#metal remembers- foam forgives

[foldingfittedsheets]

Another mattress question!

I've been getting a lot of ads for Big Fig mattresses which are supposedly made for heavier people. As a fat person, having a mattress that I don't wear out or completely break within a couple of months would be ideal, honestly. Do you know anything about this brand, or have any additional recs for a mattress for a fat person and their rather average weight partner?

I did get one testimonial on the brand from someone who likes theirs a lot. Looking over specs it seems like it has a solid coil count. The two things that give me pause- you can’t try before buying- I really distrust mattresses that you can’t lay on first.

The second thing that gives me pause is the lack of padding. Will foam break down faster under weight? Somewhat. But memory foam not so much and bigger people still need some padding.

You can add a topper but commercially available foams aren’t as good as what goes into most beds and that means you’ll just be swapping toppers out more frequently as cheap foam gives out on you.

[scenezfreak]

nah ik i already dropped a req so forgive me and banish me if you have to BUT ! metalhead jeff who does your eyeliner.. JUST HEAR ME OUTTT

he’s got you straddling his lap, chains jingling off his pants and heavy metal playing and bouncing off the walls as he makes you get real close so he can make it look perfect. a hand on your hip, subtly pushing you down onto the hardening cock in his pants every once in a while as his other works diligently at applying the eyeliner and when he finishes he cant help but put it to the test, fucking you so hard that tears fall down your face making the eyeliner streak down your cheeks and he definitely takes a photo after you’ve been fucked dumb to keep in his wallet later

*foams from the mouth* ABSOLUTELY ‼️🙏

Metalhead Jeff fucking f!reader stupid

Warnings: Mean Jeff, rough sex, cream pie, mentions of breeding, picture taking, hair pulling, choking, biting

NOT PROOF READ, MINORS DNI

Sitting on his lap trying to be careful as to not mess up the eyeliner he’s putting on you. His hand resting on your hip while his other one carefully does your eyeliner. The music blaring in the background as Jeff caresses your hip pulling you closer, accidentally grinding you over his clothed cock, the chains on his ripped jeans jingling in the process.

You shudder trying to be still and nice for Jeff while he makes you prettier. You feel yourself get wet when his hand on your hip pushes you down, making you grind against him once more. “Jeff-“”Shut up, you’re going to make me mess up.” He cut you off, you sit still, trying not to anger him.

You can feel him go slower, teasing you. You almost groan in annoyance. Soon he puts the eyeliner down and turn his head back to you, grabbing your face with one hand, his spiky bracelet almost scrapping you in the process. He gets closer, examining you. “My pretty doll.” He says before turning over and shoving you onto the bed. “I can’t wait to see it run down your pretty little face” he says as he climbs over you.

Turning you over onto your stomach and lifting your hips, quickly pulling down your skirt and underwear. “I’m gonna fuck you until you’re too stupid to remember your own name.” Pulling out his cock and stroking it while he rubs between your puffy folds. “Soaked already? Dumb whore.” He pulls his hands away and you whine when he gives your ass a harsh slap.

Grabbing your hair and pulling you back a bit he says, “make sure to be nice and loud for me, doll. If I can’t hear you over the music then you’re not cumming.” He lets go and you fall back down, ass raised for him. He lines up and pushes in and starts thrusting, not waiting for you to adjust. He grabs your hips, his black painted nails digging in to your skin. You jolt from his sudden movement and moan out his name along with a curse. “F-fuck Jeff-“

“That’s it doll, moan for me like the slut you are.” His thrusts getting faster, the head of his cock kissing your womb. You can’t stop moaning, your thoughts filled with him and his cock inside of you. He bends over to thrust in faster, his long black hair falling over his face. You can hear him subtly growling, the feeling of your tight cunt is just too good for him. Fucking you balls deep as he’s holding onto you for dear life, you’re definitely going to have bruises on your body.

You shiver when you feel Jeff bite into the crook of your neck, drool spilling from his cut smile and some of it smearing onto you. He has one hand on your hip and the other wrapped around your neck. Your mind was foggy and you couldn’t think clearly, tears streamed down your face, your makeup streaming down with it. Your eyes roll back as he thrusted in harder. “Gonna fuckin’ breed your tight pussy.” He rubbed his hand that was on your hip over your abdomen, pressing down.

That made the coil inside of you snap and you came all over his thick cock, forming a creamy ring around the base of his cock. He raised back up and continued to pound into you, overstimulating you causing you to cry from it, makeup getting ruined more. He finally stills, cumming deep inside of you, his hot cum spilling into your womb. He quickly grabs the Polaroid camera from the nightstand and grabs your hair to lift your and takes a picture of your fucked out face. He smirks to himself, pulling his pants up and shaking the Polaroid then looking at the final image before putting it in his wallet for later use.

If you like stories similar to this go check out @endious 🫶🏻

[pearl-kite]

So I came to the realization today that I am not going to get anymore work on this trunk done this year. I still need to finish stripping the paper inside and redoing that, but it's just. Not happening until spring. With that realization, I decided it's time to finally bring it back inside, put all the junk on my floor that used to be in it back in it, and guys

It looks good.

This is going to be a summary post of the project, so let's go back and remember what I started with. Back in, like, 2015 or something, I bought this dome-top steamer trunk at a missionary shop for $65

Yeah. Rough. But underneath that paint it was sturdy, and the only thing missing was the lock and the right-side hasp. While I lived overseas this sat in my parents' house, and when I got back I kept meaning to do something while storing all of my yarn and cat food in it. When I finally got my own space (almost a year ago now!) with my own garage, I finally decided: it was time.

Heads up, this is a long post under the cut.

Did a lot of research online, grew to hate how generative AI has even permeated niche topics like how to refinish a vintage steamer trunk, WHY is there generative AI for that, PLEASE stop, went to Lowe's and bought some supplies (I used Citristrip for the paint stripping, it worked VERY easily), and started stripping that hideous brown* away.

Almost instantly I could tell how good it could be. The tin looked amazing, and for most of the stripping process I wondered why on earth someone would cover it with any color. It took multiple layers of stripping, and I got better at it over time.

I did also start to see some oxidation issues with the tin that made the purpose behind the paint job a little more understandable.

One side was particularly bad, but I will never forgive the decision to paint the entire thing one single color.

At first, the flat metal seemed okay, but the longer I worked on stripping, the longer it was exposed to air, the rustier it started to get. I had already planned on coating it, and I ended up getting some Rust-Oleum Rust Reformer spray paint. Instead of removing the rust, it bonds to the oxide and stops the process from continuing. It also happens to leave it a nice matte black that didn't need additional painting. I taped everything off, then sprayed.

Then it was time for the tin. I looked for ideas, and the best one I found was Rub'n'Buff. It's not so much a paint as a pigmented wax, with the idea that you can buff it to a higher shine. As I was stripping paint, I found a spot under one of the slats that the painter missed, and the original tin had been painted a gold color, so I used that to decide on color. I decided on Grecian gold, though I used the antique gold as a kind of base to make sure the Grecian stretched far enough.

I originally started applying it with some craft foam brushes, but they didn't really want to work for me, so I ended up buying a pack of makeup sponges, the little disposable wedge ones, and the finer texture worked much better. I had to trim them down pretty frequently, because the wax would build up and stop applying as nicely, but there were more than enough in the pack to finish the job.

The coverage is amazing for this stuff. This side was the worst of them, and one layer of the stuff was almost perfect. The Grecian gold was almost a bit runnier, though, and ended up needing a second layer to cover some patches that were almost too thin, thus the other underneath.

This tin is so pretty though. I still kind of regret that it needed it; the places that weren't oxidized were so bright in a way that the Rub'n'Buff had no hope of emulating. There are some places you can still buy the embossed tin for rehabing trunks like this, but I haven't found one with a pattern quite like this, and this one is so much nicer than the ones I've seen. I'm very glad that it was all intact except for where the lock goes.

After the tin came the slats. I knew from sites like Brettun's Village that I wanted to use tung oil, so I had bought what I thought was tung oil. Turns out Minwax gets to call their tung oil finish that even though there's. No... tung oil. in it. ? So uh, if you want actual tung oil, do NOT listen to Minwax, they're lying, I don't understand why it's allowed. It still looks nice enough, but quite annoying.

Speaking of Brettun's Village, they not only do their own restorations AND provide a guide, they have a very extensive supply of recently furbished and original parts. They happened to have a nearly identical hasp to the one that was missing (so nearly identical I only noticed after my dad pointed it out) and an old lock also similar to my original, made in the late 1800s/early 1900s.

The next step was to tackle the inside. Instead of just adding more paper on top (like the last people did, so now there are two layers, one of which hides some original stickers ;3;), I decided to try to scrape that out, and I've found some structural issues that the metal and slats outside have held together and kept hidden.

The top split in the wood is an actual crack on the front that needs fixing. The middle split is just the gap between the planks. The bottom is also a crack, but not as extensive as the top one.

So the final steps, when I get the motivation again come spring, is to finish getting as much of the paper off as I can. Then my dad is going to help me use some bondo to hold the cracks, and I'll find a removable wallpaper I like. Then I can sort out what I'm going to do with the lock. That top split runs right through where the lock should go - you can see some of the wood filler we already put in from where the original was ripped out - so we can't try to put anything there or it'll crack worse.

But I brought it in today!

It looks so good, I glance over and get to feel so satisfied; I did that.

*I don't like to call any color hideous, because a lot of the time it really depends on the context, and it's an okay brown. But for THIS? It was probably the worst brown they could have picked. Mixed with the orange of the paint stripper it looked like I was scraping diarrhea.

[historicalfightingguide]

Having a variety of tools for a variety of approaches to training can be very beneficial for training historical fencing.

But also having enough money to start up training with full sparring gear and metal swords can be prohibitevely expensive for many people.

In such cases getting some foam swords and minimal protection (mask, gorget, cup, lighter gloves) can go a long way to help folks start out their fencing journey.

And if you're trying to start a club it's potentially a difference between 'tough but doable' and 'straight up impossible unless a big life change happens'.

Today there are many options for foam swords you can order online, but it can be great to be able to DIY some of it.

The above link is a finnish guide on how to do it that many high level hemaists there have used, and similar to how many larpers and sca etc. folks have made their own weapons for years back, but a bit optimized for hema purposes.

Google translate is imperfect but you should be able to understand all the general concepts and get better with follow up attempts.

Also keep in mind the first attempt once you have all the relevant materials(that are fairly cheap pretty much everywhere) it'll likely take you anywhere between 30min and 3h to finish a single foam sword.

But after a few tries you may need no more than 20min per foam sword.

These types of training tools are also great for any day where you don't want to put full regular gear on but still want to fence a bit in minimal gear. They're also great for instilling confidence in beginners to move freely, even if in full gear.

They're also more forgiving and safer if you know there's folks who struggle with control, at least a stepping stone before they're ready to fence freely with steel.

They're also slightly lighter than the steel versions so also more appropriate for beginners if you want more class time to be devoted to training skill, whether through drills, games etc. than to building physical capacity.

However even an experienced student may find them a great tool for improving timing and distance management.

Good luck and hope you all find this useful.

For anyone who hasn’t yet seen the following links:

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Some advice on how to start studying the sources generally can be found in these older posts

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Remember to check out  A Guide to Starting a Liberation Martial Arts Gym as it may help with your own club/gym/dojo/school culture and approach.Check out their curriculum too.

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Fear is the Mind Killer: How to Build a Training Culture that Fosters Strength and Resilience by   Kajetan Sadowski   may be relevant as well.

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“How We Learn to Move: A Revolution in the Way We Coach & Practice Sports Skills”  by Rob Gray  as well as this post that goes over the basics of his constraints lead, ecological approach.

