#this was written in ten minutes

[st4rluvrr]

was rewatching episode 7 of the last of us and was thinking about how everybody talks about rileys hair. wondering who sat there for hours doing micro braids. and as we know ellie and riley called themselves best friend (we all know that it was more than that) and they didnt really have friends outside each other. so what if ellie helped with the braids? we know ellie never really does anything to her hair, with it never really being long enough. but she good with her hands as we see with her drawings and ellie seems like a quick learner. so what if riley saw a photo of micro braids in a magazine or something and asks ellie to help with how much work it is going to be. and of course ellie agrees as she would do anything for the people she cares about and quality time with riley is a bonus. so that how they end up in their room in the qz, the only light being the moonlight and the orange street lamp they seem to have. ellie braiding the back of riley head while she works on the front, trying to work as fast as they can so they are done by morning and can get some sleep before drills. and when they finish and ellie hands are aching, knuckles cracking, she knows it was worth it with how beautiful and happy riley is when she looks in the mirror.

#issy’s thoughts #ellie williams #the last of us #riley and ellie #riley abel #this has plot holes do not poke at them #or it will unravel #this was written in ten minutes #ignore the mistakes #needed it out of my brain or it would explode #issy writes

[caeslxys]

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere but it feels relevant again in light of the most recent episode. Something that’s really fascinating to me about Orym’s grief in comparison to the rest of the hells’ grief is that his is the youngest/most fresh and because of that tends to be the most volatile when it is triggered (aside from FCG, who was two and obviously The Most volatile when triggered.)

As in: prior to the attack on Zephrah, Orym was leading a normal, happy, casual life! with family who loved him and still do! Grief was something that was inflicted upon him via Ludinus’ machinations, whereas with characters like Imogen or Ashton, grief has been the background tapestry of their entire lives. And I think that shows in how the rest of them are largely able to, if not see past completely (Imogen/Laudna/Chetney) then at least temper/direct their vitriol or grief (Ashton/Fearne/Chetney again) to where it is most effective. (There is a glaring reason, for example, that Imogen scolded Orym for the way he reacted to Liliana and not Ashton. Because Ashton’s anger was directed in a way that was ultimately protective of Imogen—most effective—and Orym’s was founded solely in his personal grief.)

He wants Imogen to have her mom and he wants Lilliana to be salvageable for Imogen because he loves Imogen. But his love for the people in his present actively and consistently tend to conflict with the love he has for the people in his past. They are in a constant battle and Orym—he cannot fathom losing either of them.

(Or, to that point, recognize that allowing empathy to take root in him for the enemy isn't losing one of them.)

It is deeply poignant, then, that Orym’s grief is symbolized by both a sword and shield. It is something he wields as a blade when he feels his philosophy being threatened by certain conversational threads (as he believes it is one of the only things he has left of Will and Derrig, and is therefore desperately clinging onto with both bloody hands even if it makes him, occasionally, a hypocrite), but also something he can use in defense of the people he presently loves—if that provocative, blade-grief side of him does not push them—or himself—away first.

(it won’t—he is as loved by the hells as he loves them. he just needs to—as laudna so beautifully said—say and hear it more often.)

#critical role #cr spoilers #bells hells #orym of the air ashari #cr meta #imogen temult #ashton greymoore #liliana temult #this is genuinely completely written in good faith as someone who loves orym #but is also about orym and so will inevitably end up being completely misconstrued and made into discourse. alas #I could talk about how Orym’s unwillingness to allow the hells to actually finish/come to a solid conclusion on Philosophy Talk #is directly connected to one of the largest criticisms of c3 (that they are constantly having these conversations) #all day. alas. engaging with orym’s flaws tends to make people upset #it is ESP prevelant when he walks off after exclaiming ‘they (vangaurd) are NOT right’ #which was not only never said but wasn’t even what they were talking about #he even admits as much to imogen like ten minutes later! that he is incapable of viewing it objectively #which is 100% justifiable and understandable but simultaneously does not make his grief alone the most important perspective in the world #also bc i fear ppl will play semantics on my tags yes the line ‘i hope she’s right’ was said but it was from ASHTON #who does not believe they are at all and wasn’t saying they actively WERE right. orym just heard something to latch onto and ran with it #ultimately there is a reason orym only admitted that he was struggling when he had stepped away to talk to dorian #who has not been around and thusly has not changed once n orym's eyes #and it isn't that the hells never check in or care. they do. they have several times over #it is dishonest to say they haven't #the actual reason is that all of this is something He Is Aware Of. he doesn't mention it bc he KNOWS it's hypocritical and selfish #he says as much! #EXHALES. @ MY OWN BRAIN CAN WE THINK ABT MOG AGAIN. FYRA RAI EVEN. FOR ME. #posting this literally at 8 in the morning so I can get my thoughts out of my brain but also attempt to immediately make this post invisibl

[rexalogy]

#pinkie #This was written in like ten minutes before work the next one will be better #Writing

[azulock]

Wolf Hybrid!Oliver x reader

cw: nsfw, male masturbating, cumshot, hybrids (if that's a cw), dubcon if you squint real hard

Recently I was thinking of a hybrid AU type of thing, where Oliver is a wolf hybrid you get at a shelter when looking for a hybrid to do guard dog work. Wolf hybrids are mostly frowned upon because they are believed to have a tendency for violence, and you know that guy is probably not gonna get a lotta luck. So you get cause, besides he should work well as a guard.

