#High probability trading patterns

[sysig]

Bowtie Charm! Inspired by @zarla-s​‘ super cute rendition hehe 💕 (Patreon)

Bonus collar breakdowns:

Changes depending on the doodle!

[togglesbloggle]

How come there's basalt but no bapepper?

This pun made me smile, and has earned you one(1) Toggle Point, anon!

That said, 'basalt' as a word has a rather storied history. The true association isn't with salt, but with gold.

Originally, at least as far back as ancient Egypt, the word meant 'touchstone'; though of course back then it was baban, not basalt. As you may know, touchstones are a common method for testing the properties of minerals and, especially, economically valuable metals like gold. The idea is simple, really. Take a very hard, very dark slab of stone, and scraaape your metal across it, like so:

With a little practice, you can get a fairly nice streak of residue, and the light tone of gold really pops against the dark stone. Then, if somebody is trying to sell you a lot of precious metals, you can perform this streak test using them on your touchstone, and compare the streaking pattern against metals that you trust. If they're similar, the metal is pure, and if the streaks are different, the bastards probably aldulterated it with something cheaper. There you have it- a straightforward, fairly reliable, and very pre-modern method of rooting out Ea-Nasirtesting the quality of your precious metals during high-stakes trading. To this day, it's still a tool in any geologists' kit; you can see how it's handy for mineral identification when you're out in the field.

Anyway, the substance we now know as basalt was particularly good for this task, so (as humans will tend to do) the function of the stone and the type of stone itself started to get mixed up and share the same name. Greek contact with Egypt taught Europe the word, with the slight modification to basan, and then there was a typo in one of Pliny's books, so when they dusted it off in the Renaissance, it became Basalt instead. But it's all the same thing and the same word.

One of my favorite cul-de-sacs of this history is that at one point in ancient Greece, when the word was still more 'touchstone' than 'igneous rock', the word had expanded enough to take on some metaphorical and maybe mythic proportions. Basanos meant 'touchstone', yes, but also 'trial' or 'test' as applied to our own more human ambitions, a thing you endure to show your quality. So basalt became the stone that could find true gold among false metals- not just in the marketplace, but in the soul as well.

[fear-is-truth]

what do you think each of the evan’s wear to bed?

(i was trying to imagine what JPM would wear to bed and was stumped lmao)

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans… sleepwear .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march‧ kai anderson ‧ rory monahan ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel

a/n: ty for the req !! so fun to write tbh

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate’s sleepwear is very 90s boy-next-door. half the time, he’s in those vintage-looking striped tees—horizontal stripes in muted colors, the kind that might seem kinda baby-ish now but somehow work on him. baby boy. the rest of the time, it’s a band tee, nirvana or the smashing pumpkins. for bottoms, he’ll either grab his track & field shorts (you know, the short ones that look kinda fruity) or a pair of boxers. if it’s hot, he’ll ditch the shirt completely. on colder days, he’s in one of those sweaters paired with green checkered pyjama pants.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit’s all about practicality. hot weather? briefs. nothing else. he’s not into anything restrictive or fancy when he’s sleeping. when it’s colder, he might throw on some soft flannel pajama pants and a white undershirt, but only if it’s freezing.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle’s sleepwear usually includes an old college club tee—something from a campus event or charity run—or a nerdy sci-fi shirt with marvel, star wars, or star trek designs. for bottoms, it’s always something cozy, like well-worn sweatpants or flannel pyjama bottoms, usually in neutral or plaid patterns. his clothes always smell nice because he’s that guy who uses fabric softener religiously and actually knows how to do laundry properly.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

wife-beater and boxers, no questions asked. he’s the type to sleep in just his boxers most of the year because he doesn’t see the point in layering up unless it’s absolutely freezing. when the weather does turn colder, he’ll trade the tank for a plain button-down.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂����.

james wouldn’t dare wear anything less than a matching set of black silk pajamas, tailored to fit him perfectly. the initials “J.P.M.” are embroidered in silver thread on the pocket because, of course, he’s that extra. to complete the look, he has a matching silk robe—also black, with a silver trim. probably has a nightcap too.

⟢ 𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐍.

“actor off-duty” typa fit. his go-to is a plain, perfectly-fitted t-shirt (you’d think it’s basic, but it’s actually some high-end brand like james perse) paired with plain sweatpants. if it’s getting chilly, he’d swap the tee for a well-worn hoodie, but even that’s designer, probably with a well-hidden logo no one notices unless they know fashion. cashmere socks because his feet get cold in winter. rory’s all about comfort, but it’s the kind of comfort only a celeb with a fat paycheck can pull off.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

kai would 100% sleep shirtless, wearing those loose, low-slung grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips, showing off that delicious v-line because. he a whore. when it’s cold, though, he’s layering up with a sweater or plain hoodie—the kind a tech bro would wear without a second thought. or black thermal shirt paired with fleece joggers.

⟢ 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒.

austin’s sleepwear is all about luxury. he’d wear a high-end silk robe, probably from something like tom ford or balenciaga, in sleek b & w pinstripes or a classy paisley print. It’s the kind of robe that looks expensive without being flashy—tasteful, refined, and just a little bit sexy. he’d leave it slightly open at the chest, showing off just a sliver of his pale skin (scandalous! what a slut!). he’s also got matching slippers, and an eye mask for when he needs to block out sunlight.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅.

he’s got a collection of band tees that double as sleepwear, (pink floyd or rush). then, of course, there are those absurdly dorky graphic tees that are so bad they’re good—like the “nacho average guy” with a cartoon taco or a random graphic of a turtle. peter’s pyjama bottoms are often cartoony and childish. think patterns like cartoon superheroes, or those old-school looney tunes characters. they’re soft and comfy, of course.

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋.

simple and comfy. he’d throw on a plain cotton shirt and wear boxers. when it’s warmer, he’s in boxers, but when the temperature drops, he’s switching to a long-sleeve thermal shirt to stay warm. his pajama bottoms are a staple—those brown, white, and black checkered plaid ones, they’re slightly worn in from frequent use, but he looooves that soft, lived-in feeling.

[loquaciousferret]

Heat Waves

Gif: @serenaxpedro

Summary: A heatwave and a broken air conditioning unit in the office leads to tensions running high between you and your partner, Javier Peña. What lengths will you consider going to, seeking relief?

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, no minors etc etc . fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (in an office), maybe more, just please don’t read if you can be sensitive to any kinds of sexual content

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: credit to @tightjeansjavi for the prompt, this was delightful to write hehe

You check the wall thermometer again. The needle is creeping just above 30°. You groan loudly.

For a building full of people whose work visas list them as being employed in “Janitorial Services”, the US Embassy in Medellin had a shockingly poor maintenance and janitorial department.

The air conditioning had broken yesterday, towards the end of the work day. It was bearable because it was already beginning to cool down into the evening, but today, in the mid-day sun, in a July heatwave, it had been too much for most of your colleagues to bear.

Anyone who was able to work from home had scurried off with boxes of files to catch up on paperwork in their air conditioned apartments.

But you and Javi couldn’t move the entire wall of the office where you were mapping out trade routes, connections, linking suspects together and desperately trying to find a pattern that would let you understand where exactly the evidence was that you so desperately needed.

You had probably consumed your body-weight in water. You had already shed as many layers as possible. You had even removed your tights. All that was left was a tight skirt and a blouse that was sticking to your skin all over. Plastered to your lower back, your chest. Nothing was cooling you down.

“Are you evening listening to me?” Javi sighs.

Your gaze snaps up to him, he is watching you with an expression that is more defeated than irritated.

“I’m sorry Jav, can’t think straight. This fucking heat’s making me crazy.” You say sincerely.

“Yeah, you can say that again.” He responds sympathetically.

He wipes sweat from his brow.

“Just… take a break. G’nna go outside to smoke, hopefully catch a breeze.” He mutters.

As he leaves the room, a disturbing thought crosses your mind. The shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and his back muscles flexing as he reaches for the door handle makes you question… Is Javi attractive? Well, obviously, he is, to every other woman in Colombia. But is Javi attractive to you? Not up until now, his personality thoroughly put you off. But the way he looked from behind, even with those patches of sweat staining his shirt… or, maybe, especially with those patches of sweat…

“What the fuck.” You mutter.

This heat really is making you insane. You physically shake your head to try and rid yourself of the thought. Javier fucking Peña. Yeah right.

You return your focus to the document he was attempting to discuss with you before. It was a transcript of an intercepted communication, between two parties who you couldn’t understand a reasonable explanation for them now working together. The whole thing sent your head into a spin trying to piece it together.

You knew you were on the edge of a breakthrough. You could feel it. Javi knew it too, and you were both pushing each other to your limits. He was an excellent partner. His job was the only thing he cared about. That might be the only thing you and Javi had in common. As different as the two of you were, the job was where you found mutual respect, and that was all that mattered.

Heat creeped up your chest and around the back of your neck. It was practically choking, consuming every single sense and causing a layer of impenetrable fog to settle in your mind. Being off your game at a critical point in your investigation was less than optimal.

Javi entered again and you analysed his features. If the heat was affecting him as much as it was you, he was doing a good job at not showing it.

“How are you coping with this? I feel like I’m about to be swallowed by the sun.” You groan exaggeratedly.

“Grew up in Texas.” He shrugs.

“Really?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He says, meeting your eyes. “Is that surprising?”

“Yeah. I thought Southerners were gentlemen."

“Maybe I am.” He responds, holding a bottle of water to his forehead.

You scoff and then clear your throat. “Anyway, I’m reading this again. I can’t help but think this is a code name for some kind of object or thing, not a person. If it was a person they would have come up before now. There are only so many people that run in these circles, I just don’t think we could have missed someone this important.”

He tilts his head from side to side, considering your suggestion. As he does so, the tendons in his neck protrude and you see how his tanned skin sparkles as it glistens with sweat.

Finally, he responds, “Maybe. But for what? These guys aren’t geniuses. Think we can work out the code?”

“I don’t know.” You say. “Not any further forward on that part.”

You fan yourself with some scrap paper you have folded and concertinaed carefully. You throw your head back in your seat and sigh deeply.

When you sit back up and open your eyes again, you think you find Peña’s gaze trained on your chest, but he quickly looks away.

You feel yourself equally irritated and intrigued by his staring. You had never noticed him look at you like this before.

“Everything OK, Jav?” You say, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah- Yeah. I’m good. Just- Yeah.” His eyes linger on yours for a moment and he runs his hand across his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat.

You both continue to work, but you feel his eyes continually flicking back to you, telling you he is not focussed either.

You feel as though the tension continues to build as you both try and work, and you want to tell yourself it’s not just because of the heat. But you are worried this is one-sided. Even if that would mean you were the only woman in Colombia Javi wasn’t interested in sleeping with.

As the day goes on, painfully slowly, you find yourself more and more distracted by his presence and frustrated with your lack of progress in your investigation.

You curse loudly.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his gaze intense.

“I’m just… I’m so frustrated, Peña. I don’t know what to do about it.” You sigh.

“I’m sure I know how I could help you deal with it.” He says, with a glint in his eye.

You scowl at him. Now that had to have been intentional flirting.

“I feel like no matter what we do we are always running in circles chasing our own tails. How do they always stay one step ahead of us. Like you said, these guys aren’t geniuses.”

