#in which there is knitting and space battles

[crushmeeren]

♡ Todoroki/Fem Reader

♡ Master List Link

⇢ Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+.

⇢ Warnings; cursing, making out, dirty talk, Shouto is a champ at eating pussy/ass, fingering, vaginal sex, Shouto is a little subby in this

♡ Authors Note; I had to complete the headcannons for my favorite three MHA boys sooner rather than later. I love Shouto, he deserves all the good things and a lot of hugs.

Shouto who comes off as cold, uninterested, a giant dick — but who is so sweet and so loving it makes your teeth ache. Who is the kind of person that writes down facts about you so he doesn’t forget — you accidentally stumbled upon the list in his notes app and promptly cried.

Shouto who never ceases to buy extra of what he’s eating so you can have some too, even if you weren’t hungry in the first place.

Shouto who doesn’t understand social cues very well. Who tilts his head adorably when he’s confused. Who wears a blank, spaced out expression on his face often when he’s unsure of what’s going on.

Shouto who lets you teach him how to read the room a bit easier, to understand body language and tone. Whose pretty smile could melt icy glaciers with its tender warmth. Who is so comfortable with you he makes all sorts of facial expression, which you take as a triumphant win.

Shouto who you met in high school but didn’t date until after graduation. Who you crossed paths with while battling a villain and you caught mid air as he was nose diving from the top of a building. Who was probably a bit delirious because he swears he saw you with a halo, because he “fell in love with an Angel that day.”

Shouto who loves to drink strawberry milk. Who has so many cartons cluttering the fridge in your home it drives you nuts. Who compulsively brings you a glass when he’s drinking some because he’s learned he can show you he loves you by sharing what enjoys. It’s so cute when you get a glass out of nowhere.

Shouto who decides to be a bit “rebellious” after he gets out of high school. Who decides to cut his hair shaggy and short. Who gets a nose ring, pierces his ears and acquires a tongue ring. Who is with you when you get your own body modifications, and often wears jewelry that reminds him of you.

Shouto who claims his absolute favorite thing in the world is to snuggle up with you on the couch. Especially when it’s raining and the two of you are wrapped up in a fluffy blanket burrito, watching movies and napping. If it turns X rated, well who can blame you?

Shouto who is a dry texter. We’re talking Sahara Desert dry. Who does still take the time to send you pictures of things you love while he’s out on patrol, especially of dogs that he encounters. Who gets so happy when you respond in kind, forming your own language with one another.

Shouto who tends to wear a streetwear style when he’s not working. Who likes to wear matching clothes with you. Who even bought you both a pair of matching underwear with your faces on them. You’re unable to resist, you’re technically sitting on his face all day… right??

Shouto who is terrible at almost every video game, but who can annihilate anyone at Mario Kart. You’re definitely not bitter about that. Funnily enough, the best part of game night when everyone is over is watching Bakugou lose his mind when Sho decimates repeatedly.

Shouto who has remained tight knit with Midoriya. Who considers the man as his brother by extension, and who you’ve grown close to as well. Who goes to the #1 hero for help planning you a surprise party by sending Midoriya a series of increasingly concerning emojis until he agrees.

Shouto who loves to eat peach gummy rings. Who you have, on more than one occasion, woken up to eating the candy at 2:00 am. Who offers you one, which you casually eat and go back to bed. Who memorizes your favorite candy and leaves it for you to find everywhere.

Shouto who has told you the story of how he got his burn scar. About his father, his brother and all the horrors of his past. Who opened up to you, willingly sharing a side of himself others don’t get the privilege to see.

Shouto who has taken you to meet his family, to meet his mother. Who added you to the group chat with all his siblings, which is unbelievably entertaining. Who tries to fit his face with more than one expression when he meets your parents, but you make sure he knows he’s perfect for you just the way he is.

Shouto who loves you unconditionally. Who is your soul mate, your best friend. Whose love for you has grown bigger than a California Redwood tree. Who becomes your husband, who you love more than life itself. You’d start a goddamn war for this man.

Shouto who enjoys kissing. Who loves to lazily make out with you. Whose cock starts twitching in his briefs when the kiss turns messy. Whose lips get slick and puffy as they press together consistently with yours. Who eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it and sinking his teeth into your bottom lip so roughly it stings.

Shouto who likes to spread you out on your back in bed, stripping you until your only in one of his large T-shirts. Who leers at you when he pushes it up your belly, gently letting it catch on your tits until he can watch them fall and bounce. Who makes you keep the shirt up around your collarbone when he sucks on your nipples.

Shouto who bites the skin on your sternum, plush lips tickling your belly as he makes his way to your pussy. Who grips the bottoms of your thighs and presses them backwards to your chest. Who stares at you with heavy lidded eyes as he licks from your pussy to your clit, making sure to swirl the cold metal of his tongue ring around it.

Shouto whose eyes flutter closed while he eats you out. Who makes you cry out when he sucks your clit, tongue ring passing over it with each methodical swipe of his tongue. Who praises you murmuring “your pussy is amazing angel, will you let me eat your ass? pretty please?”

Shouto who strips you both. Whose flushed cock stands full and heavy when you see it. Who flips you, yanking your ass in the air and shoving your face into the sheets. Who spanks you unforgivingly and grips the thick flesh of your ass to spread you open. Who chills his tongue ring even more and kitten licks at your rim until you want to scream.

Shouto who shoves two fingers in your pussy without warning. Who curls and thrusts them as he sucks on your rim until you cum so hard you see stars. Who pulls away from you, stroking himself for relief and speaks with a wrecked voice pleading “I want to put my cock in you so badly, can I please princess?”

Shouto who is aware you’re a pillow princess, but has hearts in his eyes, cheeks flushing bubblegum pink when you tell him you’ll ride him for a bit. Who props his back up against the headboard with a couple pillows, allowing you to flip around so your back faces him. Who holds your wrists behind your back as you ride him, letting out delicate and whiny moans while you make his toes curl.

Shouto who spreads you with his free hand, eyes glued as his cock disappears into your pussy while you bounce in his lap. Whose dick throbs, breathing hitching when you throw your head back and you moan “fuck Shouto, your cock is so good, you’re gonna make me cum!”

Shouto who reaches his limit, pushing you off his cock and onto your back whispering filthy praise in your ear. Who grips his shaft, teasing your clit with the tip before slipping his dick all the way back inside with one fluid roll of his hips.

Shouto who bends you in half, hooking your knees over his shoulders and folding you into a mating press. Who fucks you roughly, hips curling up with the intention to bully your g-spot. Who makes sure you feel each drag of his cock, coaxing you into cumming with a handful of strokes. Who gets you to cum over and over, little water balloons of warm pleasure popping and coursing through you.

Shouto who produces low moans when your pussy squeezes his cock. Who desperately pleads with you to cum one more time because he can’t hold on for much longer.

Shouto who makes you feel dizzy as you chase your pleasure once more while folded as a pretzel. Who cums instantly when your sweet cries hit his ears, praising and encouraging him all at once. Who pushes into the hilt, grinding against you as he bursts at the seams, panting to catch his breath.

Shouto who giggles with you as he untangles your limbs. Who flops down beside you, lacing your fingers together as you enjoy the leftover bliss.

Shouto who eventually gets up to clean you both. Who finds the shirt you were previously wearing and some clean panties for you to wear. Who pulls you into a hug, murmuring how much he loves you, planting kisses all over your face. Shouto who then goes to the kitchen and brings you a glass of strawberry milk.

[kurooh]

☆ fluff, with mha spoilers about hawks’ fate (ch. 385&426)

“c’mon, stay still, keigo,” you remind him softly, adjusting the angle of his head with a hand at his chin. “i’m not gonna poke your eye out, don’t worry.”

“it looks really . . pointed,” keigo replies, eyeing the tip of the eyeliner pen cautiously. “and anyway, how’re your hands not shaking that bad?”

“practice,” you shrug, “but your talking is breaking up my concentration, y’know.”

“okay, okay,” he zips his lips and pretends to toss a key over his shoulder. you simply shake your head at keigo’s antics, bringing the tip of the pen to his eye again. this time, he manages to control his flinch enough to not mess up the wing you’re drawing.

keigo had been born with his birdlike quirk, fierce wings, which came along with many other avian characteristics. his astute, piercing golden eyes were a good example of what came along with his quirk. more interestingly, his eyes had always had dark markings around them—sharp lines and wings to further add to his birdlike appearance.

since losing his quirk to all for one on that vile day, in a battle that should’ve been won, keigo lost most of those odd little characteristics, the markings around his eyes being one of them. (of course, he never lost his penchant for fried chicken.) now, as the president of the hero public safety commission, he’s tasked with talking to all kinds of different heroes who certainly know who he used to be.

“you okay, kei? i’m gonna move onto the next eye, baby,” you whisper, so as not to startle him when he’s already gotten this relaxed. he nods, lost in thought.

not long after getting the job, keigo rushed to tell you the excellent news, and ask a simple request of you. he’d looked at you with his striking eyes, the skin around them empty and bare.

“so, y’know the marks i had around my eyes? the black birdie ones?” keigo seriously described it to you as if you’d never seen them a day in your life.

“of course, kei. why . . ?”

“so, i’ve gotta go into work and talk to people every day. i’m still hawks, the cool cool cool retired number two prohero, just without the wings and eye makeup.” his voice drifted off as he patted around behind him, momentarily expecting to be met with the softness of his downy vermillion feathers.

you nodded silently, heart squeezing sadly for him. he chuckled awkwardly and cleared his throat, “anyway, i’d like you to do the eyeliner for me each day. i know, i know, it’s kinda ridiculous, but it would really mean a lot to me.”

keigo looks back wistfully, turning the memory over in his head a few times while you color in the wing and prepare to add the detail to his inner corner, all from memory. as the tip of the pen strokes over the delicate skin, he loosens up more, letting you nudge his face left and right without that nervous stiffness from before.

he notices the way your brows knit in concentration, the tight grip you’ve got on the eyeliner pen, and the lightness in which you use it on him. it’s ridiculous how something so small can mean this much—warmth rises to his cheeks and colors them something rosy.

“and . . done!” you exclaim, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “kei, you’ll love this.”

“lemme see the mirror, dovey,” keigo chuckles happily, gesturing for you to step to the side. as he stares into his reflection in the vanity, he can see red feathers surrounding his shoulders and the space behind them. a squint of his eyes has them fading away, and he clears his throat shakily to focus on the makeup.

behind him, you rest your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them soothingly as though you know what he’s thinking. the black makeup around his eyes and in the inner corners looks natural, complimenting his face perfectly. you’d managed to pull something this accurate off, just from memory—keigo sniffles, rising to his feet from the chair. he envelops you in a strong hug, tucking his face into your neck carefully so as not to smear your work.

“you did such a great job, dovey,” keigo whispers into your skin, fingers squeezing you. “i can’t wait for you to do this for me every morning.”

“really?” you ask, swaying a little with him in your arms. “my makeup skills are that good?”

“of course they are!” he exclaims, “but seriously though, thank you. i felt naked without the eyeliner.”

your cheeks warm and you giggle; keigo’s heart flutters with adoration, no longer grounded. he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, but he steps back curiously, fiddling around with the eyeliner pen. you gasp accusingly—he’d swiped it from you without letting you notice.

he flashes you a silly smile, dangling the pen from his fingertips with mirth sparkling in his gold eyes. “hey, mind if i try on you? we can match!”

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: some swearing, sexual reference

IMESSAGE.

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y/nontour y/n in berlin tonight 🫶

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user she’s so slay

user the fact she was crying during the next song too 😭

user poor girl’s had her heart broken twice in the space of six months

user charles done fucked up big time

touring through heartbreak was quite possibly the hardest thing to be done. city after city, having to get on stage every night with a smile on your face, all while wondering what you had done wrong. thankfully, your fans were as supportive when you were sad as they were when you were happy.

but you’d never felt lonelier. after three years of a relationship with austin, you were sure you could never trust another like that again. and mere weeks later came charles leclerc, snatching up your heart and making you blind to any hurt you’d felt before. you were brand new with him, and he had trampled it under his pretty foot.

curled up on the bed of this week’s hotel, an old rerun playing mindlessly on the television, you stared straight ahead at the wall — only pulled out of such a trance when a knock sounded at the door. thinking it was only room service, you dragged yourself to the door’s entrance, only to find lewis hamilton stood on the other side.

“lew? what are you doing here?” you questioned, brows knitting together. he stepped inside, not saying a word other than pulling you into a hug. if it weren’t for the fact you were dried of tears, you’d have broken down.

“thought you could use a friend,” he told you, a fond smile on his face. but there was something in his eyes, something he was battling with. “but, about charles… i really think you should hear him out.”

“lewis, please don’t.”

“he fucked up, i know that. but i saw him with that girl the night of the party. he was practically trying to shove her off of him, and when he knew you’d been and left he went straight after you.”

you were crying now, afraid of what the real truth was. “what about the picture of him and her leaving together?”

“come on, y/n. you know the media better than anyone. she probably followed him out and they’ve made it look like something different.”

you sighed, leaning your head against your friend’s shoulder. your chest was heavy with a decision to be made. the risk of trusting him again, of trusting anyone, only to be caught up in a vicious cycle of heartbreak.

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yourusername life lately ❤️‍🩹 oh and my new single “opposite” is out now btw

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zendaya new music!!! my life is improved

user a song after the charles drama??? TEA

lizzo pop off queen 👑

lilymhe how can you still look so pretty when crying 💔💔💔

user charles leclerc better count his days

TWITTER.

IMESSAGE.

writers note: it’s concerning how attached i am to this parasocial relationship. petition for sab and charles to date because they’d be such a sexy couple

tagged: @leclercloml @vroomleclerc @gaviypedrisbride

[milswrites]

The embers that remain

~ Eris Vanserra X Reader

Summary: Eris tells you some unwanted news.

Warnings: angst, angst and more angst.

Notes: Gotta keep these break up fics flowing.

It started with the wavering touches. The way Eris’s usually firm hands now hesitantly hovered over your body, afraid to close the space between you.

Then it was the way he couldn’t quite look you in the eyes. His amber eyes always opting to stare elsewhere whenever he was in your presence.

The final straw was the stale turn your conversations had taken. The fact that no matter how hard you tried to pull answers from the male he remained as silent as the grave.

But what bothered you the most was the guilt ridden expression which failed to leave his face. His permanently furrowed brows and drooping frown marring his once handsome features.

For a while you allowed him to get away with it, accepting the new sullen persona of which he had adopted. Though once the dark bags had begun to grow under his tired eyes and his cheekbones had sunken into his pale skin, you decided that enough was enough.

That whatever burden Eris had opted to try and carry on his own needed to be shared. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for the Autumn Prince and if needing to share the weight of his problems would enable him to feel better, then you would hold up entire mountains for the male you loved so dearly.

It took numerous attempts for you to stir him from his turbulent thoughts. Your concerned voice and comforting hand coaxing him from his fortified mind. Gently squeezing his knee until the clouds which fogged his whiskey eyes had dissipated, his smoky orbs still failing to meet your own even as they cleared.

“Please my love,” you hummed softly, kneeling before where he was sat, hands clasped on both his thighs, as you looked up at the dejected male, “Share your worries with me. You needn’t battle them alone Eris, not when you have me.”

Your comforting words drew his pained amber eyes to finally meet your warming ones. His brows knitting together in distress, Eris slowly shook his head at you, the Prince tried to deny your gracious offer of help.

