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matttheratkingart · 6 months ago

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Gonna move all my Pregnant!Sentomaru au stuff from Twitter to here and since there is! A lot! It's going under the cut

- So Sentomaru gets pregnant post egghead during a grief fueled one night stand and didn't even realize anything was up until about two months in

-Decides to keep it because he's already lost all the family he had, he's not giving up the chance for a new one. He won't give up his child the way he was given up

- He finds a small village with a good midwife that he can tuck away into, makes a living fixing the folks' appliances and such, mostly sticks to himself if possible. Everyone is friendly enough but he has never grasped social graces and he's not about to start at 34

- He thinks about calling Borsalino many times during his term but he always ends up stopping just short of reaching for the snail. He can't trust Borsalino anymore, especially with this. He's never had something that is just his before, not even himself, and the little one inside of him is all he has left now

- He starts to grow out his hair from the style he's had since he was a child so he can be someone new for his baby when she's born (it's a little girl he calls Nori)

-When Borsalino (who was forced out of his grieving period and told to find his nephew and make amends by Issho) finally gets forgiven and allowed back into Sen's life he's like who is the father and Sen refuses to tell him saying it was a drunken one time thing (Bors: my little boy 🥺 drinking? having one night stands??? 😭 How did this happen??? Sen: I'M THIRTY FIVE)

- The baby is a kicker. Anyone touches Sen's belly she's kicking like she's trying to protect her daddy from the inside.

Borsalino touching Sen's belly: and how's the little rice ball today

Nori: beats the fuck out of his hand

Sentomaru: Uncle stop you're riling her up

- During a real late night when the baby is extra active the closer to her due date and Sen is overtired+ uncomfortable+miserable he let's slip to Issho, who has grown to be a true confidante, who the father is. Borsalino overhears and nearly blinds anyone walking by the house in his rage

- Turns out after Egghead Sentomaru ran into Kuzan, who recognized Sen from when he'd come to HQ to report for VP/visit Kizaru, and. Well.

- By the time Sen realized he was pregnant he was long gone from Kuzan and had no way to reach him, and it wasn’t worth it to go looking. Sen would rather just focus on his baby and getting his life together.

-Borsalino uuuuuuuuh feels differently!!!!!

- Bors crashing into the middle of Pirate Island in a blinding light of glory: WHERE IS HE. WHERE IS THE BASTARD WHO KNOCKED UP MY NEPHEW

- The crew: huh

Blackbeard: Huh????

Kuzan: HUH

- Sentomaru this 🤏 close to going into labor: WHERE THE FUCK IS OJIKI

Borsalino across the ocean shooting lasers at Kuzan: TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR ACTIONS AOKIJI

Kuzan: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

- Borsalino drags Kuzan back to Sentomaru and its the catalyst for Sen to go into labor jgzsutsititsstiits

Sentomaru: WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING HERE- *water breaks* OH FUCK.

Bors Kuzan and Issho: OH FUCK

-The midwife when she gets there: only one other person in the room with us

Borsalino and Kuzan: Me-

Sentomaru: NO. FUCK YOU BOTH STAND OUTSIDE. ISSHO GET OVER HERE

Issho: ????? Ok but I don't know what a blind man will be able to do to help

- After many hours of labor little Nori is born, healthy and crying w a little thatch of black curls on her head. Sen is a blubbering mess and refuses to let her go. Borsalino is also a mess, cooing at his grand-niece, Issho on Sen's other side smiling at the joy in the room. Kuzan is in the doorway, unsure where he fits into all of this, but unable to look away from his child. And there's no doubt it's his; brown skin and dark curls, though something in the face that is distinctly Sentomaru. She's beautiful and he's overwhelmed

-Only after Issho basically strong arms Borsalino out of the room does Kuzan get closer. Sen, tired and wary, watches him pull the chair in the room next to the bed and sit down. For a while neither of them speak, unsure where to start

- Sentomaru: I wasn’t expecting to see you again

Kuzan: well, your uncle is very insistent

Sentomaru: tch, stubborn old fool

Kuzan: you really been doing this all by yourself?

Sentomaru shrugs: some. Uncle and Issho have helped

Kuzan: and you didnt think to find me?

Sen: why would I? I didn’t know where you were. And… what would be the point if it turned out you didn’t want anything to do with it anyways.

Kuzan: ….. hm. So what now?

Sen heaves a sigh, rubs his face: I don’t know. I didn’t factor you into this

Kuzan: mind if I stick around until you figure it out?

Sentomaru: you want to stay? What about the Blackbeard pirates?

Kuzan: eh, I never liked any of those bastards anyways. And… *he looks down at Nori, sleeping tucked up against Sen* I think this is more important.

Sen: …. Fine. We’ll find somewhere for you.

Kuzan: okay

Sen: and….. no funny business, alright? You’re just here to help. For Nori’s sake.

Kuzan: Sure. But you did just spend 6 hours giving birth to our kid, so don’t be too mad when I do this-

He kisses Sen, gently, brief

Sen blushing: whatever. Just don’t do it again

Kuzan smiles: of course not. Only if you ask

Sen still blushing: I won’t, you weirdo.

- True to his word, Kuzan is there to help, his propensity for napping in the day means he can be up at night when Nori needs to be fed or changed, though he ends up falling asleep w her on his chest until the next one in the rotation comes in and has to wake him up. Bors and Issho are also great grandparents even if none of them know what they're doing (at one point Bors gets worried bc "she's so small and I'm so tall what if I drop her" "you wont""but what if I do""... oh God what if you do" cue them squatting on the ground all day)

- As Nori grows and Kuzan sticks around he and Sentomaru develop a... friendly dynamic. In tuned parents. But it's definitely VERY charged

-Sleep deprived Sentomaru passing Kuzan Nori at 3 am for her changing, kisses her cheek goodnight and without thinking kisses Kuzan's cheek too. Does NOT realize that he did that until he's in bed and he's SO mortified he can't look at Kuzan at all the next morning kydkydkydkyd

#one piece #sentomaru #borsalino #fujitora issho #aokiji kuzan #kuzamaru #borsatora #pregnant!Sentomaru #this isn't even all of it lmao #egghead spoilers #ratt texts

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redroomroaving · 5 months ago

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WIP List Tag Game

List all your WIPs and write a sentence for each vote that each one gets in a 24 hour poll!

Thanks for the tag @wakacreations and the tag and call out @lemonsrosesandlavender 😭

Well, shoot. Get ready to judge me.

There's more, but, for the sake of mostly my own sanity, I'm gonna stop listing things.

No pressure tags for @threerattsinatrenchcoat @tavyliasin @librivore42 and @n1ghtmeri

#wip tag game #wip game #harper geraldus #bg3 rolan #bg3 klaus #donnick x abdirak #klaus x Kar'niss #bg3 he who was

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luxe-pauvre · 26 days ago

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What changed in the 2010s? Let’s revisit that Twitter engineer’s metaphor of handing a loaded gun to a 4-year-old. A mean tweet doesn’t kill anyone; it is an attempt to shame or punish someone publicly while broadcasting one’s own virtue, brilliance, or tribal loyalties. It’s more a dart than a bullet, causing pain but no fatalities. Even so, from 2009 to 2012, Facebook and Twitter passed out roughly 1 billion dart guns globally. We’ve been shooting one another ever since. Social media has given voice to some people who had little previously, and it has made it easier to hold powerful people accountable for their misdeeds, not just in politics but in business, the arts, academia, and elsewhere. Sexual harassers could have been called out in anonymous blog posts before Twitter, but it’s hard to imagine that the #MeToo movement would have been nearly so successful without the viral enhancement that the major platforms offered. However, the warped “accountability” of social media has also brought injustice—and political dysfunction—in three ways. First, the dart guns of social media give more power to trolls and provocateurs while silencing good citizens. Research by the political scientists Alexander Bor and Michael Bang Petersen found that a small subset of people on social-media platforms are highly concerned with gaining status and are willing to use aggression to do so. They admit that in their online discussions they often curse, make fun of their opponents, and get blocked by other users or reported for inappropriate comments. Across eight studies, Bor and Petersen found that being online did not make most people more aggressive or hostile; rather, it allowed a small number of aggressive people to attack a much larger set of victims. […] Second, the dart guns of social media give more power and voice to the political extremes while reducing the power and voice of the moderate majority. The “Hidden Tribes” study, by the pro-democracy group More in Common, surveyed 8,000 Americans in 2017 and 2018 and identified seven groups that shared beliefs and behaviors. The one furthest to the right, known as the “devoted conservatives,” comprised 6 percent of the U.S. population. The group furthest to the left, the “progressive activists,” comprised 8 percent of the population. The progressive activists were by far the most prolific group on social media: 70 percent had shared political content over the previous year. The devoted conservatives followed, at 56 percent. These two extreme groups are similar in surprising ways. They are the whitest and richest of the seven groups, which suggests that America is being torn apart by a battle between two subsets of the elite who are not representative of the broader society. What’s more, they are the two groups that show the greatest homogeneity in their moral and political attitudes. This uniformity of opinion, the study’s authors speculate, is likely a result of thought-policing on social media: “Those who express sympathy for the views of opposing groups may experience backlash from their own cohort.” In other words, political extremists don’t just shoot darts at their enemies; they spend a lot of their ammunition targeting dissenters or nuanced thinkers on their own team. In this way, social media makes a political system based on compromise grind to a halt. Finally, by giving everyone a dart gun, social media deputizes everyone to administer justice with no due process. […] When our public square is governed by mob dynamics unrestrained by due process, we don’t get justice and inclusion; we get a society that ignores context, proportionality, mercy, and truth.

