#GLAT spoilers

[abelflints]

Abel x MC Ficlet

For day 4, favourite ships of @ila-appreciationweek

This is an old piece I did when chapter 14 first came out, I changed it after new chapters released.

Basis: She loves him. He loves her. But it's not time for him to see her skin, not just yet. (or, Rowan has scars too, she goes back to Abel's apartment in chapter 14, but decides that for now, she just wants to be held.)

Pairings: Abel x MC

Warnings: self-consciousness, spoilers for old chapters, there are some sinister sounding parts where Abel is fearing about the power, angst, vague references to pain from old injuries.

Work is under the cut!

He holds her and prays no villain will take her from him.

But they will.

They will. 

But not tonight. 

Not tonight.

He eyes the wolves fed fat on flesh warily, the flickers in the forest, the howls on the wind.

The foolishness of mortals prevails, once more.

If you see the creature coming, were they ever really a threat?

You see a necklace, the enlightened, a noose. 

Real creatures do not leave their prey in anticipation.

Real creatures know the art of the façade.

Of fitting, softly, delicately, into the network of cracks. 

His unsuspecting eyes; the warmed over hearth.

But all it takes is one creature, one gust of wind, one whisper on the breeze to blot out the sun, trading mischievous twinkles for crystalline tears, true.

Foolish, so foolish, now–

For he knows the swiftness of the pounce all too well, knows how quickly the course of life swerves.

Knows all it takes is one swift yank.

And suddenly you’re falling down…

Down…

Down.

Over trees, over roots, over rocks, over hills. 

Why would he forget all his past hurts, now?

But there’s a woman – and she’s waiting in the wings.

She stares up at him, with mis-matched eyes, and sings to him in dulcet tones.

The prey. 

He fears, if he’s unlucky, wrapping her in a warm embrace.

The prey. 

But he has been burned by maskhood before, and he shall be burned by it again.

She’s soft. She’s warm. A muted mirror of the man before her. 

Her skin is not smooth.

It’s not soft, it’s not supple.

The colours don’t match, the hues don’t blend, it hurts as she lifts her coverings, even for him.

Even for her. 

A mutual hesitation, a shared simmering of slighted skin.

She’s scared. He’s scared.

She wants to. 

He wants to. 

But all is silent. And all is still.

As it always was. As it always will be. 

He has a story. She doesn’t.

Just simmering. Simmering, simmering, softly, softly so, the fear alight in her eyes not at spirits, not at sinners, not at souls.

But at skin.

Her skin. 

His skin. 

Because they are a mirror, because they are the same. 

And he loves her. 

And she loves him back. 

So it’s simple, no?

…Never.

Earnestness, and modesty, for all the wits he would wat, for all the grins he would glat, for all the quirks they would crack–

The two of them could light up any room.

But this room, this room–  is dark and sweltering under the light of the moon, even in the afternotes of him etched into the wooding. 

Turning away as the other slowly, gingerly, disrobes.

All the jokes he would share– squandered by a single swipe.

He tells her, it’s not pretty.

That she won’t like what she sees.

She stares. Because she has no answer to give. Because the words die on her mouth. Because, she is the same. 

“Nor will you me” she’d say, if she had the courage, fumbling despondently with her clasps.

One hand stuck at their own sides because they just... 

They just don't know. 

Standing paused for so long that their skin goes cold in the chill of the night.

…But they'll wait.

They'll wait.

Eventually, she breaks the silence. 

"I'm sorry– I’m just– so stupid–"

"...You’re not stupid. You never were.”

"But I don't have a story!  I just have–  skin. And I don't want it… I don't want it."

Her head hung in desolation.

"And people– don't understand, when you don't want your own skin-- like it's something you can control? But I... I just wanna…–”

A pause, a mulling it over. 

"You don't owe me a story. You don't owe anybody a story."

"And if I can't give you my skin, either?"

“Nothing. You owe me nothing. You know that, right?”

“You, as you are, you, as you are, wherever you are– you, are enough."

“I… Ok. Ok.” She nods, throwing the man a shy smile. 

“...I– I want to stay. Hold me? Please?”

And she looks at him.

And she trusts him.

And he tries not to melt.

Fabric envelopes flesh once more, nestling into waiting– clothed– arms.

Lids close.

Arms embrace, time soars–

Lids open…

To the warm kiss of day-break ushering in streaming sunlight over entangled limbs and nestled bodies. 

The covers spill off of her, her shirt ridden up in the night– if he lingered, he would see skin mottled many mittling hues. 

But he doesn’t linger.

Because she looked at him. 

Because she trusts him. 

And he is melting.  

So the blankets are pulled back over, with smiles so soft and warm, the promise of sweet specialities and crisped delicacies on lips that quirk as he throws the slumbering beauty one last look, pattering to the kitchen with steps so delicate, nary a mouse could rival him.

