt like a blur, like a part of memory that was difficult to remember, the fear of possible death and the indecision that comes with taking a long time to jump into the void made one of the guys chasing you caught you before you did something crazy.

The next thing you know after that, you were back in one of the private rooms of the church, being yelled at by your mother while your father looked on disapprovingly, you didn't care, nothing mattered to you at that moment, you let them go back to put on your makeup, you let them put new shoes on you and they changed the dirty surface fabric of your dress as if you were a doll, lifeless.

The ceremony returned to its course, Shanks waited awkwardly all this time at the altar, and when he saw you appear next to him his heart shattered, you weren't even looking at him, your eyes were lost somewhere far away in this unwanted reality, you lacked any kind of expression. He knew it, he knew how you felt, and yet he felt a little selfish for wanting to be your husband, for wanting to love you unconditionally, this marriage may be arranged, but he admired every drop of courage you poured out to prevent this event, every anger and every fierce response you gave to the first meetings between both families.

"Now… husband and wife, you can kiss each other."

You were both so absorbed in your own thoughts that you barely heard the priest's last words. Shanks was the first to step forward, holding your waist slowly as if he were asking permission and asking if it was okay to do so. You didn't move an inch, your eyes were still lost even when he sealed your fate with a cold kiss devoid of love, at least, lacking on your part.

Shanks knew it wouldn't be easy, that you weren't going to trust, that he wasn't going to receive tons of affection, even looks, he knew you were in a delicate state, after all, you'd rather almost kill yourself than get married.

You didn't bother with his emotions, you didn't bother to ask about his tastes, his hobbies or how his day had been, you just spent the days dead, repeating your routine, your life remained the same in a way, a few more numbers in the account. but in exchange of what? Your freedom and decision. You were hurt, you had been damaged by your own parents, your emotional wounds would not heal overnight and you would refuse to show a modicum of affection until you recovered.

Shanks knew that he would have to sleep alone for months, that an empty house would await him, that all his praise and gifts would be quickly discarded, but it doesn't matter, maybe you didn't look for him or you didn't want him, but as your husband, he would do everything he could to at least help you cope with the situation, he really loves you, but it won't be easy to win your affection because you never wanted this.

Your heart began to heal over time, it took a long time, you decided to completely break the relationship with your family, although before they were the only ones you could turn to, Shanks showed you that he would be there, that despite not being the husband that you chose as such, made you trust him, made you feel loved again.

He wasn't a bad man, he wasn't the most wonderful person in the world either, but he proved to be enough for you to stop feeling that emptiness inside your heart, step by step he managed to break the walls that you built around your emotions, Shanks turned out to be something unexpected in your life, someone you didn't think would be so important and he was able to grant some peace, some happiness back into your life.

Maybe you are not yet ready to accept that he is your husband, but you slowly began to meet someone you could voluntarily fall in love with.

#one piece #op #one piece x reader #one piece modern au #modern au #shanks #shanks x reader #x reader #husband shanks #wife reader #fem reader #request #one piece x fem reader #shanks x wife reader #sfw #reader insert #xreader #angst?

[ridestomars]

GIRL U WANT – S. HARRINGTON

𖥻 summary: steve harrington is in love with his coworker, y/n, and max mayfield can't stand how annoying a lovesick steve is.  𖥻 pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 𖥻 warnings: y/n is used!! it's kinda told from max's point of view. idiots in love (obv), max and steve have a little sister-older brother relationship. bad grammar ig. not proofread (yk the deal). 3k-ish words.

💭 liv's thoughts: look at me rewriting my wip list works. this is another one that has been sitting on my docs page for ages, and i finally got the courage to fulfill it. i hope you guys like it! 

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

“Look at you with your mouth watering, look at you with your mind spinnin'. Why don't we just admit it's all over? She's just the girl you want”. 

People say patience is a virtue, but Maxine Mayfield begs to differ. 

She doesn't believe in that "good things come for those who wait" crap, because nothing nice ever came her way for just standing there until something happened. The only thing she got from waiting around was a terrible yearning sensation of what could have been if she wasn't such a wimp. That is why Max doesn't exercise the righteous quality of patience, preferring her natural impulsiveness instead. Her restlessness is just too precious not to be used – Seventeen magazine insists on telling her that it's just a thing Aries girls do. 

Her effort usually pays off, but when it doesn't, there is nothing better than a "fuck you" to tend the wounds. Rejection is always a possibility, but being disappointed because of it isn't, and with time, you learn how to deal with the negative responses… despite that, Max likes to consider herself too persuasive to ever be declined.

But she has to admit that her intrinsic sense of fearlessness can make her a little insensitive when it comes to people's fear of rejection because, to her, it's just all so simple. Though she tries to be understanding, others' stupidity can become a bit too much for her to handle, and she almost always finds herself on the verge of scolding them for their inability to be bold. It was like when she first started dating Lucas: she had a very serious talk with him about his embarrassment to complain about his wrong orders to the servers because he fears being met with a rude attitude – she still walks up to the workers to point out that his order came with pickles when he didn't want any, but just because it's him. 

For some time now, Max found herself in an annoying situation. Over her boring vacation evenings, she began visiting Family Video a lot, and began picking up on something that grew to be infuriating: Steve's and Y/N's constant bullshit. Their (initial) quiet pining was cute, at first, because it made her feel like she was watching a real-life rom-com, with an exciting "will they or won't they?" plot line… reminiscent of the late-nights where she would pretend to be asleep on the living room couch to catch the new Cheers episode, to see if Diane and Sam would finally get together. Yet, as the days passed and their never-ending coyness appeared to only grow stronger, her hopes started to falter. In fact, the situation began to get so obvious that it started to get on her nerves. Big time.

She was an observer, and easily noticed the lingering looks as they talked, one getting distracted by the other's lips, or the way their brows furrowed when attempting to flirt. Or the jealous blush that dusted over Steve's cheeks whenever he saw you talking to a good-looking customer. And then, whenever you weren't at work, she hears his grumpy huffs that turn into infatuated sighs as soon as you walk through the door, apologizing for being late. It wasn't hard to miss your affectionate words about him when he wasn't around, as if talking about your co-worker would make his absence more tolerable. 

What was sweet, quickly turned into tiresome when the instances of you two almost kissing turn into a daily thing. She can't count the times when she caught Steve leaning his face closer to yours, taking the courage to make his move, but right at the last second… the plan totally backfires. You either bump heads (Max physically cringes whenever she remembers the scene) or too distracted, ended up turning away from the other. Either option brought a burning ache to the chest. 

The blatant crush you have on each other followed Max everywhere she goes as if she was doomed to hear about it until the end of times. Steve was never necessarily reserved about his infatuation – although it seemed like everyone knew about it, except the one person that should –, and since he gives her rides everywhere, she found herself listening to him babble about the gorgeous gleam in your eyes and your shiny hair. The guy sees you as something sacred, and yet… he never admits that he actually likes you, despite the fact that you are all he ever talks about. 

To him, you are a piece of heaven on Earth, the person who understands him the most and makes him feel good about himself, among other incredibly elaborate platonic compliments.

Max knows Steve is pretty much the most idiotic guy to ever exist, but he isn't stupid. It's obvious that he just doesn't want to admit his feelings because, if he does, he will have to do something about it, and being blind to the fact that you feel the same, he doesn't want to risk it. If things went wrong, his heart wouldn't be able to take it. 

The only question roaming Max's head is: he is secure, but at what price? 

It all makes days like today even more unbearable. 

They have been sitting inside Steve's burgundy BMW for almost five minutes now, with the clear window closed, the A/C turned up to maximum speed, and Madonna's 'True Blue' playing on the radio. After their arrival at Family Video's parking lot, Max had asked for a minute, just one fucking minute, to fix her shoelaces and Steve used it as an opportunity to daydream as he stared out the windshield. His eyes were set ahead, and she didn't need to look to know who he was staring at. 

This was starting to get depressing. 

"Steve," Max calls, as harsh as ever. "Stop". 

As if he had just been electrocuted, Steve turns his head to stare at the fifteen-year-old. Eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared, he defends himself, "But I'm not doing anything". 

"Exactly, you moron," she grumbles. "You gotta tell her". 

'No more sadness, I kiss it goodbye. The sun is burs-', Max interrupts Madonna by turning off the radio, stopping any possible distractions.

It's clear that Steve doesn't like where this is going, because his face contorts into that sour annoyed look that makes her take a deep breath. This is going to be difficult.

"Tell what to who?" pretending to be clueless, he purses his lips, but his eyes don't lie, quickly drifting back to Y/N's figure. There was no escape now, not with Max's sharp gaze bearing down on him.

"You're so full of shit".

"Hey! Language, Maxine," he reprimands, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about". 

"You're in love with her," she motions to his co-worker who was still blissfully unaware of the car parked outside. 

And her words rang as an absurdity to him.  

"Max, for the love of-," his protest is interrupted by the girl and the know-it-all tone he hates so much.

"Steve, you're so into her it's ridiculous," her blue eyes narrow at him, hardening her expression. He scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks in the other direction, trying not to give too much away.

They stay like that for a few seconds, with him staring out the window, refusing to take part in the discussion, and Max glaring at his blushing, conflicted face. 

But then, he breaks. 

"Fine," Steve breathes out, "I mean, I'd make out with her… like, platonically, you know?"

The word comes out as if he had just remembered it existed, and Max doesn't buy it for a second, "You can't make out with someone platonically, Steve".

He takes her harsh delivery with a contemplating face, letting it all sink in. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it did break his argument, and he finds himself agreeing with what she had said… and he gets a grip. 

"Why am I listening to a thirteen-year-old?" he mutters, in disbelief. Huffing, Steve turns back at her, already gripping the door handle, "You know what, smarty-pants? I gotta work".

"I'm fifteen, Harrington! And we're not done!"

Max trails behind him as he gets out of the car in a hurry, stepping heavily into the pavement. As Steve bursts through the glass door with the girl in tow, they catch the attention of everyone inside Family Video. He gives you and Robin an embarrassed smile, stepping onto a random aisle, trying to hide from the curious stares. 

From the corner of his eye, Steve realizes that he still hasn't gotten rid of the stubborn girl, so he gathers the cluttered tapes and organizes them, in a failed attempt to avoid Max's inquisitive look. Moving the Pretty in Pink tapes around, the redhead crosses her arms, still staring. 

"You should learn a thing or two about that movie, you know?" she says with a quiet voice.

"What are you talking about, Mayfield?" he asks with a defeated sigh, clearly getting annoyed by her.

"Duckie didn't do anything about his crush on Andie, and had to settle for being her best friend in the end," she spells it out for him, "While she got to make out with Andrew McCarthy. Arguably more good-looking and charming than Jon Cryer". 

Steve rolls his eyes, but the situation does ring out an alarm at the back of his mind. What if… no, let's not go there. "What are you trying to say, wise-ass?"

"I'm saying," she continues, not willing to let him take a breath, "Are you truly willing to miss your shot? Stop being such a coward and go for it!".

"You talk as if I actually have a chance".

There it is. 

This was what she wanted to hear. 

"Steve, the girl is almost putting up a bright sign saying 'Go for it! Ask me out, you idiot!'". 

Drifting his eyes away from the tapes he was organizing, Steve watches as you laugh at something Robin had said. His gaze softens as he contemplates the scene, his hesitancy quavering every time the sound of your laughter reached his ears. This time, seeing the longing look in his eyes made a gentle, sympathetic feeling grow inside Max's chest, so different than the impatient annoyance she was so used to. 

"Look, Steve," her green eyes droop with friendly warmth. Though she might say that this is such a rare sight, that is what he sees every day when he talks to her. "I'm just saying what I noticed, and even if I'm wrong, which I'm not, by the way, you gotta take this off your chest. This is your chance!".