He fits well enough in that job, almost as if he had been used for that before. Though, when the time for his rut comes around you discover he is almost immune to the suppressants. Sure, they keep him from becoming overly aggressive but don't do much more. It's only thanks to his guarding instincts that he doesn't attack you.

Still you are left with a hybrid you can barely take outside, he growls at anything, is overly protective and worse, his cock is always hard. He tries not to hump you but at some point he does, and you notice the wetch patch in his crotch, cum staining his pants. He isn't even shooting, it's dribbling, like his body just can't contain it anymore. You also notice his body hot, he is running feverish, your often talkative hybrid having turned to only grunts and growls.

You take pity on him, being left with no choice but to try and relieve the poor guy. You get an open ended fleshlight to work his massive cock and pretty fast you get a 6'3 wolf hybrid whining and melting in your hand. His trembling and growling looks hot - so does that huge, pulsating cock.

Despite his desperation it takes a while for him to cum, and when he does the orgasm seems almost painful. You realize why the minute his cum spurts out, it's so thick his cock can't shoot it properly, the dense white liquid traveling up a short distance before falling down to his skin and your hand. He is like a fountain, thick rope after thick rope spilling out for the longest minute, there is so much that you can barely believe he could hold it in. We'll, he clearly couldn't.

And you can't deny that you wonder what that thick cum taste like, tempted to scoop it in your mouth the moment you tell to go clean himself.

(now as a bonus imagine this guy keeps going back to the shelter from time to time, cause he has someone he wants you to take home too. It's two for the price of one, baby)

tag me in coach: @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife

#oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku smut #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #Here have this thing written in ten minutes cause the concept was replaying in my mind nonstop #Might one day write a version that adds Sendo to the mix he is a normal dog hybrid

[theminecraftbee]

It's the middle of the night when Grian hears footsteps approach where he's made camp in the new Hermitlands of Empires. (Or whatever they're calling it - Hermitopia? Hermempire? He hasn't been paying enough attention; despite it being his idea, he's pretty sure Impulse has already named it.) He's about to roll over and complain about it being LATE, he's SLEEPING, thank you, when he sees who it is.

He blinks.

"Hey, Grian," Pearl says.

"Hey, Pearl," Grian says. "It's late. Uh, hold on."

He grabs a torch and lights it. Pearl's dress has mud all over it. Her eyes are red. She has a strange expression.

"...Pearl?"

"You're a tailor, right?" she asks.

"Yeah, I'd say so," Grian says. "Vital for a number of things. Later I'm actually gonna go offer to make Timmy's seams tighter to mess with him, actually, if you wanna -"

"Haha," Pearl says. It's not really a laugh so much as a forced chuckle to interrupt him, so Grian takes the hint and stops. "Ha. You already know him, huh."

Grian stops for a long time. He... is not sure how to explain Jimmy to Pearl, if she doesn't already know, so he just nods.

"...and he knows you."

"Kind of?" Grian says, making a face.

"Kind of," repeats Pearl.

"Look, Tim and I go back," Grian says, and leaves the explanation at that. He studies Pearl's face. It doesn't yield any results; Pearl's expression is remarkably blank. "It's sort of a weird situation," he tries again, wondering what about it is so offending Pearl. There's another awkward silence. "Uh, look, just help me mess with him?"

"...after I spar with Sausage, and that's not what I'm here to ask you about. I wanted to ask if you could make me a new hoodie," Pearl says.

"And pants, I assume?" Grian adds.

"I mean," Pearl says, smiling for the first time the whole interaction.

"I shouldn't have given the option," Grian complains. "First Scar, now everyone around me. You're wearing pants!"

"If you think you can control that -"

"Nope! Nope, not listening to it." Pearl laughs. Grian considers it a victory. "Anyway, I'll just need the fabric, sure. I don't have time to go collecting. I think that, uh, Chromia? They seem like a textiles place, probably them...?"

"You can cut up the dress," Pearl says, rather emphatically.

Grian pauses.

"You'll have to wear some of my -"

"I don't mind. Grian, please."

Grian stares at Pearl. The dress she'd found herself wearing once she came through the portal is a beautiful thing, practically glimmering with magic. Sunflowers are woven into it in impossible ways. If Grian destroys it, there will be no replicating it, not without the magic that created it in the first place. It's a finer piece of clothing than the tailor in Grian wants to destroy.

She's covered it in mud. Her eyes are red. It is well past midnight.

Grian throws his spare set of clothes at her. "Go get changed, I'll make it a rush order, so you actually have proper clothes."

Pearl sags with relief. "Sure. I'll owe you."

"You absolutely do," agrees Grian. "Remember that, I'm going to collect!"

Pearl doesn't argue. She goes to change. Grian watches after her.

...huh.