(And maker, but he is melting.)

[blazeball]

i’m in shambles over this oh my god guys they’re getting MARRIED look at wainwrights SMILE... THEY’RE IN LOVE I’M IN TEARS

[helioshellion]

underwater kiss

[hyperionangel]

They yield to the superior fighter. Part of the Hunter’s Code, you see.

[lesbianclaptrap]

you are my dads. youre my dads! (boogie woogie woogie)

[vaulthunter426]

Guns, Love, and Tentacles | End Credits

Borderlands 3 DLC 2

[junemarsch]

The dlc was awesome i had so much fun with it !!

 So, first things first, Amara skins and head ♥ and mancubite, who was such an adorable little critter

(this is a repost for my new artblog)

[enigmatist17]

Did It Happen? (Sir Hammerlock x Wainwright Jakobs)

I FINISHED THE DLC AND I AM READY TO WRITE.

--------------------------------

The room he wakes up in is warm and dark, a slice of light peeking from between some curtains to his left. The edge of the light lingers on hazel hair laced with grey, and for a moment he stares.

It’s when he catches sight of dried blood hidden just beneath the surface, that the bits of the previous night come back.

Alistair is being suffocated. He can hear the Vault Hunters fighting below, fighting Eleanor Olmstead and her husband. 

Her husband, who is wearing his beloved Wainwright like a fucking used suit.

He had tried to call out to Winny, call to his beloved and bring him out of Vincent Olmstead’s control. Instead a tentacle had wrapped around Alistair’s throat, and was choking the very life from his being. The hunter did his best to keep breathing, but the fleshy area fading from his view only dragged his hopes further and further away.

Winny, I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough…

One eye goes wide before the man, Alistair Hammerlock, jerks back and off of his bed. Hitting the hardwood floor barely registered to the man, singular hand trembling as it instinctively covered his throat. The skin was so sensitive, throat burning with each breath shuddering he took, it was all too much. Alistair wanted to vomit, heart pulsing louder and louder in his ears as he tried to take in his surroundings in the dim morning light. Something rests on his shoulder, and Alistair nearly jumps before in the blink of his remaining eye, someone is kneeling right in front of him. Brown eyes, beautiful brown eyes that aren’t rimmed with black tracks or glowing a cursed green, are looking at him with concern and love. 

“Winny…” Wainwright says nothing when Alistair leans forward, pulling him into a kiss. Alistair doesn’t care that his neck protests, blinking away the black dots in his eye as he kisses his husband’s lips. Yes, husband! He and Wainwright had married, the hunter so out of it he had agreed to Wainwright’s rushing insistence of marrying in the bowels of a now dead ancient being. It had been for the best, Alistair needing assistance from Zane when his mechanical leg had finally given out sometime during the walk back, having been crushed during the time he had chased after Wainwright and had gone missing. The party had been pushed off, the rather late guests taken aside by the newest Vault Hunters as he and Wainwright had retired to their room. The hunter wants to cry when Wainwright pulls back, but only bites the inside of his cheek as he is helped up and onto the bed. Their bloodied clothes, perfectly tailored white suits at one time now stained red and black, sat crumpled up by the door, poorly hidden with a towel. Alistair's leg is on one of the writing desks, his arm neatly beside it and almost cleaned from the blood and viscera from the dead eldritch horror. The silence is oppressive, Alistair staring up as he laid back, trying to give his green and purple mottled neck support from the pain. 

“Alistair…” There is no second voice buzzing in the back of Alistair’s mind, chanting THE HEART STILL BEATS, THE HEART STILL BLEEDS. Wainwright sees the way Alistair clenches his fist, and moves his own shaking hands to gently hold it. He hadn’t expected Alistair to jerk out of bed, the hunter looking so frightened and lost that it nearly brought tears from Wainwright’s eyes. Alistair was the strong one, resilient and his rock, ready to dash into danger and come out with nary a scratch. Instead, he looked very much the opposite, trying his damnedest not to cry in front of his husband while he was on borderline hyperventilation. Under the bruising, Wainwright could see the telltale mark of a tentacle suction cup on the side of Alistair’s neck, and he suddenly wanted to vomit. Instead, the Edenian moves to lie beside his husband, ever so carefully slipping his arm under Alistair’s neck to draw him close. There is a choked noise, but the hunter says nothing as he curls into Wainwright’s side, shaky breaths leaving him faster and faster each time. Hammerlock still hadn’t recovered fully from his time in the Anvil, and to only see what were undoubtedly such a small portion of his injuries upset Wainwright something fierce.

