#Hall of Heavy Metal History

[dirjoh-blog]

Epic Rock-Episode 21: Van Halen-Why Can't this be Love.

“Why Can’t This Be Love” is a song by Van Halen for their seventh studio album, 5150 The song was released as the lead single from 5150 through Warner Bros. Records. It was the group’s first single with lead vocalist Sammy Hagar, who replaced founding member David Lee Roth. The band, and especially Eddie van Halen, took a massive risk with this song. Not only had they replaced the immense…

[nasa]

Let's Explore a Metal-Rich Asteroid 🤘

Between Mars and Jupiter, there lies a unique, metal-rich asteroid named Psyche. Psyche’s special because it looks like it is part or all of the metallic interior of a planetesimal—an early planetary building block of our solar system. For the first time, we have the chance to visit a planetary core and possibly learn more about the turbulent history that created terrestrial planets.

Here are six things to know about the mission that’s a journey into the past: Psyche.

1. Psyche could help us learn more about the origins of our solar system.

After studying data from Earth-based radar and optical telescopes, scientists believe that Psyche collided with other large bodies in space and lost its outer rocky shell. This leads scientists to think that Psyche could have a metal-rich interior, which is a building block of a rocky planet. Since we can’t pierce the core of rocky planets like Mercury, Venus, Mars, and our home planet, Earth, Psyche offers us a window into how other planets are formed.

2. Psyche might be different than other objects in the solar system.

Rocks on Mars, Mercury, Venus, and Earth contain iron oxides. From afar, Psyche doesn’t seem to feature these chemical compounds, so it might have a different history of formation than other planets.

If the Psyche asteroid is leftover material from a planetary formation, scientists are excited to learn about the similarities and differences from other rocky planets. The asteroid might instead prove to be a never-before-seen solar system object. Either way, we’re prepared for the possibility of the unexpected!

3. Three science instruments and a gravity science investigation will be aboard the spacecraft.

The three instruments aboard will be a magnetometer, a gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer, and a multispectral imager. Here’s what each of them will do:

Magnetometer: Detect evidence of a magnetic field, which will tell us whether the asteroid formed from a planetary body

Gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer: Help us figure out what chemical elements Psyche is made of, and how it was formed

Multispectral imager: Gather and share information about the topography and mineral composition of Psyche

The gravity science investigation will allow scientists to determine the asteroid’s rotation, mass, and gravity field and to gain insight into the interior by analyzing the radio waves it communicates with. Then, scientists can measure how Psyche affects the spacecraft’s orbit.

4. The Psyche spacecraft will use a super-efficient propulsion system.

Psyche’s solar electric propulsion system harnesses energy from large solar arrays that convert sunlight into electricity, creating thrust. For the first time ever, we will be using Hall-effect thrusters in deep space.

5. This mission runs on collaboration.

To make this mission happen, we work together with universities, and industry and NASA to draw in resources and expertise.

NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory manages the mission and is responsible for system engineering, integration, and mission operations, while NASA’s Kennedy Space Center’s Launch Services Program manages launch operations and procured the SpaceX Falcon Heavy rocket.

Working with Arizona State University (ASU) offers opportunities for students to train as future instrument or mission leads. Mission leader and Principal Investigator Lindy Elkins-Tanton is also based at ASU.

Finally, Maxar Technologies is a key commercial participant and delivered the main body of the spacecraft, as well as most of its engineering hardware systems.

6. You can be a part of the journey.

Everyone can find activities to get involved on the mission’s webpage. There's an annual internship to interpret the mission, capstone courses for undergraduate projects, and age-appropriate lessons, craft projects, and videos.

You can join us for a virtual launch experience, and, of course, you can watch the launch with us on Oct. 12, 2023, at 10:16 a.m. EDT!

For official news on the mission, follow us on social media and check out NASA’s and ASU’s Psyche websites.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

new hs history teacher(/basketball coach ofc) steve who is being shown around the school by gym teacher chrissy.

she takes him around the building to show him where the teacher's lounge is, the cafeteria, what bathrooms to avoid at all costs, and to where her office is if he ever needs anything.

"If I'm not here, I'm probably in Robbie's class over in the language department."

"Robbie?"

"Robin, my partner. She officially teaches ASL, but she likes to join in on the others' lessons whenever she has downtime."

Finally, once they've covered the whole length of the school, she brings him to his room. "So this is you, and right next door is Eddie, our Criminalistics teacher." gesturing to the still-dark window of the door directly across from his in the alcove. 

There's polaroids covering nearly every inch of the outside of the door, pictures of what he can only assume are students with the same dark-haired man.

"Criminalistics?"

"It's a science elective," she explains, "It focuses on the basics of forensic science!"

"Wow that’s…really?"

She nods enthusiastically, "It’s super interesting,” she nods, moving to unlock the empty what-will-be history classroom. “Eddie’s here on even days, and in the music room on odd days for the guitar elective classes."

"Anything I should know about my wall neighbor?" he asks as she pushes the door open.

It looks like she's going to say no, but something flickers across her face and she winces minutely.

"Oh god, what is it?"

She looks at him sheepishly, "How do you feel about metal music?"

--

Since his tour in mid June, Steve's completely overhauled his classroom. 

The only room available to him was the one down here in the science hall, but he made do, plastering removable whiteboard contact paper to the tops of the lab tables and a little reminder at each spot for the students about his less-than-stellar hearing, to make sure they speak up when answering a question from the back of the room.

And ever since he got his room, he'd been waiting for the day he finally meets his neighbor.

He met Chrissy's Robbie the same day he had the tour, and they clicked instantly (No seriously, how did he ever function before Robin?). Chrissy had made the comment about them being platonic soulmates one night in August when they'd gone out for one too many drinks, and it's stuck ever since.

Speaking of: "What are you still doing here, dingus? It's almost five."

"Yeah, I know, I know," he says, waving her off.

Robin comes in from the hall and plops herself down on one of the table tops instead of helping him hang a map behind his desk. "You're still adding stuff to your walls?"

"Well, I haven't been here for a couple years already, Bobs," he grits out as he stretches up on his toes to hang the far corner of his map. Finally, the eyelet hooks over the many-times-painted-over hook embedded in the concrete wall. "So yes."

"Well you can finish up tomorrow, we," she emphasizes the word by dramatically waving the same sign with her hand between them, "Have a burger date to get to." 

--

The following day, the day before the school year officially starts, Steve arrives early to his classroom, only to find his neighbor's classroom lit up as well.

The be-polaroided door is propped open all the way, the sound of heavy drums and guitar streaming out the door along with the faint smell of moth balls and a spicy incense.

His own room forgotten, Steve steps through Mr. Munson's doorway.

Eddie is standing behind his desk at the front of the room, but hunched over it scribbling onto something.

When Steve's shoe squeaks against the tile floor, Eddie says "Hey, what do you think, identifying skeletal remains, or blood spatter first?" without looking up at him.

"Skeletons, of course." Eddie's head snaps up to look at him. His huge dark eyes are much more striking in person than in a photo. "Much more interesting, yeah?"

Eddie blinks at him. "You're not Chrissy."

"You're correct."

Eddie blinks again, "Who're you?"

"Oh, sorry, hi. I'm Steve. I'm your new neighbor." he gives the other man an awkward wave when he still doesn't move. "Sorry, should I--" he says, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb.

"No!" Eddie interrupts, standing straight and hurrying out from around his desk. 

He extends a hand and jogs lightly up to Steve. His pen is still laced into his fingers, the end of it chewed flat. "Oh shit, sorry, sorry," he tucks the pen behind his ear, "I'm Eddie. Munson."

"I know," Steve smirks, taking Eddie's hand. "I've been waiting to meet you."

"Oh have you?" he smirks.

"Yeah, Chrissy told me you're her best friend and I wanted your advice on maybe asking her out."

Eddie's face hardens immediately, the warm milk chocolate of his eyes curing into a solid dark, the easy smirk morphing into a cringe as he looks Steve up and down.

He opens his mouth to say something particularly scathing, Steve's sure, but he cuts him off before he can. "I'm kidding, man, I know she's with Robin."

His expression softens just a bit.

"Plus, she's not really my type anyway, even if I were hers."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I'm more into brunettes." Steve winks, finally releasing Eddie's hand. "I still have a bit more to get done, but I'll check in with you later?"

"Oh--yeah, for sure, I'll be here." Eddie stammers out, his cheeks tinged pink.

Steve fist pumps in his head as he heads to his door, You still got it, Harrington.

[primarisly-marooned]

first time posting a fic in this fandom aaaaaaa

warnings: none (but let me know if you think i should put something)

pairing: Titus x F!Reader

possible part one!

summary: Newly returned, and now Lieutenant, Titus finds himself adrift in his once home. In his wanderings as he struggles to find himself, he finds you.

tagging @vyzz-undercover @moodymisty and @beckyninja bc their writing got me into this fandom plz let me know if it was ok to tag you guys

bang bang

He had found you deep within the barge tending to some ancient mural. You were kneeling on the frigid ground, bent over and nearly touching the wall with your nose. Various paints and chemicals and tools lay scattered around in disorganized piles, a chaos only you understood to how they lay. It was an endless job, something that your family has been doing for generations. These murals were dusty and covered in layers of grime, splashes of what you're sure was once blood (human or not you remain uncertain), and chipped paint you'll have to color match once the wall is cleaned.

You had been here for hours already, having started just as the day shift ended and your fellow serfs went to their dorms, when you first heard him.

Normally nothing disturbed your work, having a preference for working during the simulated night cycle for that very reason. And this deep in the twisting halls it was rare to see anyone anyway. Much less one of the Emperor's Angels.

It was his footsteps that alerted you that you weren't alone, slow and heavy like a war drum. Boom, boom, boom. Your heart raced in surprised fear, never before had an Astartes traveled this deep within the ship in your memory.

You had never even met one before, but you knew the protocol. Scrambling upright on aching knees, back protesting as your joints crackled, you struggled to straighted your robe, internally lamenting that it wasn't even one of your cleaner ones.

His footsteps drew closer as you press your back against the wall, the frayed edges of you hood drawn down over your eyes, hands clasped in front of you as you dropped into a deep curtsey.

"My lord," you murmur hoarsely when you can see his shining ceramite boots at the edge of you vision. You haven't spoken for days, and your throat burns.

His steps pause in front of you and his gaze is like a heavy weight branding you with his attention. You freeze, thighs burning, when you see a massive gauntlet slowly reach past your head and touch the wall behind you.

The scrape of metal against the stone sounds like what you imagine artillery fire to sound like.

You're trembling now, legs shaking from holding your pose and you pray the Lord doesn't notice.

Then he spoke.

"I remember these battles told as stories when I was a boy." His voice is low, very nearly rumbling through you, shaking the air from your lungs. "You are restoring them."

It wasn't a question, but your mouth opened before your brain could catch up. "Y-yes, my Lord," you cough as discreetly as you could, throat clicking as you swallow. How long had it been since you had water? "It is my holy task to keep our great history alive."

Your legs were going to collapse, your shaking definitely noticeable now.

He was quiet for a moment before he was moving again, the hand against the wall coming around to tuck under your chin. Your helpless to the movement, rising from your suplication at the cold touch to your face. But he continues to nudge your face up.

Your eyes trace the intricate filigree of his chest plate and gorget, the gold almost tarnished against the deep blue of the Ultramarines. It made your fingers itch to restore it briefly before you caught sight of the Angel's face.

His skin was pale and weathered, small scars marking many fights. His service studs gleamed in the flicker lights of your meager candles, hair almost black in the shadows.

Then you saw his eyes.

His eyes were such a deep and clear blue, like nothing you have ever seen before. Not even the image you had once seen of the Avenging Son could compare, an almost blasphemous thought that you banished from your mind.

But when you looked deeper, breath still in you lungs, you saw more than just his stoic expression. He looked almost... lost. There was a darkness in his gaze that held you in pinned you in place better than if you had been bolted to the wall. An angry sort of... dare you say it...

Lonely. He looked lonely. Perhaps that why he stopped?