Well, he thinks. That's one more thing to worry about on the increasingly astronomical list of things to worry about after they went through the Rift. it's really too bad that has to be de-prioritized under a lot of other things because that is some weird Pearl behavior, but Grian's already getting blamed for too much to try to fix something he's not involved in. Still. Still!

Pearl comes back with the dress, and Grian promises to message her when he's done. She leaves. Grian holds the dress in his hands and wonders what, exactly, he's missing here.

He'd never get rid of such a beautiful dress. It had basically been made for her. He still feels bad destroying it.

...it's worth the IOU.

He gets to work.

#empires smp #hermitcraft smp #grian #pearlescentmoon #the convergence #a bee fic #<- saw other people using the convergence tag hopefully it works #i think pearl would have Complicated Emotions about the whole farming goddess thing now that she sort of Knows you know #this is. one way that could go #anyway this is my nano warmup because i haven't written in a few days and it's in ten minutes lol

[steveandbuckysdaughter]

Personal review regarding what if…? season 2 episode 8 (spoilers)

No ok, I must admit, the episode was good in some aspects.

Wanda was majestic. Loki and Scott were hilarious and I loved every single moment with them.

Thor was amazing, dark and serious out of loss but still enjoyable, and the crumbs of his relationship with Hela were very nice.

I’ve actually liked Tony for the very first time in my life, probably because I tend to like him a lot more in AUs and fanfictions than I do in the normal timeline.

And then… there were those two.

I will never comprehend why marvel wants Steve to be so dependent on Peggy. And I will never comprehend why, to make him interact with her, they have to destroy or sideline every other relationship he has built, or make his character flat.

Bucky being friends with Scott was amazing, but the fact that him and Steve interacted like two times was extremely disappointing. You’d expect “best friends in every universe”, if you dislike the romantic pairing so much, to acknowledge themselves for more than a few scenes, in only one of which they’re in frame together (Bucky was literally 😐 while his best friend disappeared, come on now).

And the storyline about Peggy coming from another world to save the universe was just… Mbah. It could’ve been executed in another way without including her and it still would have made sense. It really feels like a Y/N insert.

Seeing literally any other character was so good, so fun, and they had to ruin it this way, making Peggy once again the self insert and girlboss she didn’t need to be.

Plus, forgive my constant complaining, but it’s extremely infuriating how all of Steve’s friends were eliminated to put the focus solely on Peggy. Where’s Sam? Where’s Nat? Where’s Clint? It’s not an underrated friendship we’re talking about, a big chunk of the fandom loves the cap quartet or team cap, and after civil war it would have been nice to see them interact, especially after its popularity and popular demand. Outlaw team cap would have been glorious, a good chance to bring back many characters who aren’t here anymore in the right way, and involve characters that are rarely involved in What if in the storyline, for a change.

The treatment of Sam in this series particularly angers me, and even more so in this episode. I understand not involving him in other storylines, but Sam was a big part of CATWS and he wasn’t even in the episode centered on that film. What, because Steve met him while running he can’t be introduced in any other way? And oh, there’s no excuse for this episode. If there was one episode they could have placed Sam in, it was this one. Sam was there in infinity war, where the mess happened, and he should have been with the other avengers in this one.

If marvel wanted to involve someone from another universe so bad, it should have been a Captain America Sam from another universe. Can you imagine the poetry of seeing Steve and Nat again after endgame? Can you imagine having closure with them both, and having fun in the process? It would have been so great.

Another great storyline without involving characters from other universes would have been one where Steve, who touched the time stone, accidentally brought everyone in the past, and he was the only one to remember it. And to go back and prevent everyone’s distraction, he had to recruit the avengers, who don’t know him and don’t trust him but that in the end become his friends and companions. It would have been so interesting to see the original avengers involved in something different from being some side characters or extras in the one woman show that seems to be What if, constantly centered around the same bland, one dimensional reimagined side character. Peggy’s blandness is so obvious in these episodes (aside for some random remarks that made me smile) that literally everyone who’s involved directly with her must be bland like her, otherwise risking to overshadow her.

I don’t think I was supposed to cringe and look away as much as I did during Steggy’s forced scenes, but I did. If they had to force Steggy and Peggy down our throats, at least they could have done something different from the same bland and boring storyline as always. I wouldn’t be as mad as I am now if Peggy and Steve’s relationship wasn’t as bland. I would have preferred an enemies to lovers type of twist or change, where Steve doesn’t trust Peggy and struggles with her because he sees in her a different version of the Peggy that died in that universe. But noooo, god forbid, let’s go with the same old song.

An episode five or ten minutes longer with a better, avengers-centric or Steve-centric storyline would have been much better than what we got.

And given that this was my most anticipated episode, I was very disappointed by it. I hope for the next seasons, if there’s other ones, Marvel will listen to the general complaint regarding Peggy and will give her a break. I don’t think any of the original avengers or relevant MCU characters made as much appearances as Peggy, and being a main focus in four episodes out of nine is ridiculous.

