#Leather Laser Cutting

[roopikalaserpoint]

Wood Photo Engraving in Chennai is a process by which a photo is engraved onto a piece of wood. This can be done using a variety of methods, but the most common is to use of a laser.

[zegalba]

Masaki Matsushima: Laser Cut Skull Gloves (1997)

[armoreddragon]

Someone asked for a glasses-compatible version of my Fire Tiger mask design. I'd had issues with doing that on other designs, where the snout ended up too heavy and weighed itself down, but thankfully this one worked quite well!

[srinibasgowdablog]

Laser Cutting Furnishings: A Master Class in Precision and Technology

The potential of the best laser cut furniture to turn a piece of furniture into an artistic creation gives it its aesthetic appeal. Designers may now play with complex geometric designs, ornate filigree, and minute motifs that were previously difficult to do with conventional techniques.

Read More : https://medium.com/@srinibas_gowda/laser-cutting-furnishings-a-master-class-in-precision-and-technology-f0070a7779ff

[dhunikart]

Buy now -Algolaser Delta 22w Diode Laser Engraver

[starmacnc]

STARMA CNC 2x3M big size 220W auto feeding fabric leather co2 laser cutt...

[zepskies]

Imagine: Soldier Boy Getting Jealous...

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader || (past Frenchie x F. Reader)

Request: Soldier Boy finding out you had something with Frenchie, years before meeting him.

Word Count: 1K

Tags/Warnings: Jealousy lol (With a hint of spice.~)

Imagine: Ben getting jealous over your past relationship with Frenchie.

He doesn't care.

Because he doesn't care...

When you sit him down in the living room of your apartment and tell him you used to date Frenchie, Ben's reaction is mild at best. To the point where it kind of concerns you.

Ben raises a brow and gives a deep hum.

"Oh, really? That limey bastard?" he remarks. He takes a sip from his tumbler of whiskey. You give him a weary sigh.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call him that," you reply. You and Frenchie are still friends. Your "entanglement" was years ago, before he even started hooking up with Cherie.

But you still want to be honest with Ben. You two have been dating for a few months now, and it's actually serious. No one's more surprised than you by that fact, but...you're happy. You think he is too.

At your response, however, Ben rolls his eyes and continues drinking. You tilt your head in suspicion.

"So you're chill?" you ask.

"Chill?" he quirks a brow at you. Your lips form a smile.

"You're okay with this," you amend.

Ben shrugs and turns on the TV, trying to navigate the streaming apps. You’d put him on to Game of Thrones. Even three seasons into his binge-watching, he doesn’t want to admit that he’s hooked.

"You're fucking a real man now, sweetheart. No skin off my nose," he says.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, despite a warm blush stinging your cheeks.

But the next time you all go out together to a club in the city, Ben watches you leave his side to say hello to your friends: Annie, Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko. Frenchie takes your hands and makes a show of looking you up and down.

"Well, well. She shoots to kill tonight, eh?" Frenchie says. When he leans in to kiss your cheek, he whispers, "Ah, black leather. My old favorite."

"Stop," you warn with a smile, hitting his shoulder. He's absolutely shameless. "You're too much."

"And you are just enough," Frenchie returns. He whistles playfully as he raises your hand to twirl you around, showing you off in your little black dress and red-bottom heels.

You laugh, but you bump into Ben when you twirl for the second time. Your laughter cuts off abruptly when you see the flinty look on his face, though he's clinging to stoicism.

Frenchie’s eyes widen as he seems to realize the very real danger he's put himself in. He wisely lets go of your hand, pivots on his heel and goes with Kimiko over to the dance floor.

Meanwhile, you move back to Ben's side and try to placate him by looping your arm through his. He responds by wrapping a strong arm around your waist. His eyes bore into the back of Frenchie's head so hard, you almost expect laser beams to come out of them.

"Come on, let's get a drink," you suggest, patting a hand on Ben's chest. He looks good tonight in a burgundy button-down shirt tucked into his slacks.

Ben wordlessly agrees to your suggestion, but he grabs a stool and drags it close to his own seat. He does help you by the hand onto the stool, but then his arm wraps back around your waist, pulling you in snugly, possessively to his side.

You try not to smile in amusement. It's a caveman's display, but at least you know the root cause this time.

...Okay, maybe you feel the tiniest bit complicit, but really, you think Ben's overreacting.

After he flags down the bartender and orders his bourbon and your martini, you tap against his bearded cheek, earning his green-eyed attention.

"You okay?" you ask knowingly.

"Just fine," he deadpans.

"Oh, well that's convincing," you say with a smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm here with you?"

Ben's gaze hardens. "I don't know. You were pretty happy to let that French whore put his fucking hands all over you—"

"All right. Calm down, Rambo," you say, trying not to laugh as you rub his arm. "Sorry, baby. That's just how we've always cut up. It doesn't mean anything."

Ben scoffs in derision. "Yeah? Fuck if I care."

You frown at that, sparking with annoyance. Somehow, now you actually do feel guilty. You and Frenchie have bounced off each other like Derek and Garcia for so long, you didn't even realize how it might look...or how it might make your boyfriend feel.

Because even with all that ego and injured pride, you have a feeling there's a real sting of hurt under there.

"Hey," you say, squeezing Ben's wrist. His gaze remains stubbornly on the bartender making your drinks.

You decide to take matters more firmly into your hands.

Reaching up for his chin, you guide Ben's face toward yours and press a kiss to his lips. It's slow at first, but it soon gains in passion. His teeth graze your bottom lip, before his tongue demands entrance into your mouth with claiming purpose.

It elicits a hint of a moan from you, your fingers clenching in his hair. Your nails drag against his scalp, almost making him shudder.

Your supple lips eventually pull away from his, nice and slow.

"Your hands are the only hands I care about touching me," you say. Your expression twinkles with mischief as you toy with the zipper on the side of your dress.

"As a matter of fact, I need your help," you add. "This zipper keeps catching on something. I think it's stuck."

Quite possibly because someone got a little handsy in the cab on the way here.

Ben smirks, though he claims your lips in one more slightly rough kiss before he answers.

"Well that is a problem," he says. His eyes roam down your face, taking in your thoroughly kissed lips, and the cleavage peeking out at him from the neckline of your dress.

"Think I can give you a hand," he says, as his actual hand slips down your leg. His fingers brush along the inside of your thigh, tingling across your skin. His half-lidded gaze once again meeting yours. "Better take you out back and fix you up."

You laugh, despite the return of your blush. You cling to his shoulders, while his fingers burn a tantalizing trail upwards.

"Oh, yeah. Save me, Soldier Boy!" you tease.

He snorts in response, but he helps guide you out of your seat.

Moments later, all your friends find at the bar are two forgotten drinks and a couple of empty stools.