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Another useful book to check out is  The Theory and Practice of Historical European Martial Arts (while about HEMA, a lot of it is applicable to other historical martial arts clubs dealing with research and recreation of old fighting systems).

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Trauma informed coaching and why it matters

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Look at the previous posts in relation to running and cardio to learn how that relates to historical fencing.

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Why having a systematic approach to training can be beneficial

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Why we may not want one attack 10 000 times, nor 10 000 attacks done once, but a third option.

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How consent and opting in function and why it matters.

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More on tactics in fencing

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Types of fencers

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Open vs closed skills

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The three primary factors to safety within historical fencing

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Worth checking out are this blogs tags on pedagogy and teaching for other related useful posts.

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And if you train any weapon based form of historical fencing check out the ‘HEMA game archive’ where you can find a plethora of different drills, focused sparring and game options to use for effective, useful and fun training.

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Check out the cool hemabookshelf facsimile project.

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For more on how to use youtube content for learning historical fencing I suggest checking out these older posts on the concept of video study of sparring and tournament footage.

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The provoker-taker-hitter tactical concept and its uses

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Approaches to goals and methodology in historical fencing

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A short article on why learning about other sports and activities can benefit folks in combat sports

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Consider getting some patches of this sort or these cool rashguards to show support for good causes or a t-shirt like to send a good message while at training.

[aidaronan]

Flowers

For my dear angst queen Andi Buttershots on her birthday (Angst, no happy ending warning) When Steve was little, his mother used to host a flower arranging club in the dining room. She'd sit there with the other women of white collar Indiana and talk about how to cut stems and which flowers were the best to display for each season.

Like most kids excluded from adult gatherings, Steve would find ways to watch. He would hide around corners or behind furniture. He spent one cramped evening folded up into the sideboard, eye against the crack while roses got turned into elegant arrangements in crystal vases.

Years later, when Hawkins split into pieces, the local florist packed up and joined the exodus out of town.

The funeral director left too, but that didn't matter. They didn't need one of those because there was no body to prepare and bury. It ate away at Steve that they'd had to leave him, that they had to leave anyone at all. But someone had to carry Dustin and somehow get him up and through a gate. And Max... They'd all been so worried about Max.

It had happened how it happened. Eddie would hopefully forgive them all. Even if they could never forgive themselves.

Maybe it was guilt then that made Dustin say it a week after the world fell apart.

"We're having a funeral."

No question, no uncertainty. Just a statement punctuated by the fierce simmering anger of early grief. Like he was daring someone--anyone--to argue so he could argue back.

No one did.

It would be a rag tag kind of thing, the dive bar concert of funerals. No one would officiate, but they all would. Quietly, Nancy told Wayne what they were doing and invited him to come. He would. Of course he would.

It only took a short discussion to decide they would do it at the school where Hellfire had met. There weren't many of Eddie's other haunts left, and if walls were like records, then there were grooves in the paint of that little room that held echoes of Eddie's spirit, of his smile, his laugh. His everything.

Maybe they could hear his soul one last time if they were quiet enough, if they held their collective breath and did everything Just Right.

That's probably why Steve found Dustin on the lawn of the Henderson house the night before, digging through the ashes, Claudia beside herself trying to get him to stop.

"He should have flowers," Dustin said. To her and to Steve. "When you die, you get fucking flowers."

It seemed the anger had cracked and given way to something deeper.

"I'll take care of it, okay?" Steve said, taking hold of Dustin's wrists, repeating himself until he heard and fell still. "I've got it. He'll have flowers, okay? He'll have them."

Together, Steve and Claudia held him until the sobs stopped. Dustin was right though. Eddie should have flowers. Flowers and a high school diploma and a life. But at least the flowers. At least those.

So it was okay, Steve decided. It was okay if he bent the rules yet another time at the end of the world. It was only a little light breaking and entering really, and he was only using things that would've wilted and died in the weeks or years before the florist returned.

That's how he found himself in the back of the flower shop. By the light of a camp lantern, he cut stems at an angle the way he remembered. He pressed those stems into wet green foam and added this and took away that, looking through everything in the defunct cooler, working tirelessly until he was satisfied enough.

For the foam and the metal easel, he left a little cash behind, figuring that had to be good enough to satisfy God or the universe. If there was anything out there to satisfy at all.

Steve hadn't been sure since Christmas of '83. Though he hoped there was somewhere broken people got to go when the wish for a long life became the certainty of too soon.

Back in his car, he caught the crackle of a walkie and Dustin's voice. "Did you do it?"

"Everything's okay, Henderson," Steve said.

It wasn't. Not by half. Not even by a quarter.

But he held one of Dustin's hands at the funeral anyway, and he listened as people carved a few more memories of Eddie Munson into the soundscape of the walls. And next to an empty throne, there were flowers.

[krolykhere]

junkrat hcs🙏🙏🙏

Please forgive me in advance for writing so much, although this is only a small part of my headcanons, btw many of these I took from other authors from various fanfics😅

So:

‌He is of European aristocratic descent on his mother's side, while on his father's side he is of Australian indigenous descent.

‌He really misses his mother, although he barely has full memories of her and remembers only motif from the lullaby she sang to little Jamie. He doesn't remember his father.

‌Since his mother was one of the commanders in the ALF, 5-year-old Jamie had the opportunity to see her comrades and colleagues, so he subconsciously remembers Roadhog.

After his mother's death, all his childhood and adolescence he lived in a shack of another family, where he was abused by his guardian. That time traumatised him pretty much + trust issues.

‌His only source of serotonin back then was engineering and experimenting with omnics leftovers and other scrap metal. His rapid and mathematical thinking has developed so much that now he has a great skill and can compete even with Symmetra. Pyromania, by the way, stuck to him in the process of learning mechanisms.

‌Junkrat made his prostheses by himself. He lost his hand while escaping from a rapist back in a foster family. His leg was later blown off while working with handmade mines.

‌Junkrat also knows a little bit of one of the local native languages.

‌Due to the violence in his childhood, constant survival in the Outback and not quite friendly place like Junkertown, Jamie has developed paranoia - on occasions he equips his sleeping place with traps, mines, in the city he tries to encrypt (although sometimes he fails🙈). Anyway, one of the reasons why he was looking for a bodyguard.

‌Now here its a matter of taste, but thanks to the fic Tis the Vermins Will, I've started to headcanon Jamie as intersex.

‌Because of the radiation, Junkrat is surprisingly one of the few people in the Outback who is fertile.

‌Despite ppl hc him who doesn't like to bathe, i see him as the one who loves to wash himself and takes every opportunity to clean up. In the Outback and Junkertown ppl have problems with water, so bathing was considered a luxury. But during the world heist Jamie started to have fun - bath bombs, bath foam, candles and other beauty products - he enjoyed every bit of those.

‌Though his workplace is always full of mess.

‌After he and Hog traveled across the world, saw different countries, cultures, fashions, etc., he slowly started to accept himself and to highlight his advantages. Before he rarely paid attention to what he was wearing, but after the world heist even Hog began to experiment with style. So Jamie wasn't far behind and started wearing more fitted clothes, adding bright colors to his look, accessories and moreover handmade charcoal shadows to make what he called "smokey-bombie-eyes".

I also saw somewhere that Junkrat is supposedly writing a book (novel), and that it's canon. However I haven't found the source, so lets say its headcanon for now. What is definitely a canon is that Jamie keeps a diary. And he actually has a quite wide vocabulary so he can speak in pretty sophisticated sentences with ease.

He obviously has ADHD.

‌Due to constant explosions, he has impaired hearing and tinitus. ‌He also suffers from both phantom pains and itching.‌

So, these were probably mostly headcanons that well known inside the community, but I hope it was at least a little entertaining to read. And also I wanted to thank you for asking - it was nice to recall all of that and share with you 💚

Actually , I have many more headcanons with Hog, Junkerqueen, but it could turn out into a giant post, so if its interesting I will post it.

[massensterben-a]

@sarukemono​ 

He barely recognized it, in the end. After all these years, after horror and hurt, after drowning in blood and gore, he finds he has forgotten everything he promised to remember. Bertholdt stands on deck, his hands clenched to fists in his pockets, and stares at the sea. The morning is gray and ugly and so is the water. Bertholdt watches as its foam-capped fingers rock the hull of the war ship, its heavy metal walls dipping down. Gulls shriek overhead, excited for the company. It doesn’t feel real, to stand here and to look at the sea. He is swimming in his own head, the exhaustion of the last days erupting in bursts, shocking his system to numbness. He cannot feel anything yet, not the elation he promised himself when he thought of this day, not even the grief he swore he would fight off when the time comes. 

Bertholdt’s thoughts are reduced to hoarse whispers, sluggish bedside conversation, murmuring over his unconscious soul. They are safe now. For now. Reiner rests in the cabin they share. Ymir has been taken away, deeper into the guts of the steaming juggernaut. Bertholdt is empty for their absence, taking what solace he must, in the knowledge that, briefly, there is no knife at their throat. He should be glad. And on a rational, objective level he is. Pieck held him so tightly, he thought she meant to wring his neck. He hasn’t seen her in so long. She mentioned his height and he weakly smiled, not knowing what else to do. There were salutes all around, greetings and ironic jokes. They gave him a blanket and something hot to drink, to take the edge off. Civilization, they tell him, has him back. Bertholdt feels like a foreign object in a closed system. He is not fast enough to mirror their gestures, to parrot their speech. Trapped between worlds, he thinks of himself as an organ about to be rejected by its host body. 

And he hears how the scalpel approaches him, prepared to perform the surgery. Bertholdt looks up when Zeke saunters over to him, the glasses he doesn’t need glinting above his nose. To see him there, at Utgard, was such a relief, he could barely believe his eyes. Connie’s village lay as the proof positive of his war chief’s presence, but it didn’t hit him until he saw the great Beast on the horizon. It is about to hit him again.

“... War Chief,” He manages to nod in greeting, haltingly distant, before he drops his gaze again. He knows this is no hero’s welcome. They have failed at every turn. They lost Marcel on the first day. They lost Annie behind enemy lines. Five years lie in rubble at his feet. Until they made it back to the Sea Wall, Zeke Jaeger didn’t say much of anything and the silence was crueler than any reprimand. Bertholdt was so blindsided by the disregard that it cowed him into wordless obedience, like a dog ducking before the kick has even landed.

 He should say something. He should be on his fucking knees and beg, for something, his life or forgiveness. Bertholdt feels it by the pricking of his nerves, the tension in the air. His throat tightens in anticipation. Bertholdt doesn’t speak. He waits.

[anon-e-miss]

Dryadprowl? But I wanna see cute baby bluestreak😘😘

“Y’re full o’ knots,” Jazz said as he lay his servo flat between Prowl’s shoulders. Prowl knew it to be true. He could feel all of them but he still flinched at the glyphs.

“I suppose,” Prowl replied, not knowing where this was heading.

“I wish I could offer ya an oil bath but we don’t even got private washracks. Gotta share it wit the entire floor.”

“I am fine.”

“Mhm,” Jazz hummed. “Hang tight. I got an idea.”

Where was he supposed to go? Prowl watched Jazz retreat to the berthroom he shared with his twins. Where it was the nanite gel or the massage, Prowl’s shoulder felt significantly better. He wondered if it was only temporary, but even if it was, if Jazz was willing to assist him again, perhaps he might be able to heal without significant complications. Jazz returned carrying a basket filled with odds and ends. As he sat down next to Prowl, he offered him a big smile. Even though Prowl could not see his optics through the visor he wore, Prowl was certain that smile reached his optics.

“Just gimme a couple o’ kliks. See if I remember how to put this thing together.”