Trying to encourage the male to open up you pressed on, “My love there is nothing you could say or do that would ever change my opinion of you. You’re hurting Eris, let me help you.”

You didn’t miss the flash of anger which briefly crossed his harrowed face, the twitching of his nose and slight lift of his lips into a snarl. But you felt no fear, somehow knowing the fury wasn’t directed at you.

“I’m here to listen Eris,” you urged him to speak, begging eyes wide as they searched across his gaunt face, “I could never judge you.”

“But you will!” he finally seethed, teeth slightly bared as his chest rattled which each breath he took. “You will judge me” he cried, his voice breaking as the words fell from his trembling lips.

“No Eris. . . I’d never. Whatever it is it’ll be ok, we can figure it out together” you reasoned giving his thigh another reassuring squeeze from where you were sat on the floor.

“No we won’t” he denied, head still shaking lowly, that cursed expression of grief never faltering from his troubled face.

It was a tense minute of silence before either of you spoke again, but then the source of Eris’s worries tumbled from his lips, “I am to be wed to a woman from one of the outlying cities before the next harvest.”

His words were a knife to the heart. Whilst there had always been the hovering prospect that Eris would have to do his duty to his court and marry another, the two of you had been so caught up in the blazing inferno of your love to ever allow the doubts of the possible reality to cross your minds.

“How long have you known this?” You ask in shock, trying your best to recall when Eris’s sudden change in attitude had began.

The Autumn Prince blanched at your question, clearly having known the answer for longer than he has let on.

“How long Eris?” You repeated solemnly, slipping your hands from where they were resting on his legs to instead consciously knit them together on your lap.

“Two. . .three months?” He shamefully mumbled, a gasp catching in your throat at the revelation of just how long he had kept this secret, “I wanted to wait to tell you. I hoped I didn’t have to at all, that I’d find a way out of it. That it’d never come to this.”

“So you thought you’d just hide it from me for three months? When were you going to tell me you were to be wed Eris, when you were halfway down the aisle?”

“I wanted to tell you” he defended weakly, drawing in another long, shaky breath, “But telling you makes it real and that reality I just couldn’t bear facing.”

“But here we are” you stated, eyes lining with watery tears.

“Here we are” Eris sighed in confirmation, quivering hand reaching out to clasp onto your own. The burning heat from his palm a painful reminder of the comforting heat he had provided you these long years you had spent together.

“So this is it?” You croaked, voice already hoarse from the flood of emotion that had overcome your senses.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he reasoned stubbornly, “we can work something out, see each other still. I can buy a house for you where we can meet.”

You turned your face from the male in disappointment, “I won’t be your dirty secret Eris. I can’t be. Your wife-” your voice cracked at the title, “your wife deserves you in your entirety. Deserves the chance to love you as deeply as I have been able to.”

Flames raged in Eris’s eyes at your refusal to fight, at the dismissive way you had already written of your relationship as a lost cause.

“I won’t love her, never. She’s not you, she never will be. She may be my wife but she’ll never have my heart, that will be yours forever” Eris cried, the heat he was emitting in his burning rage was enough to boil the crystalline tears which fell down his cheeks.

“I’ve always thought you’d make the most wonderful husband Eris,” you weeped opting not to tell him that you had always assumed you would be his bride, “I know you’ll treat her right. That you’d be a good husband. A good father.”

“But it’s not with you!” He sobbed, cursing the gods for the cruel fate he was handed. Losing his faith in the Mother for her misguided choices.

“I’ll always be grateful for the time we were allowed to share my love” you consoled, bringing your free hand to brush back the red locks which had fallen in front of his eyes, “we’ve had such wonderful adventures and I’ll treasure them forever. But. . .we’ve always known your duties would have to come first in the end. We both just chose to become blind to it.”

“We’ve still got time” he begged, leaning his head into your soothing palm, “there’s two months till harvest yet.”

“No my love” you answered, words cutting deeply into Eris’s heart, “That’s not fair. It’s already hard enough as it is. Take the time to move on from me, to ready yourself for another.”

“I’ll never move on, not completely” he promised, warm lips coming to meet your tender palm.

“You’re so strong my love. You will find happiness again” you assured him, confident eyes meeting his own broken gaze.

Eris wasn’t sure how even in the face of adversity you were able to tell the male exactly what he needed to hear. But he was certain that no other woman would ever hold a candle to the force of nature that was you. And as the flickering flame in his eyes dulled into a pitiful ember, Eris swore that he would never allow himself to forget you. That despite your orders to move on, his heart would belong to you in its entirety until the day his fire extinguished.

[rockingrobin69]

of mice and man and man

“It’ll be a little crammed,” Draco said, hearing the apology and stopping the wince before it showed, “but I think we could—”

“It’s perfect,” Harry said, the smile in his voice thick enough for Draco to dare a look. He barely managed one, panting into his palm, tinier even than the space, smaller-smallest. But he did, and—Harry was indeed smiling, beaming, even, brighter than the fluorescent light. In a fight between Harry and the sun, Draco often thought, and stopped himself with quite a bit of force, because truly, what. What. What?

Cleared his throat. Harry was still holding onto his bag with both hands. It looked heavy; Draco developed a light sweat just from staring.

He said, “You can put that down if you’d like.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “I—oh. Yes. Here?”

“You can, ah, put it in the, bedroom? If you prefer? Of course you’ll take the bed; I changed the sheets and, ah.” Stopped at what was now clearly bafflement. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Harry frowned, an obvious lie. “I just thought—never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Which way to the bedroom?”

“Down the—”

“Actually, no, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take the sofa. I’m the guest.”

Draco refrained from smacking his own forehead. “No, no, I won’t hear of it. You just escaped possible mould poisoning; you’re taking the bed.”

“I would have,” Harry grumbled into his elbow in the world’s least-convincing cough, “if—anyway, I need some space for Rufus. The living room would do best.”

To call it a living room was either generous or offensive, Draco didn’t yet decide. It was barely a room, and not entirely designed for the living. It had been a crypt, after all, but renting a place in the city was ridiculously expensive and it did make for a neat party theme. If Draco had ever thrown a party in his life. If he had the slightest inclination to do ever do so. And the neighbours were not terrible either, once the old priest finally left. Very into cheese, which Draco could respect.

Blinking until he near-blinded himself: “You’re being silly. You and Rufus would have a great time in the bedroom. It is slightly more spacious and far less—what’s the word I’m looking for—”

“Dead?” Harry offered pleasantly.

“No, not that. Less drafty, maybe. Did you bring the jumper I knitted for Rufus?”

Again with that sun-challenging grin. “Of course. He never leaves the house without it.”

(Harry once said, entirely serious, that if Draco was a vampire, he would battle the sun if it bothered him. He said it in a straight face and a shrug). (He was mad). (And Draco didn’t allow himself to think further into the absurd, not-worth-his-breath concept). (Because, what). (Truly).

“Rufus is a good chap,” Draco said, and earned another smile for his trouble. “It was good of him to discover your flat was infested with black mould.”

“Yes,” Harry said, “it was Rufus who, er, discovered it,” even though he’d already told Draco that, three times over the phone and twice since he arrived. He was so bizarre sometimes.

“Mice have an incredible sense of smell,” Draco conceded, eyebrow raised, and Harry gulped a few times in a guilty sort of way, still clutching onto his bag. “Oh, come on, we can—share the bedroom. All three of us. It isn’t huge, but not made in miniature either, and Rufus doesn’t take that much space.”

Oh, the sun was ruined; no source of light could ever compare. “Great! Yes. Let’s do that. Yes. Did I tell you I love your place? It’s so strange and Rufus feels right at home and it’s great.”

Unable to look at him, “All right. Stop rambling. If they can’t get rid of the mould you’re more than welcome to move in, both of you.” As a joke, obviously.

Harry said, “Okay,” in a slightly-too-enthusiastic tone, and Draco, weakened already by smiles and close quarters, the smell of Harry’s appley shampoo, by how he was—there, in his space and terrific and so awful about it, Draco who had given up entirely said, “Okay,” right back.

They stood there for another moment in dead silence. Draco’s flat never felt less eerie.

Then he took man and mouse to his bedroom and hoped, against all hope, not to expire from sheer—that.

*

He didn’t expire. It was a close call, but not quite enough to push him over the edge. Harry was… so, so close and so, so himself and it was heady and wonderful and absolutely unbearable.

*

They went to bed early, both a little jittery, rustling covers and soft sheets. ‘Crammed’ was not a word that could describe the situation in any sense; Draco must have forgotten how small his bed actually was. Rufus, at least, had his own space on the dresser. Harry was right at his elbow.

When Draco found enough courage to look at him, he was… smiling. Of course.

Surrendered: “Good night, Harry.”

The bastard took his hand.

“Good night, Draco.”

“Good night, Rufus.”

“Night, Ruf.”

He still held it. His hand. Harry was holding his hand and smiling about it like some—Draco hid his own terrible grin in the pillow, heart hammering in his chest, horribly, spookily, beautifully alive.

@short666bread, my dear friend, here's your treat!

[zer0pm]

Imagine Luis surviving his knife wound and you patch him up.

“¡Joder! That hurts, you know?”

“Don’t have anesthesia, I told you. Stop moving.”

“Right, sorry- ¡Ay, Dios! Are you stitching with a knitting needle or something?”

You had to hide your laugh under a scoff, thankful he couldn’t see your amused smile at his attitude.

Luis was leaning against a crate when you finally caught up to him and Leon. The latter informed you of their encounter with Krauser, the Spaniard’s injuries confirmed by pain-filled groans. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you had Luis moved to one of the metal tables near the mine’s exit and stripped him of his shirt and jacket. He weakly made a teasing comment about you using his injury to get him out of his clothes, but you ceased his attempts at jest by gently making him lay on his stomach and dove right into the task of treating the gushing wound.

Thanks to your meticulous efforts and the medicinal herbs that Leon keeps around in his case, Luis was stable in no time. Able to breathe a little easier, he instructed Leon to fetch the key from his jacket pocket, saying that the agent will need it to gain access to his laboratory on the island where he and Ashley will then use the surgical equipment to remove the parasites from their bodies. After assuring him that the both of you will be fine and will catch up after Luis is completely patched up and ready to go, Leon made his swift exit, leaving the both of you alone. Which brings you to this point in time- you suturing him.

“Should consider yourself lucky. Any deeper and the blade would have struck your heart. Then… well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You call it “luck”, my friend, but I like to look at it as divine blessing.” Here we go, this you have to hear.

Curiously you ask, “Oh, yeah? And how do you figure that?”

“Es obvio, ¿no?” he gestures with a wave of one of his hands that he was using to rest his head on. “An angel is healing me.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling, but there was no denying the warm flutter in your heart at his suave words. “Sweet talker.”

Luis doesn’t respond, but you can tell the man was grinning ear to ear from your remark. Aside from a few more Spanish curses and colorful complaints about the pain, the rest of the procedure went smoothly. Once the final stitch was made, you gently applied antibiotics over the freshly closed wound before covering it with a clean bandage. You notice the man shiver under your touch when you placed a hand upon his broad back to keep him steady.

“There. Now try to sit up. Slowly,” you sternly advised. “Don’t want you opening that up doing something insane.”

Luis mutters under his breath, “Supongo que no debería saltar sobre más gigantes…”

“What was that?”

“¡Nada!” He jolts upright into a seated position, wincing at the sudden move that surely aggravated his injury. You would have been incensed if you weren’t so concerned for his wellbeing. After a careful reassessment to ensure that the stitches didn’t tear under the cloth, you proceeded to secure them by rolling more bandages around his torso. Your hands glided against the firm muscles of his defined chest and back as you did this.

You stood within the cage of his legs as you worked and can feel the heavy weight of his eyes on you. There was a concentrated look you tried to maintain to quell the nervous energy beating inside at your close proximity to him, but it was a losing battle. Luis’ body was radiating with an inviting warmth and a musky spice that delightfully filled your senses. You want nothing more than to drown in him, but willed yourself to keep your distance, internally conceding to give him space to recover from his near-death experience.

“This is nice,” Luis comments, breaking the comfortable silence.

You meet his eyes with an inquisitive look. “You find receiving treatment from an almost fatal stab wound to be pleasant?”

“I was not stabbed, the knife was thrown. There is a difference.” the man corrected with snark grin and you would have returned the witty remark had he not continued with his line of thought aloud. “Just thinking that it’s been awhile since it was only the two of us. Leon is good company, mind you. Pero, uh, he lacks your appeal.”

A snort escapes you, secretly giddy from his praise. “Think you’re so charming, huh?”

Mild amusement glints his grey eyes. “Have I not been this entire time?”

You shrug playfully, “Your game could use a little work.”

He returns your jest with an exaggerated pout, “¡Ay, mi orgullo! Your words cut deeper than the knife that struck me.”

Your chest heaves in hearty laughter. You shouldn’t have found it hilarious, but Luis had this innate ability to make a grave situation something to poke fun about. It’s what makes him so endearing. While you try to catch your breath, you missed the look of pure adoration he wore as he took in the sight of your smiling face. His usual coy smirk gently curving into something softer. Eventually you finish patching him up and help him back into his shirt and jacket. The man grumbles that the fine leather was now ruined, earning you another heartfelt chuckle.

Once he was presentable, he beholds you , “Gracias. Guess, uh, I owe you one, ¿si?”

“Your life, I’d say.” you nod, tone cheeky and good-natured.

It was his turn to laugh under his breath. He takes your hand in his, relishing in the feeling of touching you again. Soft determination flashes in his gaze as he mentally mulled over your words with newfound hope.

“Take it then,” Luis says. “It’s yours.”

[saturnville]

on the frontline, II

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: the bond between nessa and john begins to grow. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

“You know, Dixon, you’re really pretty.” 

Nessa’s hands halted momentarily. She raised her gaze to meet his blue eyes, which twinkled with mischief and temptation. She squinted slightly and shook her head. She nodded toward his arm which he raised just slightly. 

Weeks had passed since the gunshot and he had made significant progress. He was able to start physical therapy early with her and a series of shadowing nurses, but, with his job, Nessa made it a priority to ensure he was in the best shape. He missed flying and she wanted to make sure he was able to get to at least one more mission before everything was said and done. 

“Is that so?” Nessa questioned, pulling the bandages off his healing wounds. Her gloved fingers traced the scar. It was healing nicely; the swelling was going down, the stitches were still in place, and the tissue was scarring healthily. She felt John jump at her touch. 

John nodded. Her knee nudged his thigh which prompted him to spread his legs just wide enough for her to stand between them. He hummed at the warmth that entered his space and fought an internal battle to keep his hand to himself. To run his fingertips along the curves that were prominent even with being covered by thick pants.

Nessa turned and swiped cleaning solution, cotton pads, and bandage off the side table. The cooling solution was ice against body, which seemed to heat in her presence. Nessa’s left hand held the cotton in place as her right placed the bandage across his chest. Her hands were small against his body and they felt so good. 

“Well, thank you. You’re too kind. Lift your arm for me, beloved.” That was new, John noted. He obeyed her command. “How does that feel?” Better, he admitted. Nessa started him out on light exercises to regain mobility, and while it wasn’t as painful as it had been in the beginning stages, he still felt discomfort. 

“Are you lying to me, Major?” She asked teasingly, tilting her head to search any signs of discomfort on his face. His eyebrows were slightly knitted together and his jaw was locked she poked his shoulder. He failed to meet her eyes. “Thought so.” 