You shake yourself free from your thoughts as the Astartes moves back out of your space, air rushing into your lungs and clearing the fog from your mind. "My lord?"

He looks a second longer at you before he glances back at the wall. "How long until it is fully restored?"

It was said harshly, but the softening of his mouth gentled it.

"I-It's hard to say, my Lord," it was getting more difficult to speak, your voice cracking every other word. "No longer than a few weeks."

He hummed in what you could only assume was consideration, nearly subvocal as it vibrated your brain in your skull. "Very well then." He glanced back down at you and tilted one corner of his mouth up. Your heart sped up at the sight. "I look forward to your finished work."

As he walked away, leaving you stunned, you only had one thought in your dazed mind.

How the fuck am I supposed to finish this in less than a month?

[lexosaurus]

Gym 101

In which Valerie forces Danny to go workout with her

[ao3]

Characters: Danny & Valerie Warnings: None Wc: 2,230

****

"You're not engaging your core, Danny. What do I keep telling you?" Valerie sighed and put down her weight. "You're going to fuck up your knees if you don't slow down and do this right."

"And I keep telling you I don't even know what that means!" Danny snapped, not for the first time this week and probably not the last.

When he told Valerie that he, Danny Fenton, was also Danny Phantom, Danny had been expecting Valerie to be so mad at him that she never wanted to speak to him again.

And, well, she had been that mad at him. Very mad, in fact. So pissed, that for a minute, Danny was worried she was going to blast him off her roof.

He hadn't stuck around long after that.

And while he was beginning to make himself comfortable in the campground called, "Valerie's Cold Shoulder," he barely had two days to settle in before she had seemingly decided that enough was enough. 

Just before homeroom began, she strode to him in the hall, pulled him to the side—literally, she yanked him around the corner by his shirt sleeve—and demanded they start hitting the gym together.

"Because," Valerie had explained at his whining, and not patiently either, "I get that you have ghost powers, but your human half is such a twig. Seriously, Danny, do you know how much you're holding yourself back right now? If you actually tried strength training, I bet you'd level up pretty hardcore in ghost fights. Who knows? You might be able to train your reflexes to dodge one of Skulker's blasts from time to time."

And well, that bruise to both Danny's ghostly ego and his human teenage boy ego had been all he needed to agree to start working out with none other than his former rival turned ally, Valerie Gray.

"Stand up straight," Valerie ordered, pulling him back to his present world of pain.

He had no idea how Jazz and his mom liked doing this stuff. At the current moment, he was pretty sure the person who invented the concept of lifting weights was a giant masochist because there was simply no way in hell anyone throughout history would have ever said, "You know what sounds like the most fun thing ever? Let's take heavy objects, lift them, do a little movement, and then put them back down in the same spot we lifted them from!"

But apparently, he was the weirdo for not understanding why there was a dedicated fanbase of people who put a metal bar on their back, put some weights on the sides of the bar, squatted into a crouch, and then stood back up.

And repeated the process.

Again.

And again.

And again. Ten times, resting, and then ten more times.

Danny weakly stood, gripping the bar behind his shoulders like it was the only thing tethering his will to live to this plane of existence, and glared at Valerie through sweaty bangs. "Okay, standing. What next?"

"We godda fix your core."

"Be my guest," Danny said. He wasn't even sure if Valerie could fix something he'd never had to begin with, but if she truly wanted to, then...whatever. He'd lost by coming here, anyway.

Valerie scrutinized him as if he was some sort of science project that wasn't quite working out how she'd hoped. Which, thinking about it for a moment, he figured that was probably exactly what he was to Valerie. 

Then, without warning, she put her hand on his stomach.

Now, Phantom was largely considered a very suave and cool hero. Well, maybe Sam and Tucker would disagree, and sure there was a whole TikTok tag dedicated to videos of him falling into random objects, but still. There were enough random people around who would agree that Phantom was at least somewhat socially sufficient.

But Fenton on the other hand was very much not. He was an awkward, goofy teen. He wasn't popular, and he didn't exactly have a lot of girls fawning over him at every turn.

Which was why Valerie, his former girlfriend who maybe he still had some deeply buried feelings for, touching him so casually was setting off all sorts of alarm bells in his brain.

"...got it?" Valerie was saying.

Certainly, she had said something.

Something that Danny was supposed to be listening to.

Oh, shit. 

"Uh..." Danny tried to re-circuit his brain.

"Here, follow my lead. Okay? Breathe," she said. "Good. Now, tighten your abs."

Danny tried his best to follow.

"No, see, you're sucking in. Tightening your abs doesn't mean sucking in. It's like, okay, think of it this way. Try hardening your abs into a brick wall. Like, squeeze them together. Now—yeah, like that. Now, can you try adding your side and lower back into that brick wall too?"

"Try adding what?"

The corners of Valerie's lip twitched up. "The sides of your stomach? You have abs there too. And there are muscles in your lower back. That's all part of your core too. Remember what I said about your core's job to keep your body stable? Those muscles are all important for that."

"Valerie, I think you're really overestimating how in shape I am. I didn't even know there was more than one ab muscle, much less that there were abs on the sides of my body."

"Well, you have them, ghost boy."

"Doesn't help much if I can't feel them."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Well, just try your best."

"Yes, Ma'am." Danny did his best to follow her lead while also struggling to ignore the fact that her hand was still on his stomach. 

He was so glad Tucker wasn't here to see his face. He could only hope that Valerie had come to the conclusion that the redness he could feel burning from his cheeks was proof that he was way more out of shape than she thought he was. That was still pretty embarrassing, and likely not even all wrong, but he would take it over the truth.

"Okay, now reset your shoulders. Stop hunching so much," she said.

"But the bar feels weird," Danny defended.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll get used to it. Stop looking down so much. You want your spine to be straight."

"I know." 

Half of what Valerie had been telling him for the past week was to straighten his spine. He couldn't help it if his back was a visual representation of his many years of late-night gaming. 

"Okay, now squat down." She leaned forward, and her dark eyes were just inches from his own. "No—look at me the whole time. Don't drop your eyes to your feet."

Oh, his face was burning burning now.

He slowly lowered his body, focusing on staying balanced as best as he could. Having a bar on his back was still a new sensation, and Valerie was refusing to let him load any weight onto it. Apparently, everyone started from an empty bar until they got the hang of the motion. Danny wasn't sure if that was something Valerie was just saying to be nice to him, or if that was actually true. 

He did try asking, and she just got offended that he would dare think so low of her that she would lie about something gym-related, and then she told him to stop screwing around and focus on the exercise.

So, it was fifty-fifty at this point.

"Keep going down," Valerie instructed, stepping back and thankfully removing her hand from him in the process.

Seriously, that had been the longest several seconds of his entire life and half-life combined.

"But I thought you weren't supposed to go past ninety degrees or something?" Danny asked from his invisible chair-like position in his squat.

"No, that's a lie. I think they just tell that to people who have butt-wink or bad mobility or something."

"The hell is butt-wink? See, now I just think you're making stuff up."

"I'm not! It's actually something you're doing right now." Valerie pointed at him in the mirror. "See how your pelvis is tucking in and curving your lower back? That's butt-wink." She moved to stand next to him and lowered down in a squat. "See my lower back? It's straight. This is how you want to be."

Danny wasn't aware that working out would just give him more things to be self-conscious about. He tried to straighten his lower back, but it was almost impossible to do so without feeling like he was going to fall on his ass. "Okay, then how do I fix that?"

"Well, I'm not exactly a doctor, so I'm sure it could be caused by a few different things. But the most common one I've heard is that butt wink happens when your core is shit. But it could also just as likely be an ankle and hip flexibility issue too."

Danny rolled his eyes. "As we've established, my core is shit. And I'm not flexible at all. "

"Yeah, I know," Valerie lamented. "I can't believe you've been fighting as Phantom for all these years and you haven't gone to the gym even once. Isn't Sam really into working out or something? Why didn't you ask to be her gym buddy?"

"Because I value my life." Danny paused. "My half-life, whatever. Tucker worked out with her once to prepare for the President's fitness test they did freshmen year, and I didn't stop hearing about it for months. She's ruthless."

"You know what, I believe that."

"Yup," Danny grunted, lowering to do another squat.

Two down, about five million more to go.

People actually enjoyed lifting weights? They came to the gym willingly? As in, of their own volition?

They seriously sweated and lifted heavy objects in a room surrounded by a bunch of equally sweaty, smelly strangers who were lifting other objects? 

And they thought it was fun?

That seemed absurd.

Valerie scrunched her nose at him.

"What?" Danny asked, his voice teetering past the line between speaking normally and whining, but he was far too exhausted to care. "Why are you looking at me like that? What am I doing wrong now?"

"No, it's just—" Valerie tilted her head. "Try widening your stance more. And maybe try pointing your toes out a little bit. That should help with your form. I mean, ideally, your ankle mobility would be better, but given it's pretty shit right now, this might be the best fix."

"God, I'm hopeless. Just give me the word and I'll leave."

"Oh, stop. You're not hopeless. You just need to stretch more. And train more."

Danny shuffled his feet and bent down into another squat. Having a wider stand did make the squat feel easier, but he wasn't about to admit that to her. "No, I am definitely hopeless. It'll be a blow to my ego, but I think I can emotionally recover if I leave the gym right now."

Valerie punched his arm, though it had no real power to it. She'd long since stopped legitimately trying to hurt him. 

Nevertheless, he would have sooner let Skulker capture him than pass up an opportunity to verbally torment Valerie. "Wow, I can't believe my ally is trying to beat me up and murder me in public. Especially while I'm trying to better myself in the gym."

"Oh, shut up." Although she tried to look angry, Danny could see the corners of her lips quirk into a smile. "Alright, your form is looking a lot better. It's still not perfect, but it's way better than when we started."

"Thank god."

"Maybe in a few weeks we can start adding plates."

A few weeks?

He must have let his internal expression show, because she once again snapped with, "It's normal for people to only squat the bar when they first start. It's way more important to get proper form than to lift heavy. You see that guy over there?"

She nodded across the room at a man doing chest presses. He was using weights that Danny could only dream of, pumping them up and down with a confidence that Danny was sure rivaled even Dash.

So the man looked alright to Danny, but apparently, that was the wrong conclusion to come to, if Valerie's critical eye was any judge.

"See how his elbows are basically straight out from his body? And see how he's not extending his arms all the way when he presses? He's rushing through the exercise. It's bad form, and while it may feel cool to lift heavy, bulky weights, if you can't even do the exercise properly, you just end up looking like a fool." She turned back to him. "Remember, you're in a gym. That means you're surrounded by people who have been doing this shit for years. Trust me when I say you're not going to impress anyone by rushing through the exercises to try to look cool."

"Aye-aye, captain."

It wasn't like he was going to impress anyone with the way he was wobbling while attempting to squat the naked bar, anyway.

"Alright, that's enough of a rest, I think. This time, let's actually do eight reps."

"Literal torture."

"Keep the whining up, and I might just call my blaster out."

Danny could see it in her eyes that she wasn't joking.

And so, he began.

****

[read more of my fics here]

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard

*COD medieval au - Simon Riley x reader

cw: arranged marriage, dark themes, attempted sa & non-graphic sa but pls *read at your own discretion*, gore/violence, sexual themes, etc.

word count: 1.1k

“Again.”

You can’t help but to flinch at the sound of swords being drawn; it rings in your ears, echos in the recesses of your brain. The piercing, metallic clangs resound throughout the room-

How long had you been here, anyway? Judging from the sunlight that peers through the high transom windows, its golden rays giving the great hall an ethereal sort of glow, it must be nearing time for dinner-

“I’ve seen enough, thank you.”

With a dismissive wave, you rise from the bronze throne and turn on your heel, eyes focused straight ahead, fixated on the intricate carvings in the doors, your escape just within reach-

“Your Grace..”

General Leon’s voice is laced with exasperation and warning, and your long history with him is the only reason you halt, your handmaid nearly bumping into you as you turn again- the young woman struggling to rearrange the ridiculous train on your gown as the man speaks,

“You cannot continue on without a Queen’s Guard- His Grace demands the position be filled.”

