#I mean I don't want war either but at least I understand war is here regardless and Ukraine has no choice but to fight

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bad Day at Black Rock | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: panic attack/PTSD, recovering from a sexual assault (HEED THESE WARNINGS ESPECIALLY FOR THIS CHAPTER), canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 6673

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“What?!” you exclaimed. “She’s a demon, and you didn’t gank her?!”

Sam had just finished telling you and Dean about this Ruby girl he’d met. 

“No, (Y/N), I mean, she seemed pretty helpful on the Seven Deadlies case.”

“Wait, she’s the blonde chick?!” you realized. “Why the fuck would a demon help me?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “That’s what I’m trying to understand, too. And if she helped us then, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have at least listened to what she had to say.”

“Because ‘demon,’ that's why,” Dean snapped angrily. “I mean, the second you find out this Ruby chick is a demon, you go for the holy water! You don't chat!”

“No one was chatting, Dean,” Sam huffed.

“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?”

“Because she said she might be able to help us out!”

“With what, though, Sam,” you chimed in. “You’ve never said how she’s supposed to be able to help us. Or with what.”

“She told me she could help Dean,” Sam said quietly.

Dean seemed to not understand.

“With the crossroads deal, I’m assuming,” you told him.

Sam nodded.

The older brother looked at Sam incredulously. “What is wrong with you, huh? She's lying, you gotta know that, don't you? She knows what your weakness is; it's me.” Dean paused for a second. “What else did she say?”

Sam was quiet again.

You and Dean leaned in expectantly. “Dude?” the older brother questioned.

“Nothing. Nothing, Okay?!” Sam snapped. “Look, I'm not an idiot, guys. I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her. I mean, we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy. We don't know where they are; we don't know what they're doing. I mean, hell, we don't know what they want. Now, this Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own. Now, yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it.”

“You're okay right, I mean you're feeling okay?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed. “Yes I'm fine. Why are you always asking me that?”

You looked between the two brothers when a phone began ringing. You checked your pockets; no buzzing. Sam and Dean’s phones weren’t ringing either. 

“Check the glove box, it's Dad's,” Dean suddenly realized.

“Dad’s?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call.”

‘Smart boy,’ you thought.

Sam opened the glove box and found the ringing phone. “Hello? Yes... this is Edgar Casey… No! No, no, no, don't – don't call the police, I'll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just uh, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uhm, I- I uh, I don't have my - my book in front of me—” Sam gestured to you for a pen, which you quickly handed to him— “do you- do you have the address so I can... Sure, okay. Go ahead. Right, thanks a lot.” He then hung up and turned to Dean. “Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Outside of Buffalo?”

The older brother shook his head. “No way.”

“Yeah. And someone just broke into it.”

***

“No demons allowed,” Sam noted upon entering his father’s storage container. A large Devil’s Trap was etched into the ground, and two sets of bloody footprints traveled right through it. 

“Check this out,” Dean said, stooping to hold up a tripwire. It was attached to a shotgun hidden in a large animal skull. 

“Whoever broke in here got tagged,” Sam said.

“I got two sets of boot treads here,” you announced, “looks like it was a two-man job. And Buckshot Boy looks like he kept walking.” You nodded toward the bloody footprint trail leading into the container.

“So, what's the deal?” Sam wondered aloud. “Dad would do work here or something?”

“Living the high life, as usual,” Dean quipped.

The three of you crept around John’s storage locker, and the two brothers chatted about how much of a mystery their father still was to them. You took in the varying types of clutter. To your surprise, the room was filled with old memorabilia; photo albums, a graduation cap and gown you assumed was Sam’s, and a few boxes whose contents were written on the outside of them in a woman’s handwriting you assumed belonged to Mary. 

You smiled at a trophy on a shelf nearby. “Check it out,” you said, picking it up and dusting it off. “Sam Winchester, 1995,” you read aloud, “Soccer Division Championship.”

Sam grinned and came over to you. “No way! I can't believe he kept this.”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled lopsidedly, “it was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy.” He wandered over to another table with a shotgun laid on it. “Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off. I made it myself. Sixth grade.” The older brother laughed and pumped the dusty shotgun.

“You made that?” you questioned.

“Not bad, eh?” he grinned excitedly.

“No, not at all,” you giggled. “Damn, dude.” You took the gun from him and inspected it, impressed with Dean’s craftsmanship. He smiled proudly at you.

“Guys, over here,” Sam said. You followed his voice over to a door to a back room. The chain on the door had been cut, and you cautiously made your way inside.

You waved your flashlight around the room to find varying weapons and lockboxes that no doubt held nasty supernatural objects.

“Holy crap. Look at this,” Dean called, “he had land mines. Which they didn't take. Or the guns. I guess they knew what they were after, huh?”

You took in the lockboxes on the shelf on the far wall. “This is binding magic,” you pointed out. “Curse boxes.”

“Curse boxes?” Dean questioned. “They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kinda like the Pandora deal?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object.”

“Well, Dad's journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, y'know? Dangerous hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they ended up,” Dean added.

“Must be his sulfur-sludge dump,” you joked. You noticed a rectangular-shaped hole in the dust that had settled over the shelf. “Well, they found what they were looking for.”

“Great,” Sam groaned.

“Well, maybe they didn't open it,” Dean suggested optimistically. 

“Cute thought, but I’m sure they did,” you replied flippantly. You looked around the exterior of the storage unit for anything that could be of use to you; footprints, tire tracks, and… aha! A security camera.

“That’s helpful,” you noted, pointing up at it. 

The boys helped you fish the SD card out of the security camera, and you hooked it up to your computer. 

“There, license plate,” you noted. “And now…” you pulled up an alternate tab and copied the license plate number into it. Immediately, pages began scrolling of places the license plate had been seen at. Most recently, an apartment not too far from you. 

“Ta-da,” you announced childishly, and the brothers looked at you in shock.

“Jesus, (Y/N), how’d you get access to all this?” Sam asked.

“Oh, y’know,” you smirked, trailing off. 

Sam looked at you expectantly. 

“Same way any hackers do,” you shrugged. “Had this guy on the hook for a bit when I was, maybe, twenty. Found out he was an FBI agent in the cyber unit— not the brightest of the bunch— and I phished his computer. Of course, as soon as I did, the computer broke and shut down. Told him I was good with computers and could fix it for him, and then, I cut and run. Fixed the laptop up and had access to everything he had access to. Exported it to my laptop, ditched his somewhere in Arizona, and here we are.”

“That is…” Dean trailed off, “incredibly hot.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. 

“Get a room,” Sam mumbled, moving over to the Impala.

***

You and the Winchesters crept into the apartment belonging to the drivers of the stolen Connecticut vehicle, guns drawn. You could hear two men chattering about their poker game, and then you finally burst into the room on Dean’s nod.

“Freeze, freeze! Nobody move!” he commanded.

“He said don’t fucking move!” you ordered, pinning the bandaged, redheaded man to his seat with your gun.

“What is this?” the other man questioned.

“Stop!” Sam demanded. 

“Alright, give us the box. And please tell me that you didn't–”

Sam cut Dean off. “Oh, they did.”

“You opened it?!” Dean grunted. He shoved the dark-haired man against the wall.

“Are you guys cops?!” the man pinned wondered.

“What was in the box?” Dean questioned angrily.

You noticed a rabbit’s foot on the edge of the table. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought. 

“Oh, was that it, huh?” Dean laughed coldly. “It was, wasn't it? What is that thing?”

The man used Dean’s distraction to knock the gun out of his hand. When it fell to the floor, it fired, and you had to drop to the floor to avoid being hit in the face by the bullet.

The bullet ricocheted off the radiator and hit Sam’s gun, and he dropped it. The same bullet somehow ricocheted and hit a lamp, breaking it. You dove across the floor, trying to grab Sam’s gun, and the redheaded man pushed Sam down on top of you.

“The fuck, Sam?!”

“Sorry!”

You scrambled toward the redhead, and he backhanded you, somehow knocking you off balance and sending you to the floor. You normally wouldn’t have been so thrown off by such a simple move, but that rabbit’s foot was definitely working its magic. 

“Dean, I got it!” Sam announced. You turned around to see him holding the rabbit’s foot.

“Fuck, Sam, no!” you cried upon seeing him holding the cursed object.

The dark-haired man moved forward holding Dean’s favored gun and cocked it in his face. The man pulled the trigger in Sam’s face, but the gun jammed. 

‘Thank god.’

A quick scuffle ensued in which the two men opposing you had a bookshelf fall on them and a carpet got wrapped around their ankles and tripped them. Both men knocked themselves out, and Dean laughed triumphantly.

“That was a lucky break!”

“No, not lucky!” you shrieked. “Sam, that’s a rabbit’s foot!”

“Uh, yeah?” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” you panicked. 

“No, what are you—”

“I’m calling Bobby,” you said, storming out of the apartment and back to the Impala. 

“Whoa, whoa, why? I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, (Y/N),” Dean countered, catching up to you. 

“Because that’s a rabbit’s foot, Dean! A cursed object! Its literal function is to bring bad luck,” you explained.

“How?” Sam asked. 

“Once you touch it, you’re marked. Luck’s gonna be on your side.”

“Better buy some lottery tickets then,” Dean chuckled excitedly.

You glared at him. “But if you lose it, you’re fucked. It’ll keep bringing you bad luck till it eventually kills you.”

“Well, I just won’t lose it, then,” Sam tried. 

“Everybody loses it, Sam! That’s the whole point!”

The two boys looked slightly shaken; Sam more so than Dean. Dean was laughing all the way to the bank on this one, and he dragged you and Sam to a gas station to get lottery scratch-off tickets. Then, he drove you to a restaurant chain location called Biggerson’s for some dinner. 

You sat on the phone with Bobby, the two of you angrily muttering about the insanity of the situation to each other.

“Gotta say, kid,” Bobby started, “was hoping the next time I heard from ya, it’d be on happier terms than this.”

“Trust me, me too,” you sighed. “Do you know of anything that can stop this?”

“I’ll dig around—”

Bobby’s voice in your ear was cut off by Dean triumphantly exclaiming, “twelve-hundred dollars! You just won twelve-hundred dollars!”

You grimaced and put the phone back to your ear.

“I’m guessing Sam’s luck’s still good,” Bobby drawled.

“For now, but I don’t know for how much longer.” You got out of the car, suddenly feeling suffocated in the Impala. You paced around, as did Sam, and you watched as he walked over to something glistening under a newspaper on the ground. 

“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Lemme look through my library and make some calls,” Bobby said. “Call me if anything else goes to shit.”

You laughed, and Sam stood up holding a golden watch. He turned to Dean who stood next to you and mouthed something like, “Awesome,” to his brother.

“Will do,” you told the older man on the phone. “Hurry, Bobby.” You hung up as Dean calculated the winnings from the scratch-off tickets he made Sam fill out.

“Oh, man!” Dean grinned. “We’re up fifteen grand!”

You and Sam half-smiled, both feeling unsettled still.

Dean continued to laugh as he walked into the restaurant with you hot on his heels. 

“In case you forgot, Dean, we’re still technically fugitives,” you hissed. “If Sam’s luck goes to hell, we could be royally fucked.”

“Don't worry,” Dean said easily. “Bobby 'll find a way to break it. Until then I say we hit Vegas, pull a little Rain Man. Sam can be Rain Man.”

“Look, we just lay low until Bobby calls back, okay?” Sam whispered. He turned to the man behind the host stand. “Hi, uh, table for three, please.”

The man’s face broke out into a grin, and he hollered, “Congratulations!” An alarm began to sound through the restaurant.

“It's exciting, I know,” Dean quipped.

“You are the one millionth guest of the Biggerson's Restaurant family!” the man announced. 

The staff surrounding you began singing and taking photographs while they shoved a giant check into your hands. Balloons fell from the ceiling, and you and Sam would’ve rathered been anywhere else. Dean was ecstatic, though, which you were happy to see. You’d suffer tremendous embarrassment fifty times over just to see him smile. That thought scared you a little bit; how you'd do anything for him. You had a tendency to be an extremist.

You were escorted to your table, and a gorgeous waitress in what was clearly a black bob wig approached your table. 

Her coy smile was alluring, but something about her wasn’t sitting right with you. Still, nothing seemed off through the rest of the meal. Sam clacked away on his laptop rattling off bits of lore he was reading on rabbit’s foot Hoodoo magic while you and Dean shared a bowl of ice cream. 

“I think from now on, we only go to places with Biggerson's,” Dean commented. 

The waitress came back over to your table with a pot of coffee and grinned at Sam. “Can I freshen you up?”

Sam nodded. “Thanks.”

The waitress poured, still smiling, and spilled some in her flirtatious stupor. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Let me mop up here. Sorry about that.” She hurriedly cleaned her mess and left the table, appearing to flirt with Sam over her shoulder even as she left.

“Dude. If you were ever gonna get lucky…” Dean trailed off.

Sam smirked. “Shut up.”

You smacked Dean’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Sam went to pick up his coffee, but he knocked the cup over and spilled it all over himself. Before you could process what was going on, he jumped out of his seat and into a waiter with a full tray. Things went flying through the air as Sam rushed profuse apologies. 

“Sam, check your pockets,” you said evenly. 

He did, and his hands came up empty.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

You and the brothers threw a wad of cash on the table and raced into the parking lot after the waitress. You noticed the black bob wig ditched on the ground a few feet from the door. “I knew it was a wig!”

“What?” Sam asked, turning around to you. He immediately tripped and fell flat on his face. 

“Wow! You suck!” Dean laughed, turning back to a groaning Sam.

“Ow,” the younger brother whined while you helped him up. His knees were bloody and raw through his ripped jeans.

“So what, now your luck turns bad?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah, Dean, I believe I’ve said that,” you remarked, and he glared at you. 

“Well, how bad does it get, genius?” 

“Really bad. C’mon,” you urged. 

“Where we goin’?” Sam asked.

“Back to the two jackwads that got us into this mess,” you said, hopping in the driver’s seat. 

“Whoa, who said you could drive?” Dean questioned.

“Me. Don’t be a child,” you said. 

***

You broke into the apartment once again to find the brunet man sadly downing a bottle of tequila. 

“Oh, man. What do you want?” the man asked.

“Heard about your friend. That's bad luck,” Dean tsked, referring to the death of the redheaded thief. 

“Piss off,” the man spat.

“We know someone hired you to steal the rabbit's foot. A woman,” Dean continued.

“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because she just stole it back from us.”

The man laughed. 

Sam stepped forward. “Listen man, this is seri—” and then he fell to the floor mid-sentence, pulling a CD player and a shelf down on top of him. 

You turned back to help the younger brother up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, smiling awkwardly in thanks for your help. 

“I want you to tell us her name,” the older Winchester continued to the man. 

“Fuck you,” was the only response he got.

“It wasn't a freak accident that killed your partner,” you tried, coming out from behind the couch.

“What?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t been thinkin’ it. I thought you’d be smarter than that,” you challenged. That seemed to get under the man’s skin, so you continued. “That series of unfortunate events that had to happen to kill your partner— like, had you not seen it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have believed it— that was the rabbit’s foot. If you don’t help us stop this thing, those deaths are on you, my friend.”

The man in front of you looked worried. 

“And I gotta tell you, it doesn’t seem you’re cut out for the whole killin’ thing. You don’t wanna be a killer, do you?” you continued to press.

The man shook his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “No.”

***

You left the apartment repeating the woman’s last name over and over in your head. The man told you “Lugosi” was the only name he and his partner were given when they were hired. 

You took out your phone and called Bobby. 

“Hey, (Y/N), glad you called,” you heard the man say. 

“Hey, we got a situation here—”

“I found a heavyweight cleansing ritual that should do the trick,” Bobby continued. 

“That’s awesome, thank you, but uh…” you trailed off, trying to decide how to phrase your next words. You decided not to sugarcoat it in the end. “Sam lost the foot.”

“He what?!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed. You turned back around to see Sam and Dean trying to use a broken storm grate to get gum off the bottom of Sam’s shoe. You shook your head at their faces when they noticed you; seeming like two little kids caught with their hands in the candy bowl. You returned your focus to your phone call. “Listen, you know anybody by the name ‘Lugosi’? Maybe mid 20’s, super hot, my height—”

“Aw, crap. It’s probably Bela,” Bobby said. 

“ Bela Lugosi? That’s cute, but never heard of her,” you replied.

“Bela Talbot’s her real name,” the older man continued. “Crossed paths with her once or twice.”

“How the hell would she know John had the rabbit’s foot? She a hunter?” you questioned.

“Pretty fuckin’ far from a Hunter, but she knows her way around the territory. She's been out of the country,” Bobby explained. “Last I heard, she was in the Middle East someplace.”

“Well, she’s back!” you mock-cheered, exasperated.

“Which means seriously bad luck for you,” the older man added.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” you quipped.

“Well, kid, if it is Bela, at least I might know some folks who know where to find her,” he finished. 

“Thanks, Bobby. For everything.”

“Just… look out for those two idjits.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

You sighed and turned back around to see Dean reaching through the storm drain and Sam looking dejected. 

“What happened?” you asked.

“I lost my shoe,” the brunet replied sadly. 

Your eyebrows furrowed sympathetically, and Sam’s head hung low. Dean seemed annoyed and huffed, standing up from the floor. 

“C’mon,” the older brother asserted.

***

Bobby did actually have a pretty good lead on Bela; she apparently lived in Queens about two hours away. 

“So what are we doing here?” Sam questioned, referencing the motel you’d just gotten a room at. 