Prowl only nodded, and he watched with both anticipation and curiosity as Jazz screwed long poles into curved pieces of metal and then screw the poles to a long, horizontal piece. It was a frame, of course, that was what it was. Jazz tested it and it rocked from side to side. The smile on Jazz’s face fascinated Prowl. There was a warmth and a wistfulness to it that Prowl could not quite understand. As he watched his captor/savour work, the thing came together. Jazz flipped the basket upside down and screwed the frame into place. When Jazz righted it Prowl felt foolish that he had not recognized the thing for what it was. This was a bassinet, a beautifully crafted one, with etchings along the trim and covering the canopy. The inside was lined with soft foam and a thick pad. It was by far the prettiest thing Prowl had ever seen.

“It is beautiful,” he said.

“My ‘genitor built it,” Jazz said with the sweetest smile. Prowl flinched internally. He could not let down his guard so easily. “He’s good with his servos. Ric’s practically his clone. But we both take after ‘m more in looks that Ori or Geni.”

“You miss them.”

“I do. Sunny ‘n Sides have only seen ‘em for a few kliks here ‘n there ‘n it’s not right. They should know their grandcreators.”

“Have you thought of slipping off with them?”

“O’er ‘n o’er. It would put the whole caravan in danger ‘n we’ve never quite made the leap. Y’re gonna be good for us, Prowl. Y’re gonna make us take the leap.”

“Oh...”

“Ori ain’t gonna just hand ya off to my genitors ‘n dust off his servos. He’s gonna wanna see ya home, whate’er ya decide home’s gonna be. I do to... Least I can do.”

“I think you have done the least already,” Prowl said. This was close to forgiveness as he was willing to offer at this point in time. His spark was still freshly wounded from having Bluestreak ripped away from him.

“Why don’t ya see how he likes it?” Jazz suggested when he finished hooking some pretty little crystal carved in the shapes of the stars and the moons to the canopy.

Prowl had hardly gone a moment without Bluestreak in his arms. The mega-cycle’s separation was the longest they had ever been apart. But they were not apart, Prowl was right here. Still, he hesitated, lightly stroking Bluestreak’s back as he considered the canopy. He did not believe Jazz was looking for an opportunity to take advantage of him, Jazz had already had every advantage. Gingerly, Prowl set Bluestreak into the bassinet and pet his chase, cooing softly. Bluestreak blinked up at him, then cocked his helm as he looked up at the mobile hanging just out of reach. Bluestreak reached for them, giggling and babbling, as he pulled his necklace to his mouth and sucked on one of the crystals. It dulled. Already he was coming into his own as a dryad, though his root crystal would not be mature enough to leave Prowl’s spark chamber for vorns yet. Out of curiosity, Prowl rocked the cradle every so gently, just to see what Bluestreak thought of it. He watched his creation’s optics dim.

“Ain’t that a pretty picture,” Jazz said. “It’s good to see it used again.”

“Have you been keeping it for your next creations?” Prowl asked

“Ain’t creatin’ again,” Jazz replied. “Ain’t right bringin’ anymore into this. I figured some mega-cycle they might have creations, so I’ve been savin’ it ‘n the one just like it for when they’re grown.”

“Thank you for lending it to him,” Prowl said.

“I thought ya could use a break,” Jazz declared. “Yer shoulders are outta alignment. Yer a bit twisted. Considerin’ the way ya were bein’ kept, it makes sense. If ya wanna lean back against the couch, I can see ‘bout maybe gettin’ ya sorted out.”

“Okay.”

Jazz was not going to hurt him. Prowl reminded himself of this fact as he hugged the pillow as he knelt backwards on the couch. His perception of Jazz behind him was fuzzy as he was standing between Prowl’s doorwings. He was close and it was intimidating, but Jazz would not hurt him. Before he began the massage, Jazz poured oil on Prowl’s back, intentionally tipping the nozzle into gaps within Prowl’s armour. It coated his protoform. When Jazz activated his magnets the oil immediately warmed and Prowl could not stop himself from sighing.

As Jazz smoothed his servos up Prowl’s back, his thumbs pressing firmly against his spinal struts, Prowl sighed. It sounded more like a moan. He was afraid Jazz would get the wrong idea but there was no sign of arousal in the Polihexian’s frame. Jazz worked his digits and the oil into Prowl’s back until the tension bled away completely. Prowl’s optics dimmed to black as Jazz massaged his shoulders and neck. While Jazz carefully worked the knots and kinks from Prowl’s cables and slowly drew his spinal struts back into line, he hummed, and Prowl found himself drifting, not into recharge but something blissfully close. His battle computer hissed caution, but Prowl’s spike of awareness faded as Jazz’s clever servos massaged oil into his poor doorwing joints.

When Jazz drew his servos back, Prowl was almost disappointed. But the massage had done exactly as Jazz had intended and Prowl felt loose-limbed and relaxed in a way he never had before. Bluestreak whimpered and Prowl scooped him out of the bassinet and cradled him in the crook of his arm. His creation started fuelling as soon as Prowl dropped him a line. He had never been so relaxed holding Bluestreak. There was no terror of dropping him. Punch and the Twins returned with a large blue quartzite shrub they had planted in a heavy tub. When Jazz’s originator saw the bassinet he smiled.

“Now that was a brilliant idea, Love.”

“Rocky bye bitty,” Sideswipe cooed.

“He is fuelling right now, but you can help me rock him a little later if you can be gentle,” Prowl offered. The mechling beamed. More surprising was the way Punch and Jazz beamed.

“This outta do ya for a few mega-cycles,” Punch said and he set the shrub down next to what had become Prowl’s corner of the couch. “Y’re lookin’ better, dearspark.”

“Jazz helped me,” Prowl explained. “I forget when I last felt this... good.”

“He has a knack, don’t he?” Punch replied and he smiled at his creation. “I promised the mechlings goodied energon. I’ll make us up five mugs.”

“Sounds great, Ori,” Jazz replied. “Ori makes the best goodied energon.”

“I have never had it,” Prowl said.

“Y’ve never had goodied energon,” Sideswipe gasped.

“Different cultures got different fuels,” Jazz explained with a little chuckle. “If ya don’t end up likin’ it Prowl, Sideswipe’ll be happy to steal it from ya. He’s lil fiend for it.”

“You really do not need to waste all this fuel on me,” Prowl said.

“Ain’t a waste,” Jazz replied.

The Twins were fascinated by Bluestreak, Sunstreaker even more so than Sideswipe though he spoke considerably less. He watched Bluestreak fuel from his chosen perch at Prowl’s side. Prowl did not mind it. Sunstreaker was an innocent mechling, and he found his curiosity really so dear. Jazz told his mechlings to sit all the way back when their grandori brought out their treat. The mugs were steaming and Prowl wondered how he would be able to drink his when Jazz came around and tucked pillows around his lap. Bluestreak wiggled as he was lain onto the pillow, still tucked into his Prowl’s chassis, still firming latched on his fuel line. Punch set a mug the steaming fuel into Prowl’s good servo. He took a sip. It was creamy and sweet, and Prowl smiled.

“It’s good, right?” Sideswipe said. “It is,” Prowl agreed.

Maybe Prowl did not want to trust Jazz, but he did. Maybe he did not want to forgive Jazz, but he did. With forgiveness, begrudging or otherwise, came a need to make right, or to give thanks with more than glyphs. Though Prowl still did not know where he intended to lay down his roots. The more he considered it, the less he wanted to return to the Grove, and not only because he believed they would reject his creation, but because of all the ways, they had rejected him, even as they had used him. What Prowl did know, was where he could begin, and that was enough for now.

“I had a thought,” he said, savouring the sweet fuel. “I have an acquaintance out of the Crystal City who deals in rare plants. Mirage has purchased my offshoots regularly for many vorns. If you take me to the Crystal City, I will make an agreement with him to produce as many offshoots as he requires in exchange for the ransom you need.”

“It’s a hefty ransom,” Jazz said. “I can’t imagine he’d wanna buy that many plants. I can’t imagine it’d be safe for ya to produce that many.”

“I produce a particularly rare variant of nobile quartz,” Prowl revealed. “So long as I can connect to a sturdy host, I will be able to produce what is required without undue strain. As far as I understand it, I am the only producer of this quartz. Mirage would have no issue selling my offshoots to his collector friends at a tidy profit.”

“If y’re sure ya won’t hurt yerself,” Jazz said.

“I am sure,” Prowl replied. The fact that Jazz was so concerned about his health and safety, especially considering his own brother was on the line, made it impossible for Prowl to hate him anymore. It was kind of annoying.

[dcnatural]

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Word Count: 1532

Pairing: Reader x Deathstroke

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: One day, Deathstroke make a surprise visit during one of your parties.

Fireworks lit up the sky in an array of colors. Through the window, you could see people jumping in the pool straight from the second floor balcony, splashes of water going everywhere and the audience cheering. There seemed to be some sort of competition of who made the best jump. The floor was sticky with spilled champagne, sweat and possibly other things. The music was loud enough to make the house shake and your head hurt. But you didn’t care, the beat was better than your own thoughts. A drunken couple passed by you, on their way to one of the guest bedrooms. The girl laughed at something the man said, eyeing you as they stumbled forward. You gripped your wine glass tighter and tighter until you felt a sharp pain. You opened your hand to see blood stained glass falling to the floor. A cut crossed your palm, blood oozing lazily out of it, bits of glass still stuck to the skin.

You ignored the mess and walked to your bedroom, the only part of the house that you kept locked during your parties. It felt strange to acknowledge them as your parties, since you didn’t know half of the people that crowded your manor. Nor did they know you. But it didn’t matter, you weren’t looking for fame or recognition. People could come into your house, drink your alcohol, throw up in your bathroom and then laugh at you for not joining in. These parties weren’t meant to be fun, they were meant to keep you distracted. Anything to keep your mind away from him .

Once your cut was bandaged, you walked downstairs and ignoring the festivities going on in the backyard, you sat by your front porch and watched as masses of well dressed men and women came in and out of your pearly white gates. The best thing about those parties was that you didn’t need to bother with who came in, the guests took upon themselves to decide who was cool enough to be there or not.

The flood of party goers seized for a moment and the front garden felt empty without the chattering voices. From far down the road that lead to your manor you saw the silhouette of a tall man approaching. The first thing you noticed were the broad shoulders and muscular arms, but as he neared, you began to make out other details: the disheveled silvery hair, the eyepatch and the many holsters strapped to his body. As the realization kicked in, you ran to the gates, locking them shut seconds before he reached them.

“Y/n”, Slade said, his voice the same husky tone you remembered. “You don’t wanna do this, just open the damn gates.”

You laughed. “How dare you show up here after everything you did to me?” The scars in your back itched as if they recognized their maker.

He gripped the metal bars until his knuckles turned white. “Calm down, alright? There’s no need to make a scandal. This isn’t about you.”

Your hands shook and you crossed your arms in a attempt to hide it. “Then why the fuck are you in my house?”

“Just let me in and I can explain.”

“You are insane if you think I’m gonna trust you again. Get lost before I call the cops.”

You turned on your heels, tears begging to to run down your cheeks, and began to walk away.

“If it counts for something, I’m glad you didn’t die!”, Slade shouted from outside.

The guests seemed unaware of the confrontation outside and you were glad of it: the last thing you needed was people asking questions. You went straight to your bedroom. Drawers opened and closed, clothes were thrown to the floor and floorboards were ripped apart as you searched for something you never thought you would need again. If only you remembered where you had hidden it... 

Your scars burned like they hadn’t done in ages and in a fury you ripped your t-shirt apart, exposing the ugly markings to the damp air of the afternoon. Finally finding what you were looking for, you closed your fist around the small vial and closed your eyes for a second.