AN: Ah, jealous Ben. It's fun to imagine. 😂

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List (Part 1):

@melancholictearz @spnwoman @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @anticxrrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky

@teehxk @midnightmadwoman @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem

@deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees

@xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley

@sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @dope-trope-105

@liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @chernayawidow @tmb510

@iamsapphine @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waynes-multiverse

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Burning Love

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 26. Burning Fandom: MCU, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, f!reader Summary: When you and Bucky are captured, HYDRA scientists try to force you to use your powers to kill him. But you refuse to hurt the man you love, regardless of how much pain it may cause you... Word Count: 2171 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Burning, Torture, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Inflicted Wounds, Laser Beams, Damaged Vision, Bucky Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Thank you to @ohtobeleah for looking this over for me 💞 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

“Doll, please, open your eyes.” The desperation in Bucky’s voice as he pleads with you breaks your heart, but it’s better than the alternative if you comply with his wishes.

You twitch your head as much as the leather restraint across your forehead will allow, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Through gritted teeth, you grunt, “Not gonna happen, Sarge.”

The pain coursing through you is horrible, but knowing what it would do to Bucky if you gave in is enough to make it bearable—somewhat. Unlike his body, yours is more equipped to handle the damage caused by the laser beams you can shoot from your eyes. While it has taken maybe an hour to get to this point—where your eyelids and surrounding skin are charred, bubbly, and blackened like a flamed-broiled marshmallow—you would have cut through Bucky’s flesh in seconds. Which is why you are fighting so hard to protect him from your open eyes. 

“Turn it off,” a frustrated voice growls behind you. “We'll have to try something else.”

The searing sensation in your eyes disappears and you shift against the numerous restraints holding you into the metal chair. It feels so violating to have these HYDRA scientists hooking you up to their machinery, digging through your brain, and activating your beams as they see fit. You wonder if this is how Bucky used to feel back when he was the Winter Soldier.

As the scientists fiddle with the equipment behind you, you hear a tender voice call out to you. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” you mumble. “How you doing, Buck?” The last thing you saw before you began forcing yourself to keep your eyes closed was Bucky being strapped into his own chair directly across from you.

“Horrible. Watching you barbeque yourself just to spare me…Doll, you can’t keep doing this. You won’t survive it much longer.”

You gave him a wry chuckle. “I’ve been accidentally burning myself with these things my entire life. I can take it.”

“For how long?” You don’t answer. “Please, look at me. I need to see you’re okay behind all of this.”

As much as you want nothing more in this world than to stare into Bucky’s loving gaze one last time, it’s not worth the potential cost. “I can’t. They could turn them back on at any second and…I can’t risk it.” 

“I’m not worth all the pain they’re putting you through. I don’t deserve this kind of sacrifice—not after everything I’ve done.”

Smiling in his direction, you whisper, “When will you stop blaming yourself for what they made you into and see the man you truly are? The man I love.”

It sounds like Bucky is about to say something else but, before he can, an angry voice from behind you barks out, “I’m tired of this game. Increase the power.”

Bucky screams, “No!”

Suddenly, the pain behind your eyes increases exponentially and the pressure within your head becomes unbareable. An inhuman screech is ripped from your lips. Something in your vocal cords snaps under the strain. You smell the faint whiff of burning hair mixed in with your cooking flesh and wonder if the last of your eyelashes have finally been seared off. Your bare toes scrap against the cold concrete as they involuntarily curl as all the muscles in your body contract. Every other part of your body is restrained by the straps holding you down, but you begin violently shaking as the tension within you becomes too great.

The small part of your mind that’s still coherent wonders if your eyes roll back into your head if you’ll fry your brain and end this torture. Maybe it is worth it to try.

You have no idea how long they keep your beams on this time—all your remaining focus and energy is on keeping your eyes closed. Bucky is screaming, crying, begging, but his voice sounds echoey and far away so you can’t make out his words. You aren’t sure what HYDRA will do to him once you’re gone, but you pray he fights them with everything he has.

Finally, the machine behind you is flipped off and your body sags against your restraints. Without them, you know you’d topple to the floor, no longer possessing the energy to hold yourself up. Everything hurts now, not just your eyes. But you’re still alive which means you aren’t done fighting.

You hear footsteps approaching and you recognize the voice of the man in charge as he curses, kicking one of the legs of your chair. “This is ridiculous. How many of you fucking idiots does it take to make her kill the Soldier? Just pry her eyes open, clamp them in place, and turn the machine back on.”

You grin weakly, feeling blood dripping down your chin where you had bit your tongue. With your ruined voice, you croak, “You can try, but the second any of you put a finger near my eyes, I’m burning it off.” 

The man beside you yanks on the restraint across your forehead, tightening it to the point you feel bones crack. You let out a soft whimper as the man growls, “Fine. We’ll turn it up to full power and leave it on. Let her burn completely through her eyelids. Then we’ll get the results we want.” You hear him turn and march away.

For the first time, your resolve wavers as a small sob bubbles up in your chest. Your body may be resistant to your beams and can repair wounds sustained from them, but it takes time. If these scientists can make you burn through your eyelids—and based on how everything is starting to look a little brighter through your closed lids, it seems like a very real possibility—then there is nothing you can do to stop them from hitting and killing Bucky. 

You hear the scientists murmuring and fiddling with equipment somewhere far behind you, but you still don’t dare open your eyes in case someone is still at the machine and flips it on the moment you look at Bucky. Yet it won’t matter for much longer if they carry out their plan. 

“Doll…” The word is whispered so low you can barely hear it.

“Buck…,” It’s hard to whisper with your ruined voice, the sound more of a croak than a real word. But you hope he can understand you with his super-soldier hearing. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t stop this.”

“I know. You’ve done so good so far.” Even in a whisper, the love in his voice feels like a comforting embrace. “But I have a plan. You just gotta trust me.” 

“I do. You know I do.” 

“Then when I tell you to open your eyes and turn on your beams, whether they’re making you or not.”

You sob, “But Bucky—”

“Trust me!” he hisses. 

“Okay…okay, I’ll do it.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Doll. Whatever happens, I love you. And this isn’t your fault.”

A single tear escapes your ruined eyes and rolls down your scared cheek. “I love you too. But we both know, it is.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. However, you can hear a soft scraping and shuffling from his vicinity. Maybe he found a way to escape. Or maybe…he couldn’t be asking you to kill him. After all the pain and suffering you’d put yourself through to keep him alive, he wouldn’t have you take him out now just to end both of your pain…would he?

But you promised to trust him and you do, so when you hear him mutter, “All the way down and to the right. Now!”, you follow his instructions.

Shifting your gaze behind closed lids as far to the right and downward as they’ll go, you open your eyes and blast without a second's hesitation. 

Your beams strike Bucky in the center of his left forearm, just a few inches above his wrist. Even though it is his metal arm, you are horrified. You thought he had found a way to get you to blast open his cuffs or melt his chair, and in a way, even killing him instantly would be better than this. His vibranium arm is advanced enough that it still allows him to feel sensations such as texture, pressure, and—what concerns you in this situation—temperature and even pain. Instead of ending his life with one blast, you are now forcing him to endure the same agony you have been going through. 

As the metal begins to glow under the intense heat of your beams, you want to screw your eyes shut once more. But Bucky told you to do this and you promised to trust him. Even though he is grunting and panting because of the pain, he isn’t telling you to stop so you keep your beams focused on his arm. 