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, “I don’t want to deal with this shit.” Nessa hummed and removed herself from her position between his legs and crawled over the bed. She was positioned on her knees and she cleared her throat. “What are you doing?

She peeled the gloves off her hands and shoved them in her pocket. She moved her hair over her shoulder and placed her hands on his shoulders.“Relax, Egan.” Her touch was gentle as she used her left hand to control his elbow while stabilizing his shoulder with her right. Slowly, she moved his stiff limb forward, backward, upwards, and downward until the wincing was no more. 

It was painfully intimate, she noted. Two military professionals in the infirmary by themselves on a small bed together. Granted, she was doing her job, but something about the interaction felt different. She found herself enjoying it. Of course she enjoyed being a nurse; it was her passion. But this was different. Not only did she feel needed, but she felt wanted, too. It was an unusual feeling that she couldn’t shake. 

“How about now?” Nessa’s voice was hardly above a whisper. John turned his head though not far enough to look her in the eyes. She did see, however, the fullness of his lips as he replied, “A lot better.”

“Good,” she replied, seemingly infatuated with the ridges of his back. She tried to control herself, but it was a losing battle. Her fingertip traced the scar that went from the center of his back to his right shoulder. She remembered the story. His plane was struck and he needed to evacuate and a piece of the parachute contraption cut through his jacket and sliced through his flesh. “That’s good.” 

At the low groan he released, which sounded heavenly, she snapped back to reality and dropped her hand. She stammered embarrassingly and scrambled off the bed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Go ahead and get your shirt on; I’ll grab the ice, and get you off to bed.” 

John’s voice was stuck in his throat. “Nessa,” he called, but by the time the last syllable slipped from his lips, she was already in the neighboring room, gathering ice. 

She didn’t say much when she returned. She instructed him to lay on his back so she could properly ice his shoulder. John’s blue eyes burned holes into her head as she massaged the ice against his skin. 

“Are you okay?” he found himself asking. Nessa nodded once, “I’m okay.” 

He gave her a look. She gave him a closed-lip smile. She repeated, “I’m okay. We’ll ice for five more minutes and you can be on your way.” 

The five minutes passed quicker than he would have liked. They engaged in small conversation, being that’s all he could get out of her at the point. Her demeanor had shifted greatly, and while he wanted to question it, John didn’t want to pressure her to speak. 

“You’re good to go,” Nessa said, tossing the bag of ice on a nearby surface. 

As John prepared to leave the infirmary, Nessa's gaze lingered on him, a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. She wanted to say something, to express the thoughts racing through her mind, but the words remained trapped in her throat. Instead, she offered a small, hesitant smile, hoping he would understand the silent message behind it.

 John met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a similar uncertainty, yet tinged with a hint of desire. With a nod of gratitude, he stood up from the bed, his shoulder feeling much better than before. 

As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway, casting one last glance back at Nessa. In that fleeting moment, they shared an unspoken connection, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was forming between them. With a final nod, John stepped out into the corridor, leaving Nessa alone with her thoughts, her heart beating a little faster than usual. What had she done?

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Part VI

Synopsis: You would say that you grew up together. From children, to teenagers, to young leaders, you did nothing but be who you were and Tobirama would forever name his love for you as the reason he hated the Uchiha.

Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including physical child abuse, violence, and non-con elements. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: IT IS HERE! YES! i purposefully make it long and full of drama to make up for the amount of times I pushed the release back. I also put a lot of my own thoughts in the end author’s notes so please enjoy! I most definitely could not have written this content a year ago let me tell you—

The memory of you struck him like lightning, electrocuting him to his core with panic and disgust. He revoked his touch from you as you began to sit up on the riverbank in acute panic. 

He just stared at you. Tobirama had no idea how he remembered you, yet he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. Yes, you were older, but as he considered the shape of your face, he could see the unmistakable look from the forest back then. You had the same nose, such a familiar laugh, and your eyes… even without your sharingan.

He had thought of you as a foul creature. 

That morning when he first saw you in the woods. 

Tobirama had come home much earlier that day in defeat. He hadn’t wanted to stay and train after his encounter with you. He tried to continue, to find another spot to collect himself, but he ultimately couldn’t help but feel that you were still there, watching him. Knowing an Uchiha lurked around in the woods, it was probably best that he didn’t go off alone for his safety.

He remembered how his father stormed toward him when he returned to the compound. Butsuma’s jaw was clenched as tightly as ever, battle-toned arms swinging with each step of his furious gait. He swooped in on his son, grabbing Tobirama harshly by the arm. Tobirama was tugged along awkwardly, his legs too short for the angle at which Butsuma dragged him.

“Where have you been?” his father scolded lowly between gritted teeth. He paid no mind to the Senju meandering down the same dirt road, and they paid no mind to him in turn.

The question nearly made Tobirama’s heart drop in his chest, the memory of you spreading terror like wildfire across his skin. He looked into Butsuma’s gaze with wide eyes, wondering how his father could have possibly known he had made contact with an Uchiha. His fingers unconsciously rose to the space under his right eye, almost trembling. He was sure that his father could feel the tremor through his hold.

“Training, Father,” Tobirama answered earnestly. He almost crashed into Butsuma as his father stopped suddenly, the child only tripping for a moment before he was pulled into a nearby stable. 

“Tobirama, where have you been?” Butsuma barked, repeating his question more harshly. He jerked Tobirama away by the grip on his arm, allowing him to stumble back into the hay. All Tobirama could do was stare, ashamed that he had disgraced the Senju name and that his father could see it painted on him. Promises piled up on his lips: if he saw you again, he would surely kill you that time! He would immediately set out and— “You better answer me now, boy, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”

“I was training with Grandfather’s kunai, Father! On the east end by the mountains like you taught me!” He nodded profusely, scrambling into a deep bow. Tobirama’s eyes knitted closed. 

The silence above him felt like it lasted for an eternity. Tobirama didn’t dare to look, and for a long moment, he couldn’t even meet his father’s eye. Somewhere between the seconds, he found himself mindlessly observing the small population of livestock grazing at the stable's far end. Tobirama glanced at them and their troughs. 

“You were not with Hashirama?” Butsuma spoke slowly, and Tobirama’s head carefully rose with a shake. 

“No, I was not.” Tobirama flinched as Butsuma’s hand came firmly down on his hair, placing just enough weight on his skull to ensure that all of Tobirama’s attention was on him. “I assure you. I was practicing my skill with the kunai.”

“Your elder brother has been acting suspiciously as of late. I want you to find him and report to me what he has been up to.” Butsuma landed a harsh pat on Tobirama’s back, ushering him away. He scrambled away as quickly as he could back into the forest, still gripping the pack of weaponry on his back.

***

It made more sense after that evening. 

Hashirama knelt on a cushion beside him, the two sons before their father. 

“About this boy you have been meeting up with. I looked into that young man and learned that he belongs to the Uchiha clan. Hashirama, you understand what that means, do you not?” The brothers stiffened, forcing on stoic faces so as not to let their discomfort show. Butsuma’s gaze narrowed. “If you do not want to be suspected as a spy, then you must shadow him after the next time the two of you meet. And if he should notice you… kill him.” 

Tobirama eyed his brother nervously. Undoubtedly, the conflict between the Senju and the Uchiha would mean this was the only way to rectify things. Tobirama stared down at his lap, guilt weighing down on his shoulders. 

There was no way for anyone to know about his encounter with you, and even if his father found out, Tobirama was different. At least he tried to kill you. That was enough, wasn’t it? Unlike Hashirama, he at least tried to do the right thing and kill the Uchiha on sight, no matter his level of success.

After a moment of preponderance, Hashirama spoke again,

“Are you completely sure he is an Uchiha?” 

Tobirama gulped, bracing himself for the heavy hit that awaited Hashirama. But it didn’t come. Butsuma studied him with crossed arms, bubbling rage mounting in his chest. He gritted his teeth.

“You trust a member of the clan who killed your brother?” Butsuma simmered. Tobirama stewed, praying for the moment that he was allowed to leave. Hashirama sat confused and still deep in thought on his cushion, not appearing nearly as worried as he should, in Tobirama’s opinion. “If he has been tricking you, you are putting every single Senju in danger.”

Despite Tobirama attempting to convince him otherwise, Hashirama was reluctant to comply. But after a lengthy beating from Butsuma, Hashirama finally agreed to be followed. As they eventually left the room, Tobirama couldn’t help but avert his gaze from the deep bruises and the forlorn expression on Hashirama’s face. 

***

“I am an apothecary,” you had told him. 

He didn’t ask you where. With the tumultuous clan wars, Tobirama assumed you were part of a smaller, nomadic group. As the more prominent clans and clan alliances fought, non-combatants traveled to safer ground, ironically forming their own larger herds for protection.

That was Tobirama’s first mistake: assuming.

“An apothecary,” Tobirama repeated. You wore his fur, curled up against a bed of river glass and hidden between a mess of boulders. He sat on a nearby rock, the headband you had confiscated and returned to him clutched in a ball in his hand. Tobirama cocked his head. “Is that a healer?”

“A woman healer?” you asked, hardly restraining the tiny smile that graced your lips. Your eyes glowed with wonder as you leaned forward, having never heard of such a thing. “No, I am afraid I only collect herbs for medicine. Although our current apothecary is very old, he taught me how to create medicines when we used to live by the coast. A rare honor.” Tobirama’s eyebrows rose on his forehead with an impressed blink.

“That is admirable. Your work takes a keen eye and a sharp mind.” You shifted against the grass to sit with your legs crossed as you leaned forward. A patch of small river flowers grew in a cluster where the gravel of the riverbank began. The white petals grew sporadically down the length of the land. You weaved your fingers through the tiny stems, the pure light color glowing against your skin. 

“You know about medicine?” you mused.

“Yes, my clan is well renowned for our knowledge of various medicines. The children are taught about these things at a young age, although, I possessed neither a keen enough eye nor a sharp enough mind for healing, to the disappointment of my mother.” You drew a bent knee toward your chest, rearranging your long robes as you gently collected the tiny flowers.

“Was she a woman healer?” You scooted forward to sit in front of him.

“No,” he said, letting you smooth back his hair. “She was a warrior like my father. Wove baskets—beautiful baskets— when she was with us. My grandmother was a master healer, though.”

“A woman master healer,” you breathed in awe to yourself, weaving the flowers into Tobirama’s hair. You couldn’t help the giddy smile that crossed your lips. “That is fascinating.” 

“My grandfather used to take me fishing in the northern streams before he passed. He always brought her herbs. Perhaps I could find some of her formulas. You may find them interesting.” 

“Really?” You leaned back on your ankles, admiring the little white flowers that adorned Tobirama’s crown. “I could not ask you to do such a thing.”

“If you are not allowed to learn of medicine and herbs, how else will you pursue being a great apothecary?” You blinked at him in disbelief, taken aback. “That is your dream, is it not? You speak of it often.”

“Do I?” You let out a light laugh, sheepishly averting your gaze. “I apologize. My good friend from home often tells me I speak too much.” Tobirama scoffed.

“Some friend,” he muttered, but his gaze softened as he adjusted the fur over your shoulders. “You do not speak too much. Especially when it concerns things you are passionate about. Therefore—” Tobirama plucked one of the flowers out of his hair and tucked it behind your ear. “Tell me about this flower.” 

You instinctively opened your mouth but quickly closed it when you noticed Tobirama’s expression chance. He held a glint in his eye and the beginning of a smile on his thin lips. He leaned forward, brushing your hand along another patch of little petals.

“I know you know this one,” he said softly before leaning back against the boulder behind him. His bright red eyes met your own. They held softness in them. “Please, I would like to listen.”

You almost laughed, your nervousness almost causing you to forget all your knowledge as his touch left you.

“They call this purity flower. It is incredibly delicate, and they only grow this big.” You stared down to where Tobirama had placed your hand. “You can do quite a few things with them. They are wonderful for sore throats, sanitizing wounds, upset stomachs…”

You brushed through them, and a few flowers crumpled under your fingers.

He would never forget that. The way your face fell as the flowers at the center of the cluster began to shrivel.

***

He was smarter than Hashirama. 

Tobirama wasn’t a traitor to the clan. Tobirama wouldn’t be caught fraternizing with an Uchiha like his foolish brother. He was stern, calculating. He was so careful. 

He had carried his prized Uchiha-killing kunai with him the entire time. 

It was strapped to his leg when he first chased after you. 

It was with him as you adorned him with blossoms. 

He held the same knife he had once held up to your neck as he screamed in your face that he would carve out your eyes the entire time. 

And he had another chance.

It was right in front of him, as you blathered on about the daylight. Your lips moved, but nothing came from your mouth. 

He had another opportunity to redeem himself. 

The moment of his childhood that haunted him for many nights could have been corrected. Tobirama was a true warrior now. He could have killed you. He could have carved out your sharingan, sinking his kunai into your skull as you screamed and kicked under him, just as he promised long ago. No one would hear you out here. 

He could do anything he wanted to you.

But he hesitated again, and now his only weapon was lost.

The time you had been sneaking around had hardly been long; the days in sum dwarfed compared to a year. 

And now he watched you in the morning sun, his heart and head doing a double take as his eyes hurriedly searched for the kunai he had pushed into the river. But it was long gone. 

“It is morning?!” You exclaimed, scrambling to your feet. Startled, Tobirama scurried up with you, stumbling back until one of his feet sank into the rushing water. You lurched forward instinctively to steady him.

“Do not touch me!” he barked, and the gruffness of his voice made you recoil. He faltered, sputtering with a vigorous shake of his head. Tobirama balanced himself as the cold, rushing current pushed at his knee. He looked up at you, staring into your wide, confused eyes. 

Looking upon you in the daylight made him view you in a way he never had before.

Yes, he could see it now. 

He could see the Uchiha in you… and it was ugly.

Every part of him burned. It was as if he had been coated in mud, leaving his skin irritated, itchy and inflamed. He wished he could scrub every inch of himself of you. Slice, scratch, and claw into himself to erase the ghost of your lingering touch. 

Tobirama burned with shame. 

You shifted, moving to speak, when something covered your eyes. You snatched it slowly in confusion, but as the silk ribbon slid from your hair to drape over your fingers, your eyes quickly widened even farther than they already were. Tobirama stood in the water, watching you with a pounding chest as you, too, stumbled back. Your gaze darted from the Uchiha crest to Tobirama, who, for once, did not hold any softness in his expression. 

“Oh.” You held your shaking hand up to your lips. You took another step back. Tobirama didn’t move.

He looked angry, the tension of his clenched jaw just about making the entirety of his body shake. His brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and rage. And all he could do was stare at you with fists balled up in mounting fury. Tobirama’s eyes turned glossy as he held back the burning tears that threatened to spill over his waterline. 

You weren’t thinking, not as you stepped forward and spoke his name.

You wanted to go to him, tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Something. You tried to tell him something, anything.

You stepped forward, and Tobirama planted his second foot in the water.

“Do not come closer, Uchiha!” he spat. His words halted you in your stride. Tobirama stumbled back, splashing in the shallows. His clothes were drenched with dark patches which adorned his legs and sides. He held his hand up, almost as a buffer between him and you. He shook, and droplets fell back into the rushing current of the water. 

His father’s words to his brother repeatedly played in his head. 

Tobirama had been endangering his clan all this time. He had been reckless and naive, just like his brother. He sat as the current rushed by, stuck and frozen like a cornered animal, trying to calculate how many of his kinsmen could have been saved if he had been more sparing with his tongue. 