“Hey.” He says, his expression stern. “Don’t talk like that. We’ll get ‘em.”

“Every day that goes on we are losing more. I feel like I’ve already given all of myself and more to this investigation.”

He had closed the distance between you, and placed his hand over yours where you fiddled with your pen on the desk. The touch burned.

“Let me take your mind off it.” He says, something unfamiliar behind his eyes.

You ignore him, and slide the memo on your desk over towards him. “Can you assign someone else to the stakeout tomorrow. We have to be in for the meeting with-“

He cuts you off, grumbling, “You always use work talk to distract guys hitting on you?”

“Hitting on m- Jesus, Peña. The heat makin’ you fuckin’ stupid?” You shoot back.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. But he doesn’t step away from you.

“You believe in shitting where you eat?” You continue.

“Not usually. But I can see how frustrated you are. I’d be a bad partner to let you suffer like this.” He smirked.

You raise an eyebrow at him. You know the answer to your question but you want to hear him say it. “What are you suggesting?”

He leans in closer, “I’m suggesting I help you forget work a while, let me relieve some of your tension. Maybe it’ll force a breakthrough.”

“Yeah right.” You say. You turn to face him, looking for any sign in his dark eyes that he isn’t being serious in his proposition. Any sign of hesitation or doubt. Any sign that it is all some joke. But you don’t find it.

His moustache tickles as he whispers in your ear. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine. “You know you want it. Let me help you.”

You want to say no, but your body betrays you as you find yourself being acted on by what seems like a magnetic force, drawing you closer to him.

You manage to produce one more protest, but it comes out weak, as though you are trying to convince yourself for a reason to say no. “That would be unprofessional.”

“Who’s gonna report us?” He taunts. “You?”

You find yourself shaking your head in response to his question, and he pounces on you, connecting his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

An oppressive heat continues to suffocate your body, but this one isn’t from the conditions in the office, this is a fire that is coming from within, a burning flame stoked by the attraction and desire that has come over the two of you.

You give in to the feeling of him as his hands roam all over you, unbuttoning your blouse hastily and discarding it. A mixture of excitement and guilt nags at you. This is your partner. This is wrong. And not just any partner, it’s Javier Peña. He has screwed at least half the women in Medellin. This is not how you should be behaving.

But at the same time, you can’t deny the intense chemistry between you in this moment. The way your desperation and hunger perfectly matches his. The way he whispers dirty words in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

His cock is already straining against his tight jeans, and you reach a hand up to palm him through the denim.

He sighs at the feeling and puts his hands on your waist, pulling you up and guiding you to sit on the desk. A strong hand parts your thighs and creeps upwards, pressing against the thin fabric of your panties. You moan into his mouth, and then blush, embarrassed by the affect his touches are having on you so quickly.

He continues to rub gently against the fabric and you reach towards him to release his belt buckle. You fumble with it and he pushes your hands away impatiently and takes it off himself, unzipping his jeans and taking out his erect cock.

He strokes himself a few times and you watch, transfixed, your breathing shallow.

He stops and gathers the hem of your skirt, pushing it up to your hips to release your thighs. He spreads you wide and pushes your underwear to the side, not bothering to remove it as he plunges two fingers inside you.

You gasp and he starts off with an already quick pace, hammering in and out of you and curling them inside you to reach the most pleasurable spots. It doesn’t take long until your legs are shaking, your hands gripping the edge of the desk to steady yourself. You were already sweating from the heat but now you feel as though you are melting, struggling to catch your breath and releasing desperate whines of pleasure.

His thumb reaches up to rub your clit and you moan, “Javii-”

“You like that, huh?”

He attaches his lips to your neck, sucking lightly before moving down to the valley between your collarbones, licking up beads of salty sweat that have gathered there. He moans into your skin and the sound goes right through you, you twitch and start to feel an orgasm rising inside you.

“You gonna come for me before I even fuck you, huh?” He taunts, “More desperate than I thought.”

You ignore his cocky commentary and focus on the feeling of his hands on you. You can’t deny he is skilled and knows exactly the right pace and rhythm to bring you your release quickly.

The pressure on your clit increases and he rubs faster circles around it. Tension builds in your stomach.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp out.

His other hand has reached back to stroke his cock roughly, and he lets out small sounds of pleasure into your ear. You didn’t expect him to be this vocal but it turns you on.

Your pleasure is reaching its peak and he senses it too, toying with your clit unrelentingly as you writhe on the desk beneath him, the cool surface doing nothing to calm the heat inside you. Your legs tense up as your orgasm washes over you, you lose your stability and fall backwards atop the papers and documents strewn across the desk. Your back arches and his movements don’t slow down, unashamed cries of pleasure streaming from you as you ride out your orgasm.

He shifts slightly and there isn’t a moment of rest until he removes his fingers and replaces them with his hard cock. He plunges deep inside you on the first thrust, the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit, almost driving you to overstimulation with your orgasm barely subsided.

He sets a punishing pace with his haps, snapping against you hard and fast, your cunt greedily clenching and tightening around him every single time he buries himself inside you.

“Feel so good. Don’t know why I waited this long.” He mutters.

You whine, unable to form a coherent response. One of his hands is squeezing at your chest and the other is gripping your hip, pulling you down on him harder to intensify the force of every single thrust.

He is everything you thought he would be, hungry and passionate and clearly practiced in the art of both giving and taking pleasure.

Your sounds echo around the room. Neither of you worry about this, knowing the office was nearly empty. Even then, your desire for him clouds your mind so far to the extent that you don’t think you would mind being caught anyway. It was worth the risk.

He takes both of your legs and manoeuvres you, bending them and lifting them up so they lazily rest against his shoulders. Thank god for yoga, you think.

The new position tightens you up and somehow allows him even deeper access. You moan shamelessly and he grunts with every single thrust. His pace is unrelenting and you feel him becoming more and more forceful with each one, chasing his climax.

“Can I come inside you?” He asks through gritted teeth.

You are unable to form words, you nod, your mouth hanging open but no sounds come out other than strangled gasps.

“Fuckkk.” He grunts, turned on even more at the prospect of filling you up and it sends him over the edge.

He spills into you, your name thrown in amongst the curses he mutters as he comes. He keeps a tight hold of you as he steadies his breathing.

Moments after he releases inside you, you feel the relief he had been promising. You close your eyes and let out a deep, contented sigh.

And then, suddenly, they fly open again.

“Move!” You almost yell, pushing his chest away from you.

“Move. I’ve got it.” He pulls himself away from you and you leap up, pulling your skirt back down. You grab a pen and begin scribbling frantic notes over the transcript.

“I’ve got it.” You repeat.

“Worked even better than I imagined.” He teased, smirking as he buttoned his jeans and re-fastened his belt before coming to join you and see the revelation you had come to.

“Good to know.” He adds, “Nice tactic for the future.”

You roll your eyes at him and thrust the paper towards him with satisfaction. He might be right, it might have been the sex that did the trick, but you would never admit it.

More Javier Peña oneshots:

Over and Done With | Partners | All Work, No Play | Little Games

[retromotherfuckers]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[horny-deepspace]

PLEASURE

synopsis: The walls of the bedroom echo with the click of handcuffs being fastened, followed by silence… warnings: light bdsm, dom/sub wc: 2,2k

Chapter 1.

He will never refuse to crush your foundations and suppress your moral principles; squeeze your will into a fist and command it as he pleases - without any effort.

It is impossible to resist his magnetic, sexually arousing timbre of voice. Outwardly, he remains invariably serene, with flawless facial features. It is hard to believe that he is real, only his sarfir-red eyes make him alive.

You appear, prove your - correct point of view, read moralizing lectures. This is more like expressive attacks on your part, and from him - complete calm. He does not raise his voice. He expresses himself in a suggestible and convincing way, forcing you to surrender in the end. It is unclear how he manages to influence others. There is a high probability that the reason is Evol deadly force. You need to try to find him a worthy opponent. The head of Onychinus is respected and feared - according to the timeless classic.

He takes verbal attacks for irony, considering your past professional activity. Six months ago, he bought you out of the brothel. Since then, he has become your only Master. In fact, life has changed significantly, because everything is learned in comparison. With him, you do not need to be afraid of unfamiliar clients, guess what is on their minds. Sylus immediately made it clear what he expects from you. He told you about his preferences.

Nothing that happened between you was a revelation. You came across different clients ready to order exotic services for an additional fee.

The thread of trust with Sylus grew stronger day by day. Over time, you began to look forward to intimacy with him more and more often, while feeling even more completely safe. You know: he will cover you, will not let anyone hurt you. Even if it is about retribution, the price he paid for you, and his protection is just a pretense.

The bathroom door opens, releasing hot clouds of steam. You close your eyes. In advance, you mentally outline the silhouette of a strong, male body, with transparent droplets of water flowing down the muscles.

Any discussions are left far behind when unbridled passion flares up between you. So strong that nothing and no one can stop you. You are powerless against each other. It is akin to addiction. You are completely different, but the craving is irresistible - is it only on a physical level?

Or is it not just that?

When he is away for too long, you begin to yearn. Almost howl from helplessness and the desire to run wherever your eyes look, just to calm your heart again. Self-hypnosis almost never works: neither promises to break up with him, that their new meeting is definitely now the last; not confessions that you bite your fist until it marks, holding back desperate moans through the pain.

You need him.

Needed. More than air.

Life without it has long ceased to seem significant…

It is dusk outside. The weather in Zone N109 is consistently gloomy. The path for travelers is illuminated by a bloody moon, high in the sky in a fog of clouds, through which the warm rays caressing the skin do not penetrate.

Once a bustling technology center, this is now, after the catastrophe that occurred, one of the most dangerous areas. Surrounded by other forbidden zones, this "island" has turned into a lawless land where danger and opportunity coexist. The Zone is rife with violence and crime. Due to illegal trade and dangerous research, many of its activities are associated with protocors and Wanderers.

But everything seems very far away when you are in his arms.

He approaches you from behind, barely touching, drawing abstract patterns along your spine until he reaches your lower back. You want to step back, press yourself against his chest and stand there until dawn, which will not come. Today you don’t really want to swear, because it’s a useless exercise. The worst thing is to try to remake a person to your own rules, to deprive him of his own “I”.

- You won.

- I know, - he only says in a whisper. There is no mockery in his intonation.

Long fingers, exciting the imagination, climb under the unbuttoned shirt, under which you are wearing only panties and a leather harness on your chest. You like to wear men's shirts, sweaters and accessories: to remember his warmth, the smell of perfume. At least this way you can not part, keeping the memories.

With a slight movement, Sylus turns you to face him. You slip your finger under the belt of the towel, hinting at an extra piece of clothing, to which Sylus raises an eyebrow questioningly. Finally, his lips twist into a smug grin. There is no need to rush, you have the whole night at your disposal, except for those days when the man is present at important meetings and negotiations.

Humility will pay off in full.

The costs of the profession do not disappear without a trace. In the brothel, the owner expected productive work from the prostitutes: the more clients, the more income. The slaves themselves received just enough to keep from starving to death.