Jonathan Haidt, Why The Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid

#Jonathan Haidt #Why The Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid

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archivaltrigger · 7 months ago

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Sweden's newest school attack scare is a previously unknown foiled mass shooting at Bors skola (Bor's school) in Bor, Värnamo municipality.

An unnamed 14 year-old student is accused of conspiracy to commit murder and serious weapon offenses. No weapon has so far been found.

The student told a teacher late August that he had planned to commit a school shooting May this year. Police was called.

According to the 14 year-old he had brought with him both clothes and weapons on the intended day to be able to carry out the act. However, the planned shooting never took place as a fire alarm was triggered on the school's premises that day.

The student told staff at the school that he's part of a criminal network and also talked about various incidents he's been part of.

He had a list with names of staff and students he allegedly intended to kill.

Parents and staff are upset at the school for waiting 2 weeks before telling those who weren't on the list about the threat.

The police is currently investigating if the 14 year-old was serious and really had access to a firearm.

This was released to the public in the beginning of September. I had managed to miss it. I'll report on this more if there is interest when/if more concrete information comes out.

#at:infopost #at:sweden #teeceecee #tee cee cee

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knightotoc · 1 year ago

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The beginning and end of Crosshair's arc each address a separate frustration I've had with Star Wars backpedaling on its own drama.

The first is the wishy-washiness of the clones' implanted brain chips. The original concept art from Attack of the Clones shows the clones to be victims of brainwashing. The sterile, science-gone-wrong imagery is inspired by Lucas' debut THX-1138, a bleak film with a tenuous and generally confrontational relationship to Star Wars. AotC, with its forbidden romance and evil fetus-growing laboratories, is the SW movie most similar to THX, and also my favorite.

The AotC concept artists went so far as to speculate that the clones did not have souls, an extreme reaction but certainly a dramatic tabula rasa to build characters upon. RotS briefly shows the Jedi's complete trust in the clones and the clones' ruthless betrayal; the explanation for this shocking behavior is implied through a parallel to Anakin, as is everything else in that movie.

But once the darn cartoon had been on cable for a few years, the writers lost faith in the THX reference and Anakin parallel and decided to replace brainwashing/manipulation with a physical Order 66 chip in the clones' brains. The idea that their characters had become too lovable to ever willingly do something so bad is a fundamental misunderstanding of Star Wars, the operatic genre, and human nature.

Season 7, while knocking it out of the park with the Maul stuff, made this brain chip thing even worse by having Ahsoka break Rex's before he had to kill any Jedi. So even though the clones are innocent, the protagonist clone is even more innocent.

And now he's supposed to lead the clones away from the Empire, but why should they follow someone who can't even relate to their fundamental curse? He's like Galahad, the only knight chaste enough to find the Holy Grail, and they're like Bors, who is technically chaste except for that one time he had sex because he got tricked by a magic spell. Thank God for rigid moral hierarchies beyond earthly control!

The only other clones who can't relate to the chip curse are the Bad Batch, since their mutated brains made them immune to it. But while the goodies don't hurt a fly, Crosshair uses his special gift of free will to shoot at a cute little Padawan. And not just any Padawan, but one of the most beloved Jedi to ever do it, the future Kanan Jarrus.

So in a bent around way, Crosshair punches through this annoying loophole the cartoon writers made in one of the movies' darkest scenes. He's not matchy-matchy, but he is still genuinely brainwashed, which makes him the only clone who still follows their original violent vision.

So, the twist at the beginning of Crosshair's arc course-corrects a decision made in a spin-off about the motivations for background characters -- but the end of his arc addresses a much bigger problem, one that affects the greatest scenes and biggest characters in the whole story: amputation.

Luke's spiritual pain from learning the truth about his father is accompanied by the physical pain of amputation. Obi-Wan demonstrates his unexpected badassery through amputation. Luke demonstrates his burgeoning badassery by Force-pulling his lightsaber toward him...shortly followed by amputation. Anakin's repeated carelessness for his weapon and life leads to him stupidly running right into amputation. Kreia proves her twisted devotion by amputation. Cay Qel-Droma becomes dependent on his brother because of amputation. Obi-Wan will not kill Anakin, but he will amputate him.

And these scenes are scary and intense, in the moment. But they do not have consequences. All of these amputees are either alien villains who we never hear from again, or Force-wielders supported by a wealthy institution which instantly provides a perfect prosthetic. Only Kreia runs around with an actual stump, but her signature move is telekinetically spinning three purple lightsabers.

There are several heart-stirring images, such as Anakin's robotic hand holding Padmé's at their wedding, or Luke's hand revealing gizmos instead of blood when he's shot on Jabba's yacht, but these images have more to do with Lucas' problematic theme of "nature > technology" than the theme of disability.

But Crosshair does not have the Force, and he certainly doesn't have the support of any institution. Most dramatically of all, his amputation is not the tragic finale of his battle, but only the penultimate act.

As a fantastically skilled sniper, Crosshair relies more upon his hands than any other SW character I know. His astounding precision is demonstrated most memorably in this scene from an earlier season, in which the music stops to allow his laser fire to ricochet off a spinning disk, down a hallway, and right into his clanker target's head:

youtube

This isn't the Force. This isn't believing in something you can't see. This is deliberate!

Throughout the last season, Crosshair has a tremor in his dominant hand which significantly affects his aim. This comes to a terrible head when he misses the shot meant to attach a tracking device to the ship kidnapping his sister Omega (again). After years of doing wrong, he finally wants to do right, and he fails because of his humiliating and unprepared-for disability.

This disability continues throughout the long journey to track her down by their wits, until he is finally captured himself. Just as escape seems close, the Imperials cut off his dominant hand to punish him. In all the other cases of amputation in Star Wars, it takes a guy completely out of the fight. But Crosshair can't afford to lose, yet. He has to keep going.

In the final battle scene, the villain is hand-cuffed to Omega on the other end of a bridge (with no hand rails of course), and Crosshair has to shoot the hand-cuffs off so the badguy can fall without dragging down Omega. Crosshair has to lean his rifle on his brother Hunter's shoulder, balance with his stump, and pull the trigger with his non-dominant hand.

The first Star Wars movie is actually unique among the franchise for having a purely satisfying victory -- the other ones all pile on some tragedy or irony -- but I think that Crosshair's victory is the most satisfying of all.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #captain rex #inhibitor chips #amputation #long post

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vladigoros · 24 days ago

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Daniil Mikhailovich Monakhov (Part 2/2)

18-year-old Russian vocational boarding school student who carried out the Bolsheorlovskoye shooting on 12 October 2020 in Nizhny Novgorod Oblast.

Note: The second and final part of the write-up. If you haven't read the first part, I recommend starting there. Because of its sheer length, the post is divided into two parts. Part 1: Covers his personal background - family, education, social life, health history, and other biographical details. Part 2: Delves into the October 12, 2020 shooting - the sequence of events, manhunt, aftermath, motive, and broader reactions. A PDF file is also available for a more comfortable read.

Happy reading.

The Attack

Map of Monakhov’s approximate route during the attack, based on NN.ru reporting. Reconstructed graphic by the author

On October 11, 2020, Daniil Monakhov visited his 63-year-old grandmother, Galina Monakhova, in the small rural village of Bolsheorlovskoye, Nizhny Novgorod Oblast. The same day, he had gone duck hunting with his father.

The following day, October 12, Monakhov was preparing to return to the city. Around 4:00 PM, she accompanied him to the local bus stop to see him off. As the bus arrived, Monakhov asked to return home to use the bathroom. He was away for around ten minutes. Galina, likely growing impatient, asked the driver to wait and rushed back inside to hurry Monakhov. Some sources alleged that during this time, Monakhov was equipping himself with the shotguns stored in the grandmother’s residence, with the intention of bringing them back to the city. Upon returning inside, she likely discovered him with the firearm which led to an argument between the two. It is believed that she tried to stop him, suspecting he was planning something violent. This confrontation may have triggered an outburst, during which he shot the woman twice in the abdomen with a 12-gauge smoothbore shotgun at close range, fatally wounding her. She was rushed to the hospital in critical condition but succumbed to her injuries nearly a month later.

House No. 7, Galina Monakhova’s residence

Equipped with both smoothbore shotguns, a cartridge belt, and a black bag containing 40 buckshot pellets, he left the scene and encountered Sergei Napylov (58), a neighbor and head of the local fire brigade. The man came to investigate the commotion after he disembarked from the waiting bus. Monakhov fatally shot him from behind, killing him on the spot.

As he made his way towards the bus stop, he began firing at the windows of a nearby apartment building, House No. 1, where several residents had started peeking out in alarm. He shattered the windows of a second-floor apartment belonging to an elderly woman, who was unharmed. He continued down the path, now shooting indiscriminately at the bus stop area. The PAZ bus driver, who had been waiting to transport him, realized the threat and drove away promptly. Behind the bus stop, Monakhov encountered Valentina Zhogonova (63), who was on her way to feed her chickens. She was struck by multiple pellets in the arms, legs, and back, but survived. Monakhov then turned and fired several shots towards House No. 7 before continuing down the street.