“You, my brother, are staying here 'cause I don't want your bad luck getting us killed,” Dean stated. “And (Y/N), you’re staying with him.”

“What?! Why?” you protested. 

“Because Sam actually listens to you when you tell him not to do something. And you’re way more responsible than me,” Dean shrugged simply.

“Fair point,” you sighed. “Knowing you, you’ll touch the stupid rabbit’s foot, though.”

“Pfft, c’mon, it’s me we’re talking about—”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you dryly stated.

Dean glared at you playfully as he walked Sam into a motel room. You followed close behind and peeked out the door to make sure you weren’t followed. 

“What am I even supposed to do, Dean?” Sam whined.

“Nothing! Nothing. Come here. I don't want you doing anything. I want you to sit right here—” the older brother pulled a chair into the middle of the room— “and don't move, okay? Don't turn on the light, don't turn off the light. Don't even scratch your nose.” Dean turned to you. “If I’m not back by midnight, take off.”

“What, you gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?” you snickered.

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“Since when?”

“(Y/N)—”

“Okay, okay, fine, I heard you.”

Dean smirked down at you and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back,” he said.

You watched him leave, a bit of your heart tugging at being anywhere without him. Your feelings for him were certainly growing stronger, and it frightened you how constantly you needed to be near him. 

You turned back to see Sam wrinkle his nose a few times before finally risking a scratch at it. 

“Hey! None of that,” you said. 

Sam’s sad eyes turned to yours. “This fuckin’ sucks, man,” he sighed.

“I know it does. Kinda the whole point of the rabbit’s foot curse,” you commented.

He ignored your smart remark.

“Found anything on how to break Dean’s deal?” you asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. Did find out something interesting, though.”

“What?’ you asked.

“All my mom’s old contacts? All her old friends, the nurse who delivered me— they’re all dead,” he explained.

“What?!” you shrieked. “And you didn’t think to mention this before now?!”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Sam said. “Didn’t wanna say anything in front of Dean; he’d go berserk.”

“You know I have to tell him, right?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, no! Please don’t,” he begged. “Please. You know he’d flip. And, uh, probably more because of the way I got that information than the information itself.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Ruby told me.”

“Oh, god.” You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back. 

“C’mon, (Y/N), I mean, I called, and it all checks out. It’s got something to do with me and the demon; I know you recognize that pattern,” Sam tried.

“I do, but I don’t like being constantly stuck in the middle of you and Dean,” you said. “I’m supposed to be Switzerland, remember?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean Switzerland didn’t have information on the two sides, she just didn’t pick one,” he shrugged.

“Sam,” you warned, “You know how I feel about keeping things from Dean.”

“I know, I know, but you wouldn’t necessarily be keeping it from him, you’d be…” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to phrase his next words, “fulfilling a promise to me.”

“But I didn’t promise anything,” you argued.

“Please promise me you won’t tell Dean. Not till I’m ready,” Sam begged.

“Sam!”

“(Y/N/N), c’mon. Please, man. Please.”

You stared at Sam for a prolonged moment; you stared intensely and Sam looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes from his chair. You sighed and dropped your head forward. “Fine. But you are gonna promise me that you’ll tell Dean eventually. That’s my one condition.”

Sam nodded. “Deal.”

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam’s chair. “You Winchesters and your secrets.”

“Oh, like you don’t have any,” Sam deadpanned.

You looked up at the television and saw the reflection of your guard uniform and scratched-up face staring back at you. You took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Touché.” You paused for a moment. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What are you gonna do when—” you cut yourself off, tears beginning to well in your throat. You took a deep breath to push them down. “When Dean’s gone?” 

Sam shook his head. “(Y/N), no. He’s not gonna—”

“Sam,” you said. “We are trying everything we can. We’re two months into this thing and no closer to saving him than we were on day one. I stopped looking. Not ‘cause I don’t care anymore, but because I’m not gonna send you to Hell just so Dean can live. I mean, Bobby’s been lookin’, too! And he hasn’t found a damn thing. So I just think we have to be real with ourselves.”

Sam shook his head, tears in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna lose him,” you said, putting your hand on Sam’s knee to make him look at you and beginning to cry, too. “I don’t. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But… I’m scared, man. When I lost my family…” you closed your eyes at the memory of some of the awful things you’d done and would never forgive yourself for, “I don’t wanna do that again. And… And I just think that if we kept huntin’ together, we could keep tabs on each other. Make sure the other doesn’t go rogue, y’know?”

“I can’t believe you’re just gonna give up on him like that,” Sam spat, disappointed. 

“I’m not!” you argued. “But I’m not gonna help you kill yourself, dammit! Dean would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself!”

“Look, we’ve got ten months left. We’ll find something,” Sam continued. 

“I hope you’re right, man. I really do,” you said.  

Neither of you said anything for the next few hours.

During that time, you took out your journal and wrote. You didn’t usually keep journals when you were done with them as your duffel bag would be filled to the brim with them by now, but you were definitely going to keep this one; especially after Dean was gone. 

It was somewhat poetic that the first day you met the boys was the first time you’d written in this particular journal. Its pages were filled with your, at first, disdainful musings about the older Winchester brother and slowly but surely became your attempts at discerning your feelings for him.

You liked to buy quite thick and large journals to have enough room for your drawings and to be able to continue writing in them for months and occasionally years. This was the longest you’d been able to stretch one, though, and you were a little over three-fourths through writing in it. 

“I can’t help but wonder what comes next after all this,” you wrote, the pen gliding easily against the page in time with your racing thoughts. “I’ve always been awful about ‘futurecasting’ as Dad called it, but it’s even worse now. Every second I’m with Dean, I can’t help but think about how this is all gonna be over in less than a year. And it’s awful. I wanna be present with him. I just can’t. I don’t want there to be an end to us. I don’t even know if we are anything! He can’t even tell me he loves me.

“And I get it to some extent. ‘I love you’s are hard for him. Fine. I just wish he’d figure out some way to communicate with me that isn’t sex. I mean, the sex is great, but. I don’t know. And just after everything that happened, I’m not feeling great about having sex anyway. And I know it’s upsetting him, even if he won’t say anything; he’d never pressure me, and I know that. And I’m getting better about sex and related things. But it just sucks.

“And I don’t wanna bring any of this up with him and start fights because, as I’m painfully aware, that deadline is getting closer and closer every day. I just want him to be happy with me while he still can be.”

You dropped your pen when the air conditioning unit next to you began to smoke. 

“Oh come on, I- I didn't- I wasn't—” Sam whined.

“Just stay put,” you said. You jerked back in surprise when the unit suddenly caught fire. You grabbed the comforter from the bed next to you and began to put the fire out with it. Thankfully, the fire stopped. 

“I’m gonna see if I can get someone to fix that for us before your luck kills us both with carbon monoxide poisoning,” you said, starting toward the door. 

Suddenly, the door to the motel room burst open. However, it wasn’t Dean who opened it. It was two men. You drew your gun and cocked it, trained on the two men. “Get the fuck out,” you ordered. 

“I don’t think so,” said the older-looking man. He almost reminded you of Willem Dafoe, and you mentally pegged that as his name. The other man with a bizarre-looking mustache charged you, and you fired. Somehow, the bullet missed its target despite him being in such close range. 

“What the hell, Sam?!” you exclaimed. “Your luck’s rubbin’ off on me!”

“Sorry!” he winced.

The man charging you tried to restrain you in a headlock, but you kicked him squarely between the legs. You jutted your elbow back into his nose simultaneously, and the man dropped you. 

Unfortunately for you, though, Sam had been trying to help you by taking on Willem Dafoe. You turned around to see Sam unable to land a punch on the other man’s face. You tried to help him, but Sam ended up punching you across the face, and you were knocked out cold.

***

When you woke up, your arms were bound behind your back, and your legs were taped together as well. The men had laid you on your stomach, and you immediately began to struggle and panic, feeling your current position was too similar to the one you’d been in with the guard. 

“Dean! Help me!” you wailed without thinking. Your body was in autopilot as you struggled, and you couldn’t even focus on the men in the room. 

“Quit whinin’,” the man with the mustache told you. 

You could barely hear him over the roaring in your ears. “Dean!”

“I said shut up!” the man in front of you roared, slapping you across the face.

You couldn’t, though, continuing to flail like a fish out of water.

“Creedy,” the other man said, turning away from Sam and to his accomplice, “shut her up, please.”

“With pleasure.” The man took a rag out of his shirt and shoved it in your mouth, your muffled cries coming out around it. 

You vaguely heard Willem Dafoe beating the crap out of Sam while he talked about his mission from “god” to kill Sam. Then, the man drew his gun. His partner was unsettled, too, as you strained harder to get out of your binds. 

Suddenly, your saving grace appeared in the doorway. “Dean!” you cried through the gag in your mouth. 

Willem Dafoe turned around and aimed the gun point-blank at Sam’s forehead. 

“Nope. No destiny,” Dean said coolly referring to the man’s earlier comment about god and destiny leading them to Sam. “Just a rabbit's foot.”

“Put the gun down, son, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall,” the man replied, his tone ice cold.

Dean waved his Taurus around. “Oh, this thing?”

“Yeah, that thing,” look-alike-Dafoe responded. 

“Okay.” Dean put his gun down on the nightstand beside him, looking smug. “But you see, there's something about me that you don't know.” Dean smoothly picked up a pen off the nightstand beside the gun. 

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“It’s my lucky day,” Dean grinned. He tossed the pen toward Willem Dafoe, and it lodged in the barrel of the gun. ““Oh my God, did you see that shot?!” 

Forgetting all about your current situation, you started yelling through the gag, “You fucking touched it? You fucking idiot!” But all that came out was a muffled garbling of words. 

The man named Creedy lunged at Dean, but missed his punch completely. The man ended up running straight into the wall, and Dafoe was busying himself trying to dislodge the pen from the barrel of his gun. 

“I'm amazing,” Dean said smugly. He picked up the television remote and threw it hard at Dafoe. It hit the man square between the eyes, knocking him out cold. 

“I’m Batman,” you heard Dean suavely state, but you were too busy returning your focus to getting your binds undone. Now that the immediate danger was over, your body went back into panic mode. You yelped when you suddenly felt a hand on your back and fought even harder. 

“Hey, hey!” Dean coaxed. “It’s just me.” He saw you weren’t listening, and he immediately set to work cutting the duct tape binding your legs and wrists. Your hands shakily yanked out the rag in your mouth. Only then did you realize Dean was the one in front of you, and you leapt into his arms. 

He caught you easily, one hand around the underside of your back and the other around the topside your legs. You curled up into him and buried your face in his neck. 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Dean tried, but your shaking wouldn’t stop. You could feel your sobs slowly subside, but it took quite a while of Dean holding you for you to regain your composure. He pressed kisses into the side of your hair while he held you and tried to soothe you by telling you you were safe. 

You finally uncurled your legs from around Dean and let him put you down. 

Sam came up behind you to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You okay?” he asked. 

You nodded as you sniffled. 

“What happened?” Sam asked in that very unique-to-him soft voice. 

“I dunno,” you lied. 

Dean gave you a look that let you know he’d be asking more questions later. 

“C’mon, we gotta get the hell outta here,” you said, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You could feel the boys giving you questioning looks as you gathered up yours and the boys’ things and stalked out to the car. 

*** “Alright,” Sam began, sprinkling cayenne pepper into the embers of a small fire you and the Winchesters had started in the middle of a cemetery. “Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it.”

“One second…” Dean said absentmindedly, scratching off the last of his lottery tickets. 

“Dean—” Sam complained. 

“Hey, back off, Jinx. I’m bringing home the bacon,” Dean quipped. He stashed the cards in his jacket that he’d slung over a gravestone. “Alright, say goodbye, wascally wabbit.” He dangled the rabbit’s foot over the top of the fire. 

“Hey!” you shouted, whipping out your gun at the sound of a twig cracking. You aimed it at the sound, and Bela emerged from the darkness with hers drawn as well. 

“I think you'll find that belongs to me,” she said firmly. “Or, you know, whatever. Put the foot down, honey.”

“Oh, hell no,” you said, cocking your gun. 

Bela cut her eyes at you, shooting Sam in the shoulder.

You exclaimed, “What the—!” and Dean cursed, “Son of a—” as Sam collapsed to the ground. 

“Back off, tiger,” Bela told you. “Back off! You make one more move, and I’ll pull the trigger. You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit. But your brother? Him, I can’t miss.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” the older brother roared. “You don't just go around shooting people like that!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Relax. It's a shoulder hit; I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now.”

“Alright!” Dean mollified. “Alright. Take it easy.” He moved to drop the rabbit’s foot, but instead, he threw it at Bela. “Think fast,” he smirked. 

Bela caught the foot and immediately realized what she’d done. “Damn!”

“Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?” Dean smiled in satisfaction. 

Bela sighed, aggravated. She dropped her arm and uncocked her gun, but you kept yours aimed at her as she moved over to the fire. 

“Would you stop pointing that at me?” her smooth voice came without looking at you. 

“Sorry, love. Don’t trust you,” you smiled in fake-politeness. 

She rolled her eyes and moved back to the fire. She dropped the foot into the fire. “Thanks very much,” Bela continued. “I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.” 

“Wow. I really don't feel bad about that. Sam?” Dean turned to his brother.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

Bela’s gaze hardened. “Hmm. Maybe next time, I'll hang you out to dry.” She turned around and moved toward the gravestone where Dean’s jacket laid. You knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Have a nice night, girls,” Bela smirked. 

You glared at her. “Uh, uh! Turn around!” you ordered. 

“What?” she sighed, clearly annoyed. 

“Gimme the tickets,” you commanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied. 

“Yeah, you do. You can’t con me, angel.”

She grumbled angrily but took the stolen tickets out of her pocket and threw them to the ground. 

“Thanks a million,” you called after her. 

“You’re fuckin’ awesome, woman,” Dean admired, you assumed in reference to the tickets you noticed Bela stole. He came over to you and kissed you boldly. You giggled against his lips, and he held your waist firmly. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey! Bleeding out, here!” 

You broke away from Dean. “Oh, sorry!” you grimaced, moving to head back to the Impala. “C’mon, I’ll get you patched up.”

When you ensured the rabbit’s foot was burnt to a crisp, you and the Winchesters moved to the car. 

“You good?” Dean asked his brother. 

“I’ll live,” he responded. 

“I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. And we're up forty-six thousand.” Dean threw his arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, waving the tickets around in the air. 

“Maybe we should hit Vegas, see how good our luck still is,” you suggested, smiling lopsidedly. 

“I like the way you think,” Dean nodded. “Whaddaya say, Sammy?”

“I think you guys are gonna end up blowing all our money on slot machines,” the younger brother dryly commented. 

“Ye of little faith,” you said. “If not Vegas, we can at least get ourselves a nicer motel room. Maybe we can graduate to hotels!”

“Ooh, yeah. One of those hotels with a jacuzzi tub.”

“Hell yeah—”

“Guys,” Sam groaned. “Still bleeding out, here.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

You know what, I have to get this off my chest so here's my essay on why Anakin and Padme's relationship in Attack of the Clones singlehandedly sinks not only Episode II, but detracts from the entire prequel trilogy.

Here's the thing: the prequels are a tragedy, chronicling Anakin Skywalker's lamentable fall to the Dark Side and becoming Darth Vader. But the movies spend SO. MUCH. TIME. foreshadowing Anakin's fall, we never really get to see him be a hero. (I will always be immensely grateful to The Clone Wars for giving us this desperately needed characterization for Anakin).

The same applies to Anakin/Padme's relationship. Their romance should be a tragedy, and really the only way to make something tragic is to make the audience root for it to succeed in the first place.

But their relationship as depicted in the movies is so toxic and covered in red flags I can't root for it to succeed. (And Anakin himself is already apparently one breath away from going full Dark Side so there's no chance to root for him either.)

Side note about "I don't like sand" since the problems with their romance often get chalked up to "Anakin is awkward" : "Awkwardness" could have worked, because awkwardness CAN be sweet and endearing when it's coming from someone who is shown to be kind and compassionate (see: Tech in general, but also with Phee). But Anakin, 10 years after TPM, isn't depicted in AotC as truly kind or compassionate or anything even approximating heroic until maybe the Battle of Geonosis at the very end of the movie. So yeah, Anakin being an idiot young adult when talking to a girl he likes is understandable; it's all his other behavior that is absolutely unacceptable.

Just a few "highlights:"

- Padme covers the cams in her room because she doesn't want Anakin watching her, then directly calls out Anakin for the looks he's giving her and tells him it's making her uncomfortable... And Anakin's response is creepy smile and then later he persists in talking to her about how he dreams about her etc and so forth.

^ Oh, if only the above or similar had been the actual scene...

- Inexplicably (and out of character for the Padme we got to know in TPM), Padme just... rolls with it and lets Anakin continue the creepy behavior she just told him she didn't like? Okay, guess we're reinforcing the idea that when women say "no" they don't ACTUALLY mean "no," persistence always wins, just gotta keep trying no matter what the woman says.

- Anakin strokes Padme's bare skin (she still hasn't said anything to indicate she's okay with this kind of attention), and she kisses him before pulling away and expressing regret over it. Since there's no other explanation given for Padme's sudden attraction to Anakin, we're left to assume that Padme must have been hiding her feelings for him from the get-go and therefore it must have been right for Anakin to keep testing her boundaries (do I really need to spell out how deeply problematic this messaging is??).