Oh, of course. How thoughtful of your kind husband. The husband who only sees you when the physicians deem you fertile enough to produce an heir. The husband who you’re not even sure could pick your face in a crowd because he only ever fucks you from behind, your face pushed down into the animal furs beneath you.

The husband who killed your last guard, gods rest his soul.

Yes, I’m sure he’s very concerned for my safety..

You give a heavy sigh, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you feel the placating smile tug at your lips; the one you’re so, so good at. The practiced smile that puts everyone in the room at ease, the one you’ve perfected in your relatively short existence of being groomed for this very life.

The life everyone dreams of, a life of royalty, of the highest privilege and power- how little they truly know.

“Of course, please, let us meet the next one then.”

Taking your place upon the throne once again, you sit properly, prim and demure, just like you were taught. The very picture of perfection in your emerald colored silks, not a single hair out of place-

Yet, inside, you were wasting away, your thoughts boiling and raging, your anger smoldering just under the surface, like a vein of coal in the earth that’s been lit aflame- the embers never dying, but never able to turn into the inferno they so wishe to be.

You don’t bother to spare your gaze when the doors open with a low groan, the quiet footfalls that enter the space only really given away by the shifting of chainmail and armor.

They’re confident strides, you notice- long and steady, and without even seeing him yet, you can feel the energy shift around you, his presence seeming to fill every available void,

“Ser Simon Riley, Your Grace.”

With one look, you’re utterly struck by the imposing man walking towards you- shoulders and hips swaying with each deliberate step, left hand resting lazily on the hilt of his long-sword.

His armor plates are dark, obsidian in hue, so different from the usual flashy silver you see everywhere you look. He is a looming shadow in front of you, somehow as wide as he is tall, if that were possible- and his eyes. The skin around them have been smudged with kohl, making the mottled amber of his irises look preternatural, his unmoving gaze entirely focused on you, even when he bows,

“Your Majesty.”

Your mind screams danger, much like it would if a fully grown wolf had just sauntered through the doors, looking for its next meal- and yet, for as much fear as he inspires, there’s something that draws you in- like a siren singing to sailors lost at sea.

Returning his gesture, you gently nod, holding his eyes until the General calls him back to assume a fighting stance; and even then, you swear you see his head tilt just so, just enough to flash you an arrogant look as the guard takes his place across from him. Ser Simon must easily stand a head and a half taller than the other man, you think, his figure even more impressive than it was before.

The men exchange nods before drawing swords, their dance beginning the same as all the others, assessing and calculating each other until the guard makes the first move-

The heavy whoosh of his blade is dodged with little effort, the giant wraith of a man moving far faster than any of you expected. He gracefully ducks under the other’s still outstretched arm, placing himself in the perfect position to swing his own sword towards his opponent's exposed neck- a maneuver surely meant to behead if this were anything other than a mock duel.

“Reset-”

“No.” You stand abruptly, stepping down from the throne much to your own surprise, “Ser Simon, what experience do you have as a Royal Guard?”

“Your Grace, this is-”

With a raised hand, you quiet the General, watching the mysterious knight sheath his sword once more, bowing again as he faces you,

“None, Your Majesty.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

“What experience do you have then?”

His head tilts to the side, and you watch the other guards tense when he takes a single step closer, those damned eyes gleaming down at you with a hunger you’ve never quite seen before,

“Battle, Your Grace. I’ve seen far more than most.”

This time, it’s you moving towards him, and when you step closer, the Kingsguard follows suit, though it seems nothing goes unnoticed by the towering specter.

“Well, Ser, I do not go into battle.. You might be better suited for my husband’s army, no?”

You watch the very corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, his gaze narrowing in amusement, and you’re positive you would see a devilish smile on his lips if he removed the helmet,

“I might.” He says flippantly, broad shoulders shrugging as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, “But, I came here to serve you, My Queen.”

A deep and burning chill blooms in your core at his words and the resolute way he says them; it lights every nerve on fire, every cell and molecule, every atom in your being vibrating at a frequency you’ve never felt as the title rolls off his gilded tongue.

No, you’ve never met a man quite like this, and part of you questions if he truly is just a man at all- because no man has ever felt like this, no man has ever been able to pick you apart so quickly, make you feel bare with just his gaze alone.

He terrifies you as much as he excites you, and oh, how you’ve longed to feel something other than loathing, and boredom.

There is nothing practiced or placating about the smirk on your lips now as you nod toward your General, your handmaid once again adjusting the cumbersome fabric of your gown as you move forward-

“Well, you’ve gotten your wish, Ser Simon.” You coo as you breeze past him without a parting glance, “General Leon, make sure my guard is taken to his new quarters, will you?”

They fall into a sweeping bow as you exit, a quiet acknowledgement being the last thing you hear before the deep pulsing of your own heartbeat fills your ears.

What in the seven hells have I done..

[chapter 2 >>>]

[toxinoire]