The bus stop in Bolsheorlovskoye, Nizhny Novgorod

After passing one residence, he turned into the courtyard of a neighboring property. There, he saw Viktor Artyukh (66) seated near a basement entrance, sorting cranberries. Monakhov shot him in the legs; Artyukh collapsed but managed to survive. The sound of gunfire alerted two nearby neighbors, Nikolai Seleznyov (62) and Andrei Tikhomirov (56), who rushed outside. Both were fatally shot on the spot.

The property where Monakhov injured Artyukh and fatally shot Seleznyov and Tikhomirov

Following these killings, Monakhov returned to the main road and fled towards the direction of a local hospital, located at the edge of the nearby forest. Rather than venturing into the wooded area, he traced a broad clockwise path skirting the edge of the village, where he eventually took cover near its boundary.

The abandoned boiler house, the area where Monakhov sought refuge

Manhunt

A large-scale manhunt was launched shortly after the attack, involving OMON units, drones, service dogs, infrared thermal imaging, and roadblocks to prevent escape. The search continued throughout the night and lasted approximately 15 hours. Although authorities believed Monakhov was still armed and hiding nearby, his apprehension was deliberately postponed until daylight "to avoid endangering the lives of officers," according to the National Guard.

Law enforcement officers arriving to search for the shooting suspect

Local residents reported hearing a single gunshot around 2:00 AM, which was initially presumed to mark the time of Monakhov’s suicide. However, others later claimed to have heard two consecutive shots around 4:50 AM. These later reports were seemingly corroborated by physical evidence: a nearby dacha, which Monakhov had briefly taken shelter in, was found with pellet-riddled holes in its second-floor windows – strongly suggesting that he had discharged his weapon again shortly before his death.

At approximately 07:12 AM on October 13, Monakhov’s body was discovered by a search team near an abandoned boiler room, roughly 500-600 meters from the site of the killings. He had died from a self-inflicted shotgun wound, with a cartridge belt strapped to his body; both of his weapons and a backpack were found nearby. A local resident, Nikolai Petrovich, whose property lay near the discovery site, observed that several corrugated slate panels beside his garden shed had been rearranged – seemingly repurposed as a makeshift mat. The detail suggested that Monakhov may have attempted to rest or compose himself before ending his life.

Monakhov’s body, found with a gunshot wound to the head the next morning

In total, Monakhov killed 4 people and injured 2 before taking his own life. Including the perpetrator, the final death toll stood at 5. He reportedly discharged his weapon 16 times during the attack, which devastated the small community of Bolsheorlovskoye.

Motive (Speculative)

Though Monakhov’s exact motive remains inconclusive, it is evident that he had long harbored a fascination with school shootings and appeared intent on replicating one at his own school. He demonstrated a clear interest in firearms and frequently engaged with violent media and video games. Some have speculated that due to his limited life expectancy, this reality may have fostered a fatalistic mindset, one that led him to believe that he had “nothing to lose.”

The killing of Monakhov’s grandmother was likely neither premeditated nor motivated by revenge. Despite the apparent brutality of the act, a friend testified that Monakhov held no animosity towards her and would even voluntarily visit her. As the friend put it, she simply just “got in the way.” It is possible that, upon discovering his intent with the firearms, Galina attempted to intervene. This confrontation may have triggered a moment of panic or rage, abruptly escalating the situation. With her death, Monakhov may have realized there was no going back. Returning to the city was no longer an option, and his original plan had been disrupted. Rather than flee, he chose to carry out the attack then and there – an attack he had long dreamt and fantasized about. "What's the point of him living out the rest of his days in Russia? He had major health problems – both physical and mental. And in reality, he didn’t have much time left – maybe five years. So what?" said the friend.

Aftermath and Reaction

Despite strict firearm regulations in Russia which include comprehensive background checks and mandatory medical evaluations, Monakhov was able to obtain a license without issue. This failure in the system drew public scrutiny, particularly as he had reportedly undergone treatment for depression and seen a psychotherapist. These factors did not disqualify him during the licensing process. He received medical clearance from a private clinic, and some sources have suggested the certificate may have been purchased fraudulently, though this remains unverified.

Following the attack, a postmortem psychological-psychiatric examination concluded that Monakhov was legally sane but diagnosed him with emotionally unstable personality disorder of the borderline type.

In response to the incident, psychiatrist Vitaly Baluyev – who had evaluated Monakhov during the licensing process in July 2020 – faced criminal charges for alleged negligence. Investigators argued that Baluyev had failed to identify signs of Monakhov’s personality disorder. However, the court determined that there was no direct causal link between the assessment and the attack. It also ruled that Baluyev, as a doctor at a private clinic without formal administrative authority, could not be held criminally liable. The case was returned to the prosecutor for further review, and restrictions placed on Baluyev were lifted. The clinic, Expert, later had its license revoked due to poor internal quality control and safety standards.

Monakhov’s body was later buried at the cemetery in Sormovo. After the tragedy, his relatives sold the family’s apartment.

Improvised memorials were erected throughout Bolsheorlovskoye in the aftermath, including a small chapel located near the site of the attack. As a governmental response to the tragedy sparked by Monakhov’s actions, regional governor Gleb Nikitin allocated financial assistance to victims’ families – 200,000 rubles to the bereaved and 100,000 to the injured.

References:

https://meduza.io/feature/2020/10/15/da-nastanet-sudnyy-den https://meduza.io/feature/2020/10/13/pod-nizhnim-novgorodom-vsyu-noch-iskali-podozrevaemogo-v-massovom-ubiystve-ego-nashli-mertvym-v-neskolkih-sotnyah-metrah-ot-mesta-prestupleniya https://dailystorm.ru/chtivo/koshek-i-sobak-ne-trogal-on-celilsya-v-lyudey-reportazh-daily-storm-iz-nizhegorodskoy-oblasti-gde-podrostok-ubil-troih-pensionerov https://www.rt.com/russia/503279-russia-bus-shooting-nizhny-novgorod/ https://www.nn.ru/text/criminal/2020/10/16/69506003/ https://ngs.ru/text/incidents/2021/10/13/70189367/ https://radiosputnik.ru/20201013/monakhov-1579593848. htmlhttps://www.kommersant.ru/doc/5669774 https://sledcom.ru/news/item/1507416/?type=news https://www.dailystar.co.uk/news/world-news/gunman-18-who-killed-3-22836031 https://www.pravda.ru/health/1540443-monajov/ (bronchial asthma claim)

#daniil monakhov #nizhny novgorod #tc community #teeceecee #tcc fandom #tccblr #tcc tumblr #tcctwt #tcctard #nizhny novgorod shooting #bolsheorlovskoye shooting #bor shooting #tcc columbine #tcc eric #tcc dylan

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apiswitchcraft · 2 years ago

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the norse gods

WYRD: destiny, the past that led up to the present

ORLOG: the relationship between actions and outcomes, the things in the present that affect the future

our primeval chaos this round,

GINNUNGAP: an area of abyss in between Niflheim (ice) and Muspelheim (fire). when these two regions grew in power and clashed, water was created

for once we only have one creation myth,

YMIR/AURGELMIR/BRIMIR/BLAINN: ancestor of the jotnar, he was born from venom that dripped from the rivers in Ginnungagap. fed on the milk of Auðumbla, Ymir bore a male and female out of his armpits and a six-headed being from between his legs. Odin, Vili, and Ve created earth from his flesh, oceans/rivers/lakes from his blood, mountains from his bones and teeth, trees from his hair, clouds from his brain, heavens from his skull, and Midgard from his eyebrow

AUÐUMBLA: primordial cow that was created from the fluid of melting ice in Ginnungap, she fed Ymir and licked the god Buri out of a salt rock over the course of three days

BURI: ancestor of the Aesir gods, fathered Bor

BOR: married the daughter of a frost giant, Bestla, and bore three sons, Odin, Vili, and Ve. these three grew tired with the unruly jotnar and killed Ymir, causing an avalanche of blood that killed all the giants except for Bergelmir and his wife

BERGELMIR: the ancestor of all "new" giants, resettled his race in Jotunheim

clan Aesir

ODIN: god of poetry, wisdom, war, and magic. Odin crowned himself king of the gods as he was the first one to decide to kill Ymir. he allowed himself to be hung from Yggdrasil for nine days and nine nights in order to understand the secrets of the runes and sacrificed one of his eyes in order to see the cosmos more clearly. some stories claim he could shape and understand Wyrd and Orlog. he had wolves named Gerki and Freki, ravens named Huminn and Muninn, and an eight legged horse named Sleipnir

FRIGG: once may have been the same goddess as Freyja, she is queen of the Aesir and goddess of beauty, love, and fertility, she was gifted with the power of foresight

BALDUR: son of Odin and Frigg, he was the pinnacle of beauty and likeability. his only weakness was mistletoe

HODR: son of Odin and Frigg, the blind god, he is tricked by Loki into shooting a mistletoe arrow, which kills Baldur

VALI: in some stories he's the son of Odin and the jotun Rindr, in others he's the son of Loki, but it makes more sense for him to be a son of Loki so let's just go with this. conceived to avenge his brother Baldur, which he did by killing Hodr and binding Loki with the entrails of Narfi