Staring down at her, he can only blink. Her encouraging words are settling in his mind, screeching as they do so, and he wonders… the gears inside his head spinning out of control, smoking everything so bad he almost can't see anything. Steve feels a bit out of breath.

But, impatient as always, Max keeps going as if she hasn't just collapsed all of his plans to stay in your friendship's comfort zone. With the wisdom that few possess, she continues, "I know you're still hung up on your Nancy-heartbreak and everything, but you're standing in your own way on this one, Steve. I can't tell you what the future holds, but I'm sure that you'll feel a lot better after you tell her about it". 

His intentions to continue ignoring it all are crumbling to dust inside him right now and her words make him feel defenseless, too vulnerable to continue disregarding his own fear of possible rejection. 

"That doesn't make sense," he scoffs, though his voice is soft and quiet, "Why would I want to do something like that if I don't know what the outcome is? She might just turn me down, and I don't think I could…"

Eyes drifting back to your breathtaking figure behind the counter, he stops himself before finishing the sentence. His face lit up with an astonishing expression of realization. Steve lets out another defeated sigh… maybe Max was right. 

With a knowing smile, she tells him, "Because you know she's worth it". 

xxx

Steve has had his head in the clouds ever since his little chat with Max earlier and could barely concentrate on having any work done throughout the rest of his shift. It didn't help that he also couldn't escape the sight of you from any corner of Family Video, and had to take several breaks until closing hours to avoid his head from exploding. 

Pacing back and forth inside the employee's break room instead of helping you put everything away (not exactly the top priority on his list right now), Steve tries to muster up even the slightest string of courage to talk to you about his feelings.

Now, on top of being an absolute wimp, he can also add useless when thinking to his list. 

He takes a big breath as he replays what Max had said, and almost unconsciously, snippets of Billy Joel's 'Tell Her About It' start echoing with it. The combination was able to help him make an outline of everything he'd like to say to you. 

"I like you. I don't want the chance to slip away. It's okay if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to say something before it's too late", he mutters to himself, still walking in circles. "If yes, then, ba-ba-bam, charm her up. If heartbreak, retreat. I'll be fine. Fine. Just fine. A-okay". 

Steve feels the same rush as he felt before going to his High School basketball matches, and he can only hope that the results will be far more positive. He takes another deep breath, shaking his arms before he walks over to the door. His fingers touch the door handle, cool under his fingertips. This is his chance. The store was closing, there were no customers around, and Robin had left early for band practice. 

Let's do it, he thinks to himself.

Determined and possessed by a sense of overconfidence, Steve snaps the door open, letting it hit the wall with a loud noise. The sudden movement turns your attention on him, and he can feel his cheeks burning bright under your gaze, his faux bravado trembling below the warmth of your eyes. The quizzical look you gave made him question his own ability for the dramatics. 

"It, uh, got stuck", he offers an embarrassed smile.

Good. Already starting with a lie.

"Yeah," your expression turns into amusement, "it gets jammed all the time". 

The kindness in your voice makes him feel a little better about himself, maybe he wasn't being such a fool in front of you. His heart started to thump inside his chest, blood pumping in his ears like thunder as he walked closer to where you stood, just behind the big counter. With an intense gaze set on your face, he watched as your eyebrows furrow in his direction again. 

"Is there something on my face?" you lift your hand up to your cheek, wiping it off in a hurry.

"No! It's just-," he interrupts himself, suddenly realizing that this script wasn't supposed to go this way. What is he meant to say now? Under your expectant gaze, it's not like he can think of anything intelligible. "It's not that". 

"Oh, okay," breathing out, seeming relieved by the information, you bring your hand down. With a voice that dripped with curiosity, you ask, "Why we-were you staring, then?"

Steve feels so stupid now that he can only blink down at you, his head getting fuzzy by that cute look in your eyes and the way your lips quirked up, stifling a smile. Yeah, he's a goner.

Before he could actually think about what he was saying, he hears the sound of his voice echoing through the empty video rental store, "I don't wanna be a Duckie". 

"What are you talking about?" you laugh out loud, though it's clear that you're not laughing at him. His words took you both by surprise, and he couldn't expect any other reaction. 

"Sorry," Steve apologizes, chuckling along, "I didn't mean to say that. What I wanted to say was… well, by the look on your face I think you already know". 

Again, he just blurted it out without reflecting on it first. But it was justified. 

For the first time, he saw something different in the way you looked up at him. Maybe it was just him being impacted by Max's words, but Steve swears that he has never seen that mellow tenderness gleaming in the color of your eyes before… or at least, he had never noticed it like this. He feels like an even bigger idiot now for not realizing it sooner. 

"Know what?" your question comes as a sign of your unawareness of his new understanding, and it makes a sweet smile grow on his face.

"I like you". 

The three words come out in a far more relaxed way than he had originally imagined his confession to be. Clearly, his realization made a wave of true confidence wash over his body, putting him back in his element of ease. And to say it out loud was a relief like no other.

But when he was met with no answer, just that shocked look on your face, his smile faltered.

"It's alright if you don't feel the same," he reassures, "I just… I didn't want to keep waiting around, wasting more opportunities by never telling you how I feel, because if you feel the same, I really don't want you to get away just like that. And uh- I don't want to be just your friend, but it's fine if you-"

"I like you too", you talk a bit louder than him, interrupting his train of thought, without any remorse. "I, uh- never said anything because I thought you didn't like me back". 

He is still, like a statue in front of you, processing the information. 

And it seems like an eternity before he cups your face, the palms of his hands resting warmly over your cheeks. His long fingers graze against your temples, and just the feeling is enough to ease your hammering heart, but as he leans closer to your face, you can feel your own breath ricocheting against his lips.

Steve stares at you through half-lidded eyes, as if he is waiting for your go-ahead. And it's only when you softly nod up at him that he presses his mouth against yours, letting his lips wrap around your bottom lip in a soft, loving peck. His mind was misty with increasing thoughts of you, your candy-flavored lips, and the smooth texture of your cheeks, along with the feel of the roots of your hair on his fingertips. You were breathing in each other in your kiss, and your breath came faltering against the other cheek. It was truly world-shattering, something you had never felt before in your life. 

As you slowly, and almost reluctantly so, pull apart, Steve feels a small chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Seeing your amused expression, he smiles. 

"We have so much time to make up for". 

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie. 

𖤐 taglist: @oncasette if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

#liv talks about stevie #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

[lightwise]

Hidden Monsters

For some reason this has been a bear (dragon, Vrathean, pick your Star Wars creature) to write, but I realized after this last episode of TBB that there was more to the “monster of the week” trope that we all love to get tired of in Star Wars, and specifically for our beloved Batch members. I believe that some of the main “monsters” each member of the Batch has faced and could face represent inner turmoil and the storms/dark things within that each of them has had to wrestle with. The choices each of them have made to tame or calm or live with the creatures they have encountered, instead of automatically killing them or choosing violence against them, is a powerful metaphor. Something that looks like a monster on the outside may not necessarily be a monster on the inside, when cared for and acknowledged properly. 

Echo and the Rishi Eel

Echo’s very first mission on Rishi station involved a giant monster, a droid army invasion, watching his superior officer die in front of him, and losing most of his squad along with the entire outpost he had been assigned to help defend. After the Rishi station is overrun by battle droids, Echo, Fives, Hevy, and Cutup escape through an air vent only to land in the middle of what turns out to be the Rishi eel’s nest. Echo is second to last in line and has to watch as Cutup is snatched up by the eel right behind him and swallowed whole. Echo is the only one to look back and commemorate Cutup with his name and a sigh before they have to keep moving. He does the same at the end of the episode when they lose Hevy, thanking him for his self sacrifice. Echo’s mind—strategic, careful, hesitant, wanting to do the right thing—is always on his brothers and their safety, and his own fears and questioning give way to courage and determination as he watches his brothers do what needs to be done.  

This formative experience is literally emblazoned on Echo’s chest and becomes part of his identity when Rex shoots the eel in the eye, wipes some of its blood on his hand, and presses it against Echo’s armor as he encourages him to keep going. This combination of bravery, looking death in the eye, and holding compassion for each of his brothers as they fall continues to be a running theme throughout Echo’s character arc—from holding 99 in his arms as he dies, to hanging in the Techno Union chamber where his mind and body were used to hunt down the brothers he loved, to overcoming the changes and loss he’s experienced and finding a new family with the Batch and Omega, to coming full circle and joining Rex to help free his brothers from the Empire’s grip. He has had to watch as brother after brother is taken away from him, but he has learned how to keep going in the face of loss. These experiences bring out who he is—caring, loyal, brave, resolute, and a symbol of endurance—and trace back to the very first monster he had to face. 

Hunter, Omega, and the Ordo Moon Dragon

In season 1 the Batch is newly on the run from Kamino after Order 66, finding Omega, and losing Crosshair. They crash onto an uninhabited planet and while trying to repair their ship, an Ordo Moon Dragon makes off with their capacitor, leaving them stranded. Like the Zillo beast seen in season 2, it feeds on energy but is actually peaceful when not provoked. Hunter wants to track it down, by himself, but Omega insists on accompanying him. While tracking the creature, Omega brings up Crosshair’s absence, and Hunter is unwilling to even say Crosshair’s name, and he is very uncomfortable with the conversation. He is unwilling and unable to face his demons right now, and instead is wallowing in self-blame. Hunter won’t be able to fully face his inner turmoil until Crosshair returns and they encounter the Wyrm on Barton IV, another dragon-like creature which also burrows underground (although it is much, much larger, and more harmful than the Ordo Moon Dragon, signifying how much Hunter’s avoidance and resentment grows over time as it is not dealt with). It’s also interesting that this episode cuts back and forth to Crosshair fully under the influence of the chip and wiping out Saw Gurerra’s insurgents in a very violent manner. 

Hunter ends up being knocked out by the creature and Omega takes her flashlight and his blaster to complete the mission, going alone into the tunnels where the dragon lives. What Omega learns is that she doesn’t need the blaster to deal with the situation. As scary as it is, she doesn’t have to kill the dragon or use violence against it, as it’s simply hungry and looking for food. The terrifying creature becomes a thing of beauty, green electric shocks running over its rainbow colored body, illuminating the tunnel and Omega’s face as it feeds on the flashlight she throws to it in exchange for their capacitor. The visuals mimic the teal and green rippling over the Vrathean that Omega and Ventress encounter and have to calm down in season 3 (more on that further on). 

However, this wasn’t Omega’s mission. It was Hunter’s, but she ends up completing it for him. Omega learns a valuable lesson here, which fits in with her natural tendencies of drawing both people and animals to her caring, compassionate nature instead of judging them based on appearance, but I’m not sure that this was her ultimate trial in facing her own inner demons. (See my thoughts on why this is important at the end of this essay in the Ventress section.) This also was a failed attempt for Hunter, and he would end up facing his trial again in The Return in season 3. 

Wrecker and the Rancor (Muchi)

Wrecker was introduced as a character whose expertise is in explosives and making things blow up. He lives for making a ruckus and having a good time, but his strengths are engineered to be used for destruction. 

Much of Wrecker’s character arc in season 1 is learning how to become more of an adult/parental figure for Omega, and how to put his own desires and needs aside in order to help take care of hers (letting her eat first, making a room for her in the gunners nest, watching out for her). In Rampage, the Batch is charged with rescuing a “child,” who they eventually find out is a young, ornery, and decidedly huge Rancor. Wrecker is the only one of them strong enough to sedate the creature after a lengthy bout of essentially hand to hand “combat.” They needed to bring Muchi back alive and Wrecker ends up gaining mutual affection and respect with her. Muchi is now calm and tamed enough that Omega can ride on her back with no fear or worry of danger.