I just realized I haven't made Mean Girls headcanons yet so have them

I'm not putting ships in so anyone can see them as they want

but I'm tagging some ships because why not

~~~~~

• After they all made up, Gretchen made friendship charms for everyone

• You will have to pry those charms off their dead bodies

• Seriously someone tried to take Damian's once and he pushed that guy so hard he hit the lockers

• Janis is scared of the dark but she'll never admit it

• Regina saw Karen's playlist once and saw songs that are so damn psychotic it actually scared her, it's why she was quite nice to Karen even when she was queen b.

• Damian gifted Cady a stuffed lion, Cady cried for a solid ten minutes after that

• Aaron can bake really well

• That being said, he bakes cookies for everyone separately based on what everyone prefers

• Janis's favorite song of all time is actually Dead Girl Walking from Heathers The Musical; but if anyone asks, she'll answer a heavy metal emo song

• The day Gretchen learned to fully say no is the day you saw the entire group cry because they were so fucking proud of her

• Cady discovered Hazbin Hotel and now makes everyone watch it with her

• Janis is an English nerd

• Regina is a History and Literature nerd

• Regina already knew how to play lacrosse when she was younger, she just stopped because her dad said "ladies shouldn't play sports"

• Safe to say that she has daddy issues

• Karen can do a perfect backflip and land on her toes

• Damian squealed so fucking loud when he learned that no one in their group is straight

• Janis's phrase "that is tits" rubbed off Gretchen and now she actually uses that

• "This is the most poorly written essay I've ever fucking seen" "Just help me Janis"

• Someone in their school made fun of Kylie George but it turns out Regina and the rest of the group was behind him

• The whole group just said "oh no" as Regina decks this boy in the face with her lacrosse stick

• Damian always always says "Move I'm gay" in a crowd

• Janis and Damian are FNAF enjoyers

• They all dressed up as Ride The Cyclone characters for Halloween

• Damian was Jane Doe

• Cady secretly enjoys dark romances

• Gretchen is a walking first aid kit

• When Karen gets mad, she just doesn't speak and smiles

• When that happens everyone knows they fucked up

• Aaron's love language is physical affection, he will wrap them in a bear hug in the middle of the hall

• Janis loves gummy worms. I will die on this hill

[thebitchesterbrothers]

„Nobody leaves this room until we’ve found my ring!“

Oh, great. Ava needs to be at the other end of the campus for her next class in fifteen minutes.

„Is he serious right now? It’s not our fault he lost his stuff.“ Doug, one of the other students dramatically rolled his eyes.

„Oh come on, have some sympathy. It’s probably antique and ridiculously expensive. Just help him find it and we can all be on our way.“

Just five minutes ago Ava was listening to Professor Gadlings lecture about early modern drama when he noticed the lack of his ring. One of the braver students had once asked him about his kind of uncharacteristically flashy ring he was sporting on his left hand.

The professor was known on campus as a very down-to-earth guy, almost suspiciously normal. Wearing cozy and practical clothes he always gave off the impression of a perfect son-in-law. In Ava’s opinion there was still a kind of mysterious aura about him but she never managed to put it into words. Not too much was known about him despite his cheery and social behavior.

It all added to his attractiveness. If one was into middle aged history professors…so basically at least half of the class had a crush on Mister Gadling and Ava surely was a leading member of the unofficial Dr. Robert Gadling fan club. For academic purposes only, of course.

That particular ring however didn’t seem like something the man would buy for himself. It was gold, beautifully carved and had a massive ruby embedded in the center of it.

It was just a touch too flamboyant for their professor that there had to be a story behind it.

But all he would give them as an answer was a sly smile and a cryptic comment about „how Shakespeare would die of jealousy if he could see him now.“

Said ring was now missing. When Gadling noticed his bare finger all hell broke loose.

Running his hands frantically through his hair, pulling it into a tight ponytail only to undo it seconds later. Crawling under his cluttered desk and painfully bumping his head in the process.

For a minute or two it was admittedly funny to watch the man sweat but now Ava just felt sorry for him. If she’d own such an obviously expensive piece of jewellery she would freak out too. Maybe it was an old family heirloom of some kind. The man owned all kinds of weird historic stuff, that much was for sure.

And apparently now they all had to help him find it if they wanted to leave this room anytime today.

So this is how Ava finds herself now on the surprisingly clean floors of lecture hall number five, looking for a shiny piece of metal along with her classmates.

Gadling seems to slowly but surely drift off into panic mode, spurring them on while turning every pocket of his trousers inside out, his hair sticking in every direction like one of the cartoon characters from her childhood. A mad scientist indeed.

“It has to be in this room! Keep looking! I can’t go home without it…and believe me when I say we’re all going to have a terrible night of disturbing dreams if we don’t manage to find it!” What is that supposed to mean, please?

Just as he’s about to flip his desk - yes, the very heavy and very antique looking desk - an unfamiliar voice breaks the chaotic atmosphere.

“Are you looking for something specific, professor? You seem quite distressed.”

And if Mister Gadling appeared ‘distressed’ before he’s outright shocked now.

In front of the old oak door leading into freedom - Ava can’t wait to finally leave this madhouse - stands the most gorgeous and posh looking goth prince she’s ever seen. Damn, those cheekbones alone are to die for, but his voice…dark, soothing, absolutely mesmerizing. The man looks regal even in a place that is anything but. That long flowing coat is a bit much though.

“Oh. You. Are here.” What happened to her eloquent professor?

“Indeed I am, Hob.” Hob? What kind of nickname is that?

“I mean why? Why exactly are you here? It’s just that you never visited before.”

Ava crawls back from under her chair to not miss a minute of whatever the hell this is.

She swears that Gadling - Hob, she remembers - starts to blush like a shy school girl. Who is that man that makes her professor lose his cool?

Meanwhile the rest of the classroom stopped the search for the ring, instead staring without shame at the play in front of them.

“My duties prevented me from visiting one of your lectures. I apologize for that. But you missed something of great value this morning. I thought you might want it back.”

And with that emo king (Ava really needs to find out that man’s name) calmly walks towards her professor, completely unaffected by his nosy audience.

Once he reaches the other man he gently takes his hand, opens it … and places a ring into his palm. Not just any ring, no.

The ring that “definitely has to be in this room”, as Ava recalls professor Gadlings voice. So much for that.

The stranger looks clearly amused at mister Gadlings obvious embarrassment.

“You left it next to the sink after washing the dishes. Then you realized how late you were and forgot to put it back on. I had to stop Matthew from hiding it under his pillow.”

Did Gadling have a cat? That man would surely get a cat and name it Matthew.

Gadling looks as relieved as he looks stressed by now.

“Thank you. I may have overreacted a bit.”

More than a few students agree on that but are too smart to make a comment.

That dark dream of a man fondly tucks a strand of hair behind their professors ear and wow, what’s happening? Ava tries to be as silent as possible to not ruin this moment. Her friends will never believe her.

Apparently Gadling finally found his voice again.

“You came all this way just to…”

“To take your wedding ring where it belongs, husband.”

And with that he places an almost chaste kiss on the other man’s lips and abruptly turns around to leave the - absolutely stunned and silent - room. Everyone is openly staring at poor mister Gadling now. Ava is pretty sure she saw one of the younger students filming or at least taking a picture of the whole thing. She’ll have to ask for evidence.

“Okay listen. None of this ever happened. You saw and heard nothing. Thank you for your help. Goodbye.”

Gadling quickly dismisses his students and almost flees the lecture hall.

Days later Ava still isn’t sure she witnessed a very elaborate fever dream

[watchoutforthefanfics]

Ticking Love Bomb (Part Five) || Eleventh Doctor × gn! Reader

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

Taglist: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @solitairemvp @idontevenknowwth @this-is-me-lolol @rokosbasalisk @solarbxby

Summary: Your adventure with the Doctor and the Ponds takes a harsh turn when it seems you're targeted with a potion. A love potion, specifically the type where you fall in love with whoever's eyes you met first after "drinking" it. But what if you're already in love with him?

TWS: aliens, space, references of guns, smoke, unrequited love (but not really), self sacrificial attitudes, and purely oblivious people. Also, just a touch of angst (typical of a love confession).

"Y/N-"

"I always wondered what it was like to travel, you know?" you hummed, sinking against the door, "Before you showed up, in your big blue box, I thought I'd never know it. Not like I wanted to. Not the history, and the reasons they wore silly hats and what was their funniest joke? But then, you came along."

"Don't do this," he exhaled and you could almost feel him on the other side, "-please."

"You've given me so much, Doctor," you continued, the footsteps gaining volume, "-and yet, I still am so selfish."

"Y/N."

"Not only have you given me adventures beyond belief, but you gave me friends… You gave me a home," you exhaled, shakily and lightly trailed your fingertips along the wall, bracing yourself, "-and I love you for it."

There was silence on the other side of the wall, one that only frequented the beating of your heart - it was getting louder and louder now. Echoing in your ears, your hands began to shake as the footsteps grew even louder.

"I'm sorry I had to tell you this way, Doctor," you laughed to yourself, choking on the tears that were bound to spill, "-It's hardly romantic. Knowing you, you'd want it much more romantic. Like, like Rose Tyler, remember?"

"Y/N," he finally spoke, tone soft and a bit angered.

"You don't have to say anything back," you spoke, tears running down your cheeks, "-in fact, I don't want you to."

"That's not fair," the Doctor answered, "-none of this is fair."

You chuckled, sniffling, "Oh, don't I know it."

Your heart was impossibly loud now, the thrum of it beating across your skin, and your lungs vibrating with the sound - he hadn't said much in response. And your heart was confused, whether to focus on his lack of speaking or the nerves that riddled you to the core.

So, you found yourself strung thin -your body feeling an air of self-destruction you hadn't before.

"If…" he spoke, barely a whisper with the softness of his tone, "If it was me, why didn't you just tell me? Why couldn't you just tell me that would be so simple-"

"Doctor, you're a man of the stars," you uttered, the air flooding out of your lungs, "-I doubt a human would make that man happy. And like you said, no reciprocation… I'd die."

The men were now in your sight, eyes set intently on yourself, as you stood back against the heavy metal -at least they had that extra layer. You did what you could.

"Y/N, please listen," he spoke and his tone was shaking and you could hear the drag of the gravel -the tears.

"Take care of yourself, raggedy man."

"Y/N, just let me speak-"

The crowd was in front of you now, you could see the glimmer of their armor in the fluorescent lights glaring down at you. It almost hurt your eyes, but there was a calm deep within yourself -you told him. You did it.

“Don’t do this,” he echoed, voice lighter than before, “-please.”

“Survivor spotted,” a voice echoed down the hall -stoic and calm, “-inform the headmistress immediately.”

“Don’t do this to me.”

You exhaled, trying to focus on the beating in your chest -it was so loud now, you could hardly hear anything else. All you felt though, with the men gaining on you was an air of freedom, your heart open, like your chest had been cracked open and your heart exposed. In a way, that felt welcome -you’d let them prod. As long as he’s okay, you hummed to yourself.

“Y/N, I-” he exhaled in a rush and you could hardly follow until it halted, “-I…”

“Identify yourself.”

You were straining now to hear him, as your heartbeat continued high and strong and the clang of footsteps bounced around your skull. It hurt to focus, it really did. But, you weren’t going to miss a word he said, even on the verge of death.

“I love you too.”

[ultralightpoe]

Mini Me - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Word Count: 956

Warnings: none

Description: Small halloween blurb. - reader is a single mother

This is apart of my Halloween event, stay tuned for a new story every hour!

Happy Halloween!

Being normal was hard. 

Not that Bucky had ever thought any of this would be easy, leaving the history of the winter soldier behind was going to be impossible, but he was going to give it a shot. 

He got an apartment and a nice bedframe………that he kept empty and chose to sleep on the floor since it seemed to help with the anxiety of it all. It’s what he knew. 

He got a therapist……. That he often lied to. 

But as much as he panicked about not being able to blend in and not being able to catch up, there were some things that Bucky found he liked about his new life. 

The absolute biggest being the wonderful woman that lived across the hall from him with her small daughter. The two people in this building that had actually made him feel like a human being after years of torture and misery. 

He remembers the first day he met you both, when he had first moved in and you had welcomed him with a welcome basket that your daughter refused to let you hold. It was too heavy for her to carry and she obviously struggled to hold it up, the smile on her face more of a grimace that showed her missing tooth. When you went to help her she cried out and moved away which made you pull back quickly and look at him with an apologizing look. 

You had invited him to breakfast, he had not gone until a couple months later when you both invited him again and the beating in his heart absolutely demanded he go. 

Now he was here, pacing back and forth in his apartment dressed and ready to go as he waits until he hears you two leave your apartment. 

This would be his first halloween he would see in the new world, and you had both done him the honor of inviting him to go trick or treating with you. And he was so excited, though it was too late to come up with a really cool costume he had managed to snag a pirate costume from a place called Spirit Halloween at the last moment and he was really hoping you both liked it. 

He finally hears y/d rustling about out in the hall and takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself down before he opens his front door slowly and finds you both standing in the middle of the hall waiting with big smiles on your faces. 

His eyes meet your own, dressed as an old witch, and he can’t fight the blush that fills his cheeks before he looks down to the young one and his heart completely stops. 

She is barely containing her own excitement, your hands on her shoulders the only thing keeping her still as Bucky looks at the winter soldier costume she had made. The silver arm made him smile. 

“She wanted to go as her hero.” You smile and he can do nothing but nod with a large smile on his face. 

“I am completely honored.”

“LETS GO LETS GO LETS GO!” Y/d screams, escaping your hands and dashing to him where he easily catches her with his flesh arm. 