Eventually, the red-hot glow expands and soon reaches his wrist. In moments, the metal restraint liquifies and Bucky wrenches his arm free. Without having to be told, you slam your eyes shut once more.

You can hear the sounds of fighting all around you: guns firing until their clips run empty, flesh sizzling against metal followed by screams of agony, bodies being flung around the room and crashing to the floor. 

But then everything goes silent.

For a minute, nothing happens. You are just about to call out when a pair of lips press lightly against yours. Jumping slightly, you quickly recognize the kiss. You try to lean into it but the strap across your forehead holds you firmly in place. 

Parting from your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, Bucky whispers, “It’s okay. You can open your eyes now. It’s just you and me.”

Slowly, you peel your eyes open. The world is cloudy and out of focus with huge black spots obstructing your vision. And yet, there was no mistaking the person kneeling in front of you. 

Weakly, you smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he murmurs back.

“H-how bad?”

Bucky’s brow furrows as he runs his thumb gently around the edge of your eye socket, the now cooled metal somewhat soothing against your damaged skin. “It’s really bad, but I’m hoping it’s worse than it looks. Once you get checked out—”

“Not me,” you whisper. “How badly did I hurt you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t make it out. “I’ve had a lot worse. And it’s because of you that it was as minimal as it was. You should’ve just vaporized my head from the very start.” 

“Nah. I knew we’d find a way out eventually.”

“Liar,” he teases. Then, with a more serious tone, he asks, “How’s your vision? You’re blinking an awful lot and that can’t be comfortable.”

You try to think of how to describe what you are seeing. “I can see some shapes, colors, movements…that’s about it. No details. But even that’s a miracle at this point. I’ve never burned myself this badly before.”

“Will they…will they heal?”

You try to shrug but you are still strapped to the chair. “They should. They always have before. Healing the burns is tied into my powers.” You swallow and flinch at the sharp stab of pain cutting down your throat. “My voice, however, might be another story.”

Bucky gently runs his fingers down the side of your neck. “I’m sure SHIELD has some specialists who can help you. But first, we’ve got to get back to them. So let’s get you out of that chair.”

He began unlocking each of your restraints and you can’t stop a moan from escaping. Your skin had been rubbed raw where the metal dug into your skin, and your muscles ache from how tensely they had been clenched in pain. Bucky must have noticed this, because as he undoes each strap, he massages the area, loosening up the muscles enough to ease some of the tension. But every inch of you still throbs in pain. 

As Bucky unlatches the last restraint, he asks, “Do you think you can walk?”

“I’m not sure. Everything hurts. But maybe once I get going—” You try to rise from the seat but barely make any progress before collapsing back down. You look up at Bucky sheepishly. “I guess that’s a no.”

Carefully, he lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the exit. You can’t see where you’re going and the slight bobbing of your vision as he walks is giving you a headache. 

Leaning your head against his chest, you let your damaged eyes drift softly closed. Then you mutter, “I think I need to sleep for a bit. Helps my recovery time.”

You feel Bucky’s lips brush against your temple. “Rest, Doll. I’ll take it from here.”

Nodding softly, you begin slipping into a deep slumber. You are still in a lot of pain, but you don’t regret a single moment of what happened. You’d do it all again if at the end you could be safe in Bucky’s arms once more.

[shiyorin]

Halloween Sandwich 

#Modern au

#Trick or treat with Ferrus and Fulgrim

#NSFW, 3p, noncon, reader is female...

#Happy Halloween with @roroco316

You had been so proud of your Halloween costume idea this year. Nothing too flashy or elaborate - just a classic ghost get-up that you could easily throw together from some old fabric layer. The pale, diaphanous draping perfectly complimented your lithe figure while offering an air of eerie mystery that you thought was deliciously spooky.

At least, that's what you assumed until the first trick-or-treaters showed up. 

An insistent rapping at your front door drew your grinning steps, already clutching at an overflowing basket with all the sugary loot. Surely these kiddies would get a thrill at seeing your haunting visage lurking behind the threshold! Tossing the sheet's tattered hem up to better obscure your face, you creaked the door open with an ominous groan.

"Oooooh, which tiny monsters come calling at my house?"

With a dramatic flourish, you flung aside the covering only to freeze in utter stupefaction. Because the sight that greeted you on the other side was anything but childish innocence.

Framed in the flickering glow of your porch lights stood two towering, impossibly statuesque figures grinning down at you. Both were clad in... well, outfits that could barely be considered proper costumes—leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The first was some sort of bejeweled, leather get-up that looked like it belonged in a particularly porno. Amethyst silken scarves swirling around his chiseled physique scarcely concealed perky nipples and an absolutely thunderous package bisecting his leather thong with obscene definition. His angular features had even been meticulously highlighted with eyeliner and artfully feathered bangs that framed his smoldering gaze with practiced allure.  

And keeping him casual company was a positively rippling monolith of a man, dressed in...strategically wrapped bandages? His array of taut linen strips allowed tantalizing glimpses of sheened musculature and a deeply corrugated pelvis.

"What—?" Your voice came out in a strangled rasp, your diminutive form utterly dwarfed between these men You instinctively clutched your voluminous ghost sheet tight around your frame in self-consciousness, swallowing audibly. "Uh… hey… guys?" 

"Why hellooo there, sexy little ghost," purred the first one, presumably Fulgrim by the voice with a serpentine undulation, his eyes practically smoldering like lava flows. "And just what brings you out haunting the streets on a night like this, hmm?"

They were hitting on you. You went completely rigid, your jaw doing its best impression of a gasping halibut as you processed the situation.

"You… gotta be kidding me...! How old are you two supposed to be exactly? Because I'm certainly not—"

"This old, dear” Fulgrim cooed in a lilting baritone, lifting a single finger to trace the curve of your chin.  

Thankfully, the other man, Ferrus, elected to save his buddy from a well-deserved throat-punting by clearing his throat.

"Ah, don't mind my friend's poor manners, my little lady. The question still stands though..." His gaze lasered between your parted thighs like twin X rays, hefting a plastic pumpkin full of treats. "We've been… very good boys going door to door. So… are we due for some rewards… or does this evening demand a few tricks instead...?"

It took you a few seconds to process his insinuations before you physically recoiled, spine snapping rigid with incredulity.  

"Wha—You... you've gotta be joking right now, you perverts! That's it, I'm not in the mood to deal with demented horndogs on Halloween!"

Your threat was sharply cut off as Fulgrim abruptly stepped in closer, effectively caging you against the doorframe with one palm slammed against the surface. You swallowed thickly at his proximity, the former's musky sandalwood cologne flooding your senses with intoxicating potency as he loomed overhead like an avalanche.

"Now, now...surely my stunning treat isn't asking for any...unpleasantries?" Fulgrim purred, tilting his head. "After all, I simply must insist on having my cake... and eating it too..."

His free hand brazenly snaked through the tattered concealing drape of your costume, fingers nimbly finding and tweaking your cloth-obscured nipple. You jolted with a yelping gasp at the sudden violation, only for Ferrus' tree-trunk-thick arms to wrap around you from behind and pin your flailing against his.