- Padme tells Anakin a relationship isn't feasible. (I have frequently come across comments on her "dominatrix dress" in this scene because apparently if a woman is going to turn down a man she has to plan on wearing, what, a burlap sack I guess, so the guy doesn't "get the wrong impression"). Anakin then shuffles full responsibility for his feelings onto her because of "the kiss she shouldn't have given him."

- Anakin commits one mistake and bad decision and egregious crime after another in the movie, as noted above it's not until Geonosis that he makes any decision that could be marginally considered heroic or "good," and... Padme likes this awful behavior, apparently?? Where did Padme liking this come from??? (If you're going to have freakin' rational smart independent kick-butt PADME fall for something like this, at least explain/show WHY.)

- By the time we get to the "We're about to die so yeah I totally love you" cliche, I'm not even cringing anymore because I'm just trying to figure out how we got to this point in the first place.

So... Yeah, we keep being told this is an epic tragic romance, and all I can see is two hours' worth of indicators that if Padme were my real-life friend, I'd be holding an intervention long before Anakin got assigned to her security detail on Naboo. FOR FORCE'S SAKE, PADME, HE'S BEEN THROWING UP NOTHING BUT RED FLAGS! RED MEANS STOP!!!

Again, this isn't just "Anakin doesn't know how to talk to girls because he was raised as a space monk." (Come on, people, Obi Wan was raised the same way and he does NOT act like that... But I digress.) This is Anakin being a creepy stalker who doesn't listen to the woman he supposedly loves and won't take no for an answer, and he ends up rewarded for it, and we're supposed to cheer him and Padme on and want them to be together?

No. Not me, at least.

And with this as the backstory going into Revenge of the Sith, with us never getting the chance (in the movies) to see Anakin at his best even with the woman he supposedly loves, Anakin's fall doesn't really feel tragic - it just feels... inevitable. His fall is plenty tragic and regrettable for the Jedi and clones and the Republic in general, of course; but with respect to how Anakin's demise affects him, it just hits as being a long time coming.

(At the end of the day, the only reason why I tolerate Anakin/Padme in TCW is because I actively ignore everything about their relationship from AotC. TCW also did such a stellar job showing enough of Anakin's good side contrasted with his darker tendencies that Anakin's fall in RotS now finally hits me as tragic for Anakin in particular. And the only reason why I rewatch AotC is for Obi Wan and the Yoda v Dooku fight, I almost always skip over 90% of the "romance" scenes at this point because I don't like gagging while watching a movie.)

[medicinemane]

Once again pointing out that 100% of the invasion of Ukraine could end peacefully if Russia withdrew at any moment

Other than making sure they weren't trying anything funny, I'm sure Ukraine would allow them to leave all their territory peacefully (all, not just what was invaded this time, Crimea too)

Every bit of suffering caused by this invasion could be ended in an instant, but only one side can do that. The other side has to continue doing what they're doing and slowly advancing and repelling russia. Ukraine literally can't do more for peace than what they're doing right now

There are only two roads to peace right now. Russia sees sense and truly offers peace. Ukraine fights and slowly pushes back russia till russia either leaves or has an internal collapse

Sadly the second way is the only one I see as being realistic, because russia has shown over and over that it doesn't want peace and uses things like ceasefires for humanitarian corridors to attack the thing they promised they'd let through

[surielstea]

Nobody’s Soldier

Eris Week 2024, day 5: War

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Lieutenant!Reader

Summary: In which Reader and Eris spend their night before the war together going over battle plans, and distracting themselves from the bloodshed with other tactics.

Warnings: Slight Angst | Smut | Minors DNI | 18+ | Oral (f reviving) | p in v | penetration sex | slight worship kink | Sir kink | teasing | Eris FUCKS.

A. Note: Sorry this is so short!! I wanted it to be longer but, It’s mostly smut anyway ;)

3.1k words.

I drew in a sharp breath as I stared down at the map of Prythian, pawns of eight different colors sprawled across it.

The seven courts all gathered on one side, and Hybern in stark black marching from the west.

I groaned, my head pounding as Eris and I went over strategies for the umpteenth time that night.

Eris wrapped his arms around my shoulders, hugging me from behind and pulling me into his chest. I melt into his touch, craning my neck back to look up at him. "Where will I and my squadron be sectioned?" I ask in a tired murmur.

Eris's brows bunch and he looks down at me. "You're not fighting in this war." He shakes his head. I pull away from him, turning around to face him with confusion etched along my face.

"What do you mean I'm not fighting in this war?" My lip curls slightly.

"I'm your general, and I'm commanding you to stay off the field, what's not to understand?" He arches a manicured brow and I scowl.

"Eris I'm a Lieutenant, one of your best fighters," I state. "You cannot take me out of this war simply because you wish to keep me safe." I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Yes, I can." He states, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And I will, selfish or not you are my mate and I will not allow you to put yourself in danger." He frowned, the expression making my gut twist.

I stare at him in disbelief. "I'm a soldier, it's my job to protect this court. You cannot seriously think to keep me from fighting in our wars." I protest, stepping forward, craning my neck up at him, and snarling.

"I'm not sending you out there just to risk losing you to some war that wasn't even ours to begin with." He matched my tone.

"But it is ours. It always has been. If Hybern wins this war do you think he'll have mercy on us? That he'll even remember us?" I narrow my eyes on him and he grits his teeth, his expression unwavering. He did not speak, but he did not falter either.

"Gods, Eris if I knew accepting the mating bond meant that you'd keep me from the battlefield then I never would have—" I begin to say, but I didn’t get the chance to finish because suddenly my wrists were pinned back against the wall and Eris was flush against me, baring his teeth.

"I'd advise you don't finish that sentence if you know what's best for you." He warned a low growl rumbling from his chest that sent shivers down my spine.

"I could save lives that would be lost if I wasn't there. Lives, Eris, your men." I persisted, my voice softer but not weak.

"And jeopardize yours in the process? Call me a selfish and blinded bastard if you want, but if you were to get hurt? It would destroy me." He confessed, his voice dropping into a more intimate, sacred place, one that he only let me hear.

"Then you cannot fight either," I mutter sourly, despite my heart aching to agree, to tell him I’d do whatever he wanted if it meant we could stop arguing.

He barks a laugh at that, the sound clipped and lacking the warm amusement his laughter often had. "I am the general, I am an heir, I must fight and it is not my choice." He explained, and even if I already knew, it hurt to hear that it was not up to him whether he fought or not. "But I can save you, I can keep you safe at the very least, that, that will always be my choice." He steels his features.

"You're such a hypocrite." I scowl.

"I don't care, you are to stay here where I know you will be safe and that is final." His voice did not waver, the male I was looking at was a future High Lord, the General of Autumn's armies.

"And if they siege on this tower and slit my throat before you even get the chance to return to me?" I suggest and his brows bunch as if the thought alone brought him more grief than he could stomach.

"Gods, my darling can't you just stop being stubborn, just this once?" He asked, his voice teetering on a pleading.

"No, because I cannot sit here locked in this tower while you're out there in danger," I say. "If you fall Eris," I swallow, struggling to get the words out. "If you fall and I'm not there to say goodbye one last time, I will never forgive you or myself." I knew he only was looking after my best interest and safety, but he needed to realize that this would tear me apart as much as it would to him if our roles were reversed.

"So please, if you cannot stay behind too, then let me come with you." I was not above begging, I would, and if he still didn’t permit me to join his forces I would find a way to fight beside him anyway.

He seemed to recognize that, and ever so slowly he closed his eyes and let out a deep heavy sigh, one of forfeit— and I know, that I’ve got him under lock and key. "On one condition." He seethes and I suppress the smirk on my face.

I simply raise a brow, waiting for him to go on.

"You stay away from the front lines, you do not go into the heat of the battle unless it's completely necessary." He pauses. "Your squadron's goal will be to maintain your safety, if you try to do some self-sacrificing bullshit they have permission  to knock some damned sense into you, do you hear me?" He snarled, the General looking down his nose at me.

I let my wild grin form over my features. "Yes sir." I nod, biting into my lower lip and tugging at my wrists, which he still had pinned above my head.

"Swear it." He growled, not letting my arms loose until I did so and I rolled my eyes.

"I swear on the Mother Herself. I agree to your stupid requests, and will not step foot on the front lines or self-sacrifice." I grumble.

"Good." He removes his hold from my wrists and I immediately slither my hands around the nape of his neck. "You mean everything to me, I can't lose you." He said softly, wrapping his arms around my waist securely. I lay my head against his chest, hugging me tightly.

"I know, trust me, I know," I whisper, knowing I’d react far worse if I was in his position.

I silently absorb every detail of this moment, attempting to commit the warmth of his embrace to memory, the cinnamon and clove scent of him, the reassuring feeling of his muscular arms wrapped around me. But most importantly, the sound of his heartbeat and steady breathing. I don't know what I'd do if either of those things ever stopped. I tightened my arms around him at the thought.

Slowly, his hands run up my sides, past my shoulders and arms, and intertwine our fingers.

He silently pulls me to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it and guiding me into his lap, straddling his hips. He looked at me with both fear and desire swirling in his amber irises, and reverence behind it. I smiled softly and cupped his face in my palms, remaining silent as I pressed gentle kisses down his jaw.

He moved, his lips connecting with my neck, his touch worshipping as he pulled me against him, holding me for a moment, taking solace in the warmth and comfort that bloomed when we touched.

He trails his lips down the column of my throat to my collarbone, he nips slightly at the skin, then sucked and bit and licked at it, leaving a purple mark on the area. “Having one more night with you before we leave for the camps is torture." He grunted against my freshly branded skin.

"Why’s that?" I ask, my hand going into his hair. His touch increased into a more urgent, possessive need.

"Because I could spend an eternity worshipping every bare inch of you, but I'm sanctioned only a night." He explained. "I plan to memorize you, every dip, every curve, every damned inch of you." He said softly against my skin and I smiled as his hands slipped beneath my nightgown, gripping the bare skin of my hips, and when he noticed I wasn’t wearing any undergarments he only smirked against my skin, biting at the love mark softly. “Gods, you’re good to me.” He groaned and I grinned, winding my hips over his.

He couldn’t quite contain himself anymore and flipped us over, my head falling into the pillows, legs falling open as he moved between them. He made quick work of my nightgown, pulling it off and discarding it onto the floor. "I want to burn the memory of you into my mind,” He professed, his mouth ravenous as he kissed down the valley of my breasts. “To be able to remember your scent,” He went on, my hand gripping his hair as he traveled further south. “Your touch,” His breath was hot against my lower abdomen as he neared where I craved him most. “Your taste." My mate purred, his tongue darting out and licking a long stripe from my entrance all the way to my clit.

"Eris," I gasped, my back arching as he attached his wicked mouth to that bundle of nerves, sucking on it.

"That’s what I want to remember most of all, the sound of you moaning my name,” He said, his words half a groan. “I never want to forget that." He pressed a gentle kiss to my pulsing cunt and my breath hitched. “You going to be good for me?” He asked and I nodded, eager to feel him. “Answer me,” He commanded.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured and his canines brushed over my folds, a low growl sounding from him in reaction to my obedience, and the nickname, it always sent him spiraling when I called him that.

He mercifully didn’t drag the foreplay on for much longer, his lips sealing around my clit while two of his fingers trailed around my entrance, dripping in my arousal before dipping in and stretching me out.

I mewled at the feeling, his name the only thing on my lips as he worked me up towards my release. He was going to be the death of me if he kept this up. His fingers curved inside of me, toying with that sweet spot that made my vision blur and my breath hitch. His tongue mimicked the movement of his hand and my legs jolted, a clear sign that my release was steadily approaching. How was he so damned good at that?

He chuckled darkly against my most sensitive area, the sound sending reverberations up my spine. “You already close, baby?” He taunted and I nodded, eager to reach that beckoning, all-consuming peak. “How adorable,” His teasing remark elicited a whine from me and I tugged at his hair, beyond words.

He returned to my neglected clit, his fingers still pumping in and out of me as I barreled towards my climax.

“Come on my tongue,” He said, an order from a General. His tone alone made me release a slew of moans, my back bowing into the mattress as I gripped his hair. He groaned at the feeling of me pulling on his fiery red locks.

“Eris,” His name was a prayer on my lips, like he was a damned God and only he could grant me the pleasure I so desperately desired. At the sound, he bit at my clit and I gasped, my hands loosening as my release crashes into me in rolling waves of pleasure, casting down my spine to my core where he helped me ride it out.

He pulled away after a few more swipes of his tongue through my stimulated folds. He kissed back up my stomach, through my breasts. Every kiss was deliberately made as if he couldn’t forget how each inch of my skin felt on his lips.

I fisted his hair and brought him up hurriedly, my lips crashing against his, tasting myself on him. "I want you engraved into me, permanently." He whispered and my heart melted at his dedication, his loyalty. “My girl,” He murmured softly and I knew he was only saying what was on his mind, too caught up in his thoughts to realize he was even speaking aloud.

“I’m yours,” I say, cupping his jaw. “And you’re mine,” I grin wildly. He nods, a love-drunk look on his face.

“Body and soul,” He agreed while leaning closer, capturing my lips in another fierce kiss. His hips rut down onto my glistening cunt and I groaned at the feeling of the clothed bulge in his pants rubbing against me. He takes advantage of the sound I make because it allows his tongue to slip into my mouth, hungrily exploring with it.

His hands roam my body, his touch claiming yet reverent. One of his hands comes to my hip, pinning it in place to stop my writhing while the other gropes my peaked breast, his thumb swiping over the sensitive bud.

“Eris,” I moan, my back forming a crescent as he grinds his hips over mine again. “Please, I need you inside of me,” I beg, my hands moving from his hair to his shoulders, muscles shifting under my touch as he adjusted, pulling his pants off and whatever was beneath them fervently.

I writhe but his hand tightens at my hip, fingers singing and digging into my soft skin. “Stay still for me, can you do that for me?” He asked and I nodded.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmur and he smiles down at me, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of my lips, the touch so intimate.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, his cock aligning with my drenched cunt, dripping down onto his length.

“You alright?” He asks, his breath mingling with mine.

“Yes, please Eris make me feel good,” I consent and he smiles, all he needed to hear before he pushed the wide head of his cock into my cunt.

He groaned as I stretched around him, my elastic walls adjusting to his thick length. “Gods, you’re so tight baby,” He grunted through clenched teeth, attempting to reign in his composure and stop himself from ramming into me full force. “Taking me so well, atta girl,” He purred, pushing in deeper and deeper, and when I was certain I was full and couldn’t take any more, he pushed in one last inch. His face contorted into a mix of pleasure and restraint as he looked down at where we connected. My wet, puffy cunt wrapped around him so perfectly.

Ever so slowly, he began to move, his hips adjusting so he was pulling out and with each gentle thrust he would slowly go deeper, grow rougher until I was used to the stimulation and all my pain morphed into pure pleasure.

“Eris,” I mewled, my head tossing back into the pillows as I dug my teeth into my bottom lip to stop myself from screaming as he buried himself to the hilt inside of me, beginning to pound into me at a fast pace.

His abdomen contracts with every push and pull of his hips, his back flexing as I clawed my nails down it, leaving marks that he’d proudly display until they faded and he’d have me give them to him again.

His pace somehow increased into something animalistic, primal. His hand on my hip slithered up to my stomach, his palm splayed across the area and he gently, slowly pushed down.

I gasped as I felt him deeper, every ridge and vein of his length rubbing against my walls. I looked down, able to see exactly where he was inside of me as he continued pushing in and out of me. I moaned at the lewd sight, my eyes rolling to the back of my head as I dug my nails into his porcelain skin.

“You see that?” He purrs, staring exactly at what I was. “That’s how deep I am inside of you, stretching you out so you fit me, and only me,” He said, his words claiming and possessive as he continued to mold me onto his cock so no other male could derive the same pleasure from me that he could, not that I’d ever want anyone else to. I mewled at the idea of only being able to receive pleasure from him, my general, my mate. No one else, not even my own fingers.

“You like that, baby?” He smiled, his lips ghosting the shell of my ear. “I do, Sir,” I nod with a pleasure drunken smile across my lips. His cock twitched as I clench around him, signaling that he was nearing his release.

“You close baby? I don’t know how much longer I can hold back,” He warned and I nodded, my hands going to the nape of his neck.

“I’m—” My legs jolt. “So close,” I gasp out, my breath hitching and gaze shuddering.

“Look at me, I want to watch while you unravel on my cock,” He said with a feral, untamed grin that sent me reeling.

With one last roll of his hips, I met my second release of many that night. My orgasm took me full throttle, my vision growing fuzzy as heat washed down me. I clench tightly around me as I find my undoing, spurring him into his own release, his warm cum seeping into my cunt and filling every crevice, pumping me full. He bit at my shoulder as he groaned, our separate ecstasies coming together, longing in the air between us as we both rode our highs, his hips still rutting into me, much slower and relaxed now.

He grunts as he pulls out, it took effort, I had been milking him dry with how tightly I was clenched around him.

He let out a sigh, our pants filling the silent room, the fire crackling in the hearth that he must’ve absentmindedly lit in the midst of his pleasure.

He sank into the mattress beside me, his movements slow yet still carrying so much power to them.

“Aren’t you going to clean me up?” I hum the teasing remark tiredly, flipping onto my side to face him.

“You think we’re done?” He arched a brow, his hand coming to my bare hip and pulling me over him so my legs were spread over his hip. “I have one more night with you until this war is over, you’re a fool if you think we’re spending any of it sleeping.”