#rant #anti what if #what if spoilers #what if season 2 #anti peggy carter #Steve rogers #pro steve rogers #Bucky Barnes #pro bucky barnes #Stucky #Sam Wilson #pro sam wilson #Sam Wilson is captain America #Natasha Romanoff #Clint Barton #the avengers #Tony stark #you will never catch me using this hashtag again so you better enjoy it #Wanda Maximoff #Thor odinson #Loki Laufeyson #Scott lang #episode review #I’m literally at a loss #they could have made the most glorious medieval au #instead they gave us one of those awful steggy fanfics written in ten minutes #anti steggy #mcu critical #Ross rants

[alienaiver]

atsumu's nose scrunches up as he looks at the four images his recently-turned 12 year old niece has sent him on snapchat. it's pixelated pictures of a hatsune miku plushie (whom he knows, thank you very much) with various captions reading drink miku juice, panik atac 😳 a repeat of drink miku juice and then PANIk atAK 🥹. atsumu's not even sure he understands the gist, if there even is one and calls your name as he gets up from the couch to reach you in the bathroom.

you're barely out of the shower when he shoves his phone into your face, "what the hell's this suppos'd to mean?" he asks, eyebrows raised and voice laced in genuine confusion. you squint to get a look at the pink undertoned pictures and quickly gather where he's got it from. his niece is obsessed with hatsune miku and while her uncle respects it, encourages it with gifts even, he can't claim he knows whats going on, exactly. you smirk, "what, you dont get it?"

"hah?" he can barely contain the snarl before he pulls his phone back to get another look, to find the hidden meaning. you carefully start drying yourself off with a shrug, "its okay if youve gotten old, 'tsumu."

the sentence is barely out of your mouth before his eyes are widening and he goes straight to speed dial; you know who hes calling.

being an athlete in your early 30's isnt easy or forgiving and the age complex has hit your husband particularly hard; it doesnt help that his brother, his twin, betrayed him by getting a daughter when they were much younger, letting him feel age that much more clearly watching her grow up. miya osamu the betrayer, is his contact name on atsumu's phone.

the phone barely rings twice before hes storming back into the living room, voice vivid as he barely greets the man on the other end, "'samu! please tell me we're not old yet!"

you let out a snort as you finish up your routine in the bathroom and get into comfortable pajamas for the evening. the bickering of the brothers are heard no matter where in the apartment you situate yourself, "well if I'M old, yer old, too!" you hear him yell with a groan, trying to explain the concept of memes and how they, in his humble opinion, needs to make some goddamn sense.

you cant admit to him now that the meme didnt mean much to you either, that its probably meant to be a little nonsensical and how the trends of his teen memes versus the teen's memes now are vastly different. it'd just hit his complex more and youre not sure neither you nor osamu is ready to deal with that kind of blow.

you enter the living room to find him sprawled on the chaiselong, hugging one of the throw pillows. you come from behind and let your hands travel from his arm and around his chest before grabbing onto his jaw to make him look at you, "'tsumu, you can just reply the misspelling of the word panic back, and call it a day. she won't know you didnt get it."

he theatrically sniffles with raised shoulders and all before he looks at you, "you sure she wont see through me?"

you hold back a grin as you lean down to kiss his cheek, "i promise. she doesnt think of you as old if shes sending you those memes, y'know? fake it 'til you make it or whatever, right?"

atsumu leans up to reel another kiss out of you, and you happily comply. its not fun to see your husband genuinely distressed but you can never really hold back from teasing him. hes got to get over his complex anyway and luckily, you and his twin are masters in calming him back down. he sighs and you cant help but think he looks a little pathetic and sweet as he picks up his phone to open the chat, "so i just write 'PANIK' in bold letters?"

you nod as you hum, massaging the back of his head, "youll sound young and cool if you do that." you reassure with a small smile playing on your lips. you feel him puff out his chest, "well. i am young and cool, so of course shes sending me all the most fire memes, right? because i'm hip."

you laugh this time, throwing your head back before you look at him with so much love in your eyes, "yes, the hippest husband in town. now go clean up after dinner like you promised you'd do while i showered."

#THIS WAS RUMMAGING. ROTATING. WRITTEN IN TEN MINUTES SO SORRY FOR ANY MOSTAKES #also generally sorry for my general inactivity convention preps taking it out on me!!! #atsumu miya fluff #haikyuu fluff #nohr.hq #nohr.writing #SORRY IDK THE WORD COUNT RN I WROTE IT DIRECTLY ON THE APP FORGIVE ME 😭🙏🏼

[aq2003]

i say this 100% unironically and as someone who very recently watched rtd1 era twice over; if you think the writing quality of the 60th specials is any worse than the episodes from rtd1 era you either a) need to rewatch all of rtd1 (yes all of it, not just cherry-picked clips), b) are unable to recognize you have outgrown the show and lost your sense of whimsy, or c) are a conservative offended that the progressive sci-fi show is progressive and looking for any reason to hate it. or some combination of these 3 things

#dr who #they are written with like. the EXACT style of flair and camp/silliness as the best from rtd1 era #the only substantial difference to me is that the 60th specials are paced incredibly fast #while mostly this is a good thing and you're not bored whatsoever at any point watching them #i do feel like the giggle couldve benefited from like. an extra 20 minutes. however! #the criticism of 'the 60th has bad writing :(' is. blkjsgjkwf. ok. like. One line was substantially bad. the rest was peak #like if i could put them in my ten era tierlist they safely fall among my absolute favorite episodes from there #the star beast and the giggle are up there w most of series 4 + gridlock and 42. wby is midnight/turn left tier. #if not even better bc (and this is completely personal taste) i LOVE the cosmic horror. it didnt work for me in impossible planet/satan pit #but it ABSOLUTELY worked for me in wby. the setting the mystery the tension and UGH the acting. david and catherine put in the sauce. #14 era

[5amanthus]

Went shopping and had to get my gay old men.