Flashes of repressed memories poked your brain, freeing themselves from the cage you had built. It was like going back in time, you could feel his strong arms wrapped around you, the heat emanating from his body, his mouth kissing your neck. His knife cutting your flesh in an unforgivable betrayal. You had trusted him once and he broke your heart. You had trusted him twice and he broke your body. What would he take this time? Snapping your eyes open, you made a decision. It was your turn to take something.

You took the first shirt you saw, slid the vial carefully into the pocket of your shorts and stalked out of your room. In the pool side, the party went on. And just like you had predicted, Slade had found his way in, and mingled with the crowd with ease. He always knew how to impress people. He had been smart enough to leave the heavy weapons somewhere else, and likely only carried a hidden gun and perhaps a blade. Not that he needed more than that to kill his target.

“Who is the unlucky fellow?”, you asked, coming up behind him.

He turned to face you. “I knew you would at least hear me out.”

“Cut the crap okay? I just don’t want blood in my lawn.”

“Look, y/n, I’m really sorry.”

“You stabbed me and left me to die. ‘Sorry’ doesn't fix that.”

He pulled you to a desert area, far from prying ears. “You are forgetting about the part you were spying on me!”, he hissed. His breath smelled like bourbon and cigars.

You forced tears to come out. “I was hurt! You had cheated on me with some girl-”

“One more time, she was just an asset”, he cut in.

“It doesn’t fucking matter! I was upset, and when someone offered to pay me to get revenge, of course I said yes. And then I changed my mind and told you the truth!”

“And I did the same thing you would have done in my situation”, his voice was filled with sadness and that caught you off guard. It seemed sincere. “Just reconsider. All I’m asking is that you hear me out.” 

“Fuck you, Slade. Do what you need to do and get out of my house.”

You turned around and he didn’t stop you. You took your time, staying close enough to keep track of his movements, but not too close for him to think you had changed your mind. The sun had long set when you made you move.

A waiter passed by carrying champagne glasses in a silver tray and you took one. Unscrewing the lid of the vial you carried, you emptied the content into the champagne. 

“Excuse me,” you called, stopping another waitress.

“Yes?”

You reached into your pocket and pulled a wrinkled 50 dollars bill from your wallet. “Make sure this glass is given to that man”, you said, pointing to your unexpected visitor and handing the drink and money to the woman. She frowned, but took the money without any questions. 

You pushed people aside, opening the way to the center of the yard, and climbed the table where once, hours ago, there had been food. You picked a new glass and gestured to the DJ to stop the music. Luckily, the workers recognized you as the host and didn’t object. The guests, on the other hand, whispered to each other, wondering what was going on.

You kept your gaze in the waitress you had instructed making sure she delivered her one glass to the right person. When everyone had been given a glass, you raised yours to the sky and cleared your throat. 

“I would like to make a toast”, you announced, your voice loud and clear. “Here’s to my real friends, who helped me in the dark times of life. And here’s to you...”, your gaze locked with Slade’s and you smiled, “because forgiveness is a nice thing to do.”

You took the glass to your lips and watched as he did the same. The crowd applauded just to be polite and you jumped back to the floor. The music began to blast again and soon nobody cared about the strange person who gave a strange speech.

When you reached Slade, he was visibly more pale and his movements were unsure and wobbly. He gripped your shoulders. “What did you give me?”, he asked exasperated.

“Come on, you had too much to drink”, you announced loudly, offering an explanation to anyone who might be paying attention. You held Slade as you all but dragged him upstairs.

You locked your bedroom door just in time, as soon after foam began forming in his mouth. He choked on his words and you chuckled.

“Always check for vitals after stabbing someone”, you told him as he spasmed in the floor. When he finally stopped moving you leaned down, ear to his chest. You heard nothing.

[navegandoaciegas]

the love you deserve III

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: “He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve. Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly. Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

Warnings: hurt!bucky, hurt!reader, angst, fluff, lying, cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption, language that Steve Rogers wouldn’t approve of.

A/N: AU where Civil War and Thanos never happen, Tony forgives Bucky and he retires. I’m not a native speaker, so forgive me for any mistakes :)

This is part 3, please like and reblog and let me know what you think of it :) feedback is always appreciated! 

Part 1 Part 2

Las Vegas, Nevada

You cheated on James, and that’s a fact. Would you have done it if you weren’t so intoxicated? Is it relevant?

You could take responsibility for your choice. You could admit to yourself and to him that it wasn’t a drug induced mistake, that it was the stupid decision you took in the spur of the moment because you were hurting badly and you wanted to punish him for the pain he put you through.

You could tell him that you got to the club with the intention of doing something stupid, that you put yourself in the condition to sleep with a random guy whose face you can’t recall and who fucked you even if you were gnawing for teeth uncontrollably, your mouth was likely foaming and your pupils were blown to hell.

Did the substances flowing in your veins give him consent, or did you? Are they to blame, or are you?

On another note, the one that comes out when rage surges in you, can you even cheat on a man who isn’t who he says he is? Is it cheating if he betrayed you first?

You’ve never been more conflicted in your life.

The anger you felt is still raging inside of you. You close your eyes and think of all the lies he fed you, of all the little ways he in which he deceived you.  

You don’t know what’s worse: letting the searing hot flames of anger destroy you or wallow in guilt and regret?

In approximately 4 hours you’ll be landing in New York where you know James is going to pick you up, most likely with a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolate.

You could never mention sleeping with a random man after finding out his true identity and continue your life in peaceful, ignorant bliss.

You could confess to cheating and blame it on his deception and your altered state.

You could omit the cheating incident and jump straight to the part where you yell at him for failing to mention who he really is.

You have 2233 miles to figure it out.

New York

You’re being exceptionally quiet today, and that’s a first. 

Bucky was expecting you to start rambling about how hangovers hit you harder than they used to before, how you’re getting old because nowadays you feel your head pounding and your stomach churning all day after a night out. He was willing to bet that the first thing you’d do as soon as you landed would be to complain about Vegas’ blazing heat and the outrageous price of bottled water in airports, like you always do when you come back from travelling.

Instead you’re silent, because you have a headache you said, and you’re being less affectionate than usual.

He furrows his brows when you skip on hugging him and go straight for the car, but he doesn’t let himself think too much about it. You’ve probably just drunk too much, which combined with Nevada’s scorching sun is a recipe for disaster, so he stays quiet and drives you to your apartment. His important announcement is going to have to wait.

His quaint, cramped apartment is tranquil except for the tapping of the rain on the window sills.

He was coming back from a session with his therapist when he got caught in the rain, and because he’d been riding on his Harley he’s now dripping wet and in desperate need to get cleaned up. 

He decides he’s going to take a bubble bath with those little balls of foamy soap you bought him; you’ve told him that these ‘bath bombs’ are very relaxing when you want a ‘self care’ night.

He heads to the bathroom and turns on the water as he takes off his wet sweater and jeans.

He normally avoids staring too much at his reflection, but today he does. 

He has a few scars scattered around his chest and stomach, but they don’t compare to the angry and permanently flared, marred flesh around his left arm. If he looks closely he can still see the marks where he scratched and pulled the the skin in an attempt to rid himself on the prosthetic.

His therapist is a nice man in his 50s who doesn’t ever make him feel judged. He’s been trying to get him to accept his metal arm as a part of himself instead of a disjointed appendage that has done more damage than it could ever do good.

He mentioned something about associating positive things to his arm, or something like that. It can be watering a plant, petting his cat, caressing your hair, holding your hand.

Anything to trick his brain into thinking his arm can do good too. 

Sometimes it works, other times the only thing he can see himself holding is Maria Stark’s throat as he chokes her to death.

He’s been trying hard, but he knows he won’t make his peace with the prosthetic if he doesn’t come clear to you.

He talked about you today. The doctor suggested it’s time for you to know who he is.

He agrees. Steve agrees. Sam has been threatening to call you for months. Natasha doesn’t need to vocalize her threats: one look with those green eyes and she manages to be scarier that the metal chair.

He’s going to tell you before Jade’s wedding, he’s resolved. Can’t risk anyone recognizing him and causing a scene if you don’t hear it from him first.

To be honest, he’s terrified. 

He’s been doing a lot of reflecting since you’ve been gone, and the more time goes by, the more he feels like a lying scumbag.

At first, he was scared he’d lose you because of the Asset. He was scared you’d have a mental breakdown if you knew what kind of monster he is, and you’d leave him. You’re so beautiful, good, smart, you deserve so much better than he could ever be.

In his selfishness he couldn't bear to never hold you again. 

But as time goes on he’s realizing that if he doesn’t speak up soon, he will be losing you because of his deception.

He knows now you would accept him regardless of his past, his crimes, his murders, his nightmares; you already accept all his little quirks, his constant need for reassurance and affection, his unusual ineptitude with technology, his elusiveness.

He knows that what’s left of his life he wants to spend it with you. He doesn’t need a wizard in a sentient cape to know that in all the universes out there, he loves you in every last one of them, that he’d fall off that train a thousand times over if it meant he could one day be with you.

You love him and he loves you, he’s never been more sure of anything.

Anything except how angry you’re going to be when you find out he’s lied to you all along. He can only hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive him.

Your roommates aren’t home when you get there, and Bucky is glad about it. He needs to have you all to himself for the evening.

“Hey, I’m going to take a shower, you choose the movie, ‘kay?” you say, and you stand on your toes to peck his lips softly. He smiles like the lovesick fool he is and opens up your phone to try and order a pizza for you both.

After multiple attempts at calling the place and using the website with no success, he sets on asking you for help. You’re in the bathroom but the water is not running yet.

The door is ajar, and he almost knocks and comes in when he freezes. The smile he had on his stupid face falls and the pounding in his chest is probably loud enough that you can feel it too, even if you don’t have super soldier hearing. 

Through the crack of the door he can see you’re naked, with your back facing him and your hair pulled up. 

Normally he would blush and close his eyes or turn around to respect your modesty, but now there’s nothing he can do except stare at you with wobbling lips and watering eyes.

Your whole body is littered with love marks, trails of red, angry scratches and deep purple bruises on your lower back, hips and arms.

He wants to think it’s not what it looks like, although it's pretty obvious. He wishes he could unsee what’s in front of him, plain as day: the unmistakable proof that you did what he never thought you would do.

He backs away from the door silently and settles on the couch, calming himself down from the panic attack he feels coming. He’s crying silently, tugging his hair painfully. He doesn’t want you to see him cry. He doesn’t want to look like a pathetic mess in front of you.

His heart hurts so much it’s hard to breathe. 

The water is still running when he finally manages to gain control over himself.

His mind is swimming with questions and accusations. What did you do, exactly, and why did you do it. Why did you feel the need to be intimate with someone else. Is it because he won’t be intimate to you? He’s sure you’re better than that, this can’t be about not being able to resist your urges, can it? Or maybe it is, and it’s his fault for forcing a sexless relationship on you? 

You’re always so honest with him. Sam says it’s a good sign that you always give him your phone for whatever reason he needs it for and you never worry about it, he says it means you have nothing to hide from him. You’ve never shown any sign that your feelings towards him had changed, and he’s been trained to look for the smallest of changes in people. 

Who is he? Did he mean something to you, or was it just some meaningless sex? Were you sober? How much did you drink?

He can’t believe you would cheat on him.

He’s still beating himself up about it when he hears the bathroom door open, and you come out wearing one of his oversized hoodie and a pair of leggings. You smile at him, and he tries to smile back despite the pain when you join him on the couch and snuggle in his arms.

The world is collapsing on him and yet all he can do is hold you close and cradle you in his arms. He nuzzles your hair, inhaling the distinct smell of coconut and peaches to ground him himself.

He can’t lose you.

You had 2233 miles to figure it out.

You didn’t.

You smile when you see him on the couch. You snuggle in his arms and relax in the comforting scent of the detergent he uses, the one that reminds him of his Ma. 

You feel his steady heartbeat and instantly calm down. 