“Trick or treating?” He asks, looking to you as you shake your head. 

“Too early. Dinner first.” 

- 

Multiple people had stopped by your table at dinner to compliment the family costumes, and by the time you had all eaten and it was time to trick or treat y/d had a firm hold on his hand, allowing him to lift her every so often to make sure she didn’t trip as you both took him door to door. 

He was having the absolute time of his life. 

But finally the night was coming to an end and he held two fulls bags of candy in his metal arm and carried Y/d in his other arm from where she fell asleep in his arms. Her cheek smushed against his shoulder, some of the eyeliner from the winter soldier swiping on the fabric of his own costume. 

“I can carry something-” You offer once more before he shakes his head. 

“I’ve got it.” You nod at his answer, walking beside him. Truth was he was so incredibly happy that you let him hold your daughter, that you trusted him enough to carry her. And his heart practically melted when he realized your daughter trusted him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder. “Thank you for inviting me, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you for coming with us. We both had a wonderful time.” 

“So did I.” You were both getting to the entrance of the building and Bucky cringes as a loud horn blasts and he can only hope it doesn’t wake his mini me up. “Would you…. Maybe ever consider getting dinner sometime?” 

His voice is tight and he feels like he is about to melt at how hot his skin is. You smile sweetly as you watch him before tilting your head. 

“We have dinner and breakfast every week, Buck.” 

He can’t stop the nerves, cringing at his own awkwardness. “I…. well I meant like a- okay well- It’s just-”

“I would love to go on a date.” You whisper, leaning forward to plant a small kiss on the corner of his lips and he can’t help but smile. “Y/d has been trying to convince me to marry you for weeks now.”

“I knew I loved her for a reason.” Bucky laughs, looking down to where the girl is actively snoring. 

Overall his first halloween with you guys was a great one, and he could not wait for next year as well.

[th3-0bjectivist]

My visit to the NASCAR Hall of Fame (Charlotte, NC - JUN 29 2024)

Every year for a few years now, I try to do an Independence Day post where I walk around a few cemeteries and snap some cool photos. But this is an election year, and I'm concerned that I'm going to have to soft-block some political zealot high on their own farts that will leave intellectual gems in the comments like 'Drumpf IZ Hitler!' or 'down with left-cucks in 24!'. So instead, I'm going to share some pictures that I took at the NASCAR Hall of Fame in Charlotte, and you can leave all the unrelated jabbering political frivolity that you'd like in the comments section.

For the record, I'm not into NASCAR at all. I haven't watched a full single race in my lifetime, and I tend to associate it with rednecks driving in circles. Which, to my chagrin, I was dead wrong in my interpretation on. Well, except for the redneck part. There's a hell of a lot more to these beautiful cars than I thought. My visit to this specialized museum was a delicate mix of history, art and science lessons!

The first thing I learned is that although these cars look fully assembled from the outside, they have nearly all the standard parts taken out (the radio, the average driver wheel, the headlights, etc.) and the bodies are composed of a flat sheet of durable metal. These days the car panels, which are composite materials like plastic coated with fibreglass, are then painted over to make a colorful, and often very corporate piece of art that is ready to drive at breakneck speeds. This all makes the modified car as light and agile as possible on the speedway.

In the U.S. south, where I reside these days, stock car racing's roots took hold from prohibition. Stock car racing wasn't just about competition; it was about taking your very fast car and running moonshine and illegally imported booze to different regions around Appalachia. Getting away from highway patrol meant stripping your car of excessive weight and parts, allowing for maximum maneuverability around hairpin turns and extreme acceleration up and down steep hills… all while a 1000-pound barrel of booze was strapped down in the back seat.

This is a picture I snapped inside the Hall of Honor, and that man is Richard 'the King' Petty. As a non-NASCAR fan, his face is the face I most associate with NASCAR, as his signature moustache, glasses and hat stand out to me as a truly memorable and iconic driver. But it’s not just the driver that participates. In NASCAR, your team is composed of a chief, who spots opportunities from television monitors and signals the driver through radio to execute specific moves to win the race, all while managing the rest of the team.

The pit crew consists of mechanics, a jackman (runs around the car with a heavy jack to raise the automobile during a maintenance pit stop), a cut-off valve attendant for refuelling, and a driver attendant who helps the driver get in and out of the car. It doesn't just take an individual driver, but a full team to assist the driver in winning the race. Drivers have suffered concussions, bone fractures, severe burns, whiplash, traumatic bodily injuries and death. Talk about bleeding for your craft!

And now for some art! Pictured above is a full-scale clay model of a Next Gen Ford Mustang. These days, clay models of racing cars are developed from digital designs and used to capture approvals from companies to lay down a final design for a race-worthy automobile. Once you pack a V-8 engine into one of these babies and recreate it out of a steel tube frame, you've got a vehicle that can reach speeds above 200 miles per hour.

Here's my pops, Dave, who I took to this museum as a birthday present. He's a NASCAR freak, and this little excursion to the Hall of Fame actually made him cry for a beat as he recalled decades worth of memories of racers, historic moments, and images of historic back-to-back victories for drivers and their teams.

Every car has the potential to be a race car. It just takes some weight-loss surgery or a good initial design, some driver safety features, and a colorful skin to make the whole thing faster, more agile, and more appealing to the eye. I have to say I never expected to absorb so much from the NASCAR HoF. I was grateful for my visit and wanted to share a portion of what I learned to Tumblr as a fun little sidebar.

I hope you enjoyed this post. And rest assured, you will never see another NASCAR post on my page ever again… y'know, unless it’s a meme or something!

Happy 4th,

th3-0bjectivist (Luke)

[ADDENDUM (07/05/2024): Tumblr ryanthedemiboy pointed out to me in the comments that the third paragraph in this post probably needed some modifications regarding the actual description of the panels, which I originally and ignorantly described as an ‘outer metal hull’. While this might have been the case with older NASCAR vehicles, in modern times the panels are at best ‘metal-skinned’, if that, and manufactured from carbon fibre. Also, older NASCAR vehicles were painted and repainted, but ever since the early 2000’s these vehicles are simply wrapped in a vinyl skin. Thank you for your insight ryanthedemiboy, I will ‘stay in my lane’ so to speak in the future and give these topics, that are alien to me, the research they deserve before I post!]

[professorscrooge]

Sleeping Soldiers AU Draft - circa August '23

Feel amidst continuing to necro-post on this AU, I should probably actually post the draft of my attempt at turning this into a fic, bit more than a year ago. Ran out of steam, as I tend to, and it's a bit rough (also don't know if tumblr has a character limit, but fair warning, this is ~3k). Diverged from where ideas on this ended up going.

References to the original inspiration(s) can be found on posts here and here, and I will emphasise credit @phoenixyfriend, @epicmusic42 and @graylinesspam whose work I have been butting in on (and I think this may rip off some of their wordings). Leans largely into bits and pieces of the Legends timeline, but only through vague references as that's a whole monolith of a thing to try and understand. --

 Coruscant is a city of metal and glass; the planet that once was is buried beneath eons of sharp edges growing out ever further. As the centre of the Galactic Republic, it is demanded to be continuously modern (at least on the surface), with a slick and shining outer coating. Its noises are of technology; the heavy thrum of electricity is the heartbeat of the city, speeders and aircraft fill the air with their droning, and there are an abundance of holoscreens to display the inauguration of the new Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. 

 The Jedi Temple is perhaps the one exception: its tranquillity is unmatched on Coruscant, and its construction is old and solid. All the same, when the silence within the Temple was broken by noise, its nature was unnerving in its irregularity; not the shattering of glass or creaking of metal, not the whine of engines, not an explosion or a turbolaser or any such thing, it is a noise unheard on Coruscant for Millenia.

 It is a grinding, of stone upon stone, echoing up from its very deepest recesses.

–

Circa 500 BBY

 The Jedi Temple is an ancient relic of bygone times; old enough, that the only records that might say how old are held within its own walls (or rather, were, given the unfortunate number of sackings and assaults in its history had frequently damaged the famous archives). Its grand size is a symbol of strength against the dark, but also something of an impracticality in certain times. Its lower reaches are vast, stretching all the way down to the forgotten mountains of Coruscant; a surface where sunlight hasn’t shined in millennia. Construction kept reaching upwards for the longest time, keeping up with the rising levels of the city-planet as its foundations became buried under smog and filth, forgotten.

 In the wake of wars’ end, many lower levels were sealed away; who needed such vast halls, impromptu barracks and storage, when the Jedi no longer served as military leaders? There was no need to house so many people as to require them, and it was more effort to clean and maintain them than necessary for a monk order of a few thousand. After all, this was a Golden Age, with the Sith defeated, and a time of the High Republic.

 Age lent itself to secrets, and with time, many of those secrets were lost with their keepers.

--

 The newly minted Chancellor paused only briefly in taking his oath of office. Most present simply chalked it up to the weight of the vows involved being taken seriously. In truth, the hidden Darth Sidious that lurked under the unassuming garb of Sheev Palpatine had shivered at a tremor in the Force; local and distinctly, searingly Light in its origin, piercing the veil of darkness he and his master had woven over the planet for but a moment. Quickly, he steeled himself and resumed his words; it would not do to falter or drop his mask at this stage. And after all, what could stop The Great Plan now? Sidious had a thousand years of his Order’s planning behind his back. It wasn’t like the Jedi could think on such a grand scale.

–

Circa 1000 BBY

 The history of the Jedi Temple site may as well be a timeline of the Republic itself. With the ever-recurrent war that was fought over its location, and how often Coruscant changed hands, it wasn’t just built upon, but rebuilt, several times. The Grand Ziggurat of the High Republic era was built over the ashes and ruins of the Temple before it, reaching to the sky not far from where the newly built Senate District would form the seat of the Galaxy. A symbol of strength to a unified Galaxy that had defeated the evil of the Sith, once and for all.

--

 The Jedi Council scrambled to action, of course (in as dignified manner as they could). Even with their senses long-blinded by the veil that consistently hampered their sight, there was no missing the stirring beneath their feet. 

 “Awoken, something has,” Master Yoda was heard to declare.

–

Circa 3653 BBY

 The Soldiers’ Hall, as it came to be known, was a real anomaly. It was unearthed in the wake of the Treaty of Coruscant, and the Great Sacking of the Jedi Temple. The respite granted by the armistice with Sith Forces withdrawing from the world was a balm to the Coruscanti people, yes, but the Jedi had returned to a Temple filled with death and desecration. Their holiest relics had been plundered, and the numbers of dead were horrific; a toll only growing as they uncovered the deadly traps spiteful Sith had left behind to further ruin them. It was a painful experience for the survivors, not helped by the lack of justice and repercussions the treaty afforded them.

 With their returned forces in peacetime, however, it was decided to fully survey the Temple to account for all possible traps. The survey unearthed many lower chambers forgotten for centuries, which would soon be repurposed as bunkers for military assets. Naturally, the opportunity was also taken to strengthen ancient foundations with modern materials, which came with looking over the foundations of the ancient Temple grounds atop a mountain of Coruscant, and the Dark Shrine hidden there. It was known to the High Council alone that the old Temple had been built atop a Dark Vergence in the Force in an attempt to cleanse it, and a handful of masters yet survived to share that information to a select few. What surprised them more was the discovery of older ruins beneath the Shrine, built into the mountain itself, and seemingly dating to before the Alsakan conflicts, perhaps even the Jedi Order itself (though few dare voice this thought). The shift from precision, machine-poured duracrete that has been in use for millennia, to the more rough, hand-hewn stone is a sight that excites the archaeologically inclined allowed to see it. 

 Most of the tunnels are collapsed, but slowly, over several years of uneasy peace, a path is unearthed to a large atrium, central beneath the Dark Side Nexus. The discovery is shocking to those who uncover it; they’d gone from archiving very faded murals (amidst admonishment that such pre-Jedi religious teachings are not worth great regard), to cracking the door open to a great chamber filled with an army of statues. A thousand men – clearly soldiers – each expertly carved with incredible detail, each set of armour uniquely battle scarred and hand painted, each posed differently, and every single one perfectly preserved in defiance of their ancient surroundings. The warriors sat, or lay, or kneeled, in great concentric circles, facing inwards to a central figure, the only one not wearing armour; a Togruta woman, dressed simply, and with lightsabers resting at her hips. Where the soldiers were wrought from a pale white stone, she was crafted in warm terracotta in a relaxed pose, face bowed in conference with the Force. It was almost as if she were made of flesh.

 Despite the gathering of Masters who quickly investigated the room, none could quite manage to lay a hand upon her. The sense of foreboding was just too strong. Every gaze in the room was pointed towards her; an even thousand visors of solid stone, focused on this one woman, every one so lifelike as to be uncanny. In-fact, sometimes, in the corner of the Jedi’s eyes, it was almost like they moved; a chest rising and falling with breath, tiny fluctuations in the Force that evaded the senses, or flickers of dreams. Almost as if they were waiting for something.

 The Council ordered the chamber sealed; what markings upon the soldiers that could be identified were Mandalorian in origin, so clearly this was some work of those great adversaries and their common allies, the Sith. That those forces combined had so recently sacked their home likely aided this decision. Knowledge and warnings were recorded within the Council’s private library only, and would be lost some centuries hence by the passing of those who saw the sight and another sacking of the upper Temple.