You are incredibly lucky to be freed, when hundreds of the same weak-willed slaves are still languishing in the brothel. Asking for a big favor is a thankless task. You have already received everything: the best lover who can provide for your life exactly until the end of the term of need. If he wants, it seems that he has the power to close the brothel, only in place of one establishment another will appear. This is an endless struggle between evil and evil.

Those same fingers that you can’t stop dreaming about, grasp your thin wrist with traces of abrasions and bruises that have not yet disappeared.

- Put it behind your back.

Your breath catches from the realization of what will happen next. Sylus goes to the chest of drawers with clothes. The top drawer contains his special toys. The cold metal of the handcuffs gleams in the dim light of the lamps. Breathe, just breathe. You obediently move your hands back and clasp them in a lock. The tall, blond figure walks past you, then stops behind you, out of sight.

The click of cuffs echoes off the bedroom walls, and then there's silence. Sylus walks around you, coming back to face you. His dark lashes flutter. Without realizing it, you're staring at him, taking in every inch of him: the smooth curves of his brows, the thick lashes, the neat nose, the sensual lips.

The man's gaze lifts, and his eyebrows rise, giving him an innocent look. A minute passes, maybe two. It's hard to tell. Reality swirls around you as you fall into his eyes. Your thoughts are naked. You have no intention of hiding your desires.

You watch with agonizing anticipation as he takes the metal chain attached to your choker at the other end and threads the carabiner through the ring on his collar, symbolizing a single bond.

Sylus advances on you until he collides with the wall. Your shoulders shake. Your heart starts pounding, but you don't panic. Thanks to his mercy, you're probably still alive. With that - the past lifestyle, girls don't grow old, especially in Zone N109.

This debt is indefinite. Never to be repaid.

- Sweetheart, if you don't want to...

- I remembered the past at the wrong time, - you brush away the rapidly running tears on your cheeks. - I owe you all...

He puts a finger to your lips, urging you to shut up, to which you nod in agreement and throw your leg over his waist. There should be no reason for sadness today or tomorrow. With ease, the man grabs you by the armpits and lifts you off the ground, allowing you to wrap both legs around him, because there is nothing else to hold on to.

Sylus is your support. A gift from fate.

- Forgive me.

This time he silences you with a kiss, punishing you by pressing your lips together and depriving you of the rest of your air. His hand pulls the chain down, bringing your chest closer to his.

- Think of us.

Sylus's deep, low voice makes you smile tenderly. His rough tongue licks the salty tracks of tears. You will only cry from the highest degree of pleasure, because he swore: "I'll be damned if I don't get my way."

[domoz]

A drabble trade with @doveywovy, with prompts "marriage hunt" and "cultural differences"

The brilliant orange of sunset feels like it takes an eternity to fade into dusk.

The strings of lanterns around the edges of the clearing make tonight's gathering of anxious young hopefuls look more like a festival than it has any right to. If it were only Uchiha out here, it practically would be -- there would be talking and dancing and everyone would be sizing up the others out to hunt tonight. But there’s a group of Senju huddled together on the far side of the clearing across from them, and so the atmosphere is decidedly flat. Both sides keep well apart from each other, separated only by the tiny group of participants from other clans.

"Yeah, there's no way someone's not ending up dead tonight." Izuna informs his brother. Madara groans.

"Repeating how bad of an idea you think this is isn't going to stop it at this point." Madara sighs. "Haven't you already made sure a thousand times that no one out tonight is planning on doing anything stupid?"

Izuna has had this argument with him constantly over the past few months, and he's still loath to admit that his brother has a point. Putting a pause to marriage hunts had been sensible when the village had been founded. Nearly two years in, though, and it's starting to seem like they don't have faith in their own creation to survive the pressures of a time-honored tradition.

So even though this is going to end in disaster, the best thing to do to ensure Konoha's long term survival -- and Izuna finds, these days, that he's begrudgingly in support of that outcome -- is to hold a hunt anyways, and just deal with whatever happens.

That doesn't mean he can't say I-told-you-so afterwards, though.

"Our people, yes, but I can't account for the rest of them. I mean, the Senju all came out without shoes, so it's not like my expectations are very high."

"If I've kept my mouth shut about whatever has your clan lighting fires and singing all hours of the night leading up to this, you can bite your tongue on our shoes." Tobirama’s deep voice cuts in, the man butting into their conversation by appearing from the treeline on the Senju side, where he's surely been working his perfectionist little fingers to the bone over something that's going to be a mess anyways.

Izuna turns to him with a retort like usual, but he finds himself staring open-mouthed instead. He's known roughly where Tobirama has been all day, but he hasn't had eyes on him until right this moment. He's not wearing one of the four outfits Izuna has ever seen him in. No armor, no shinobi blacks or training clothes or that mess of dye the Senju call formal clothes. He's in a wave patterned haori, a pair of hakama that's secured at the ankles, and -- and no shoes.

"What the hell?" Madara sputters out a response before Izuna can -- he's too distracted by the string of bells Tobirama has wrapped around one wrist like the rest of the Senju participants, chest squeezing tight with too many reactions to name. "What are you dressed like that for? You're joining?"

"I don't see why I wouldn't." Tobirama says in that tone he usually takes with Madara that makes it sound like the person he's talking to is very stupid, "I'm eligible, and there are several politically advantageous targets. If I participate I can also keep an eye on anyone who might be planning on causing trouble. It's good optics."

"Good optics?" Izuna says, a little too shrill, "You're the clan heir! Don't you have something arranged already?"

He'd always assumed so -- Izuna himself hasn't exactly been betrothed since before he was born, but the list of acceptable candidates for him to marry has never been very long.

He really shouldn't be surprised when Tobirama shakes his head; he's always known that the Senju don't care about bloodlines. They probably hadn't even had to read through the genealogies of all of their participating clan members beforehand.

"Wh-- you're not seriously joining a hunt for political convenience?" Madara cuts in before Tobirama can say something snarky. "That's cold, even for you, Senju."

Tobraima rolls his eyes, "It’s not like I’m aiming  to get married to someone who hates me. If it comes down to that, I won't hunt anyone at all."

The two of them devolve into bickering, but Izuna is hardly listening. Tobirama is either going to walk out of the woods married, or never allowed to marry at all. The stupid bastard probably even thinks he would prefer that.

…It’s not like Izuna can join and do anything about it -- but that's not true, he only shouldn't. Certainly no one would be able to raise any complaint about the two of them being too closely related and, well -- it's a hunt;  if it succeeds there's not really any challenging it anyways.

Tobirama makes a noise of disgust at whatever it is Madara just said and excuses himself with, "I have more important things to worry about tonight than your empty head."

Luckily, Madara is distracted by chasing after him to try and get the last word in, so he doesn't notice as Izuna slinks away to go mingle with the hunters on the Uchiha side of the clearing. Surely, someone has some spare red rope lying around? It’s not as though he’s about to let Tobirama be inflicted on anyone else.

[kiweegamez]

Hypnofury (May redesign. + Colour Alts)

MY DUMBASS REALISED I NEVER EVEN PUT THE LORE IN ARTFIGHT, SO YIPPEE. Also it was very similar to Toothless?

Ok so you may think the measurements are insane, look at Toothless for ref, this variant is slightly bigger than him.

So the Hypnofury, a variant in close relation to the Nightfury. Hypnofuries were said to reside with Flightmares when this was less than likely as this one had been seen fighting with Flightmare on sight. Hypnofuries are critically endangered there’s probably like 20 left. Yet they are no where near each other, being scattered everywhere.

They seem to reside in darker forest or cave areas, easily attracted by glowing algae. This one is a female. If seen next to a male, the difference is that the males are wider and smoother having less prominent fins. This species is extremely female dominant so it would be a miracle to have a male left.

Originally they had much smaller wings and were all together a lot smaller, therefore they were good for hunting sports. (As they used to be terrible terror size). But over time they became much larger like the current photo. Now the reason this is actually named a Hypnofury is because of the patterns, as they do consume glowing algae like a Flightmare (so competitive for food) they can make their patterns flash or glow for a bit. As rare as it is, the patterns confuse other dragons in low darkness due to how some (especially on the weird things on the head) can look like a dragon face, well, roughly resemble. And by moving around enough with the pulsing patterns they can temporarily charm other dragons (hypnotise them) while if two or more Hypnofuries are near they move around in a group, therefore the display is more effective and mesmerising. DIET: The diet of the Hypnofuries is rather odd, as it seems to selectively eat eels, glowing algae, fish, turtles, apples, and honeycomb. Hypnofuries just like their close relatives the Nightfury are agile terrors to Viking kind. They are better swimmers than Nightfuries given their larger spinal fins and have stronger legs built for swimming rather than running.

Also they have a very ill temper if in bright areas, given it’s harder for them to see, but this can be trained out of them. Other than that, they are rather curious, they remember faces and hold serious grudges, however they do like shiny objects and will often leave them underwater. They will also sometimes offer trades, sometimes having junk or stuff from a random traveler. (You can’t tell me she didn’t steal Hiccup’s peg leg once outside of the show 🫵)

They do NOT have retractable teeth.

Now the Hypnofuries roar is much more high pitched and echoey, while purposely pulsing their tone, this is due to their modified lungs, as they tend to look for bodies of water to swim and hunt they will sometimes even hide underwater waiting to ambush dragons (if desperate enough for food). They can be underwater for 40 mins until they need fresh air, however if currents are strong are choppy water conditions this number can drop drastically. Back to the species roar, this is for better underwater communication rather than on land. As their diaphragm is much stronger it also creates somewhat of a whistling grunt. So a very distinguishable sound from the Nightfury.

Roars:

POSSIBLE COLOUR VARIANTS.

Might draw them all officially one day.

🔽||Related Posts||🔽

[wixelt]

Grian, Gem, and a continent of snails that are visibly at the very least very rated very high when it comes to animal intelligence seems like a massive headache for Andrias and later Sasha, and possibly Valeriana, Wartwood, and Newtopia considering they two are probably getting up to Snail Shananigans before they even meet up. I don't have ideas about what the two get up to, but snail behavioral patterns are going to be notably altered by the time the hermits leave Amphibia.

Also the only reason the Snail Shananigans stop being a headache for Andrias is because they graduate to being logistical issues.

(Sorry this took me 5 months. Was mentally blocked on replying at first, & then my mental health took a nosedive.)

A continent full of molluscs goes exactly the way you'd expect.

Initially split up, both Gem and Grian see the plentiful population of giant snails & get ideas. It takes time for things to get off the ground as Grian's initially under the thrall of spores & Gem has other matters to attend to with Valeriana, but once they're able to put time into training a few snails to do their bidding... hoo boy. :P

While perhaps not an issue for Valeriana, for every major villain its a nuisance at best and at absolute worst a logistical nightmare.

Sasha's face falls as - already blindsided by the skill & power the Hermits bring to bear & Anne's utter defiance of her attempts to "help" her - a small battalion of shelled horrors surges over the walls of South Tower. She turns to Scar, knowing he won't help her here but still wanting his advice... only to become paler still at the trickster's expression of perturbed resignation (best described as "oh no, not again").

For Andrias, meanwhile, the level of difficulty he faces with the snail legions runs the whole range depending on where in the story this falls. In the midst of Season 2, Grian's getting snails to ferry information & do recon is mildly useful, but is entirely outweighed by his use of them as pranksters, spies & pieces in his schemes. The game of tag he begins in Newtopia is almost entirely fuelled by snails used as proxies & instigators.