VIDAR: son of Odin and the jotun Gríðr, he is the god of vengeance, and is fortold to avenge his father by killing the wolf Fenrir at Ragnarok

HEIMDALL: son of Odin and "The Nine Mothers" (nine sea giants), god of keen eyesight and hearing, sometimes foresight. guardian of the Bifrost

TYR: son of Odin, god of war, justice, and order, he lost one of his arms to the wolf Fenrir

BRAGI: son of Odin, god of poetry

IDUNN: wife of Bragi, goddess of youth and fertility, her apples rejuvenated the Aesir gods and reversed the effects of aging

JORÐ: personification of the earth, consort of Odin, sometimes considered to be a jotun

THOR: son of Odin and the goddess Jörð, he is the god of lightning, storms, strength, fertility, and the protector of humankind. he wields the hammer Mjolnir

SIF: Thor's wife, goddess of faith, family and fertility

THRUD: daughter of Thor and Sif, goddess of strength

MAGNI: son of Thor and the jotun Járnsaxa, god of wrath

MODI: son of Thor, god of might

MIMIR: god of knowledge and wisdom, in some stories he is the advisor of Odin. he is sent either as a peace maker or hostage to the Vanir, where he is decapitated. Odin preserved his head and keeps it to guard a well on one of the roots of Yggdrasil

LOKI: god of mischief, wealth, and chaos. his children often caused trouble for other gods, Fenrir being the great wolf of Ragnarok, Jormungandr being the arch enemy of Thor, and Hel, who ruled Helheim

HEL: daughter of Loki and the jotun Angrboda, goddess of the underworld, she was tasked with taking care of the souls that ended up in her realm (since some ended up in Odin's Valhalla and some ended up in Freyja's Folkvangr)

NARFI: son of Loki and the goddess Sigyn, killed by Vali

clan Vanir

NJORD: patriarch of clan Vanir, god of wind, water, and fortune, he was the patron of fishermen and sailors

NERTHUS/NJORUN: although possibly just a female aspect of Njord, some theorize this is actually the sister-wife of Njord, mother of Freyja and Freyr. goddess of peace and prosperity

FREYR: son of Njord, god of peace, prosperity, male virility, and fair weather, ruler of Alfheim. after the conclusion of the Aesir-Vanir war, he was brought to Asgard as a hostage where he climbed his way up the ranks with charm and a good personality

FREYJA: daughter of Njord, goddess of love, beauty, fertility, and blessings. she is said to have introduced the gods to a form of magic called seidr, which was a form of seeing or changing the future

ODR: husband of Freyja, god of madness, wit and poetry. could also be an aspect of Odin, as they bear good similarities

HNOSS: daughter of Freyja and her husband Odr, her name means "gem"

GERSEMI: daughter of Freyja and Odr, her name means "treasure"

the goddesses of destiny, the Norns,

URD: "fate"

SKULD: "being"

VERANDI: "necessity"

#pagan #paganism #witchblr #witch #witchcraft #norse mythology #norse paganism #norse gods #norse pantheon #nordic #polytheist #polytheism #norse polytheism

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demonredcat · 9 months ago

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Гроза по линии Сосновый Бор- Волосово. Съемка с расстояния 100 км. Полная версия

A thunderstorm along the Sosnovy Bor-Volosovo line. Shooting from a distance of 100 km. Full version

#мир одного окна #thunderstorm #st. petersburg #russia #original photographers #storms

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chadillacboseman · 1 year ago

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Introducing Jesse Geller

Full Name: Jesse Waylon Geller

Nickname(s):

Talon-2 (callsign)

Little Geller (JJ)

Age: 33

Gender: Male

Place of Birth: Shreveport, Louisiana

Date of Birth: August 21st

Star Sign: Leo

Species/Race: Human

Occupation: Private Military Contractor

Faction: Red Claw Mercenary Group

Status: Alive

Appearance

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 160 lbs

Skin Color: White

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Green

Prominent Features:

Deep set eyes

Cajun accent

Fighting Attributes

Abilities:

.50 Cal Sniper - Jesse can utilize the Barrett M82 military-grade sniper rifle.

Last Resort:

With Friends Like These - Calls upon his fellow mercs to rain hellfire down on the enemy.

Skills:

Small personal army

High pain tolerance

Strengths:

Quick and Brutal - His hits are quick and devastating.

Weaknesses:

Revenge focused

Quick to anger

Weak without the aid of his mech suit.

Obsessive

Weapons:

Ruger Security 9

M16

Barrett M82

Personality

Traits:

Blunt

Prone to recklessness

Cruel

Lacks empathy

Relationships

Enemies:

Falcon Company

Special Forces

Family:

Jason Geller (brother, deceased)

Parents (deceased)

Friends/Allies:

Black Dragon, et al

The rest of Red Claw

Other Information

Dislikes:

JJ (lol)

People who stand in his way

Goals:

Get revenge for his brother's death

Eliminate Falcon Company by any means necessary

Hobbies:

Trick shooting

Collecting vinyl records

Fishing

Likes:

Missions that involve stealth

Getting big contracts

Red Bull

Habits:

Smoking

Laughing when it's not appropriate

Superstitious routines

Hypervigilance

Fears:

Dying without avenging his brother

Not having an exit

Having his back to the door

BIO

Jesse was born the younger brother of Jason Geller in Shreveport, Louisiana. He grew up admiring his brother, trying to emulate and follow his footsteps at every step as he grew up.

His academic record was nothing of note, but his scores on the ASVAB test had recruiters at his door, alongside his brother. He was a naturally good shot, excelling in trap shooting clubs in school and out-hunting even the most seasoned hunters in the area.

Jesse enlisted in the service as Jason did, and did his time overseas with two tours. When he got out after his brother, he joined him in creating the Red Claw Mercenary group as his second in command.

When Jeremiah Mitchell killed Jason, it was done in secret, and no one knew who committed the murder. Jesse had his suspicions that it was JJ, knowing that the latter did not tolerate their proclivity for taking missions from the Black Dragon.

Fun Facts

He once won a state trap shooting competition.

His .50 cal rifle is military issue, and is equipped with a BORS system.

He is very superstitious. He refuses to walk under ladders and has several routines he performs before big missions. He once saw a black cat cross the street in front of him and he canceled the contract.

He's an avid fisherman, and has a boat he takes out on the lake.

Has broken his nose 3 times. His right arm twice.

He continues to go by "Talon-2" despite his brother's (Talon-1) death.

Template once again borrowed from @bdfightclub thanks as always to @bihanspookies for enabling and encouraging me.

#oc jesse #mk ocs #mortal kombat ocs

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oohnotvery · 1 year ago

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Edges of the Night (Chapter 2)

Mulder told her to drive and gave her a mysterious address in Colorado, but apart from that, he has left her completely in the dark. Scully knows better than anyone that her former partner is notoriously bad about information-sharing, but this time, she’s really working on a wing and prayer. To his credit, Mulder seems physically incapable of providing more details. She had to pull over to the side of the highway just to shake him awake for her first of many hourly concussion check-ins. He grumbled something about not stopping and she forced him to recite her name, his address, and the President’s name before getting back on the road. He was asleep before she even crossed over into traffic.

At the second check-in, she pulls into a gas station in the middle-of-nowhere central California. When Mulder raises his head and starts to protest, she bites.

“I’m exhausted, Mulder, and if you really expect me to drive fifteen hours through the night to a place I’ve never even heard of, with no explanation as to why I’m making this drive, you’re going to let me drink a coffee and you’re going to let me take a bathroom break.” He shoots her an irritated look and she fantasizes about turning the gas pump on him.

While she waits for her coffee to drip, she considers trotting over to the nearby pay phone and calling Alan. Far too many times, she’s been on the receiving end of Mulder’s inability to call her and tell her that he’s okay, safe, and alive. She intimately knows the horrible, sickening way it feels to wait and wonder. She remembers the many vivid scenarios the brain tends to conjure in these situations. Alan deserves a call.

God, her boss probably deserves a call. Her stomach clenches when she considers what it will look like when she doesn’t show up to work tomorrow, or the next day, or maybe even the day after that. How long does Mulder intend to keep her wrapped up in this strange, mysterious escapade of his? And how long will she play along?

With a sinking stomach, she realizes how quickly she fell back into his orbit. How easily she succumbed to his absurd, unexplained demands and requests. For a moment, her cheeks blaze hotly. He pushed you out, she reminds herself, and you’re still letting him control your life.

The coffee machine sputters one last hot drip of coffee into the paper cup and she glances over at her car. Mulder has managed to stay awake this time and his eyes are trained on her. She meets his gaze through the window and wonders what he’s thinking. Although she knows—knew—him well, his mind is an enigmatic place. He could be thinking about the car accident; the drive; the diamond on her finger. Hell, he could be thinking about the Knicks. It’s a complete toss-up. The one thing she’s certain of is that he sure as hell isn’t thinking about how he hurt her, or how this little adventure is affecting her life.

She pays for her coffee and decides not to make any calls.

At the third check-in, she doesn’t bother pulling over. The coffee has done its job and she feels sufficiently awake. She pokes Mulder in the side until he wakes up and answers all her probing questions. Then she turns her attention back to the road, fully expecting him to return to sleep. After a minute though, she can still feel his eyes on her. She glances over.