Rancors adhere to a strict social and familial hierarchy, and have to challenge the alpha for authority. Wrecker starts out brash and boastful, and even though he is always caring, he becomes much more aware of his surroundings and his standing in their family unit as he grows in his responsibilities toward Omega. Rampage is shortly before his chip goes off, where he almost kills his entire squad. While his brute strength is an asset when used in the right ways, it is lethal if used for the wrong ones, and through his family bonds (especially with Omega) Wrecker is ultimately able to overcome the worst, chipped version of who he had been made to be, and instead be a source of safety and strength for Omega and his family. 

Tech and the Zillo Beast

The Zillo beast is a marvel amongst Star Wars creatures. Its armor is impenetrable and highly valuable, and it feeds almost exclusively on energy, which allows it to become larger and morph into an even more powerful creature. When the Batch encounters it in season 2 in Metamorphasis, it tries to attack all of them, but Tech is the only one who is “fascinated” by the creature rather than scared of it. Similar to the Zillo beast feeding on energy, Tech’s mind was what he was known for, and he “fed” it by constantly consuming and integrating data about the world around him (which is transmitted by energy currents). During this episode Tech is confident in his own capabilities and extremely interested in learning more about the cloning technologies they were uncovering on this crashed ship. Tech’s research on the Zillo beast, while helpful, unfortunately comes too late and the Batch are unable to either put down or recapture the creature before it grows too strong for them to deal with. In the process, the Zillo beast escapes and is eventually recaptured by the Empire.

I’ve always been fascinated by the point in this episode where Tech is downloading the rest of the information from the terminal onto his data pad, and Hunter warns Omega that Imperials are inbound. She immediately tells Tech they need to go, and he refuses for a moment, saying he needs to finish capturing the data. If Omega did not pressure him to leave (and the electricity go out), he very well could have been standing there when ships bomb their location a few moments later, and gotten both himself and Omega killed for no good reason. At this moment his love of knowledge is overpowering his common sense and his love for his family, and it almost costs him everything. 

Contrast this to a few moments later when he pulls Omega out of danger as they leave the ship, and Plan 99 when he chooses to sacrifice himself not for his own gain, but solely so his family has a chance to live. He had to face his greatest asset where it could also be his greatest failure, and learn how to prioritize and wield his strengths. 

Crosshair and the Vulture 

In The Outpost in season 2, Crosshair has spent almost two seasons engulfed in poor choices made both against his will (the chip), and of his own volition (staying with the Empire no matter what in pursuit of a sense of purpose and loyalty). His decisions are starting to grate on him and have led him down a dark path, but he hasn’t been fully ready to find a way to change them. When he lands on the icy planet of Barton IV, he encounters fearsome ice vultures shrieking overhead. He is told by the outpost’s commanding clone officer, Mayday, that the creatures are vicious, but admirable, because they find a way to survive. 

Vultures signify both death and cleansing and are often feared and viewed with disgust, yet are an integral part of nature. Crosshair’s isolation and status as a clone soldier have put him in a precarious and often misjudged position, in ways he doesn’t even fully realize until this episode. His very life is in danger due to the Empire’s stance toward the clones, but so far Crosshair has believed that he is valuable to the Empire in ways that the regular clones are not. This attitude and perspective are severely challenged by Lieutenant Nolan, who speaks contemptuously both about and to every clone he encounters. Nolan’s lack of respect for them as soldiers, as officers, and even as people, is an extreme look at what Crosshair’s callousness and misplaced loyalty could lead him to if he is not careful. His fate is hanging in the balance.

After being sent on an inhumane mission to retrieve two crates of armor in a blinding snowstorm, Crosshair and Mayday are caught in an avalanche. After coming up out of the snow gasping for air, Crosshair could choose to get himself back to base and leave Mayday behind. Find a way to survive in the cold on his own, but kill the last of his compassion and personal values in the process. Instead, he chooses to put his life even more at risk to bring Mayday along with him. 

Unfortunately for both of them, when they get back to base, Nolan has zero sympathy for their self-sacrifice, and allows Mayday to die unceremoniously on the platform from his wounds. Once again, a vulture is circling overhead, waiting to partake of its next meal. It signifies the threat of death but also Crosshair’s struggle and desire to survive. Crosshair is now staring his own lack of value and expendability in the face, and where he finds himself is now fully intolerable. He cannot continue on the way he has been without the very essence of who he is breaking irreparably in the process. Does he reclaim who he is, a compassionate and forceful individual who protects those he cares about? Or does he fall in line with what the Empire wants from him, knowing he will be discarded regardless?

Crosshair integrates his lesson in a visceral manner, his own personal traits mimicking the very essence of the ice vulture as he finally reorients his moral compass, takes a stand for himself and for his clone brothers, and takes vengeance on Lieutenant Nolan. His caution and inner turmoil are channeled into one desperate act as he becomes an agent/angel of death, the framing of the scene creating vulture-like wings spread on either side of him. He doesn’t expect to survive this encounter, choosing a path that looks like death on the outside but is cleansing and redeeming for him on the inside. He can now face the future as his whole, integrated self.

Hunter, Crosshair, the Vulture, and the Wyrm 

The vulture and its meaning for Crosshair, as well as Hunter’s cut-short encounter with the Ordo Moon Dragon, both have their bookends in season 3’s episode The Return. Crosshair has seen immense character growth after his choices in The Outpost, and has not only redeemed himself but has been given the chance to start reconciling with everyone he has hurt. This episode has two creatures that serve two important purposes: the vulture returns as a metaphor for Crosshair’s need to reconcile with and forgive himself, and a new creature, a giant wyrm (nice Dune reference there, Star Wars) highlights the fractured rift between him and Hunter, and the anger, distrust, and resentment that Hunter has been running from since Aftermath. 

The Batch has returned to Barton IV, and Crosshair is greeted by the ice vulture as they land. The weather is calm and clear this time, and the creature is observing him but not in a threatening way. At the same time, tensions rise to a breaking point between Hunter and Crosshair and a long-awaited argument starts between them. Before it can be resolved, the wyrm erupts out of the ground and puts all of their lives in danger. It had been kept at bay previously by high-pitched noises, (oddly similar to Hunter’s enhanced senses, which he has been so distracted from that he wasn’t aware of the danger ahead of time) and lived underneath the same snow that had buried Crosshair and Mayday. 

In their efforts to draw the creature away from the outpost so they can turn the sensors back on, Hunter falls through the snow into the wyrm’s tunnels. Crosshair has already had his inner journey underneath the snow on Barton IV. This time, Hunter has to finally face his own struggles. Every step of the way he has been running and hiding, trying to keep his family and Omega safe by keeping them away from the Empire, away from Crosshair, away from danger, but failing miserably. This time, Hunter could simply let Crosshair haul him back up to the surface when he reaches the spot where Crosshair and Batcher have dug a hole in the ice to pull him out. But he hasn’t confirmed that the wyrm is actually past the boundary and that it is safe to turn the perimeter sensors back on. This time, Hunter stays below the surface, and keeps himself in harms way until he is absolutely sure that his family is safe and that his own emotions have been worked through. He is starting to take responsibility for his journey. His senses start to kick in again and he refuses to leave the tunnel until the wyrm is barreling down his neck, and then he finally accepts Crosshair’s help. Both of them run to safety, the perimeter beacons turn on, and the wyrm is now on the other side of an invisible barrier of sound, harmless and chastened until it finally slinks away. 

The boys exchange glances and nods. Their rift has been bridged and they are both willing to move forward, together. This is proven by the end of the episode, where Crosshair, who has remained closed off and unwilling to discuss what he’s been through, opens up slightly to Hunter before they leave, and Hunter responds with forgiveness, acknowledgement, and hope for the future. And for now, it’s enough. Crosshair looks into the sky and watches the ice vulture flying overhead once again. Except this time, it flies off into the sunset, signifying that his lessons from this planet have been fully learned, that the spirit of survival in the face of death that he has been carrying with him can now be put towards living and thriving again. Both Hunter and Crosshair are leaving slightly more whole than when they first arrived, both as individuals and in their restored relationship with each other. 

Ventress, Omega, and the Vrathean

Omega gets a second chance at taming a terrifying creature in The Harbinger in season 3. After Asajj Ventress shows up on Pabu to help the Batch figure out the m-count conundrum that makes Omega’s blood so valuable to the Empire, (and after Omega has begged her to stay and test her capabilities), she and Omega go out onto the ocean to test Omega’s potential Force sensitivity. (Also after Ventress had to whoop the boys’ backsides to get them to slightly trust her, but we won’t go into that here). 

Throughout this season, (and really for most of her life), Omega has…not been doing well. Her time on Tantiss, leaving the rest of the clones imprisoned there behind when she and Crosshair escaped, and the relentless pursuit of her by the Empire has truly traumatized her and made her single-mindedly want to know why she is always in danger and putting everyone else around her in danger as well. Her mental health has been spiraling a bit and her inner turmoil is starting to rival Crosshair’s in season 2. She knows that m-count is important and is also thrilled at Ventress mentioning the Jedi, while the rest of the Batch and Ventress herself are very somber about the prospect that Omega might have Force capabilities. However, in her desire to have answers, she ends up being very impatient and frustrated and doesn’t even show her typical level of optimism and concentration in working through Ventress’ tests for her. It’s almost like her goal (finding answers) is at odds with what her idea of finding those answers looks like.

After having tried and failed to “reach out” to the Force to summon anything, Omega pouts and sits back down in the boat, seemingly defeated. Ventress has asked her to try to connect to nature, probably because she has seen Omega’s connection to Batcher and assumes that might be more in line with whatever her gifting might be. Two of Omega’s main traits and strengths are her optimism in the face of defeat, and her compassion toward literally every living thing she encounters. She is always curious, generous, caring, and wanting to connect with others. Which makes it even more curious that she is so easily stumped and disconnected by this exercise. She challenges Ventress to prove why *she* is the best person to be teaching Omega this lesson, and Ventress sighs but gently and carefully shows her powers by calling up a school of glowing green fish from the water. “I’m not the one holding back,” she tells Omega.

After a peaceful moment, however, another creature, this time a giant and tentacled Vrathean, emerges from the water as well and starts hunting Ventress and Omega down. It’s unclear if Ventress actually called the creature up herself or not, but if she did it was not intentional. She helps rescue Omega from the creature’s clutches and then chooses to put herself in more danger by letting it grab her, and communing with it through the Force as it tries to eat her. The deadly creature becomes a thing of astonishing beauty as the color of the sea ripples over its body and its eyes soften and recognize Ventress as a sentient being. 

This is where it gets interesting, because this peacefulness, calm, and compassion is not something we would have associated with prior versions of Ventress. Her experiences and growth throughout the Clone Wars, her associations with Ahsoka and Quinlan, and her choices have turned her into a much softer and stronger version of herself. This has now become her trial by allowing her to showcase just how much she has changed, and how much her own worldview has flipped. 

This is an incredible example for Omega, but similar to how she took Hunter’s trial for him in Replacement, Ventress has now filled what was supposed to be hers. This begs the question, what is Omega actually holding back on? Is she really Force sensitive? Or is just her compassion and tenderness toward everyone around her overtaking her in unhealthy ways? She has always had a tendency to put herself in harms way in an attempt to make up for the complications her presence brings her brothers. 

Omega will have to face these implied monsters at some point. I’m not actually certain that she will end up facing a creature like everyone else has—there’s the possibility that because she naturally has more affinity with creatures and beings that look monstrous but really aren’t, she may end up facing her inner demons in another manner. Will it be a person instead? Or a choice? Even, might I say, an identity crisis? It remains to be seen, but the fact that she must face it in order to overcome and integrate it is unquestionable. 

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #the clone wars #tcw #rishi eel #vrathean #wyrm #vulture #ordo moon dragon #monsters #creatures #star wars creatures #crosshair #hunter #echo #omega #wrecker #ventress #long post #meta #star wars meta #tbb meta #character analysis #somelightramblings #some light ramblings #monster of the week

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Saved

Part 1 – Sihtric x reader

Authors note: while rewatching the Season 2 of TLK and going wild with exploring my newly acquired skill of taking and editing screenshots I became obsessed with the idea of writing my own version of how Sihtric met Uhtred. Please bear with me as I'm working on learning to concentrate on the essentials and leave out unnecessary details, but I also believe that small details can make the characters more vivid.