This only gets worse when False brings Gem back to the city with her after one of the temple outings.

Come the war in Season 3, it doesn't matter that Andrias & the Core have False's intelligence on their side. Nothing - & I mean nothing - can prepare anybody for snail guerilla warfare. Trade convoys are disrupted, supplies stolen & soldiers befuddled. The finest strategic minds in the Newtopian military are left flailing in confusion.

If it wasn't for all the aces they have up their sleeves now, Andrias is convinced the Core might otherwise go full scorched earth with the volume of the frustrated screeching False's body is making.

[dragonshoard]

My head is STUCK on blue bird!Jinx AU with the new season coming out (if anyone remembers from WAY WAY back).

Summary for people who have no idea what tf I'm talking about: Basically, Powder dies via Silco the night Vander "dies". She's revived by Janna (wind spirit god who is a guardian deity of Zaun) and proceeds to spend x years getting up to international hijinks while playing politics. Powder/Jinx (she goes by both) remembers nothing of her past and is spirit blessed with the ability to turn into various forms of birds among other talents.

I had a picture of her a while back but I'm probably going to be changing her outfit and hair. I'm not fond of the top I gave her anymore. Also, she has so many tattoos. So many.

I've added to the AU since I last spoke about it:

Jinx is a magical conduit - not quite a mage, or a witch, but someone who is capable of using magic without generating it herself. She gets power from the Spirit Gods and Runeterra. It is also what is keeping her alive so if she's ever drained she will die :D

Her abilities/magic is very similar to Janna's in that, naturally, she has healing, shielding, and some control of wind. To do anything else the magic would have to go through specific runes, though it costs significantly more to do so (draining her faster). Her only other natural ability is her transformation, though certain transformations drain her more (big bird, for example)

Otherwise, she still loves her pistol and ALSO has a fondness for knives and never has less than ten on her person.

Jinx has a few titles, but her main one is "Storm Priestess". She is quite literally a religious leader and is treated as such. There are rules she has to follow, and if Janna tells her to jump - she will LEAP

Her hair is much more elaborate in this AU as it's used to enhance and add to the array of runes tattooed onto her skin. It's still in two braids (typically - specific circumstances may have her wearing more), though with threads of brightly colored yarns and engraved silver/copper/iron metal running through it. I'm going to playing around with the following concepts (don't look too deeply at the colors, just the patterns/styles/accessories):

Zaun and Piltover are bordered by Noxus and Shurima, so I'm going to go ahead and assume Piltover and Zaun's first generations were largely immigrants from Noxus and Shurima (and possibly Demacia). I'm assuming Shurima had the largest population as Zaun was once part of the Shuriman empire. However, as a note, Zaun and Piltover are largely mixing pot nations due to the nature of them being port cities with vast trade systems.

In this AU, Jinx and Vi's facial features are very region typical for specific parts of Shurima. Great-grandparents were immigrants to Zaun.

Jinx has political ties to three (I'm including the Undercity here) nations: Shurima, Zaun, and Piltover. Her religious leader position grants her relatively high status/respect and a voice in all three nations; however, her connections with Silco in Zaun and Caitlyn in Piltover also give her some additional legitimacy.

Shurima is currently heavily divided and largely in ruins. However, with the rise of Azir the empire is slowly rebuilding. They were once a very prosperous and rich culture, so its implied that there will be a resurgence of that golden era. Her involvement in a certain conflict will grant her status with the empire where most followers of spirit-gods wouldn't have. There will be conflict there, but as I understand it Azir is largely seen as a benevolent dictator. I'm not 100% sure what his perspective is on spirit-gods, but I'm going to assume he isn't the ungrateful sort.

In terms of relationships...

Jinx has a very close relationship with Caitlyn. They've known each other since Jinx was about 13 and have been friends since. Caitlyn has considered adding Jinx to the family registry for both political and personal reasons. Caitlyn is a bit more familiar with Zaun in this one, as she's spent a number of years exploring Zaun pre-independence and learning the culture. Also has more political savy.

Vi is in Stillwater for at least 2 more years than in canon.

As mentioned before Viktor and her are good friends in this one but she's gonna get nervous when he starts poking at the arcane in a very unsanctioned way (and I mean her as a person, not her as a priestess - the spirit gods and spirits are quiet about his actions for now).

I'm thinking about how to integrate parts of season 2 into this AU. There will be a period of time in which Jinx will be unable to return to Zaun due to conflict in parts of Shurima, so I'm thinking that this is when the conflict between Zaun and Piltover starts to boil over. I'm thinking a situation in which Piltover and Zaun sign a formal declaration of independence but problems begin to boil over due to foreign and domestic issues. Not 100% on whether or not Caitlyn's mom dies in this one, but there is a chance of it.

I'm also not sure how much I'm going to keep to the "magic leads to destruction" angle the show is starting to go towards. Pending! Right now Jinx is very pleased with the progress of hextech and chemtech so far in the shows. Some things are subject to change as Arcane season 2 progresses :D

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 28

It's the lesbian chapter.

I feel like there isn't much to say about the bath scene. I'm impressed that it doesn't come across as fanservicey despite it being two women naked in a bath with lots of intimate touching.

I do want to mention the level of detail with how Kui draws hands though.

Fingernails are one of those things an artists could easily get away with not drawing and no one would notice. This was actually the first time I even realized that Kui has been drawing fingernails since the beginning.

I checked a few chapters and found that orcs also have fingernails. I couldn't find a good chapter where I could check if Kuro the Kobold has them. I also checked the mermaids from chapter 15 but didn't see any good shot that shows if they have fingernails or not.

Marcille still has that soap she made in chapter 14.

If the Golden Kingdom is made of elf and dwarf technology, that might mean they either lived in general harmony 1,000 years ago or the Golden Kingdom was a trade center between them and was able to benefit from both races' advancements. Maybe the war that broke out between them was because of some fallout when the kingdom was turned into a dungeon.

I want to know more about that bank token thing. Is it a form of IOU or maybe the equivalent of a PIN number? Maybe the whole idea is adventurers always risk losing anything they bring into the dungeon so the bank will keep their money safe and issue the tokens so you can redeem the money later.

Since the token is based on the owner's fingerprint, it would be difficult to steal someone's token and then claim to be the original owner. The bank likely confirms ownership by pattern matching the token fragments with the fingerprint.

Laios and Chilchuck are talking profits and they're hitting the logistic issue of how big the dragon pieces are. Not sure why Laios said they can't use a return spell. They have Falin. She can definitely cast a return spell. That's how the whole story started.

A tiny bit of event sequences seemed to slip away while Marcille was talking about her interest in studying forbidden magic. Laios gave Falin his spare shirt and I think she ran off to get dressed during that scene. She probably also got some under garments from Marcille too.

Falin was the only one who saw Senshi head toward the dragon. It wouldn't make sense if he walked by while the others were talking and Falin was the only one who noticed. I think she saw Senshi as she was heading back to the others.

Marcille was all "What's a dark elf anyway!?" so now I need to know if dark elf is a subclassification, subculture, or a derogatory term.

Senshi flash denied!

We got assurance at the start of the chapter that Falin doesn't have any physical abnormalities from the resurrection, but the chapter is not being shy about how Falin is far more powerful after resurrecting. I'd also like to point out that Falin's eyes are wide open most of the time. All the flashbacks and chapter 1 depict her with her eyes always closed no matter what. So she definitely came back at least slightly different. And she still has a scar from years ago so it's not that Marcille healed any long-term injuries.

Senshi seriously turned the dragon corpse into a pizza oven. And Chilchuck is so mad that Senshi is cooking high-value monster parts AGAIN.

Laios and Marcille are still a bit iffy on the whole "eating a monster that ate your friend" thing. Falin is fine with it though. She's not concerning herself at all with whether or not this counts as auto-cannibalism or not.

Now if you'll excuse me, that panel of Falin eating pizza is making me really hungry for one.

Okay I'm back. The pizza wasn't all that good.

I love how giddy Falin is when she finds out the party has been eating monsters. She is just Laios if he was a woman. And Marcille is well aware of it. I wonder when Marcille realized Falin would want to eat monsters if she was offered the chance.

And she shares Laios's lack of concern for the appearance of monsters when eating them. I wonder if she would have gotten as angry as Laios did when Chilchuck didn't let him cook the fishmen.

Hold on. Falin definitely came back wrong. Kensuke is reacting exactly like when they fought the dragon.

I gave a loud "NO!" when I read this panel.

The fifth floor has some strange design layout. It's a castle town but some aspects make no sense at all. In chapter 23, there was that underpass that only a half-foot could walk under and there was a door right above it.

Along with what the party noticed about the house they're staying in, there's also a door where the entire panel is upside down.

Maybe this is a side-effect of the Magician trying to preserve such a large space for so long. It's not like he knows every nook and cranny of town and he's personally repairing every bit of damage that happens. There's probably some automated process to fixing damage and it doesn't check if the repairs make practical sense.

Was Falin the only one who could see that child? And if so, was it because of her priest magic or because of whatever is going on with her?

They still have their frog suits!

This was such a heartwarming chapter. After so much time and struggle, the party managed to save Falin and it was all worth it. Now they can leave the dungeon and nothing bad will happen.

Nope! Nothing bad will happen.

NOTHING. BAD. WILL. HAPPEN.

back

[mutant-distraction]

Neil Bockoven

OTZI THE ICEMAN - SOME FACTS YOU MAY NOT KNOW:

1) It took ten years to figure out how he died. The 5300-year-old remains of Otzi were discovered by two hikers in northernmost Italy in 1991, as he melted out of a glacier. First thought to have died from exposure, Otzi was found in 2001 to have an arrowhead in his shoulder that had cut a key artery.

2) He was a wreck - he had severe arthritis, ulcers, whipworms, gallstones, blackened lungs, atherosclerosis and rotten teeth. He had a frost-bitten toe, broken ribs, and genetic markers indicating the world's earliest known case of Lyme disease.

3) He was in shape - pollen studies indicate that, even though in his mid-40's and suffering from multiple ailments, he'd climbed from high elevation to low, then back again, perhaps as much as 8500' each way, all within 33 hours (Dickson et al. 2019).

4) Recent genetic work by Wang et al. (2023) indicates more than 90% of Otzi's ancestry came from Anatolian farmers, and he had dark eyes and skin. Rather than a forehead, Otzi had a five head (i.e., genes for male pattern baldness). These genetic indicators match up with what's seen from the mummified body.

5) Otzi had a relatively high level of Neanderthal genes - some reports saying more than 5% compared to a ~2% average for Europeans today.

6) Otzi may have been a part-time coppersmith. His possessions included one of the oldest-known copper axes, and analyses of his hair indicate that it was heavily contaminated with copper and arsenic, a pollutant associated with copper smelting (Brothwell, 1995).

7) Lead isotope and trace element studies indicate the copper in Otzi's ax came from ores in central Italy's Southern Tuscany region more than 300 miles away. The flint used for his arrowheads came from about 100 miles to the south. This suggests an extensive trade network.

7) Otzi had traces of cannabis on his tools, clothing and in his digestive system. The traces probably stem from its use for pain relief and/or from working with hemp fibers for rope or clothing (Wacker et al. 2019).