In the eerie darkness of the deserted highway, she can only see flickers of his expression: an earnest look in his eyes; a defeated pout on his lips.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, “for driving.”

She holds his gaze for just a second, then nods tightly.

The fourth check-in includes another bathroom break and a second coffee, along with a granola bar for her and a packet of sunflower seeds for him. She isn’t sure if he’s eaten anything, so she adds on a water bottle, a muffin, and a bag of pretzels. The rural gas station pickings are slim. Mulder declines the food but downs the water, which she appreciates.

They have almost reached the California-Nevada border and so far, she has been following signs for Las Vegas, knowing that it will be the first—and only—major city they will encounter along the way. After that, she’s going to need to rely on the atlas in the backseat.

After Mulder drains his water bottle, he falls back into another round of sleep. Scully is partially glad for his unconsciousness; it means they don’t have to address anything serious, at least not yet. Every so often, she glances over at him to check for the telltale rise and fall of his chest. The sight of him dozing beside her pricks at her memories. She has been in this position many times before, driving a sleeping Mulder to and from another rural town with another set of monsters. He’s done the same for her, especially during her cancer when she often fell asleep the moment the car started moving.

But tonight is a much longer journey than those road trips ever were, and it evokes a deeper memory for her. Her tired eyes burn as she recalls the last time she drove an unconscious Mulder across the country, many years ago when their relationship was still forming—when she drove him to New Mexico to meet Albert Hosteen. She cringes realizing that they were on better terms back then than they are now, despite the fact that she had just shot him in the shoulder.

She banishes the memories as they come. Some things are too painful to bear right now. Her mind needs to be completely focused on the drive. Ruminating on the fact that they’ll never get back to that place of mutual respect and devotion is something she simply can’t consider.

It is almost midnight by the time they reach the outskirts of Las Vegas, and her caffeine has worn off. She keeps pinching herself to stay awake, but the outlines of the highway are getting fuzzy and the headlights from passing cars blur her vision. She needs to take a break.

She catches sight of a roadside motel just outside the city and makes a quick decision. She flips on her blinker and takes the exit for the motel. When she pulls to a stop in the parking lot, Mulder blinks awake. He glances around at his surroundings, takes in the retro neon motel sign, and then looks at her sharply.

“No,” he says immediately.

Her shoulders sag. “Mulder, please,” she begs. “I’m so tired. I just need a few hours of sleep.”

He shakes his head defiantly. “Scully, we have to keep going. It’s not safe yet. They could be following us.”

“Who? What’s not safe?” she demands. “You haven’t told me anything except to drive. Are you in danger?”

He rubs at his face restlessly. “I know, I know,” he admits, then glances around nervously. “Please, get back on the road.” He meets her eyes, silently begging her to trust him. “Please.”

She stares at him. His face has an anxious, desperate quality to it. It is unusual to see Mulder this way; he walks through the world with a frustrating amount of confidence. Back in the day, even when faced with critical danger, he often peppered their conversations with bad jokes or stupid puns. But tonight, he is on edge, an animal being hunted. Tonight, he is genuinely afraid.

And so, with an exasperated sigh, she does as she’s told.

As she re-enters the highway, they ride in silence for a few minutes. In the Before Times, silence between them was an easy affair. Hundreds of hours together in rental cars meant they never had any expectations of the other to fill the space with useless noise. But tonight, the silence feels uncomfortable. It highlights the distance between them; it underscores the time they have lost.

He clears his throat, bringing her back to the present. “So, uh, you need to ask me any more concussion questions? What’s the name of my favorite burger joint? How often does Frohike hack into the DoD’s files?”

She grimaces at his poor attempt at humor. It’s been a while since she’s thought about the Gunmen. She wonders if they ever think about her. She shrugs. “You seem fine, Mulder. I’ll withhold my questions for now.” She pauses, licking her lips. “But if I have trouble waking you up next time, I’ll be sure to inquire after Frohike’s hacking habits.”

She feels him smile across the car, but he doesn’t reply. The banter between them feels forced and stilted. Although it was easy enough to fall back into place at first—doctor mode, FBI mode—now that the immediate danger seems to have passed, she doesn’t know how to speak to him.

“So you, uh, you probably do have some more pressing questions for me,” he says quietly, breaking into her thoughts. “About what’s going on here.”

She nods slowly. “I do.”

“Ask away.”

She glances over at him, biting her lip. “What the hell is going on? What is so pressing that I can’t even get four hours of sleep in a bed before driving another nine hours through unfamiliar territory?”

He rubs his eye with a finger, then sighs heavily. “Fair enough. Two days ago, Skinner alerted me to a very credible threat to your safety.”

She almost slams on the brakes. This is just not fair. Isn’t this the entire reason he pushed her out in the first place? So shit like this would stop happening to her? So she wouldn’t ever be in danger again? So he could rest easy knowing he would never again be the cause of her suffering? “To my safety?” she sputters. “How? I haven’t been involved in the X-Files for months.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, and she can hear the defeat in his voice, the failure, the guilt. Always the guilt. “I had . . . the same reaction.” She imagines it now: Skinner’s gruff, no-nonsense voice sharing details of yet another way Scully might die. Mulder leaping from his desk, panic consuming his face.

“As you know,” Mulder continues, “the Bureau has designated a number of safe houses around the country to protect its agents. Skinner immediately made arrangements for you to be transported to one of them.”

“In Colorado.”

“In Colorado, yes,” he confirms. Ah, so that’s where they’re headed.

She shoots him a look. “Are you going to make me guess?”

He frowns.

“How you ended up in San Diego, in a car driven by a man who seemed intent on killing me, no less?”

He huffs a laugh. “That part should be mostly obvious, Agent Scully.”

“Tell me anyways.”

He pauses. When he speaks, his voice has turned very quiet. “The moment I heard you were in danger, I was on the first flight out.”

She nods even as her cheeks darken. That part, she does already know. Although he’s ornery and quarrelsome and mysterious, he’s never going to pass up the opportunity to make sure she’s safe. “And how did you end up in the car? Who was that man?”

She hears him swallow. “I got waylaid at the airport. They found me before I could find you. That man was just some crony, I think. I never got his name. I think he intended to use me as bait if his original plan didn’t work.”

“His original plan, which was running me off the road?”

Mulder shrugs and they fall into silence again.

“Do you really not know?”

He pauses. “I’ve told you almost everything I know.”

“Almost?”

Another pause. “I don’t think that man wanted to kill you. I think he wanted to stop you, maybe scare you.” He sighs. “The tip indicated that they intended to abduct you again. For . . . experiments.”

“Experiments?” Her foot taps the brakes and the car jumps.

“I know, Scully.” His palm grazes her hand. “We were warned you’d be taken one day after work, and that they planned to transport you to a facility in Mexico City. And from there, run tests and experiments.”

She is quiet for a very long time. Her ears ring and she feels lightheaded. Experiments. Tests. Abduction. Again. When she finally speaks, her throat is thick with emotion. “So I was never going to be safe, was I, Mulder? No matter how far or how hard you pushed me away, that was never a guarantee of my safety.”

He doesn’t reply.

For half an hour, silence once again engulfs the vehicle. Scully keeps glancing over to see if Mulder has fallen asleep again, but his eyes stay wide open.

“Mulder,” she finally says, and he startles, “how long do you think we’ll need to remain hidden?”

He catches her eye over the car. “I don’t know, Scully. Hopefully not long. Skinner has a team of people working to get to the bottom of this, but he made me no promises.”

She swallows hard, subconsciously twisting the diamond on her finger. “I have things—a life—to get back to. I—I have people who will be worried about me.” She catches him glancing at the ring.

“I know.”

“Is there any way we can communicate that I’m safe?”

She knows the answer before he gives it. “No.”

Her mind begins to wander. Once they reach this safe house, how long will she and Mulder be stuck there? Days? Weeks? She bites her lip until she draws blood. She can’t imagine what they will do to each other when they’re forced into such close quarters. At one point in their partnership, she knows that such an environment would have aroused that all-too-familiar temptation in her, the one that told her to just kiss him already. Just fuck him already. But now, strained as they are, they’re more likely to kill each other. She wonders if Mulder is dreading it as badly as she is.

They cross into Arizona very briefly before veering north into Utah, and Mulder falls back to sleep. She’s been to Utah before, both in her work travels and on family vacations in the past. She knows it is a gorgeous state, home to vast canyonlands and red stone arches and soaring white mountains. But in the middle of the night, it is so desolate and so isolated that she catches herself drifting off.

“Mulder,” she says roughly, her voice hoarse with exhaustion, “Mulder.”

He rouses quickly, his body going stiff as his eyes dart around the landscape. Seeing no imminent threats, he relaxes slightly.

“Mulder, I’ve got to stop,” she admits. “Just for a few hours. I’ve never driven through eastern Utah or Colorado and I know those mountains will be hard to navigate. I can’t do it without sleep.”

She expects him to protest like he’s been doing this whole time; she expects a rallying cry or an encouraging speech, maybe even a stern lecture. But instead, she feels his hand land lightly on her wrist. She looks over at him.

“If you see somewhere to pull off, I can keep watch while you sleep in the backseat.”

She opens her mouth in surprise. “That’s a change of heart,” she notes.