You spoke in a meek voice,

“Tobirama—”

“Get out of here! Do not dare show your face back here, foul creature; I will kill you!” he screamed with all the weight of his guilt. Tobirama rose to his full height, hulking shoulders squared. You didn’t wait a second longer before you ran. You ran straight into the brush, and in an instant, you were deep into the forest. You could still hear Tobirama shouting behind you. “I will kill you, Uchiha! I will carve out your sharingan! I—”

He choked the moment he lost sight of you.

Tobirama dropped to his knees, splashing again down into the water. He heaved, his throat burning as he threw up into the river's current. Tobirama uttered a strangled cry, mucus dropping from his mouth and nose. Hot tears poured down his face as he gasped into the surface, nearly drowning himself in the water and his own mess. 

You continued to run. You ran through the woods, paying little mind to the scrapes you collected as you rushed back toward the Uchiha colony. Your foot snagged against a fallen branch, causing you to smack face-first into a nearby log. You scrambled to your feet, heart pumping as you continued back home, your breath rasping rhythmically in your ears. Wetness streamed down your face, combining tears, snot, and blood to cake your skin. 

But as you grew closer to your colony, the scent of smoke grew stronger. And as you looked up between the branches, you could see a dark cloud rising into the air. 

The weeping became clearer. Agonized weeping. 

You burst forth from the trees to your family’s garden. 

To where the garden should have been, but the garden was gone.

Your home was gone, and a smoking pile of charcoal was left in its place. 

A few structural beams shot out from the pile of char, like pleading limbs reaching up toward the heavens for a salvation that would never come. The paper walls were gone. The engawa had been reduced to rubble. The engawa that you and Madara stood on just hours before while your parents discussed your union.

…

Your parents.

You shouted for them, rushing straight for the ruins of your home. Large masses of char littered the streets, marking the resting places of other houses just like yours. Your eyes darted about in a frenzy, making eye contact with the mourning Uchiha, who littered the dirt streets for any confirmation that your parents had made it. 

“Where are my parents?” You cried to people who averted their gazes. One woman covered her child’s ears, holding him close to her chest. “Have you seen my parents? Please! Someone! Did they make it? Will you not answer me?” 

But no one answered you. 

There was just weeping.

You didn’t see their faces or those of your family. 

You raced toward the rubble, rifling through the mess with tears blurring your vision. You were howling something, letting words spill and tumble from your lips with the same liquidity as the water pouring from your face. Your fingers began to sting. Debris cut your skin, forming abrasions that filled with soot and dirt as you clawed at what used to be your home. 

A muscular arm looped under your torso. You kicked your legs as you continued to wail, pounding your fists at the back of red armor. You could only watch as you were slowly carried away from the wreckage of your home, the reminisce of other ruined buildings gathering into your blurry view with every step. 

You went limp about halfway down the road, hanging upside down with your cheek smushed against a bloody backplate. You cried, the compilation of mucus stuck in your nose, causing your sinuses to burn. You coughed, fist pounding a last time against armor before you were dropped back to the ground. 

Your knees gave out under you, and before you stood Madara. 

Tall, hulking, and imposing Madara with a somber expression on his face and a gaping wound on his side. He still held you by the hand, your fingers just barely hooked on his. His feet were stained with blood and caked with dirt, and sitting in the disturbed dirt road sat vials of herbs and a collection of your supplies from the apothecary. 

Only then did you notice what he was surveying behind you, letting your hand drop from his.

Bodies of the injured were splayed out on salvaged blankets in the middle of the street. The able-bodied scurried around with what little medical supplies could be salvaged from the remains of your village, tending to warriors, women, children, and elders alike. Your head snapped back toward Madara.

“You must make medicine,” Madara said in a voice barely above a whisper, although it was by no means gentle. He held a gruffness in his voice. Frustration laced his tone. You heaved yourself up, something about being on the ground making you feel more vulnerable than you already felt in your confusion.

“Madara, I—”

“What?” Madara snapped, jerking forward at you. You recoiled, lips closing instantly. “What now, woman? Can you not see the crisis laid out in front of you? You have received exactly what you wanted and yet remain stubborn even when a man is giving you direct instructions.” You were still dazed.

“Where is Makihara?”

It wasn’t hard for Madara to wrestle you back to the ground. Your head slammed against the dirt, the vials of herbs and medicine sideways in your vision. Madara’s lips touched your ear as he spoke venom directly into your skull. His words sent a submissive chill directly into your heart.

“For the sake of the gods, make the goddam medicine and cease your difficulty. Your clan head bids it.” He released your head, which was engulfed in his wide-handed grip. You stared dizzily at his back as he walked away, his form wavering in your vision.

“Clan… head?”

***

Madara was officially deemed the head of the Uchiha clan later that night, bare except for his loin cloth as his body was painted with sacred symbols. He sat like a king on the ruins of the Uchiha village, looking pensive and severe.

The ceremony was intimate, traditional, and without frills.

Somber.

What was left of the village wasn’t made to attend, but most showed their faces in the torchlight, gazing upon their new leader as Madara was adorned with red and white paint. The population of Uchiha gathered around him, squishing together to watch the decoration of their new leader. 

Madara sat amongst the ruins of what used to be your colony, looking solemn in the warm glow of the flames around him. He stared ahead. A surviving elder smeared two lines of red paint under Madara’s eyes with shaky fingers. Bandages covered the elder’s eye, wrapping all the way around his head. Another elder brushed his frail hands over Madara’s cheeks with white before anointing his forehead with his thumb. 

You had made that paint. You admired it from the back of the crowd. 

A few children had been sent to gather pigmented clay while you exhausted the rest of your herbal supply on medicinal remedies. Even with what you made stretch, you barely had enough to treat all the wounded. Burying the dead had taken all day. 

Madara stood in front of all the Uchiha, bare-chested and painted in holy symbols as the clan revered him. He barked, the deep, powerful sound resounding from his chest. His colored abs flexed with the call, and the Uchiha chanted back, filling the surrounding forest with spirited howling. 

He stood as the new leader of the Uchiha clan, yet the colors that adorned him were yours, as were the herbs that decorated his wound.

***

Your parents were dead.

It was a fact that you recalled often during the mindless time you spent crushing herbs, beseeching the weight of it to sink in. But instead, you were met with numbness, even as the mourners around you grieved their lost loved ones. 

You sat under your makeshift canopy on a rug of simple woven threads. The three sides of your new apothecary were draped with fabric, acting as a buffer to the light night breeze. And there you thought, pulverizing medicine with your pestle to replenish your depleted medicinal supply. As the clan’s only apothecary, you could no longer collect herbs. In a strike of irony, this in turn meant that you were too important and no longer allowed to leave the Uchiha’s new territory.

You hadn’t noticed Madara’s presence. Only when the torchlight from outside no longer filtered into your tent did you think to even blink. He stood over you, harsh shadows cast across his face from the lone lamp that lit up your workspace. Madara’s colors had faded from his skin, but the stain from the dye remained as the faintest of hues.

You could just barely see the holy symbols.

“Does the new location please you?” 

You stopped, the moment of distraction allowing the ache in your hands to set in. You nearly dropped your pestle, recoiling slightly as the tension froze your fingers. You had been working since daybreak.

“I cannot say I have been able to see much of it, Madara.”

“Come, then.” 

To your surprise, Madara extended his hand to you. You looked upon him with exhaustion, almost to ask if he genuinely meant what he spoke. He waited patiently for you to place your hand in his before whisking you into the surrounding woods. 

***

The Uchiha had retreated farther inland, upstream to the higher ground by the mountains. The trees were large in these parts, far larger than you were used to. They extended twice the height compared to the ones in your previous territory, towering large fans of leaves up toward the starry night sky. Even the vast constellations appeared brighter in these new parts. 

Madara walked a step or two in front as you strolled across the rocky terrain. You panted as you struggled up a steep incline. Madara hadn’t bothered to help you, instead moving along onto the level above. Small stones that littered the surface of the earth slid under your sandals.

“I am—” you huffed —“I am not as agile as I used to be.” 

Madara laughed somewhere above.

“You are in your prime. What is this talk of agility?” 

You pulled yourself up onto the dirt with the help of an exposed root. You fanned yourself, wiping the sweat off your brow as Madara chuckled somewhere in front of you.

“I meant that I no longer climb trees every day, Madara. Perhaps that is something you do, oh great clan head, but not I.” 

You turned to stand, suddenly struck by the view before you. Madara stood just ahead, holding up a branch with his forearm to expose the landscape. You hurried over, framing yourself in the window of leaves that Madara created. From up so high, you could see how the trees covered the land for miles, bisected by one of the Land of Fire’s many rivers in the distance. 

“Are you able to say if the new land pleases you?” You caught Madara’s eye for a split second, quickly averting your gaze at the sight of his sentimental expression, your aloneness suddenly growing palpable. You nodded.

“Moving the clan here was clever. Having the high ground and access to fresh water will only serve to be prosperous.” You offered him a gentle smile and a nod, glancing back at the scenery. “I know you will make a great clan head, Madara.”

“We will see about that,” Madara admitted in a rare moment of self-doubt. The confession made your forehead crinkle instantly. You cocked your head, taken aback. Madara sighed, almost as if reading your thoughts before you spoke them. “The elders— the remaining elders— believe that I am still quite young to be taking up the mantle. They still hold power when it comes to making decisions on behalf of the clan. At least, until they deem I have grown into my title as clan head.”

“Why make you leader at all if they are going to make such fuss?” you scoffed, knowing very well the answer. 

You sat down at the cliff's edge, watching the moon in the distance, and Madara came to sit next to you. He shifted, having more difficulty getting situated than you. The branch he had been holding up came down to smack him on the back of the head. 

“I have had similar thoughts.” Madara looked off with a troubled frown. “I worry for the future of the Uchiha. Our numbers dwindle with every battle. And with this last raid, the women will be forced to join the militia.” 

“Is this true?” you nearly exclaimed. You withdrew into yourself, brushing a finger across your bottom lip. The news rattled around in your ribcage. “How unorthodox!” 

Madara sneered, and it hardly took his admission of “I am against such things” for you 

to understand his stance on the matter. You let him grumble to himself, once again lost in a daze, as you took some of the dry dirt below between your fingers. 

“Madara,” you called softly, and he perked up with a hum. Between the chaos of the last few days, you were hardly allowed to give anything proper thought. Of all the terrible things to sink in, you only had one worry on your mind. “Do you believe I might be sent to fight the Senju?”

You stared into Madara’s eyes. Tobirama’s fearsome expression flashed across your mind as you recalled his promises to take your life. They made you shiver. 

“I would think not, given that you are acting as the lone apothecary of the Uchiha,” Madara answered, his voice deep and soft. “Besides, I forbid it.”

You didn’t know what to say as you let the bit of relief Madara’s words brought you to wash over your thoughts. Whether you intended it or not, you had made yourself invaluable to your clan. They weren’t about to put you on the front lines anytime soon. 

Madara spoke your name.

“Do you like it?” he asked. You weren’t paying attention again. You blinked to yourself, his deep voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Do I like what?”

“The new land, does it please you?”

“It is… not home,” you admitted. “But the landscape does please me, yes. I am certain it will be home soon enough.” Madara closed the space between you before gingerly placing two fingers under your chin. He turned your face toward him.

“I am clan head now.”

“Yes, Madara, I am aware.” You tried to subtly turn your chin away, but he held firm, boring into you with vigilant eyes. Nocturnal insects chattered in the forest behind you.

“No other bachelor in the Uchiha can provide better than I.” You had no other choice than to meet his dark gaze. He spoke to you earnestly. “Will you not reconsider marrying me?” A frown tugged at his lips. Worry swirled on his face.

“We are far too young, Madara.” You took his hand, gently removing it from your skin. You folded in on yourself, backing away from the edge as you bashfully gripped the fronts of your robes to dry your sweaty hands. Madara pivoted, leaning back to keep you in his sights, the moon’s slow, enshrining him in a silver silhouette. You curled into the earth. “Besides… too much has happened for us to think about such things.”

You could feel it: the urge to fight you on the tip of Madara’s tongue. Indeed, other Uchiha have married at your age and younger. Sometimes, young girls would be considered ready for marriage after their first menstrual cycle. But to your surprise, he didn’t fight you at all. Instead, he came to sit next to you. 

Madara could’ve fought you on several things. He hadn’t yet forgotten the mystery beau he was convinced was keeping your affections from him, nor was he thrilled that you had been named as the clan’s sole apothecary through a simple process of elimination.

You hadn’t forgotten his attempts to strongarm you into marriage or the terrifying outburst that caused you to run away. Although, with your parents gone, you were placed supremely in charge of your fate. Try as he must, not even Madara could force you into marriage. 

But when it came down to it, with your family dead and your lover disgusted by your bloodline, you were left again with Madara. That had been how it always was. Having lost so much during the clan conflict, you were always left with each other, weren’t you?

As you began to weep, Madara scooted backward to be with you. You leaned against him, placing your head on his shoulder as you continued to cry, holding his arm to bury your face into the sleeve of his robes—dark, round spots soaked into the fabric.

Madara held you in the dimness as the surrounding clearing filled with your sobs. It had been the first time you were allowed to cry. The first time you truly had to confront the regret that haunted you from the few days prior. For his capriciousness and overall little patience for sentiment, Madara nurtured your vulnerability. 

His fingers trailed lightly over your hair, rounding up stray strands behind your ear. He pressed his temple against the top of your head, caressing down your jaw to clear away the tears that slid down your cheeks with his thumb. Madara lifted your face, his second hand cupping the other side of your face as he continued to swipe away the wetness from your face. 

You held his wrists in your ginger grip, as he laid a tender kiss on your forehead. He gazed into your teary eyes in the moonlight, casting away another stream of tears as he offered a gentle kiss to your right cheek, and then your left. 

His nose nudged against yours, staring into your glassy eyes. You let them flutter shut, causing more droplets to splash against your face. Madara placed his lips on yours, holding the sides of your face as he kissed you with earnest. 

You kissed him back for a moment, only for a moment. The shape of his face was different than Tobirama in a way you couldn’t quite place your finger on. He had rounder cheeks. A longer bridge to his nose. Madara’s hair draped over his shoulders to tickle your skin.

You pulled away, just the slightest distance between your face and Madara’s before he leaned in again. You pushed against his chest, but his movements this time were more forceful. He held you firmly in his grip, his fingers pinching against your cheeks as he lowered himself on top of you, pinning you against the earth and his larger body. 

Your eyes went wide, the entirety of your body going frozen as Madara moved against yours, his once gentle motions now a gnashing of lips and teeth that made you press your head into the dirt. You tried to gasp his name in protest, but your words were muffled. His forearm rested to the right of your head, his breath hot against your skin as he smored your airways. His fingers tugged awkwardly at your hair, causing you to wince as he pulled the strands. You pushed on his chest again, kicking your legs under him, but Madara lowered more of his weight on top of you. 

A line of saliva connected the two of you when he finally ceased his assault on your lips. He gazed upon you with lidded eyes before he continued, tucking his head in the crook of your neck. You screamed as he sunk his teeth into your flesh, tears pouring from your wide eyes as you stared up at the pitch black night sky. Madara’s hand swiftly came over your mouth, to muffle the shrieks that tore from your throat.