 Beneath them all, the feared warriors continued to sleep.

--

 The sounds of shattering stone echoed within the long-forgotten chamber, even as dust filled the air from the broken remains. This noise was swiftly drowned out by a thousand throats all drawing breath at once.

–

Circa 5000 BBY

 Recapturing Coruscant was not the final victory of what came to be called the Great Hyperspace Wars, but it was perhaps the most important, given that all that followed became much easier with forces scattering. However, there was an interesting discovery made upon their landing; an empty Shrine, where once the Sacred Spire peak of Mount Satorl had stood.

 The destruction of the Sacred Spire had been one of the opening gambits of the conflict, so this was expected. The Jedi amongst the Republic Forces were most dismayed that the legendary Vergence in the Force that had rested there had been twisted into a Dark nexus, but this too had been rumoured by spies and propaganda. No, what was surprising was the lack of occupants, particularly Sith acolytes. This was a powerful nexus in the Dark Side, and a clear site of investment to build the new Shrine, but there was nobody present; just the signs of conflict that predated Republic arrival to the planet.

 Eventual interrogation of Sith Forces revealed rumours of a ‘curse’ upon the site; no force had managed to occupy the site for long, somehow always turning up dead. Construction of the Shrine had taken several years, and a great many slow attempts, always stymied by poor fortune.

 The Jedi took this as a sign that the Force itself resisted the corruptive attempts for as long as possible, and when granted a boon for their aid in the war, chose to claim the land for themselves. There, they built a new Temple, in the hope that the presence of many Jedi may once again cleanse this place that had long been sacred to a great many religious and Force-sensitive sects throughout the Galaxy. The Jedi Order would build their new headquarters at the heart of the Republic and therefore claim the site instead of any other religion having access.

 Of course, throughout construction, there was plenty of investigation of the ruins being built over (padawans got bored hanging around and waiting, naturally, and the Galaxy’s archaeologists were most invested in seeing how this location had suffered under Sith rule). Of particular note is a surviving chamber of the old Sacred Spire that is unearthed; a grand chamber filled with statues. Sadly, no records from prior to the Sith occupation persist, but a great many experts descend on the room to catalogue what they can of the astoundingly beautiful find that is far more interesting than dusty old clay vessels. The General’s Legion, they are quickly dubbed, given the militaristic bent.

 They bring in first art experts, then body language experts, even a scholar on Mandalorian culture once some symbols are defined. Most of the markings they find mean nothing, however; while Mandalorian symbols are identified a few dozen times, including Jaig Eyes on one of the more prominent soldiers directly facing The General, there’s no real commonality with any clan, or any real consistency. Many more besides are marked with nonsense; a loose word or number in some language, even some unrecognised languages that cause head scratching. The holstered blasters cause them to bring in antique weapons dealers to unsuccessfully identify them, causing yet more headaches at the clear mass-manufacturing on display, since most the soldiers bear the same weapons, but they are entirely unfamiliar. Artists are baffled at how perfectly detailed and well-preserved the figures are; the level of work on display would have taken hundreds of artists thousands of hours, but the style implies a singular sculptor. The historians flail wildly at whether these soldiers throw all the old theories about the Taung originating Mandalorian culture into doubt.

 The only experts who could agree upon something were those who attempted to psychoanalyse the figures; the way the men were arranged was with deference for the General, and those closest to her were the officers with the most decoration and adornment (and battle scars), while those nearest the edge were the lowest ranks. Originally, they thought the much smaller central figure was being threatened by the soldiers, but she sat in such a relaxed pose of confidence it seemed more clearly a commander’s position.

 Still, as time goes on, their observations are recorded and stored in the new Jedi library, and a towering new Temple is built over the ruins. Gradually, this fills with masters, knights and younglings looking forward to a new era of peace and prosperity. The past is not forgotten, but it is not the focus of an Order trying to rebuild after centuries of conflict. And so, the statues sit in their atrium, still and silent. Masters study them for decades, photos and essays are included in the new archives; they are a fascination, a mysterious piece of history.

 But, time passes, and slowly the fascination fades. The wider galaxy captures attention, the Regions are expanding in a new era of colonisation and there is great need for Jedi aid. Only those particularly intrigued by art and archaeology look through the old archives. The statues become more of a ghost story.

 Padawans sometimes gossip about them over latemeal. They dare each other to sneak down to the lower levels, and walk between the rows upon rows of sleeping soldiers. The truly brave (or reckless) of the classes make the journey, past the point where the air lifts reach, down long staircases and through the dusty thick air. Lightsabers raised high over their heads, they tiptoe between the first few rows, twisting wildly at jumping shadows cast over the room. Some stare petrified into the visors of the men, convinced that if you peer close enough, you can see eyes peering back at you. 

 Very, very few brave padawans make it all the way to The General – one or two per generation – but those that do, swear they hear her breathing.

 Over the years, those children grow into knights, into masters and grandmasters, and then they pass into the Force. Still, the tradition survives, for a time, until one day, when the new Temple has become old and known many Councils, the chamber passes from memory, and is lost for many centuries to come.

 But still, the soldiers look to their General for orders.

--

 The first breath is the hardest.

 Going out, the air feels abrasive and dust-filled, and her throat is drier than a desert. Then, she must try and breath in, and it’s an effort to fill lungs that have sat still for so very, very long. She coughs once, and then struggles through it, going through the motions a few times as she slowly registers her montrals ringing from the similar sounds about her.

 Finally, she looks up, eyes open and awake.

 “Orders, sir?” Rex asks.

 “Form up.”

–

Circa ??? BBY

 The Mountains were a safe place. A sacred place, to many. So when war came to Coruscant, it was to the mountains people fled.

The One-Thousand-And-One, a group of warriors who spoke no language anyone understood, but under whose strength, Coruscant stood against Alsakan [– Tion instead?]. They could never leave the Mountain, though.

—

And that’s all I managed to write out, couldn’t quite figure a) what I wanted their arrival period to be like/what they did there, and b) how I wanted the present-time to work out (likely marching on the Senate building and demanding Sidious’ surrender). Ended up with some Jedi-negative things in there that I'm not entirely sure where they came from (probably something emerging from my frustrations with Christianisation on mythology). May have been a bit uncharitable.

Much as I kinda like the framing of current day swapping back and forth with older and older eras, I don't think I'm coming back to this version - I think I prefer the more recent ideas related to the chamber's unveiling in more modern eras, and drama resulting therefrom.

[argisthebulwark]

Time Moves Slow - Miraak

sfw, gn reader, mention of canon typical blood/injury Summary: After returning from Sovngarde the Dragonborn finds that a handful of hours for them has been years for those in Tamriel and reunites with their loved one. Others Linked: Vilkas, Brynjolf, Farkas, Teldryn, Cicero

While the Hall of Valor echoed with hundreds of voices you sat completely speechless. As the many toasts and speeches would recount, you'd slain Alduin. The World Eater had fallen to your blade. Resplendent foods and an endless river of ale flowed throughout the hall as eons worth of heroes spoke of your deeds. It was unreal.

It took some effort to soak it all in - your body wanted nothing more than to rest but you fought against it. It felt wrong to sit at the head of such an esteemed table as the Last Dragonborn without Miraak at your side - he was the First, after all. You should've done this together.

You committed the event to memory. Hours slipped into what had to be nighttime in Tamriel but you were steadfast. If he couldn't be present for such a day you would recount every last detail to him. It was a single day, surely your memory could withstand that.

With a stern reminder about mortality you began the lengthy exit. Shaking hands and exchanging farewells with history's most storied heroes was an odd experience but you forged onward, memorizing each name. Miraak would surely have input on those he'd known personally.

"Thank you all for your help." Your throat constricted with the telltale threat of tears. Too many eyes were on you. "Truly I could not have done this without you."

The harsh clang of metal cut through the nice moment. All attention turned to the commotion outside the Hall's hefty doors - another clash of weapons, a hefty grunt, a shout to stop. Hand hovering over the hilt of your sword your heart leapt into your throat. Your tired body couldn't handle another battle.

"Stop, intruder!" Tsun's voice rang out as the Hall of Valor's doors blasted open. You were relieved to see a man falling into the Hall - far easier to handle than a dragon.

The intruder was a wreck. Gashes sliced through the mess of his robes and you spotted quite a few wounds while he collected himself. He was no spirit, no mist clung to his form as it did the residents of Sovngarde. As you drew your weapon he straightened, desperate eyes seeking yours.

"There you are." Miraak's smooth voice melted all tension from your body. Stalking through the Hall of Valor he tossed aside the bloodied mask, bruises marring his face. He never spared a glance for the rest of the room as he closed in on you, split lips cracking into a rare smile.

Ungloved hands grasped your face when Miraak's lips fell to yours. His kiss was bloody and urgent, drowning out the whispers from all those in the Hall of Valor. Grabbing at his unfamiliar robes you dragged him closer, desperate and bursting with questions.

"My heart." He murmured, kissing up the side of your face. "You're safe. You're alive."

Your cheeks burned at his shameless display of affection. A few mutters guessed his identity but none were brave enough to step forward.

"How are you here?" Miraak chuckled against your skin at the question, seeming ignorant to the hundreds of onlookers. Greedy hands tilted your face up to his - he looked the same but changed, new scars and a few creases making him appear older.

"Mal Dov." He muttered, an old petname that still made your heart flutter. "You have no idea how long I've searched for you."

"Dovahkiin." One voice commanded attention above the rest. You turned to the speaker, a warrior clad in heavy armor glowering at you both. "You know this intruder?"

"Yes." Miraak's smile curdled into a snarl. The two glared at one another, hardly taking notice when you stepped between them. Miraak placed a protective hand on your shoulder - that caught the warrior's attention.

"Do you know what he is? All that he has done?"

"I've hidden none of my deeds, Hakon." Miraak's voice was pure venom. The hero's eyes turned to you and your stomach churned.

"Is this true, Dragonborn?"

"Yes." Another wave of whispers erupted through the crowd. Miraak's fingers curled into your armor, dragging you closer.

"And yet you," Hakon paused, disgust clear in every word, "you care for him?"

"I love him." It was likely the wrong thing to say but there was no denying it, not when the simplest touch of his lips made your heart soar. Miraak seemed pleased, a possessive kiss placed to your temple.

"We thank you for your deeds today, Dragonborn. But you must leave this place." Hakon paused again, his disappointment evident. "Due to these actions I ask that you do not return."

Walking out of Sovngarde with Miraak at your side felt right. He clutched you close, whispered promises and apologies washing away the stress of the day. He was relentless, switching between apologies and rushed stories of how long he'd followed your trail.

Upon returning to Skyrim you became acutely aware of every ache and pain Sovngarde had spared you from feeling. Miraak hauled you onto his back, waving away concern over his injuries when he carried your exhausted body toward home. Finally it seemed you would both be able to relax.

After making camp beneath a grove of trees Miraak snored at your side. His story of how long you'd truly been gone made no sense but there was no other explanation - he'd searched everywhere and found nothing, breaking into Sovngarde after years of fruitless travels. Curling into his side you made peace with your decision - you'd give up every afterlife in existence to be with him.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

dark schenider with shinobu!reader headcanons

Warnings: ooc, violence, KNY manga spoilers, Bastard!! anime season two spoilers, mentions of night-terrors and PTSD.

If you are not comfortable reading this type of story, please push the back button and read something more pleasant.

Hey guys, welcome to the fluffier version of the yandere headcanons, featuring the handsome, arrogant wizard Dark Schneider of the Netflix's anime series Bastard!! Heavy Metal, Dark Fantasy and the character!reader who is Shinobi Kocho from the beloved world of Demon Slayer aka Kimetsu no Yaiba! The link to them will be here.

Special thanks to @anniespostssworld for helping me bounce back ideas and scenarios that would work best for these headcanons, so this dedicated to them and to all of the other fellow Bastard!! fans.

If you haven't seen either of these shows, I highly recommend them as to me, they are well worth watching and give me a good laugh after a particularly long day at work. Please bear in mind that Bastard!! might not be suited for everyone and does have some moments that may not be ideal for photosensitive viewers.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy this ride of heavy metal, magic, and blossoming romance :)

PART TWO

Yoko was starting to worry about you. These last two years hiding in A-Ian-Maide haven’t been easy. Between training and helping the samurai fight back against the Dark Rebel Army, the high priestess barely had time to herself but she did care about you. You and Lucien, that is. If she was lucky, she would see you in the compound’s dining hall or holed up in the medical wing treating patients with that small, patient smile of yours. 

Still….she couldn’t help thinking you were actively avoiding her too. 

Could it be…that you still carried the guilt of what happened in Meta-llicana in your heart? Is that also why you have been training too? Trying to hone your swordsmanship and expand medical knowledge to the point where Joshua has carried you in his arms, collapsed from utter exhaustion? 

How could you even think like that when the downfall of the kingdom wasn’t even your fault? Is that why you looked like you haven’t been sleeping well? 