You can’t lose him.

If he thinks you don’t need to know, then he doesn’t either.

[margoshansons]

Desperate Measures: 7/?

Bellamy Blake x Reader: Masterlist

Summary: Things take a turn for the worst when they discover Finn isn’t getting any better. Bellamy worries about a friend.

Warnings: Torture, Swearing, Violence, Depression, Suicidal and Intrusive thoughts, Angst.

Notes: This might be my favorite part of the ones I’ve written. Hope you enjoy it! Based on 1x07 “Contents Under Pressure”

The radio was almost finished thanks to the combined efforts of her and Raven. All it needed was the variable conductor and the power source, which Monty was working on getting from the second floor of the dropship. Sweat trickled down her back, the heat of the bodies in the dropship getting to her. 

She shivered before returning to the task at hand. “You got the speaker Raven?” She asked, the pretty girl staring at her with an unusual look on her face. 

“Raven?”

The mechanic shook her head free, “Sorry, yeah, here it’s just...are you sure you’re okay?”

Her response was cut off by Monty’s appearance. Y/N smiled as they finished connecting the radio together, turning it to the correct frequency as Raven picked up the microphone. 

“This is Raven Reyes calling Ark Station. Ark Station do you copy?”

The entire dropship waited with bated breath, hoping, praying that the Ark would hear them. Y/N swept her hand across her forehead, the sweat refusing to let up as more kids piled in from the storm. She scanned the horizon for Miller and Bellamy, finding nothing. 

“This is Raven Reyes calling Ark Station. Ark Station do you copy?”

Silence. Until--

“This is Ark Station” The calming voice of Abby Griffin came through the speaker, “Raven we copy.”

Y/N exhaled, relief flooding her system as the radio continued to work. 

“Is Clarke--”

“I’m here Mom” Clarke cut off, coldness behind her words and Y/N remembered what she had told her after Wells had died. 

He didn’t turn them in. 

Abby did. 

Her gut twisted and she shivered again, her heartbeat speeding up. “We need your help. Finn was stabbed and he’s going to die if we don’t get help soon.”

“Okay” Abby’s voice came in again. “You’re being patched into medical, Jackson and I will help you from there.”

Clarke met the wide orbs of Y/N as she stood, arms curved and ready for surgery. She was looking for comfort, and Y/N knew she needed her to give it. She strode over, leaning down on the other side, ready to support Clarke through the surgery.

“Clarke, is my son alive?” The Chancellor’s voice rang out through the room, sending an enveloping tension among the campers. Y/N met Clarke’s anxious gaze and nodded. He deserved to know the truth. 

“Wells--Wells is dead. I’m sorry.” She announced, holding back whatever pain still lingered. A muffled conversation could be heard through the speaker, one voice sounding more distressed than the other. 

“Clarke, this is--this is Marcus Kane.” 

Y/N froze.

“Is my daughter with you?”

The camp froze, staring around at each other, knowing there was only one person who could fit that description. Thankfully Clarke came to her rescue. 

“She’s alive, but she’s busy.” was all the blonde said, sending her a comforting look as Y/N inhaled, her head beginning to pound. She couldn’t handle Marcus right now. 

Not when Finn needed help.

The door was flung open, revealing the two people Y/N had been looking for the whole night. Bellamy stormed into the dropship, soaking from the raging storm outside. Miller and Drew followed close behind dragging someone between them. 

Someone Y/N recognized as the grounder that had stabbed Finn. 

“What the hell are you thinking?” Octavia blew up at her brother, anger blazing.

“Tie him up on the third level” He instructed. “We need answers” 

Miller followed through, and Y/N ran forward, stopping him. “You agreed to this?” She asked, pain pumping through her veins. Miller nodded at Drew before turning to face Y/N as the latter pulled the grounder up the dropship. 

“Bellamy knows what he’s doing.” Miller justified, “Do you?”

She turned to Bellamy, her gaze shifting between the two men. “What do you think his people will do when they find out we kidnapped him huh? You think they’ll forgive us for that?”

He said nothing but simply clenched his jaw.

She shook her head, pleading with Bellamy to let the grounder go. “Bellamy, please. This is not who we are.”

His fist curled by his side and he tore his gaze away from her, “It is now.”

Sweat poured down her face, the heat growing more and more unbearable as her heart raced faster and faster, the room beginning to spin around her, black dots dancing in front of her as she collapsed, barely conscious. 

“Y/N!” Miller was yelling through the cotton-like substance in her ears.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bellamy’s voice rang through next.

A voice she thought was Clarke’s gave an order, “Take her up to the third floor, I’ll deal with her after Finn.”

A pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped themselves around her as she was lifted up, her thoughts spiraling downward.

She’ll deal with her. 

Not help, Not look after. 

But deal. 

It was true. Just like she suspected. She was a burden after all. 

When she came back to consciousness her body was on fire. Her insides burned, and she crawled forward, lifting her torso and leaning against the wall, facing the shackled grounder. 

“You’ve been watching us this whole time haven’t you?” Bellamy growled, pushing a leather book similar to her own in the grounder’s bloody face. “How many of you are there?!” He shouted, causing Y/N to wince from the sound. 

“He’s not going to tell you anything” She breathed, closing her eyes in a grimace, wanting to disappear. 

She was tired of fighting. Tired of living. 

She just wanted to drift off into sleep, never to come back.

*** Bellamy narrowed his eyes at the pale complexion of the girl huddled in the corner. Y/N had fainted earlier, and while he wanted to chalk it up to lack of food, his gut told him it was much more than that. 

“Are you okay?”

She huffed, “Why does everybody keep asking me that? I’m fine.”

The grounder’s gaze shifted slightly, turning to lock eyes with Y/N. Bellamy watched as the grounder’s lips twisted slightly, his stare unwavering. 

Y/N’s breathing grew heavy and Bellamy eyed her suspiciously, knowing there was much more behind the pale skin and sweat dripping from her forehead. He followed her gaze to the tied up grounder, crinkling his face as rage surged through him.

“Why do you keep staring at her?” 

The grounder switched his gaze toward Bellamy, still refusing to speak. His fist collided with the other man’s jaw, the sound slapping around the room, sending everyone flinching. The hiss of the hatch pulled him away as Clarke found her way up to the floor.

“How’s Finn?” He asked, hoping the younger kid was okay. Just because he was challenging didn’t mean that he deserved to die. 

“He’ll live.” Clarke shot a seething look at their captive before Bellamy called her over, showing the markings he had discovered. He counted them all up. 

102 markings. 102 delinquents.

“If this doesn’t make you realize we’re fighting a war I don’t know what will.”

Clarke sighed, and Bellamy could tell she was itching to refute him, but instead, she came up with nothing. “How’s Y/N?” She asked instead, throwing a careless look toward the girl leaning against the wall.

“Fine for now” Bellamy informed her, his heart tugging at the thought of something bad happening to her, “I think he did something to her though.” His eyes flashed all the hatred he felt toward the grounder, scanning him for any sign of a guilty conscience.

“Clarke!” Raven called from the first floor, “He’s seizing!”

The blonde hurried down the ladder, desperate to help the boy dying on the table while Bellamy faced the grounder again, setting his jaw. 

“Bellamy” Miller’s worried voice broke him out of his reverie as they caught sight of Y/N against the wall, unmoving.

***

She moved in and out of consciousness, barely recognizing the faces that had awoken her the second time around. Blurs were all she saw, burning all she felt. Her stomach churned in protest as she moved to stand, the shivering persisting. Her hearing had cleared up, but her vision had blurred in response. Black dots appeared before her, blocking the faces of the people in the room.

She recognized the voices. 

“Tell us which one is the antidote please!” 

Clarke.

Wait. Her mind urged. Antidote? Is that why she felt so awful? Had the grounder poisoned her and Finn?

“He won’t.” A voice she recalled as Bellamy announced. “Not unless we make him.”

She heard the unmistakable sound of metal slapping against skin and she flinched. 

They were torturing him. She limped forward. 

Her head pounded, her body pulsing with pain as she continued to step forward until she couldn’t. Her vision blackened, the burning sensation growing more inflamed as her body moved against her will, the cool ground sending waves of comfort running through her, a smile crossing her face.

She was ready. She was done fighting. She was ready to go. 

***

Bellamy turned at the sound of a body hitting the floor. 

Y/N’s body.

Miller got to her first, testing the pulse as she lay there a smile etched on her face. Bellamy joined him, kneeling next to the girl he had irrationally come to care for. 

“Y/N?” Bellamy panicked, shaking her body in the hopes of waking her up. 

She didn’t move. 

Until her body began to convulse, foam streaming from her mouth as the uncontrollable seizure took hold. 

“No, no, no no” He began to move her toward her side, allowing the foam to spill out onto the metal floor. His hands searched all over for her cut, trying to find the shoulder the grounder had sliced.

“Clarke!” Raven called upward desperately, “He’s stopped breathing!”

The medic looked torn before shooting another desperate look at Bellamy, “Unwrap her arm, and don’t stop trying to get that antidote.”

He nodded, realization striking him. She needed Y/N alive as much as he did. 

“You’re not allowed to die” Bellamy whispered urgently, like he was holding onto a prayer, “You hear me? You do not get to die. Not on my watch.” His tone was desperate, as if the last person he cared about was almost gone. 

With Octavia not speaking to him now she probably was. 

You have me. Her words kept ringing in his ears. You have me. 

Anger flooded him at the sight of the grounder. He knew. This bastard knew and was willing to let her die. Miller got there first, a spike in his hand as his unbridled rage threw itself at the captive. 

“What the hell did you do to her?!” He yelled, fingering a small spike in his hand. “Answer me!” 

Bellamy got there next, “Miller stop.” He pressed his hand against the chest of Y/N’s best friend. He didn’t need torture on his conscience. 

He grasped the spike from Miller’s hand and nodded toward Y/N. Miller shot a hateful look at the grounder before going over to kneel down next to his best friend. 

Bellamy’s face curled into a snarl, grasping the spike in his palm before driving it into the hand of the grounder, the savage yell echoing through the third floor of the dropship. 

Bellamy’s movements were slow, steady, to ensure the Grounder received the maximum amount of pain for hurting Y/N. For poisoning her. 

His breathing refused to steady after that awful action, turning back to Miller, who could only give an affirming nod as he turned his gaze back to a seizing Y/N.

Footsteps clanged against the floor as Raven appeared, “He’s starting again, but I don’t know if he’ll wake up next time--” She cut herself off at the sight of Y/N’s limp body before her. 

Her gaze moved to Bellamy’s blazing one, putting the pieces together.

“Alright, that’s it” Raven snarled, storming forward, “Time to show him something new.” She ripped two exposed wires from the ship, crashing them together to make them spark. 

“She’s seizing again!” Miller called, now cradling Y/N in his arms, desperation fraught in his voice as he looked to Bellamy for answers. 

Clarke and Octavia followed Raven up and could only stare in horror as Raven moved to shock the grounder into giving them the antidote.

“I’m ending this” Octavia announced, grasping the knife Clarke had pulled from Finn and dragging it down her arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bellamy snarled, grabbing the cut to put pressure on it. He couldn’t lose Octavia too. 

She met his gaze, determination throughout her face, “He won’t let me die,” She turned to face the grounder, “Will you?”

Octavia knelt on the ground as Clarke spread the vials before her. His sister used the knife to gesture toward each vial. “Is it this one?” The grounder remained silent, his head gesturing toward the end of the line. She scooted down, “This one?” nothing. “This one?” 

The slightest nod was all it took for Octavia to toss the antidote to Bellamy, who replaced Miller as he tilted Y/N’s head up, pouring the contents past her lips. Clarke grasped the antidote next, disappearing with Raven and Octavia down the hatch. 