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[vershl]

Okay I think I made y'all wait long enough LOL

SORRY THEY'RE ALL UNCLOTHED BTW, I HAVENT FIGURED OUT OUTFITS YET- 💀

I don't really have a lot to share tbh in terms of lore/plans. This AU is very VERY fresh in my brain atm. But I will fill in some details for you guys so you somewhat/mostly understand the current characters I have for now.

---

Shadow

He is a red diamond (ultimate lifeform yada yada), and as stated, a "blood" diamond. I mean this somewhat in modern terms, but not entirely. In real life, diamonds mined in a war zone and sold to fund the costs, hence "blood". In this case; Shadow was created by the other diamonds (primarily white) as a weapon, the plan was to have a gem on equal footing in terms of strength and power that they could order around to do their bidding and do their dirty work.

Clearly, that didn't work out the way they wanted. Shadow pretended to be obedient, following white, and the other diamond's orders. He shattered other gems for whatever reason the diamonds deemed fit (among other things I haven't decided on yet), only doing so to avoid the risk of being deemed defective and shattered himself, or the gem being shattered regardless by someone else.. he at least knew he could give them a swift end without pain.

Once Shadow gained the diamonds trust to wander around as he pleased, the moment no one was looking, he stole a ship and left Homeworld. Going as far as he could into the universe until he found Mobius and crash landed there. It wasn't very long before Sonic found him, and eventually became allies, inviting Shadow into the Crystal Gems, to which he accepted, and chose the name 'Shadow'. He didn't want to be called 'Red' or 'Red Diamond' anymore. He was free now. (This is as far as I got with him, sorry y'all HAHA)

Sonic

Sonic is a yellow prism in the shape of an isotoxal star (the yellow is a nod to super Sonic). In my AU, because offical SU lore with gems is relatively limited, different colored gems even if of the same type, give different abilities/powers. In Sonic's case, yellow prisms give the ability of super speed, because of course, and he chose his name based on that fact as well.

Lore wise with Sonic-- He's the leader of the Crystal Gems (makes more sense considering the CG's signature symbol is a yellow star, so I just ran with that but changed the normal star to the isotoxal). But that's all I have for him.

the rest of these characters have 0 lore at all, i will just try to explain their gems a bit- sorry

Amy

Amy is a Mimetite, a heart stone which helps with emotional stability, inner balance, serenity, joy, and adventure (according to google). Because Amy is basically canonically that 'therapy' friend, mimetite fits perfectly with her personality. As you can see, there are only a few designs that have weapons currently, Amy's being obvious because it's her signature weapon and just works here in the AU as well.

Tails

Tails is a yellow peridot, it's obvious why, and I don't need to elaborate LOL. There isn't much different between peridot colors, it's more-so personality traits than abilities. Green peridots are quite egotistical and arrogant in themselves, while yellow peridots are more adventurous and selfless.

Knuckles

Sorry for his naked hands btw. Honestly, I don't think I have to explain why Knuckles is a garnet. It just tracks. (Reminder that in the show, Garnet isn't a real garnet, it's just what she decided to call herself. In this case, Knuckles IS a real garnet.) Is his signature gem weapon gauntlets/gloves, yes. Did I steal the idea from Garnet? Shut up. :] Besides, Knuckles needed his usual gloves somehow, and he fights by punching shit anyway, so why not? Star on the back of the gloves ofc for obvious reasons.

Rouge

GOD this stupid bat bitch, aaaanyway, ahem. In my AU beryls are information gatherers, either by stealing it or manipulating their way into obtaining it. Beryls are generally under diamond control and report back to their assigned diamond with information they demand for, obviously Rouge is part of the Crystal Gems, so she gathers information for them. And more often than not...is her usual self, and snoops around, digging up dirty secrets/information about her comrades and teases them to no end with it (Shadow being her favorite to torment for... reasons.)

Silver

I chose Silver to be a sapphire simply because of the fact that in the Sonic universe, he can time travel. So instead of time travel in this Steven Universe AU, he gets future vision. I mean it works, right?

Blaze

We can talk about her gem right.. right? It's really tasty and I want to eat it. So; opals are very, VERY rare (which fits with her whole being a princess thing or whatever). She was originally going to be a fire opal... that is until I found out about dragon's breath opals and changed my mind. Blaze is an absurdly rare gem, who knows, maybe even the only one of her cut. :]

Her gem gives her the ability to control fire as a weapon, and her unique cut gives her fire more power as well as makes the flames an unusual pinkish hue.

---

And that's everyone for now! I'm doing some little doodles that I might post a bit later on to compile together, but you can have the two I made of Shadow for now. eats him

[works-of-heart]

why do you ship elucien? im not trying to be rude its just genuine curiosity. to me elriel seems to be obviously canon and the author is writing them in a way that you'd genuinely find in romance with a very common misunderstanding trope. there have been so many hints to elriel being canon such as Azriel's mother being from Rosehall and the rose Symbolism with Elain. Given that Elain has shown nothing but contempt for Lucien, I just can't wrap my mind around why people will ship elucien and not elriel which appears to me to be endgame.

I don't mean any hate. I just can't understand why people would set themselves up for failure shipping a noncanon/fanon couple. I see so much in this fandom over the shipwars and wonder why the wars even exist. If elriel is canoon why do eluciens fight so hard against it? shouldnt we all be adults and accept it instead of flinging insults back and forth to each other? Not saying that you are but I see so many people go back and forth with these insults and it gets so annoying i thought we were all adults here. either way i hope you have a good day

Hi Anon! I appreciate the question, and the chance to gush about why I love Elucien.

First, however, let me start by saying anyone can ship anything and anyone they please regardless of canon or endgame. Shipping comes from the heart, it’s a feeling. Many people think of possibilities that two characters could have, or see their chemistry and enjoy it. For others, it’s the angst and connections that they have. A common trope is enemies to lovers, and that doesn’t always start off with a lovey dovey spark, but the tension and angst.

I feel that a common belief in fandoms now these days are that ships are only valid if they are canon or not, or, even more so, if they are endgame. A ships validity isn’t based off any of these factors, but how you feel about them. Crackships can sometimes evolve from a joke or meme, but then people sit down and actually find they love the idea of them and go onto creating some really awesome things for the ship! Even if it started as a joke, some may derive joy from it.

So you ship Elriel (I am assuming by context) and I ship Elucien. At the end of the day, one of them will be canonically endgame, but that does not mean people can’t still ship them. I promise, no matter what the book ends up to be, people will STILL ship who they want to, and that’s totally fine. Shipping wars have existed forever, genuinely someone will argue that one pair is better suited than their counterpart. I can understand that Elain gave Azriel some charged looks, I can see that she wanted to kiss him, and I understand why some other Elriel shippers like them. To be honest, I’ve shipped many a brooding boy with the sweet, energetic girl. The biggest example is Jin and Xiaoyu from Tekken who finally, after 25 years of teasing and build up became canonical endgame. Then there is Squall and Selphie from FF8, who did not become endgame, but I still ship them and love them.

We can all debate why we think one will be endgame over the other, some can concede and at least understand why people feel that way, others will choose to agree to disagree and stick to their grounds. One of the things I, as an Elucien hate about it is when an Elriel will call me, or my fellow Eluciens delusional for shipping a mated pair. For not seeing that Sarah is setting us up for failure when she’s played this game before. Girl likes guy, girl thinks she’s found her home, girl finds another guy whom she avoids who happens to be her mate and fights against fate. Girl spends time with guy she avoided to realize he is her equal, that he is a good male, that together they are a good fit. Girl struggles with her feelings and eventually chooses her mate who lifts her up and the two are happy in love. To be called delusional for seeing such connections and ship a pair that the author herself mated is very annoying. You do not have to agree with me, that is fine, but it does not make my ship any less valid.

Now, as to WHY I like Elucien? There are just… WAY too many reasons to list them all and this would be dreadfully long if I list everything. So I’ll name some of my top reasons.

Lucien and Elain are both underestimated. People brush off Lucien as someone who isn’t a Highlord, nor illyrian, so obviously he’s not as strong as Rhys as the Inner Circle. Elain is constantly talked down as plain, simple, peaceful and uninteresting. We haven’t been able to see Elain use her seer powers since Lucien last tugged on the bond, and with Lucien’s hinted heritage, I think we’re going to see these two show off a different kind of power.

The tension! There’s so much tension between Lucien and Elain, tension that we don’t have a full picture of. It’s clear that Elain is fighting against the bond, and Lucien, the man who promised to never love another, is now faced with a mate he believes does not want him. He’s dealing with the guilt of Jesminda while Elain is avoiding the bond. When both are faced with what the mother gifted them, finding the reason why they’re mates will be an emotional journey!

Home. People say that Elain belongs in the NC with her family, she even stated it too. However SJM seems to be showing that Elain might be a bit like Feyre in the way Feyre once claimed the SC was her home. There was a line about how the big poofy dress looked ridiculous on Feyre and how at odds she was with the place she once called home, with a man she once said she loved and made love to. The context of the book tells us that Elain is not where she’s meant to be, in fact, it was said over and over she was made for spring, she’d love spring, and her mate is currently there. I think these two are going to realize home is not a place, it is a feeling they get when they’re together.

Their potential. SJM said that Elain surprised both Lucien AND herself! There had to have been something that she saw between them when writing MAF that made her say “Yes, Mate these two instantly! Not only that, make it snap now!” Seeing that Elain is a gentle soul and Lucien is someone whose a bit of a smart ass, I’d love to see these two together. Elain would be the type of person to put him in his place, and Lucien wouldn’t baby her either, unlike how everyone else treats her! Their dynamic would be a treat to see on page.

There’s so much more to say about them, and I could go on and on! We have tension, and the possible healing and growth that was hinted at, the fact Lucien ventured with Papa A. and Elain was closest to him. There’s also the fact that Elain holds hope, she is light and warmth and Lucien who seems so hopeless, could find that in her. Elain craves light and sunshine, Lucien being the heir of Day, to having a blinding white light himself. The way when Lucien interacts with her, her powers activate. Not to mention the similarities between Solas and Cthona, Crescent City deities who are mates and lovers.

So to answer Anon, there are many reasons I love Elucien, and I will continue to ship them long after the series is over. Whether or not they’re in love right now, before either of them have a book has no bearing on their validity as a ship, or their possibility in their book. I think you’d find it easier to just let people have their ships and enjoy what they wish in peace rather than trying to tell others they can or cannot ship based off what the books tell us right now. Because as we all know from ACOTAR and ACOMAF, it doesn’t matter who you love at the start, not when you find home with your mate.

[fixfoxnox]

I Know You Didn't Take Requests But Just Curiosity... What Would Happen If Makarov Was Obsessed With A Nervous Russian Woman?

Kissing you (with your permission) for asking about Makarov I've been wanting to write with him so much since the newest trailer dropped AHHHH also I'm gonna take this as an x reader Makarov headcanon request if thats alright

Makarov Obsessed with Nervous Russian Fem! Reader

Warnings: Dub-con, loosely implied non-con, kidnapping, stalking, obsession, knife kink and blood kink, jealousy, murder

Makarov and reader meet before his time as an ultranationalist, when he's still at least a little good.

He's Spetsnaz and you're just a secretary trying to stay under the radar and make a living for yourself. Being around hungry men, men constantly away from their respective families or partners, never quite allows you to settle into peace.

You're one of the only women working on the base, and the men laugh when you jump at their sudden arrivals or hands on your shoulder. You don't find it funny, but they assure you that you have no reason to be nervous. You don't believe them, you're nervous all the time in a place like that.

There's one man who doesn't laugh at you. He's a captain and any time he makes you jump, he apologizes. He's kind and charming and, honestly, the only man on base you're able to find any sort of comfort in.

Makarov isn't sure what it is that starts his obsession with you. Perhaps its the amusement he feels when you stutter over yourself as you speak. Maybe its just that he enjoys having someone kind around. Maybe he just latched on to someone and you happened to be the unlucky victim.

Either way, it didn't matter. After a week of knowing you, Makarov is enamored. He's interested.

When Makarov is interested it means research. Research means watching you even when you think you're alone. Sneaking into your home or desk and snooping to understand more about you. He watches and learns all of your little quirks, everything that makes you tick. And Makarov is good at his job, so it's not surprising that you never realize.

Then the papers are sent. Makarov is discharged and the rumor floating around base is that it was an order by the UN after his cruel and inhumane treatment during war.

You don't believe its true, you don't believe Makarov is capable. Still, you're only a woman on a base surrounded by men, you can't voice your thoughts to anyone.

To you, Makarov dissapears. In reality, he's still around.

He joins the ultranationalists and stops trying to hide who he really is. With them, he's appreciated. His bloodlust is praised. He thrives under the guiding hand of Imran Zhakaev.

As he thrives, he doesn't forget you. He watches from the shadows, keeping tabs on your every move as he works himself up the totem pole of Ultranationalists. He keeps you as close as he can without you ever knowing.

And, in the shadows, he pushes and prods reader exactly how he wants her. He keeps men away from you, many of them never showing for plans you made. He encourages activities and learning about certain topics with hidden items for you to find.

And, when Makarov is made Zhakaev's second (only behind his son) and given more control and power, he takes no time in claiming his obsession.

He wouldn't be gentle about it. You'd been out of his grasp for far too long and now he had you here? Well the idea of bruises or bleeding skin only lit him up with excitement.

Now he isn't violent when he kidnaps you. Only disciplinary, as he says. You struggle and he corrects that action. And, as he settles you in to the base he's been staying at, you understand this is your new future.

Makarov is obsessed with you, he wants to own you, he wants every piece of you to be his. And that desire involves you giving yourself to him, giving in to his own wicked desires and playing along.

Maybe you resist at first, but at the end of the day you're a nervous person and you can do nothing but cower behind him. You're in deep, a madman is obsessed with you, and you're trapped behind enemy lines. What choice do you have but to give in and become Makarov's play thing.

Now, once you do give in, Makarov treats you like a queen. You are his after all, and what belongs to him gets taken care of.

I think Makarov is the type to shower his partner in gifts. Jewelry and silk. Anything that he would be able to physically see on his partner like a mark of his ownership over them.

He's an overprotective and jealous man. God help any ultranationalist who tries to flirt with you or insult you. After Makarov is done dealing with them in the only way he knows how, his ire often falls to you.

He takes his anger out in the bedroom in those moments. Making you beg and declare his ownership over you repeatedly.

Now, this doesn't define your more intimate moments with him. As much as Makarov loves having control, he's more than willing to let you take over and do what you will to him until he orders you to stop. He likes to let his inhibitions go under your touch.

Makarov likes to play domesticity. He likes it when you make him breakfast and see him off for the day with a kiss to his lips. He likes to have you waiting in the room for him, ready to cater to his needs. He likes playing house, pretending to be the perfect husband of a normal family.

He doesn't succeed most of the time. Meetings upon meetings often bleed into the sanctuary he wants with you and, more often then not, you find Makarov entering the room speaking in a quiet and clipped voice with other men, future plans for the Ultranationalists being discussed between them.

And finally, I think Makarov enjoys showing you off, to an extent. He's obsessed with you and he has you, of course he wants everyone to know it. Of course he wants to show you off.

But, at the same time, Makarov hates the ideas of others looking at you, of anyone else even possibly thinking that they could hold you and have you like he did

This often results in meetings or casual sit downs where you're pulled onto his lap or tucked against his side. You keep your eyes down and Makarov watches like a shark, ready to attack anyone who would so much as look at you.

Also knives in the bedroom and you should probably get used to blood, because you'll be helping clean it off of him most days, whether that's running him a bath and scrubbing it from his skin, or joining him in a shower for a much more intimate approach to ridding him of the blood.

[mossadspypigeon]

As a late comer to some of the nonsense, can you explain or point to something explaining what watermelons have to do with Palestine? Asking google "what the fuck do watermelons have to do with Palestine" was not a productive search. Where did that come from?

hello anon! yes indeed i can. this is gonna be a long post, so buckle in lmao.

so the main and simplified reason the watermelon is used (and i'll get into some more complex stuff and context because both are important to understand with this) is because red/black/green represent the PLO flag, which is known as the "palestinian flag."

now, i don't know if you know who the PLO are, so:

(this notice to include secondary sources is so faulty btw. this is based on primary sources written BY the plo, which removes bias of interpretation)

i recommend reading this wiki page at least and clicking on the sources for more information. it isn't as bad as some wikipedia pages and it can provide a good introduction.

now, the PLO is an internationally recognized terrorist org. it split into numerous factions, including yasser arafat's "fatah." fatah controlled groups like black september, which committed the munich massacre and also murdered the king of jordan.

the PLO itself has committed numerous acts of terror, including the hijacking of the Achille Lauro. terrorists who hijacked this ship shot and tossed a disabled jewish man in a wheelchair named Leon Klinghoffer overboard, etc. so no, they are not a resistance group. this act was sponsored and supported by arafat.

if you want to know more about their bullfuckery, which i recommend, read their charter here.

okay, now moving on to the flag:

you've probably noticed that the red/black/green/white thing is a motif used by several countries. this is because of "pan arabism."

rootsmetals did some good posts on arabization:

the specific colors have meanings, and those meanings are either religious or secular. the religious and secular connect though. let's take a look. i'm going to use arab sources without commentary on any biases:

on the other hand:

so. we know about the flag's history and its meaning. we know what it represents. now, let's go into the whole "watermelon" thing:

the reason it's used depends on who you ask. if you ask the pro palestine crowd, the watermelon is used in place of the "palestine flag" due to "censoring" and "silencing."

this goes back to the propaganda that israel banned the palestinian flag. israel DID NOT ban this flag legally, but it did have it taken down because...guess why? why would israel want the flag of the plo not flown? it's like flying a kkk flag in the usa, that's why.

yes, you have freedom of speech in israel, but it has its limits. those limits are hate and incendiary speech. the plo flag is a symbol of hate based on the charter and acts of the plo itself. also, fatah/the palestinian authority, which currently governs the palestinian section of the west bank/judea samaria and east jerusalem still pays terrorists who murder jews and israelis and are imprisoned. sooooo you can guess why the flag was taken down, but here is some of the propaganda:

the lack of sources in this article lmao.

again, hilarious lack of sources.

if you ask the pro israel crowd, it's an appropriation of a very zionist crop and a symbol of decolonization.