"Easy there, my little lady… ee can do this the easy way..." he growled against the back of your ear, the delicious heat of his breath already leaving you in a dizzy spiral. 

Between their twin enormities compressing against your front and back, your head spun dizzily, fingers scrabbling for any leverage as you thrashed in weak protest. But every struggle only served to grind your vulnerable form against the solid bulwarks of their rippling muscles and swelling codpieces...

With a frustrated mewl, you finally wilted between your captors like a rag doll, eyelids fluttering as you stared up helplessly at Fulgrim's razor-carved jawline and gleaming smirk.

"F-Fine… you giant… freaks..." you rasped in meek capitulation. "I-I'll...give you your stupid Halloween treat this year..."  

Because let's be honest here. Some tricks simply don't require costumes to be properly appreciated…

*****

Tyranid eat this part

*****

Somehow managing a shaky smirk through your dazed panting, you mustered a glare up at them both. Your voice was raspy but defiant.

"F..fuck you..." The words earned matching barks of lewd laughter from them both as they leaned in closer.

"Yeah..." Ferrus grinned. "Fuck me. All night long, little lady…”

[roopikalaserpoint]

Roopika Laser point is the leading manufacturing leather laser cutting in Chennai and leather engraving in Chennai with best quality for customers

[say-hi-intrepid-heroes]

alright let’s go over the junior year clues we got in the rick perry documentary thing (disclaimer: i’ve definitely missed stuff, but i think i got the big things, feel free to reblog and add with stuff that i missed though)

[at the bottom of this post I've typed out the decipherable words that plan out some combats and NPCs from Rick's screen. it's the most interesting thing but it's super long so it's at the bottom under a cut]

We get a blurry look at some minis. I’m seeing at least the PC’s minis, as well as what looks like Baxter the Gryphon.

There’s some major shots of this battle. Includes a Baby mini, the Hangvan with some kind of laser canon on top, a stingray-esque monster that is likely Night Yorb (see below), something that looks like maybe an ice elemental or the crystal (see below), and some large bugs and shirtless people. Clearly set in the Red Wastes. Detailed info of the planning for this battle below.

One of the shots had reference boards in the background. One is clearly for the Hangvan (see earlier screencaps), but the other is unclear. It looks like it includes some sort of tennis or tennis-adjacent sport.

Confirmation that Mordred Manor is a set piece.

Finally, one shot showed Rick’s computer screen with some critical info about planning. I’ve put what I’ve been able to decipher below the screencaps. and under a cut, as it’s very long.

EP. 701 DEFEATING NIGHT YORB CHASE (RED WASTES) Hangvan, Night Yorb is giant flying Manta Ray thing? Rainbow road, being chased by night yorb while trying to throw crystal into portal. Crazy gun on rough [roof] that gorgug made, I can’t get a lock on it. Just need one last final thing to defeat night yorb. Red wastes, chasing the night yorb around, flying bats teleporting onto rough [roof] of van, NPC allies, Balthazar, two other cars they are in contact with, tiefling bakers or sidekicks are reveals Stormchaser twister, trying to get a lock onto it, Night Yorb is escaping the world. Maybe night yorb gets away, why didn [didn’t] you get it? And Balthazar died? Murph invented the Night Yorb. Don’t fuck with the Night Yorb. Exploded out of riz’s chest, needs to be dumb as hell. it’s the jabberwocky, it burbled, hugely terrifying, Horrifying cursed thing. Unending night for two months. Dragon sized, bigger than the Hang Van, 30’ wingspan Stars and moon. While the night yorb flies it is night and not day. Not malevolent force, but everything on earth will die Have giant ghost busters canon, Honey I shrunk the kids cannon Driver, mechanic, gunner, navigator (using SW 5e mechanics) Hang Man - Fabian motorcycle Tether is attached to night yorb, either magic or harpoon Night Yorb could out pace them. Could smash van. Cultist of the night yorb appearing on the road, mad max style ”The night yorb is our god” Red Wastes Cultists: Riding skeleton horses, classic fantasy cultists, Manta ray night yorb masks Sword and Sorcery vibes, MUSCELY, oiled, black leather, rings Shadow of Night Yorb Tether must be reeled in over 4 rounds Success Meter - 4 rounds or it escapes Pop up cultists in the middle of the road 4 maps Straight away, gully bridge crossing, rap popping up, giant portal It’s going to another world but if it gets away thats just as bad Ayada [Ayda?] thing built in. Chekov’s gun. Gun has cool helix of energy that is getting cranked in. Gun is on the back and on the hood is a binding circle that Adaine does. Cultists are making the portal. YORBIES if they catch it, it gets bound into the paint of their van Gun is gorgug’s stuff and circle is adaine 6 cultist perusing them, 4 or 5 at the portal, 1 or 2 back up Single person traps, Vulture with cactus MINIS: Night Yorb - Giant shadowy manta ray, inky black dripping, made of liquid, different underbelly, deep indigo or bone white. Made of shadows, dripping aberration, flat plane, long tail, two weird eyes coming off front on stalks. Second set of PCs TERRAIN: Red Wastes! NOTES: favorite crazy dnd monsters, beholder, [unclear word, bu…ette] Fungal Black light portal battle! Dr. Strange battle set, pseudo pods of elder pod night yorb, day glow run fragments, purple stone castle night yorb temple, floor is octopus made of shadows. Starting mid battle. [blank sections] PROJECTION: Counter here of some kind?

POTENTIAL LOCATIONS Basrar’s icecream shop? Mordred Manor Seacaster Manor [crossed out] Strong Tower Luxury Apartments SAT Prep class [screen cuts off]

EP. 704 DENTENTION [detention] STEALTH CHASE SEQUENCE/ QUIET LIBRARY/ Aguefort chase sequence? Combine sets interrupted by having to make it past a hall monitor Underwater? Books suspended floating, everything is affected by water Don’t wake daddy? Start in Library to get to Aguefort’s office Hallway Classroom Bathroom Lockerroom [blank sections] DYNAMIC ELEMENT: Water

CONCEPTS Dicks! SPIRITUAL GUARDIANS - Full service on minis, summons, etc Psycadelic fungal giant, black light, trippy, beautiful Revisiting old set [screen cuts off]

[fyi everything past this point was very blurry, so I could only decipher pieces here and there]

EP. 706 OUTDOOR CONCERT COACHELLA Music feature? Flaming [?], giant [?] [???] Fig and Gorgug on stage [???] Lighting effects, [???] Floating stage or something [???] Demons? PROJECTION: Lasers?

NPCS/ VILLAINS/ MONSTERS/ ETC. PORTER CLIFFBREAKER is secret servant of nightmare king tactical battlefield combat that [?] 2-3 times larger than PCs LED buried inside him [???] Porter was [???] basketball player [screen cuts off]

[the rest was too blurry to make out anything other than a blank section titled ROLE PLAY/ NEUTRAL BOARD and a section that seems to be for EP. 708 and says EXTRA with some blurry words after it]

[howtofightwrite]

Just a casual question: What lightsaber style do you prefer out of one-handed, two-handed, double-bladed or dual wielding?

We’ll leave out the Lightsaber Forms from the EU, because they are inconsistently defined between sources.