Bellamy stared at the limp woman in his arms. 

Waiting, hoping, praying that she would come back to him. “Please,” He whispered, “Please, don’t die on me. You’re not allowed to die on me.”

Silence met his words and he cradled her head again, brushing his thumb against her cheek, her words playing endlessly in his head.

You have me. You have me. You have me. You have me.

A cough pierced the silence between them, oxygen flooding through her lungs as her brows creased. “Bellamy?” 

She collapsed against his chest, complexion back to normal as she entered a blissful sleep, barely whispering one last phrase in his chest, “I’m so tired”. Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy saw Miller sigh in relief. 

“Keep him here.” Bellamy ordered coldly, staring down at the friend he had almost lost, “Don’t let Octavia back up here, you got that?”

Miller and Drew nodded.

“Bellamy?” The former called, “Thanks for saving her.”

Bellamy nodded as he picked up Y/N and threw her over his shoulder, descending the ladder until his feet clanged against the first floor, switching her position to carry her in his arms as he passed a surprised Clarke, a jubilant Raven, and an alive Finn. 

He pushed past the remaining crowds of delinquents until he reached her tent. He gently set her down, examining the wound he had forgotten to unwrap. 

For a while he chose to sit there, wathcing as her features smoothed into a peaceful expression, and suddenly he was able to appreciate just how attractive she looked. 

He shifted awkwardly before grasping his knife and cutting her wound dressing free. 

He pulled back at the sight of the bloody wound, pressing his finger against the surrounding area, examining the liquid on his fingers. 

It wasn’t red. It wasn’t like theirs. 

Y/N’s blood was black.

***

When she woke her head was pounding. She drew herself upward, sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed as she poked at the newly dressed wound. Her head snapped to attention. She had almost been exposed. Perhaps she had. But if only Clarke had seen it, or Miller had taken care of her then she was fine. She winced. 

“Careful” Bellamy’s voice rang through her ears, “You don’t want to irritate that further trust me.”

Y/N shot a small smile at him, the usual tension that stood between them dissipating. Warmth exploded in her chest, followed by what could only be described as butterflies flitting around. 

She couldn’t explain how Bellamy had done it, but somehow he had become everything she had decided to live for. 

He kept her from falling off the wagon, he kept her alive. 

For some weird reason, whenever he was around, the universe refused to let her die. 

“How did I get here?” She asked, head still pounding.

Bellamy sighed, crossing his arms as he moved forward, “Miller, he wouldn’t let anyone else touch you”

She smiled at the thought of someone facing the beast that was Nate Miller’s temper. “Sounds like him.”

Y/N met Bellamy’s eyes, something soft and vulnerable lingering behind them as he watched her stretch her newly recovered arm behind her. 

He shuffled his feet, rushing his hands through the curly mane atop his head as he looked around nervously.

“Spit it out Blake” A playful tone laced her voice, letting him know that she was back to her normal self. 

His brown eyes met her own, hesitation fraught in them, “Kane wants to talk to you.”

Her stomach dropped.

Oooooooh. I think our boy is catching some feelings. Also, there will be a certain character that will be introduced having to do with Y/N’s past. kudos to anyone to can figure out who it is!

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[elenathehun]

Challenge! Mito sealing Madara in some fashion during or just post the events of VotE (including but not limited to - sealing his eyes, his chakra, or him inside of herself). Bonus points for world building.

Literally 3.5 years later…

~~~

The first time she tends to her prisoner, it’s a spare four days after Madara’s inopportune return.  Mito’s belly no longer burns, which is more than some parts of the village can say.  She won’t forgive him for that.  In that, her husband and she are as one mind.

It’s for that reason that she rips Madara out the slowly-smoldering scroll she’d originally sealed him into, and just as quickly shoves him into the black iron tea kettle she’d hastily re-purposed for just this task.

He doesn’t even have time to scream out loud.  The kettle starts steaming, but there is no tell-tale sound of metal warping.  Good.  She’s bought herself another few months before she has to handle this pest in a more permanent manner.  Rebuilding the wards around Konoha is the highest priority at this time.  Whatever else can keep, will keep.

Mito leaves the kettle on a corner of her desk next to her ink tray, slaps the stray sparks out before they can do more than mar the lacquer veneer, and moves on to the next task on an ever-growing list.

~~~

The kettle holds together for a week shy of three months - longer than Mito had expected, given Madara’s hateful burning chakra.  Tobirama is practically foaming at the mouth to take custody of the body, but Mito has no intention of releasing her prisoner just yet. Tobirama, impatient child that he is, will just have to amuse himself with those students he’s taken on.  That should occupy him for a few years, at least.

Mito intends to take all the time she needs for this next task, and here, in the underground chamber she’d prepared specifically for this task, she has all the time and assistance she needs. The entire cell is tiled from ceiling to floor, and each tile is inscribed with a master seal for containment - both within and without.  

That master seal was her first masterwork, when she was a girl.  It elevated her above her siblings and cousins and brought her to the attention of the man she married.  It has never failed her yet.

She pulls Madara out slowly this time, ensuring the re-materialization is precise and Madara’s body lands exactly as planned on the mosaic floor, the seals inlaid into the tile activating as his body lands on the floor.  At the end of it, he’s lying spread-eagled, naked as the day he was born, and twice as angry.  Understandable: most shinobi greatly dislike the sensation of complete paralysis..

“Madara,” Mito says, ensuring her enunciation is perfect.  “I know it’s been awhile, but surely you remember the Lady Bunko, of the Akimichi Clan?”

He snarls at her, still as incandescently angry as he was a season ago, riding toward the village on a creature that should have stayed hidden far away from humanity. He didn’t impress her then; he doesn’t impress her now. 

“No?  A shame,” Mito says.  “ I do believe her to be the best surgeon in the village, even above Tobirama.”

Bunko, as tall and plump as the rest of her kin, merely kneels over Madara’s head and places her hands at his temple.  He loses consciousness in seconds, as deftly as Mito had said.  She is not inclined to false flattery when it comes to the skills of her closest associates.

“Well, the good news is that my earlier estimate for extraction still applies,” Bunko said quietly, voice barely reaching Mito’s ears.

“And the bad news?” Mito prompts, more gently than her general wont.

“No bad news,” Bunko said, a sweet smile crinkling the tattoos on her cheeks.  “I should be done in three hours.  Will you remain for the procedure, or return when it’s complete?”

“Remain,” Mito decides.  “Madara has an unpleasant habit of exceeding ordinary expectations.  I won’t have him do so again.  Proceed with the procedure; I will stand watch until the end.”

~~~

Bunko is finished well within the estimated time.  Madara’s eyes are sealed away in a glass tablet inscribed with the strongest seals Mito can create for both preservation and protection.  Madara himself will survive the enucleation, at least as far as Bunko can tell.  He’s going to get the best medical care on the continent, at least until the point when all viable information has been extracted from his feeble brain - Mito will accept nothing less.

“I’ll follow up on him in six hours,” Bunko says, offering the glass tablet to Mito.  “Do you want me to revive him, or will you wait for him to awaken naturally?”

Mito thinks for a moment on either path, before taking the tablet from Bunko’s hands and sealing it within one of the tags hanging from her bound hair.  “Revive him, please.  My second will escort you to the exit.  You’re free to come and go as necessary for this task.”

Bunko nods, and revives Madara in short order.  He tries to play dead at first - old habits die hard - but Bunko is experienced in all the ways people try to fool medics.  A quick sternum rub by the younger woman is all that’s necessary to rouse Madara back to rage, and she slips away from him and around Mito until she reaches the door to the cell.  

“Bunko,” Mito says, right as the other woman lays one capable hand on the lock.  “I thank you for your service to the Hidden Leaf.”

Bunko nods seriously, saluting a final time before exiting the room.  Mito settles back to wait Madara out.

~~~

It takes less time than she thought it would.  Apparently, Madara is familiar with the sensation of enucleation.  That’s something to think on, later.   He calms down quickly after he realizes what’s been done to him, and for the first time in a long time, seems more like the man she’d known…five years ago, perhaps.  Before Tobirama had slain Izuna, and Hashirama had made the Uchiha bow their stubborn necks.  Hashirama had such hopes for him in those days.

So much for all of that.

“How did you release the Nine-Tails?” Mito asks, as mild as milk.  

No answer.  She hadn’t expected one, really.

“It doesn’t matter if you ignore me, Madara,” she says calmly.  “I’ll learn the answer eventually, one way or the other.”

He snarls at her, as expected.  Still so utterly predictable.  “You know nothing of the power I hold-”

“What power?“  She asks, finally moving around him in a clockwise pattern.  The susurrus of her robes could be quite…distracting, especially to a man whose greatest sense was lost to him.  He can only rely on sound and smell and taste and touch.  But not sight.  Never again.  "I have your eyes, Madara, and without that, you are nothing more than a man. But go ahead and tell me: what power do you hold aside from that?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.  The muscles in his jaw flex as he grinds his teeth.  Mito nods, and kneels at his head, close enough that her breath creeps across his face.  “So there is something.  Good.  I wouldn’t like to think I’ve wasted my time and capital on preserving your worthless hide.  So know this, Madara: in the months to come, I will learn everything there is to know about your betrayal.”

He jerks at that, hissing, and Mito tastes something.  Something foreign, something more akin to her husband’s sense of earth-water-death than the more straight-forward sense of ash the Uchiha all carry.  She never used to be able to taste chakra, but many things have changed since Madara rode the Nine-Tails into war, and that is one of them.  But it’s not urgent.  Just something else to think on, and maybe to pass on to Takara, when the other woman takes over the interrogation.  She leans over even further to whisper directly into his left ear.

“Before I leave you, Madara, I want you to remember that for all your vaunted sight, you never saw me. Otherwise, you would have known to never bring the Nine-Tails within my grasp. I’ve wrenched it from your control, and your eyes as well.  But I am not without mercy: a tree is nothing without strong roots, Madara. I intend to see that the Hidden Leaf develops strong ones. In time, you will understand this. Even you still have a part to play in Hashirama’s grand peace.”

[akirakurusuimagines]

Christmas Gifts (Akira & Lavenza)

Blowing hot air into his hands, Akira hastily made his way through the crowded streets of Shibuya, bumping shoulders with couples at every turn and softly muttering a word of apology and bowing his head respectfully as he squeezed through in an attempt to get to the alley he knew like the back of his hand⁠— towards the Velvet Room.

It was strange to him, to be in such a crowded place on Christmas⁠— though it made sense, considering his more humble countryside origins… and truthfully, he did enjoy seeing the abundance of festive decorations and large amounts of people spreading joy through simple manners, whether with greetings or with gifts; it warmed his heart. Perhaps because it gave him a reason to spoil his dearest friends with gifts he would never have found in his hometown.

He had already made his rounds⁠⁠— a backpack, once full of gifts was now empty, save for a single, small, light, and neatly wrapped package at the bottom. It was so light, Akira had to pause at times and check the bag to make sure it wasn’t gone somehow⁠. Can never be too careful. Sighing softly as he checked one last time before making a fool of himself, Akira walked closer to the young girl standing alone, smiling as he watched her lift her head from her grimoire to greet him enthusiastically.

“Shall I guide you to my master?” She asked, looking up at her savior with warmth. It was only natural she would assume he’d come to enter the Velvet Room and see her master Igor, considering her status as an attendant.

Akira laughed softly and shook his head. “Nah, that won’t be necessary,” he commented, keeping his gaze trained on her. “Thank you, Lavenza.”

“Oh...? Then may I ask why you’ve come? It’s Christmas, if I remember correctly… you should be spending it with those you have made strong bonds with.” Lavenza’s expression appeared puzzled. Akira figured that was a natural reaction⁠— anyone would assume he’d spend it with his friends, especially after what had happened the day before: the Phantom Thieves defeating a false god and stealing humanity’s treasure… it all feels like a dream, or a very distant memory.