She senses him shrugging. “This part of Utah is remote. It’s clear no one is following us. I think we can get away with a quick pit stop.”

She sends up a prayer of thanks, and in ten minutes, she is pulling into a deserted campground on the side of the road. She shuts off the car and clambers out to get in the backseat, and is immediately shocked by the cold air. After months in sunny San Diego, it is strange to feel the chill of the desert after dark.

She shifts into the backseat and lies down, resting her head on folded hands. Mulder glances into the backseat and she feels uneasy as he watches her shift around and settle. He’s still staring at her when she closes her eyes. In no time, she is asleep.

#dana scully #mulder x scully #the x files #msr #msr fanfic #x files #txf #x files fanfic #fox mulder #xfiles fanfic

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agentfinder · 2 months ago

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Part 17

Boom, pow?

After three days on the road the quartet had fallen into an easy working relationship. Ren and Jaune cooked, Nora and Autumn cleaned up. They all pitched in setting up and breaking down camp. Training while traveling was ingrained into the Remnant natives and they gladly incorporated Autumn into their spars. Ren was improving with the twin cutlasses and horse bow. Autumn was still the better shot of the four with the archaic archery weapons, although Nora had to cock the large crossbow anytime the Kai needed to fire it.

Autumn had picked up on the team hand signals, and confessed to JN_R that she had mostly taught herself their basic meanings. The three Huntsman found themselves a little embarrassed that they hadn’t been as sneaky as they thought.

Despite their differences the four companions all took notice of gunfire coming from nearby. The newcomers to Magnamund had been told of the muskets and pistols that the Bor favored though no one had had any idea how to reengineering StormFlower or Magnhild to use the black powder used to shoot them.

“That sounds like it may be coming from Denning’s Rock. That’s the mining town the Bor built here.”

“If they’re still firing, we’re not too late,” Jaune replied as he quickly fell into his role as leader. “Let’s get closer and make some noise while we do.”

“Noise?” Autumn asked.

“We try to sound there are more reinforcements than just us four,” Ren explained.

“Won’t we need horns or something?” the redhead asked.

“No,” Jaune answered before spurring his mount forward, “we have a Nora,” he called back over his shoulder.

“FOR THE PANCAKES! LETS BREAK THEIR LEGS!”

#rwby #jaune arc #lie ren #nora valkyrie #autumn snow #magnamund hunters au #world of lone wolf

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redroomroaving · 6 months ago

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Working out some aches - Harper Geraldus x Harper Bor (E, one-shot, smut)

Bor, his thoughts jumped in as he took in the head of mussed, cropped russet hair as the Harper stepped in the door, carrying a crate in both hands. He’d pushed the door open with a thigh, and as he looked up and met Geraldus’ eyes, gave a bright, warm smile. It had a slight tinge of apology to it; as it sometimes did - but Geraldus felt an immediate little wave of relief to see him, accompanied with a little blossom of something warmer. Something comforting. It was getting bigger every time.

Harper Bor offers an aching Geraldus a massage and a little comfort as they set up a safe house. (A short smut one shot - Harper Geraldus x Harper Bor)

Cross posted to AO3 here, or under the cut

Geraldus placed the last of his plate armour upon the makeshift pile atop the chair, and considered that perhaps he’d need some better way of storing this now; straightening up and feeling an immediate stab in his shoulder as he did so.

Gods he ached - it felt like near every muscle in his body was spent and groaning at him, particularly his shoulders and back - too many hours on his feet, and too many hours with all that heavy steel weighing on his already weary limbs.

His fingers travelled instinctively to his shoulder and he let himself move back and take a seat on the bed, now the chair was busily occupied with his belongings, seeking out the source of that stabbing feeling in an effort to stop the sharp pain.

He let out a little a hiss as he did; it was so tender it hurt just to touch.

He was still tentatively prodding at it with his fingertips as the door pushed open, and Geraldus’ heart jolted, skipping just a beat or two, as it now always did when another entered the room whether he wanted it to or not.

It had a slight tinge of apology to it; as it sometimes did - but Geraldus felt an immediate little wave of relief to see him, accompanied with a little blossom of something warmer. Something comforting.

It was getting bigger every time.

“Sorry, should’ve knocked,” Bor said as he let the door slide closed beside him with a click, “I - uh, had my hands full.”

He shrugged his shoulders a little, jutting his chin towards the crate in his hands as explanation - it was large and awkward, but not heavy.

At least, he’s making it look like it’s not heavy, Geraldus considered, thinking by now he should’ve learnt his lesson on this one after the several times that he’d been handed an object or another by Bor that he’d then found himself fumbling because it wasn’t anywhere near as light as he expected.

His eyes glanced briefly - drawn as he followed Bor’s jut of the chin towards the lines of his arms, catching on the shifting of muscles, and Geraldus averted them quickly.

“More equipment?” Geraldus asked, looking around their little makeshift hide-out - this new safe house they’d started building that at this point mostly amounted to a bed and crates upon crates of unsorted equipment, books and pots, salvaged from the various other hideouts where …

A bad thought, Geraldus quickly tried to think of something else, he’s been doing so much of this alone, you’ve been useless, don’t spiral now.

“Food,” Bor said as he stepped past him now, placing the crate beside the chair and straightening up then, shooting Geraldus a sidelong grin, “we can’t sort through all this on an empty stomach. People need to eat.”

He slung his pack down then, too, a little contemplative look on his face.

“Well, they’ll need to when they get here, anyway,” he added.

Geraldus nodded. This was good - a good distraction - he’d always liked cooking. Maybe that was something useful he could do with himself for now.

His fingers lingered on the sort spot a moment or two longer as Bor took stock of the room before turning to him.

His smile dipped a little as his gaze landed on Geraldus’ fingers - absently massaging that one pain - and he frowned.

He stepped closer, reaching for Geraldus’ shoulder, and Geraldus froze again - an abrupt notch of tension in his gut; from the prospect of being touched, or Bor’s sudden closeness?

He wasn’t totally sure, but he swallowed as Bor’s eyes met his, that smile returning again.

“Shoulder giving you trouble?” He asked.

Geraldus took a little breath - schooling back the tension, and nodded.

“A little,” he admitted, pulling back his hand, and Bor leant in - invited to look by its removal.

“Hmm,” Bor murmured as he gave it a good look, getting close enough that Geraldus could smell him - a bit of that fresh cut wood and pleasant musk he carried - but not touching.

“You need to adjust the weight distribution around your pauldrons I think,” he said, and Geraldus followed his eyes to see that indeed - the skin of his shoulder was freshly marked with an angry red indent where the armour had dug into the flesh.

“Might be you need different straps where they connect to your mail,” Bor added, “probably they’re just a bit tight - always are when the leathers are new; it needs a bit of wear and tear to loosen up.”

Geraldus felt a bit of heat creeping up his cheeks - his neck and ears - which he wished he could get a handle on, but knew he wouldn’t be able to.

“Thanks; it’s… a little painful,” Geraldus said, “maybe there’s something I can use round here…”

He found himself shifting away a little, an instinct to move slightly further from Bor he couldn’t really explain - not that he didn’t want his company, the opposite, really - Bor’s presence had never felt intrusive.

No, it was from the gentle squirming feeling in his gut from the way Bor was smiling at him.

But the abrupt movement ignited more of those aches and pains, though; and he winced as he did - feeling his muscles protesting for it.

“More than just the shoulder I think,” Bor concluded, tilting his head to one side - brow quirking just a little, “how bad is it?”

Geraldus let out a little sigh.

“I just overdid it with the lifting I think,” he said, “and the plate’s heavy…”

Bor let out a small laugh at that.

“Heavier than most of the things we carried today,” he said, adding with another grin, “but if I looked as handsome as you do in it, I suppose I’d wear it to lift boxes, too.”

There was a tease in that, Geraldus knew; he was starting to understand that Bor’s practical nature tended to come accompanied by a dash of dry levity, but he was too busy thinking about how he’d used the word ‘handsome’.

“Well, you won’t get any rest in that state,” Bor said, and to Geraldus’ surprise, leant down, quickly unlacing the top of his boots and starting to kick them off, “shuffle up.”

Geraldus stared at him for a moment as Bor stepped out of them, and gestured for him to move.

“I -” Geraldus was confused.

“Let’s get those aches and pains worked out,” he said, “if you’re up for a massage?”

Geraldus knew he’d flushed again immediately at that - feeling the rush of blood to his cheeks.

“Oh, that’s ok, you don’t have to…” he went to protest, but Bor shrugged, and started climbing onto the bed with him.

“C’mon recruit,” he said, smiling as if this were all no big deal at all, “it’ll be twice as bad in the morning if you ignore it, and we don’t have a fancy bathtub here.”

He considered that.

“Well, not yet,” Bor added, and then, knelt on the bed beside him, hands planted firmly on his thighs and head tilted, gave him a look that said ‘so, are we doing this?’

Geraldus swallowed. All his reasons to refuse the offer falling out of his head, and thinking that they’d … well, they’d touched a bit; they’d … but not like that. Not quite so intimately.

“Alright,” he nodded, and shuffled back as suggested - not sure what he did now, so he let Bor take the lead.

Bor grinned, and, reaching forward - planted a hand firmly on his shoulder, guiding him to move back a little and turning him as he did so that Geraldus was sat between his thighs, something he was altogether too aware of.