You were being suffocated again. The flowery cologne was the only thing you could smell, tinged with the coppery undertone of your own blood as strong, cold arms held you close to a man whom you despised with your entire being. Douma. Douma, the cult leader who had devoured his followers as a way of showing them true enlightenment even when he didn’t believe in the gods or the afterlife. Douma, the monster who murdered Kanae and drove you to the point of twisting your body’s organs with high concentrations of wisteria poison for an entire year. Douma…the person who had embraced you in your final moments, your ninichrin blade sticking through his chest as he absorbed you, declaring that you were his strongest opponent and his love for you under the same disgusting breath. 

Go to hell! 

That was the last thing you said to that rotten bastard before you lost consciousness. You would soon be found by the High Priest Geo Noto Soto in a sea of blood and blade fragments….and the rest, as they say, is history. And then the fall of Meta-llicana. Your current, precarious situation.

But why are you here again, trapped in Douma’s arms and listening to the same words, feeling the pain from your battle with him as if the gods took delight in seeing this macabre play rehearsed over and over? Is this truly someone’s idea of a joke? Or….is it a reminder that no matter how hard you tried….you cannot save everyone? That the hours you had dedicated to nurse warriors back to health, to reading medical texts until late hours of the night and getting stronger….it will never be enough?

You wiggled in the demon’s arms, snarling and writhing as you felt yourself being sucked into his body. No. Your mind was racing, heart pounding against your ribcage No, you are still alive. You’re alive, and so was Yoko, and Lucien! You tried to help them! You tried to help the knights evaluate the citizens of Meta-llicana before rushing to help the others fight against Abigail! 

“Who said you could be forgiven?” An icy hiss ticked your ear. “Who said you could live when others had died that day? If anything, you deserved to die, not them. You have and always will be the weakest Hashira of them all.”

Frustrated tears began to swell in the back of your eyes as a sob lodged in your throat but damn it all you refused to let it crawl up and be released into the air for this bastard to see your moment of weakness, even if this is all an illusion. 

You are the Insect Hashira, and you will always be ready to lay your life on the line for the people you cherished, past and present. Just as these words echoed in your mind, you felt someone else’s arms coil around your hips. With a hard yank, you were pulled away from Douma’s body and then…you were free. Weightless, boundless, floating in a bright white space that you no longer recognize as part of the Infinity Castle’s lotus pier. 

That was when you felt warm fingers lightly caress the top of your head, calloused pads brushing against your clammy skin. The hand did not belong to someone you knew; it was gentle, cautious, and  even a little scared. It’s as if the person was trying to comfort you, but was afraid of your reaction. 

You immediately thought of Kanae, and that was when the dam in your mind broke. The tears easily spill out of your closed eyes, followed by an anguished wail that causes more tears to slide down your face. Finally….finally you can let everything out, to be weak for just a moment. In this moment of vulnerability, the hand became two, then stretched to muscular arms that enclosed your body in a warm embrace. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here now, nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around.” 

Dark Schneider is the greatest wizard in the entire universe with a limitless arsenal of magic at his command. He hadn’t expected, however, that he had nearly depleted his magical reserves in the fight against Abigail. What little remained after the Helloween spell was used to perform two spells at the same time: resurrection of the fallen ones, and teleportation. In his case, he had made sure Yoko and [First Name] had gotten as far away from the kingdom as possible before it was destroyed, and he regressed back into the recesses of Lucien’s mind. 

Two years. It took him this long to restore the magic he had lost into his body as he had no other choice but to let his weaker half take control. Last year, about six months after Meta-llicana’s destruction, he finally woke up…and saw the world through Lucien’s eyes. Sleeping for that long left him drowsy, so hearing Yoko’s voice after being surrounded by silence for so long should have been a blessing. And it was, though the dark wizard wasn’t exactly glad to be on the receiving end of her abrasive attitude, again. Granted she did take care of him as Lucien for as long as he could remember; fed him, made sure he ate and did his fair share of the chores, and so on. 

Is it really necessary to always hit him as soon as she thought he was being a disgusting pervert as the handsome, bad-ass Dark Schneider or sighed in exasperation, wishing that he would grow more of a backbone as Lucien? 

Quite frankly, he’s surprised himself for being so patient with her, and this is only the second season of the anime. He really thought she was his woman, the one who was worthy of bearing his children in the far, distant future once he had conquered the world. But now that he’s had all the time in the world to think…he doesn’t feel that way anymore. If anything, his feelings for Yoko had simmered to the affection towards an annoying older sibling who thinks they know you better than everyone or can boss you around just because they ‘raised you’.

And he never went past first base with Sean Ari or Kai Harn, so far as he’s concerned, he’s been a saintly hero in this show. 

Even thinking about the women at this base, all who were actually quite attractive in their own way, felt wrong when the image of [First Name]’s pinched smile flashed across his vision. And it’s been like that for a while now. 

[First Name] may not possess the powers of a cleric, a highborn status or trained rigorously under Kai in the art of the Hariken Slashing Implosion swordsmanship, she did treat others with respect and kindness as Yoko did, and a bit more. She even provided medical aid to people who had once been an enemy. 

But above being a good-hearted apothecary and an exceptional swordswoman, the Insect Hashira adored Lucien. She loved his weaker self, and respected Dark Schneider. She never tried to control either of them, instead giving them attention and praising them for doing a good job. She never raised her voice at him, and occasionally snuck some candy to him behind Yoko’s back. 

[First Name] Kocho loved Yoko Tia Noto too, in her own way…though she had almost attacked the high priestess in the middle of a night-terror just a few nights ago. Yoko naively went to check on the apothecary when she heard screams coming from [First Name]’s room and instead got pinned to the bed with a knife to her throat. 

Yoko forgave [First Name], but [First Name] could not forgive herself. She threw herself more into her work; spending hours in the medical wing’s laboratories to create a poison strong enough to destroy three different types of demi-humans, including a paralyzing agent that would require just a small dose to knock down an ogre, or sparring with the samurai until late at night. Skipping meals periodically became a habit, and now rumor has it that she hasn’t slept in her own room since the supply runners had come back grievously injured after an encounter with one of the Shogun Sorcerers. 

Scowling in Lucien’s form, Dark Schneider snuck out of his room and headed towards the medical ward. He had a silent agreement with his weaker self: under the condition that his intentions are only to ensure [First Name] did not keel over from overexhaustion when Yoko was too busy with being on the frontlines with the samurai, the wizard would take control but he still needed to use Lucien’s quirks so the cleric didn’t get suspicious of them. 

It did not take him that long to arrive there, stealthy evading the samurai stationed for night-time patrol in the hideout. Dark Schenider quickly found his woman thrashing on one of the empty beds, eyes closed and hands clawing at the sheets, tears running down her face. 

He gritted his teeth. Damn it. He cautiously approached the side of the bed just as [First Name] suddenly curled into a small ball, clutching the sides of her head. He might’ve raised Arshes and Kall-Su, but they never came to him when they had nightmares, nor did he ever really care unless Arshes wouldn’t leave his room until he allowed her to sleep in his bed for the night. That was then, this is now. 

Would just holding her even make a difference, when he had no idea why she was having night-terrors and she never breathed a word about it? How’s she supposed to take care of anyone when she can’t even take care of herself? Idiot. He thought. Still, he had to try something. He brought a pillow and blanket with him, so Yoko wouldn’t think twice if she sees him, Lucien, curled up with [First Name] because it’s happened before in the past. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Dark Schneider removed his shoes and climbed fully into the mattress, laying the pillow down first before covering himself and [First Name] with the blanket. 

The reincarnated wizard then began to stroke the top of her head with his hand, softly whispering words into her ear before a choked sob left her mouth, followed by more tears that he wiped away with his thumb. When he saw her breath begin to slow and deepen, he daringly lowered his down to her side, alternately between patting and rubbing the Hashira’s trembling frame until she relaxed under his touch. 

Her frown soon morphed into a tiny, content smile as she sighed softly. Dark Schneider was about to leave and let his woman get the sleep she needed until she leaned forward, placing her head on his small chest, an arm loosely wrapped around his waist. 

No, his face was not burning and no, his heart wasn’t pounding against his ribs. The great Dark Schneider isn’t some innocent maiden in love! He’s just here for [First Name] because it’s been decided that she will become his future queen in a world he’ll one day conquer…and the only woman who is worthy enough to bear his children. 

Against his better judgment Dark Schneider leaned forward, pressing his lips against the crown of [First Name]’s head before hugging her close to his smaller body. That was the last thing he remembered when sleep claimed his drowsy mind. 

[Part Two, anyone? 😉]

Taglist:

@sleep-all-day-everyday

@theanimekid

@ccruzmoon

@cassanderasblog

@technikerin23

@justamegafan

@myrisan-melodies

@harame

@saltyfruitbat

@nunezs-stuff

@mitra555

@platonicyanderewrighter

@xoxo-shy

@currentlyinhell

[pookalicious-hq]

spaces between us... nagi seishiro x reader

| 0.0: prologue | next | masterlist |

synopsis: if blue lock was created to manufacture the world's best striker why should this opportunity only be offered to teenage boys? tags/tw:soccerplayer!reader, physicalcompetition, eating disorder mentionbestie bachira meguru, graphic description of injuries word count:1200~

In a world where the mantra of "eat or be eaten" echoed in every player's mind, (y/n) stood on the edge of an unknown domain, the clouded skies shielding her as she prepared to carve her name into history—her rightful future. The Blue Lock facility loomed large in front of her, its metallic walls gleaming faintly in the dim light of the overcast sky. The chill of late autumn brushed against her skin, crisp and sharp, making the air feel heavy with anticipation. This wasn’t just a game anymore—it was a battleground where only one would claim victory, and failure meant being forgotten. She took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth mingling in her lungs, grounding her in the reality of the moment.

Pressure was a familiar sensation—the weight of it settling deep in her bones like a tight coil, pressing down on her chest. Even when her knees buckled under its force, she managed to rise. She had to. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, a steady rhythm against the muted sounds of players shuffling into the facility. She wasn’t just another girl who played soccer; she had always been the girl—the one whose name lingered on the lips of competitors. The one who fought for every victory, clawing her way to the top.

Yet, beneath that fierce exterior, there was a quiet vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge. Her heart raced as she scanned the sea of players, each one standing taller than her. The air felt thick with competition, a low hum of nervous energy vibrating through the crowd. They were stronger, faster—her insecurities, long buried beneath layers of grit, clawed their way to the surface. Blue Lock wasn’t about second chances. One mistake, and her dream would slip through her fingers like sand.

She could almost taste the tension, bitter and metallic, lingering on her tongue as her mind raced. But (y/n) pushed the thoughts aside. Had to. The familiar burn of adrenaline thrummed through her veins, igniting her drive. She knew there was no space for weakness here.

The crunch of gravel under her cleats brought her deeper into the concept of Blue Lock. The cold air nipped at her exposed skin as she walked, footsteps echoing in rhythm with the players beside her. Her muscles ached slightly from the travel, but it was the good kind—the kind that reminded her of the work she’d already put in. She couldn’t afford to blend in, not when her future was on the line.

Inside, the massive entrance hall loomed before her, swallowing her whole. The sterile scent of the facility hit her first, a mix of freshly cleaned floors and the faint tang of sweat still lingering from the previous group. The Blue Lock program was designed to create the ultimate forward, a player who could stand above the rest. For everyone here, failure wasn’t an option. It was an ending.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting stark shadows on the tiled floor. She felt the press of bodies around her, the heat from the other players warming the cool air but doing nothing to calm the growing knot in her stomach. Each face was a reminder of what she was up against—each one of them hungering for the same prize.

Envy gnawed at her. Yoshida Miu stood a little ways ahead, her posture relaxed but with an undeniable confidence that made (y/n)’s stomach twist. Yoshida’s long limbs and effortless grace were the kind of attributes that made her stand out without even trying. (y/n)’s eyes traced the way Yoshida’s body moved—fluid, like she belonged here. The height she so desperately wished for was something Yoshida had been gifted, something she wielded naturally. (Y/n) could almost feel the heat of resentment rising in her chest, sharp and hot, but she buried it under a layer of discipline.

Her fingers absently pressed against her chest, feeling the subtle tightness she was all too familiar with. Her asthma, always lingering in the background, was a constant reminder of her limitations. She took a slow, deliberate breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs, sharp but steady. The tightness eased but didn’t disappear. Just another obstacle to manage. Just another reminder that no matter how much she trained, there would always be things beyond her control.

The voices around her blended into a low murmur as she focused on the task at hand. She couldn’t be distracted. Not by the noise, not by the players, not even by her own doubts. The world narrowed down to a single point—proving herself. Her senses felt heightened, every sound amplified: the soft scuff of cleats on tile, the faint thud of soccer balls being passed around in the distance, the rustle of fabric as players adjusted their gear. It was all part of the battlefield, and she was ready.

“Hey, Yoshida-san,” (Y/n) called out, her voice slicing through the background noise like a lifeline to something familiar. She hadn’t realized how grateful she’d be to see a face she knew in this sea of strangers. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she approached Miu, trying to push down the mix of admiration and envy that threatened to bubble up. The warmth of the smile almost felt foreign against the tension in her body, but she clung to it.

Chestnut eyes turned to meet hers, Yoshida’s expression brightening with surprise. “Holy shit, Fushiguro-san?”