They’re in love your honour.

#Halo #Master Chief #John-117 #The Arbiter #Thel 'Vadam #Master Chief/The Arbiter #John-117 x Thel 'Vadam #Yeah John has two guns but he needs at least one hand to hold Thel's #ALSO! They spelled Thel's name wrong on the box they put Thel 'Vdam #I pointed it out and my mom literally googled it to check if I was write #Like thanks mom but also I've written so much fanfic of these two #I KNOW HOW TO SPELL HIS NAME 😂 #Also the limbs are so fucking hard to move I spent ten minutes posing them and trying to keep their hands together BUT I DID IT #I have them on my Among Us shelf cause I don't have any other display spots atm cause most of my shit is packed up to move some day

[swiftieinbrazil]

Taylor Swift's nominations for the 65th Annual Grammy Awards

#taylor swift #tswiftedit #taylorswiftedit #tsedit #grammys 2023 #grammys #taylor swift grammys #best country song #i bet you think about me #song of the year #all too well ten minute version #red taylor’s version #carolina taylor swift #where the crawdads sing #all too well the short film #best music video #all too well taylor's version #taylor swift nominated #best song written for visual media #taylor swift songwriter

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hour 14 of taking a break from art for the sake of my tendons: i am Wailing and Keening and Scratching Forlornly At My Tablet

#i dont know if im strong enough but i Need to be strong enough #cant continue doodling if ya wrist doesnt work #clenching my fists and chanting 'this is necessary this is necessary' #ive been going way too hard lately. unfortunately #curse this mortal body and its stupid bullshit mechanics that dont even work half the time #gonna cope by eating overly spicy soup and crochet #well no. i cant crochet. ten minutes of that hurts worse than scribbling for eight gay hours #to put it quite simply - but with feeling: FUCK! #absolutely unprompted #howling and sobbing and baying etc etc #i was gonna finish that commission tonight. then i was gonna start on something else i promised Days ago. #maybe get some doodles done for asks. #work on vines part 2. #but it oof ouch too much :/ #what the hell am i supposed to do now #fold laundry? clean my room? read? WRITE? ha dont make me laugh #i havent written in 2 months and im not about to start now #(said immediately before screaming into a pillow) #maybe ill like... go through my replies for once... see if people are trying to talk to me... #see if im brave enough to Directly Interact outside of asks...

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

I am unable to write scenes without homoerotic tension. Everytime I reread what I've just written I'm like "Oh these bitches gay! Good for them, good for them." It's not even intentional. I'm writing ship fics about characters I don't even ship.

#shout out to ten minutes ago when i was planning out details for my flash fam mer au and i realized that i had just written a HalBarry fic #really wasn't the intention #but that is just whats happening now i guess #i do not have time to do this because of exams but my brain has decided that this is what im doing rn actually #k but shout out to 'kid who lives at a lighthouse on a tiny island with Alan Scott because his mom thought he was acting up too much' Hal #and Barry 'curiosity killed the mer. unable to NOT go talk to the lonely grumpy kid on an island. has no friends and would like one' Allen #they haunt my dreams and I have no say over it

[mushed-kid]

OKAY I DID SOME OF MY HOMEWORK

#said in a proud voice while im posing with my hands on my hips #i think im making this presentation WAY too ling and ehen im done im gonna have to cut it down probably #i have 560 words and im maybe halfway idk yet #its supposed to last ten minutes 10 MINUTES #my text is gonna be probably a thousand words if im being honest #thats my estimate but idk though #i still havent written about the prt i was gonna go into more detail about😭 like bro theres so much stuff #and i want to include it all but i probably cant #i wish it was a text instead then i could have everything and more #im gonna do more later

[floraldisagree]

Gloreth is a parallel to Ambrosius, which is why she should also get a redemption arc in fan works. In this essay I will-

#nimona #gloreth #literally have written 10k words in a fanfic about gloreth #unmedicated adhd is fun #it's like #here #have a attention span for this one thing and do not work on anything else #and the one thing is a side character who shows up for ten minutes in a movie #i'm going to end up with the biggest word count on ao3 for nimona and it's just a fic about gloreth #pls help

[whispers-of-masser]

Poor Form

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash ✧ Fluff, maybe angst (if you squint), slow-burn with tension; 2k+ word count ✧ Mentions of blood, (poorly written) fantasy violence ♫ "Ritual" - AWAY, Echos ✒ @dalishthunder come take responsibility for this

It was the grey hour when you woke, the quiet lull between full night and the oncoming dawn. From where you lay in the tent, the only sounds you could hear were the steady breaths of your companions, the breeze rustling by outside, and the lone call of a bird, faint and dim in the distance.