No, no, no. You ask me what my favorite lightsaber is, you get the answer whether you want it or not. The answer may surprise you. It’s (probably) considered the second dumbest lightsaber weapon ever invented in the extended universe with the exception of the lightsaber nunchaku.

Are you ready? Do you have your guesses?

The Lightwhip.

The chosen weapon of Dark Ladies of the Sith and the Nightsisters of Dathomir back when the Sisters weren’t all dark side practitioners and rode rancors.

(This is my favorite. For reference, Starke’s favorite is single blade Form IV: Ataru. He’s boring.)

Now, I agree with the general fandom that the lightwhip is a dumb, impractical weapon that’s more likely to dismember its wielder than it is their opponent. Only someone with a high level of skill, prescience, and telekinesis could make effective use of a lightwhip’s dismemberment murder frenzy without killing themselves. Fortunately, that’s exactly the base level of skills most Force sensitives possess. Probably most important, the lightwhip is the exact sort of dumb we see with real weapons in the real world. This includes the more wild examples like the urumi, the chain whip, and the three-section staff. And, it should be said, I have watched living black belts concuss themselves with the three-section staff while trying to figure out how to use it. All for the Rule of Cool. So, while I accept its impracticality, I refuse the argument that the lightwhip being any more unrealistic in use or invention than the rest of the lightsaber weapon family. Does it have a high skill floor? Absolutely. Is it a safe weapon compared to the rest of its very dangerous family? Absolutely not. Would a student potentially dismember or murder themselves learning to use it? Yes, and that’s why it’s fun. (I’ll add a small caveat that the average student could also dismember themselves with a normal lightsaber, so this isn’t just a danger posed by the lightwhip.)

The lightwhip is a weapon of the Dark Side. Its battle style would be (and should be) wild, chaotic, and nigh uncontrollable. There’s no way to use it safely and it belongs in the hands of a wielder who is straight up thrilled to cut down both their allies and enemies in equal measure. This is the weapon of a murderous lunatic in black leather, and gets even more wild when it switches to a Cat o’ Nine to bring on nine weaving laser tendrils instead of just one. The lightwhip is the sexy Catwoman reference that transcends its genre when we really start to think about how intimidating it’d be to see that thing on the battlefield in the hands of a novice and, especially, an expert.

The standard use for a whip in the real world is as a support tool for your primary weapon, such as a rapier. The whip doesn’t do much damage on its own, leaving only small, painful cuts and lacerations so it transitions into a means of harassment. The advantage of the whip is that it attacks at odd, circular angles which are difficult (if not impossible) to block and will curve into a strike around the opposing weapon. The rippling movement makes it difficult to see and even more difficult to predict. If kept in constant motion, this difficulty triples because the disparate movements blend together.

Now, take this setup and add the lightshow. Instead of a weapon that does light lacerations, we have a weapon that deals massive burns if it doesn’t straight up dismember. It will cut through everything and everyone. Conventional fighting styles fall apart against it. More importantly, because it is a burning plasma ribbon, it doesn’t need to follow the standard rules of physics. The lightwhip is beautiful in its raw, chaotic brutality, it’s high risk, high reward nature, and I love the way it hard counters the standard philosophy of lightsaber combat with a literal curveball. Any opponent who faces it is forced into new, creative approaches for their very survival.

Lastly, I love what the lightwhip says about its wielder as an expression of their vicious, ferocious, highly aggressive personality. This weapon requires commitment and dedication. It’s absolutely fair to say the person who wields a lightwhip has a fanatical, if not suicidal, bent. After all, they’d willingly risk death to master it. They love destruction. They don’t care about outside consequences or property destruction. They go it alone.

I’ll admit the lightwhip’s true potential is too violent for most of Star Wars and, like most Star Wars weapons, it very much lives on the Rule of Cool. One of the sadder aspects with the lightwhip is that, while I love the weapon and its potential, any discussion of it gets mired in sexism. Every appearance of the lightwhip comes with the sexy NSFW Dark Side Dominatrix bent and leads to the lightwhip not being given the consideration it’s potential deserves.

My favorite saber is Darth Maul’s saber staff from The Phantom Menace, because versatility allows for use of both one and two. My favorite lightsaber form (which should now surprise no one) is Form VII: Vaapad.

All that said, I do enjoy a good Dark Side Dominatrix as much as I enjoy a moody and hooded Dark Side Goth. And I genuinely love dumb and, seemingly, impractical weapons when the reward justifies their risk. If there’s a general writing advice takeaway here, always consider the practicality of an impractical but cool weapon, address i’s rewards as well as its risks, and pair it with a suitable personality. The lightwhip is not a weapon that belongs in the hands of a Jedi or, really, any individual who possesses any degree of restraint. It’s for a character who merrily expresses raw, raging power at every opportunity and willing to risk destroying themselves along with everyone else for victory.

There’s a weird angle with the Star Wars EU where they tried to establish the lightwhip as weaker than the lightsaber (*cough* woman’s weapon *cough*) with less cutting power even when it doesn’t use a physical cord, which makes absolutely no sense. The lightsaber is the more versatile weapon, while the lightwhip is more specialized and circumstantial. Which fits with the patterns of real world weapons technology.

This a long circle round to saying that the weapons we choose for our characters act as personality tells. Which is why it’s important to give a lot of thought and consideration to any weapon’s historic use and purpose before attaching it. Weapons communicate more than we might expect, both via their situational viability and associated cultural myths. It’s important to choose whether you’ll address this, especially if you’re not planning to intentionally communicate that message or make those personality traits part of the character’s identity. Weapons are tools and, like with all tools, different tools attract different personalities. In fiction, we the authors often decide this from an external perspective. Once a choice has been made, always give yourself a chance to think about it from a character’s internal perspective. Why did Character X choose this weapon? Why do they want to use it? What does this weapon do for them that another weapon doesn’t? Or, what makes that other weapon less attractive?

You might find yourself with an answer or story beat you hadn’t previously considered.

Food for thought.

-Michi

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[srinibasgowdablog]

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[neiptune]

the best of you belongs to me

c/w: 2k wc, strangers to lovers, so fucking self indulgent, nagi exceeds all expectations and is actually the perfect boyfriend <3

There are quite a few things that people who know Nagi Seishiro don’t believe he’s suited for.

College, because he’s in his mid twenties, already works as a professional football player and wouldn’t be interested in pursuing anything else.

Friendships, because every person in his life has found themself there by mere coincidence and he definitely doesn’t look like the kinda person who would care whether they’re there or not.

Living on his own, because god forbid someone as lazy and demotivated as himself should be looking after a whole apartment and his persona at the same time. Not that he needs to, with all that money, but he’s surely way too lethargic to even consider going through the hassle of hiring someone to do all those things for him.

Relationships, because Nagi Seishiro isn’t interested in other people, let alone women, and he would be incapable of committing to the effort needed to even think about dating someone.

Some people, none of his closest friends, believe his unnatural talent at succeeding is outrageous: the boy is just insanely lucky and gifted with a golden instinct that saved him from becoming a complete waste of space. Underneath all the admiration Nagi is flooded with each day there’s raw envy and bitterness because such is the human nature. But why should that even matter? Even if he knew, Nagi Seishiro wouldn’t bring himself to care. It’s just how he is.