“Right,” Bor said, matter of factly, “try to relax a bit - let’s see what we can do.”

His hands were on his back now, starting at his shoulders, where his skin was exposed at his neck line.

Geraldus knew he'd immediately locked up at the touch; he couldn't stop it. Behind him, he felt Bor’s little laugh - it tickled against his ear.

His fingers weren't soft - a little calloused, used to work and labour - but they were warm, and strong, and firm.

“Or do the opposite of relax,” he said, and Geraldus could hear his grin in his words, “up to you.”

“I'm sorry,” Geraldus apologised immediately - automatically - trying to will his shoulders to sag and relax even though they weren't doing.

“Don't worry,” Bor replied, “it's easier said than done.”

Bor’s fingers dug in now, deep into his tissue; immediately painful against the sore fibres of his muscle.

He worked into them with rolling ministrations, digging deep circles with the bed of his thumb.

First across the shoulders, taking particular care around Geraldus’ shoulder blades, a thorough job - no space left untended to, but gods was it sore work.

Geraldus knew already it was worth it, though. He could feel the buzzing, burning sort of feeling Bor’s hands were leaving in a trail behind - where aches were being steadily vanquished and replaced by fresh, loose heat.

Most of all, Geraldus liked that Bor was touching him - enjoying the sensation of his hands through the thin material of his undershirt.

Bor hit a particular knot, even more tight and painful than the rest right there in the small of his back, and Geraldus yelped, unable to stop himself.

Bor paused.

“You ok recruit?” He asked, hesitating a little, “If it's too much, I can stop -”

Geraldus quickly cut him off

“N-no, please,” he said, “I'm ok. It's good - it's just…”

“A bit painful?” Bor asked.

Geraldus nodded.

“Sorry,” he said - feeling a little note of gloom - he'd made him stop when that was the last thing he wanted. Bor’s hands were splayed on his back, and they felt warm - good.

Geraldus knew he kept shying away from touch, even when Bor offered it so freely, and Bor was altogether too friendly and sure of himself to be offended by it - maybe he’d not even really noticed - but now he’d allowed this he was realising how badly he’d needed it.

How badly he wanted it.

“No, I'm sorry,” Bor said, leaning forward a little bit so he was hovering over his shoulder or look at him sidelong, “I can forget my own strength sometimes - so you have to say when it hurts too much - alright?”

Geraldus nodded again, but kept quiet, in case he managed to say sorry again somehow.

“It should hurt a little, though,” Bor smiled at him, “it's how you know it's working.”

It was a good smile - Bor’s. Warm and wide but not too bright, not false - and it made little dimples in his cheeks.

It was the first thing he’d noticed about him, when the fog had cleared enough for him to start noticing all the many things about Bor that now rattled gently in his mind.

Geraldus found himself smiling back - it was hard not to.

“I'll say, if it's too much,” he said, “please, don’t stop.”

Bor nodded, face going a little more serious - back to business.

“Alright; shout something though, I won't be able to tell if the yelps are good or bad ones. Say … carrots, or something.”

“Carrots?” Geraldus smiled a bit more.

“Something you don't say often - but easy to remember. I couldn't think of anything clever,” Bor said, “and you don't seem the cursing type.”

Geraldus let out a little laugh, which, seeing Bor’s small smile as he pulled back again, he suspected had been the plan.

Bor got back to work, continuing his journey down Geraldus' spine, moving down now to his sides, the well of his back.

Geraldus tried to fight the yelps; but couldn't quite stop the small flinches, hisses and whimpers as Bor worked across him steadily.

Geraldus tried to focus on the room; the stillness of this space, the shards of early afternoon light catching dust through the shuttered windows - tried to lean into the pain and the heat of his body.

… and Bor's - too - his warmth at his back, his fingers leaving their still simmering, burning trail all over him - but his efforts were working. Geraldus’ body was starting to hum as Bor touched him more and more.

Geraldus felt him shuffle a little bit, manoeuvring himself closer, working slow, steady circles at the base of his spine as his fingers dug into his sides - and then heard him inhale - before letting out a slow, measured exhale.

He heard Bor swallow a little; sensed the gentle lolling forward of Bor’s head - a moment of hesitation as he tilted closer - lingering an inch or so from Geraldus' neck.

Could he feel that too? The humming feeling - as he touched him?

Geraldus turned his head just slightly, and glimpsed Bor biting at his own lower lip - thinking. His hands had gone still.

“I …” Bor spoke up, leaning in now a little further, tilting his face in turn, occupying the space in the crook of Geraldus' neck his own tiny movement had created. A careful push and pull between them that was making Geraldus' gut twist.

A welcome draw, tugging down through him - the stirring twitch through his base as he felt himself wanting.

Bor's voice was low, gentle, as he spoke against his neck - and he could feel the words on his skin.

“I could help a little more, to relieve the tension, if … if you want that?” he said.

As he did, his hand moved down now from his side to his hip, and held there - a gentle invitation.

Geraldus swallowed, tilting a little further, meeting Bor's eyes looking up at him; their hazel shade a little greener than his own, particularly in this low light, searching his gaze.

Geraldus leant closer - clearing the small space between them - brushing his lips against Bor’s and feeling him exhale against them.

Geraldus felt the lilt in his gut, at the sound of his breath.

Just barely a kiss - tentative, unsure - but it had felt like exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted Bor to keep touching him.

He wanted what he was offering; and could feel himself growing more and more eager by the second.

Bor leant into him, kissing him in earnest - much less tentative than Geraldus had been - a murmur in his throat. He parted his lips with his tongue; his intentions clear.

He pressed against him as he did; and Geraldus could feel him growing hard against his tailbone as they kissed, a solid, gentle pressure against his body.

Geraldus reached for his hand at his hip, sliding his fingers over it and drawing it down between his legs; inviting him to touch him there - and felt Bor's fingers graze across his cock before circling about his length firmly.

“Mnn-” Geraldus' sound of surprise at the feel of his touch was swallowed against Bor's lips - and he felt Bor grin, breaking the kiss.

“I guess that’s a yes?” he asked, looking up at him a little though his dark auburn lashes, an enticing expression.

Geraldus nodded, moving Bor's hand a little with his own; guided by instinct more than anything, wanting more, already feeling himself aching against his grip - another ache desperate to be touched and mended.

“You're sure?” Bor asked.

It was the desire talking; the desperation - but Geraldus had never been more sure.

“Yes,” Geraldus replied quickly, “please - Bor-”

“Then…” Bor trailed as he gripped him tighter, working down his length slowly, firmly through the fabric, smiling against his shoulder.

“I shall do no less?” Geraldus guessed - a Harper’s watchwords, their watchwords, and Bor’s preferred promise to him. He could feel himself tilting against him, shifting his hips slowly to move with his touch.

“I shall do no less,” Bor echoed, breaking into a grin and then suddenly moving - releasing his grip and hurriedly grabbing at Geraldus' shirt, pulling it up - tugging it over his shoulders.

Geraldus scrabbled free of his clothes quickly, sliding out of his breeches as Bor undressed just as hastily - catching each other for small, snatched kisses as they went - Geraldus' heart racing - his body still burning from Bor’s touch and the sudden rush of what was happening.

He felt dizzy - giddy almost as Bor scrabbled off the bed a moment, totally naked now - and took in the sight of him as he moved over to his pack by the chair.

He'd seen glimpses of his body before; but this was different - the hard, wired muscles of his arms - his broad shoulders - the dark russet hair across his chest and arms - trailing down his navel to his…

Geraldus took a breath as Bor turned, smiling at him again - that same kind, warm smile - filled now with something more. An eager glitter in his eyes as he looked at him in turn, appreciating.

He returned to the bed; leaning down to kiss him as he did; a simple, sweet sort of kiss.

“Trust me?” He asked.

Trust wasn’t something Geraldus had a lot of any more - but Bor -

All Bor had done since they’d met was give him reasons to trust him.

Geraldus nodded.

Bor climbed back onto the bed behind him, drawing him back into his embrace a moment, letting those same hands he'd used to draw across his back rove across the rest of his body now in tender exploration.

He kissed at his neck, a few sharp catches with his teeth as he reached to his side.

He'd retrieved a bottle from his pack, and unstopped it now with one hand, taking Geraldus' hand with the other and turning it palm side up - filling his palm with the slick liquid.

“Touch me,” he said, firm - drawing his hand now behind his back, guiding Geraldus to his own length.

Geraldus' heart was pounding - a furious rhythm in his sternum as he slowly circled his fingers around Bor's cock - felt the heat of the skin - so hard - and drew across it, coating him. He could feel Bor’s pulse against his fingers, throbbing against his touch.

Gods - he -

Bor's hand grazed across Geraldus’, taking some of the slick residue and sliding his hand down between them- carefully pressing into him with a finger - making Geraldus gasp.

A jolt, immediately, of pleasure at the sensation of it - Geraldus could feel him pressing his cock against him now, eager - Bor’s murmur of desire a low rumble in his throat, building as he moved against him.

Oh gods - Geraldus felt desperate already; now this was happening, a sort of mad feeling taking over his mind, he just wanted more - he wanted all this burning and aching to grow until it took him over completely.

Bor’s hands cupped under his thighs, and with a simple, effortless movement he turned them both - moving Geraldus back to the headboard of the bed, drawing him into his lap.