Slowly, you sat up, grimacing at your sore neck and shoulders – though you had long since grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground, that didn't mean you, or your body, appreciated it. You'd have to look into getting some bed cots instead. Until then, though...

At least we stay warm through the night. The oiled leather tent kept out most of the wind, and the beasts you'd felled along the journey had long since become the bedding everyone slept on.

A sudden snore drew your attention to where Khash lay, bundled in her sleeping bag beside you, red eyes shut tight and jaw slightly parted, her sharp little teeth on display. Across from her was Xelzaz, sleeping quietly on his side with his back turned towards you; you could just make out the lump of his tail beneath the blankets. And next to him...

...was an empty bed roll, the fur still fluffed, apparently untouched through the night.

Frowning, you pushed back the blankets, habitually reaching for your sword as you rose – just in case, always just in case – and, taking care not to wake Khash, crawled quietly out of the tent.

The morning had teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped outside, the cold biting into your bare arms, gnawing through the fabric of your tunic and raising goosebumps across your skin. Your breath plumed white amidst the grey, and the dirt underfoot was cold and hard; not even the morning dew had loosened it. You found yourself wanting retreat back into the tent and burrow under your furs once more, pulling them all the way over your head and falling asleep beneath their warmth. Any other morning, you might have done just that. But...

The empty, untouched bedroll.

You squinted into the mist, eyes searching, searching... there. A figure, seated on a rock several metres away, smudged and blurred in the gloom, but glinting a familiar gold.

As you lowered your sword, a sigh slipped from your lips, drawn from some strange mix of frustration, concern, and relief.

"...How long have you been out here, Nebarra?"

"Morning to you too, guar-face," the elf drawled, and though he didn't rise, his helmeted head turned towards you. A thin layer of condensation covered the metal, droplets falling at his movement; his bangs, escaping through the visor, were damp and plastered to his helm. "And all night, to answer your question. Somebody has to keep watch."

"Obviously. But you volunteered for the first shift last night." Frowning, you looked him up and down, not bothering to mask your concerned displeasure. "Why didn't you wake me or Xelzaz? We could have relieved you. We were supposed to relieve you."

"Oh yes, a human and a lizard! I'm certain I'd feel very safe with you two on watch. Your species' eyesight is so much better than an Altmer's, after all."

Your frown deepened, brow furrowing as you stared him down. It was too early in the morning for his snark.

Wordlessly, you brought up your sword and levelled it at his throat. "I can see that gap in your armor just fine. I could kill you right now – and the same goes for whatever may have come up on us in the night."

Nebarra gave a disdainful snort, gloved hand clamping down on your blade and giving a sharp tug. Unprepared, reflexes still sluggish from sleep, you stumbled a whole two steps forward before managing to check yourself.

"Poor form," the elf sneered. "You won't be killing anything like that."

Your nostrils flared, a dozen retorts surging to your lips, but you held them all in.

He's right, and you both know it.

"I wasn't ready", "I'm still waking up", "I wasn't serious" – excuses that could get you, and maybe the others, killed. How long had Nebarra seen this in you? Why was he only mentioning it now? Why hadn't you realised it on your own, that despite your confidence, your skills, your strength – you were still very much mortal? And when had that confidence become something more dangerous – arrogance?

"...What?" Nebarra asked suddenly, drawing you from your reverie. "You have that expression again. The one where you're about to do something stupid."

"Spar with me."

"Terrible idea, absolu... wait. What?"

"Spar with me," you repeated, staring into the black of his visor. "I'm getting rusty, fighting nothing but bandits and mindless undead. This just proved it."

Nebarra was silent for a beat, his head tilting to the side. Something about the motion reminded you of a bird; the eagle-shaped helm only added to the effect. You waited patiently for his answer, wondering what exactly he had to consider –

Metal, arcing toward your sword arm.

You barely managed a dodge and a weak parry with the flat of your blade – you'd been holding it low, unready. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Clearly, Nebarra was done thinking – the two of you were sparring now.

Fair enough. Enemies wouldn't be so polite as to give you time to gear up, either. And now, for once, the odds weren't in your favour: a fully-armoured Altmer veteran with decades of experience, versus you, young, disoriented, and unarmored, only a single blade in hand.

It was thrilling.

You sidestepped another swing of Nebarra's blade – only to connect with it a moment later, coming out of the feint you had failed to read.

Sharp, stinging pain. Scarlet, dripping from your arm.

He was trying to hurt you. And you were giving him ample opportunity.

You needed to ground yourself, regain your rhythm – something you couldn't do without an opening, and Nebarra wasn't giving you any.

A glint of metal on the left – block, step back. Movement overhead, an oncoming blow – raise your sword, throw your weight behind it, disrupt his momentum.

At least, you tried. Fully armoured as he was, Nebarra had an extra thousand angaids of weight behind his swing, if not more. The sheer force of his blow knock your sword out of your hands, sending you staggering back. But the grass underfoot was slick with the morning's dew, and you were moving too fast, too unsteadily. Before you knew it, your back was colliding with the ground, and all you could see was grey sky overhead – and a golden sword coming down.

Careless.

But there was still a chance.

