#he doesnt remember me telling him

[stiffyck]

Okay what if the winners got to meet previous versions of themselves through the life games.

Like grian meets no one. He didn't have any previous "versions".

Scott meets 3rd life Scott.

Pearl meets 3rd life and last life pearl.

Martyn meets 3rd life, last life and double life Martyn.

Scar meets 3rd life, last life, double life and lim life him-

This whole thing was an idea that I got just because I was thinking about ll and sl scar because they were both so lonely like wtf and I just though about a scene that would be so. Grips chair.

Ll: "We won?"

Sl: "Yeah"

Ll: "Did we have allies? Friends?"

Ll scar probably thinks sl scar won only because he had allies to support him. He knows what its like being lonely and he hopes no one has to go through that loneliness. And he wants to be optimistic for once that sl scar, future him, gets allies, gets friends.

He tries to hope and then he sees the look on sl scars face. Or maybe sl scar tries to lie- maybe he tries to say they had allies.

Ll scar sees right through him. He's him after all. Maybe he's always gonna he lonely anyway

[sistersofsilver]

HEY WAIT. DOES ICARUS KNOW ABOUT HIS COUSIN?????

oh my god. does he know about perdix??? i too would have a complex fucking relationship in terms of my talent in comparison to my father. i also wouldnt rename daedalus hammer to icarus hammers not only because of the "reputation" and the self confidence issues. but also literally knowing your father murdered your cousin because he couldn't stand the competition that's...

oh my god, does he know?????

[moeblob]

Erin, to her crush: You're a dick

Mason, the crush: I won't argue! But to clarify -

[blubujollyrancher]

that relatable moment when you assumed the girl you used to care for perished in a tragic lab ablaze incident and only realized she still lived when you stumble upon her years later after you've erased yourself from everyone's memories and now she no longer remembers you

[lanayrutower]

this keeps me up at night btw.

[icys-junkyard]

Ingo was eeby deebied clean out of the Pokémon universe and is now hanging out with the wrong purple cat creature

I made an Ingo player in ACNH recently and I’m stuck imagining this normally proportioned, probably 6ft Human Guy hanging out with these 2ft chibi animals.

 At least the worst he has to face here is wasps and the occasional angry arachnid.

Maybe skill in catching Pokémon will translate to skill in catching fish and bugs. He’ll be rich in no time.

[the-kneesbees]

just watched my brother graduate

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[tytonnidaie]

well i think an nge au with vash would be fire. if u even care

[sqlmn]

Ananza is the wind deity, though she's not the first with that honor. Originally the elder gods selected a man as their wind deity but after he witnessed Oh and Fulj being punished he requested to relinquish his role. Basically asking them for a mortal death rather than immortality. They obliged since the deities exist to help humans and a miserable deity won't do the job properly so no need to keep a deity bound to a task they don't want to do.

So Ananza was selected as a replacement. Fulj has no recollection of the first wind deity and Ananza has already been told by the fire deities that it wasn't Fulj's fault but she was the final straw for the former wind deity. So, Ananza doesn't hold any dislike towards Fulj and actually really likes listening to her talk. Ananza loves to dance and wander around her city so when Fulj stops by to visit, she listens to Fulj's adventures while they roam the city.

Because there are two fire deities and one can stay in their city while the other wanders and because Fulj no longer has a city to be focused on, the three like to visit the other cities to check in. Ohime and Ohiwe really like to visit Ananza while Fulj prefers to visit Ymber. While Ananza likes Ohiwe, Ohime, and Fulj, she really isn't fond of the ice deity or Ymber. She doesn't like to scramble for topics and ice/Ymber don't start conversations enough so it's a bother to Ananza to try forcing friendliness. She loves light hearted stories though and Fulj and the fire deities excel at that type of story.