“I came to see you.”

His answer was short and blunt, and yet somehow Lavenza still took several moments to process his words, her golden eyes wide in surprise as it slowly sunk in. Akira was aware of the feelings Lavenza held for him, that much was certain, considering how she had just as bluntly professed her love for him. She was also certain of the feelings he held for her, considering her both a younger sibling and a savior of sorts⁠— guiding his path when he was the most lost. “Ah…” Lavenza couldn’t help the warmth that rose to her cheeks as she held onto the grimoire a little tighter, shifting her weight. “My trickster, you are too kind…”

“Hold on a moment before you start calling me kind. I haven’t even given you your gift yet.” Akira pulled the bag off of his shoulders and opened the zipper, reaching his hand in and fishing for the gift as Lavenza continued to be surprised. “Here,” he said as he held out the gift for her to take. “Merry Christmas.”

Lavenza stared at Akira for a good few moments, her eyes shifting between the small gift in his hands and the kind expression of a boy who truly cares for her. She put her grimoire underneath her arm and took the gift with mild hesitation, holding her breath and wondering if this was truly happening. She had given things to him before without issue⁠— as Caroline and Justine, and as her true self. However, the thought of receiving something from her dear trickster had never occurred to her before then. She didn’t say a word, only slowly opening the gift, wrapped in a fitting blue and gold, only to reveal a black box. Lavenza cast her gaze upwards to be met with an encouraging nod.

“Open it.”

Lavenza pressed her lips together and pulled it apart, gasping when she saw the contents inside. She looked up with shock⁠, overwhelmed, unsure of what to say or how she could even accept such a gift. “My trickster, you truly… you did not have to…” She was at a loss for words, and looked down again at the item in the palm of her hand⁠— a new bookmark. When Akira had won the fight against her split forms, they had given him Justine’s bookmark as a reward. And now⁠—

“I thought you might need a new one.” Akira rubbed the back of his neck, pleased with her reaction. “Do you like it?”

It was a fairly simple bookmark, matching her colorscheme once more with the metallic blue and gold trimming, reflecting her grimoire’s design, though several things stood out to her the most⁠— the small gold insignia of the phantom thieves inscribed onto the bottom right corner of the bookmark, and the charm attached to it, of a small blue butterfly, not too dissimilar to what she had used when talking to Akira during her incomplete state during his time of crisis. “I… I love it. Thank you, my trickster. You truly are… the world’s greatest man.” Lavenza finally breathed out, her heart racing and chest warm.

Akira stepped closer and lifted the small black foam cushion the bookmark a mischievous smile dancing on his face. “There’s more,” He mumbled, lifting the backing enough to reveal a crisply folded piece of paper. “It’ll… be a little embarrassing for you to read it now, so save it for later. There’s something else attached to it too. But⁠— like I said, read it later.”

“I⁠— I see. Thank you.” Lavenza exclaimed, her curiosity beginning to overwhelm her a little, though she took the paper from the box and with the bookmark, slid it both into her grimoire for later. “I suppose that’s all, correct?” She asked, a slightly sad edge to her voice slipping out that she did not quite mean⁠— she was extremely happy with the gifts she was given, though she still wished to spend more time with him. So she covered up her feelings with a smile and clutched the grimoire close to her chest once more. “Merry Christmas, my dear trickster. I hope you enjoy your night.”

“Wait⁠—” Akira shook his head, appearing displeased at her sudden shift in mood. “I was actually going to ask if you’d like to come to Leblanc for a little while. I’d like to make you some coffee.” He paused for a second, looking at her with furrowed eyebrows, wondering if she even liked the bitter beverage. “Or hot chocolate. It is chilly tonight.”

Lavenza carried her grimoire in one arm and began to giggle, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “You truly are full of surprises, trickster. I… I would love to accompany you at your residence for a little while.” She smiled brightly, truly believing that nothing could be better than this.

Akira held out his hand for Lavenza to take, and she did. It felt nice⁠— holding the very same hand that saved humanity… saved her. “You’ve never celebrated Christmas before, have you?” Akira asked, genuinely curious. He’s heard brief mentions of her family, though knew nothing beyond that.

“Ah… yes, you are correct. My older siblings and I have not participated in human traditions like that. At least to my knowledge. However… this is very nice. Perhaps I could convince my master to spare some thought into doing something like this for the holidays.” Lavenza smiled as she walked, looking down at her feet while Akira guided her through the streets, weaving between the crowds once more, heading towards the train station.

Akira nodded, deciding to use the time to get to know her a little more, considering Caroline and Justine were difficult to approach, even more so to get them to open up. “That’s interesting… how many siblings do you have, actually?”

“Three elder siblings.”

“Three? Wow, that’s amazing. I’m an only child, so I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be the youngest of four.”

“It was… quite the experience. One of my sisters and I can get… competitive at times. She also treats my elder brother rather harshly, though he is quite the pushover. My eldest sister is quite the woman, though she also can get to be a bit mischievous at times, and her anger can be… unbridled.”

“Your family sounds lively. I’d love to meet them one day.”

“Ah… forgive me, but unless it is by a stroke of mysterious luck, it is unlikely you will… we are bound to our guests.”

“That’s a shame.”

Akira kept Lavenza close, making sure she didn’t get lost as they made their way towards Leblanc, hand in hand. He fished out the key to the door from his pocket and slid it inside, twisting the key and unlocking the door, seeing as how Sojiro was spending his night with Futaba back at his home.

“Your place of residence is quite humble, trickster… though very comforting nonetheless.” Lavenza commented as she walked inside, clearly amazed by the size and decor. “Would you mind if I took a seat?”

Akira chuckled, amused by Lavenza’s manners. “Be my guest.” He himself walked around the counter, where Lavenza propped herself up, setting her grimoire in front of her. He slipped on the apron over his head, careful to watch his glasses as he did so, and as he began to tie the strings behind his back, he looked to Lavenza and asked her, “What would you like? Coffee, or hot chocolate?”

She thought for a moment, but eventually went with the latter, figuring she would prefer the sweeter drink. Lavenza couldn’t thank him more for his kindness with her, and she watched him set off to work on her warm beverage with an intrigued gaze, amazed at the vast variety of skills her trickster possessed. She watched him work with wonder for several minutes, before remembering the folded paper that stuck out of her grimoire that she was instructed to save for later.

Lavenza gently took it out, holding it in her hand as she looked up to make sure he wasn’t watching⁠— if he wasn’t watching her read it, it should be fine, right? Her curiosity was getting the better of her, and it was more and more difficult to resist the temptation to open and read its contents. Eventually, she caved, unfolding the papers and holding it out in her hands, her eyes immediately gluing itself into the first words he had written.

Dear Lavenza,

I’ll be honest… I never expected any of this to happen when I first arrived in Tokyo. How could I? Personas, becoming a thief, rehabilitation, ruin, all of it. I may not have known your true form for long, but you’ve been there for me every step of the way: from whenever I was lost and unsure of what to do next to whenever I needed assistance with my personas, fusing them and strengthening them. You, as the blue butterfly, as Justine and Caroline, and then… as yourself. You’ve helped me in so many ways, that I really don’t know how to express my gratitude to you for all of it. Thank you, Lavenza. For your strength, and for giving it to us.

I realize our time together is probably coming to a close sometime soon. We’ve destroyed Mementos, and taken care of the false god, so there isn’t any need for me to be contracted to the Velvet Room anymore, right? I’d like to take advantage of being a guest of yours and Igor’s for a little while longer, since I am going back to my hometown in March. I… do not want to forget you. And I don’t want you to forget me either⁠— so I’m going to treasure the bookmark you gave me, and I hope you’ll do the same.

Merry Christmas,

Joker

Lavenza was completely entranced by the letter that she hadn’t even noticed Akira was looking at her until he had set the cup of hot chocolate down next to her. He wasn’t upset she was reading the letter⁠— though did look a little embarrassed. It was always strange seeing someone read something of yours, like that. “Ah⁠—!” Lavenza hastily set the paper down, cheeks red. She grabbed the mug and brought it close, using it to cover the flustered expression she bore from having been caught, as well as from the words that replayed over and over in her head. “It’s very hot…” Lavenza muttered, having regretted trying to take a sip of her beverage, though when she lifted her eyes, she saw Akira was no longer looking at her⁠— and instead was cleaning up.

She took her chances and looked back at the letter, reading it once more, as if the letters would fade in a minute. She swung her legs and lifted the cup up to her lips again, this time managing to take a sip of it, and relishing in the delicious taste. “Thank you… this is incredible.”

“You’re welcome,” Akira replied, not sparing her a look as he washed the dishes. “Make sure you take the last gift from the letter.”

Lavenza’s eyebrows furrowed, but she turned the page over, finally spotting the small charm attached to the letter with tape. “Oh… this is…” She peeled it open and cupped it in her hand, amazed by the small charm. Lavenza curiously began to mess with it, only to have the charm split into two halves. “Ah⁠—!” She exclaimed, fearing she may have broken it, though she quickly realized that it was intentional. “Could this be for… Caroline and Justine?”

“Yeah. I figured they should get something, too.” Akira wiped his hands on a spare towel and walked around the bar, standing close to Lavenza. “I hope they like⁠—”

He cut himself off, as Lavenza lunged forward and wrapped her small arms around his torso as she disregarded the feelings inside her head that warned her not to do such a thing. Akira shook his head with a chuckle as the surprise quickly wore away, and gently petted the girl’s head, genuinely elated she seemed to think so highly of him and his gifts. “I’m glad.” As she began to pull away, Akira stopped her, knowing she was doing so out of courtesy. “We can stay like that a little longer.” He spoke in a gentle tone that melted her heart, and she sunk back into his warm embrace. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, my dear trickster… thank you.”

[fuwafuwamedb]

The Princess in the Palace (Gilgamesh, Hakuno)

Through the burning gates, around the lava puddles in the courtyard; she could see the great ziggurat laying ahead of her. She could feel her sword in her belt, her eyes scanning the scene around her.

Bring me the princess hiding in the palace.

Hakuno leaped back as the great beast rose out from the depths of the palace. A roar pierced through the air, bringing down the birds in the air and a foam of lava and burning fire escaping its mouth. The lion head looked nothing like the rest of its body.

Great wings covered the night skies. Golden and crimson feathers seemed to all but glow under the light of the flames below it as it beat those wings to take flight over her head.

Your mission is to defeat the beast hoarding the princess and bring them back to me.

The knights whom had come before her were strewn about the grounds before her. She could see bones sticking up in places. The ruins around her providing cover that wouldn’t last.

Her focus was to get to the wall nearby.

Once there, she glanced back, noting the fool that had come behind her.

“BEAST!”

The man raised his weapon, pointing the sword at the monstrosity of a creature and hollering at the top of his lungs.

“SURRENDER NOW-“

The words were not even finished.

The attack didn’t come from the front.

This was no ordinary beast, after all. This was a creation from the depths of Tiamat’s dreams. The beast with the head of a lion and the body of a great bird: an anzu bird.

They were legendary creatures, capable of bestowing great or terrible fates upon those that they set before their sights. She could see the way it let its babies roam forth, feet tapping around the fires to the fool that had raised a weapon at their mother.

They caught him from the sides, unhinging their jaws and taking a fearsome bite.

Screams filled the air.

The smell of smoke blocked out most of the sensory signs of the death, all but the smell of iron, which mingled with the smell of burning land around her.

Failure is not an option.

Hakuno turned, moving to go behind the wall she was pressed again when she found the anzu slipping underneath the awning she was attempting to hide beneath.

Golden eyes glinted her way.

The head tilted, the body lowering as it bobbed lightly.