It's amazing what all we've learned from the wonderful discovery of Otzi!

[victoria-xiv]

An Unsuspected Party

An opulent passage garbed in fine garland and tapestry slept, unlit but for what light filtered up from the chambers below. That diffuse glow was intertwined with a din of laughter, gossip, clinking, rustling, and other assorted gaieties.

At length one of the merrymakers filtered up into the darkened hallway from the same direction as the light and sound below, stumbling with drink. It was a woman draped in a shimmering cocktail dress, with glossy ringlets of mahogany spilling over one eye to her shoulders. Her pedicured feet were bare, her high heeled shoes dangling from two fingers, and as she staggered along the passage she made no sound.

Her silhouette shambled along the corridor before losing her balance and tumbling sidelong into a door, which held fast against the thrust of her shoulder. She lingered there half-collapsed against the polished wood, ear to the heavy paneling, apparently collecting herself. Her lacquered fingertips grasped for stability somewhere in the vicinity of the door's lock. A moment later the door gave way, and she fell sideways into the room within.

The woman caught herself and rose to her feet, glancing furtively around the room before pushing the door quickly and silently to. All trace of inebriation was snuffed out like a candle flame.

Her now alert grey eyes made a quick inventory of the well appointed chamber to which her investigations had led her. Desk: too obvious. Curtained window: possible hiding spot. Falling snowflakes feathered the glass beyond as they swirled in the Coerthan night on that highland promontory where the manor loomed: it would be a frigid and perilous escape that way, and was likely welded shut anyway. In the far corner a bath, already drawn and kept steaming hot by some arcane means, piled high with bubbles: no doubt in anticipation of a night alone with the mistress. Non-native tall plant. Plush sofa. Closet, or door directly to the adjacent room. She'd have to watch that. Ugly painting… maybe. There were faint smudges clustered around one corner. Hm.

She grasped the corner of the frame and felt for a catch or mechanism of some sort, but needn't have bothered: the painting swung upward freely on a simple pneumatic hinge, with a small metal band that slid into place to keep it aloft until it was released. A simple wall safe waited behind, with a trivial combination lock. These Ishgardian high lords and their smug disregard for security. It was a good thing for her that this one wasn't one of the inventor's clients.

He was, however, a friend of her father's, which made what she was doing worth it to her even if she hadn't been hired by her dark and sultry benefactress.

The safe's lock yielded to her nimble and articulate touch nearly as quickly as the door's had. Within were sacks of gil, numerous bound and wrapped titles and deeds, a few gaudy trinkets that sparkled in the light. These she pushed aside in favor of the object of her mission, which waited for her near the back: an ornate metal bangle bound with runic traceries and crystalline patterns. To most eyes it would have looked pretty but little more than a museum curiosity. Not to hers.

At that moment a single set of heavy footfalls echoed in the passage without, growing louder. No time to close the safe, swing the art back down, and make an escape. Her alabaster brow knitted. Think fast.

The bangle. She gingerly shut the safe and concealed it again. Slipping the bangle around her wrist she focused her aether into it. Her eyes flew open as some sort of mechanism bit into the inside of her wrist, drawing blood. She hadn't known about that. Part of the magic, probably, and all arcane power required some manner of trade, but what manner of magic was this? There was no time for academic pontificating. She held an image in her mind.

The door swung open and Lord Beauchamp trudged in, stopping short. He glanced at the door, seeming surprised that it was unlocked. A sloshing sound drew his attention to the far corner.

In the bath, submerged in the bubbles to her chest, was the man's thin, flaxen-haired mistress. Lounging there seemingly at her ease, she favored him with a lascivious smile. In one hand she held a wine glass, which she held up toward him invitingly. The other she kept submerged.

"Er… By Halone, darling! Have you been here waiting for me? What if Lady Beauchamp came back?" demanded the pasty lord of the manor, who despite his questions was already mirroring the woman's grin and shrugging his way out of his fur-lined party vestments.

His blonde mistress let a singsong chuckle, and a little playful splash, do her talking for her.

"Ah, but tonight is a celebration of course," Lord Beauchamp nodded as he rolled down the last of his lordly raiment and slipped into the suds opposite her. "And I see you're ready to get the real party started." He accepted the wine glass and lifted it to his chapped lips, his yellowed eyes plastered to the few bubbles that yet hid his companion's copious gifts.

He had no chance to follow up on that gaze, his dimming eyes fluttering closed. He flopped forward face first, splishing a wave of soapy water out onto the marble floor.

Gods be good, that woman knew how to craft a poison.

She hadn't used one of the deadly ones, tempted as she was. A lordly corpse would leave too much of a mess in her wake and prompt an investigation and a hunt. Not that any of this would lead back to her, or her client, but this was an occasion for caution.

Wrinkling her nose in annoyance the blonde mistress grabbed a fistful of silver hair and hauled his unconscious face up out of the water, turning him and leaving him slumped over the rim of the tub. She lifted her other hand out of the water and examined the bangle for a moment before withdrawing the flow of aether. In a blink, the blonde mistress was the brunette intruder. The barb retracted, allowing her to slip it off of her bloodied wrist. She'd need to look into that before she handed it over.

She stepped out of the bath and toweled herself off quickly before wiggling back into her evening dress. Secreting her prize into her handbag she crept from the office once more holding her shoes in her other hand.

Long after she'd claimed her coat and slipped out of the high manor and into the snow-blanketed night, and after the lord's wife had discovered him and feathered him with arrowheads of sharp, angry accusation, the bangle's absence was at last discovered. No one's suspicion alighted on the delightful and beautiful yet simple-minded brunette from the party who was seen deeply in her cups by numerous snickering partygoers. Whose would?

@vahalia-cress

[whitedarkmoonflower]

The Curse

Pairing: Sihtric x Skade

Authors note: this story is for you my dear @alexagirlie and @thenameswinter99 I know Skade is not the most popular character and there probably won't be many readers to this fic but I loved her and I think she deserved better. So this is my attempt at giving her a happy ending.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, fluff, angst, mention of blood, curses, canon death of a character

Summary: as Uhtred's path crosses with the mighty seer Skade, there is only one way to break the pattern of violence and only one man capable of doing it as the power of love appears stronger than the power of hate

Word Count: 6,8 K 🙈 (I know, I'm sorry)

It was not the chill of the evening air, nor the fresh and cool breeze teasingly brushing its cold fingers against her skin, that made her shudder. She wouldn’t show it anyway. With fists clenched and nails digging into her flesh, her gaze lashed the group of men down the stairs, burning with hatred like a whip striking bare skin. 

It was that daunting feeling of utter helplessness, of being tossed and turned by the currents of fate, allowed only a sharp, desperate gasp that seared her aching lungs before being dragged back under the water, that made her stomach clench and her inner core tremble like a candle flame wavering in a draft. But not a muscle shuddered in her pale, sharply defined, beautiful face framed by an unruly swirl of blond hair. 

Once again, she was being betrayed and traded, passed from hand to hand like a mere commodity, a piece of silver exchanged for another's safety. In a different life, the naive girl she once was would have cried, bargained for her life and safety, begged not to be given away.

But that Skade no longer existed. She had drowned long ago in a sea of despairing tears, her grave dug by the greed and power-lust of men who saw her as nothing more than a plaything to fulfil their desires, a potion to quench their thirst for influence, a weapon to be used in their conquest for dominion. That small, trusting part of her died, killed by false promises and the realisation that there was no goodness left in those around her.

There had been times when she cursed her gift, praying to the gods to take it back, to release her from its crushing power. She had blamed it for her fate, for the darkness that trailed her, ripping away those she loved and leaving her alone and aching. But that was before. Before she surrendered and accepted the part of herself she had once despised. From the grave of her suffering, a new Skade was born – a proud creature of darkness, leaving a trail of pain and blood in her wake, destined to test those foolish enough to assume power over her, and to punish without remorse those who failed, and she had embraced that destiny fully. 

Heasten's ugly smirk and greedy, narrow eyes seemed to undress her with their gaze alone, making every hair on her body stand on end as she raised her head to meet the eyes of the men who dared treat her as a piece of merchandise.

The bearded Irishman's deep brown eyes looked back somewhat sheepishly, as if understanding the absurdity of the bargain struck moments ago. With her head held high, she turned to the young Dane standing on the other side of her.

His cautious mismatched gaze had puzzled her from the very beginning. She had been sure he despised her, anger flickering in the depths of those two pools, as he yanked her hands behind her back and put a gag on her mouth in an attempt to silence her. A coward, she had silently dubbed him. And yet it had been him who brought her fur and a bowl of hot stew on that first night in the dungeon. Why? What did he want from her? What hidden plan lurked behind those large, expressive eyes? What drove him? A yearning for power? Greed? Jealousy?

The annoying sound of the shutters creaking in the wind mixed with desperate cries of some lonely crow, slicing through the insidious calmness of the dark, added another layer of eeriness to the nightly scene. Sihtric could feel Skade’s frame trembling, though she tried to suppress it, to not show it, her words flowing from her full, sensual lips with the certainty of a queen. Yet he perceived it – that hidden inner quiver, the uneven shimmering of her misty breath in the air, her darting eyes like those of a trapped animal, her clenched fists betraying the facade. 

Uhtred and his ingenious plans - it was not the first time his lord's peculiar notions of honour and loyalty had brought them perilously close to the great gates of Valhalla. Sihtric did not mind, for it was part of the warrior's path he had willingly chosen when swearing his oath. He would have preferred to fight, to cleave through the Danes, painting the mud beneath his feet with their warm, thick blood. But the choice was made, and the bargain was struck although it didn’t feel right for him. 

Skade’s hair tickled Sihtric’s cheek, a fleeting feeling of unexpected softness alerting his already sharpened senses, as she turned her head, voice steady and laced with disdain, addressing Uhtred. 

“And you are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg and you will wither.”

She was a danger, a venomous snake, her poison deadlier than the sharpest blade, seeping into the minds and souls of those who dared cross her path, twisting their thoughts, corrupting their very essence and bringing out the worst in men. A bringer of madness, a harbinger of chaos – those who underestimated her did so at their own peril. And yet, beneath the all consuming fire in those dazzling blue eyes, there was something fragile, a flicker of vulnerability that captured and didn’t let go of him. 

From the moment he first saw her, curses dripping from her lips, Sihtric felt an inexplicable urge to envelop her in the warmth of his embrace, offering a refuge from the darkness that had consumed her soul for too long.

Yet she wanted none of his comfort, her mind fixated on Uhtred from the instant their eyes met. She was a test sent by the gods, Sihtric was certain, and Uhtred was failing it spectacularly.

Skade turned, her burning gaze forcing Sihtric to meet her eyes, and for a fleeting moment  the world around him faded into an incoherent blur of sounds and images. "Cowards," her smirk seemed to challenge, or perhaps seek reassurance.

Sihtric longed to speak, but the words froze on his lips, the silent promise in his warm gaze swallowed by the night's darkness. She wanted none of his promises, yet he made one silently to himself - he would find her.

The old wooden steps creaked an eerie, mocking laugh as Skade took her first step down towards Heasten and his men. Unhurried yet unwavering, each measured stride carried her towards her new master and an altered fate, her steady gait betraying the admirable strength of will hidden beneath that fragile and slender frame. 