Except he went beyond all that in no time, when you first had met him at Isagi’s birthday party.

Yoichi’s always been one of your closest friends, ever since high school, and although the years and your respective busy schedules have played their bitter part in keeping you separated, you knew as he knew you were always just one call away from each other. When you had casually texted him about being in town, you didn’t even expect him to be in Japan as he’s almost always traveling overseas. But he was and to make it up for the fact that he couldn’t join you for coffee because he had practice, he invited you to his apartment for the birthday party he was planning to have the following evening.

“Yeah, not sure that’s a good idea”

“It’s the perfect idea! If you’re worrying about bringing a gift, I don’t want one”

“I’m worrying about not knowing any of your friends!”

“You know me! C’mon, I really wanna see you”

And so you picked the only dress still neatly folded in your suitcase, packed just in case, and made your way downtown a few hours prior to the party to hopefully find a birthday present Yoichi would actually like. Eventually, you settled for a full grain customizable leather backpack: the shop owner was nice enough to add a laser engraving of your friend’s initials, which you thought was a nice, thoughtful touch.

You slipped a card inside the classy bag the gift was packaged in, one with the drawing of a soccer ball and “hope you have a ball on your special day!” written underneath it.

So that it doesn’t get mixed up with someone else’s when you travel! Happy birthday Yoi, love you x

Too fucking bad the weather decided to take a completely different turn as soon as you stepped out of the subway to make your way across the urban oasis that’s Shirokane, which resulted in you arriving at your friend’s apartment absolutely soaked. You patiently ignored the stares collected while waiting for the elevator in the luxurious entrance lobby, too busy making sure you were able to keep Yoichi’s gift dry.

When he opened the door with a warm smile splitting his face right away, arms were closed tightly around you in a second, warnings about being drenched swallowed by his usual affection. He did, however, take a small step back, surprised as his black button down was no longer nice and dry but still cut off your apologies by quite literally dragging you inside.

“Come in, you have to meet everyone!”

“Yoichi, wait—”

“What’s that in your hand? I told you I didn’t want anything!”

“Yoichi!”

All your protests and resistance proved to be absolutely useless as you found yourself thrown in the middle of a sparkly living room, filled with men scattered everywhere. The soft background music coming from your friend’s portable speakers wasn’t enough to tone down your entrance and, suddenly, most eyes were on you.

Isagi, ever the trusty man, stayed by your side when he introduced you to the whole goddamn room as one of his oldest best friends as you stood there embarrassed and anxious, with droplets dripping down from your clothes and hair to the parquet floors.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you!” a short giggle followed an enthusiastic, thin voice and you turned to your right to find a friendly guy smiling fondly in a way that seemed so genuine you couldn’t hold back a smile in turn.

“Uh, hi, I’m happy to meet you t—” but his ochre eyes cut you off as they left your uncertain features to glare at Isagi, still standing proudly next to you with an arm around your shoulders “hey, this sweet girl’s gonna catch a cold, give her a change of clothes”

As realization finally dawned on him, your friend opened his mouth and then closed it a few times, taken aback.

“Oh, fuck, right! Wait, gimme that” he gently took the bag from your hands and placed it on his coffee table “but what could I lend you? I don’t have any clean clothes, just some tank tops and—”

Bachira’s impatient huff was interrupted by a gentle voice coming from behind him.

“I have an extra change of clothes” the white haired guy sitting on the couch bent down to zip the black bag left next to his feet open “me and Reo had practice today” he said while casually getting up with a slight groan to hand you neatly folded sweatpants and a black long sleeve shirt.

“Why do you have an extra change of clothes?” Bachira looked at him with a skeptical frown that was barely acknowledged as the stranger let himself fall on the couch again.

“I sweat a lot”

“Who cares?” Isagi stepped in, irritated “she’s gonna catch a cold! Go change in my room and get a towel for your hair” with a gentle push to your back, he shooed you out of the room and towards the stairs.

You looked every bit as ridiculous as one could guess, clothes way too baggy and long as your poor dress was left to dry in Isagi’s bathroom. While you patted your hair with a clean towel, you couldn’t help but cautiously pinch the collar of the shirt and sniff at the soft fabric. It smelled nice, of a fresh cleanliness that reminded you of baby powder.

When you sheepishly made your way back downstairs, the overall welcome was far warmer and already filled with a sweet, familiar flavor. Isagi’s friends were nice, funny in their excitement when having debates over matches and considerate when it came to not making you feel left out.

You sat on che couch opposite to the one where your savior was chilling, lazily listening to whatever his buddy was telling him. You had to inch forward and gently graze his knee to bring his attention to you, hazel gaze shortly traveling from your features to how his clothes sat on a body that was definitely not meant to wear them. Nagi just shrugged at your “thank you”, he didn’t mirror your smile nor he introduced himself, but he kept his eyes on you as Bachira resumed his questions about how Isagi was in high school and Kunigami offered you a beer to warm you up.

It was a nice night, one that left you with your cheeks hurting from how much you had been smiling. Catching up with Isagi was nice and even if to this day you still have no idea how he managed to sneakily save his number in your phone under the name of “Bachi”, getting to meet him and everyone else filled your heart with comforting joy. Finding new friends as an adult can be hard and having moved to an entirely different city definitely didn’t help, but the atmosphere in Isagi’s apartment served as a wonderful reminder of how, sometimes, the best surprises are just a text away.

That’s what you thought, while having casual conversations with men you had never met before and the eyes of one of them were so intently focused on you it was as if they were asking for some of that attention, of those questions, to be directed their way as well.  

So you complied and, much to Isagi’s and everyone else’s quiet astonishment, Nagi actually spoke and replied and nodded and turned his body towards you and even offered a hint of a smile when Yoichi started teasing the hell out of your high school self, all worried about grades, clubs, extra curricular activities.

The reason why Nagi kept observing you throughout the night, was mere curiosity. Contrary to popular belief, there were things that could spark his interest outside videogames and football. Someone able to enter a room full of strangers and attract their sympathies right away. Someone with a pretty smile, terrible jokes and a kind spirit that resembled Isagi’s. Someone who looked way too good in his clothes, so good he was tempted to blurt out a “keep them”.

Someone who accepted a ride home from Chigiri and Kunigami at the end of the night, exhanged a long hug with her best friend and endured the one Meguru forced on her with a laugh so sweet he wished he was the one offering you a ride home.

So you were gone, dress still not entirely dry tucked in your backpack and a shy wave of a hand, one promising “I’ll give you these back as soon as I can!” that wasn’t enough to stop him from casually asking Isagi if he could’ve held another party soon enough.

“Why?”

“So you can invite her again”

He doesn’t let the laugh he receives upon the request nor Bachira’s you should’ve asked for her number, idiot embarrass him. What would he know? He’s dated sporadically, things always kept very low effort and casual, girls asking him out and him saying yes because he wanted a spark, that something to be ignited, just like it happened whenever a ball touched his feet. He didn’t like being lonely.