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if i find more sources on this, i will do another post.

but yes, the watermelon emoji is used because "the internet silences palestine," which is hysterical, considering google favors palestinian sources and most major news networks employ either palestinians or palestinian allied supporters.

and of course, tiktok and the rest of social media won't remove antisemitism, but will constantly ban jews and israelis. hence why finding sources on the jewish history of the watermelon is difficult.

anyway. hope this helps. <3 if you're comfy, definitely dm me sometime if you want to discuss things and/or get sources.

@matan4il do you happen to have any sources on the israeli/jewish/zionist history of the watermelon? if you do, it would be so appreciated.

[literaryavenger]

Captain America: Civil War - 5

Summary: Team Cap gets taken to the Raft.

Pairing: Avengers x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries. Language. Mentions of Y/N. A little angst if you squint. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: Thank god it took me very little to finish this one! Hope you like it!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The Raft.

That’s where they sent you after they arrested you in Germany. The fucking Raft.

You haven’t even seen Wanda since you were handed your very unstylish new clothes and they made you change.

You got separated from her when they took you to your cell between Scott's and Sam's. You dread what they're going to do to her, but you're powerless to stop them.

You sit on the ground of your cell and don’t move from there, barely registering what happens around you until the sound of clapping snaps you out of your trance. 

“The Futurist, gentlemen!” Clint shouts but you still don’t move, just listening to the scene. “The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what's best for you, whether you like it or not.”

“Give me a break, Barton.” You hear Tony say and almost show some emotion, but stop yourself. “I had no idea they'd put you here. Come on.”

You hear Clint spit and then say “Yeah, well, you knew they'd put us somewhere, Tony.”

“Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey. You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for…”

“Criminals?” Clint interrupts him. “Criminals, Tony. Think that's the word you're looking for. Right? That didn't used to mean me. Or Sam, or Y/N, or Wanda. But here we are.”

“Because you broke the law.” Tony says.

“Yeah.” Clint says back and starts chanting “La la la la la” while Tony talks, making you grin slightly.

“I didn't make you. You read it, you broke it.” Tony keeps talking. “Alright, you're all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don't understand, why didn't you think about them before you chose the wrong side.” he says and your face falls again immediately, knowing Tony went too far.

“You gotta watch your back with this guy.” Clint says before slamming his hands on the bars angrily. “There's a chance he's gonna break it!”

“Hank Pym always said, you never can trust a Stark.” You hear Scott say from the cell on your right.

“Who are you?” Tony says, his voice closer to you than before, and you can hear Scott mumbling “Come on, man.”

Tony gets to your cell and sees you sitting on the ground, hugging your knees tight to your chest, your head resting back on the wall while you look straight ahead.

Tony is nothing short of shocked when he sees your face all beat up and bruised, your arm bandaged with blood seeping through it showing just how big and deep the cut is, all courtesy of Ayo.

“I never wanted to see you like this...” Tony says softly but you don’t even react to his words.

He’s standing in front of you but it’s like he’s not even there, like you’re looking right through him to something more interesting behind him.

Tony sighs and shakes his head before moving to Sam’s cell.

“How's Rhodes?” Sam asks right away.

“They're flying him to Columbia Medical tomorrow. So… fingers cross.” Tony answers and you close your eyes, grateful that he’s still alive at least. “What do you need? They feed you yet?”

“You're the good cop now?” Sam asks almost in disbelief.

“I'm just the guy who needs to know where Steve went.” Tony answers calmly.

“Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you're gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me.”

“Oh, I just knocked the 'A' out of their 'AV'.” Tony says, much too playfully for your taste. “We got about 30 seconds before they realize it's not their equipment.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his next sentence. “Just look. Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong.”

Your eyes snap open at his apology and, even though you can’t see either of them, you know Sam’s feeling the same way as you, which is confirmed by his next sentence. “That's a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation but he's about to need all the help he can get. We don't know each other very well. You don't have to-”

“Hey, it's alright.” Sam interrupts him, then you hear him sigh and after a little pause he says “Look, I'll tell you… but you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.” Tony says and Sam proceeds to tell him all about the Hydra base in Siberia and the other supersoldiers.

When Tony leaves, Sam once again tries to make sure you’re okay even if he hasn’t had luck at getting an answer out of you since you got here.

He knocks twice on the wall between you two then pauses and then knocks three more times fast before talking, a thing you two started doing since you both moved into the Avengers Compound so you would know it was the other knocking right away. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer him and can hear him sighing before continuing talking.

“Look, I’m sorry you got caught up in this and-”

“I don’t regret the choice I made, Sam.” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence, speaking up for the first time since you got arrested at the airport. “As much as this sucks, it was the right thing to do. I know it was.”

You don’t say anything else. Sam can tell you mean it and he knows better than to push you.

“They’ll be okay.” He says after a moment of silence and then lets you be.

You know he means Steve, Bucky and Tony but you can’t help but think he’s trying to reassure you that Bucky’s gonna be fine.

And you can only hope that he’s right.

-

A couple of weeks after Tony’s visit there’s a commotion in the prison.

You haven’t so much as made a sound since that day, aside from your daily knock on the wall between you and Sam so he can make sure you’re okay, knowing you well enough to know you don’t want to talk but still wanting to check in.

But you can’t help but let out a loud gasp when you see Steve just standing in front of your cells.

You look around when the cell doors open and you hesitantly get up from the floor and walk towards Steve. He hugs Sam, then you, then Clint and then pats Scott on the back, but doesn’t linger long before he’s guiding you towards another level where Wanda is.

You get to her just as the door to her cell opens and you rush inside with Clint to take off her collar while he takes off her straightjacket. You hug her tightly and wrap your arm around her with Clint to help her move you since she looks a little worse for wear.

You manage to move through the prison without problems. You have to hand it to Steve, he’s a hell of a criminal.

When you get to the landing pad you see the Quinjet ready for take off and you all rush inside just to see Bucky at the commands and you smile brightly at the sight.

You have no time to comment, though, as Sam shouts “What are you waiting for?! Go!”

Bucky rolls his eyes but calmly says “We have one more coming.”

You frown. One more? You turn to Steve confusedly but before you can ask anything you can see blond hair darting into the Quinjet and then Natasha’s there.

Bucky instantly takes off and you all take seats and buckle up.

There’s a moment of silence while everyone processes what just happened, but you break it while looking at Natasha that’s sitting directly in front of you.

“Are we gonna talk about the hair?” You ask arching your eyebrow with a smirk.

She groans in annoyance and you can hear the others chuckling while she says “We are not.”

-

After a few hours you all get to a safehouse and Steve ushers you in before showing you around.

It’s not bad: a secluded cabin with three bedrooms, not too big but Steve assured you you wouldn’t be staying there long anyway. Which makes sense, you're on the run now so this is just temporary.

After the tour Bucky approaches you in the living room and only then you notice he’s missing his metal arm.

“You flew the jet with only one arm? That’s impressive…” You can’t help yourself as you reach to touch his left shoulder, your eyes fixated on it. But stop on your tracks when you feel his right hand carefully cupping your cheek.

Your eyes snap up to his and you can see him thoroughly inspecting the wounds in your face that are still healing a little. He grimaces when he looks down at your bandaged arm and whispers “I’m sorry…”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Sergeant.” You smile softly at him and put your hand over his still on your cheek, trying to reassure him that you’re fine.

“I bet you can, doll.” He chuckles.

You’re too busy staring at each other to notice everyone’s attention is on you until Steve clears his throat with an apologetic look on his face.

“We need to go, Buck.” He says and you look confusedly between the two men.

“I’m going back into cryo.” Bucky clarifies for you.

“Oh.” Is all you can say and your eyes widen for a second before you force yourself to put on a more neutral face.

“It’s okay.” He smiles at you, but you feel like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, doll.”

You try your best to smile and not look too bummed out. “I bet you can, Sergeant.”

You hesitate for a moment before surprising him, the others and even yourself by giving him a hug. He hesitates too before delicately hugging you back and, after a moment, you pull away. 

He smiles at you with a faint blush and you smile back, watching him walk to the door.

Steve passes you on his way to the door and kisses your forehead, whispering “He’ll be okay” before saying goodbye to the rest of the team, assuring you that he’ll be back soon. Then he also goes through the door and soon both the supersoldiers are gone.

You turn around with a sigh and see Sam, Natasha and Clint standing there, grinning at you, Wanda and Scott looking more compassionate than teasing.

You narrow your eyes at the first three and say sternly “Not. A. Word.” punctuating every word by pointing threateningly at each of them.

They raise their hands in mock surrender while snickering but thankfully don’t say anything and everyone just scatters around the safehouse.

You see the Quinjet depart from the window and try your best to look at the bright side: This isn’t forever, you’ll see him again.

Right?

Requested taglist: @sapphirebarnes @aki-ham @mary-jinx @abbyyourlocalmilf @selcouthial @esposadomd @americaarse

[drunkenskunk]

Morning all.

So, I've been thinking about the original Dawn of War.

Specifically: I've been thinking about how it was my introduction to the setting of Warhammer 40k. It feels like it was a damn near perfect introduction, and it accomplished this... with the use of the loading screen maps.

Let me explain.

When I first played the game back in 2004, I knew nothing about 40k. I didn't know about Grim Darkness, or that the Imperium is a fascist theocratic nightmare, none of that. All I had for context was the maps on the loading screens and the pre-mission briefings.

The game starts off very simple, and very easy to understand. Here's the mission location, here's the space marines, here's the orks, etc. It's simple, it's straightforward, and it draws you in with a very understandable conflict that you can immediately get behind.

Now, I will say: that opening is both a strength and a weakness. Because, the one problem I do have with the original Dawn of War is that they really kinda gloss over just how fucking terrible the Imperium is, as a means of easing new players into the setting. Like, on the one hand? I kinda get it, you don't want to scare people off immediately by forcing people to play as someone they find reprehensible. But I also absolutely understand how someone might think the Imperium are the "good" guys if all they ever played was Dawn of War. And that's a problem.

Feels very black and white, and unambiguous, y'know? I mean, hell, a lot of the early missions are explicitly about the space marines running interference, so the orks can't slaughter civilians who are trying to escape the planet. But I'm getting slightly off topic.

See, what you may be noticing from these pre-mission briefing maps: as the game goes on, things get progressively worse. You're succeeding in your mission objectives, sure... but the overall picture of what's going on in the planet is becoming more and more bleak. It's almost like what you do in missions doesn't really matter.

Quick side note: when I first played this game, and I saw all the numbers of orks steadily increasing? My thought at the time was "Oh, this planet must have a lot more orks than we previously thought," because, at the time, I knew nothing about 40k. I didn't know about the orkoid reproductive cycle, and how they're a bunch of fungus boys who shed hundreds and hundreds of spores in the air to produce new organisms in the orkoid ecosystem: orks, grots, squigs, etc. And I also didn't know at the time that, when they die violently, they release something like 10 times as many spores as they do in the rest of their life.

I remember coming back to the game, once I had that context, and it retroactively made these briefing maps even more horrifying, because it dawned on me: "Oh. OH. Oh no! All these orks are our fault! It's not just that things are getting worse! Everything we've been doing has been making it worse!"

Either way, around mission 6 or 7 or so: that's when things start getting a bit more complicated. The orks are the most visible threat, sure. But then the eldar show up out of nowhere, with some mysterious agenda. The evidence that the forces of chaos are here become more obvious and harder to ignore.

You start to see the trails of refugees trying to flee the planet that appear, and then just as swiftly vanish. And, yeah, you could try and tell yourself that they escaped the planet safely, but... I think we all know the truth.

Every victory, things get worse. Things are rapidly deteriorating, and you even have to deal with traitor guardsmen, corrupted by the forces of chaos. Things are getting very grim indeed.

Then we get to Mission 10. Second to last mission. The map zooms in. We don't even need to see the rest of the planet. All we care about it is stopping whatever chaos has planned. Because if they succeed, the orks overrunning everything is the LEAST of our concern.

And then...

We don't even get a map for Mission 11, the final mission in the game. This is how truly fucked everything has become. The planet is lost, the people who used to live here are either long since evacuated or very, very dead. The planet is about to be consumed by a warp storm...

And then, at the very last moment, you get the "mission complete!" notification.

You "win."

But... what do you win?

The victory is an incredibly hollow, pyrrhic one. Sindri and the rest of the chaos forces lay dead at your feet, sure, but your actions played right into their hands. The demon escaped from its prison in the Maledictum, because Macha refused to tell you directly what would happen, and as a result you smashed it open like an idiot, inadvertently completing the ritual. The civilians on the planet are dead. The imperial guard are dead. Most of the eldar are dead. Most of your men are dead. Isador, your best friend in the chapter, is dead by your own hand after he fell to chaos. The very planet itself is dead, consumed by a warp storm, and you barely escape with what few survivors remain, knowing that you ultimately failed.

There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

Welcome to Warhammer 40k.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

How would your skellies react to an S/O who has a green thumb? It seem like every plant S/O takes care of comes back healthier and better.

Undertale Sans - Well that's a good thing because he's a mass plant murderer. You're balancing each other lol. Every plant someone trusted Sans with ended up dying a horrible death somehow, so you're kinda saving the day by somehow reviving them. He doesn't understand how you're doing this. He swears he tried a ton of things and nothing worked. Ok, maybe most of the time he remembers he had to take care of the plant after two weeks to two months, but still.

Undertale Papyrus - He's good with flowers but he's a bit bored with the classic species. He wants cool-looking flowers and you're here to help. After two months, plants turned into a hyperfixation for Papyrus and you're living in a jungle, congratulations.

Underswap Sans - He thinks plants are boring honestly. It does nothing, it doesn't last long either, and it takes so much energy to take care of for only a few days of nice-looking moments. That's your thing, and it will say your thing. He's not patient enough for this.

Underswap Papyrus - Mr "I'm-allergic-to-everything" is not making the task easy for you lol. You're struggling to find plants and flowers that don't make him sneeze all day long. But it's a little victory every time you find something that he tolerates. Honey loves to help. Well, he loves to be included in everything his S/O is doing, but taking care of plants actually makes his anxiety shut up so he's always happy to help a bit.

Underfell Sans - He's doing his best to help but somehow he makes things worse every time he's helping. Like that time he watered your plants with gasoil and only noticed avec the twentieth flower :') He's not doing it on purpose, he's just terrible with plants.

Underfell Papyrus - You two are fighting on which plants to keep inside the house. Edge actually loves plants too, but he loves plants you hate... And you love plants he hates. He waits for you to leave the house to replace the plants, and you're doing the same. It's an eternal war. Maybe someday you'll find one you can agree on.

Horrortale Sans - He actually learns with you. At first, he doesn't show that much interest, but the more you do, the more you notice him staring behind your back. He's a bit clumsy and forgets half of the things he has to do, but it actually keeps him occupied. It actually helps his memory too since he has to water the plant every day, which is training his memory. He thinks it's a really relaxing activity and he would love to do it more often with you.

Horrortale Papyrus - He doesn't have that much of an interest in plants, but he's curious about what his S/O is doing and he's always happy to help if he can. He gladly appreciates your advice on his vegetables though. He had some difficulties growing them in the beginning but you showed him how to improve his fields and he's delighted with the result!

Swapfell Sans - He doesn't have any interest in the activity, but he likes having plants around. It makes his house look even more expensive and he's a material girl so he's really happy. You pretend like you don't see his black-and-white edge lord photos on social media next to your plants lol.

Swapfell Papyrus - I mean, you can do what you want but... Do you really want to have plants in a secluded area where Rus lives? Your plants are living in fear, never knowing if they're going to see the next day. That guy has no limits and can accidentally set the house on fire at least once a week. He's dangerous to all living things, please reconsider.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Wine surprisingly likes to take care of plants too. It was a true shock the first time you discovered that because that skeleton usually hates more things than he likes some. Of course, he will never say it out loud, or show he likes it. But you can sometimes catch him watering the flowers or cutting some disgracious leaves from your plants. He gives you the "what are you even looking at?" kind of look every time you see him though lol.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He saw you cut leaves and he wanted to help! So he cut leaves on all your plants. And by that I mean he cut 75% of each of your plants. When he sees your face, he goes from very proud to kicked puppy in three seconds. Maybe it's best if Coffee stays away from your plants from now on.

[moro-the-sun]

"I want to understand."

Tango has a crack in pink glasses — he looks tired, skewed. Martyn looks at him with a curious look, twice, he thinks — who cares what he wants to understand. Martyn doesn't understand much either. He arches an eyebrow in an interrogative gesture, leaning on a shovel, like on a cane.

“He said he was cursed,” Tango clarifies, and okay, he should have expected it, "I don’t understand. I want to understand."