Contorting violently, you grabbed Nebarra's arm as the blade sailed by, nicking your face as it passed. You didn't let go of his arm just yet, though. Instead, you pulled, leveraging your weight against his, abdomen taut as you used him to haul yourself upright. Nebarra, clearly not expecting such a move, found himself betrayed by his own momentum, drawing him forward and down, aided by your weight. Gravity took care of the rest, and he crashed towards the earth, twisting even as he fell to avoid face-planting into the ground.

As he struggled to right himself, you rushed to retrieve your sword; Nebarra was already rising by the time you turned back to him.

"No you don't," you growled, charging the mer, sword raised.

His hand shot out, a ward rippling to life, though it buckled slightly under your sword's impact. Nebarra staggered, his half-risen stance precarious, unbalanced.

Now. Now. Now.

Once, twice, thrice more your sword glanced off the ward – and on the fourth blow, it shattered, leaving the Altmer open to your assault.

Metal clanged as you brought your sword down, colliding with his gauntlet as he struggled to block with it, not given enough time to raise his own sword in defense. You let the blade slide off, intending to follow up with its momentum, but Nebarra didn't give you a chance. The moment the sword glanced off his gauntlet, he lunged, catching you in the abdomen and bringing the both of you to the ground.

The tussle that followed was a blur.

His sword arcing down, yours blocking. Hilts catching, blades flying, yanked out of your grasp and his.

Panted breaths, heaving chests, grappling and rolling across the grass.

A glint caught your eye – your sword and Nebarra's, just within reach.

He saw it too, the both of you reaching out in unison for your weapons, desperate to be faster than the other.

Leather-bound metal brushed against your palm – the hilt. Your hand closed around it, drawing it in close. Brought it swiftly upwards, blade against Nebarra's neck.

At its touch, he froze – and so did you. Because resting against your own neck, biting into the tender flesh, was the edge of Nebarra's blade.

Stalemate.

Ears ringing, heart racing, you shift your gaze from the sword to the one holding it.

Hunched over and straddling you, a leg to either side of your waist, there was hardly any distance between your bodies. The beak of his helm was close enough to brush your nose; your breath fogged on the metal. His gasping breaths may has well have been your own – you could feel them, swift and hot, slipping through the gold feathers that covered his face, carrying the faint scent of wine.

Of course, he'd been drinking. It had probably kept him warm through the night – and he'd still managed to keep you off-balanced for most of the fight.

You were in worse shape than you'd thought.

That, or... maybe Nebarra was better than he'd ever let on.

"...Tonight," you breathed, staring up at him. "Let's... spar again tonight."

Nebarra grunted; you could hear the sound echo faintly in his helmet. "Fine. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

A smile tugged at your mouth – you could feel your lips crack and stretch at the motion, dried out in the cold; you gave them a brief lick before answering. "What, and this was?"

Another affirmative grunt. "I'll be sober by tonight. Unfortunately."

You snorted, then fell silent once more. With your eyes, you found yourself tracing the curves of his helm, pausing at the sight of his bangs peeking through, dark and tangled threads of gold. Something about them was like an itch you couldn't scratch, and you had the sudden urge to brush them aside, or at least tuck them back into his helm.

As your gaze drifted upward, toward the visor, a glint in its shadows caught your eye. Again, you paused, staring intently into the dark.

A reflective sheen, a gleam of crimson –

"Are you done breathing on one another, yet?"

Xelzaz's voice shattered your focus, and both you and Nebarra snapped your heads toward the sound.

The Argonian stood just outside the tent, arms crossed, head bare of its usual hood, scales shimmering in the pale light. Beside him was Khash, a shadowy smudge in the mist; her wide red eyes seemed to float amidst the grey.

"Good morning," you said stupidly, even as Nebarra scrambled to get off you.

"Why were you fighting?" Khash asked. "Did something happen?"

"For your – obviously necessary – information," Nebarra sniffed, dusting off his armour, "we were sparring. And you had better get used to it. Our dear Dragonborn and I will continue to do so, apparently, starting today."

As you sat up, you distinctly heard Xelzaz mutter, "By the Hist." When he turned his head to you once more, there was something incredibly deadpan about his gaze, an unspoken, "Really?" in his eyes.

"What?" you mouthed back, blinking at him in confusion. He only shook his head, and have no answer.

"Right... Well, let's get the fire going again, and I'll see about getting us all breakfast."

At that, Khash's gaze snapped towards him. "Ohh, Xelzaz, can I have some Hackle-lo with it?"

"Khash, you've eaten almost my whole stock."

"Oh..."

"...I'll see if I can't spare a few more."

"Yay! Heh."

"Horker stew for you, Nebarra?"

"I'm too tired to say no... but I'll watch you every moment of its making."

"Yes, yes, as usual. And what of you, friend?" Xelzaz turned towards you, and for a moment, you couldn't answer him – you'd been too distracted watching the scene unfold, a smile on your face.

"Ah... it doesn't matter to me, I suppose. Surprise me."

And so, thirty minutes later, as the sun climbed through the sky and burned away the mist, breakfast was served.

But for some strange reason, all throughout the meal, you found your gaze drawn... repeatedly...

...to Nebarra.