Summary: reader is Uhtred’s sister and a skilled healer. She travels with her brother’s men and after the unsuccessful attempt on Uhtred’s life gets curious about the young prisoner, the sole Dane from the group of assailants that is left alive.

Warnings: violence and mention of blood

Word Count: 1,129

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Sihtric found you sitting in your favourite spot near the lake, beneath the shade of the ancient oak tree whose sprawling branches provided protection from the scorching sun. He hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage, before taking a seat beside you. In your presence, he still retained an endearing shyness, as if uncertain of how to navigate the depths of his feelings. Sihtric stole glances in your direction, admiring your strength and beauty. His mind raced with the desire to strike up a conversation, but he couldn't find the right words. Finally, he mustered the courage to speak.

"I just wanted to thank you for saving me," Sihtric said, his expression serious as he turned to you.

"Saving you? What did I save you from?" you asked, puzzled.

"From feeling miserable, unwanted, and like I didn't belong anywhere," Sihtric replied, glancing into your eyes for a moment before lowering his gaze, his fingers fidgeting with the Thor's hammer amulet hanging around his neck. Nervousness radiated from him, mingled with a charming blend of insecurity and shyness that made a smile curl on your lips.

"You had every reason to hate me for attempting to kill your brother, but you never did. Instead you showed me kindness that I never truly deserved," Sihtric continued.

He had changed so much since the day you first met. You could still recall that evening as vividly as if it were yesterday, when Kjartan's men had tried to take Uhtred's life. They might have succeeded if not for Halig, who noticed the suspicious absence of the newly arrived Danes and urged the others to search for them. You had been on the verge of sleep after a long and busy day. Being a healer in a warrior's camp meant there was always an abundance of injuries to tend to, even without a battle. Men would hurt themselves during sword training, get kicked by horses, or foolishly engage in fights over trivial matters. Today, you had to fix a dislocated shoulder all because of an argument about the best whore at the White Goose tavern in Lundene. The shouts and clash of swords roused you from your slumber, causing you to hastily dress and rush out of your tent. Expecting yet another drunken brawl, you sought to find Uhtred and put an end to it. However, by the time you arrived, the fighting was already over. You approached the gathering of men, only to discover five lifeless Danes being dragged away from the lawn behind the stables.

"Uhtred!" you called out, fear lacing your voice as you saw him leaning against a stable pillar, breathing heavily. "Are you hurt?"

"All is fine. Don't worry, little sis. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for our Danish guests, but don't fret, they won't be needing your attention," Uhtred grinned, attempting to lighten the atmosphere as he noticed your concerned expression.

"Let me check on you," you insisted, pulling him closer to the torchlight so you could assess his injuries. At first glance, there were some bruises and a swollen eye, but no apparent serious damage. His movements lacked any signs of pain or hesitation, indicating that he likely didn't have any broken ribs. Still, you were reluctant to let him go, but Uhtred firmly took hold of your hands, kissing your palms, and with a determined voice, called out to the men dealing with the corpses behind you: "Secure the prisoner. I'll need answers from him later."

"I'm fine, sis. Truly, I am. Please don't worry," he reassured you, turning to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. Apart from Ragnar, Uhtred's Danish brother, the two of you were all that remained of your family, and the bond between you had always been remarkably strong. You loved this proud, stubborn, and courageous young man, and he cared deeply for you.

Reluctantly, you turned your head to catch a glimpse of the young, bruised Dane, his hands awkwardly tied before him as Clapa dragged him away. The Dane was in a pitiful state, with fresh cuts and scrapes covering his arms, a split eyebrow, and a bleeding lip and nose. Anxiety radiated from his tense body. In a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and you detected a flicker of despair within them. It struck you how young and handsome he appeared, despite his current circumstances.

Uhtred's men returned to their respective fireplaces, the evening just beginning. You knew all too well that this minor incident wouldn't deter them from their usual activities of drinking, gambling, and arguing about the “best whores”, as they did almost every night. You had no desire to be part of that. Tomorrow, there would be more dislocated shoulders and broken fingers to tend to, and since Uhtred seemed fine you eagerly longed to return to your tent and go back to sleep.

As you made your way past an empty wagon, you noticed Clapa and Halig engaged in what seemed like an argument. Initially, you hesitated to involve yourself, suspecting it was another petty quarrel you didn't want to be dragged into. However, as you attempted to quietly pass by, your eyes caught sight of the silhouette seated by the wagon. It was the young prisoner, the sole Dane who had survived today's assault on Uhtred's life. His gaze, as he was being dragged away from the small battlefield by Clapa, his hands bound and his face smeared with blood, lingered in your memory. An unexplainable feeling stirred within you, prompting a change of heart, and you headed straight for Clapa and Halig.

“What are you two arguing about? Aren't you supposed to be guarding the prisoner?" you asked with frustration evident in your voice.

"We are, lady!" Clapa replied defensively. "Uhtred ordered us to decapitate the corpses, but Halig lacks the courage to do it."

“That's not true, lady!" Halig interjected hastily. "I just needed a drink first. You can't deny a man a drink, especially one who's tasked with severing heads from still-warm bodies. Besides, it's better to do it later when the blood has thickened. And there's no need for two men to guard a securely tied-up prisoner”

"Alright, enough quarrelling, lads. Halig, go and fetch your drink, and Clapa, get yourself an axe or do you plan on using your eating knife? I'll keep an eye on the prisoner," you ordered firmly. As Uhtred's sister and a skilled healer, you were accustomed to giving orders, and his men knew better than to argue with you. Both departed without hesitation, not bothering to question your decision, although it must have seemed peculiar to them that you wished to remain alone with the prisoner. Turning your gaze towards him, you approached cautiously, maintaining a safe distance just in case.

“Are you hurt?" you inquired, observing the Dane who sat beside the wagon, his back resting against the wheel. He raised his head, confusion, and distress evident in his eyes. He didn't respond just shook his head.

“Your lip and nose have been bleeding quite profusely. Wait here, I'll fetch my bag," you said with a chuckle. "How foolish of me, as if he had much choice in the matter," you thought to yourself while making your way to your tent to retrieve your medical supplies. You always kept a bag prepared, stocked with clean rags, salves, potions, and other necessities, ensuring you wouldn't waste time searching when urgently needed.

Returning with your bag and a piece of bread in hand, you offered it to the prisoner, but he made no move to accept. Leaning his head back against the wagon wheel, he closed his eyes. Shrugging your shoulders, you placed the bread back in your bag and instead took out some clean rags and a leather flask filled with water. The Dane opened his eyes, watching your every move. Kneeling before him, you dampened the rags and reached out your hand to cleanse his face. Startled, he instinctively flinched and jerked his head back, accidentally striking it against the wheel, eliciting a groan of pain.

"Hey, stay still. I only want to clean your face," you said, perplexed by his sudden reaction. His whole body tensed as you gently touched his forehead and continued to clean his bruised cheekbones.

"The brow will require stitches," you informed him.

“Why are you doing this?" the Dane spoke, his voice husky but soft. "I am a dead man. Why would you bother stitching my brow if your husband will later torture me for information and then kill me anyway.”

Tilting your head to the side, you continued to wipe away the blood from his face, now focusing on his busted lip and chin.

“I don't have a husband. I have a brother whom you sought to kill tonight," you said, finished with cleaning his face you observed his features intently. "And if there's one thing I know for certain about my brother, it's that he has never tortured anyone, nor will he ever," you couldn't help but think about how handsome this young man was and you felt a pang of sympathy for his unfortunate circumstances. He believed his fate was sealed and had resigned himself to it. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, as if he dared not meet your eyes.

“I didn't want to kill him. I just did not have much choice about it," the Dane's voice remained calm, resolute, and tinged with sincerity. "I only wish Lord Uhtred would grant me the honour of dying as a warrior, sword in hand. And I would willingly share everything I know with him.”

“Not that I fear the pain," he hastily added, "I simply owe no allegiance to Kjartan.”

Unexplainably, you found yourself believing this man. Every word he spoke carried weight, and you suddenly felt deeply sorry for him.

“You are very kind to me, lady," the Dane continued, his voice filled with a sense of shame for being here, for being a part of what had happened. "I don't deserve your attention, but I am immensely grateful for it."

"What's your name?" you found yourself asking, driven by an inexplicable curiosity. It was as if fate had brought this unfortunate young warrior across your path, and a growing resolve began to take shape within you. You did not want to let him to the fate he thought inevitable.

“I am called Sihtric, lady,” the Dane answered with no hesitation. “Would you like to live?" you suddenly asked, as a seemingly absurd idea took hold in your mind.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #arnas fedaravicius #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric x reader #tlk fics #Sihtric fics #sihtric x you #violence

[mcflymemes]

THE PRINCESS DIARIES & THE PRINCESS DIARIES 2: ROYAL ENGAGEMENT PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from both films (2001 & 2004)

the brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all.

wait for me! wait for me!

anyone can see your desires. no one knows what's in your heart.

you are so lucky you don't know who your parents are.

i am invisible... and i am wet.

i'm just supposed to watch you.

am i too late to ask you to accept my hand in marriage?

you broke my glasses!

don't worry about me.

a princess never chases a chicken.

this really is more romantic in books.

oh, by the way! i'm getting married!

you're not very good at lying.

i thought you'd never ask.

oh! oh yes! i absolutely accept!

somebody sat on me again.

we just made the bed.

tell me a secret.

i have done a lot of flying in my day.

do we have any problems?

you'll never be bored.

i loathe you.

no matter how many times you press that, it will still go up and down the same way.

i just love to look at him.

you look so... clean.

can you please pretend you have a life for just one moment?

just in case i wasn't enough of a freak already, let's add a tiara.

this is between a waltz and a tango.

we don't slump like this.

tell me your greatest desires.

i thought you said you never slide.

if there are no more passengers, i think we should close the door.

this is getting us nowhere! talk to me!

are you sassing your grandma?

courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear.

i have never put on pantyhose before, but it sounds dangerous.

why me?

yeah, he's cute.

shut up!

look out the window.

as always, this is as good as it's gonna get.

don't forget your shoes.

i haven't danced with you since your birthday.

you're morphing into one of them!

probably all i ever do is think about myself.

i can't do this.

i have diplomatic immunity in 46 countries, including puerto rico.

i love your eyebrows.

you can't run from everything?

i simply cannot condone it.

love does things for reasons that reasons cannot understand.

hang up the phone!

the secret is... i still want to.

the fault was entirely my own.

i'd like to report an accident.

the three of us have to talk.

what am i, a duck?

my job is to protect the crown.

stop daydreaming!

oh! your foot! i'm so sorry, are you all right?

i hate it when they move in like that.

is there maybe something else about me and my life that just maybe i might want to know about?

this is so cool!

now what did you want to tell me?

just stop it, okay?

you will answer directly to me.

are you sure you don't want to exchange licenses and proof of insurances?

he's not a backstreet boys clone.

i don't like you.

i look like a moose.

well aren't you just... crafty.

i've got a wedding to go to.

wait wait! no, not you. i don't even know you.

can we park a block away from school?

you know what? i don't feel protected.

you will find the word "fear" is not in my vocabulary.

i won't be getting married today.

oh my god! you're here!

i beg your pardon!

oh, for the love of god!

why do you talk like that?

is your mom dating an undertaker?

you look so... young.

can i borrow a comb?

oh, yeah, that is exactly what you did.

i know it's short notice, but you were all dressed.

so where are you taking me?

who destroyed you?

just because i didn't get my fairytale ending doesn't mean you shouldn't.

not if you didn't want me to.

they're smitten!

well, that probably wasn't the best idea.

you look ridiculous. you should sue.

have you ever experienced that instant headache when you eat ice too quickly?

just because your hair sucks, get off mine!

do you wear contact lenses?

i would gladly take a bullet for you.

look over there.

is this the punishment for driving without a licensed driver in the front seat?

you broke my brush.

so what are we learning today?

did you happen to see who's here?

you talk to him much?

well, the camera's all ready to go.

let's go this way.

ever take those shades off?

are you ready?

enough bowing! back to your chores!

no more straggling for me.

you did very well. very charming.

the light is perfect!

i'm feeling shy, come on.

you chose me, and i accepted.

did you hear that?

do you have any change?

no, it's not attractive!

okay, i look like an asparagus.

where is she going?

if this were my party, we'd be kissing by now.

they put me on hold!

we never rush. we hasten.

you know what? i'm fine! i'm good!

a strange woman came in here and asked to hide in your closet so i let her.

should i shoo him?