(Ohime and Ohiwe sometimes call her Nana and on that note it's lore in the tags time)

[todayisafridaynight]

I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh

hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]

i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[kingcunny]

alicent coming to visit viserys wearing her dead mothers dress and he immediately sends her away so HE can put on HIS dead mothers dress and masturbate while crying

[anxiously-sidequesting]

I keep thinking about that Schismist Soldier (because he's a meow meow) and in the possible event that we may never see him again I decided to add a PART THREE to his saga to eventually marry i mean defeat the Young Wizard once and for all. So buckle up for this messed up love/hate story.

We start off on his relaxing vacation that he promised everyone he would take after his second defeat at the hands of his One True Nemesis. He needed a break from his obsession i mean his career and all those thoughts about us isn't really good for him now is it??? So he's going to go to whatever the Wizard version is for Peru to take his mind off things! What fun!

But it doesn't work :((( because everything, EVERYTHING reminds him of The Young Wizard. The sheer AUDACITY to haunt his every waking moment, his thoughts and dreams when he was trying to FORGET you!!! He can't even relax when he's thinking about YOU all the time!!! Ugh!!!

So he just says "Alright fuck it I guess" and he decides (for the 80th time) that he's going to get rid of you PERMANENTLY this time, so that he could finally triumph over you and then be free! So he hatches up a plan, see? A genius plan, a plan that will SURELY cause you the most humiliation and agony possible!!!

He is going to enroll. In the very school that you started out as a fledgling. He will apply to study in your primary Magic School and he will quickly climb the ranks, proving to be a BETTER wizard than you ever were!! He'll RUIN your reputation amongst your peers using his dazzling intellect and unmatched skills, and then when the time is right he'll BEAT you at your own game, making you weep and cry in shame and fright before he FINALLY finishes you off!!! IT'S THE PERFECT CRIME!!!!

Que the Schismist Soldier learning the third rank spell of your primary magic school (Storm Shark in my case) and then he just cackles maniacally with crazed eyes before he fucks off into his dorm to bask in his future glory. The people that know him think he's funny and weird. He mutters our name over and over again at lunch and people just think he's a fan. He draws multiple pictures of us and furiously crosses them out with red ink and nobody gives a shit. Let him have his fun I guess

(I like to imagine that he doesn't even unmask himself when he goes undercover as a student of Ravenwood, he just straight up shows in his Schism armor and people think he's cosplaying as someone they've never heard of before. He truly is pathetic and I love him dearly for it)

[musubiki]

does lime ever cry about anything or is angry more of his emotion? cause in all the childhood limochi comics mochi seems to be more the overflowing emotional one and lime is the more repressed on even back then. does that change at all ?

good catch!!! youre correct little mochi was VERY much the cry easy child. even if it was a little inconvenience or when she was angry the tears would flow!! not that she was a whiny brat but any time she got upset she couldnt stop the tears lol

and yes lime channels his negative emotions into anger. baby lime was very "haha REAL men dont cry!!!" type and even as he got older he recognizes "okay yeah everyone cries no big deal hahah" but theres still that underlying mindset. that being said hes a very dry anger type, so it takes a lot to actually get tears to come out, usually the only people hed ever cry for or to is his family + mochi.

the only time we actually SEE him cry is whatever the point is where all his pent up resentment about mochi leaving all of them without any word or warning comes out!! and as SOON as his eyes start watering he just freezes he cant even get anymore words out once he gets to that point

(and actually tried to up and run once the tears started but mochi wouldnt let him. and thats the only time we see lime cry -w- )

[whispers-of-masser]

Poor Form

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The empty, untouched bedroll.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's right, and you both know it.

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

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

"Spar with me."

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

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

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

Metal, arcing toward your sword arm.

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

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

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

It was thrilling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Careless.

But there was still a chance.

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

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

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

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

Now. Now. Now.

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

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

The tussle that followed was a blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stalemate.

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

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

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

You were in worse shape than you'd thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A reflective sheen, a gleam of crimson –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh..."

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

"Yay! Heh."

"Horker stew for you, Nebarra?"

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

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

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

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

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

...to Nebarra.