You flailed violently, limbs lashing in adrenaline-fueled terror to no avail as Madara kept you pinned to the earth with his larger, heavier frame. And then you felt a hand dip into your robes, tugged the top material from your shoulders to grope at your chest. You cried harder, squealing like a pig at the slaughter as you finally managed to squirm an arm free.

You thrashed it around in a flurry of scratches and strikes. Your hand snagged on Madara’s face as you tried to scoot out from underneath him, causing him to shoot backward. Blood dripped from his nose, forming a nasty pool of red in tandem with the jagged gash that sliced diagonally across his upper lip. 

He looked at you in confusion and anger; blood streaked across his fingers. You scrambled to your feet, darting down the mountain and back to the new colony. 

You would never speak of that night again.

Madara dropped all speak of marriage.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Lots of fun author’s notes: I hated the pacing of this fic. It used to have really low notes in the early days so I think I got a little sloppy with it, and now it’s exploded out of nowhere! I hope this “retcon” fixes some of the plotholes!

I would like to think the teen years were made purposefully vague and dreamy so that the transition to the dark content is more impactful. Yes, yes we’ll say that!

I don’t always imagine what Reader looks like in my stories (I usually don’t) but this one I do! I usually picture Lupita Nyong'o. Not sure if that adds or takes away for any of you. Who I picture ultimately doesn’t matter

I’d also like to think the whole scene where Tobirama scares Reader off is like any movie where a protagonist has to scare off a loyal dog. Like, “Go on, boy! Git! You’re not welcome here! Git!” while like throwing rocks or something.

Also a reminder that I am not a smut author, so please withhold any thirst comments or requests. Thank you. 

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake​

[talkfastromance4]

Alright, since I’m a big ball of stressy-drepressy lately, I was wondering how Jake would help Sugar through a day that she’s just not feeling it. ♥️ luv u fren.

I hope you like this bb! it's a little bit more descriptive, I hope you don't mind.

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 1.9k

warnings: migraines, bad moods

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

You’re not sure how it started, but whenever you were feeling down in the blues you always scampered off to Jake’s room. It was so big and open and he always had the fireplace on so it felt cozy all the time. His pillows were the fluffiest you’ve ever felt and the whole place smelled of him, rich and musky. Even with the fireplace on, his comforter was cool on your skin. 

The day started off bad as soon as you woke up because you slept through your alarm. It was also Rhea’s day off and Jake’s early day to fly so you were in the house alone. It’s been a bit stormy lately and the wind kept you up from outside your window. It must have hit a power line or something because the coffeemaker was off when you got into the kitchen thus the coffee was cold and tepid. 

You planned on taking a shower before work but now you were running late and your hair looked so gross. Even the luxurious dry shampoo couldn’t save the mess of your head so you opted for a messy bun. Then you got frustrated because your messy bun wasn’t the right type of messy. 

“Miss y/n?” Reynolds called to you from downstairs and you were rushing again to get dressed. 

When you were finally ready you asked Reynolds if you could stop at the coffee shop near Jake’s house before going to the shop and he said yes. That didn’t end up happening because the drive-thru line was obnoxiously long and Serena texted you that there were a ton of people in the store already wanting to do orders. 

Your stomach grumbled and you wanted one of Rhea’s muffins. 

The wind was still horrendous and you could smell rain, the clouds were dark and gray which matched your mood perfectly as you walked into the shop. Recognizing you, customers started bombarding you with questions and shoving phones in your face of what type of arrangement they needed. 

The back of your neck began to throb signifying the onslaught of a migraine. 

It’s going to be a long day.

***

By the time you got home your feet ached, your arms ached, you had bandaids on six of your fingers from thorns and yanking off leaves and your head was killing you. You worked through lunch and you know you didn’t drink as much water as you should have. The storm kept rumbling in the distance which only made you more antsy because the lights flickered every now and then in the shop.

Dom assured you he’d check that the back-up generators were up and running before he closed up. He sent you home early because he could tell how miserable you are. 

The whole drive home you were battling with yourself whether or not to text Jake asking if he could pick up food from your favorite restaurant. You don’t want to seem needy but he told you to ask him for whatever you’d like. Would he be bothered? What if he had a bad day and wanted to come home and relax and your request pissed him off? 

Not wanting to make him mad you stare at the contents of the fridge for a good twenty minutes before you nibble on some pasta salad. Your head was still killing you and you just felt so sad and tired and exhausted and your body ached–

It was like your feet were on auto pilot as you trudged up the stairs, down the hall past your room and walked right into Jake’s. The remote for the fireplace was on his nightstand so you pushed the button to turn it on, the flames engulfed the space quickly as wind roared on outside. You bit your lip as you contemplated going to his bed or the big couch on the other side of the fireplace.

You decided on the couch, it had a huge knit blanket that felt like a hug and you could watch a movie on the tv up above the fireplace. You settle in and pick some romcom from the early 2000s you haven’t seen in a while and wait for Jake to come home. 

Twenty minutes into the movie you hear the front door open and close and then torrential rain is hitting the windows. You keep your eyes on the characters in the movie but peek at the doorway waiting for Jake. Your head is pounding as loud as your heart as you wait for him, neck aching, body aching…aching for him. 

Jake finally appears in the doorway, his hair wet from rain and his flight suit is tied around his waist so the white shirt he has on is spotted with rain drops. In his hands is a carrying tray with two strawberry shakes and the other holding a big bag that you recognize from your favorite restaurant. 

“Reynolds told me you weren’t having a good day. I’m sorry I’m late, the roads are terrible and the line at the drive-thru was long. I got all of your favorites, and the dessert they had is the chocolate pudding you love so I got extras,” he explains making his way over to you. 

He sets the goodies on the coffee table in front of you then kneels on the floor, resting his elbows on your blanket covered body. 

“I thought I’d find you here. Migraine?” he asks and you nod. “Did you take anything?” A shake of the head. “I’ll get your medicine and peppermint oil. Start eating and I’ll change, okay?” 

He stretches forward to kiss your cheek, he smells like rain and then he’s gone. As he leaves, he yanks his shirt up and over his head; your tummy flutters at seeing his muscular back. You force yourself to sit up and grab your shake, the hearty sip and sweet strawberry flavor makes your taste buds sing. The coolness of the shake also feels good in your throat. 

Jake returns in gray sweats and a different t-shirt, his NAVY one that you secretly have a favor towards. The color looks wonderful against his skin. A small tub of lotion and bottle of peppermint oil is in hand, he keeps it in his bathroom because you normally retreat in his room during bad headaches. He likes to be prepared.

He touches your shoulder and you shift forward so he can sit behind you on the couch, it’s big enough that you can fit comfortably. He places your medicine on the table.

“Your head might feel better if you take out the knot of your bun, Sugar,” he says softly knowing loud noises hurt your head. 

“It’s all gross,” you shake your head which makes the throbbing pain worse.

“Want me to wash it?” his fingers probe at the base of your neck and up your head, his thumbs rubbing with just the right pressure to alleviate the pain. 

“How would you do that?”

“Well, I have a pretty nice tub in my bathroom…or yours,” he muses, continuing to rub your head. You continue to suck up your shake. 

“Maybe later,” you sigh.

“Okay,” he kisses the back of your neck delicately. His lips are cold and you sigh.

“Stay there for a minute .... lips are nice and cold.”

You feel his smile on your neck as he kisses you again and keeps his lips there, skimming them over your neck gently. The tip of his nose is also cold and you relax a bit from the temperature change. He pulls your shirt down a little so he can kiss even lower past your neck and onto your back. 

“Ready for the peppermint?”

“Mhm,” you hum and his lips are gone. 

He unscrews the lid of the lotion, you faintly pay attention because now that you’ve got some shake in you, you’re paying more attention to the movie onscreen. You can tell he adds the peppermint because you smell it, that even helps your head a little. 

Jake’s hands are cold as he presses the peppermint coated lotion onto your neck and he begins to massage you again. His fingers knead gently at your cranium, up into your hair and down to your shoulders, his thumbs paying extra special attention at the center of your head. A soft moan escapes and you tilt your head forward so he can really rub at the taut muscle. 

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he murmurs. 

“Everything just went wrong. This is helping…”

“Good. What movie are we watching?”

“50 First Dates.”

“That’s a good one.”

“It’s almost over…what do you want to watch next?”

“How about The Princess Bride?”

“As you wish,” you tease, quoting the movie. The throbbing in your head lessens but you grab your medicine and take it with your shake. “How was your day?”

“Busy, we kept waiting to fly but the storm prevented it. Had to stay grounded and I kept thinking of you.”

He massaged your head until the movie ended and joined you in eating the dinner he brought home. You selected his movie of choice, which was also one of your favorites, and cuddled up on the couch, he slipped under the big blanket with you and you rested your head on his chest. Jake’s fingers played with your hair and unworked the hair tie.

“No, my hair is gross–”

“Shush, I don’t care. I bet that feels better, huh?” he asks. The tightness is released and you burrow further into his chest. You start to skim your fingers over his forearm, creating designs. He sighs.

“What?” you ask stopping your tickling.

“That feels nice,” he sighs, his cheek pressing to the top of your head. “Don’t stop.”

You smile into his shirt and start tickling his arm again, jumping slightly when thunder cracks.

“I know you hate it,” he says, running his fingers down your back and waist. “But I think I like when it rains.”

“Why?”

“Because that means you’ll be here with me.”

He squeezes your waist and you tilt your head so you’re looking up at him. He’s already looking at you. Feeling brave and bold, you place your hand at the back of his neck pulling him forward so you can touch your lips with his. It’s slow building, this kiss, his lips soft and supple giving you full control. You part your lips slightly but when you don’t feel his tongue against yours, you slip yours against his. 

Jake groans when your tongues connect and he shifts you up higher so you’re more level with him. Your leg is fully over his waist, both your arms around his neck. His kiss is giving you shivers all over, his hands hot on your waist and back as your shirt rides up a little from your movements. 

“You taste like strawberries,” you huff, breaking away to take a breath.

“So do you,” he smiles rubbing your nose with his. He moves his hand to cup your cheek, tracing his thumb over your lip. “How’s your head?”

“Better. Thank you,” you kiss his nose. 

“You’re welcome, Sugar. Let’s finish the movie, hm?”

You nod and fall back into your original position, lips buzzing from his kiss, heart hammering from how it made you feel. While you watch Wesley and Buttercup fall in love, you secretly hope it rains every day so you can be in Jake’s room all week.

[bardic-tales]

10.21.24: Meet the Character: Bianca Moore.

Meet Bianca Moore, a mesmerizing figure that blends the realms of Final Fantasy 7 and original work bringing together love and devotion that transcends time and space.

👄 Appearance

After Bianca was infused with the S-cells and Jenova cells, she underwent a transformation.She stands five feet tall with an hour-glass figure (36-24-36) and waist length wavy black hair tied with a white (cream) colored ribbon. There are times when she wants to shake it up and appears with wavy brown hair instead. She has glowing indigo eyes with feline-like pupils. Her wings are black (and indigo not pictured above) and can spread to 9.92 feet. She has kept her small fangs and long, slender demon tongue that most of the succubi in the Abyssal Realm has.

Bianca likes to wear light pink lip gloss, as well as ‘elite’ eyeliner, and a smokey eye-shadow. Her face claim is Eliza González.

💫 Powers

All abilities are corrupted and either have either shadow or life draining nature to them. She has spatial, temporal, and reality bending abilities, along with being able to converse with departed souls since she is a celestial being.

At the height of her powers and only with her infusion of Jenova cells, she is able to summon a hypernova. She still has to master this.

NOTE: Weaknesses

Bianca’s abilities are severely corrupted, leading to emotional instability, reduced combat effectiveness, and vulnerability to manipulation. Her powers fluctuate unpredictably due to Jenova’s influence, shadow corruption, and life-draining effects, which impair her focus, endurance, and defensive capabilities.

⚔️ Battle Attire

Bianca wears a tight-fitting biker vest. It’s complemented by tight leather pants, while shiny silver triple-plated spaulders which are covered with Sephiroth’s fallen feathers adorn her black trench coat. A large leather obi with two large belt belts are tied over her trench coat. A black sword frog secures her weapons, including the Solstice great sword on her back and the hilt of the tachi at her hip. She summons the blades of both Solstice and Noctemaris from the space between time and space.

Note: She always wears her ribbon in her hair, as this was given to her by Sephiroth before the Nibelheim Incident. She views it as his last act of sanity before the descent into madness.

👗 Everyday Attire

Bianca’s every day outfit consists of oversized knitted sweaters, mirrored sunglasses, and open-toed stiletto sandals (or boots if she is in the crater). She often pairs dark beige trousers cinched tightly with a chocolate colored leather belt. Her signature outerwear is her cream-colored trench coat. Her overall every day color palette ranges from white to earthy browns.

Note: She always wears her ribbon in her hair, as this was given to her by Sephiroth before the Nibelheim Incident. She views it as his last act of sanity before the descent into madness.

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

—

They made their way back to the Harrington house in relative quiet. Steve didn’t feel as panicked as he had that morning thanks to the talk he'd had with Eddie. Though, whatever reaction the gate had to Steve was… concerning to say the least.

He felt grimy and sweaty as he trudged through the last few trees and into his backyard. Wearing the same clothes two days in a row wasn’t Steve’s best idea. He was glad no one had commented on it, though he was a bit surprised even Mike hadn’t said anything. He kicked off his muddy shoes at the back door, following the rest of the Jabberwocks into the house.

Yesterday he had felt too weird about going through OtherSteve’s closet, though right now he just felt kind of desperate to change. The others congregated on the couches in the living room while Steve headed straight for the stairs, calling out that he’d change and be right back down. It would be a bit before the rest of the party joined them anyway.

He felt a little more comfortable in the house on his second day, a little less worried that OtherSteve would pop out like some cosmic entity and scold him for the intrusion. It still didn’t feel like he belonged, would take a while for that to happen — if he even got the chance — and Steve was only just beginning to imagine himself staying long enough for that to happen. If Eddie was right, if they figured out a way for him to stay, if he didn’t have to leave, his life would be so different. Maybe he could be okay again.

He walked into the bedroom, closing the door gently behind him, and made his way over to the closet. It was a simple wooden door, nothing fancy, not even a mirror hanging from the frame.

He paused when he opened it, unsure of what he was really seeing at that moment. Half of the closet was full of henleys and soft-looking cable knit sweaters, light colored t-shirts and various colored jackets he’d expected from basically his own closet, but the other half was clad in leather and ripped black tank tops, band tees and torn jeans. It looked like Eddie’s clothes. It looked like Eddie lived here.

Did Eddie keep clothes in Steve’s closet? Why? He looked back over his shoulder at the wall of posters full of bands he didn’t know, eyes flitting back and forth between the few posters with names he’d recognized before, the bands from Eddie’s battle jacket.

Was this actually Eddie’s room? But then why didn’t Eddie tell him, force Steve into one of the other spare rooms last night instead of taking one for himself? He clearly knew this was the room Steve expected to be in. There were also trinkets that definitely belonged to Steve on the desk and nightstand, and half the closet were clothes Eddie would never touch, let alone wear in public.

Steve stepped dazedly into the small space, thoughts running around in confused tangles of yarn that weren’t quite connecting. He thought back to the photos on the kitchen wall with Steve and Eddie wrapped around each other, and the countless times since he woke up here yesterday morning where Eddie looked at him like something was missing, like he was thinking of something specific that Steve couldn’t put his finger on.