A small laugh escaped (y/n), the sound carrying a brief moment of lightness through the otherwise heavy atmosphere. Yoshida looked even taller than she remembered. “Looks like we’re teammates now,” (y/n) said, masking her nerves with a casual tone. “Guess you can finally help me out on the field.”

Yoshida chuckled, the sound rich and genuine, cutting through the anxious energy swirling around them. “Help you? I’ll just be following your lead, Fushiguro. I’ve seen you play; you own the field.”

The words sparked a flicker of warmth in (y/n)’s chest, her usual pride swelling momentarily. The tension that had been coiling tight in her shoulders loosened, just a little. The world felt less hostile with Miu beside her. From here on out, the spotlight would only grow.

As they walked further into the facility, the hum of voices around them grew louder, the anticipation thickening the air. (y/n)’s senses felt on overdrive—the crisp scent of sweat, the cool bite of the air-conditioned hallway, the low buzz of fluorescent lights—all of it swirling together to create an atmosphere charged with potential.

“This place is intense,” Yoshida murmured, her voice barely audible over the surrounding chatter. “I mean, Blue Lock… it’s everything we’ve been working toward.”

“Yeah,” (Y/n) replied, her voice steady but her heart racing. “This is where we prove ourselves.”

As they neared the locker room, the sharp smell of turf and sweat grew stronger, blending with the sterile cleanliness of the facility. The weight of what was coming settled on (Y/n)’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. The soft rustling of jerseys, the distant echo of footsteps, and the constant murmur of voices reminded her of the stakes. Failure wasn’t an option.

a/n: lmk if u wanna be added to the taglist <3 im planning this to be a little 6 chapter series. also its not only nagi x reader also blue lock x reader in general

[sacredwrath]

P3. Meeting the monster

Torture, beating, injury reveal, gore, infected wounds, nausea mention, taunting

Logan checks his watch, 2:36am. The house has been quiet for hours now, but he doesn't want to risk anyone hearing him leave. Another hour, just to be safe.

Around 3 he loses patience.

He climbs out of bed, putting on fresh clothes and grabbing the canvas sack he'd stashed behind his headboard.

As quietly as he can, he makes his way past the doors of his sleeping teammates and down the stairs to the main level. Jesse still doesn't want to sleep in their old room or pick a new one, so they pile on one of the large couches with Isa and anyone else who wants to join the slumber party. He knows they still don't sleep much, and getting past them will be the trickiest part of this.

He creeps through the living room, keeping to the shadows as best he can, stepping only where he knows the floor won't creak. He stops periodically to check they're still resting peacefully, but luckily tonight Jesse seems to be sleeping soundly. He smiles to himself.

Soon he reaches the far hall and darts into the shadows.

There are two more flights of stairs, the first to a large comfortable basement and the next to a massive unfinished wine cellar that, if Jake was to be believed, had once been a dungeon. Back when the house was a functional keep. Before the heros moved in it was used mostly as storage space. No one bothered putting much work into it, preferring to focus on the areas with more sunlight and a brighter history. When the heros moved in they needed somewhere to keep caught villains before handing them over to the authorities, but that was before everything fell apart. Now, they ignore the floor too.

The bottom of the stairs end in a large concrete room punctuated by sturdy support beams and five metal doors. The heros had replaced the existing doors with heavy steel ones with sturdy locks. Four of the doors lead to cells, and the fifth is a bare bones bathroom.

Logan unlocks a cell. He'd left Morgan restrained with his arms stretched above him. The exposed beams working to his advantage. He'd used a chain from the garage and a pair of handcuffs, hoping the combination would be enough to keep Morgan contained in his weakened state. Still, he enters the cell cautiously, prepared for an ambush.

Morgan stands tall, creating enough slack for his hands to rest atop his matted black hair. He sneers at Logan.

"Nice place.” He says, jerking his chin to encompass the cell.

“Shut up" Logan snaps back, trying to keep his voice calm.

Morgan scoffs, tossing hair out of his eyes. He doesn't look good, despite the confidant pose. His skin is too pale for his complexion, looking almost green in the harsh light. Fading bruises litter his face and hands, and there's something... off about him.

Logan had expected him to be angry, raging, and trying to escape, but everything about the man appears calm, controlled. His dark eyes take in every detail of his cell and captor. It feels invasive, like he's a butterfly on Morgan's tray, exposed, pinned in place. It's disconcerting to feel so scrutinized by the bedraggled, sickly man in chains.

"So..." Morgan drawls, dragging the word into two syllables. "Guess you're one of Jesse's teammates hu?"

The familiarity with which he speaks their name sets Logan's teeth on edge. His lip curls

"And you are Intelligence Specialist Adrian Morgan. Professional torturer for AQUA and lap dog of Commander Mathew Gould. You're the monster who's spent six weeks torturing someone I love."

He shrugs, indifferent to Logan's fury. "Pleasure. Since you didn't kill me, I guess I'm here for payback?" He doesn't sound afraid, or defeated, or even angry, just bored.

Logan circles him, pulling his switchblade from his pocket and flicking it open in answer.

"Great," Morgan sighs, "can I at least get your name first?"

"No" Logan snaps.

The man's attitude infuriates him. Why should he be so calm when Jesse can barely look at a kitchen knife without panicking? It's not right.

He needs this man to feel it. Everything he put Jesse through and more. He needs to replace every memory of Jesse's fear and pain with Adrian Morgan's agony.

He cuts away the man's mud crusted coat and shirt.

-and sucks in a surprised breath. “What the fuck-" The man is a mess.

Beneath his shirt, he is coated in dried blood. Purple and yellow bruises lay across his entire back in a messy criss cross, looking closer to an animal attack than any battle wound Logan's seen. In places, the skin is broken or almost entirely flayed away, leaving raw scabs struggling to heal. Mud caked lacerations overlay the mess, the skin around them swollen and red with infection. A careful web of stitches patchwork the worst of it together, but many are torn and ineffective.

Logan stares in shock. He knew the man had enemies, but not like this. Someome clearly got to him first.

He runs a thumb over a mostly healed portion, gratified to feel Morgan's muscles tense in anticipation of pain.

"The fuck happened to you?" Even as he asks it he knows it doesn't really matter. He doesn't really care. Except maybe to know who's hand he should shake.

"Fell down the stairs." Morgan quips. Logan shrugs

“Looks infected" He prods at the red puffy skin, watching closely, hoping to see the man flinch. He doesn't

"That's your problem now."

Logan raises an eyebrow, failing to see why he should give a fuck.

"Wasn't really planning to let you live through this.” He grins. “Hope it hurts, though." He claps him on the shoulder, harder than necessary, hoping again to see him flinch. Instead, Morgan barks a laugh

"Oh that's dark!" He chuckles, carefully watching Logan's slow progress.

He studies him with such profound intensity it makes Logan uncomfortable. He resists the urge to step back, instead meeting the man's gaze and letting his anger do the talking

The two men's eyes bore into each other. Pure hatred meeting Morgan's almost bored curiosity. Logan growls, he wants to see fear there

"Better get on with it" Morgan prods eventually "unless you're trying to stare me to death."

Logan's eyes don't waver, refusing to give an inch. Morgan yawns, finally breaking eye contact.

"Seriously, what's the hold up? You nervous? Getting cold feet?" He cocks his head, something seeming to dawn on him, and he lets out a surprised chuckle.

"Oh wait! No... that's it isn't it!" A broad mocking grin splits his face.

"How precious is this! It's your first time isn't it?... You're a virgin!" He cackles, throwing his head back in delight. "Oh this is too fucking good! Have you ever even seen real torture?" His eyes dance with mirth as he tries, unsuccessfully, to contain his laughter

Logan doesn't answer. What's wrong with him?

"Well, it's lucky you got me then sweetheart. I've got enough experience, for the both of us, I'll talk you through it."

"Shut up" Logan barks. This man is insane.

"Make me" He spits back, amusement dropping away in a fraction of a second to reveal derision underneath.

Logan moves, pressing the knife hard against his cheek. This close, he can hear the man's rapid panting breath and smell the sour stench of him. It turns his stomach.

"You'll have to press harder than that if you wanna see blood." He hisses, a crazed look in his eyes. “You sure you've got what it takes? You're not gonna pass out on me the second you break skin, are you?”

"You don't know me." Anger claws its way up his throat. The words taste of it as he forces them through clenched teeth.

"But I know Jesse. And you're their family." He pouts. "So sweet. Doubt they'd love someone capable of torture."

That makes Logan pause. What would Jesse think of this? He's honestly not sure. Even though they're angry, Jesse has never been one for revenge. He's not sure they'd be capable of something like this. He's not sure what it says about him that he is.

"Oh no!" Morgan exclaims, "didn't mean to freak you out. I'm sure it's fine.” He grins in mock sympathy. “Here, let me help. I'll make it easy for you. My first visit with Jesse, I had them strung up just like this. I like to start with a knife too. Most people haven't experienced that kind of deliberate pain before. Jesse was no exception -"

"Stop talking!" Each word spears Logan's heart, breaking his composure. He doesn't want to know this.

"You have to shock them. Show them they're out of their element. Let them know you're gonna hurt them and give a taste of what that means." The words spill out fast and brutal as gunfire. "What's coming isn't a back alley beating and a few questions. It's best to make them scream. Otherwise, they'll feel they've got the better of you. Jesse screamed. Only took like twenty minutes. They try so hard to be tough, but turns out, their ribs are especially sensit- oof"

Logan feels the crunch of Morgan's nose breaking against his fist, it isn't even close to enough.

"-they're just pathetic-"

Logan hits him again, and again, not letting him finish. Fists driving into his chest, ribs, stomach, face.

"You fucking animal!" He bellows, punctuating each word with another blow. "You don't deserve to breathe the same air as them!"

He wants to hear him scream. He keeps hitting, but all he hears is the frantic wheeze of breath in and out of the man's shattered nose. The weak little sound makes him see red

Morgan's knees buckle and he slumps in his chains.

Logan drags his head up by the hair only to see sharp, bloodstained teeth grinning up an him. Morgan hisses out flecks of blood and spittle with each labored breath, he's laughing.

"There you are" the words are strained, but satisfied, almost triumphant. They boil Logans blood

The knife is back in his hand as he moves behind his prisoner. Finding one of the partially healed wounds, he slashes through it, reopening and deepening it all at once. Adrian's body jerks and a painful grunt escapes him. Finally.

Logan drags the tip of the knife slowly across his skin, not deep enough to cut, gratified to see goose flesh rise in its wake.

He examines an area on Morgan's left shoulder, a spot where his skin is almost entirely peeled away and infection has set in. He drives two knuckles into it, cracking the scab. Morgan groans, trying to writhe away, but Logan follows his movements, increasing pressure on the wound. His groan turns to labored gasps before Logan finally pulls away.

He doesn't give the man a second to catch his breath before punching him in the same shoulder. Logan sneers, watching his face contort in pain.

It feels good

He lets himself touch rage.

Taking full advantage of the mans wounds Logan places each blow precisely, tearing open semi healed gashes and deepening healing bruises with his knuckles. Fury pours from him like a river broken free of its dam.

Jesses body. Their leg, smashed and unusable. The look on their face when he found them cowering against the cabinets, kitchen knife clutched in trembling hands. The way they act during their hallucinations. They way they look at him-

"How could you?" He roars, not caring that he's lost control. He wants to kill this man

"How could you?" Take their smile, their laugh, their peace! Their whole fucking life now revolves around Adrian fucking Morgan and the damage he's left behind

"How could you?"

An agonized sob tears from Adrian's throat, startling Logan back to himself. The man isn't laughing anymore. Tear tracks cut through the blood and grime on his face, and his body shakes with whimpered sobs he's trying hard to control

There's blood in Logans eyelashes.

He notices he's crying too. Trying to wipe away the tears only smears more blood on him, and suddenly the anger is gone, replaced by trembling hands and nausea. Disgust rolls in his belly at the sight of his bloody hands and the ruin of Adrian's body before him.

"I was wrong." Morgan gasps between labored breaths, his voice still holding the remnant of tears. "You do have what it takes. Congratulations," his eyes drift closed, body relaxing into the chains."You're just like me..."

Silence rings in Logans ears like the aftermath of an explosion, he's frozen in place, he can feel blood dripping from his right fist. After a long moment Morgan licks his lips

"I recommend getting yourself a whip, or a sturdy cane." He pauses "You can do more damage, quicker with those. They hurt worse and don't take as much energy as a beating. You look like you're about to drop" the absurdity of his words shock Logan out of his stupor.

"There's something seriously fucking wrong with you." He shoots back

Morgan tries to laugh, but it's closer to a sob. He sounds drained, uterly exhausted, but almost sympathetic when he says "Your first time will fuck you up. Be sick, if you need to. Take a shower, try and get some sleep. You might be in shock, either way you look almost as awful as I feel." He smirks

Logans eyes narrow. "You're a creepy little fucker. Aren't you? Even chained up in my basement you're still pretending you're the one in control. Trying to make me feel small. When will you get it through your head? You're nothing anymore."

He scoffs, eyes drifting closed again as Logan turns to leave.

"Wait." He calls almost reluctantly. He looks like he's about to say something he already regrets. "If you leave me like this, I'll suffocate. I can't stand for much longer, and hanging like this puts too much pressure on the chest."

Logan doesn't want to believe him, but he can hear the strain in his breathing already. Still, he considers just walking out. It's probably a lie, but even if it isn't... good riddanc. The world would be better off without Adrian Morgan in it. And he might be better off never coming down here again

He can't do it.

Releasing one of Adrians wrists to free the chain from the ceiling, Logan berates himself. If this man lives, if he gets out, it will be Logans fault. He should kill him now while he has the chance. Is it weakness? Too soft a heart? or is he just not done making him bleed.

Adrian slumps to the ground, cradling his wounded midsection. The only sign of his pain is a sharp intake of air as he curls in on himself. He holds his wrists out for Logan to recuff. They're already rubbed raw.

"Thank you." and he doesn't sound sarcastic or mocking or angry, just tired.

"Goodnight, Adrian." He spits, closing the door

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