Heasten's extended hand remained frozen in midair, stopped by Skade's icy gaze, as she turned one last time towards the men standing on the top of the stairs. It was that last glance that remained burned into Sihtric’s mind - a warning, a challenge, an unspoken plea all mixed in one single flash of searing vulnerability. For the briefest of moments, her defiant mask slipped, offering him a glimpse of the fragile heart she guarded so fiercely, pleading for someone to finally see the woman beneath the iron shell.

"Sihtric, tell me this. Does Uhtred want me dead?" Skade's voice carried over the crackling fireplace, all eyes suddenly fixing on him.

A chill crept up his spine as he replied, "He's undecided. Can't make up his mind whether to hump you or kill you." The nonchalance in his voice sounded forced even to his own ears. It was the way she looked at him, suspicion sparking in her eyes. Though he may have fooled the men, blinded by ambition and rivalry, he had a feeling neither Brida nor Skade believed him completely. Yet neither woman had spoken against him either.

The atmosphere in the whole camp was more than peculiar, the air was charged with distrust and feuding. The gazes of drunken youngsters, drowning their concerns and boredom in ale, spoke of uncertainty and eagerness for something to happen, while the spirit between the older warriors ranged between cautious and openly disapproving. Ragnar's death had left the Danes completely rudderless, crushing their fighting spirit. And the pathetic pissing contest between Heasten, and Bloodhair only made things only worse.

“And what about you?” Skade continued, her scrutinising gaze not letting go of him. 

“What about me?” Sihtric tried to pretend clueless.

“Do you want to hump me or kill me?” 

Under the weight of all eyes awaiting his answer, the gentle roar of the fire seemed deafening to Sihtric's ears.

The flickering patterns of light and shadow danced over Skade’s face, making her look like some creature from an old legend. A small burst of sparks erupted from the fresh log as it slowly became engulfed in the blaze, dancing around her like small fading stars. 

She is like the fire itself, Sihtric thought, beautiful yet dangerous. Just as the flames could bring warmth and life or rage with destructive force, so too did she radiate a bewitching power that could either ignite a man's deepest passions or reduce him to ashes.

"Would you believe me if I said neither?" Sihtric raised his gaze from the flames to meet hers.

A mocking laugh escaped Skade's lips as disbelief gave way to a strange mix of surprise and puzzlement, her eyes locked with his unwavering stare. 

The young warrior was a mystery for her. Men were usually so transparent, easy to read and manipulate, but not him. What had she missed? And why was he here? That warm light dancing in his mismatched eyes whenever she caught his hidden glances - what did it mean? Time would tell. Few emotions drove men in this life, and sooner or later, the pretty boy would show his teeth and bare his true, ugly soul. Of that, she was certain, but her interest was piqued nonetheless.

The rhythmic sound of whetstone gliding over metal was always soothing to Sihtric, helping him gather his thoughts. So engrossed was he in the process that he almost didn't notice the tent flaps flutter open, only raising his head when a shadow obscured the candlelight.

"What the hell..." Sihtric jumped to his feet, sword pointing at the intruder who had snuck up on him, only to be met by the grinning stare of two incredibly blue, deep eyes.

"I came to see if you spoke true today by the fire," Skade's voice was barely above a whisper as she stepped closer, tilting her head back to let the blade graze her exposed skin. Sihtric remained motionless, muscles taut, his eyes tracing her every movement.

"Go on then, do it," she mocked, challenge dancing in the depths of her gaze. "Or perhaps you'd prefer to bed me?" With the tip of her finger, Skade slowly pushed the sword aside and began circling him like a predator stalking prey. "You crave me, I can see it. What are you waiting for? Claim me, if you dare."

Hips swinging, with deliberate slowness she placed one foot before the other as she drew nearer, teasingly biting on her index finger. The sweet fragrance of rose oil hit Sihtric’s nostrils, his breath hitching involuntary as his grip on the sword’s hilt loosened. Lowering the blade, he let it slip from his grasp to poke the ground.

"What do you want from me?" Sihtric’s voice came out all dry and gravelly.

“Tell me, what is it you desire?”  Skade purred, trailing her fingers up his chest to toy with the neckline of his armour. “Power? Wealth? Reputation? Do you wish to be the King of all Danes? Are you strong enough to own me?” her thumb brushed his lips as she looked up at him through the thickness of her lashes. 

“There is nothing I cannot give you, but you must choose your path now,” the strange gleam in Skade’s eyes was hypnotic, her voice a lullabying sough, washing against Sihtric’s heightened senses. For a second he forgot about everything – his mission, his lord, his oath, his friends – it all faded away, leaving just the two of them trapped in whatever spell she was weaving.

Was it the gentle whisper of the evening breeze against his skin, slipping through the half-closed tent flaps and extinguishing the flickering candles? Or was it that strange inner voice that had saved his life on the battlefield countless times, warning him of impending danger?  Sihtric couldn’t tell for certain, but a profound sense of presence enveloped him, an ineffable and tender force that broke through the veil of magic surrounding them and made him see her again  – that scared little girl who had looked at him from behind those guarded eyes on that first night in the dungeon when he brought her a blanket and a steaming bowl of stew. 

It had been just a fleeting glimpse, but he knew she was there, buried beneath layers of hatred and spite. This was the Skade he longed to pull closer, to embrace, to shield from the demons that haunted her. This was the Skade he reached out for as eyes radiating warmth he leaned in closer, and with a deep, rumbling sigh pressed his lips to hers. 

The kiss was achingly tender, his lips brushing against hers with the delicacy of a butterfly's wings. Sihtric's calloused fingers cradled her face with a featherlight touch, as if she were a fragile flower that might wither under firmer pressure. His mouth moved against hers in a slow, reverent dance, savouring every sensation without demanding or taking. It was a kiss born of pure affection, free of any desire to claim or possess.

Gradually, the kiss deepened, but the tenderness remained. Sihtric's tongue teased along the seam of Skade's lips, seeking entry, and when she parted them with a soft whimper, he tasted her fully – a sweet, intoxicating blend of innocence and longing. His kiss was worshipful, reverent, treating her like the most precious and delicate of treasures. It was the sweetest and breathtaking kiss that had ever touched Skade's lips, leaving her quenched and thirsting for more all at once.

A soft moan escaped her lips as Sihtric pulled away, his palm resting on her neck, and he tugged her back until their foreheads touched. "I don't want to possess you or demand anything from you," Sihtric murmured, slowly withdrawing himself from her space. "I'm not playing those games of yours. I simply want to know you, the real you." His tone was soft but resolute.

Skade tilted her head to the side, her large, inquisitive eyes scrutinising Sihtric's face, searching for deception, a trap, the real reason behind his withdrawal. The longer his gaze remained steady, locked with hers, the more she felt anger coil in the pit of her stomach. How dare he think he could understand her? How dare he reject her under the pretence of caring?  

A wry, mocking laugh tore from Skade's throat as her beautiful face contorted with fury, anger replacing the lingering warmth that had blossomed within her from Sihtric's kiss. He kept his distance, unmoving, and the icy rage of a spurned woman flooded her veins.

"You have chosen your path, Sihtric Kjartansson," the words left her mouth like arrows unleashed from a taut bowstring, meant to pierce and maim. "And you have chosen doom. You are cursed from this moment on, just as your former lord is cursed. Your life belongs to me now." Her voice grew louder, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, as she fought back tears—a crack in her defences she could not afford to reveal to anyone.

Sihtric's kiss had awakened something she thought long dead and buried—her hopes, her dreams of another life. A life where love's tender caresses might have a place. A life she had convinced herself she no longer wanted nor needed.

"What have I done to deserve your wrath?" Sihtric's simple question just intensified the fury burning within her.

"It's not about what you've done," Skade spat venomously, her voice quivering with shame and embarrassment. She couldn't admit, even to herself, the depth of the scars Sihtric's gentle kiss had reopened, scorching her soul and ravaging her heart. "It's about what you inevitably would do, what men always do. Traitors, cowards, cravens—you are either too weak to accept me or you use me for your purposes, only to discard me once the tide turns. No one has ever cared for me. Don’t pretend you do."

With those last, searing words, she whirled around and stormed out of the tent, fleeing Sihtric’s unblinking gaze.

Skade could barely recall how she stumbled back to her tent. Her vision blurred with tears she could no longer suppress, Skade collapsed to her knees, a soul-wrenching cry ripping through her. Her trembling fingers brushed against her lips, desperately trying to summon the memory of Sihtric's kiss—the tender touch of his mouth on hers, his uneven breath mingling with her own, the slight tremor in his fingers as they caressed her cheek, betraying his own nervousness. That feather-light, gentle touch had burned her to the very core, shattering the unyielding walls she had built around her heart, leaving her defenceless and raw.

Skade's chest heaved with sobs. She had convinced herself that she needed no one, that she was untouchable. Yet, here she was, brought to her knees by the simple, honest touch of a man who had dared to reach out to her. The gentle caress that had felt like a promise of something more now felt like a cruel reminder of what she could never have.

As the tears streamed down her face, she realised that the walls she had built were not just a defence against the world, but a prison that had kept her from feeling anything real. And now, with those walls in ruins, she was left to face the raw, aching truth of her loneliness and desire.

The clash of steel and the savage, earsplitting roars of the combatants filled the air, drawing an ever-growing crowd of spectators to the makeshift square at the camp's centre. The Norns, those inexorable weavers of fate, seemed to favour Bloodhair. With a deft manoeuvre, he disarmed Haesten, and the thunderous crash of Bloodhair's war axe against Haesten's splintering shield reverberated through the assembled throng.

At that very moment, as Bloodhair raised his axe to deliver the deathblow, the scales of destiny tipped with cruel inevitability. Sihtric's eyes locked onto the fearful, bewildered expression contorting Bloodhair's face. The mighty warrior's body seemed to betray him, refusing to obey his commands. Following Bloodhair's stricken gaze, Sihtric's eyes fell upon Skade.

With a beastly roar, Bloodhair swung his axe again, but realisation struck him like a dagger to the heart—the battle was inexplicably, irrevocably lost. He could do nothing but attempt to drag the source of his downfall into death with him. But Skade was faster.

Her knives shimmered in the air, winking maliciously before burying themselves in Bloodhair's flesh. Blood splattered Skade's hands in crimson droplets as she watched the warlord's body crumple to the ground and a satisfied smile curled her lips.

It was late when Sihtric finally returned to camp, having used the ensuing chaos to slip away unnoticed. He paused outside his tent, listening to the sounds of the encroaching night. It was quiet, even too quiet, the usual raucous laughter and drunken banter around the fire pits conspicuously absent. Bloodhair’s death so soon after Ragnar’s had hit the Danes hard again.

"They all want me dead," a voice greeted Sihtric from the corner of his tent, and even if he shuddered innerly, he didn’t dare to show it.

"I'm not surprised," he responded, slowly removing his heavy fur cloak and draping it over a bench. Turning, he faced Skade, sitting on the layer of furs that served as his bed, arms wrapped around her legs with knees pulled up and chin resting on them.