If Eddie had simply moved into the Harrington house for some reason, that still didn’t explain why this room seemed to be half his, like they shared it. It just… well, Steve wasn’t stupid, he was there when Eddie had come out to him just that morning, he knew what this room and these things implied. Everything here pointed to a life lived together, but Steve was straight as far as he knew so could that be right? Sure, Eddie was comfortable to be around no matter which universe he was in. He was… gentle, despite his loud demeanor, and he was good at quieting the bad thoughts rattling around in Steve’s mind.

Even throughout their first stint in the Upside Down together, a brush of their sides or a squeeze to the shoulder, the soft dimpled smile Eddie had tossed his way, it all settled something in Steve’s chest. He’d thought this Eddie and Steve were closer, really close judging by the way Eddie had disappeared the day before but this was more than he’d ever expected. Was it even possible? Was Steve just reading into things?

Slowly, he reached out to touch a leather sleeve in front of him. It was soft, worn. He thought about today in the woods, how he kept focusing on Eddie’s lips, how he remembered doing that before, too. How often had he been sneaking those glances? Even without realizing?

Steve brought the sleeve to his nose, slowly breathing in the scent of tobacco and leather, and hints of the cologne Eddie sometimes sprayed when he remembered. This was definitely Eddie’s stuff, no doubt in Steve’s mind. This single closet smelled more like home than Steve’s whole house ever did, and maybe that meant he and Eddie weren’t so out-of-left-field as he’d thought.

He stepped back, letting the sleeve drop and opening his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. He’d ask Eddie about this tonight, after the party left and they were alone. For now, Steve turned to the other side of the closet and swapped his shirt for a Hawkins high school band sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. If they were about to have another planning session that could change Steve’s life, he might as well be comfortable.

He tossed the dirty clothes into a hamper at the back of the closet and turned to leave, his eye catching briefly on a lone shoebox sitting on the top shelf. It was on Steve’s side of the closet, sitting among what he assumed were just boxes of clutter. It would be easily overlooked, a shoebox in a closet, but Steve had the same exact one in his own closet.

It was an old box, weathered at the corners but still sturdy. He’d put every happy thing inside of it; his favorite movie tickets, the yoyo his nanny bought him for his seventh birthday, a pressed flower from his first boutonniere. He’d put photos of him and Nancy inside, some sparkly rocks that Robin had just placed in his hand and called pretty, one of the miniatures the kids had painted and left in his living room one day. Little things. Things that mattered. It’s the box he would grab if the house caught fire.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward and tugged the closet door closed, arms reaching out to grab the box from the shelf before he had even made up his mind. He shouldn’t look. He really shouldn’t look, he didn’t have the right to. But… he was Steve. He should know the kind of life he could have had, he should know what kind of things he’d find important or meaningful. Right?

He took the lid off the box.

It was full of trinkets, just like he'd expected, but the stories they told were of a different life. Instead of a yoyo, there was a little book of nursery songs for beginners to play on the saxophone. There were three miniatures instead of one, painted in matching color palettes. He found more sparkly rocks, different than his own, and friendship bracelets made from chunky beads.

In the corner of the box, tucked away neatly, was a small, clear container with polaroids inside. Steve turned his back to the closet door and slid down it, setting the box in his lap as he hunched over to look.

He picked up the little container with both hands, sliding the pictures out with care. They were just like the photos in the kitchen, of trips to the beach and sleepovers, of pool parties and birthdays. The party in various groups showed up, Robin was in most of them. Eddie was in every single one.

He and Steve stood close, draped over each other or with faces squished together. In some, they were looking directly at the camera or making faces. In others, they looked at each other. There were pictures where Eddie looked at the camera while Steve looked at him, and Steve… Steve looked at him like he hung the moon. Like the sun rose and fell only to see him, like the stars themselves couldn't shine as brightly. Like every other cliche that’s been written and sung and professed about since the dawn of time.

Steve had never looked at anyone that way. Nancy was right, he was just bullshit. Is that how she felt with Jonathan? Is that how it’s supposed to feel?

He traced his own expression, completely enamored. How many times had the Steve of this world sat right here, holding these pictures, seeing the way he looked at Eddie? Did they look at these pictures together? What did it feel like to wear that expression? It was hard to look away, to pull himself from the trance his own face had him in, but there was one more picture and when Steve saw it, it was like the world stopped around him.

They were kissing. He and Eddie. They were kissing. Steve's hand was threaded in Eddie's hair, the brown tendrils curling through his fingertips. Their eyes were closed, fully immersed in the other, lips together in what was definitely not a chaste kiss.

As he stared, he couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie’s lips tasted like, what they felt like to be pressed against his. Eddie knew what they tasted like, knew what he tasted like. Steve wondered if he thought of that every time they locked eyes. Was Eddie the type to kiss fast and hard? Would he push forward with the confidence of all his tabletop lunchroom rants? Would he press hard like he stamped his combat boots into the dirt?

Or did he kiss soft? Soft like the way Steve’s eyes looked in the previous pictures. Soft like the sunset over lovers lake, soft as the tendrils of hair OtherSteves fingers carded through as they kissed.

Steve squeezed his eyes together to stop the burning. He shoved the stack of pictures back into the small container, shoved the image to the back of his mind, too. The Steve in those pictures was dead. The man who looked at Eddie with stars in his eyes was dead. He shouldn’t be thinking about Eddie like that, it had only been six months, he couldn’t image what he was going through, how much Steve’s presence was fucking with him. No wonder he spent the whole first day avoiding Steve, he’s surprised Eddie had spoken to him at all.

He sighed, breath pushing through his lips in a shuddered rush while he tried to pretend his heart wasn’t clawing its way up his throat. Steve carded his fingers through his hair, shoving it out of his face. He reached out to put the Polaroids back into the box and paused. In the crowded corner he’d pulled the pictures from, there was another box. It was small and black, just a cardboard box with a lid, and it was just small enough for the Polaroids to cover up. Or to hide?

He swallowed, suddenly his mouth was too dry. He shouldn’t look. If OtherSteve was hiding it, he shouldn’t look. He shouldn’t be looking at any of this.

He reached out to it, fingers tracing over the plain black lid.

“Steve!” Robins voice shouted from the staircase landing.

He jumped, choking on the heart in his throat and worried that Robin would burst into the room to find him snooping, but no further noises wandered toward his ears. He quickly shoved the Polaroids back into the box, refusing to look at the little black box he just covered back up.

“Just a second!” He called out, carefully putting the shoebox back on the top shelf, hoping it looked like he hadn’t touched it at all.

Robin was waiting for him at the bottom landing of the staircase. The second he looked her in the eye, Steve could tell she was desperately trying to seem casually uninterested. She leaned against the banister, eyes trying to cling to his own but she kept taking glances at his sweatshirt. She knew. She knew he went into the closet, that he saw Eddie’s half. He kept eye contact, knew she would crack eventually, especially as she fidgeted more and more.

She glanced past the stairs, into the living room before darting her eyes back to Steve’s, then the door behind her. The other two groups would be back any minute.

She stepped forward, dropping the façade of ignorance, and put a hand on his arm.

“Ask him when the kids leave, okay?” she whispered, glancing down at the sweatshirt again. He nodded. He’d ask tonight, when the house was cleared and silent, and they were wrapped in the compelling embrace of the darkness. It was always easier to speak honestly at night, whether it was the calm brought by the silence or the dark that obscured your vision, it didn’t feel as vulnerable. It felt safe, like the darkness itself could keep your secrets. He’d wait until then to talk to Eddie.

—

More midnight talks on the horizon for our boys, but next up is figuring out what the fuck that weird tree is doing

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou @1-8oo-wtfbro @grimmfitzz

[jumexju]

REQ !! : Can you write a denji drabble/fic where denji sees readers SH scars and comforts them? if this makes you uncomfortable please ignore!!

COLUMBA

Pairing !! : Denji / Reader

Fic Type !! : One-Shot, Comfort, Fluff

CW !! : Mentions of self harm scars & depression.

Summary !! : Denji comforts you after seeing your scars.

Note !! : Depression/Self Harm scars shouldn't make anyone uncomfortable, we should accept people with their scars and not despite them. This blog will always be a safe space for my fellow depressed and anxious ppl.. ❤︎

✦ MASTERLIST

“_____?” 

You turned to look at Denji who was sitting at the edge of your bed, his eyes looking at you with curiosity. “Yeah?” 

“What are those?” the blond asked, getting up from the bed and walking towards you. You were in the middle of fixing your hair, wondering what he was talking about. 

“What d’you mean?” You looked around wondering what he could’ve been talking about. You were still looking until he softly took your arm in his warm hands and ran his fingers along the prominent lines on your skin. 

“These.” His honey eyes inspected the healed wounds, wondering how it is that you’d acquired them. 

It was then that you were reminded of your past. The moments in which you felt completely swallowed by the dark shadow of emptiness and solitude. “Oh.” You hadn’t meant for him to see them yet. It was hot so you had absentmindedly took off your sweater, completely forgetting about your scars. How could you explain it to him? 

Would he think they were ugly? 

What would he think of you now if he knew your past? 

“They’re scars,” You sighed, allowing him to see them instead of pulling your arm away from him. 

A look of curiosity flared upon his face, “Where’d you get ‘em? In a fight?” He seemed to think they were cool.. If only he knew. 

“They’re self-harm scars, I..” You looked away from his eyes and down at your arm. You couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he realized. “I did them.” 

Denji’s brows knit together, “You cut.. Yourself?” He tilted his head a little, struggling to understand. “How come?” 

“I was in a bad place, mentally. I felt like that was the only thing I could do..” You tried to explain it to him but you wondered whether he would understand. “I still feel the urge sometimes, but I don’t do it anymore though-” 

“You can come to me if you ever feel like that y’know? I don’t mind.” Denji’s amber eyes met yours, his hands holding yours while he assured you of this. You smiled a little and pulled him into a hug. Honestly, Denji felt bad that you had gone through all that, growing up the way that he did — he could empathize with you. Many times he wondered if he’d ever get out of the slums, but now that he had, he knew that there was hope. 

He only hoped that you had found the same hope now. “If you ever feel like doin’ it again jus’ come t’me, okay?”  You nodded and pulled apart from him before gazing into his eyes. 

“You really don’t think they’re.. Ugly?” 

A look of confusion washed across his face, “Ugly? Hell nah..! I actually think they’re kinda cool,” He smiled when he heard your chuckle in response to his words. 

“Cool? How?” 

“Well, they’re kinda like battle scars if y’think about it,” he smiled, his pointy shark teeth shining at you. He wasn’t always this optimistic but you could tell he wanted to make you feel better about your scars. 

“You don’t think they’re a little.. Off putting?” 

He shook his head, “They’re part of you n’ I care about all of ya, I ain’t gonna hate them jus’ cuz you were goin’ through a hard time!’ His warm words reassured you. Truly, Denji was being genuine. You could feel it through his words and the things he said. 

You could feel it through this moment. 

Denji hoped that his words were enough. That you could feel what he was saying and receive it well. He could never hate you for things that you couldn’t control. Maybe he was a little stupid at times, but he always knew the right things to say to you. 

He could always comfort you when you needed it.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Demons

A/N: I'm baaacckkkkk, I was inspired by a tik tok about how dangerous the winter solstice is, and how the veil between this world and the next is thinnest this time of year. So, in honor of my previous spooky Nat fic, I wrote this :) Hope you all enjoy! Listen to Demons by Hayley Kiyoko if you're feeling jazzy. Image is from pintrest not mine, credit goes to the creator!

Summary: The darkest night of the year harbors dangerous creatures, and you find yourself in a precarious situation when Natasha returns after a month of radio silence...

Warnings: Uhhhh lesbian sex (duh), blood (minimal), dark! Wanda & dark! Natasha (not super dark just spooky) , slight horror themes, porn w plot, fingering (r receiving, Wanda receiving), oral (r giving & receiving, nat giving). Lmk if I missed anything, this was a long one and I wouldn't be surprised if I did tbh.

Word Count: 3.5K

Autumn departed in a long drawn-out battle, temperate weather ebbed into freezing winds and biting blizzards. Bare tree branches scraped against your window, and the leaves have long fallen to be replaced with icicles and heavy snow. Dried herbs and pickled goods littered your minimal counter and cabinet space, casting strange shadows in the dark. You sat in a small armchair near your fireplace, a book splayed open on your lap. The scent of bitternut hickory logs burning filled the space, mingling with the dried herbs and the soup you’d prepared earlier.

Your cat purred as she slept by the fireplace, her paws kneading the air. Your cozy cabin felt lonelier than ever during this holiday season, your only company was the cat. This solitude had never bothered you before, but after Natasha had slipped into your life and just as easily slunk out of your life, you found yourself feeling lonely. Your nightly visitor had stopped visiting, and you found yourself missing her company. After her last visit on All Hallow’s Eve, she stopped coming, and your fears were confirmed. Natasha wasn’t a townie who was visiting your isolated home, she was something else entirely. A true creature of the night, bound by ancient laws to restrict the havoc she could bring to the secular world. 

Deep down, you had always known this was the case, her glowing eyes, sharp fangs, and claws hidden under a vague disguise gave her away. You shouldn’t miss her, she was not yours to keep, and she likely hadn’t thought about you since that final encounter. But you thought of her constantly, every night you spent between cold sheets with your fingers buried in your heat you thought of her. You closed your book, eyebrows knitting together at the memory of her body slotting against yours, the chorus of your moans filling your quiet cabin. The book clattered to the ground as you stood quickly from your chair. A log in the fireplace popped loudly, but your cat continued to purr, her flank rising steadily with each tiny breath. You ground your teeth as your eyes flickered around your tiny cabin, taking stock of the herbs you had grown and gathered. 

It wasn’t enough. You hadn’t been prepared for All Hallow’s which is why you felt so tormented. Mere days separated you from the Winter Solstice, a time when the veil between worlds was thinnest. It was the popular belief that Halloween or Samhain was the most dangerous night of the year. But those people would be sorely mistaken, the true danger lies in the darkest night of the year which occurs on the Winter Solstice, a time when sun deities are said to have died. You were counting on Natasha’s return on this night, but you needed boundaries this time. You flew into a frenzy, throwing open cabinets and lighting beeswax candles as you rummaged through your stores. It became apparent that you would have to run into town for mistletoe and yule logs. There was little you could do tonight, so you set about pacing your cabin as you made a mental list of what needed to be done. 

________

As the first rays of sun filtered through your window, you were already dressed and stepping out the door. You hurried into your beaten pickup truck, allowing the ancient vehicle to warm up as you double-checked your list. One full day of sunlight stood between you and the darkest night, between you and Natasha meeting once more. Of course, this was all provided she wanted to see you, a thought that made your stomach swirl with anxiety. Once the truck was warm enough you slowly drove through the powdery snow, navigating your way through the precarious roads.

Once in town, you checked off each item, leaving nothing to chance. You were back in your cabin, unloading sprigs of mistletoe and hauling yule logs into your home. You tethered the mistletoe above every threshold and sprinkled some salt down for good measure. A large chunk of beef was simmering in bone broth on your stove, the aroma overpowering the scent of smoke and herbs. The berries you had preserved were bubbling in a mixture of lemon juice, water, and sugar, well on their way to becoming a fine jam. A feast for yourself would be ready by dark, which wasn’t far away, and maybe if you were feeling generous, you’d welcome a guest. 