#rp starters #rp memes #rp prompt #rp meme #rp musings #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #roleplay meme #writing prompt #askbox meme #ask memes #rp asks #ask meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #rp inbox meme #inbox prompts #sentence starter #sentence starters #sentence starter prompt #memes #the princess diaries #the princess diaries: royal engagement #princess diaries #movies #mcflymemes

[astroscientia]

🌊Astrological Observations: Part 4🌊

Hard Neptune transits (square, opposition, conjunction) can cause health issues, especially if it is aspecting your natal Mercury, Moon, or Sun. For example, when Neptune touched my Moon last year, I caught a virus that wrecked my immune system for months.

Neptune-Sun transits weaken the body to infections, viruses, and bruising while reducing our ability to see through other people's deception.

The sign in the 6th house indicates the type of health issues people might have. Having Leo in the 6th could indicate heart issues, for example.

Having Neptune-Sun aspects in the natal chart could also indicate the father's absence either through illness, substance abuse, working abroad, death, abandonment, etc. These natives and 12th house suns feel like their power was taken from them and that they cannot change the course of things. As such, they learn to be passive in life. If they have more cardinal placements, they might experience a need to overcompensate for an inner sense of feeling powerless and helpless.

Hard Saturn-Mars or Pluto-Mars aspects can indicate violence. They usually need to exercise or healthily express their frustrations; otherwise, they risk becoming abusive. After years of bottling up their emotions, they're prone to harsh and intense rages.

Since Mars represents our ability to defend ourselves, survive, and feel vivacious, having Saturn in a harsh aspect with Mars can indicate that a person fails or is too terrified of defending oneself. They subconsciously accept that they will fail at holding their ground. With time, this creates a lot of frustration from feeling like they are constantly being stepped on. As a result, these natives overcompensate by self-asserting themselves in the wrong situations and in the wrong manner.

Saturn-Mars natives may also scare themselves out of any competitive situation even though they can succeed. Their belief in their own impotence and powerlessness makes them self-sabotage and detail themselves in competitive situations. Their life lesson is to be disciplined and self-assess their abilities properly so that they can enter any situation confidently. They need to learn, through repetition, how to be courageous.

Hard Mars-ASC aspects indicate lots of accidents and head injuries in youth. These people usually have scars on their bodies from surgeries or accidents.

Usually, when Pluto touches a part of the chart, secrets are involved. Pluto-Mercury means knowing the secrets of your friends, cousins, siblings, or local environment. Pluto-Venus indicates issues around secret love affairs or money.

Interestingly, I noticed that Pluto-Mercury or Pluto in the 11th house can indicate being sexualized by your friends or having a sexual relationship with them.

Having Sun-Mercury-Pluto aspects is an indicator of debilitating intrusive thoughts. It can create over-identification with one's thoughts while feeling like your mind is your enemy.

Sun-Mercury alone can mean that your intellect and communication skills are your source of pride, esteem, and achievements.

Saturn-Mercury natives feel like they must think 100 times before speaking because of their immense fear of humiliation. This placement, along with Saturn in the 3rd or 9th, is a big sign of feeling ashamed of how one communicates their ideas and identity.

Also, Saturn-Mercury aspects and a retrograde Mercury can make the person avoid doing exams or forget all their knowledge during exams because of their anxiety. This placement can also indicate a speech impediment.

Uranus-Mercury natives are usually incredibly intelligent, and their processing speed is phenomenal. They can catch and retain information quickly and with minimal effort, unlike Saturn-Mercury natives who need to drill the information into their heads agonizingly.

Jupiter-Mercury individuals are usually intelligent but sometimes incoherent and imprecise with their communication. They also struggle with synthesizing information. They are better researchers than they are articulators because they cannot focus on the information that they have except with a lot of effort. They're the type of teacher or professor with much information but are not very organized.

Thank you for reading!

#astrology #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #Jupiter-Mercury aspects #Saturn Mercury aspects #Sun Mercury #pluto aspects #mars aspects #saturn aspects #venus aspects #uranus aspects #neptune aspects #moon aspects #astrological observations #astrological aspects

[anarchywoofwoof]

As you learn a new skill or your brain intakes further information, a complex dance of chemicals, cells, and physiological reactions begins.

An insulating layer forms around each nerve cell in the brain and spinal cord called Myelin. As you learn or begin to understand information, the myelination process reinforces new neural pathways. Myelin forms a thick sheath of protein and fat that acts in the way that an insulator around an electrical cable would, strengthening and speeding electrical signaling in the nerve pathways that connect one neuron to the next.

In addition to the formation of myelin, novel experiences cause a rush of Dopamine, a neurotransmitter, in the brain’s ventral tegmental area. From there, it’s released into the prefrontal cortex. Dopamine is the chemical that mediates pleasure and, thus, is often referred to as the “pleasure chemical,” but this is a misnomer, and the assertion is flawed; dopamine doesn’t actually produce pleasure. It does, however, reinforce feelings of pleasure by connecting sensations of pleasure to certain behaviors. 

It is, nonetheless, an indisputable fact that a wealth of dopamine has been expended, afforded, and consumed in this journey. And it is no less accurate that the nerve cells within my mind are as well reinforced as the most secure of bank vaults. They remain securely guarded, cased in myelin as they travel through vast regions of what some might call superfluous space, occupied by names and dates and facts and figures stored away haphazardly like dusty manila folders, crammed into overflowing taupe squares, stacked thrice tall and teetering ominously.

This, of course, a parable to the chaos that rests somewhere between the frames of my eyeglasses and my central nervous system.

But standing – and note, I do mean standing, as nary a Midwestern gale or fascist shoulder could upend me – here on the far side of a disaster twice removed, I can make a declaration of sorts:

“To be optimistic in such exceptionally pessimistic times is a unique, beautiful, and rewarding insanity.”

Do not mistake this for placidity or stubborn positivity in the face of a wholly negative reality. It is accurate and valid that you will find yourself in moments that do not warrant a positive perspective. In these moments, the key is empathy, care, validation, love, support, and rebuilding when the time is right. There is a warranted time to despair.

Despair; “to be overcome by a sense of futility or defeat.”

Despair naturally destroys courage and stops all effort, yes, but what lies underneath could very well be a kind of courage and intense activity founded upon the sense that there is nothing worse to be feared. Quoting George Eliot, “What we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.” To be greeted with these feelings in our darkest times, when the understanding that there is no recourse of action left but to endure, is to be wrapped in the embrace of a love whose absence was largely unrecognized.

Thus, I look to hope, eager and famished, seeking respite. And in my quest for hope, I find all I need and more. When I turn to myself and take inventory of the tools I have at my disposal and the control I have over my own destiny, I am at peace. The choices are not easy; the road is not paved in gold, but what road is? And so I forge ahead in the name of those too tired to carry on, knowing the tacit agreement must be fulfilled, that we must do it for ourselves & thus, each other.

#text #bork bork thoughts

[goosewithtwoos]

HOME MOVIES

Pairing: Bob x Reader

Summary: Swoon pt 2 🫡

You hadn’t had any more alone time with Bob since your last encounter.

It wasn’t like you were avoiding each other, it was simply due to unfortunate scheduling and the fear of being caught.

Sure, you had talked a lot more than before, but it was typically in group settings. You learned a lot more about him and all his hobbies outside of being a RIO.

Phoenix hadn’t mentioned your slip up of swapped name badge but she did shoot you knowing glances whenever Bob entered the room.

You needed alone time with him. You needed to tell him exactly how you felt and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been missing his touch.

When you heard the team had plans to go to the Hard Deck, you knew you had your chance to strike.

You dug out the only set of lingerie you had brought and changed from your not-so-sexy Navy issued bra and panties. You put your uniform over and checked the time.

It was already 16:57 and people would be leaving around 17:00. You crossed your fingers that Bob would notice your car still parked in the lot.

You stayed in your room, quickly reorganizing the shelves and making sure your dirty laundry was packed away in the closet. You sprayed your sheets a few times with Febreze for good measure.

You pulled out your phone again and saw it was already 17:04. Maybe Bob had gone with Phoenix and didn’t even notice your absence.

A part of you was sad but the other part laughed. How presumptuous were you? Bob didn’t seem like a hit it and quit it kind of guy but with the amount of times you’d been moved around, getting deployed and then transferred the second you got back, it was probably better not to get to close.

Still, you wished that you were brave enough to actually talk to him. Even after everything, it seemed like you were getting more flustered around him. You would blush at the drop of a hat and had to leave the room a few times when he smiled at you.

You sighed, grabbing your keys and heading towards the door. Perhaps if you saw him at the bar, a bit of liquid courage would go a long way and you’d be able to talk to him again. Or, if you were lucky, you’d brush the back of your hand across his.

Your face burned in shame at the thought of how much the small amount of contact sent heat through your body.

There was just something about him-

Him.

Who was standing in front of your door.

Your eyes widened in shock and you took a step back, stopping yourself from walking straight into his chest.

He wasn’t wearing his uniform, he had opted for a pair of blue jeans and a loose fitting white t-shirt. His shirt was tucked in and you noticed a black belt that did an excellent job of snatching his waist.

Christ, you were whipped.

“Sorry, I just noticed your car was still in the lot.” You melted. “And I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay.” You said, trying to not act like an excited school girl.

He smiled lop sided and part of his hair swept across his eyes. He had taken a shower earlier, you could smell the soap, and the lack of gel in his hair made it look so soft. You stopped yourself from reaching up and running your fingers through it.

“Are you coming with us?” He looked like a hopefully puppy, bouncing slightly on his toes as he waited your answer.

You clasped your hands together in front of you, trying to not look too sheepish.

“I thought about staying back this time around.” You bit your lip, looking up at him through you lashes. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to spell it out.

You didn’t.

He straightened his back, breath hitching ever so slightly as he began to shift his weight side to side.

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded, taking another step back into your room. He stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him.

It was a slight stand off before he took two strides forward, capturing you into a heated kiss. His lips against yours felt so right. You fit together like pieces of a puzzle and you never wanted to let him go.

You twisted your hands in his hair. You were right, it was soft. He pressed himself against you as he deepened the kiss. You were pleasantly surprised by how much initiative he was taking here.

One hand slipped down to the small of your back and you suddenly had flashbacks to the first time. Somehow this felt even more special. You pulled back for a brief moment, locking eyes before pressing yourself against him again.

Everything felt heightened. His simple touch was enough to send heat through your body. His fingers danced across you - moving from your back to your shoulders before resting right above your chest.

“Can - can I?” He asked, pulling gently at your lapels.

You nodded frantically, too excited for him to see your surprise to make words come out.

He stripped you of your jacket before making quick work of your tan undershirt.

His eyes widened and you would swear his brain short circuited. He gasped, mouth opening ever so slightly as he took in your lingerie. It wasn’t anything too fancy but he still looked like it was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.

“Do…do you wear this often?” His voice came out almost a whisper when he asked.

You laughed lightly. He was too adorable. “Only special occasions.”