So you and Nagi met again, over a coffee you insisted on buying to thank him for his kindness. His freshly laundered clothes were given back to him in a yellow bag, he still remembers the disappointment of not being able to find out how your scent would feel on his shirt.

His questions about your life were genuine, despite his monotonous tone you could tell he was making an effort at doing something he was not used to, which you found sweet.

Coffee turned into a stroll to get ice cream and when it felt like you had walked for miles through Sumida park, as he asked if you wanted to get dinner you couldn’t find it in yourself to refuse.

You liked listening to him, still tall and broad even when sitting in front of you but presence so oddly soothing you couldn’t stop asking and asking and asking. About his family, best friend, football journey, favorite games to play, that whole blue lock madness Yoichi has already told you all about. Nagi was always part of the “freaks” in his stories. It was never derogatory, he only used the term because “prodigy” would’ve been way too spoiling. Classic Yoichi, still managing to forget that he’s part of the freaks as well.

In the end, he did follow Bachira’s advice and asked for your number.

“I’ll give it to you but I’m leaving tomorrow”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah, I don’t live in Tokyo anymore”

He stared at you with features impossible to read, then took a small step and curled his body forward just enough to be closer.

“Nagoya, right? I could visit. Wouldn’t be a pain”

His straightforwardness was surprising and rendered you speechless for a few seconds, because this was not the guy Yoichi has described to you.

One year into your relationship and Nagi Seishiro couldn’t be more different than how he was presented to you by your friend. He’s sweet, considerate, never fails to ask you about your day and will get offended if you forget to text him goodnight.

When he’s overseas, he only facetimes if he’s absolutely certain you’re not too tired. If it’s too late in Japan, you’d have to be the one facetiming him because he never wants you to stay awake for too long, especially if you have work the following day.

He visits often, always insists on paying for your train tickets whenever you visit him. Loves spending time with you just resting in his arms, big hands sneaking underneath your shirt to gently trace your spine and massage your back if you’re lying on top of him, content sighs escaping his lips if his head rests on your lap and you run your fingers through his snowy hair, gently scraping his scalp.

He plays games on his phone while you read but will get up to help you as soon as you head to the kitchen to start putting dinner together. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your head, if you're not holding a knife he'll start tracing your neck and jaw with sweet kisses until you giggle and turn around to pull him closer.

When he has to leave for practice, he always asks if you have plans because he hates the idea of leaving you bored and alone. If you don’t and you feel like to, you’re always invited to go with him, so often that by now you’re the one casually asking Reo to come over to have dinner together after training sessions.

Nagi talks about his friends a lot, especially when he’s eating. He’d tell you about how Chigiri needs to stop putting too much pressure on his injured knee because it would be such a shame if a player like him had to stop for good. He thinks Isagi’s mind is incredible, albeit a little scary, just like Kunigami’s extra powerful left leg. Reo is the most important person in his life and you always make sure not to overstep, because you’d hate to intrude in a relationship as special as theirs. They both know.

Nagi doesn’t think loving you is a hassle, nor that it’s too much effort. He finds it surprisingly easy, actually. Caring for you and craving your touch feels natural, as if he was born to experience the simple joy of having hushed conversations with you in the dark of his bedroom when you’re both on the verge of drifting off. He's not scared you'll make fun of him so he tells you everything that’s on his mind, including the idea of getting a college degree eventually, maybe in history, just to give it a go. He discovers the wonder of taking care of someone else for the first time in his life, and just how good it makes him feel. He loves attempting to cook for you, brewing tea, heating soup and then feeding it to you if you have a cold. The blissful squeeze of his chest and stomach whenever the soft touch of your lips meets his is a prize he wouldn’t give up for all the world cups and top rankings and golden football career paths offered to him.

There are quite a few things that people who know Nagi Seishiro don’t believe he’s suited for but oh, what a delight has been to prove them all wrong with such ease and so much love not even he was aware he had it in himself to give.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Burning Love

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 26. Burning Fandom: MCU, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, f!reader Summary: When you and Bucky are captured, HYDRA scientists try to force you to use your powers to kill him. But you refuse to hurt the man you love, regardless of how much pain it may cause you... Word Count: 2171 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Burning, Torture, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Inflicted Wounds, Laser Beams, Damaged Vision, Bucky Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Thank you to @ohtobeleah for looking this over for me 💞 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

“Doll, please, open your eyes.” The desperation in Bucky’s voice as he pleads with you breaks your heart, but it’s better than the alternative if you comply with his wishes.

You twitch your head as much as the leather restraint across your forehead will allow, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Through gritted teeth, you grunt, “Not gonna happen, Sarge.”

The pain coursing through you is horrible, but knowing what it would do to Bucky if you gave in is enough to make it bearable—somewhat. Unlike his body, yours is more equipped to handle the damage caused by the laser beams you can shoot from your eyes. While it has taken maybe an hour to get to this point—where your eyelids and surrounding skin are charred, bubbly, and blackened like a flamed-broiled marshmallow—you would have cut through Bucky’s flesh in seconds. Which is why you are fighting so hard to protect him from your open eyes. 

“Turn it off,” a frustrated voice growls behind you. “We'll have to try something else.”

The searing sensation in your eyes disappears and you shift against the numerous restraints holding you into the metal chair. It feels so violating to have these HYDRA scientists hooking you up to their machinery, digging through your brain, and activating your beams as they see fit. You wonder if this is how Bucky used to feel back when he was the Winter Soldier.

As the scientists fiddle with the equipment behind you, you hear a tender voice call out to you. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” you mumble. “How you doing, Buck?” The last thing you saw before you began forcing yourself to keep your eyes closed was Bucky being strapped into his own chair directly across from you.

“Horrible. Watching you barbeque yourself just to spare me…Doll, you can’t keep doing this. You won’t survive it much longer.”

You gave him a wry chuckle. “I’ve been accidentally burning myself with these things my entire life. I can take it.”

“For how long?” You don’t answer. “Please, look at me. I need to see you’re okay behind all of this.”

As much as you want nothing more in this world than to stare into Bucky’s loving gaze one last time, it’s not worth the potential cost. “I can’t. They could turn them back on at any second and…I can’t risk it.” 

“I’m not worth all the pain they’re putting you through. I don’t deserve this kind of sacrifice—not after everything I’ve done.”

Smiling in his direction, you whisper, “When will you stop blaming yourself for what they made you into and see the man you truly are? The man I love.”

It sounds like Bucky is about to say something else but, before he can, an angry voice from behind you barks out, “I’m tired of this game. Increase the power.”

Bucky screams, “No!”

Suddenly, the pain behind your eyes increases exponentially and the pressure within your head becomes unbareable. An inhuman screech is ripped from your lips. Something in your vocal cords snaps under the strain. You smell the faint whiff of burning hair mixed in with your cooking flesh and wonder if the last of your eyelashes have finally been seared off. Your bare toes scrap against the cold concrete as they involuntarily curl as all the muscles in your body contract. Every other part of your body is restrained by the straps holding you down, but you begin violently shaking as the tension within you becomes too great.