The afternoon slipped by and you watched the sun set as you placed your jam in jars, the scent of freshly baked bread threatening to overwhelm the scent of the stew. It was the proper way to fend off spirits, a warm meal, salt covering thresholds, and mistletoe dangling above every doorway. Most would surely pass you by, but you were praying that one wouldn’t. As you sat out plates and poured yourself a glass of wassail, the heady scent of cider and cloves filled your nose as you brought the steaming cup to your lips. The flames of your candles licked at the air, occasionally spitting plumes of smoke into the still air. The sky outside was like crushed black velvet with studded diamonds sprinkled across its surface. You found yourself enamored with the vision of perfect constellations, the heat of your drink seeping into your calloused palms. 

Just as you began to think about sitting down to eat your meal, there was a soft yet demanding knock on your door. Any feeling of warmth or comfort left your body as gooseflesh rose to the surface of your flesh. You sat your cup down softly and carefully crossed the room, pausing in front of the door, trying not to grin like an idiot. 

“Hello?” Your voice was mistreated, rough from not speaking often. Your porch creaked under the weight of whatever was on the other side of your door. 

“Let me in.” The voice was unfamiliar, your smile dropped from your face, eyes widening as a cold sweat broke out all over your body. It was feminine and sultry but it certainly was not Natasha. 

“No.” Your breathing picked up as you staggered backward, and a soft malicious chuckle filled your ears as if the creature was right behind you. You spun around only to find your crackling fireplace with your cat batting a ball of yarn innocently across the floor. Another slow rhythmic knock rang through the cabin. 

“Come on, don’t be scared.” The creature sang between knocks, followed by a soft scratching sound. 

“Little witch I know you’re home.” You struggled to maintain your breathing as the scratches grew louder. 

“You must be so lonely in there. I can help you.” The scratches stopped, the porch creaked, and the hinges on your door groaned. Carefully, you stepped closer to the door, call it a morbid curiosity. You pressed your body against the door, your ear on the smooth wood as you listened intently. 

“Speak to me.” A wispy voice rang through the wood, she was also pressed against the door, and the vision of a beautiful woman just on the other side filled your mind. Subconsciously, your disloyal fingers wrapped around the brass knob, turning it a quarter before a searing heat burned your palm. 

You yelped loudly and laughter rang through your cabin, a sadistic sound that made your blood freeze. You stepped back again, nearly tripping over the ball of yarn as you sank into your chair. 

“I won’t leave until you open this door.” The voice grew stern and you felt a tear slip past your lashes, the fear encompassing you. Between shaky breaths, you gathered yourself before throwing another yule log onto the fire. The ashes swirled as the logs popped and snapped because of the blistering heat. Your stew was growing cold, the forgotten glass of wassail sat on your counter, and the creaks of the creature outside grew louder and more impatient with each passing minute. 

“Let me in.” The voice sounded tired and frustrated as it continued to plead, a pitiful scratch followed the request. 

“I won’t!” You shouted into the brisk night air, and the creature hummed. 

“You will.” The creature growled and the candles you’d lit flickered out, leaving you in darkness. Your cat yowled before racing into your bathroom, the clatter of things falling led you to believe she had jumped into your shower. The pounding on the door was louder now, more demanding, you covered your ears and curled into yourself, tucking your legs to your chest in fear. Suddenly the pounding stopped, the porch creaked again, and then you could discern a second set of footsteps. 

“I told you to wait.” Natasha. 

“I couldn’t help myself Natty.” The other voice sounded soft and playful. 

“You’ll have your turn.” Natasha hissed and you nearly flew to the door to open it at the sound of her voice. 

“Natasha!” You screamed and their hushed voices stopped. The darkness seemed to heighten your senses, you swore you could hear them both breathing heavily on the other side of the door. 

“Let me in darling.” Natasha turned the doorknob impatiently and you paused, recalling the salt and mistletoe. You kicked the salt aside and took a deep breath, your hand resting on the brass knob as Natasha turned it once more. 

“Just you.” Your voice was shaky and brimming with fear. Natasha laughed softly and turned the knob once more. 

“Just me.” Little did you know, she was crossing her fingers between her back, her lips curled into a sinister grin as her friend hovered over her shoulder. You opened the door slowly, peeking through the crack to see Natasha standing innocently, alongside another beautiful woman. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the two. Natasha looked the same, her red hair tied back in a loose braid, green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. She looked like a vixen, her white teeth shining in the soft firelight that slipped through your cracked door. 

“This is Wanda, she won’t hurt you.” Natasha stepped aside, and you got your first good look at your tormentor. She had dark hair that hung loosely around her round face, her hands were locked together in front of her. But what truly caught your attention was her face, her eyes were green like Natasha’s but they were wider, more doe-eyed. She had full pink lips that curled into a grin as she noticed your prolonged stare. 

“It’s freezing out here.” Natasha hinted at you to let them in, making a show of rubbing her hands together. 

“Come in.” You threw all inhibitions to the wind as you let the door swing open and stepped aside. The two stepped in quickly and you shut the door behind them, Natasha paused under the mistletoe, reaching up to tap it lightly. The bundle of leaves swung with the disturbance and you watched it, swallowing thickly as Natasha turned her attention to you. Wanda stood looking into your fire, her neck craning down as she watched the flames lick the logs. 

“How festive,” Natasha murmured, reaching out and cupping your face and you found yourself leaning into her touch, despite the coolness of her palms and the sharpness of her claws. 

“I missed you.” You whispered as she touched her forehead to yours, red whisps of hair slipping from her braid as she did so. 

“I’m here,” Natasha spoke softly, her lips brushing yours as she did so, her thumb brushing over your ear lobe tenderly. She leaned forward and sealed her lips with yours, setting a slow and sensual pace as her arms circled around you, pulling you flush against her. 

“Wow get a room.” Wanda scoffed, whirling around on her heel and smirking as the two of you broke apart. 

“Can we eat? I’m starving.” Wanda’s green eyes glowed in the firelight, she licked her lips and the fear that was hiding inside of you was ignited again. 

“I could eat.” Natasha shrugged, her own gaze languid but lurking beneath you could sense that familiar darkness. Something told you they weren’t talking about your stew, you slipped out of Natasha’s grasp and moved through the small space to grab your drink. You gulped down a few long sips, the auburn liquid slipping past your lips and dripping down your chin. Natasha sighed loudly, walking to Wanda and rubbing her back. 

“I’m famished.” You made eye contact with each of them, blinking slowly as the two broke into sly grins. 

“Come here, sweet girl.” Natasha crooned and you slowly padded over to her, your confidence fading with every step. Wanda bit her lip, her sharp fangs protruding as she did so. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had a forked tongue as well, maybe even a pair of leathery wings folded behind her back. Once you were an arm's length away, Natasha grabbed your wrist and reeled you in, kissing your jaw as her hands cradled the back of your neck and wrapped around your waist. Your eyes fluttered closed as you basked in Natasha’s affections, her claws scratching your back softly. 

“Give me a turn Natty.” Wanda whimpered and your eyes flew open, meeting her green ones as she placed her chin on Natasha’s shoulder. Wanda’s warm breath fanned over your lips, her long lashes batting as she watched your mouth drop open. Natasha’s lips had found your collarbone, her sharp teeth scraping against soft warm skin. 

“When I’m done, you’ll never forget who you belong to.” Natasha hissed against your skin and Wanda giggled, leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours just as Natasha broke your skin. A hot trail of blood slipped down between the valley of your breasts, staining your shirt as it blazed a trail down your body. You gasped against Wanda’s open mouth, her laughter cut through the tension as she cupped the side of our face softly.

Her lips found yours again and you honed your focus in on kissing her, your tongues mingling as your heads turned to reach deeper into one another. Meanwhile, Natasha had sunk onto her knees, resting between you and Wanda as Wanda’s own hands greedily tugged at the hem of your white blouse. Natasha was busy pulling your pants down, along with your underwear, her cold hands roaming along the expanse of your thighs. Wanda broke the kiss so she could pull your shirt off, leaving you completely exposed to the women. She groaned as she cupped your breasts, smearing your own blood across your skin as she leaned in and took a pert nipple between her teeth, biting down softly. You threw your head back and arched into her, Natasha’s finger traced along your labia, smearing your arousal as she watched you and Wanda from below. 

“Fuck, you look so perfect like this, covered in blood, being such a good girl for us.” Natasha groaned as she sunk a finger into your heat. You whimpered, your hand clutching the back of Wanda’s head as you struggled to meet Natasha’s gaze. Wanda switched breasts, her green eyes lidded as she savored you, her cold hands skating along your sides. Natasha’s own lips latched onto your neglected clit, suckling softly as Wanda returned to your lips, kissing you deeply. Natasha added another finger, slowly curling her digits to massage the rough spot inside of you that she knew drove you crazy. Your knees buckled and you nearly lost your balance, Natasha chuckled as Wanda steadied you, her fingers digging into your shoulders. Natasha continued her ministrations, feeling your pussy clench down on her fingers as Wanda stripped off her clothes. 

“Nat, please. I need you so bad.” You whimpered as Natasha’s fingers picked up their pace, her thumb finding your clit once more. Wanda was nearly nude now, her teeth shimmering in the firelight as she leaned in to place fiery kisses along the column of your throat, your head was thrown back in ecstasy. The tight knot in your stomach was becoming unbearable, and the ache between your legs seemed insatiable. Natasha’s fingers held a brutal pace, the loud noise of her fingers sinking into your cunt spurring her on. Wanda’s fingers found your neglected clit, nearly matching the pace that Natasha had set. 

“Go ahead sweet girl, come for us.” Wanda bit down on your ear lobe, her lips pressed against the side of your neck. That was all you needed to hear before tipping over the edge, your legs shaking as your eyes rolled back and a wave of pleasure washed over you. Natasha slowly let you come down from your high as Wanda peppered kisses across your collarbones, whispering praises as your heart rate returned to a normal rhythm. You felt like the room was spinning as Natasha cupped your chin in her hand, a smug grin smeared on her face. 

“Let's go to the bedroom huh?” Natasha’s brow raised suggestively and you hummed in agreement, eager for what was to come next. The three of you staggered into your bedroom, crowding into the queen-sized mattress that occupied most of the room. Natasha reclined against the pillows, patting the space between her legs and pointing at Wanda, who leaped at the opportunity. Wanda laid back against Natasha’s chest, her head notching between Natasha’s neck and shoulder perfectly, the sight made you jealous. You pushed your lower lip out in a pout, unsure where you were supposed to lay, what you were supposed to do. Natasha laughed, her long slender fingers skating down to stroke Wanda’s glistening pussy, Wanda moaned, burying her face into Natasha’s neck. You watched as Natasha’s fingers slipped into Wanda’s heat effortlessly, her arousal shimmering in the moonlight. 

“Come here, sweetie.” Natasha hummed and you climbed onto the bed, slowly crawling between Wanda’s legs. You rested on your elbows, watching as Natasha’s fingers slowly pumped into Wanda’s cunt. 

“Go ahead, take care of her.” Natasha withdrew her fingers, a stretchy string of Wanda’s wetness still connecting them. Wanda whined at the loss of contact, her eyes screwed shut as her hips rose from the mattress eagerly. Your mouth watered as you leaned in to place a soft kiss on her clit. Wanda sighed as your tongue lapped at her aching cunt, her hands weaving into your hair to keep you close. Your eyes remained trained on Wanda’s face, which was twisted in pleasure as Natasha’s hands roamed her body and your tongue delved into her. 

“‘m close Natty.” Wanda cried out, her hips grinding against your face as you looked at Natasha, trying to see what she wanted. Natasha nodded at you, a proud gleam in her eyes as you focused on bringing Wanda over the edge. Your fingers sank into her heat, slowly setting a steady rhythm. 

“Tell me about it, Wanda, what’s she doing to you?” Natasha asked and your cunt throbbed, as Wanda whimpered as her fingers pulled at your hair desperately. 

“S-she’s… her fingers are inside of me.” Wanda stuttered as you kept your pace, eager to bring her pleasure. 

“Go on…” Natasha sighed, her hands cupping Wanda’s breasts, her fingers pinching her nipples. Wanda gasped, her hips jutting off of the bed and pressing into your mouth. You moaned into her, your mouth watering as you continued to eat her out. 

“Natty please, I’m so very close, please let me come.” Wanda yelped as your teeth scraped against her sensitive bud. You felt her clench down on your fingers, her leg twitching as her orgasm built up inside her. 

“Go ahead Wanda, come for us, baby.” Natasha hissed into Wanda’s ear and the woman screeched, her thighs clamping down around your head, her fingers pulling at your hair as she rode out her high. You sighed contently as her body shook with tremors, you gave her clit one last kitten lick before departing and she whimpered, at the stimulation. 

“Come here,” Wanda spoke between pants and you crawled up her body, your head spinning as she reeled you in for a searing kiss. 

“How did she taste (Y/n)?” Natasha’s hand rubbed your back languidly and you broke the kiss to respond. 

“Like candy.” You teased and Wanda’s nose scrunched at the jest. 

“You surprised me tonight sweet girl.” Natasha hummed, toying with a strand of your hair as you laid down on Wanda’s chest, your own fingers busying themselves in Wanda’s curls. 

“It could be like this every night….for a price,” Natasha mumbled, and Wanda chuckled darkly. 

“I might just take you up on that offer.” You sighed as Wanda’s nails traced patterns on your back. 

“Think about it, we’ll be waiting.” Your eyes slipped closed, tangled in their warmth despite the cold outside. You knew you’d wake up alone, and you knew that if you agreed to their terms, your life would change. For the better? Likely not, but you found yourself weighing your odds. You might just agree if it meant you would spend every night like this. 

Tags:

@natashaxwife

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 23 - Perfection

Dinner for three.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Very good. Now, focus on the interstitial aspects of the crystalline structure. Feel how you can weaken or strengthen the bonds through the nature of its geometric arrangement. You are seeking to locate and place pressure on the liminal spaces between the bonds. This will enable you to reinforce the foundation or shatter it."

"I see now. Yes. It is not the edges but the inner composition."

"Precisely. Now, try to win… if you can."

Eris Morn and Ikora Rey floated a few feet apart from each other in the middle of Ikora's living room inside of the Warlock Vanguard's apartments within the Tower. Their hands were outstretched. Between them, a sphere of Stasis was simultaneously forming and being dissipated as each one attempted to gently undo the work of the other's manipulation of the entropic forces they had manifested between them.

It was an exercise that the Drifter and Eris had practiced together on Europa, taught to them by Elsie Bray. Eris was now using it to teach Ikora some of the finer points of Stasis wielding.

Ikora's living room was half library, half dining area, with three of its four walls covered in immaculately arranged bookshelves.

The two women hovered in the air over a large woven rug with an intricate pattern. The rug covered one half of the floor. The other half of the floor was hardwood, a luxury few in the Last City could afford. In the middle of that half of the room, a beautifully carved dining table was set for three, with a lit candelabra in the centre, fine china, and long stemmed wine glasses.

Through an archway there was a loud sizzling sound and the occasional clatter of pans and cooking. The Drifter had taken over Ikora's kitchen for the evening.

Ikora's half of the Stasis sphere seemed to be overtaking Eris' but the Warlock had known Eris long enough to assume her three-eyed friend would not lose so easily.

"Alright, alright, alright," the Drifter stepped out of the kitchen, his hands covered in oven mitts with beautiful purple embroidery on them.