“I thought I lost you.” Neither knows who spoke first, but their mingled confessions both weigh on them, yet free some of the crushing pressure on their chests. Wainwright is the first, a tear dripping down his cheek as he nestles his nose into Alistair’s hair, pressing kiss after kiss to his husband's forehead. The scent of gunpowder, leather and earth grounds him, something that he desperately needs right now. Alistair isn’t very far behind, sniffling as tears begin to fall from his eye. He isn’t ashamed, gripping Wainwright’s nightshirt as if to tether the other to him, lest he be lost the moment Alistair lets go. Whiskey, shaved metal and smoke are prevalent when he is able to breathe, only making the tears come faster. They lay there, quietly crying and taking in the other before finally, they lull to a neutral state. Making the first move, Alistair forces himself to slowly sit up, wheezing as his back protests and before he can slump over, Winny is there and cradling him upright. 

“Winny…” He doesn’t know what to say, wincing as he is finally stable enough to sit. Wainwright moves, snatching the closest med-pack and carefully injecting some of the red liquid into Alistair’s neck. It hurts at first, but soon the numbness spreads, and most of the intermediate wounds slowly stop aching, the bruising now appearing days old. Carefully testing his arm, Alistair is pleased that his back does not protest, and his neck only aches when he turns too fast. The empty pack is disposed of, and when Wainwright turns around, Alistair gets a good look. 

Wainwright looks...apprehensive. His left hand is twitching out a rhythm against his leg, and the man seems to keep looking around, as if expecting things to change. His eyes, no longer black or glowing, look heavy, his face still marred slightly by the black curse that had been forced upon his body for over two weeks now. Alistair feels nothing but hatred for the now deceased Olmstead’s as he carefully gets onto his one leg. It’s unseemly as he all but hops over to Wainwright, who seemed to realize that Hammerlock needed to do this on his own. Using his husband as a support, Alistair looks down into those brown eyes, and only sees uncertainty and barely-disguised fear lingering even further underneath.  

“Am I here Alistair?” His question is barely a whisper, and all Alistair can do is to reach up and caress Wainwright’s face with a soft hush.

“As assuredly as we breathe air. You are here, and you are married to me.” He can see relief well up in those beautiful eyes, and Alistair gives a soft smile of assurance. He had no idea what his other half went through, remembering the wild look in his eye when he was freed, having vomited up what looked like black tar after The Heart had been destroyed. FL4K had held Wainwright up, silent as a hysterical Hammerlock rushed over and took hold of his lover.

“I trust you my dear...I cannot trust myself in these times.” Wainwright never admitted to anything, no, if anything bothered the Jakobs then it damn well stayed inside his head. For him to speak it without hesitation made Alistair’s stomach churn. He only nods, and they stand for a few moments before Wainwright helps Alistair to freshen up. The bath they take is tense, Alistair’s numerous bruises making Wainwright clearly upset, almost hesitant to touch Alistair until the hunter guides his hands. In return, Alistair can’t stop staring at Wainwright’s body, what could only be described as runes now marked across his body as if they had always been there. It doesn’t matter however, Alistair eventually just holding the other as close to his body as possible.

“I love you Winny, I love you more than I can ever say.” He feels his lover all but melt into his embrace, and Alistair finally feels the first fringes of calm wash over him.

“I love you too Alistair, an’ I’ll always be the first ta say it.” It’s a small joke between them, Wainwright the first to blurt out the words before Alistair could, and he feels Alistair’s chest vibrate with a soft laugh. Eventually they get out of the slowly cooling water, Alistair digging out his spare leg after putting on his mostly cleaned arm. The door looks almost foreboding, as if the terrors from the last weeks were just waiting to strike.

Yet as they took each other's hand, those fears seemed so much weaker as Wainwright opened the door. Nothing would ever get between them again, the Jakobs-Hammerlock’s would make sure of it.

[timetravelingart]

Burt? Burton? I can't remember...

[gaigesdiary]

Gaige is safe y’all, Gaige is safe in the end.

[vvorldtours]

[blazeball]

[helioshellion]

CAUGHT IN THE STORM

[tannithvibes]

im taking my time with glat instead of rushin thru it, so i dont have a lot of hard opinions on it yet BUT i have one complaint and its

when you meet gaige and she asks if ya brought a plus one, moze says she brought iron bear and then gaige says deathtrap is her plus one and gushes about her bot......why couldnt we get them gushing over their bots TO EACH OTHER

[vaulthunter426]

New-U Station Respawn Dialogue…

If you awaken in a blasted wasteland surrounded by wicked imps and vicious hounds, don’t panic. You’re not in Hell, you’re on Pandora! Probably.

[smallhatlogan]

GLaT was like “Hey guys, you like this goofy detective guy who has terrible memory? Well what if you do his questline and then it just ends up that when you complete it he ends up eternally sitting around, crying about his dead daughter and there’s nothing you can do to make it better?” (i don’t think the questline itself was written well enough to be particularly heartbreaking, but dammit I like Burton Briggs and I want him to be happy and this is weirdly dark for a newly-introduced character in a dlc?)