Sihtric lit a few candles, and their flickering light danced over Skade's face. He carefully approached her, stopping just before her small, crouched form on the ground, his well-built frame towering over her. Skade looked up at Sihtric, but quickly averted her gaze. Or did it merely appear that way? Had something truly changed in the way she regarded him?

Sihtric slowly crouched down before her. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Defiance suddenly tainted Skade's voice.

"Why did you kill Bloodhair?"

"He wanted to kill me. Everybody saw that, he swung his axe at me." Sihtric could sense her body tensing again, the protective veil of anger and resentment clouding her beautiful blue eyes.

"I'm not judging you. I just want to know. You poisoned him, didn't you?" Sihtric was certain of his guess. There was no other rational explanation for what he had witnessed.

Slowly, he extended his hand, carefully brushing a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. Skade flinched at his touch, her breathing quickening, but she didn't attempt to avoid it as her gaze fell and fixated on the uneven ground before her feet.

"He deserved that," she finally spoke, her voice hoarse and lacking its usual mocking hardness.

Sihtric waited, keeping his eyes on Skade. The remarkable change in her demeanour both puzzled and filled him with hope. He didn't want to push her, but he couldn't shake the strange feeling that this was precisely what she had come for – to tell her side of the story.

Lowering himself to the ground, levelling with her, he began as the silence stretched, "You know I've never left Uhtred's service." He knew she didn't truly trust him, so offering her leverage might help. "You're too smart to believe that fairy tale of mine. Uhtred is here. He's come to claim you back, just as he promised."

Skade raised her head, eyes locking with Sihtric's for a fleeting moment before turning back to the ground, her gaze strangely empty.

"Winter was closing in," she said, her voice trembling as she tightened her arms around her knees, as if trying to hold herself together. "The harvest yielded little due to the unrelenting drought. Then the priests arrived with soldiers, taking half our meagre stores as tithes to the church and king. Father protested that as Danes we owed no dues to the church, but they would not listen. What remained could never nourish five hungry mouths."

Skade fell silent, but Sihtric patiently awaited her words.

"The slaver must have paid a hefty sum. At first, I didn't understand mom's reddened, tear-filled eyes when she pressed a small bundle of bread and cheese into my hands. It was my own father who took my hand and led me to that man, telling me to be a good girl and obey him. Only when father's hand opened to accept a weighty purse of silver did I grasp that this journey would never take me home again."

Sihtric rose to his knees and slowly crawled nearer until he settled on the furs beside Skade. He ached to enfold her in his arms, to draw her close, but hesitated, not knowing whether his solace was welcome.

"Can you...hold me?" Skade's whisper was barely audible, her gaze still fixed on the ground before her feet.

Cautiously, Sihtric slid his arms around her shoulders, pulling her slightly trembling form against him. To his surprise, she leaned into his embrace, resting her head against his chest as her eyes slipped closed.

"Is this alright?" he murmured, lips grazing her hair.

"Yes," she breathed out, the word a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

There was something so calming, so innocent and pure in the way he held her. His embrace, firm and unwavering,  grounded her, his heartbeat beneath her ear setting a new steady pace for her own racing heart. The warmth of his body gradually seeped into her chilled skin as the taut tension in her muscles yielded to a soothing lassitude.

"The next stop was a Danish settlement, where Bloodhair noticed me...and I was sold again." Skade's voice drifted away to a near-whisper. "It was there that I learned to curse each new dawn I awoke, not yet granted death's release. Half a year later, my first vision came," she continued. "I saw his brother and right hand crushed beneath a falling tree, so vividly, as if I were there. I told Bloodhair, but he only laughed. Three days later, a huge storm ambushed the scouting troop in the woods, and it transpired exactly as I had seen. I went to sleep as a pleasure slave and woke up as a seer."

Sihtric tightened his embrace, pulling her deeper into the protective circle of his arms. His calloused fingers began gently carding through her hair, stroking the unruly strands into soft waves.

With each soothing caress, he could feel the rigid tension slowly ebbing from her slight frame. Her breathing deepened and steadied against his chest and Skade melted further into his solid warmth.

Sihtric continued the tender ministrations, he mapped the contours of her face with feather-light trails of his fingertips - the delicate sweep of her brow, the curve of her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. Reverently, he smoothed away the worry lines etched around her eyes and mouth, as if he could wipe away the years of suffering with loving strokes.

"I'm scared, Sihtric," she said softly, her voice catching. "I have fulfilled my oath, I have revenged myself. The only purpose that kept driving me, that kept me alive, is gone."

Sihtric was silent for a long moment, holding her close as he gathered his thoughts. "There is so much more to this life than revenge," he murmured finally. "If only you would let me, I could show you. If only you could believe me, if only for a little while."

His motions slowed but did not cease, a silent promise to stay at her side for as long as she would allow. Sihtric planted a tender kiss to the crown of her head, then simply held her, letting the profound silence envelop them.

The solitary tree at the far end of the camp greeted them with outstretched branches like giant arms casting eerie shadows across the moonlit ground. Skade's gaze found him from afar - Uhtred, his broad frame leaning against the ancient trunk, waiting for her arrival.

She released Sihtric's hand, her steps measured and unhurried as ever. Yet she could not resist a backward glance, seeking reassurance in the tender warmth of his eyes. Something had indelibly shifted; her heart stuttered wildly in her breast, a hummingbird trapped behind bone.

Uhtred stepped towards her, one arm extending in mute invitation to draw her into his embrace. "I'm ready," he murmured, a wan smile ghosting across his lips though it failed to reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry..." Skade's voice emerged softened, lacking its usual steely edge. "But I'm not."

Bewilderment creased Uhtred's brow as his arm dropped limply to his side. "What do you mean?"

Meeting his stare unflinchingly, Skade replied with a melancholic smile, "You were never cursed, Uhtred of Bebbanburg. I wanted you to believe it, and like most men, you were easy to deceive." She shook her head slowly. "This is your life, shaped by your choices alone. You must learn to shoulder the weight of that responsibility, and it is no light load. It is always easier to blame others - a curse or the whims of gods."

Uhtred's face slowly contorted in rage. "You lied to me all this time?" he snarled, grabbing Skade's arm in a forceful grip and pulling her closer.

Sihtric watched the scene unfold with rising concern, jealousy coiling like a venomous snake around his pounding heart, sinking its fangs into vulnerable flesh. Had her vulnerability meant nothing? Was it merely a fleeting moment to be forgotten and cast aside at the first glimpse of a new prospect? 

Uhtred did not love her; he despised her, feared her - of that, Sihtric was certain. And yet there she stood, smiling up at the man, allowing herself to be drawn into his embrace. Sihtric's jaw clenched as he wrenched his gaze away, struggling to maintain an impassive front. 

"I merely told you what you wanted to hear, Lord," Skade said evenly, resolutely freeing her arm from Uhtred's grasp. "I'm sorry, but I have found a greater man to follow. Someone who does not fear who I am, someone who truly cares for me."

"Who? Haesten?" Uhtred's jaw went slack with disbelief that the woman he had risked everything to retrieve could choose someone as despicable over him.

"Sihtric, Lord," Skade corrected with a soft smile. She took a resolute step back, then another before turning to where Sihtric stood, chewing his lips bloody. His eyes widened as she approached, pausing before him to extend her arm. He could not help but reach out hastily, grasping her outstretched hand in his calloused palms and drawing her nearer.

"Show me," she said softly, averting her gaze in insecurity. "Please, show me that other life. Life beyond revenge and hurt."

Slowly, he reached up to tilt her chin towards him, thumb hovering over her lips as if struggling to believe the words that had left them.

"He is here! Uhtred is here!" A shout pierced the night's silence, and Sihtric's grip tightened around Skade's hand.

"Sihtric!" Uhtred's stern voice gave him pause.

"Lord, she is with me," Sihtric stated firmly, meeting his lord's gaze without a hint of hesitation as his hand cradled Skade's like the most precious treasure and in the next moment, they were propelled into frantic motion, running towards the boats.

The first rays of the rising sun streamed through the window, casting the small room in a tender glow of orange and blue. The bed's gentle creak elicited a soft giggle from Skade, the only sound breaking the serene silence that enveloped them.

Her head nestled on Sihtric’s bare chest, she listened to the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Her fingers traced lazy circles over his abdomen, while his rough hand drew slow, deliberate patterns on her back, sending delightful shivers through her. Even if a horde of Danes were to storm into the room this very moment, she wouldn't notice; every fibre of her being was absorbed in the profound sense of peace.

Their forms pressed together, skin against skin, she welcomed the warmth of Sihtric’s body, letting it seep into her bones and dissolve any lingering chill.

“Am I still cursed?” Sihtric asked with a playful chuckle, his hand never pausing in its gentle caress of her back.

“You know you never were,” Skade replied, her voice dreamy and soft.

“But what if I don’t mind?” he teased. “What if I want my life to belong to you?” His tone grew serious, and Skade raised her head to meet his gaze. His eyes, one blue and one brown, held a warmth that had captivated her from the moment they first met.

Slowly, she draped her leg over his waist, encircling him with her thighs as she shifted to prop her head on her elbow. Sihtric reached for her other hand, bringing it to his lips to place tender kisses on her palm. The combination of his soft kisses and the gentle strokes of his fingers against her back filled her with a lightness that seemed to lift her soul.

The gentle sunlight grew warmer, and the room seemed to breathe with the slow rhythm of their embrace. Skade sighed contentedly, letting her head fall back onto Sihtric’s chest. 

“You make me forget there’s a world beyond these walls,” Sihtric murmured, his voice a soothing rumble that vibrated through his chest. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

“Maybe that’s because, right now, there is no world beyond these walls,” she whispered back, her eyes half-closed, basking in the feeling of his hand on her skin.

Skade leaned in, letting her tongue savour the salty tang of Sihtric’s skin. She grazed his waistline with soft, teasing kisses, her lips and teeth exploring the terrain of his body. She moved upward, her warm breath fanning over his skin as she kissed her way to his chest. The hot sensation of her firm tongue circling his nipple, followed by a gentle nibble, drew a sharp hiss from Sihtric. His fingers involuntarily dug deeper into her soft flesh, a mix of pleasure and need rippling through him.

Sihtric’s hands glided down her spine, over the curve of her buttocks, and along her upper thighs, their hold tightening as he pulled her on top of him, legs on each side of his body to straddle his lap. A soft yet needy moan escaped Skade’s lips, feeling his hardening cock pressing against her core.

Her fingers trailed up his chest with a delicate touch until her hands rested on his broad shoulders. She leaned in closer and ran her fingers through his hair, her touch as light as a whisper. 

Sihtric’s calloused fingertips grazed the skin of her arms, further up over her shoulders until his hand rested on her neck. He pulled her closer and his mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss. This wasn't the achingly tender caress from before that had melted her resistance and crumbled her walls of protection. This kiss was hungry, passionate, a clash of wills and wants. Sihtric's tongue delved past her parted lips, tasting her, claiming her. His large hands slid into her hair, angling her head as he deepened the kiss with a low groan rumbling from his chest.

Skade melted against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as if he were the only thing anchoring her. She met his passion with her own, teeth nipping at his lower lip, her tongue dancing with his in a heady duel, fanning the heat kindling in the pit of her belly to a searing flame. Wetness pooled between her legs, as her hardened nipples brushed against Sihtric’s chest.