"Oooh! You're doing the take over the world thing! That's fun." He walked over to where Ikora was floating and looked up at the sphere.

"Uh oh, Ray-ray. You're about to lose."

"Am I?" Ikora asked idly.

"Uh… yup. You're too focused on the outside. Ya left your middle undefended. She can just…"

Ikora's eyes narrowed. Three cracks appeared across her side of the structure. The Warlock concentrated, trying to knit them together.

"…do that. Now you're screwed. Ya can't recover from that."

The corner of Eris' lip quirked as one third of the sphere shattered, causing a chain reaction which reduced the rest of the structure to small shards. The shards fell down onto the carpet where they glittered prettily like glass beads in the light as they slowly began to dissipate.

"Eris is a very aggressive player," the Drifter explained. "Ya can't over extend or she'll get right in there. And she's super fast too. As soon as ya start goin' in for the kill, that's when she springs, like a steel trap. Gotta go heavy on the defense with Three-Eyes or she'll pop ya right open just like that."

"I see." Ikora slowly descended to the floor.

"You are giving away all my secrets, Rat." Eris said as she, too, began floating toward the floor.

"Ya beat the pants offa me enough times before I figured that one out. She needs every advantage she can get. Speakin' of, can I interest you two badasses in fortifyin' yourselves for your next battle with dinner?"

"Yes," Eris answered immediately, walking toward the table. "We've been smelling it for the past hour."

"Sit yourselves down and I'll bring it right out."

Ikora sat at the head of the table with Eris to her side. The Drifter was back quickly, carrying the only kitchen implement he insisted upon bringing with him to Ikora's apartment: His cast iron frying pan. A loud hissing was coming from the pan, along with considerable smoke.

The rogue Lightbearer pulled out tongs he'd shoved handle-first into a pocket and placed a sizzling steak on each plate. Then he circled back to each plate in turn, drizzling the hot liquid from the pan onto the meat and placing several crisped herbs on top of each portion.

Eris's eyes dimmed slightly as she inhaled deeply, leaning over her plate.

"Now don't touch it for six minutes."

"What?" Eris's eyes flared bright again. "Why?"

"Because the meat needs to nap first."

"That is ridiculous."

"Trust me on this one. It's gotta take a little nap on your plate before ya cut into it or it won't be as good."

"Surely this is simply for dramatics."

Ikora sat back in her chair and watched them bicker with a bemused smile.

"No. It's not for dramatics. If it was for dramatics I'd be telling you somethin' like…"

He held the empty pan out and waved the tongs over it with a flourish as he spoke while deliberately looking off to the side with his eyes closed.

"Do ya feel the eerie movements of the dead animal's life force skitterin' around as I do… in the delirium between death and life, it broods upon yer plate… Knowin' you are about to consume it into yer vicious hungry maws… devourin' its flesh to take its power and infuse it inta yer own. Ooooh Oooohhhh!" He shivered in an exaggerated manner.

Ikora burst out laughing.

Eris stiffened. "I do not sound like that."

"Well now I didn't say ya did. I was just showin' what it would be if I was bein' dramatic, Moondust. Not everything's about you."

Eris turned to Ikora. "Do I sound like that?"

Ikora covered her mouth with her hand. "Sometimes a little bit."

Eris glared up at the Drifter. He spread his arms out wide and leaned across the table, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Six minutes," he insisted. "You! Ghost!"

A single tone came from Eris' pocket.

"Time that."

The tone came again.

"Now don't cheat, Three-Eyes." He pointed at her with the tongs. "I'll be right back."

"I am not the one who cheats," she called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Ikora laughed again.

As promised the Drifter returned almost immediately, carrying one of Ikora's pans filled with buttery golden mushrooms. He placed a heap of them on top of the steak on each plate before making two more trips to the kitchen. The Drifter brought back long green beans in some sort of sauce and small roasted potatoes tossed with herbs, placing them around the steaks on each plate with the tongs. On his third trip he returned with an opened bottle of red wine.

"It smells so good." Eris murmured as the Drifter sat, picking up Ikora's glass and filling it half way with wine.

Then he stopped. He tilted his head before lifting the glass up and down in his hand, feeling its weight, and then holding it up to examine it carefully near the candle flames.

"Ooooh."

He placed the wine bottle down and reached out with his other hand to lightly flick the side of the glass. It made a pleasant chiming sound.

"You hear that?" he asked Eris.

"Yes," Eris looked across the table at him, confused.

"This is actual crystal." he said. He looked over at Ikora, clearly impressed.

"Yes, it is." Ikora said warmly.

"I do not understand," Eris regarded him, perplexed at his behaviour. "What is the difference?"

"Well, it's thinner," the Drifter explained as he finished pouring wine into Ikora's glass and reached out for Eris'. "More delicate, but also heavier, and the sound."

He flicked Eris' glass, It was empty and made a higher pitched sound.

"I heard. Does it have a… different chemical composition from glass?"

"Yeah. Lead maybe? I can't remember."

"Lead, yes." Ikora confirmed.

"This stuff hasn't been made in a very, very long time." He filled Eris' glass with wine and handed it to her. "This is old-old. Rare. I knew Vanguard would be high-class, but damn."

"It was a gift," Ikora explained. "I do not use them often. Eris said you were excited to cook something special for us. It seemed appropriate to bring out the fancy glasses."

"I wish I'd brought a fancier wine." He filled his own glass and placed the bottle on the table, holding the glass up to the light and looking at it. "Damn!"

The Drifter's ghost emitted its single tone from Eris' pocket.

The Drifter placed his wine glass down on the table and held up both his hands to show Eris and Ikora that they were empty. He wriggled his fingers and snapped both his hands with an exaggerated movement that flicked his wrists to the sides. A fork and knife materialized seemingly out of nowhere.

"Show time," the Drifter announced and began cutting into the meat on his plate.

Ikora raised one amused eyebrow and mentally reminded herself to count the fancy glasses after the Drifter had left. He wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't. It would upset Eris and he would not do that. But still… it was him…

Eris picked up her cutlery and eagerly cut off a piece of steak, putting it into her mouth. Her eyes dimmed as she chewed. Her usual slightly frowning expression began to shift, the corners of her lips lifting involuntarily into a smile as the Drifter watched her from his side of the table, a mixture of pride and delight on his face.

"Iss… so good." Eris mumbled through her mouthful of steak.

One of the system's most notorious criminals looked almost bashful as his eyes turned toward the Vanguard spymaster, seeking her approval of the meal.

Ikora finished chewing the small bite of steak she had sliced for herself and took a sip of wine. The Drifter licked his lips.

"It is. It is very good." Ikora confirmed and smiled at him.

The Drifter's face was downright gleeful as he grinned and took a bite of his own. "Oh yeah," he said out of the side of his mouth while he chewed it slowly. "This right here? This is what perfection tastes like. This. Right here. Right now." He swallowed and sipped his wine before repeatedly skewering mushroom slices on his fork until they formed a small frilly mouthful which he proceeded to devour.

"I am inclined to agree," Ikora said warmly and continued slicing her food into small pieces, taking polite and careful bites, her elbows off the table.

The Drifter reached his left arm out along the table and Eris did the same with her right, idly sliding her fingers into his hand in an automatic way that made it clear they did this all the time.

Ikora watched them as she sipped her wine, seeing the genuine adoration on the Drifter's face as he seemed to have difficulty looking away from Eris for any length of time. Meanwhile Eris moved with a comfortable ease that Ikora had not seen her display in a very, very long time. The Warlock felt like a weight was lifting off of her the more she watched them.

Eris was happy. She was sitting at Ikora's dinner table in civilian clothes. The top half of her face was still bandaged, albeit with a nicer cloth than she wore on the Moon. Her three Hive eyes still dripped ichor down her cheeks in endless tears, but Ikora saw parts of the Eris she had known centuries ago returning beneath them.

"This is one of them perfect moments you were talkin' about, Moondust," the Drifter said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, almost reverent, as he chewed his steak.

"Hmmm…?"

"This, right now. Good food. Good friends. Fancy as fuck wine glasses."

Both Eris and Ikora smirked at the honesty in his crudeness.

"This one of those times we file away in our brains and keep. Somethin' special to hold onto when shit gets bad. A good memory for when things are makin' it so you can't remember what feelin' good feels like. This is one of those times you keep in your back pocket and hold close so you can remind yourself that good things do actually happen sometimes. That they did actually happen to you. That it's possible they can happen to you again."

Eris squeezed his hand. "Yes. It is."

She reached out with her left hand and opened it in front of Ikora. Ikora placed her own well manicured fingers between Eris' calloused ones, noting how cool her skin was to the touch, how firmly Eris gripped her hand, and how contented the sigh was that left Eris' lips.

There was movement out of the corner of her eye and Ikora looked away from Eris in surprise to see the Drifter's open hand tentatively reached out toward her. He did not make eye contact with her and continued to look at Eris. He was holding his breath.

Ikora raised an eyebrow but took the criminal's hand in hers as well, feeling the warmth coming from him. It was, she realized, the first time she and the Drifter had ever physically touched each other. Ikora watched as a small, almost shy smile overtook his face.

The three of them sat like that together, simply feeling the moment in quiet appreciation. They did not stay that way for long, but it felt significant. Purposeful. A deliberate choice to share in a silent communion. There was weight to it and all three of them felt it. It felt right.

And then the Drifter gave both Eris and Ikora's hands a quick squeeze before once more picking up his fork and knife to continue eating. His eyes sparkled in delight as though he had just unexpectedly won a priceless treasure at a game of chance. Perhaps he had.

Ikora continued to hold Eris's hand, delighting in the small genuinely happy smile on her face.

The Warlock Vanguard reached out with her free hand and raised her wine glass.

"To perfect moments."

Three crystal glasses clinked together in the middle of the table, each with different levels of wine, causing them to ring out with three separate but pleasingly harmonized tones.

"Hey! That's like… downright musical," the Drifter said with a grin.

"You had to have done this on purpose. There's no way for it to have harmonized that precisely. You poured the wine."

"No!" he laughed. "I didn't do anything. Trust. It just happened like that."

"It's true," Ikora said. "I have been sipping mine. It was unintentional, but… beautiful."

"Yeah! I guess.. I guess sometimes things just… work out." The Drifter's voice trailed off as he spoke, as though he was surprising himself with what was coming out of his own mouth.

"Yes," Ikora smiled. "Sometimes they do."

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[vestrix]

I'm getting increasingly annoyed at content claiming to be about hoarding and dealing with hoarding when it's not at all. At best it's disorganised clutter, at worst it's someone chasing minimalism.

An ACTUAL tip for fellow hoarders from a hoarder trying to do a downsize for a future move without overly triggering the "re-acquire at greater levels" response: You've got to start so early.

I'll move probably in September. I started in February.

My daily goal: Get rid of (charity, barter, bin) 3 objects a day. 2 easy, one harder. If I bin the harder, it counts for all 3 objects. I can go over the amount if I'm on a roll, but if afterward I'm looking at online shopping or thinking about acquiring more items, I pause for a few days.

I try to battle that anxiety by going through stuff in my collection for Fun, like rediscovering my objects I love, triggering those good feelings I get from my stuff, in an attempt to curb the urge to Get More by provoking that hit with stuff I already have. It's partially successful, honestly, and if I do end up buying stuff, I try to make sure I buy consumables. Food, a bathbomb, a scented candle, something I will use up. Or, I try to make sure what I buy is physically 'less' than what I got rid of, smaller / lighter / takes up less space.

Again, it's a battle against a brain which is having a panic response. There's only so much I can do.

But it DOES get easier to get rid of things when you go slowly, it's a muscle and an anxiety response and both need to be practiced, flexed, and rested. I've made a lot of physical progress and I hope mental / emotional progress, but I will always be fighting this fight, and I will always be a messy, cluttered, maximalist. It's just trying to keep it actually manageable (not what I think is manageable when I'm in denial) and where I'm happy, not overwhelmed and in distress.

Also to add, for me easy objects are never actually easy, but they're things I can rationally say are trash, or I don't like them, or I'm never going to use them, even if my Feelings are saying different.

These objects might be half a bottle of conditioner I didn't like, or a half used bottle of ketchup past its sell by date (which still looks fine), or a pen which only sometimes works now, or a tupperware which had gotten really mouldy and now I'm too nervous to use.

That's what I mean when I say "easy" objects. I am still anxious getting rid of those items, but they're less likely to haunt me.

Harder objects are things like a pair of shoes which are broken and don't fit me. A half knitted doll jumper which is the wrong size and I won't ever frog. A broken computer mouse. I don't make the rules about what is easy or hard in my brain, it often makes little rational sense, but it's usually based on (perceived) value, sentiment, or just liking the object even if it's in an unusable state.

That's the sort of stuff hoarders battle with.

Also, I'm begging you, if you're a content creator PLEASE stop calling things hoarding when they're not. Hoarding has clearly defined markers that need to be met, please be aware of these.

[vyuntspakhkite-l-darling]

(Another) Self Indulgent Infodump- The Freedom Army

The Freedom Army is a group of radicals who are seeking independence from the Empire of Kristalya. It’s generally debated whether they technically qualify as an army, given that it lacks a ranking system (and organization in general) as well as funding, although they have received aid from the Selvarish government in the form of weapons, rations, and three deployed regiments.

Instead of using a ranking system like most professional armies, the Freedom Army primarily operates on reputation— that is, people will listen to you if they feel like you’re trustworthy and knowledgeable enough to listen to, with the exception of camp leaders, who everybody has to listen to.

More info below the cut because this is pretty long

Teams/fireteams These are small, tight-knit groups of 3-5 soldiers. These teams share a living space and are sent out to fight together. Fireteams are not assigned unless someone specifically asks to be assigned to one. They usually form naturally in the first few weeks or months that someone is at a FA camp, and they just have to be approved by a camp leader. Once a (mission or cleanup) fireteam is approved, they decide their roles. The only real requirement is that at least one member of the team does extra training as a medic, but usually they also try to have someone train more specifically in CQC and another person in stealth.

Mission teams These are fireteams that have been approved by their camp leaders for field work. These are the ones that get sent out to actually fight. They act carefully and precisely, as numbers are not even close to being on the FA’s side, so full out battles are avoided at all costs. After staying alive, mission teams’ goal is to kill as many nationalist soldiers if they can, by whatever means necessary. Generally, attacks are focused on small, less guarded villages, with the goal of clearing them of nationalist military presence and gaining control over the area.

Cleanup teams Cleanup teams can be either cleared or uncleared for field work. They trail behind mission teams and don’t intervene in fighting unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. The job of these teams is to go in after mission teams deem it safe and ‘clean up,’ which involves these things (in order of vague priority) - Tending to any FA soldiers that need and haven’t already received assistance - Finishing off any nationalist soldiers that aren’t quite dead - Taking buttons from clothes - Grabbing bladed weapons, small guns, and ammunition - Taking other usable materials like clothes and food - Taking anything else they think is useful and can fit in their packs

Scouting teams Scouting teams are trained differently from mission and cleanup teams. Most of these are composed primarily of nationalist defectors and people who are too disabled for actual combat. These teams are rotating 24/7– if they’re not sleeping or eating, they’re probably out patrolling camp borders, scoping out nearby towns, etc.. Their job is to search for vulnerabilities in enemy forces and notify the camp leaders so people can be sent out to fight.

There are also a few dedicated medical teams that nobody likes because they do jack shh all day. These teams are almost always kept free of chores so they can respond as fast as possible in an emergency.