Martyn blinks, returning to the shovel, which he drives deeper into the clay black earth. He asks, playing disinterest: "What makes you think that I know?"

Tango nervously moves his shoulders and sits on the threshold of their dog house. What a pest, and you won't get away with it — Martyn is not ready for this conversation, he generally did not undertake to explain anything for Jimmy.

He wonders, if Jimmy himself understands something in this?

"Weren't you friends with him? Like, even before the games?" Tango takes off his glasses, gnawing Martyn’s back with such a look that he feels it almost physically, "He told me about Evo. I think you should know something."

Martyn reluctantly stops and turns around, humbles Tango with his eyes again: in his Heart Foundations uniform he seems smaller than in his usual huge vest, and his fire only shyly cracks, obviously expecting any attack from Martyn. Here he is, damn him: he stretches himself on the palm, open and sincere, with one single question that doesn't let him sleep at night — Martyn knows, because he himself once had such a question. It can be seen that he despaired, that he does not know who to ask already, since he went into badlands to fall at the feet of the now lonely red. Curse Jimmy again for his talkativeness.

Okay, he has to leave a shovel.

Martyn pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Welp, listen."

He turns him into the house and sits him at the threshold, sitting opposite on the edge of the bed: a bright gesture that he is not going to do anything with Tango, giving an advantage in the form of a retreat. Now the conversation is serious, the conversation is not in games, but over them — Martyn dreamed of at least someone talking to him like that once, someone he knew, and not a thousand-eyed shit that looked like a demon of sleep paralysis. After all, Tango doesn't even understand how valuable such a gesture is, how much Martyn will now give him in one dialogue. He bites his lips, trying not to look back on the box: “You know Jimmy is a canary, don’t you?”

Tango bows his head, as if not quite realizing what the question is for, but nods in the affirmative: "He spoke about it."

“Of course,” Martyn confirms, “he spoke about it. This is his curse - the curse of the canary."

Tango does not understand, obviously, and he needs to gather his strength again, he needs to remember again what he once understood — when was it? Has awareness come with victory?

“The miners take the canaries with them because they constantly sing. Birds are much more susceptible to gas and pressure, and therefore, when they fall silent, it means it's time to leave."

Tango's face darkens. "What does this mean?"

Martyn wants to spit. That's what it means, why don't you understand?

“Jimmy is a canary,” he says as calmly as he can, “He dies first. He will always die first."

“Not this time,” is the obvious fact. Martyn nods, "Not this time. But it's not that important."

Silence. Tango tears a crack in the lens with nails, thinking about something, while Martyn tries to figure out how to explain it more clearly, how to embrace this topic a little more than "Jimmy does not see his own nose further, and therefore collects everything along the way cones."

“This is a warning,” he finally exhales, “his death means that the stage of the peace is ending, that everything is now too dangerous, and. . . Well, it's time to stop preparing for war and it's worth starting to fight. After his death, it becomes much more dangerous. Therefore, it doesn't matter if he died first or second: his function is not in the number, but in the alarm."

Tango looks up at him — pity oozes from his red eyes, and although its not towards Martyn, he feels anger gurgling inside. He has his own opinion about all this, even if it's none of his business.

“It’s cruel,” Tango says quietly, and in these words — love, endless and boundless, embracing with fire, a love that Martyn could neither know nor understand. He looks away. He closes his eyes.

“Yes,” he agrees, “But it’s merciful."

[randomwriteronline]

"Ah! You're one of those," a voice came to his ears.

Nuparu turned to find a tall Gaquri standing at the entrance, looking at him curiously.

"I am a Toa," he corrected.

The other nodded: "Yes, I do know that. Forgot the name is all. You're a, uh... Ko?"

"Onu."

"Hm! My mistake. Which element is that, again?"

"Earth. Do you need something?" the inventor cut their small talk short, lightly tapping a tool similar to a wrench against the skeletal frame of what appeared to be a heavily modded chariot: "I'm working on a project."

"You know where Berix is?" the Gaquri asked. He raised an arm: an interesting weapon, with a jagged light blue blade at one end and some kind of projectile mechanism attached to the handle, dangled from it casually. "Wanted to drop this off to him. The thornax launcher's been jamming up more often and I know that boy can make it work like a charm again."

"He's getting parts," Nuparu answered. His eyes rested once more on the blade and he added, tilting his head intrigued: "You can leave it here if you want."

"So you can study some original Bara Magna manufacturing?" the other joked.

"It's not really my field, but it looks remarkable."

He watched the organic being laugh heartily as he approached - with a fairly heavy limp, he noticed: "Remarkable! Now that's a bit of an exaggeration, kid. I made these from some bones, whatever viable scraps I could find from wrecks of the Core War, and a few patches across the years when I could afford it. It's held together by spit and whatever Ackar's friend did to make it spurt water."

"From what I understand, spit doesn't seem like a good adhesive."

"That's what we say here to mean something's parts are real shoddily connected together."

"Hm! Like dried mud. Or aluminum sheet."

"That's the idea. Ah, where should I put this, anyhow?"

"There is fine. What's with your leg?"

The Gaquri gave a grimace: "Nothing much - just my knee acting up," he replied, patting the guilty joint. "Something must have gotten rusted. It happens."

Even through the lack of expression of his mask Nuparu treated him to a baffled look.

"What?"

"Organic parts don't rust," the Toa sputtered. "At least, ours don't."

The other eyed the tendons and muscles peeking through black armor, and his lips perked up in a little smile.

Without a word he placed his weapon on the least cluttered corner of Berix's work desk before redirecting his now free hands to the side of the faulty knee, messing with what appeared to be the graceless stitching of a large wound: his fingers sank deftly into it and pried through the gaps enough to loosen the whole thing, and before the less organic being's flabbergasted eyes pulled down the fake skin and meat to reveal a fully mechanical joint, complete with pistons and springs and even what seemed like wires.

"Don't worry," he chuckled with a wave, "Ours don't either. But most crusty old Glatorian like me haven't been completely flesh and bone in a long time."

If the inventor's attention had been piqued before, he was completely captivated now. He was leaning on his seat towards him, vehicle project all but forgotten, intently studying as many details of the prosthesis as he could see from that distance.

His eager interest made the other laugh again: "Why all that surprise! Don't you see something like this on you every day?"

"Yes, but I'm not you!"

"And what's that mean?"

"You're all flesh! And meat! And skin! How does that work?"

The Gaquri considered something for a moment. "If you can get me a seat and figure out what's wrong with it, I'll be glad to let you have a closer look," he offered at last.

Nuparu pulled the stool from right under himself so fast that he fell on his ass.

He then placed it down with extreme care and patted it insistently.

The other barely held back a snort.

His implant hadn't caused this much of a scene since the first day it had been up and functional.

"The name's Tarix, anyhow," he introduced himself as he sat down a little heavily. "Since you'll be rummaging knuckle-deep through the insides of my leg for the next thirty minutes."

"Hm," Nuparu replied as he kneeled until his mask was all but grazing the joint.

Tarix waited a dozen seconds, and added: "You got one too, Toa?"

"One what?"

"Name."

"Nuparu."

"I see. Ah - nope, nope, don't-" his fingers quickly pinched the mechanical being's and lifted them away from the scarified tissue binding the meat to the metal: "That's real flesh, don't peel that - the nerves still work, you'd put me through the pains of Plude."

"What's that?"

"You folks have a place in your lore built just to torture you forever?"

"Yes, Karzhani. I've been there."

"Huh. Well, I've been to Plude too back when it still existed, and I'll just say that the only good thing the Lord of Sand might've done was collapsing it on itself. So, you get what I mean about the pain."

"Hm. Yes, I can imagine. But how do I - see, to check the individual parts, I'd need to pull them off..."

"Oh - hold it, let me just..."

Angling his leg in an uncomfortable position and hunching down with a hiss, the Glatorian set to work carefully pulling screws loose with the help of an empty pipe he'd fetched from his pocket. The small parts dangled from their sockets without falling, just distant enough from the point the metal touched to allow the top and bottom pieces to be pulled apart without needing to pull the much more easy to lose components out of the whole.

"Hold the calf a moment, will you?" he muttered with the pipe now stuck between his teeth. Nuparu complied, holding the lower half of the leg still as Tarix worked his magic on the inner wires. At last, satisfied, he unfurled his back up once more and puffed satisfied: "There, pull."

When the Toa did so, the prosthesis came apart as easily as a house of cards. Suddenly, in the mechanical palm was a whole calf, still warm with life and undoubtedly organic.

Tarix watched genuinely amused as Nuparu tested the ankle in his hands and on the ground, miming an attempt at a walk as though playing with a very concerning doll with nothing short of pure unadultered fascination.

He posed it as if stuck in a sprint: "Can you feel this?"

"Not a single thing," the Glatorian replied. He patted the metallic femur's exposed head: "And neither can I here. The connections are all in the wires, they go right into the nerves, see? So long as they're apart I can't feel crap anywhere from over here," and he pointed to the flesh that stopped around the middle of his thigh "To the rest of the leg underneath. Not that I should be able to, frankly, if we wanted to abide by nature's whims, but luckily for me us Spherus Magna natives never cared much for that."

Nuparu hummed: "How'd you get it like this, anyways?"

"Oh," the Glatorian shrugged as though it were the most normal thing in the world, "Blew up."

"It just exploded?"

"Not by itself, of course, someone shot the whole thing out of me."

The Toa treated him to an appalled look.

Tarix waved a hand harshly, chewing on his unlit pipe: "The Core War was absolutely barbaric, kid! I've witnessed stuff I wouldn't wish on a Skrall. When I saw that half you've got there in your hand fly over my head as gracefully as the ugliest bird known to any being with eyes, I thought I was going to die of shock like a Mountain Striker with a broken wing. I still have no clue how I managed to keep awake through the bloodloss and pain long enough for the fixers to figure out I was still alive enough to be taken down to the medic."

Nuparu regarded the half of a limb in his grasp with newfound horror and fascination. A whole portion of leg, shot right out... He wasn't sure if even the Vortixx could have had something capable of doing that. Oh, sure, they had plenty of possibly worse things, but even the most blunt tended to have slightly more complex effects than just 'blows a chunk off of you'.

And the fact that they had managed to rebuild the broken joint and connected it to the rest of the nervous system was nothing short of miraculous, compared to the same thing done on a mechanical being - whose organic components regenerate, too.

"And all Glatorian have something like this?"

"Us older ones, yes," the other nodded. He watched with a sort of lazy interest as the Toa turned his attention to the mechanism of his prosthesis, checking for damage as he had promised. "The rookies tend to have the usual stuff, thank goodness - scars, plaques, maybe a limb, some fingers..."

"Fingers?"

"Yes, some of them. They tend to nip 'em a lot during training, you know, when they start to get the hang of it and stop holding their weapons like they're gonna grow a mouth and bite them - they cut tendons often those first few times. Or just the whole thing."

"Really?"

He chuckled, playfully waving his fingers: "Gresh keeps losing them. If you look closely you can tell which phalanxes are still his."

"I thought he was good at fighting."

"He is. He's just young. And a little too brash at times."

Nuparu hummed, moving onto the piece of implant attached to his thigh: "You mentioned limbs, too," he noted absentmindedly: "Is that also common, during training?"

"Losing them? Oh no, that happens out in the desert. Or, used to happen... Well, the desert's still out there, just smaller, so I guess - point is, you'll sooner get one cut off by a Bone Hunter or chewed up by a Vorox than find a fellow Glatorian who'll do that to you, on purpose or not. We made sure to try and avoid that sort of thing when we made the rules for the job."

"And plaques?"

"Oh, these," and he tapped some strange metallic protrusions on the top of his legs, on the side of his arms, and on his shoulders. "Nothing special, they keep armor in place. Easier than having to strap it on. We install them when we come of age."

Their shape was somewhat familiar: "Berix has them too, I think."

"I think everybody gets them - Agori, Glatorian, Skrall..."

"They are pretty useful," the Toa nodded.

He couldn't really imagine how they could have managed to stick armor to themselves otherwise. Maybe through some cloth? But then it might chafe their joints, and they'd have to find a way to insert it in the metal anyways...

He hummed thoughtfully, wracking his brain as he tried at once to figure out both the logistics of putting armor on fully organic beings and whatever was wrong with the implant.

So concentrated he was that he actually jumped a little when the pipe gently smacked his shoulder.

Tarix had a strange look on his face as he pointed down at a spot on his prosthesis: "Don't - it's nothing to be worried about yet, just, watch it," he warned, "That coil there you've got near your index, she's real frisky. Won't be a problem now that it's taken apart, but when you stick it back together you'd better avoid even just so much as grazing it - it'll pull my calf back at top speeds to kick my ass. Been like that since the start."

"Oh! Sounds painful."

"It is!"

With a hand already rummaging through a box of springs, Nuparu offered: "Since I'm here already, I could replace that..."

"Ah, there's no need really," the Glatorian quickly stopped him.

"But it's a liability."

"If it's out in the open like this, yeah, but - well, when it's covered it's a lot more manageable, and the wires-"

"It's still a malfunction. I can fix that without any trouble."

"I get it, but it's - I - hm! Let me explain. See, when - if I cover it up, see, with my-"

"The fake flesh?"

"Yes, that - it still jerks back if touched, but not as hard, you get me?"

"But it still does."

"Yes, and here's the - the thing is, I also have my nerves connected, right? Right, and when the coil gets touched and makes my leg jerk, it... Er... See - have you ever - hm! Hmm-hm. Hold on. Do you... Is there something that you know is not good for your body, but when you do it it just feels nice?"

"No."

"Alright, this complicates things."

"Oh! Oh, no, wait - when I cut metal with a saw, I like to keep myself as close to the sparks as possible so they can hit me because they tingle. It's fun. Do you mean like that?"

"Eeeh, close enough! That's what's going on with that coil."

"It tingles?"

"It... Uh... Sure, let's. Call it that."

The change in tone was weird, and he seemed to be somewhat embarrassed about having brought the subject up.

Now, in regards to asking personal questions, Nuparu tended to be as uninterested in other beings' private matter as much as a Kofo-Jaga is in lightstones.

However, this was directly related to the machinations of an impressive, if a little primitive, handmade mechanical joint.

So yes, he would have loved to pry.

The mental manifestation of Turaga Whenua repeatedly smacking him over the head with his drilling staff was currently the only thing keeping him from inquiring on any activities Tarix might have enjoyed dabbling in outside of his work hours, but luckily for the Glatorian that singular imaginary scenario was also an extremely effective deterrent for any Matoran or Toa that had ever at some point of their lives resided in Onu-Koro.

As such, the Toa just shrugged and diverted his attention onto the object the Gaquri was now nervously twisting in his hand: "What's that, by the way?"

The total swerve in subject matter destabilized the Glatorian briefly. He looked down at his fingers, then back at the Toa.

"A pipe?" he replied.

Nuparu squinted at it a little better: "That does not look like a pipe." he decreted.

Tarix lifted an eyebrow, curiously: "It's just an Agori pipe."

"That's not a pipe," the inventor insisted.

"And how should a proper Toa pipe look like, then?"

"Matoran pipe, maybe-" the Toa scoffed, rolling his eyes and making the other chuckle a bit while the mechanical hands went right back to checking on his implant in the midst of his correction: "First of all, it's far too small to be of any proper use; second, that seems to be made of wood, which is the worst material for this kind of thing - even if you could fit that tiny piece in a proper hydraulic system, long time usage will lend it to rot and come apart much faster, which is why we used to trade iron with Le-Koro to avoid the whole village from caving in on--"

"Oh!" Tarix interrupted him all of a sudden, smacking the object on his palm with a hollow sound: "Oh, you meant - no no no, it's not that type of pipe! It's a, uh -- pipa! Nagele! Sghitt!"

"Don't curse at me, please."

"I'm not cursing at you, it's just different names for this! You really don't have a word for-?" then he cut himself off as he seemed to remind himself of something evidently obvious: "Ah - well, I mean, you don't have a mouth, of course you can't smoke..."

"Yes we do."

"You do?"

"Yes? How else would we hold our masks?"

Tarix blinked, briefly wondered if he should have asked, and decided it didn't matter: "But you don't smoke? At all?"

"No? Unless we get catastrophically overheated or are set on fire," Nuparu replied as he attached the disjointed calf into the thigh again. "Both of which in all fairness have happened before. Not very often, but they have happened."

"No, I meant... Ah, hold it, hold it..."

He stuck the unlit pipe back in his mouth, puffing out nothing a few times with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"See - it's a bit like the coil and the sparks again, the matter with smoking," he decided to start explaining: "There's certain plants, if you dry them and burn them well, that make really pleasant smoke."

"How is smoke pleasant?" the Toa muttered.

"The smell can be," the Gaquri shrugged, "And the taste too. Wait-" and he gently knocked the foot of the pipe on the top of the Volitak before the inventor could interrupt him again "-Wait a second, I can't very well clear this up if you keep cutting in. Alright, so the bigger part here, the bowl we call it - you need to press the dried plants in here and light them up, only a little before the whole thing burns up; once they're charred nicely, you inhale through the shank, and then you puff it back out. That's how the smoke gets in your mouth and you can taste it."

"And how does it taste, then?"

"Ah, depends on what you smoke," was the whistful answer. "Same goes for the smell. The Lebori have a certain bark that gets real flexible when wet - they make whole pipes with it, they burn up real well, but it's a bit too sour for me. Before the Shattering there used to be a type of kelp I liked, and Kiina said they had River Eyes up near the Dormus that made some terribly sweet smoke."