Hesitantly, unwillingly their lips let go of each other, chests heaving, and she buried her face in the curve of Sihtric’s neck, teeth scraping his skin, nipping and sucking marks on his sensitive flesh, sending a delightful shiver through Sihtric’s body.

Sihtric let his hands wander down her spine, teasing sensual strokes tickling her skin before he gripped her hips and urged her down against his crotch. Low groan rumbled through him at the feeling of Skade’s hot and dripping core sliding over his length, covering it with her slick.

Skade’s slender fingers traced the lines of his face with her fingertips, memorising every curve, every angle. "I was so lost before I met you," she breathed, rolling her hips against his, a breathy moan leaving her lips as Sihtric’s cock brushed against her perl. "Wandering through life like a ghost, haunted by my past. But you... you brought me back to life."

Sihtric looked at her, a gleam in his mismatched eyes, his hands cupping her breasts, eliciting another moan from Skade as his lips wrapped around her nipple, suckling on it gently at first. She moaned loudly and, feeling her body responding, he sucked harder, breathing in the floral aroma of her skin mingled with the salty scent of sweat. 

Sihtric’s lips were warm and inviting, the pink of his tongue gliding teasingly over her nipples as he tasted her. Skade’s hips started to move faster, needy moans and hisses rolling over her lips. 

She trembled, feeling arousal and pleasure building up in her with each lap of Sihtric’s tongue, each move of her hips, brushing her sensitive bundle against Sihtric’s fully hard and weeping cock, coating it with her wetness.

Sihtric moaned in pleasure, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He was burning with desire, but the last thing he wanted was for her to feel as if she didn’t have the choice but to give herself to him. He wanted it to be trully her decision. 

Skade felt her core starting to throb with a greedy need to feel him inside her. The way he surrendered himself to her touch, giving her the choice, letting her determine what will happen next, made her want him, desire clouding her mind, yet she hesitated, a strange fear lingering in the back of her mind, a remnant from her past.  

"I'm choosing you. All of you – the pain, the rage, the softness, the yearning. I want to know every part of you, if you'll let me," Sihtric’s voice was raw, thick with a mix of lust and longing. His eyes fluttered open, locking his gaze with Skade’s. “Will you let me? Will you have me?” he asked, the earnestness in his voice the final weight tipping the scales. 

Skade’s hand travelled down between them, aligning Sihtric’s cock with her cunt. A heavy sigh quivering in her chest she slowly sank down, taking in the whole length of him, savouring every inch of his thick and long cock filling and stretching her. They both moaned heavily as her hips met Sihtric’s, and he was finally fully sheathed within her. 

Sihtric remained still, his hands on her hips and his large, tender eyes studying Skade’s face. 

She felt her walls adjusting to Sihtric’s cock, embracing him and pulsing in arousal as she started to move. Sihtric groaned in pleasure, his hands grabbing tighter her hips. 

Palms pressed against Sihtric’s chest, Skade steadied herself, the grounding feeling of his warm and slightly sweaty skin filling her with a strange feeling of elation. She fastened her  movements, snapping her hips against his pelvis, and soon the air was filled with heavy whines and moans, rolling over their parted lips. 

Sihtric’s hands landed on her buttocks, holding them in a firm grip, as he started to thrust his hips up against her, his movements growing faster and deeper with each thrust as her back arched and her nails dug in Sihtric’s flesh, leaving marks in their wake. 

Skade didn’t expect her climax to build up so quickly, but there was no escape from the pleasure building up within her with increasing speed, her walls spasming and clenching stronger and stronger with each thrust, delight infiltrating every cell of her body. 

“Oh, Sihtric, I’m so close …” she whined, supporting herself by grabbing the edge of the headboard, her knuckles turning white from the restraint.

“Don’t fight against it, let it go. I got you,” Sihtric whispered.

“Oh gods,” a loud moan ripped through her trembling body as Sihtric licked his fingers and reached between them, placing his thumb at her sensitive perl and starting to move around it, putting just the right pressure to make her breath catch in her chest.

For the first time in her life, Skade felt ready and willing to let go, to surrender control and entrust herself to Sihtric’s gentle yet passionate touch. His hot, heavy breath teased her skin, leaving her trembling and aching with desire—craving more—more of his kisses, more of his heated touch, more of everything he had to give. 

Breath panting, she whined, as her eyes started to roll back in her head. 

“Good girl!” Sihtric praised her. “Cum for me. Let me show you the stars,” he whispered, watching as Skade rode him, bouncing wildly up and down on his cock, her last remnants of self control being washed away by the raspy sound of his voice.

Tears of raw happiness streamed down her flushed cheeks as she submitted herself to him wholly and completely, with no hesitation, no regret.

Skade came with a loud moan, her walls spasming around Sihtric’s cock and body shaking in waves of pure bliss, her climax sweeping her racing mind empty of all thoughts, all emotions apart from one. Love.

For the first time in her life, she felt truly loved, and it was beautiful. It was indescribable, like taking her first breath after a lifetime of suffocating.

Sihtric felt Skade’s walls spasming around him as he kept fucking her though her orgasm and after a few more thrusts he followed her, his groans filling the air as he spilled deep inside her, imprinting himself on her walls. 

Skade crushed against his chest, and Sihtric’s hands wrapped around her quivering body, pulling her tightly in his embrace as they both gasped for breath.

"I want to stay like this forever," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sihtric smiled, a mixture of mischief and sincerity in his expression. "Forever is a long time," he said, his fingers trailing down her spine, sending a delightful shiver through her body. "But I would gladly spend every moment of it with you."

“Then your life is mine, future Lord of Dunholm, but your path is your own.”

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[tthatsonme]

I wish u roses, by molly.

This is not unisex!! Can be used by MTF + this is lgbtq friendly.

— You’re pure temptation to everyone that you meet, most people know that they should probably steer clear of you before they want you too much. Obviously, you can’t attract anyone that you don’t want, but that doesn’t mean that half of the population of the gender you’re attracted to doesn’t want you, you’re truly too attractive for this world, people wonder if you’re either an angel that fell from heaven or a siren that traded her tail for legs and is now living as a human woman in disguise. They may never know. You have the same sex appeal as the songs Angel and Fue Mejor by Kali Uchis, So high and Streets by Doja Cat. You have the same amount of sex appeal as Margot Robbie, Ana de Armas, Alexa Demie, Kali Uchis, Doja Cat, SZA, Angelina Jolie, and Sydney Sweeney. Even though you’re as equally sexy as them, you’re mainly interested in sensuality over sexuality, you don’t need to be nude to be attractive your face was enough in the first place.

— You’re as sensually attractive as Sade and Alexa Demie, you’ve mastered the art of sensuality, you’re the embodiment of the songs Like a Tattoo by Sade and Leopard Limo by Alexa Demie, you’re like my “Leopard Limo” subliminal come to life, you’re everyone’s type even if they don’t think you are, everyone wants you in some way, you’re the dream girl of anyone who lays eyes on you, whenever someone dreams of a nice girlfriend or wife they immediately think of you, people always associate you with sugar and honey because of how visually and physically sweet you are, you’re the definition of “eye candy”. The Kardashians WISHED that they had the same amount of influence that you do, you’re constantly influencing people because they want to be just like you, you don’t necessarily make people “jealous” but they may be a little bit envious of you. You don’t care that people copy you anymore because why wouldn’t they? Someone like you (someone who’s not a basic b) is bound to set a trend for two.

— You’re like the perfect mixture of Alexa and Maddy, on one hand you’re sweet and peaceful but on the other you’re overly confident and a “c*nty bad bitch” as they say + you hold as much influence on others as they do. You basically run the school that you go to, it’s like you’re mysterious yet popular, every time you walk into school it’s like a slow motion scene of the hot girl walking in in a 2000s movie, everyday is like one of those scenes. Everyone can’t help but stop and stare and check you out, people genuinely fw your confidence, your confidence is always through the roof, you could walk through a huge group of boys and remain unfazed. Kind of embarrassing, but people really are doing the most just to get you to look at them, they don’t even care what they have to do to get your attention, they’re at a point where they’re making a complete fool out of themselves just to make you smile. A very small but important detail about you is that you’re completely immune to peaking in high school or college whatever you’re in if you’re still in school that is, you’re completely immune to being social unaware or socially awkward, one of the many things that people love about you is your quick responses, people love your personality and how you’re so good at talking to people.

— Your face is physical perfection, whatever you don’t like about you face is now being changed permanently. Your face and bones are being forcefully shaped and morphed to become whatever you desire + all of the benefits from Opia’s desiredful 1 and 2 (body affirmations looped twice). And personal affirmations for desired, long, thick and beautiful hair, hair type, pattern, thickness, and colour. Your hair turns into a 1A hair type/texture whenever you straighten/flat iron it + it moves, looks, and feels like natural 1A hair.

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Ford Pines Headcanons Part 01

Feral Ford

Yep. Sending over that. As it was said, this side of Ford was initially created during moments of high stress and adrenaline and a need for self-preservation, where rational thought gets pushed aside. It escalated during his stays on 'wild' planets.

Experimented On

Ford was born with brown eyes, like his brother. However, at some point during the early years of his travels, Ford gets kidnapped by some unethical organization and was experimented on. Said experiments caused his eyes to change color, along with strange patterned irises (which you can't notice unless you look reeaal close) plus gaining a bit of tapetum lucidum. The experiment also gave him something like an enhanced healing factor, though it doesn't heal most scarring, plus some enhanced strength, speed, and agility. Not by much, but very much noticeable, especially at his current age.

Phobias

Ford has had many phobias over the years. His main one being his fear of snakes. His other fears are eyes (usually multiple eyes at once) and being stared at. He's also not a fan of the idea of hospitals because of the headcanon above this. He's afraid of someone finding something inhuman in his body.

Ace of Spades

Perhaps this is me projecting a little. Sure, Ford had a prom date and, apparently, dated a siren. The prom date ended with the girl throwing fruit punch on Ford for some reason (maybe he said something unintentionally insulting?) and it's unknown what happened with the siren...maybe they tried to eat him?

Disowned

Filbricks disowned Ford when he noticed that Ford's choice of study wasn't going to make them rich and Ford refused to change. The disownment left Ford feeling worthless. A moment of vulnerability that Bill will take advantage of.

Still Wanted

Even if Bill's gone, I'm pretty sure that some of the actions Ford has done during his travels has garnered the attention of many intergalactic governments and/or people of interest. So, his bounty remains active.

A ‘Better’ World No More

The 'Better World' where Stan listened to Ford and took Journal 1 away from Gravity Falls and Ford and Fidds founded Oddology? Ford no longer sees it as the 'better' world because it doesn't have his brother and niblings in his life.

Trauma

Boy howdy! Along with having major trust issues and permanent scarring, c-PTSD is also present. Along with occasional seizures because of the electrical torture he went through.

ADHD/Autism

Again, projecting here. lol

Memories Lost

This is after his surgery for the metal plate in his skull. A risk was some memory loss. Nothing major, but could still be a concern. Ford felt it was a good trade. Some memories for a way to protect himself from Bill? Sure! And he seems to be doing pretty well afterwards, so maybe the memories lost weren't anything important... Probably.