He tore his eyes away from your chest, searching your face. “I’m a special occasion?”

Of course, even after everything he was still self conscious.

No one knew what had happened between the two of you, which was both good and bad. Good because Rooster and Hangman would tease you and him relentlessly and bad because Bob was still getting teased regardless.

A few days ago, Bob had gotten his clothes stolen while he was in the shower and had to tell the group a dirty secret in order to get them back.

His secret? He used to have a crush on Marilyn Monroe. It wasn’t dirty and Hondo forced the boys to give him back his clothes before it could go on any longer.

“Of course you’re special.” Your hand pressed to the side of his cheek, feeling the warmth blossom beneath.

You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back, slowly undoing your pants.

You purposefully went slow, trying to drag out the experience. He stood, hands clenched at his sides so he didn’t rip your pants off you himself.

Once they were on the floor and you were stood almost completely exposed, you raised your gaze to his.

Bob was trying his best to keep sane. He was sure he’d died and was seeing an angel. He wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and worship you the way you deserved.

“God, you’re so gorgeous.” He muttered, eyes raking across your body. He was trying to see every little detail of you and commit them to memory.

He reached out, grabbing your hips and pulling you close against him. He pressed his lips against you fervently, running his hands across the expanse of your skin.

His hands were warm and yet they still left goosebumps in their wake.

“Bob,” you whined against him. “I want to see you.”

Now it was his turn to whine.

You reached down, undoing his belt and throwing it across the floor. His jeans followed quickly after as he tore his shirt over his head. His glasses came off too and, much to your surprise, he left them off.

The thought of taking a picture was so appealing and yet you knew that no photo could come close to encapsulating the beauty that was in front of you. Perhaps it could capture half - three fourths if you were lucky - but the whole image was forever in your mind only.

You dropped to your knees before you could even think. He was already half hard in his boxers and you wanted nothing more than to get your mouth on him.

His hand found it’s way to your hair, gently pushing back some of the loose strands so they didn’t get into your face. It was so domestic, so pure. You reached out with your tongue, licking through the fabric.

It was no longer domestic.

He bucked his hips forward and used the hand on your head to push you into him. You kept licking through his boxers, playfully teasing the elastic band with your hands.

“Please - ngh- please just do something.” How could anyone deny him when he asked like that?

You pulled down his briefs quickly, pulling back to look at him wholly. He was fully hard at this point, leaking pre-cum. The viens on the side stood out even more than you remembered.

You pressed a kiss to the top before dipping down to lick from the underside back to the head. He groaned, fisting your hair back into a makeshift ponytail.

“O-oh fuck.” His hips rolled forward, thrusting deeper and hitting the back of your throat. He felt so warm on your tongue, you were sure you could stay like that for hours.

You swallowed around him. Bits of pre-cum dripped down your throat, making you moan. You hallowed your cheeks and picked up the pace.

His hips began moving on their own and you couldn’t complain. You looked up at him through your lashes, moaning at the sight.

Bob looked utterly fucked out. His hair was falling wildly over his eyes which were squeezed shut. His mouth was opened slightly and small whines kept escaping him. Both his hands had found their way to your head, one still holding back your hair and the other pressing you down onto him.

When you moaned around him again, he let out an almost embarrassingly loud cry before biting down on his bottom lip.

You allowed him to use your throat, chasing his high.

“I..I want to..” His head fell back, trying to make out words. “Can I cum in your mouth?”

You hummed in response, taking him deeper down your throat. He was leaking at this point and you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“So good…so good…Oh my God, I’m gonna come.” He was babbling at this point, hips snapping in rapid succession.

He came down your throat with a choked back sob. You swallowed, trying to breath through your nose, not letting anything spill out. He let your hair go, slumping back against the door.

“Thank you, thank you.” He whispered, trying to catch his breath. He ran his hand through his hair, pushing back stray strands.

As you went to stand, you found he was offering you a hand. He pulled you up and into a deep kiss. You knew he could taste himself on your tongue but he kept going deeper. It was like he was trying to devour you.

And you were more than willing to let him.

You pulled back, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him towards the bed. You spun him so that the back of his knees hit the bed before pushing him down.

He quickly scrambled to a more comfortable position and you saw his cock slowly start hardening again. Now he was at the head of the bed, laying on his back and waiting for you to do something.

“Let’s see if that tongue is as good as I remember.” You said, slowly removing your panties. They were soaked through at this point and you knew that you probably needed to get a new pair.

Your bra soon followed your panties on the floor and you blushed at the way Bob was looking at you. You got on the bed, and running your fingertips across his abs.

“You have five minutes, Lieutenant.”

Bobs eyes rolled back as you straddled his waist. You teasingly ran yourself up and down his chest a few times, enjoying the sensation against your clit.

He propped himself up on his elbows, watching your hips move before deciding he was done waiting.

In a swift motion, he grabbed your hips and roughly pulled you forward. You had to place your hands on the wall to keep from falling over as his breath ghosted over your core.

You were dripping and he wanted to make sure nothing went to waste.

His tongue raked over your thighs, picking up anything that would otherwise be left out. Once he was finally satisfied, he blew gently against you clit, making you nearly double over and cry out.

“You’re so reactive.” He noted and it shouldn’t have sounded as hot as it did. “What else makes you make those sounds…”

He didn’t give you any time to respond before pulling you down, delving straight into your core.

It was even better than you had remembered. His tongue was fucking in and out of you all while his nose pressed against your clit. Something about the way he was spelling his name drove your mind to the edge.

“Jesus, Robert.” You cried out as he started to pull you down even more against him. His grip around you was going to leave bruises and you were more than happy with that.

He hummed in response, sending waves through you. You made the mistake of looking down and almost came right then and there.

Bob’s eyes were closed like he was tasting the most delicious dessert and his hair was spread around his head like a halo. He wasn’t having a hard time breathing at all - in fact he seemed completely in his element as you smothered him.

His eyes flit open, making eyes contact before winking and closing them again.

It was too much. Seeing him beneath you like that, with his cocky attitude and the way his tongue was working better than any toy you’d ever used, you felt your toes curl as your spine tensed.

No man had ever gone down on you the way Bob was right now. He wasn’t just doing it for your pleasure, he was doing it for his, too.

The grip on your hips tightened as you began subconsciously riding his face. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest as you ground your hips against him, taking it as an opportunity to bring his thumb to your clit, sending shock waves through you.

His tongue hit a spot inside you that made you see stars and you felt yourself on the brink of coming.

“I-I’m gonna..holy fucking-” All words escaped you as he quickly replaced his tongue with his fingers and went to sucking on your clit.

You cried out a mix of words between ‘oh fuck’, ‘oh my God’, and ‘Robert’ as your orgasm hit you like a wall.

You had known it was going to be good but you had never had one like that before. You slumped forward, panting against the wall, before realizing Bob was still below you.

You tried to move back but found yourself still locked in his grip. His tongue was still moving across you, picking up everything but gentle enough to not overstimulate.

When he finally let you go, you unhooked your leg from the side of his head, flopping onto the bed.

He looked utterly fucked out and happy. His face was a mess and you inwardly cringed but the smile on his face made you reconsider.

You were still panting when you placed a hand on his cheek, turning his head so you could capture him in a kiss.

It wasn’t hungry like before. It was full of love and adoration, all the things you had wanted to give him. He kissed back happily, placing his hand on the small of your back, making you arch your body against his.

Three words sat on the tip of your tongue that you desperately wanted to say but you knew you had to hold them back.

You sighed into the kiss before pulling back and resting your head on his chest.

He played with your hair, wrapping his fingers around a few strands, twisting them around and before letting it fall back against you.

He muttered something, low and under his breath.

“Hm?” You responded, brain still trying to slowly make its way back.

“I said I want to take you to the Hard Deck.” He said again, slightly more confident.

You laughed, running a hand through his hair. His fingers found your thigh, gently running up and down.

“Right now?” You asked. “You just fucked me within an inch of my life and now you want me to go out?”

He bit the inside of his lip, trying to find the right words. He closed his eyes and got up abruptly.

A wash of panic ran through you. Had you done something wrong? Was it something you said? A million questions ran through your mind and you sat up, pulling up the sheets to cover your chest.

He grabbed his glasses and boxers, putting them both on, before sitting at the end of your bed.

“I want to take you to the Hard Deck.” He repeated. “I want to take you on dates. I want to bring you flowers and I want to be the one you run to when you come back from deployment.”

You moved closer, letting the sheet fall.

“I want to hold you in public and I want to wake up next to you in private.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself to his chest. Your head found it’s place in the crook of his neck and you nodded. Everything you wanted, he wanted to. Your heart was beating a million miles a minute.

“I want that too.” You whispered, shifting your body so you could look at him face to face. He was smirking, wild post-sex hair that somehow looked amazing on him.

“And,” He had a wild glint in his eyes. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before leaning back. “I want to know how you take your eggs in the morning.”

#top gun smut #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader smut #top gun x reader #top gun x reader smut #bob lives in my head rent free #bob is pushay eating king #bob fucks

[swallow-the-bird]

Do you have any favorite Harry Potter ships?

Well, besides my all-time favorite Grindeldore, I’m actually quite eclectic in my tastes! 🤣

Snarry, Snamione, Snily, Jily, Hedric, Dnarry, Sirry… I’ve read fanfictions about all of them, and I’ve enjoyed them. Perhaps it’s because the Harry Potter fandom has so many talented writers. As long as the story is captivating, I’m thrilled to read it!

There’s another pairing that I initially thought was improbable, but later became infatuated with—

Harrymort/Tomarry!!

***** ‼️ LONG post alert ‼️ Oh, whenever I get to a topic that excites me, I always end up being such a chatterbox🤣Please also be aware of what I say below is only my VERY SUBJECTIVE opinions ‼️ *****

While Harrymort/Tomarry seem to have a lover-enemy dynamic similar to Grindeldore, the premise for each is vastly different. Gellert and Albus once passionately loved each other in their youth, while Tom/Voldemort and Harry share deep animosity and are destined adversaries. How could they possibly be together? Moreover, I once believed that Tom Riddle was an emotionless monster. (But I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense!)

While Gellert might be categorized as a sociopath, capable of true loyalty and emotions towards a select few - Albus Dumbledore- and taking a lifetime to learn how to love, he at least has the capacity to love. This is evident when he ultimately understands the true meaning of remorse and willingly sacrifices his life to protect another’s grave.

But what about Tom?

In my eyes, Tom is a complete psychopath. Perhaps his traumatic childhood twisted his moral compass, but some characteristics seem innate and psychological. Tom’s emotional blunting seems more pronounced. He inherently lacks empathy and remorse. Even if he can comprehend others’ emotions and manipulate them, he doesn’t genuinely understand or empathize with them, which is why he can’t grasp the concept of remorse. Hence, he chose to become Voldemort. This made me question:

How can such a person love? He doesn’t even understand what love is.

This mirrors Gellert’s scathing taunt to Voldemort, “…there is so much you do not understand—!”

Yes, Tom Riddle—Voldemort— does not, and cannot understand love. But can he?

Some of my favorite authors have remarked:

“Yes, Tom Riddle—Voldemort— does not understand love, and he may never be able to. But just because you don’t understand something, does that mean you can’t have it?”

Harry is like a reflection of Tom Riddle. While Tom Riddle, in his hatred and fear, denied love and chose to become Voldemort, Harry, despite facing the same hatred and fear, came to understand what courage meant and chose love.

“Just by letting Harry see even the tiniest hint of Voldemort’s humanity, he will bravely embrace that one-in-a-million hope.”— Oh yes, hope. This is how many Tomarry/Harrmort fictions begin their stories.

Harry might harbor hatred for Voldemort for a lifetime, but the essence of forgiveness isn’t the absence of hate; it’s about learning to move on. If there’s anyone willing to embrace a shattered soul with such heinous crimes, it would be Harry Potter. Just as he has embraced death with the same courage, it’s this Harry who, when confronting his lifelong nemesis, still chooses “Expelliarmus”.