"River Eyes?"

"It's a flower! Small, round, blue, and it grows on river banks. Never got to try them, though, and it's better I don't go around asking for some with the lungs I've got. Like I said, smoking's the same as the coil and the sparks: feels good to do, but it's bad for the body."

Nuparu hummed deeply, rummaging inside the knee as he handled the hanging wires carefully.

"I think I figured out the problem," he announced.

At that Tarix perked up: "Rust?"

"One piston has developed a limestone growth that makes it much harder to move properly, and as a result one of the springs is bent out of shape and chafes right against the nerve."

"Ah! Well, damn. You can get limestone in there?"

"If it's humid enough, it can build up over time."

"Hm... Alright, I guess all those years sweating in arenas and whatnot were bound to do the trick eventually."

"Also there was rust."

"Hm. Where?"

"Three screws. I changed them already."

"Wait, really? When?"

"While you were talking about the Core War."

"Huh! You're quick. And quiet."

The Toa shrugged: "I like working."

He pulled the prosthesis apart for a second time, laying the calf down on the floor. He then leaned back to search through a tool box brimming with bits and pieces - bolts, nuts, coils, springs, and all sorts of other things - with what his mask's stillness still managed to convey as a focused furrowed brow, evidently still thinking about what course of action to take now that he had pinpointed the anomaly to fix.

Changing his mind, he stood up and made his way to one of the various piles of junk and assorted more or less useful knicknacks to start looking for something in there instead.

"Speaking of the Core War," he said, implying he wanted to start a conversation but without really adding to that sentence.

Tarix waited a few minutes, puffing out in silence while watching him shift towels or bottles until he found what he was looking for (a clean enough rag and flask containing a murky liquid), before figuring that he was waiting for some kind of permission to continue on the admittedly not particularly pleasant topic: "Yes?"

"You said other older Glatorians also got implants like this from it."

"I implied it, but yes, that's the case."

The Toa hummed as he settled back before him: "And they're all knees, like yours?"

"You want to ask what their own prosthesis are?"

At that, he got no response.

"You can, by the way," Tarix reassured him, "It's been a damn long time by now, it doesn't hurt as much as say, eighty hundred years ago. We've been living like this long enough to joke about the whole thing and whatnot."

Nuparu mumbled something indistict as he soaked up the rag and began scraping the limestone off of the metal with it.

"Don't act all shy now, kid! As I said, it's no trouble." the Glatorian repeated. A sly smile curled the corners of his lip: "You can't get embarrassed like this every time you have to ask about new possible clients, you know," he jokingly reprimanded him, "Otherwise you'll have a hard time getting any."

"I don't want to be paid!" the Toa replied. "I'm just curious, is all! This is... Well, I didn't expect it to be something you'd have."

"Oh, don't worry, not everybody's missing a whole chunk of leg like me," Tarix chuckled. "We Glatorian like to keep ourselves distinct from one another."

"In implant too?"

"Of course! Let me think, now..."

He inhaled a long breath through his pipe, leaning back a little as the kid continued on with his work, and exhaled with a whistle.

"So, let's see - Vastus, he's got a good chunk of his lower spine replaced and, oh, 'bout three quarters of his intestines," he began: "Kiina had her hip crushed and put back together, and that should be... Ah, nope, nope, half of her left hand and the whole ulna too. Telluris I haven't see in a long while now, but unless he's figured out how to place his brain in a tin can I'd bet his head's all that's left. Certavus, bless his memory, I don't think he had a single original organ left by the end, and Gelu's got bionic feet - one foot, one leg, right, a whole leg, so then Strakk was the one who got his eye shot out and his nose crushed. And the jaw, of course. I don't remember if it was him or Malum who cracked his head but I do think it was him, because Malum had the femur that got split in half and it worsened with that problem with his ribcage where the metal was corroding and messing with his blood... Which is why he had to get his marrow replaced in his leg later on. Oh, and Ackar also had to... Ah, wait, which one was it? Right, right. Ackar, poor guy, his back itself is worse than a Plude street but his real problem's his right shoulder blade, which got essentially pulverized - I was there, ghastly sight - so they had to replace the whole thing, and that was bad enough; but then, and this is the fucked thing, the implant actively degraded the rest of the arm, so he had to keep replacing bits and pieces of it until it was just completely gone."

Nuparu lifted his head, eyes wide and flabbergasted: "The fixing made it worse?"

"It did! He kept having trouble moving it."

"How?"

Tarix raised his shoulders: "Beats me," he replied just as baffled. "It's a common thing for Tapyri, honestly. It's hard to tell if the material's bad quality or has trouble with the heat. Perditus too - after he got half his leg replaced, the damn thing somehow managed to melt halfways and left him limping almost worse than he would if he just didn't have it."

"And he can't replace it?"

"It's grafted onto the bone and the muscle has grown over it. They'd have to carve the whole thing out with it, it's just not worth it."

The Toa stared at him positively appalled.

"That is horrid," he spat, punctuating the adjective with a harsh yank of his hand over the faulty piston, thus launching a loosened piece of limestone to skid across the floor.

"You're tellin' me, kid."

"That's - it's inadmissible. It's insane."

"And I haven't told you about the Agori."

"What about the Agori? Were they fighting too? Do they-?"

"No, not fighting, usually - it's something we got in common with your lot: we're basically the same species, but we are much bigger and they're much nimbler. So you had us larger folk tearing one another to bits properly, while they tended to work as scouts if they weren't busy trying to put us back in one piece."

The Gaquri interrupted himself to stretch his arms up, pulling one towards his head.

The movement produced a loud 'crock!' roughly around the height of his shoulder, followed by much softer pops crackling all the way up towards his wrist as it twisted.

Satisfied with the sound (which instead made the inventor a little uneasy considering their conversation), he moved to massage the sides of his spine with his knuckles, rolling his neck: it seemed to make a curious ticking noise in place of a meatier sound, filling in the quick pauses of Nuparu's rag scrubbing the limestone away.

At last he puffed into his unlit pipe: "If you look at the older ones - the Agori, I mean - you'll see they've got less lower half than upper."

"That makes no sense."

"It does if you don't count implants. We've got them a bit everywhere, I told you, but an Agori with an arm prosthesis is a real rarity. They've got them mostly between their soles and the top of their hipbones."

"And why's that?"

"It's 'cause the lucky ones stepped on mines."

The Toa hummed thoughtfully.

He did not raise his eyes from the almost clean piston: "And the unlucky ones?"

"Well, we were trained to aim for either the neck or the head."

Ah.

Those certainly had been unlucky.

For every thing Toa and Glatorians seemed to have in common, a complete opposite came around. To imagine a Toa willingly kill was already hard, though not impossible - the Mahri themselves had been met with the chance to do so once or twice, and it had been tantalizing to say the least; but to envision a group of his brothers and sisters being not only instructed but even trained to kill, and especially to kill Matoran...

Well, he was glad he did not live in that kind of world.

"That's just how life is," Tarix sighed in the end. "Nobody wins. They've got their metal hips, and I've got my leg held together by wires and pistons. And an artificial diaphragm."

That snapped Nuparu out of his unpleasant musings: "A what?"

"That one wasn't the war's fault, though - well, it was, but it came in later. See, I had some sharpnel that got stuck in there but nobody noticed, and then one day I got a shove in the wrong spot during a match and just stopped breathing. So I had to get a mechanical one, and when I have to put myself under any sort of strain I need to hook myself up to an oxygen supplier to make sure it doesn't collapse under the effort - you know, that tube thing you might have seen on me, sort of like yours."

"Your gills?"

"I..." the Gaquri briefly did a double take. "You call those gills?"

"Yes?"

They blinked at each other briefly.

"Yeah," Tarix conceded, "Yeah, I guess those would be gills for you folks, huh. Makes sense."

"What was it that you had to replace?"

"My diaphragm."

"What is that?"

"... The muscle?"

"Which muscle?"

"The... The one that makes the... Lungs? Work? I understood you did have lungs?"

"Lungs work on their own."

"No they do not?"

"Yes they do. They are muscles."

"No they are not??"

Before Nuparu could further argue his point by lifting his chest plate and forcing Tarix to behold the disquieting spectacle offered by his very much clearly autonomously moving lungs, the unmistakeable noise of a small variety of hollow brass objects gracelessly crashing on the floor and being hurriedly chased after by stomping feet attracted their attention elsewhere.

Berix did not notice them as immediately as they noticed him, since he was busy making his entrance on all fours as he scrambled to pick up a bunch of scrap metal that had spilled from his arms.

The other two beings made no sound as they watched him curse to himself after stepping on a rogue bolt. They decided to simply observe him in silence much like an equipe of entomologists observes a particularly frenetic spider panicking for some kind of fault in its web, making no motion to lend the young Agori any help as he crawled along the ground to collect the scattered pieces of his scavenged treasure of junk.

It was particularly fascinating when he accidentally shoved several bolts in his mouth to the point of almost stuffing his cheeks with them, realized his mistake, and spat them in what looked like an exhaust pipe.

He almost cried when they fell out of it and rolled away again.

Then he lifted his eyes briefly to the other two silent beings in the room and failed to recognize them.

Meaning he then proceded to jump almost three whole bio straight in the air once he figured there were people looking at him - landing on a screw.

"FUCK!" he whimpered.

Tarix waved: "Hello to you."

"Do you need help?" Nuparu asked with a notable delay.

The Agori kneeled to the ground and skidded across it: "No no no, I'm good! I'm good, I'm - hey, hi, Tarix, hi, when did-? What are you-? Uh," he said nervously as he tried to catch as many nuts and springs as possible, "What is going on there? Is it, did I interrupt or, should- should I leave? Again? Should I leave again?"

"Nuparu's fixing my leg."

At that Berix snapped his head with a deafening gasp to look directly at him, the most betrayed expression to ever grace his face plaster across it.

"But I wanted to do that!" he cried out in anguish like a desert fox cub experiencing the horrors of its mother's tongue bath for the first time: "I told you I could do it, I- I replaced Gresh's ribs and, and I fixed his lungs when the Skrall got him and he hasn't had problems with them since, I told you I could do it, I'm good at fixing-!"

"I know that, and Gresh told me you did real well," the older Gaquri stopped him, "But - don't take it personally, kid, you're good and all, but when it comes to my leg I only trust you as far as I can throw you and believe me, it ain't far."

"But then why does he get to do it!" Berix wailed, pointing at Nuparu still scrubbing off the limestone.

"He's got a whole body like this, I'd imagine he knows what to do."

"But I know what to do too!"

"I told you, I'd rather have a specialist on it."

The Toa briefly wondered if being a descendant of the Water Tribe had something to do with how outstandingly wet Berix could will his eyes to look, or if it was just a specifically Berix thing.

Mabe it was an Agori defense mechanism. After all, it would have been pretty hard to want to hurt something that appeared to be the personification of the verbs 'to whimper', 'to whine', 'to sob', and last but not least 'to wail'.

Whatever the origin of such an expression of anguish, Tarix was not immune to its effects: "Oh, don't be like that," he finally pleaded with a tired but guilty tone, and pointed off to the cluttered desk not too far away: "There, I've got something for you too, alright? I came in 'cause my Thornax launcher's busted and you're the best with 'em. Could you fix that for me? Pretty please?"

That was enough to light the younger being's face up again.

With the sort of excited thin howling laugh that a mischievous ghost might have, he scuttled away to the mess of a table that was the headquarters for most of his projects: onto it he dumped the rest of his scraps, not caring even in the slightest that it only helped to worsen the general situation he already had going on as he was already completely absorbed by the thought of the inner mechanics of the weapon at hand.

The perfectly good chair right beside him thoroughly ignored in favor of sitting on the ground in a curled position that would have made a shrimp suggest booking an osteopathic appointment, he immediately started tinkering around to figure what the problem was with the drive and precision of a blood hound.

That had been perhaps one of the best things their unplanned collaboration had brought Nuparu - aside from all the knick-knacks and thingamajigs and vehicles and tools he'd been able to make or just plan out with the Agori, of course. Watching Berix work on something was such a fun and fascinating experience: his intensity gave his body language a sort of visceral desperation that contrasted his careful fumbling motions, pulling pieces apart with his scarred skeletal fingers and letting them fall all around him as though discarded carelessly - yet he somehow always knew where to search when he needed them again, and if in the middle of his fixer's frenzy you asked him for a specific nut or a gear he could pick it up without even looking, always on the first try. The thunderous act of creation and its rhythmic symphony played on rough instruments whisked the both of them away from the world at large, but when the Toa managed to pull himself back to reality (whether done or stumped or just in need of a break) it was enjoyable if not just all-together mesmerizing to observe the other hard at work on his own project.

A loud bang was not enough to deter him from the launcher either.

The equally loud voice that followed with an exasperated bark did, however: "BERIX! THE DOOR!"

"RIGHT! RIGHT- RIGHT, HOLD ON!" he squeaked hurriedly, abandoning (with a little more care) the weapon to scuttle away as fast as he could to the entrance of their laboratory.

The figure that emerged from the held open door replied to his rambling apologies by grunting every few steps - not without reason, seeing as they were carrying the carcass of an older model of chariot intertwined with some other mean of transport that had clearly gotten lodged sideways in its back, trying to balance the hellish thing on their shoulders in a way not too dissimilar to how a shepherd might carry a too small Mahi tired from a day of running wildly.

The mess of a car accident was dropped rather gracelessly onto the first largest spot of floor available; freed from their herculean weight, the being sighed and pulled back their arms, making the rather dull metal vertebrae poking from their skin creak in a somewhat unsettling fashion.

Nuparu briefly wondered if they were encrusted in limestone too.

They sort of looked like it.

Hm.

Now he had to wonder if it was a common yet not very well-known problem for organic beings with mechanical implants. Maybe it had to do with an excessive production of sweat?

While he was busy pondering that, Tarix grinned at the sight: "Hello, my beautiful wife who sucks at killing me," he crooned lovingly.

Vastus turned to him with a smirk, thin feathers raised and brows slightly furrowed in a manner that was much more fond than annoyed: "Hello, my beautiful husband who can't aim for shit," he replied; upon noticing the Toa kneeled before him, he cheekily added: "Committing adultery, I see?"

His partner wheezed a loud gurgling laugh: "Twelve thousand years we've been married! Twelve thousand years and now you mistake me for Gelu!"

"For who?"

"What, you haven't heard about--?"

"NOT IN FRONT OF MY PROJECTS!" Berix shrieked.

The Lebori chuckled - it was a strange sound, some kind of hiccuping hiss - and reached out to rub his hand all over the younger Gaquri's head; the kid swiveled away from him with a soft rattling noise as his annoyed trembling arms shook his scales against one another, face contorting into a piqued grimace, and returned to the launcher to tinker the other two away from his conscious perception.

"And where'd you get that?" the Glatorian inquired, pointing at it with his chin as it was common to do in his tribe and getting no answer.

"It's mine," his husband reassured him, "He's fixing it."

"Jammed again?"

"Seems like it."

"Bet you just didn't clean it properly."

"You don't know that."

"But I'm right," Vastus teased him as he approached to steal the pipe from his mouth. "And over here, what's going on?"

"He's fixin' up my leg. Nuparu, by the way, that's his name - he's a, ah, Ko- nope, Onu-Toa, he said - thought it was rust but I had limestone in it."

"We can get limestone?"

"Might be the sweating," Nuparu interrupted them suddenly. He fixed his unmoving mask onto the Lebori: "Can you turn around, please?"

Tarix snorted at the other's brief baffled blink: "Hey now, kid, I get you've put your hands in me and all, but you shouldn't go around just checking my wife out like that!"

"NOT! IN FRONT! OF THE PROJECTS!"

The Toa looked between the three of them with no clue what any of them was going on about: "I thought there might have been crusts on the vertebrae," he explained. "Since I have the solvent at hand already, I could handle that already if it's the case..."

"That's what they all say," the Gaquri snickered.

His confusion was palpable.

Vastus flicked a playful finger at his husband's head, warning him: "Berix is gonna kick you out at this rate... But I'm sure it's just some dust, kid, nothing to worry about."

"It still would not hurt to do a simple visual check."

"He's right," Tarix interjected while trying to snatch his pipe back and failing: "Maybe you've been building up a limestone deposit this whole time without knowing it."

"I don't have limestone."

"You don't know that."

Vastus smirked at him as he turned around for Nuparu to check: "But I'm right."

"You can't keep answering that and get away with it."

"I can if I'm always right."

The inventor gave a high pitched hum: "False alarm. That's just dust," he confirmed.

A triumphant grin briefly met the Gaquri's eyes as he rolled them.

Nuparu reached into a box to pull out a short variety of springs in order to compare their size with that of the one that had been bent by the affected piston, now cleaned and hopefully ready to work smoothly; careful not to dislodge anything else, he carefully pried the ill piece out and hooked up its replacement.

Satisfied with how the procedure had done, he pulled himself back a little and announced: "I have another question."

"Shoot," Tarix answered instantly.

"What do 'wife' and 'husband' mean, exactly?"

A hot second of silence passed in which the Glatorian regretted opening his mouth.

He glanced at Vastus.

His wife glanced back.

The quiet persisted.

"We're married," he answered lamely at last.

The question he dreaded slapped him in the face with outstanding punctuality: "And what does that mean?"

Having had his fun of seeing his husband's best full-body impression of a yam turning exponentially smaller when fried to a crisp piece of coal, the Lebori finally intervened: "You folks have contracts?"

"We do."

"Marriage is a contract between people where you become part of one other's family. And tribe, if you're from different ones like us."