He guided his hand to the headboard behind - his eyes trailing over Geraldus - a gentle flush of blood on his cheeks too - mottled and clouded - his muss of dark red hair a little ruffled and messy.

“Hold on,” he said, closing Geraldus fingers around the headboard, manoeuvring him easily - hooking Geraldus' ankle over his shoulder and then, lifting him - holding him up with his strength.

His eyes locked onto Geraldus' and held them intently as he tilted his own hips up and drew Geraldus' down, sheathing into him slowly.

Geraldus cried out - letting Bor guide him onto his length - feeling the rush of pleasure as he penetrated him - this first thrust careful, inch by inch.

Hilted into him now, he tested another slow thrust, keeping his focus on Geraldus' eyes - searching his face, even as his own brows knitted together, and his breathing grew ragged, laboured.

“You're ok?” He asked. His voice was thick, deep - a little rumble to it.

Geraldus knew he had no words. He could only manage a hurried nod, biting down on his lip to hold the whimpers.

Bor let out a sound of his own, a rasping groan in his throat as he thrust again; his firm grip guiding Geraldus' hips onto him, harder, deeper this time.

Then harder still - faster - his bucking thrusts growing more and more hungry. Geraldus gripped the headboard tightly - feeling with every thrust another heady notch of pleasure.

Bor was growling, now; there was no other word for it - a softer, thicker sound than the guttural roar Geraldus had heard him make in the heights of battle, but no less powerful in how it shook through him.

The growl broke into a moan as he worked into him, desperate now, sweat on his brows - beading on his chest - his tight grip on Geraldus’ tightening - almost bruising around his hips as he thrust.

He closed the space between them, pulling Geraldus down hard onto him and seeking his lips in a crushing kiss.

Geraldus returned it dizzily; feeling like he might be on fire in this moment - the heat of them both so great.

Bor kissed him and kissed him, his kiss yearning and filled with eager moans.

He pulled free of him, and Geraldus felt almost weightless as Bor lifted him now, turning him around quickly and drawing him back to his lap - thrusting into him again before Geraldus’ whirling mind and racing heart had even caught up.

Geraldus gripped the headboard again, feeling Bor gripping his cock with one hand, the other still on his hips, helping guide him against his unrelenting, deep thrusts.

Bor's circled grip on his cock matching those circling bucks of their bodies, driving Geraldus to that precipice of pleasure - taking him over the edge as his body was overwhelmed with it all - the heat, the pleasure - the feel of him.

Geraldus cried out as he broke; unable to hold on any longer against it - releasing across the bed with a quake through his thighs - a rush through him of everything all at once, and then nothingness in its wake.

No unwanted thoughts, no more aching, no pain. Just bliss.

Bor was still bucking into him, driving himself to his end as Geraldus let that bliss wash through - hearing the firm impacts of their colliding bodies, feeling the digging grip of his fingers only distantly as his mind drifted in it.

Then, Bor pulled from him; that roar unimpeded - louder, reverberating through the air as he came across the sheets.

A moment later, Geraldus felt Bor’s arm - hot and balmy with sweat, but strong, circling about his waist and pulling him back.

In a simple movement, Bor dragged him back with him, pulling them both to collapse at the foot of the bed, away from the mess they'd made of the rest - panting.

Geraldus felt absolutely boneless as he let himself collapse against him; his head resting in the crook of his shoulder - feeling Bor's heaving chest beneath him - and the shaking of his ribs too - laughing a little - as he caught his breath.

Geraldus was smiling. He knew he was - as he lay there - all alight but entirely unwound; any last bits of tension and tightness in his body evaporated in this moment.

He let out a sigh; a happy one, for what was probably the first time in months.

Bor tilted his head a little awkwardly to plant a few small kisses on his brow, fussing away some locks of his dark hair as he did, stroking his fingers through them a little.

Geraldus closed his eyes; allowed himself to enjoy this. He didn't know how long this feeling would last - but he wanted to enjoy the glow whilst he could.

Bor said nothing, his breathing starting to steady - his little trickle of laughter settling, but smiling too.

Geraldus let himself turn into him a little; they were sweaty and a mess but he felt so … peaceful. Like he could just drift, now, and let sleep take him, without nightmares waiting on the other side.

Bor was stroking a hand down his back; the touch of his fingers now light, tender.

“... exciting enough to put you to sleep huh?” Bor asked.

Geraldus' eyes flew open - he blinked up at Bor, alarmed - but met Bor’s smile looking down at him, a little crinkle in one corner.

“You're teasing me,” Geraldus realised, and Bor’s smile grew.

“Just a little, recruit,” he said, his words laced with something warm and fond.

Geraldus nestled back in, immediately relieved.

Bor tugged him in a little closer, circling his arm around his back now to hold him to his side as they lay there.

“You can sleep;” he said, “and if you do, I'll take it as the great compliment it is.”

Geraldus smiled against his neck.

“Thank you,” he said and closed his eyes.

He gave himself a little time to take in his scent, his heat, and the gentle drum of his heart, as he did just that.

#harper geraldus #bg3 geraldus #bg3 harper geraldus #bg3 harper bor #harper bor #harper bor x harper geraldus #geraldus x bor #bor x geraldus #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #roaving stuff

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spotsupstuff · 2 years ago

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Does Boreas truly love his family or does he simply see it as a responsibility to take care of them simply because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you have family? How does he react when he loses them in the canon timeline?

well, when Zephyr fell and went dark he was messed up by it so badly he never really got out of it even after he takes up raising and caring for batflies. he's so used to feeling anger all the time and hardly anything else that he doesn't know how to deal with the feelings Zephyr's passing makes him go through. he essentially becomes paralyzed in the grief, which is actually the main thing that destroys Mission Self-preservation

that's what this meme basically addresses-

if he socialized better, wasn't caught only in his tiny little circle and refused any relationship from others like Orion, he could've addressed that crippling emotional agony that comes with passing of a loved one. time won't heal you well without medicine

Boreas is the first one Euros tells about his second Rot

another tragedy he won't be able to cope with. Euros' last broadcast is singing into the frequencies, for anyone still alive and capable to listen to him for the last time. B and some more others come together and answer his calls, sing to him until his power fails and Euros goes dark

if he didn't love the boy, the man who doesn't like to sing much wouldn't come to mourn with a ballad at the funeral

his anger at Notos' blindness is inspired by my parents whenever my disability becomes the topic of a conversation. they are so so angry i've been hurt this way. nobody should have to be disabled, we are supposed to be okay. so Boreas loves Notos unbelievably much and his anger at the injustice done to her is an evidence of it. he doesn't get to call it before it collapses like with Euros because the communications are down and something tells him that it wouldn't really want to see him in its final moments upright either way. after Zephyr's collapse he became even more prickly including to his loved ones since he can't deal with it and that ended with Notos replying in kind. it's his fault that the two drifted away, but he still loves that kid

i dunno where i've seen it but in some film i think there was a scene of an addict dad and his kid, POV the kid. the dad shouted and cursed and blamed the kid for his state and for his grief, probably shattered an alcohol bottle too, then he realized what he just did while the kid cowered in the corner. he was *horrified*. he came to the kid and hugged them softly, crying and apologizing, begging for forgiveness. the child was just scared, wide eyed in confusion. that's what Boreas and Notos' relationship ends up carrying in spirit nearing the end of them all

they still love each other, but the other is doing such horrible dangerous decisions and acting even worse that it's impossible to stand and it hurts So damn much to space away from it. to shoot a fiery glare towards him when on the good days he can be the epitome of safety. so it's complicated but the love Is there, making it hurt that much more

Haboob is the only one who sorts of falls into that "its just my responsibility to take care of you" field. i kind of think of Boreas like a lion. he will stay and protect his kids, play with them, but offspring of others will be killed (ofc he doesn't go That far with fellow Iterators). after Notos, the Anemoi were supposed to be a finished group. that's it. there's only four gods to be named after. so Haboob to him is like a kid he was forced to adopt, by people he absolutely loathes. while Euros learned how to love her, Boreas just learned how to take on the responsibility. being horrible to her was easier than anyone else, but surprisingly to him it still stung when Haboob had enough and essentially slammed the door in his face by leaving the Anemoi chat and blocking his frequency. didn't help that Notos followed soon after too, cuz at this point it loved Haboob more than whatever was Boreas becoming

he took note of the sting n at some point figured out that he did actually love the kid. spent too long with her chatting with Euros and Notos in the back of his mind to not accept her into the family properly. in the off string post-MA au them addressing their relationship is one of the more important plot points

#spot says stuff #rw #oc tag #ask to tag #oc: boreas' blessing #ultimately Orion gets a reaction out of him too. though he doesnt wanna have much to do with him outside of work its hard to completely-#-deny all the time theyve actually spent together. thousands and thousands of years together. working through things no matter how shitty-#-the Ancients were. theyve gone through a War together and Orion was almost Lost in that #Ori is kinda pissy with Boreas over being used like some secretary- unfairly overworked he basically does everything that Boreas or Zeph-#-are meant to do but Zeph is understandable. so thats another relationship B unknowingly has and is treating horrible as a result #boreas is not a good man ill say it again gjksdljlm But it is possible to worm under his plating -looks at Haboob n Sparru-#love me some super complicated mindboggling characters. hes a fucking Individual

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