This love-hate story is inevitably not just about the hopes and courage of love, but also about its pain and despair. It makes us question the nature of love, hate, life, death, and humanity.

Harry understands love, so he believes in humanity, which gives him hope and courage, especially when mired in human flaws and tragedies.

“You see the world in such a unique way; I believe even despair seems colorful to someone like you.”—this is a line from one of my favorite Harrmort stories, “One thing he will never know”. In it, Harry chooses to cling to that sliver of hope in Voldemort and falls hopelessly in love with him. When Harry grapples with guilt, Dumbledore leaves him with this wisdom.

"It may seem terribly wrong, but if I may venture a guess, it must also feel so right," were Dumbledore's last words to the boy, "Harry, I don't think there is any shame in love. You must never doubt that when someone has been loved like this, it always leaves a mark, and that it will eventually change everything. You are much braver than I ever was.”

Thanks to these brilliant fanfictions, I’ve come to believe in the heart Voldemort thought he never had. Even if it’s fractured, it still exists, and a sliver of humanity remains. Perhaps we all need a broad perspective to see the world:

Not understanding love doesn’t mean you can’t have it.

I just realized I wrote so much! Maybe it’s because I’ve never shared my love for Tomarry/Harrmort with anyone after Grindeldore. Here’s my chance!

PS One of my favorite fanfictions, “One thing he will never know,” is written by a talented Taiwanese author in Chinese.If you’re interested, you can check it out here:

(* I've taken the liberty of translating some of the lines that impressed me most into English, as I wrote above.)

I also have read many excellent Tomarry/Harrmort stories from the English fandom. If you have any recommendations, please share them with me!

#harry potter #grindeldore #albus dumbledore #gellert grindelwald #tomarry #Harrmort #this is love and what love can be #my very subjective opinion again #voldemort #tom riddle

[divinemare]

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝔄 𝔠 𝔬 𝔲 𝔯 𝔱 𝔬 𝔣 𝔤 𝔬 𝔡 𝔰 𝔞 𝔫 𝔡 𝔪 𝔬 𝔫 𝔰 𝔱 𝔢 𝔯 𝔰 ⋆ˊˎ-

└──» ✎ 。 Azriel x Oc

part eleven

part ten

└──» tw: some violence

┊✧*｡ ✯┊☪︎⋆✧*｡ ┊

The entire Night Court was in mourning. A cloak of grief had enveloped the Court like a dark curse, as it had also done so upon its ruler.

The High Lord Rhett had bursted into a fist of rage so great it had almost looked maniacal, and it had been the first time Mareena had witnessed the cold male showing signs of a heart. A heart that had been so brutally crushed it now bleed like a stabbing wound.

Mareena’s pain was no different; her heart too bleed with grief and rage. And betrayal as well.

She felt a wound so profound in her that it seemed impossible that it could ever heal. Not only because the only mother she had ever known, the female that had taught her how it felt to be unconditionally loved by a mother, and the little girl who had grown in her heart so much and so deep she had become her sister, were now dead; had been brutally murdered. But because the responsible for their absence, the responsible for Rhysand’s and her family’s pain; was, ironically, her own family. Her brother.

Rhys had told her that the only person he had talked with about Alhena’s and Valeria’s trip to the camp was Tamlin.

At first she had been reluctant to accept it, that her little brother, the male who had befriended Rhys even though their parents were enemies, the male that she was learning to love and welcoming in her life as the only good her family had left her; had been the responsible for all this cruelty, had been the one to snitch upon Alhena and Valeria with their awfully cruel father, and then had proceeded to let them all torture both females, cut out their wings, and then tossed their heads into the river for Rhys to eventually find them.

But then she had realized, that just as she was her father’s daughter, Tamlin was his father’s son as well.

And so as Mareena went back to the Court of Nightmares with Rhys, she realized, looking at the male’s tormented, raging violet eyes, that the same thoughts that crossed her mind crossed his, that the same pressure on her chest screamed the same thing to him as it was doing with her, that the same desire danced in his hands, aching to stop the gushing wound in his chest long enough to make them bleed as well, as she too was aching now.

As Mareena looked at Rhys, and he looked at her, both recognized that feeling in each other’s eyes, and understood where that night was taking them to.

☪︎⋆

Mareena had never seen the High Lord like this before, he was a spiral of rage and darkness and grief. His eyes seemed like too reflections of death itself.

Yet somehow, this was the first time Mareena did not fear him.

As soon as Rhys entered his father’s room, Rhett had growled that they were going to the Spring Court at once.

Both Mareena and Rhys had stoped their tracks when they saw the interior of the antechamber: it was completely wrecked, everything broken, everything destroyed. It was probably an accurate representation of how the High Lord was feeling inside, but neither of them made a single comment about it.

Rhys straighten his back and simply nodded once to his father, then the older male looked in her direction, and Mareena thanked the Cauldron that she did not look too much alike her father, or else Rhett might have killed her in the spot.

Still, she gathered her courage and rage and grief, and stepped outside the protection of Rhys’ body to brace the raging gaze of the High Lord.

“My Lord, I wish to accompany you,” she spoke with a determination she had never in her life spoken with before.

“And why would I take you to your father’s domains, girl?” The High Lord got closer to them with predatory slowness, Rhys moved an inch closer to her, but Mareena did not look down nor stepped back.

“Because he has too taken something from me, too many things. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been secretly waiting for the day I could look him in the eyes while his life slips away.”

Mareena had thought that the confession would scare her, that saying her darkest, most hidden thoughts aloud would terrify her, but when the words came out of her mouth, none of that happened, nothing moved within her, let alone regretted saying the truth.

The High Lord's face remained hard and unreadable, Mareena waited with her head held high for the male's response, a lump forming in her throat.

What she hadn't said, what she hadn't been able to admit, was that this might well be her last chance to know something about her mother, to get her father or her brothers or someone who knew to tell her something, anything, that might help her find her mother real mother.

After losing Alhena, after her father took her from her, she wanted more than ever to squeeze the truth out of the male who had, regrettably, given her life, even if she had to do it using that horrible power Jalus had made her suffer so much for.

"Good. If you want revenge on your father so badly," was all Rhett said before walking past them.

Mareena and Rhys shared a glance, he didn't need to ask her if she was sure of this, he knew perfectly well the darkness that Mareena had been holding deep inside herself since the day they met, when he saw it with his own eyes as he entered her mind.

For a long time, Mareena had feared this darkness, had hidden it and locked it deep inside herself. But now, feeling that dark power tingling her skin, screaming to let what was left outside her lock explode, she deicide to leave that darkness come out, to mingle with her being, to come out and settle where it had previously been exiled.

That power, which she had previously kept white and pristine, pure, she let it turn a darker colour, let it lose its fear.

And so, taking Rhys's hand, they winnowed to the place that for so many years had held her prisoner, to the male that for so many years had made her suffer. To the family she now wanted dead.

☪︎⋆

Rhysand had her brothers under his power, their minds surrendered to his will.

The rage that emanated from him could only be defined as feral. He was going to kill them, he was about to do it, to make them succumb so much in a pain that even their immortal bodies would not handle and would soon break.

But there was something still trapped inside Mareena’s heart, something that was making her mouth twitch and head to spin.

"Wait!" She screamed when she saw the life almost leaving one of her older brother’s eyes.

The three of them immediately took a deep, choked breath in when Rhysand relaxed his grip on them at the surprise of Mareena’s voice. He looked at her with a dark eyebrow raised as if wondering if she was only just regretting this.

“I need to know if they know,” she whispered to the one male that in a couple of years had been more of a brother to her than the three other males ever were in her entire life.

And Rhysand understood immediately, his frown relaxing deeply and only nodding ones, giving a step back to let her stand in front of them.

“You…traitorous…bitch,” Silas, the middle brother of the three of them, spat between ragged breaths to her.

Mareena didn’t even flinch at the hatred and the harshness of his looks and voice. “Brother, spare me the insults and wasted time in discussing which one of us is the most fucked up, we would need some long time to discuss that, time that you three do not have left,” the three males growled, baring their teeth’s at her, Caius, the younger of them, made an attempt to move towards her, but her hand shot upwards in a second, and it started to dimly glow in an almost reddish color.

Not even Rhys dared to breath as Caius’ face began to drain of color, and started making choking sounds as the air stopped rushing through his body.

“Where. Is. She,” Mareena had never looked like this, sounded like this. Not even when Rhett made her torture his prisoners, no, this was an entirely new Mareena.

One who’s hand didn’t glow white but like dark fire, one who’s eyes did not advert with fear but rather looked straight at her brother’s eyes.

“Tell me right now or you’ll wish I had let Rhys finish you off,” she spat to the two remaining males that could actually talk.

“We don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about,” Tobin, the oldest, spat, stealing afraid glances at his younger brother.

“My mother! Where is she!” And then, without even intending to, a rush of power cursed through her and shot out at her already suffering brother.

Caius’ eyes and nose started to bleed, before she finally drained him of all his power, all his being, and choked on his own blood, falling dead at her feet.

This time hadn’t been like the last time, when she first killed that other man. No. That time she had felt terribly guilty, dirty, terrified of herself. This time, tho, as she stared at the lifeless body of her older brother, feeling that power she had drained from him feeding her own; she felt nothing, absolutely nothing. No remorse, no fear, no pain.

“I would suggest you two start talking while you still can,” Rhysand spoke in a deathly voice behind her, like a reassuring presence that told her that he too felt that darkness consuming him as well. And it felt so. damn. good.

“We know nothing!” Silas screamed at her in anger, trashing against Rhys’ restrain without an ounce of luck.

Something in Mareena’s chest tighten at the point of asphyxiation, she was screaming in her head, a despair so great it was threatening to make her power combust.

And just then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, only that, when she turned around, Rhys was not the one holding her, but something dark and small and almost undetectable. Like a presence, like…like a shadow.

She took a deep breath in, then one out, taking in the touch of that small shadow, and a reassuring, comforting, and inexplainable feeling settled on her heavy heart.

Mareena stared at her brothers’ eyes with deathly calmness, not a single emotion showing in her face.

“Then you shall suffer for everything you’ve done,” and with that, she turned around to leave Rhys to discard all his anger and pain on her brothers, while she went to look for the only male that could really tell her what she so desperately wanted to know.

#a court of gods and monsters #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acomaf #acosf #acowar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar oc #azriel #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x mareena #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #mor acotar #rhys sister #rhys #rhysand #tamlin

[naughtyandnicerpmemes]

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.

-Nelson Mandela

#musings #rp musings #roleplay musings

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

What to Do When SH Doesn’t Remember Details?

Men in Kilt season 2 was filmed in New Zealand 🇳🇿 between January and February 2022, and in Sam's memories of “Waypoints”, months later same year, he supposedly “wrote” the book (or was its ghostwriter 🤔 ) Sam mentioned his father, saying, “I have few memories of my dad, he left when I was 18 months old. I didn’t connect with him again until I was an adult.” Well, it’s not typical for people to have clear and detailed memories as early as 18 months.

But now, in Men in Kilt 2 this season, Sam is seen exploring New Zealand culture and in episode two, he learns about Māori tattoos and even has one drawn by the artist who created the design, which is supposed to represent his life in Sam's arm, he spoke on his father repeatedly with a different version Sam says: “My dad left when I was very young. Three years old. So, I didn't know him at all”

In "Waypoints," he described his father's absence and then how he got to know him much later. A turn of events after Heughan and her brother met his father in 2013, her father was ill with leukaemia and passed away from the disease. Sam and his brother were not present at his father's funeral. Sam was in his mid-thirties and didn't meet his father when he was in his mid-twenties, as he says.