The small part of your mind that’s still coherent wonders if your eyes roll back into your head if you’ll fry your brain and end this torture. Maybe it is worth it to try.

You have no idea how long they keep your beams on this time—all your remaining focus and energy is on keeping your eyes closed. Bucky is screaming, crying, begging, but his voice sounds echoey and far away so you can’t make out his words. You aren’t sure what HYDRA will do to him once you’re gone, but you pray he fights them with everything he has.

Finally, the machine behind you is flipped off and your body sags against your restraints. Without them, you know you’d topple to the floor, no longer possessing the energy to hold yourself up. Everything hurts now, not just your eyes. But you’re still alive which means you aren’t done fighting.

You hear footsteps approaching and you recognize the voice of the man in charge as he curses, kicking one of the legs of your chair. “This is ridiculous. How many of you fucking idiots does it take to make her kill the Soldier? Just pry her eyes open, clamp them in place, and turn the machine back on.”

You grin weakly, feeling blood dripping down your chin where you had bit your tongue. With your ruined voice, you croak, “You can try, but the second any of you put a finger near my eyes, I’m burning it off.” 

The man beside you yanks on the restraint across your forehead, tightening it to the point you feel bones crack. You let out a soft whimper as the man growls, “Fine. We’ll turn it up to full power and leave it on. Let her burn completely through her eyelids. Then we’ll get the results we want.” You hear him turn and march away.

For the first time, your resolve wavers as a small sob bubbles up in your chest. Your body may be resistant to your beams and can repair wounds sustained from them, but it takes time. If these scientists can make you burn through your eyelids—and based on how everything is starting to look a little brighter through your closed lids, it seems like a very real possibility—then there is nothing you can do to stop them from hitting and killing Bucky. 

You hear the scientists murmuring and fiddling with equipment somewhere far behind you, but you still don’t dare open your eyes in case someone is still at the machine and flips it on the moment you look at Bucky. Yet it won’t matter for much longer if they carry out their plan. 

“Doll…” The word is whispered so low you can barely hear it.

“Buck…,” It’s hard to whisper with your ruined voice, the sound more of a croak than a real word. But you hope he can understand you with his super-soldier hearing. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t stop this.”

“I know. You’ve done so good so far.” Even in a whisper, the love in his voice feels like a comforting embrace. “But I have a plan. You just gotta trust me.” 

“I do. You know I do.” 

“Then when I tell you to open your eyes and turn on your beams, whether they’re making you or not.”

You sob, “But Bucky—”

“Trust me!” he hisses. 

“Okay…okay, I’ll do it.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Doll. Whatever happens, I love you. And this isn’t your fault.”

A single tear escapes your ruined eyes and rolls down your scared cheek. “I love you too. But we both know, it is.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. However, you can hear a soft scraping and shuffling from his vicinity. Maybe he found a way to escape. Or maybe…he couldn’t be asking you to kill him. After all the pain and suffering you’d put yourself through to keep him alive, he wouldn’t have you take him out now just to end both of your pain…would he?

But you promised to trust him and you do, so when you hear him mutter, “All the way down and to the right. Now!”, you follow his instructions.

Shifting your gaze behind closed lids as far to the right and downward as they’ll go, you open your eyes and blast without a second's hesitation. 

Your beams strike Bucky in the center of his left forearm, just a few inches above his wrist. Even though it is his metal arm, you are horrified. You thought he had found a way to get you to blast open his cuffs or melt his chair, and in a way, even killing him instantly would be better than this. His vibranium arm is advanced enough that it still allows him to feel sensations such as texture, pressure, and—what concerns you in this situation—temperature and even pain. Instead of ending his life with one blast, you are now forcing him to endure the same agony you have been going through. 

As the metal begins to glow under the intense heat of your beams, you want to screw your eyes shut once more. But Bucky told you to do this and you promised to trust him. Even though he is grunting and panting because of the pain, he isn’t telling you to stop so you keep your beams focused on his arm. 

Eventually, the red-hot glow expands and soon reaches his wrist. In moments, the metal restraint liquifies and Bucky wrenches his arm free. Without having to be told, you slam your eyes shut once more.

You can hear the sounds of fighting all around you: guns firing until their clips run empty, flesh sizzling against metal followed by screams of agony, bodies being flung around the room and crashing to the floor. 

But then everything goes silent.

For a minute, nothing happens. You are just about to call out when a pair of lips press lightly against yours. Jumping slightly, you quickly recognize the kiss. You try to lean into it but the strap across your forehead holds you firmly in place. 

Parting from your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, Bucky whispers, “It’s okay. You can open your eyes now. It’s just you and me.”

Slowly, you peel your eyes open. The world is cloudy and out of focus with huge black spots obstructing your vision. And yet, there was no mistaking the person kneeling in front of you. 

Weakly, you smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he murmurs back.

“H-how bad?”

Bucky’s brow furrows as he runs his thumb gently around the edge of your eye socket, the now cooled metal somewhat soothing against your damaged skin. “It’s really bad, but I’m hoping it’s worse than it looks. Once you get checked out—”

“Not me,” you whisper. “How badly did I hurt you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t make it out. “I’ve had a lot worse. And it’s because of you that it was as minimal as it was. You should’ve just vaporized my head from the very start.” 

“Nah. I knew we’d find a way out eventually.”

“Liar,” he teases. Then, with a more serious tone, he asks, “How’s your vision? You’re blinking an awful lot and that can’t be comfortable.”

You try to think of how to describe what you are seeing. “I can see some shapes, colors, movements…that’s about it. No details. But even that’s a miracle at this point. I’ve never burned myself this badly before.”

“Will they…will they heal?”

You try to shrug but you are still strapped to the chair. “They should. They always have before. Healing the burns is tied into my powers.” You swallow and flinch at the sharp stab of pain cutting down your throat. “My voice, however, might be another story.”

Bucky gently runs his fingers down the side of your neck. “I’m sure SHIELD has some specialists who can help you. But first, we’ve got to get back to them. So let’s get you out of that chair.”

He began unlocking each of your restraints and you can’t stop a moan from escaping. Your skin had been rubbed raw where the metal dug into your skin, and your muscles ache from how tensely they had been clenched in pain. Bucky must have noticed this, because as he undoes each strap, he massages the area, loosening up the muscles enough to ease some of the tension. But every inch of you still throbs in pain. 

As Bucky unlatches the last restraint, he asks, “Do you think you can walk?”

“I’m not sure. Everything hurts. But maybe once I get going—” You try to rise from the seat but barely make any progress before collapsing back down. You look up at Bucky sheepishly. “I guess that’s a no.”

Carefully, he lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the exit. You can’t see where you’re going and the slight bobbing of your vision as he walks is giving you a headache. 

Leaning your head against his chest, you let your damaged eyes drift softly closed. Then you mutter, “I think I need to sleep for a bit. Helps my recovery time.”

You feel Bucky’s lips brush against your temple. “Rest, Doll. I’ll take it from here.”

Nodding softly, you begin slipping into a deep slumber. You are still in a lot of pain, but you don’t regret a single moment of what happened. You’d do it all again if at the end you could be safe in Bucky’s arms once more.

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