A vacuous gaze met his explanation.

"Alright, what's confusing you?"

"The 'becoming part of' thing."

Vastus shrugged, his feathers puffing out for a moment before returning flat in a way similar to how certain avian Rahi did before starting a very long song: "It means we become relatives," he tried again. "Here, look - Tarix is a Gaquri and I'm a Lebori, so my family and hers come from different tribes. By marrying me she became a sort of honorary member of the Jungle tribe, and everybody treats her almost as though she was my brother, or my cousin; in the same manner, I became an honorary member of the Water tribe and I'm treated like her sister or cousin."

"So... It's sort of like assembling a team?" Nuparu tilted his head, puzzled: "There's no need for a contract for that. All Toa consider each other siblings already."

The other clicked his tongue as though he'd bitten it by accident: "I shouldn't have used that metaphor," he muttered.

"Why not?"

"First of all marrying your actual blood-siblings is frowned upon."

"Why? What's a blood-sibling?"

"I'll tell you when you're older. Secondly, I can assure you marriage is nothing like siblinghood."

At that, the Toa frowned: "It sounds the same to me."

"Your knee and Tarix's look the same to me, too," Vastus argued: "They're both made of metal, so they're the same thing."

"They really aren't." then he blinked, bright eyes flashing briefly, looked to the ceiling to recollect his thought, gave a loud hum, and met his gaze again: "I see your point."

The Glatorian smiled: "Good kid."

"Back to the point - how do 'wife' and 'husband' fit with all that?"

"That's just how you call someone who's married."

"So they're synonyms?"

"Yes, pretty much."

The answer seemed to satisfy the inventor greatly.

"I'm learning so much about your species today," he commented in a giddy tone. He returned to the discarded robot calf on the floor, dusting off its mechanical parts to make sure not even small amounts of debris would interefere with its functions; just as he plucked it back into the bulk of the implant, he looked again at the two Glatorian and told them with complete and total earnestness: "You know, if you were significantly smaller, quadrupedal, perhaps vaguely insectoid and incapable of speech, Turaga Whenua would have the best day of his life writing down and trying to decypher your absolutely incomprehensible habits."

That was the highest compliment an Onu-Matoran from the island of Mata Nui could bestow upon someone.

It was not categorizable as such by perhaps any other being in the entire universe, considering the source of such an idiom had been cut off from all other known civilizations and it was generally not considered particularly flattering to be told that you would make for a great petri dish for one's paternal figure to microscope if you were any less sentient, but luckily his tone did manage to properly convey the positive nature of his otherwise insane sentence.

So instead of knocking his head off with roundhouse kick, Tarix and Vastus smiled awkwardly in an attempt at not laughing in his face and just replied: "Thanks."

His Volitak did not have a mouth, but Nuparu's grin was blinding.

Berix chose that moment to shriek triumphantly.

"Fixed!" he declared, Thornax launcher hoisted into the air like it was the second making of the Element Lords.

The older Gaquri turned to him with eyes wide: "What, already?"

"It was encrusted with Thornax juice!"

Not even the time to feel bashful about such a silly and easy to fix thing hindering his battling performance so much that his wife was already leaning down into his line of sight with a smirk so wide that he could have just bitten his whole head off with it.

"What did I say?" he teased.

Tarix sighed, a weary smile on his face: "You cannot keep getting away with this."

"Yes I can," Vastus gloated, "If I'm always right."

[sapphic-agent]

"Stop using Yangchen for your shitty argument."

So, I was browsing the anti Aang tag around a week ago I think and I came upon a post that displayed frustration for people who condemn Aang not wanting to kill Ozai. I'm not 100% sure that this was targeted at my post specifically, but as I did use Yangchen, I do want to clarify how I interpret her words as well as the other past lives' advice and Aang's reaction.

(Here's my first post if you haven't read it: https://www.tumblr.com/sapphic-agent/745211292168732672/lets-talk-about-how-book-3-ruined-aang?source=share)

This person's main argument centered around how the previous Avatars never actually told Aang to kill Ozai. That their words were for him to interpret. And I actually agree. One of my central arguments was that this was a choice Aang had to make.

The thing is though, Aang himself absolutely interpreted their messages as him having to kill Ozai. That's why he gets so frustrated ("I knew I shouldn't have asked Kyoshi") and keeps cycling through them until he gets the answer he wants. Let's go through exactly what they all said to him.

Roku: If I had been more decisive and acted sooner, I could have stopped Sozin and stopped the war before it started. I offer you this wisdom, Aang, you must be decisive.

Roku tells Aang to be decisive. Which means he's urging Aang to make a decision. And this is perfectly in-line with what I said previously. He has to be able to make a choice between his morals/beliefs and his responsibility as the Avatar, as Roku failed to choose between his attachment to Sozin and his responsibility as the Avatar. That's what Roku's saying and that's exactly how Aang understands it.

Kyoshi: Personally, I don't really see the difference, but I assure you, I would have done whatever it took to stop Chin. I offer you this wisdom, Aang, only justice will bring peace.

Kyoshi's advice actually makes it less about Aang and more about Ozai. He needs to face justice so that the world can know peace. She, like Roku, does not say kill Ozai, she says bring him to justice. Aang's later actions are actually very much in-line with that. He does bring Ozai to justice through his own means. But again, that's not how Aang interpreted her advice. He takes it to mean do what she did, which is why he's salty about it after she disappears.

Kuruk: If I had been more attentive and more active, I could've saved her. Aang, you must actively shape your own destiny and the destiny of the world.

Again, Kuruk's words imply murder even less than Kyoshi's. He tells Aang to be active, to embrace his responsibility to the world and its fate as the Avatar. This is something Aang has struggled with since the beginning of the show so it makes sense that Kuruk would say this. But again, Aang takes it as something he doesn't want to hear. He either thinks that Kuruk is implying that he has to kill Ozai or that he thinks Kuruk is saying to be more active as the Avatar (if it's the latter, that makes Aang look worse because it's advice he's still unhappy with).

(I'd also like to add that Aang isn't looking for alternatives from his past lives. Or at least, he isn't just looking for alternatives. He's looking for one of them to validate him not wanting to kill Ozai and offer advice based on that. Which is why he says, "Maybe an Air Nomad Avatar will understand where I'm coming from." So them not giving him alternatives is not why he's upset)

Yangchen: Many great and wise Air Nomads have detached themselves and achieved spiritual enlightenment, but the Avatar can never do it. Because your sole duty is to the world. Here is my wisdom for you. Selfless duty calls you to sacrifice your own spiritual needs, and do whatever it takes to protect the world.

Out of everyone, Yangchen is probably the closest one to telling Aang he has to kill Ozai. She directly tells him that he has to sacrifice his spiritual needs, which heavily implies that she means go against what the monks taught him and end Ozai for the sake of the world. And that's absolutely how Aang understands it. He even says out loud, "I guess I don't have a choice, Momo. I have to kill the Fire Lord."

So yes, I 100% agree that their advice was up to Aang's interpretation. But what this person- and Aang stans in general- seemed to miss is that Aang himself interpreted their advice as him having to kill Ozai.

Now, does he have to follow their advice? Absolutely not. In Yangchen's words from the Kyoshi novels, "You could spend a thousand years talking to us and you still wouldn't know how best to guide the world." Their advice is just that, advice. Their words aren't law and shouldn't be regarded as such (especially not Roku's, he's consistently given terrible advice/direction).

Hell, in my original post I said I didn't think he had to kill Ozai. Just that he should have had to make the choice between his beliefs and responsibility and face the consequences of that choice. The only reason I brought up the past Avatars at all is because I was pointing out that he refused to accept answers (not just from them, but also from the Gaang) he didn't want to hear. And when he finally did accept it, he was immediately spared from having to make the choice by the Lion Turtle

[anangelwhodidntfall]

I'm sorry for sending another request so soon but I love the way you write dad!jake

Request: y/n is having trouble adjusting after leaving home and she starts being really hard on herself because she feels like she's taking too long to adjust and she becomes more and more frustrated until her siblings finally bring it to Jake's attention after thinking y/n's frustration would pass so Jake tries to talk to her

A/N: No need to apologize, keep sending them in <3

Pull Your Weight: Dad!Jake Sully

"Okay kids, I need you on your best behavior. I mean it. Learn fast. pull your weight. Don't cause trouble. You got it?" Your dad said after you guys were granted Uturu to get away from war.

That had been over two months ago and all your siblings including your little sister Tuk had all done that, excelling at everything that was taught to you to survive on the island. But you on the other were taking what seemed like forever to grasp the concepts you could swim okay, but you still hadn't properly bonded with an ilu, or grasped the finger talk that they do, and it bothered you a lot because you felt you were letting your father down. 

"Make the bond. Gently." Neteyam said as he was trying to help you bond with an Ilu since he and your siblings had already bonded with theirs. 

You nodded your head following his instructions making the bond with the ilu, feeling hopeful for once and then you allowed it to guide you through the water until it threw you off. You sighed as you swam up, already feeling frustrated. 

"It's okay sis, we can try as many times as it takes." He said reassuring you but it didn't work.

You tried at least twenty more times and got thrown off each time, you didn't understand why the ilu's wouldn't bond with you, ikran bonding was easier than this! 

"Sis..let's try one time.." Your twin tried to say.

"No, forget it Nete, this is just a waste of everyone's time. If I was meant to bond with one, then I would've bonded with one by now." You said angrily. 

"Sis that's not it! Maybe you just have to find the right one." He said hating to see you beating yourself up. 

"There isn't some right one for me! Tuk for crying out loud bonded with one. It's me. I'm a failure." You said leaving your twin there with a frown on his face.

Neteyam was the first to notice you being hard on yourself, then Lo'ak and Kiri had noticed it as well when you three came back from your finger talk lesson with Rotxo and Tsiereya and they both tried to convince you that you were learning at your own pace but you wouldn't listen to them either. They went straight to Neteyam and told him and the three of them decided that if they witness it one time they would go straight to your dad. 

You had been out on the beach playing with Tuk just trying to enjoy a moment of peace and not worrying about how slow you were adjusting when Ao'nung and some of his friends came up to you. 

"What do you want Ao'nung?" You asked as you watched Tuk make her sandcastle. 

"Just came to see if you were slow at making sandcastles as you are with learning how to live here." He said with a smirk as your smile fell. 

"Leave me alone Ao'nung." You said. 

"He's right. All your siblings including the little one have adjusted so well here, while you are still learning like you just arrived here yesterday." One of his friends said. 

"Just face it, you are the useless sibling." He said laughing as the tears threatened to spill from your eyes because they were right. 

"Sissy you know they are wrong right? Your not useless." Tuk said as the tears slid down your face. 

 

"What is wrong?" Your mother asked watching as you angrily worked on your weaving. 

"Nothing is wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" You asked slamming the basket down and catching your father's attention who had been outside on the dock craving something. 

"My sweet y/n, tell me what is wrong." She said brushing some of your hair out of your face making move away from her touch. 

"It doesn't matter. So drop it." You said pushing yourself to your feet and storming out of the Mauri as your parents looked at each other confused.

Your siblings had returned a few minutes after you left and stopped talking upon seeing your parents talking. 

"Hey, do you guys know what is going on with y/n? She seems so angry lately." Your mother asked concerned about you. 

"Uh we were actually about to talk to you about that...for the past few weeks we've noticed that y/n has been being very hard on herself about how long it's taking her to adjust to life here." Neteyam said. 

"Why? She's taking a normal amount of time to adjust." Your dad said confused. 

"Well, I know she's been struggling with bonding with an Ilu amongst other things, and said something about disappointing you." He said as your father's heart broke hearing that. 

"Where is she?" Your dad asked wanting to go and talk to you.

Your siblings told him where you like to go and hide away from the world and he went to find you and talk to you because you were the last thing from a failure and hated that you thought you were one. 

He found you, right where your siblings said you were, and quietly walked over to where you sitting by a tree before squatting to be on your level. 

"Hi, baby girl." He said. 

"Hi Daddy, I didn't mean to snap at Mom earlier." You said quietly. 

"I know you didn't baby, you wanna tell me what's been going on with you?" He asked gently. 

"I've been taking so long to adapt to the way of living." You said. 

"No, you haven't. We all learn at different rates." He said to you.

"No, you don't understand! I should be adjusting like neteyam and everyone has! When we were back home I learned everything so quickly and now it's taking me ten times as long to learn something even Tuk is excelling better than me." You said.

"I feel like such a failure." You said quietly as the tears fell down your face.

Your dad without a second thought scoops you into his arms. He knew exactly how you were feeling because he had struggled too when he first joined the clan and even upon arriving on the island, he struggled with bonding with the skimwig, and he hated that his kids especially his baby girl felt that way because you weren't a failure to him or your mother.

"Look at me, you are not a failure." He said looking into your eyes. 

"But when we got here, you told us to learn fast and pull our weight and I've hardly been doing that. I don't wanna disappoint you." You said as your dad wiped your tears. 

"I know I did but that didn't mean you had to learn the way of life here in two hours, it meant learning and adjusting at your own pace. Plus I've seen you pulling your weight here in other area, so you got a few areas that you are struggling with  but that's okay, we all have those I mean it took me three months to bond with a skimwing." He said. 

"Really?" You asked shocked. 

"Really. It's gonna be okay sweetheart. Your not a disappointment and could never be one." He said hugging you. 

"I love you Dad." You said feeling like a weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

"I love you too baby girl. How about tomorrow I try to teach you how to bond with an Ilu?" He offered. 

"I would like that a lot. But I think I should go home and apologize to everyone, I haven't been the nicest person lately." You said. 

"I know they'll understand." He said as he lead you to where his skimwing was so you two could head home.

"Mom and siblings specifically Neteyam I wanted to apologize for my behavior lately, I know I haven't been the nicest person to you guys and I'm sorry." You said with your head down as your father squeezed your hand in reassurance. 

"It's okay, ma y/n. Can you tell me what was wrong?" Your mom asked concerned. 

"She thought she was a failure because it's taken her longer than the others to adapt to the lifestyle here." Your dad said as your mother walked over and wrapped her arms around you. 

"My sweet girl, you are not a failure. We learn at different rates and you excel at so many other things. Isn't that right guys?" She asked your siblings who agreed and started naming off the things you were good at making your heart warm. 

[ofmdsalt]

i do think it’s funny that the gentlebeardies who proclaim their love for the revenge crew don’t actually talk that much about or create content for the revenge crew. they don’t give a shit about the “boatful of queer poc that Izzy sold out” (LMFAO) unless they can use the crew’s diversity as some kind of moral gotcha. they care about GB because that’s the only thing that matters about the show in their eyes. and it’s so fucking unoriginal!!! just endless regurgitated post about “omg they’re soooo in love~~ and isn’t it great that love conquered all their problems~~!” it’s unoriginal derivative dreck unless they have to invent new ways to lie about how izzy deserves the death penalty.

oh anon you get me

you have no idea how much i hate the diversity of the crew being used as a literal weapon in this fandom when it comes to demonizing izzy and washing Ed and Stede of any of their wrong doings.

im frustrated by the use of the crew in season 2 only because it was so painfully obvious to me that the budget cuts really affected the ensemble. the way the Swede and Buttons were written out of the show felt rushed and like it came out of nowhere, especially as those two characters, felt the 'least' developed out of the rest of them. so giving them both this long winded set up to be written out was too clunky for me.

i miss when Frenchie was singing and strumming along on his lute. i miss when Jim was Jim, because lbr that was Vico in s2. it just felt like Jim wasn't there anymore. i can't say what happened in the writer's room at that time or what sort of material Vico was given or if it skewed more to improve, but a lot of what was established for the characters in s1 was missing for me.

the rhetoric of this being the Ed&Stede show i think did more harm than good. the assertion that the other characters are only here in service of Ed and Stede's development reduces the sense of scale and scope and also agency these characters have.

a lot of the foundational aspects of GB as a ship i think falls a bit too much into fan service. people talk about how revolutionary and groundbreaking the ship is as a cis gay couple on screen. as if it hasn't been seen before. like i didn't get the wow moment of Stede in the mermaid costume as other fans did. Stede's dream at the beginning of season 2 with him killing Izzy and then colliding with Ed in this romantic gesture of love and passion on the beach is straight up fantasy for Stede, but i think fans took the idea of Stede literally killing Izzy a bit too seriously because that is Stede's fantasy. he wanted his reunion with Ed to be simple and understandable. that it was all Izzy's fault when the reality of the situation was so much messier and complicated. like David and the writers were literally telling us that Izzy is not the enemy here because this moment on the beach was pure fantasy. and fantasies can be dangerous

and then the fans said that Izzy deserved it, should have had his second leg shot and amputated, that he deserved to die, that he's still a nuisance even in death despite the fact that he's dead. that is both a master manipulator but also a cringe fail loser incapable of doing anything right. and it's like. okay. you don't seem to understand this character either.

like a lot of the problems in this fandom have existed before and will continue to exist in other iterations. every fandom has its ship wars. every fandom has long ass call out posts about characters they don't like. but let's not pretend this is anything revolutionary

what i've noticed is that this fandom will reach a burnout period and it's probably already upon us. the constant need to be like 'we're trending!!' when all algorithms are dog shit and glitchy as hell doesn't mean anything. plus the fact that there are only two seasons, less BTS content to go around, it's all coming from the same overdrawn well and eventually it will come up empty.

it's okay to step back. it's okay to leave a fandom for a bit and come back to it years down the road. it's okay. but all of this is exhausting