This shows that challenging him to walk the West Highland Way for his book 📕 “Waypoints” didn't help him accept himself. This is important to mention, he not only can't clearly remember what he said before, but his few memories of him are like traces in the recycle bin that are restored when he wants to tell us another story, a way of not dealing with anxiety or pressure to perform. We'll wait for the sequel to his Clanlands New Zealand book and find the wee lads photo when he admitted that he “didn't know" his father's name growing up.

But, the proof that he knew his father’s name is on his birth certificate. If the natural parents are married or in a civil union, both must have their names registered. And Sam carries his father’s name. He may be confused and want to say that his father's name was not mentioned when he was growing up, which was not necessary, due to the circumstances, but it is different to say that he did not know his father’s name growing up because that detail would be incorrect.

Perhaps he had a trauma growing up without a father? But millions of children live without a father at home. He would not be the first nor the last. If he had a traumatic childhood, he needs professional help (not from his fans or his friends in the entertainment media) and does not change a private and personal part of his memory every time, wanting pity.

Some people who suffer from (C) PTSD or dissociative disorders (all from trauma) want your sympathy or pampering, special treatment, fear of being 'ignored', or “isolated”. But SH must stop turning a delicate and intimate situation in his life in front of the cameras into a drama that inspires pity, as a way of supporting him.

People confuse, this is not surprising, he already did it in a public forum when he promoted his book, it is not courage or vulnerability to talk about his most intimate things before the camera, he decided to speak without discretion, and it is not innermost because his beliefs and convictions change according to the moment.

Have you ever wondered how his elder brother feels if he also grew up without his father?

#MiK2 #Waypoints #MeninKilts #Starz

@shinycomputerqueen @scdenmark Yeah! Sam has been telling different versions since Clanlands 1. He also mentioned that he sparked an emotional reunion with his estranged father when revealed that he first met his father as an adult while he was on his deathbed. How can anyone explain this unique version? This was published in Scotland.

At its essence, this saying tells us it's alright to lie, omit the facts, or twist the plot for the sake of a good story. This is definitely an appropriate quote for SH.

@supermassivetragedy Regarding your observations, you hear him say... “three years” (not a few years) He is an inconsistent, unpredictable man, he does not behave in the same way every time a similar situation occurs. Regardless of the reason, it can be frustrating to hear the same stories with different, inconsistent movements. SH is a narcissist supported by fans and friends, who think he is “special” and try to make him superior and he buys it. However, there may be other underlying psychological factors that contribute to this behaviour, such as a need for validation or a desire to establish a sense of identity or belonging.

Parents do not abandon their children. Here the father left for some reason unknown to us and apparently also for SH. There can be many reasons why a parent left, but I doubt it’s because of the child. (he or his brother)

In your observation ..” perhaps his mother didn’t want her children to know their father”… I can understand that the mother does not want her husband in her life perhaps the partner never kept his promises or fulfilled their part of the deal, who knows? but these are not valid situations for a mother to remove a child from his father’s life.

It’s not about the birth certificate. It’s about a child who didn’t have help at home to recognise and remember the name of his father. Sam frequented primary school when was a child. In Scotland when you send your child to school you need the original birth certificate to enrol your child in a nursery or school. The school knew his father’s name, and They didn't have to hide that from a child, that's natural.

@shoutlandish As a fan, you are emotional and that affects your logical reasoning: the evidence is in front of you, and you can't admit that he has a problem. I don't know which celebrity you mean. SH is not considered a celebrity, that's for his fan club and friends. He is not a so-called “A-list” celebrity. I consider you to be mistaken. Few things in life cannot be taken lightly because there are no small accomplishments, and making mistakes can be expensive.

He can't bring up a situation he wrote about before and then change the facts. He has memory lapses in which he cannot recall certain events or information about himself. This was a situation part of his personal life history, not an illusion of his life choices, these are not stories from a storyteller that fans feel they should treat with humour, like everything related to SH.

As you said, the image of Sam does not fit, because he has not convinced or persuaded everyone, and what he says after this, nobody will care. That's sad, Thank you for visiting my blog 💙

@marglyns People have different opinions. The point is that differences of opinion don't always lead to fruitful discussions with SH fans. This often leads to heated one-sided arguments and results in difficult emotions, which I don't have towards SH. They are not the same. People have the right to have opinions and thoughts of their own without eagerly waiting for the approval of anyone from the SH fan club.

Opinions are not altered or painted, just to console some and not upset them, because his obsessive fans don't accept that he makes mistakes. He does good things but tarnishes them with his mistakes because he never received the proper training.

If you don't accept feedback, that's your problem, not mine. Just don't suffocate or force them to accept their inconsistencies. You have the right to disagree, just as I have the right to express mine on my blog. As I said before My blog my rules, Thanks for your visit 💙

[innernachoesandguacamole]

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

Nelson Mandela

If you’re still on this journey, there will be circumstances or thoughts that bring you into shame, fear, compulsive thinking, anger, frustration, sadness, etc. There will be unpleasant moments you witness and experiences that are difficult to overcome.

Despite all that, despite the backsliding, despite the moments where you forget that none of this is truly real, you’re still here.

You held out hope for yourself that things could change. Instead of turning away from this community, you come back and seek guidance from that which is only a reflection of your own self.

Isn’t that so incredibly beautiful? Isn’t that so inspiring? In truth, it’s nothing short of a miracle. Don’t you find people who persist and maintain an attitude of forgiveness, kindness, and optimism in the face of adversity way cooler than those who experience a glimpse of their true Self momentarily in ‘perfect’ circumstances, when the mind is quiet for an instant?

As you consciously work to look past the ego and see yourself for what you are, you find light, love, peace. For most, there will be moments of forgetting. Moments where awareness is trapped in its own preconceived limitations. That’s more than okay. It’s not good or bad, it just is. All you must do is come back to yourself and sit in the knowing of who you truly are.

As you do so, again and again and again, you will find that you were always free.

Do not deny, but observe. Let it fall away. Let all conceptions of the mind be lifted.

When troubles arise, when fear eats at the mind, have courage. Have faith in yourself. It is not the worst, but perfect time to remember that you are all that exists, and all that exists is you.

And in that quiet bravery, you will realize that nothing could ever truly limit you.

You are loved, the lover, love. Enjoy the experience, in all its perceived imperfections. That’s what makes it all the more beautiful.

[avirael]

The Truth Unveiled

He was happy to see that Minfilia and the others were safe. He truly was!

But at the same time he felt a horrible wave of fear rise up inside him. Because this wasn’t enough. Something was terribly wrong. Someone was missing.

“Where‘s Thancred?” he asked quietly, unsure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

Everybody turned their eyes towards him and just then they seemed to notice what A’viloh had realised right away. Confused Minfilia looked from one to the other. “Isn’t he with you?”

Y‘shtola shook here head. “No. He wasn’t among the dead at the Waking Sands. So we assumed he was with you.”

“I don’t think he was there when the imperials attacked.”, Papalymo said thoughtfully. “Maybe he hid somewhere else…”

Rael tilted their head. “But he would have found us then, wouldn’t he? Just like Yda and Y‘shtola did.”

The Lalafell shrugged. “Maybe. But to linger here shall yield no answers. Let us away, ere the window to our liberty closes shut.”

Papalymo was right. There probably was a perfectly fine explanation for his absence but still A‘viloh felt worried.

After Thancred hadn’t shown up that day they had wanted to meet in Ul’dah but was confidently as ever walking around in the Walking Sands the next day, A‘viloh hadn’t been able to summon up the courage to ask him about it and neither had the man offered any explanation to him. In fact they hadn’t spoken much at all since then and if so it had only been about work. A’viloh had seen his worst fears confirmed and out of embarrassment had tried his best to avoid him.

When Rael had cheekily asked about their date a few days later, he had only said that they had to cancel. It felt like an eternity ago and they hadn’t known each other that good yet back then. A‘viloh simply didn’t want to hear the Viera say I told you so. It would only have made him feel more stupid than he already felt anyway. The fact that Thancred hadn’t tried to speak to him neither had only reinforced the Miqo’te‘s assumption that all of this had been nothing but a cruel joke. Nonetheless from the moment they had found the massacre at the Waking Sands A‘viloh hadn’t stopped worrying about what might have happened to him. It was silly! Why was he worried about him at all?! He certainly didn’t deserve it!

Quickly everybody agreed to follow Papalymo‘s advice and flee while they still could, which was a lot easier said than done with so many soldiers and magitek weaponry around and on top of that someone as overzealous as Livia sas Junius at their heels. In the end they had been surrounded, hopelessly outnumbered, and only pure luck in form of Cid Garlond and his airship had saved them.

It was then, when they already had thought themselves out of danger, that the whole terrible truth revealed it‘s face to them and made A’viloh painfully aware of how wrong he had been all along.

“Look! There, beside the Black Wolf!”, Alphinaudysy suddenly exclaimed as they all watched in shock as Gaius van Baelsar had revealed the Ultima Weapon. “An Ascian! An overlord, no less. His garb attest to that.”

Indeed a darkly clad hooded figure had appeared beside him, a glowing red sigil obscuring his face. Minfilia‘s usually friendly face darkened. “Lahabrea! It could only be him!”

She wasn’t wrong. But she also wasn’t entirely right. As if the Ascian knew they were watching, unable to do anything, he reached for his mask and his hood and shoved them away to reveal his true face, gleefully sneering at them.

“Thancred!”, Minfilia gasped and so spoke aloud what all of them were thinking. “He was Lahabrea…? No… No, this cannot be!”

As if to spite them, the Ascian wearing their friend’s face began to laugh in a horrible, distorted, vicious way. In terror all of them stared at him, dumbstruck and helpless. A‘viloh couldn’t understand any of this. Of course, while working with the Scions and helping Rael with their tasks for Y’mhitra, he had learned enough about Ascians to theoretically know that this wasn’t really Thancred’s doing but his mind was already racing to puzzle together the how? and Why? and When? and all the implications that came with it. How long had this creature walked among them and how much of Thancred had been real all along? Why hadn’t A‘viloh noticed him change? Or had he maybe?

A’viloh wasn’t sure if it was the airship or his legs that made him wobble dangerously. Suddenly scared he clung to the railing of the ship, which quickly moved away from the castrum, and the voices around him faded to a far away, blurry mix of noises, while his thoughts screamed at him louder and louder.

Too preoccupied by their discussion none of the others noticed him there gasping for air and shacking uncontrollably. No one except Tataru. “A‘viloh? Are you alright?”, he heard her voice ask far far away but couldn’t make his body obey to answer. Everything was so fuzzy and swayed in front of his eyes but he thought he could see her silhouette standing beside him. Then suddenly he felt a hand at his shoulder, supporting him. “A‘vi! Can you hear me?”, was that Rael‘s voice he wondered. “Sit down, please. You don’t look so well…”

As if he had only waited for this permission, he slowly slid to the floor between the Lalafell and the Viera. He felt a hand rest on his back and someone gently shaking his right shoulder, while their words faded to soothing unintelligible singsong.

——

Author‘s note:

Can we for a moment talk about how little sense this stupid plot-twist makes if you think about it for longer than 5 seconds? Minfilia tells us that Ascian overlords use dark crystals to possess living human beings. She explains this very clearly and even presents us a replica of one such crystal! And yet no one, not a single one of these highly educated people, seemed to have noticed one of these crystals suddenly appearing on a necklace around their friends neck? Are you serious about this?? Did you think this was just some edgy fashion accessory??? But hey don’t fret! No need to blame yourself. Clueless good-natured A‘viloh, who is literally the only one in your lousy team who credibly couldn’t have know about this, will certainly find a way to blame himself for this mistake in your stead! No big deal. You’re welcome.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv writing #ff14 screenshots #ffxiv screenshots #a'viloh tia #rael hyskaris #oops A‘vi is dissociating again… #I really need to give this stressed out Miqo a break… #I actually wanted to write something about the fight against Lahabrea but I don’t feel like it anymore :D #so the next bit will be post praetorium!