#nebarra #nebarra skyrim #skyrim nebarra #skyrim #i havent written action in YEARS i hope its passable #i tried to remember what my two whole gumdo lessons were like back in high school :DDD #also fyi i know ZILCH abt tes lore n stuff so uhhh pls be gentle w me on that front #i literally spent ten minutes looking up tamrielic weight measurements and then trying to convert that it to pounds and back #and apparently its only referenced in a book that appears in like four of the games so its clearly an OLD book #likely that tamriel doesnt even use that unit of measurement anymore but damnit i wanted to get SOMETHING accurate #anyway that was quite enough research for me tyvm #like mate i just wanna romance this sardonic sunflower #speaking of which i wanna give him flowers?? dont ask me why i just do #give him a boquet of yellow mountain flowers like #'i saw them and thought they looked like u' #to which he scoffs and VERY GRUDGINGLY accepts ONE #prolly tells us to give the rest to khash or xelzaz #fast forward several to months later and somehow we find that one flower v carefully pressed n preserved amongst his belongings #dont touch me i just made myself sOFT thinking about this #im literally gonna have to write it now dammit #dali this is all ur fault u have unleashed the floodgates of my garbage bin brain #........thank u :D #anyway yeah this was originally written for my ldb oc which is why the personality of the ldb here may be a bit.... specific? idk #just swapped pronouns to make it more self-insert/other people's oc friendly #anyway thank god its finally done; only took me three days #not super happy with the ending but oh well #'swhat happens when u dont write for over a year #rUST #rusty as lbd's fighting in this fic #whisper writes

[sheltershock]

I have a fun (fanfic) idea that builds around the idea that oh, Sasha is bad a levitation, but Milla is bad a marksmanship. Not just, that they’re bad, but that they’re so bad at it that they can technically levitate/psi blast, but they just do it so wrong it has no effect.

For example, Milla can concentrate a blast of energy from her mind, and she’s pretty good at targeting, but she doesn’t do any damage. It’ll just gently push the target, but only push it enough to where you need special tools to measure the change.

Meanwhile Sasha can create the lev ball and float, and it can exist for a long time without bursting, but it doesn’t suspend or lift anything. If you stand on the lev ball it can support your weight, but it’s stationary. It cannot move. So my idea is that they got assigned to be partners because they have mastery over their own skills and hopefully will teach the other how to actually have function in their powers. The reason they don’t work right is because they’re not in the right mental space and trying to use the opposite technique to achieve similar results.

That and trauma. Milla doesn’t like concentrating/focusing on her own feelings because a lot of her negative emotions is related to the fire, which she wrongfully blames herself for. She’d much rather let her emotions flow from place to place, intensity to intensity than have to face and concentrate on her guilt. Meanwhile Sasha doesn’t want to let his mind wander, because he knows what it’s going to drift to. He’s pretty good at regulating his emotions but not so much reflecting on why he is having an emotion, so it’s just a cycle. But ultimately, they’re both stuck in their ways because they’re secretly terrified of getting hurt again.

So naturally they’d both have to develop as instructors and their own personal relationship to make any progress on anything. They start out with an insultingly basic view of each other, but eventually grow realize how deep and interesting they both are as people. They both even start to realize how actually similar they are and realize their own faults by observing the other person. And the further their relationship goes the better understanding they have of one another and the ability to be vulnerable gets easier. They both admit that they’re afraid of hurting someone and (literally and metaphorically) falling, but they assure the other person that they’ll cover them and make sure they’ll be alright. At some point they both realize that this is the closest relationship either of them really have to another person, to trust someone enough to admit your dirtiest, painful secrets and not have the other person react in a way that only makes you feel worse.

This continues until the lessons get adapted into a way that they can improve and their skills actually become effective. Not good, just functional, below average if will. Milla’s blasts can actually do damage now, but she’s still not great at it. If the average agent can do three(3) damage per blast, and Sasha can do five(5) per blast as an expert, Milla can shoot for about one(1)-two(2) damage per shot. And Sasha can float and move quicker on a lev ball, but the average agent can do basic movements like moving diagonally, Milla can do elaborate flips and poses and stunts, but Sasha can only move in a straight line, and slow descent(in a straight line).

But after they teach each other how to use their skills, they’ve really honed how to work together as a team and thankfully get assigned to work together on missions all the time. So they can truly keep that promise of looking out so they don’t hurt anyone or fall.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #sasha nein #milla vodello #fanfic idea #slash headcancon I guess? #I’ve had this idea floating in my head for a couple of months but I have like three other projects to work on #sorry if this description/explaination/overview is too basic #but I already have like rough scenes written out #like Sasha leaving Milla to practice for ten minutes alone and she accidentally starts a forest fire panicking from auditory hallucinations #so the psychonauts do psychic training within minds now….to prevent further forest fires #and there’s like arcs planned #milla has an identity crisis after losing the one trait she built herself on: being a mother #Sasha has an arc about being more social and allowing himself to be close with someone other than his mentor #and y’know emotional repression #if they are going to fall in love I specifically want Sasha to fall in love after Milla’s identity crisis is solved and she starts thriving #I don’t really know what else to say #good night I guess? #good night!