First- she dropped her weapon.

Her body moved to the ground, carefully moving into the depths of the courtyard and pressing her face itself to the very ground.

She could feel the bird coming closer. She could see the metal that she’d abandoned nearby, glinting with the promise of slicing the beast in two if she would simply reach forth.

No…

That was what Shinji had attempted.

Her eyes closed, the burning goo from the beast’s mouth falling near her eyes.

“…None may come here,” the beast’s great voice thundered.

“I see the royal who lies within, great anzu.”

“None shall come here,” they repeated.

“Had I the lack of knowledge of your babies, I would have brought a drink so fine that Ninkasi herself would blush,” Hakuno told the beast. “Had I the funds and the proclivity for lacy words, I would have prepared a series of bards to speak forth of your greatness, so that the younglings themselves could remember your feats-“

“You speak as though I shall spare you.”

She needed to keep calm. She needed to keep her head.

“Flowery One, will you not plead further?”

“I ask not to plead, but to provide for the one who lies in wait within the palace.”

“You have no funds,” the beast grumbled, its muzzle coming closer to her face. She could feel more coming. They were around her body now, the whole group. The smell of iron was harder now, but she wouldn’t open her eyes.

Her eyes would give sign of the fear that was building in her spirit.

Better the determined stiffness of her body than the quiver that her heart stuttered in her ears.

“You ask for one whom you have confessed you cannot provide funds for.”

“I am determined.”

“As were those who lay around you in this courtyard now.”

A little closer…

“They were all determined, perhaps moreso than you,” the beast continued.

A little more…

“Have you nothing to say?”

Hakuno opened her eyes, slamming her fist against the ground as she imagined the attack in her mind’s eye. The chains from her magic wrapped around their taloned feet, tripping half of the babies as Hakuno leaped out of the circle and grabbed her weapon.

A great series of roars echoed around her, but the chains tightened.

“There are those around us now that are stronger than me,” Hakuno told the bird. “There are those who spoke words that dripped with more honey than the great trees within the realm of the gods. There may have even been those who were as close to the gods as one could get. Yet you will never find a single soul in this courtyard or in his universe who can claim to have the determination that I have. No challenge is too great. No foe too deadly. At least, not yet.”

Hakuno moved back to the entrance, grabbing her bag and pulling the food that she’d brought with her. She lay it before the beasts, careful not to get too close.

“You will die if you don’t free us,” the beast warned, ignoring the food that its babies rushed for.

“I can’t die when I hardly live.”

She didn’t turn her back to the beast until she was up the stairs. The depths of the palace came to life at the snap of her fingers. Her golden armor gleamed with all the glory of a great kingdom’s knight.

Deeper she went, following the tracer she’d cast with her magic.

The princess was lying in her bed. She was buried in the blankets, her face even covered as Hakuno moved forth and took a deep breath.

Only a virgin can bring the princess life again.

“Forgive me, princess,” Hakuno told the slumbering royal. “I’m going to be kissing you like the great god, Enki, commanded me to.”

She lifted the veil enough to press her lips to the slumbering one’s own.

The taste of sweet fruits and a hint of spice met her lips. She found herself humming softly, climbing onto the bed a little more and deepening the embrace.

So many apologies would be given after this.

So very many…

“W-what is this?” a very masculine voice murmured.

Hakuno felt herself freeze, her eyes widening as the figure pulled the veil from his face and looked up at her.

She stumbled, unable to help herself. Her armor clanged as she fell onto her ass, staring up at the figure now sitting up in bed.

A very male figure…

Where the hell was the princess hidden away in the ancient Uruk ruins, guarded and trapped by the anzu birds?

“Well? Are you going to remove your turban, knight?” The golden haired figure on the bed licked his lips a bit, leaning back slightly and eyeing her with interest. “I had not considered the pleasures found in a man’s lips in a long time.”

“I’m…”

She shut up, watching those red eyes widen a moment before the smirk only grew.

“Well, lady soldier? I do believe the great ruler of Uruk has demanded for your turban to be removed.”

She pulled off the fabrics, feeling her hair fall around her shoulders as she stared at the man.

“Where’s the princess of Uruk?”

“Princess? There’s only me.”

Fuck.

This had been a suicide job.

[thatgoblin]

Okay but imagine Link saying the equivalent of “Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?” from the Winter Soldier to Rhett and imagine Rhett saying “I can do this all day” to Link in one of the last scenes from the movie 🥺

I GOT YOU FAM

*****

Rhett went on autopilot. Pivoting and dodging the assailants as he used his shield to block a storm of bullets that rained down on him before Stevie was able to kick a grenade thrown at them back towards the gunmen. The explosion took them out as well as a chunk of the bridge, giving him cover to get people out of the way. It was when he jerked a kid back, shielding him with his own body and shield as a car exploded next to them, that he knew the Soldier had found him. 

Sending the kid off to a sobbing mother, he knew he had to face him head on. It was the only way he’d stop this once and for all. Grunting, he launched himself over a car to tuck and roll. Stopping in time to brace himself for a downward swing from the Soldier with his metal arm. He hadn’t been this close last time. Last time it had been such a far distance that he could make out his hand was metal as it caught his shield, but now he could see how blue the other’s eyes were. 

His hair was shaggy and his face hidden mostly behind a muzzle like mask. Rhett had a split second to take all that in and commit it to memory before he was deflecting another punch to land one of his own. Damn! This guy was solid and going for his arm didn’t help. 

Cursing under his breath, he continued to trade blows with the mystery Soldier, his shield getting knocked away before a knife was suddenly added to the equation. Rhett was light on his feet and quick, but he was being matched by the Soldier. Getting slammed into van, blocking the knife from sinking into his skull, he growled before kicking the other away as hard as possible. The other went flying across the road to slam into a Mazda, leaving a deep crater in the car. 

Rhett didn’t pause to wait for him to get up. He ran at the other, scooping his shield up to throw it at the other like he always did. Just like last time, it was caught, but he’d been counting on it. Keeping his speed, he jumped to land his feet in the other’s chest hard. It would have taken out any other guy, big or small, but the Soldier just shook it off before tossing the shield to the side. 

“Oh come on,” Rhett growled as they engaged in hand to hand combat again, this time he was trying to go harder and faster than before. He had to get ahead of the other. Snarling, he managed to get into a position to throw the other over his shoulder. The muzzle came off, meaning he was exposed and not as protected. Whipping around, Rhett prepared to throw his whole body at the other, but froze. His breath caught in his chest and felt like he was suddenly drowning.

“Link?” He breathed, staring wide eyed and stunned. 

His very best friend since childhood, his army buddy, his right hand man, his brother, his lover, stood there staring right at him with no expression. No confusion, no anger, not realization. It was if he was just a stranger to the Soldier.

“Who the hell is Link?”

**********

Rhett wasn’t going to give up. He was going to keep fighting with every last bit of his strength. There was no way he was losing Link again. Not after everything they’d both been through. It pained him to fight his friend, his teammate, Mark, but he was not going to let him kill Link. 

“Get out of the way, McLaughlin,” Mark growled through his helmet.

“Not gonna happen, Fischbach,” Rhett snarled back before he made first move. Mark wasn’t going to stop till Link was dead. He’d seen that look before, time and time again in people foaming at the mouth for revenge while anguish pushed them to do unspeakable horrors. Zemo had proven that just moments before. 

“Link, run!” He cried just before Mark backhanded him with his armor. Flying through the air, Rhett corrected himself in time to block a shot from Mark’s armor with his shield before the billionaire turned to focus on Link as he went for the launch pad opening in the fort. He had to buy time for his friend to make it, to get a head start while Rhett dealt with Mark. The man in the armor was out for blood and didn’t care if the man who was his friend got in the way. 

“He killed my mom!” Marked screamed as he traded blows with Rhett.

“He couldn’t stop it!” Rhett cried. “I’m sorry, but he’s my friend!”

“So was I,” Mark growled, sending Rhett back through the air as he managed to get to Link, firing his repulsors to take out the steps he was climbing before taking out the props for the ceiling to fall in. Link cried out as he jumped out of the lid despite almost being free. He broke his long fall with the steps that were left, slamming his body into them to let him have a moment to correct his momentum. 

Rhett couldn’t get to him in time, Mark blocking him with rubble before grappling with Link. The older man didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to fight, but he was being pushed to his limit. He was blamed for so much that he had no control over and people were dead set on labeling him a villain when his life had been stolen. His autonomy stripped down and burned in front of him. For so long he’d tried to understand what happened and when he did, no one else wanted to. There was no forgiveness for his body that had done so many, many terrible things.

“Do you remember them?” Mark snarled into his ear from behind. “Do you remember any of them?”

“I remember all of them,” Link choked out as Mark’s arm tightened around his neck dangerously. Truthfully he didn’t. Blips played in his head like old film, some with sound and some without. He could never be rid of it all, ever, but that was his cross to bear for the horrors and abuse he’d been put through.

Just when he thought he’d black out, Rhett was back. He knocked Link free and they ran as Link gasped for breath.

“Come on,” Rhett grunted as they made for a window to jump out of. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time that happened. Mark was right behind them though and was soon on top of them. After everything they’d worked for, had been through together, Rhett made the choice. It was Link. It would always be Link. Together, they fought in tandem to take Mark out of commission. They were almost there when Mark lifted his hand and managed to land a repulsor beam on Rhett, slamming him into the concrete wall hard enough to knock him out a moment. 

He went to fire on Link, but was caught off guard with the melee of blows from the metal arms. Link was not going to let anything happen to Rhett. Himself be damned, but not Rhett. Screaming as he pinned Mark, he dug his fingers into his arc reactor. He almost pulled it out, but a sudden beam from it blew Link back. 

The Soldier stumbled a moment, looking at his arm for a moment before realizing it wasn’t there anymore. The reactor had taken his arm off and he was thrown back to falling from the train and losing his arm the first time. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t stop looking at it as he collapsed to the floor. Rhett was up and blocking Mark before he could land a killing blow. They kept at it, Rhett fighting harder and harder even as he started to pant.

“You’re done, Rhett,” Mark growled.

“I can do this all day,” Rhett said, holding up his fists as he panted and wobbled a bit on his feet. 

[chloca-cola]

Defenseless Chapter One

My attempt at a Death Stranding fic lmaooo I'm nervous and I hope people like it!

TW: kinda angsty, feelings of guilt

Word count: 1,684

~~

Mara stood atop the cliff overlooking the valley, close to where her makeshift house was located. She had been living in an old building, she wasn't sure what it used to be, but it had protected her throughout the years she's been out here from both Timefall and the BTs that roamed.

She wasn't sure how to feel about it anymore, now that both threats were gone, along with Amelie who had apparently caused it all from what rumors she overheard as she sneaked around the city edges. However, she did enjoy the feeling of regular rain on her skin, especially in the summer. The water smelled sweet and was refreshing in the sounds it made against the surface of the rocky cliff sides. She had stood in this very spot the first time it rained after it all, arms outstretched to her sides, face turned upwards to the sky, letting the rain wash away her troubles. 

She hadn't seen Sam Bridges since everything happened either, but she had a feeling he was still around. Poor guy got used and she felt sorry for him, and wished she could let him know, he had been the only person who had tried to reach out to her...well other than Higgs Monaghan, who also hasn't been seen since either. Word around the travelers is he was dead, but who knows really.

Higgs was...interesting to her, to say the least. She had watched what he had done to Sam from a distance, always using her DOOMs to teleport away before anything bad happened. Sure, she liked Sam alright, but it wasn't her business to get involved in either.

She was just trying to survive, however she could, and getting involved with someone like Higgs is not how one survives. However, she was impressed by his level of control of his DOOMs, but he, like her...like Sam...no longer have their DOOMs. She could still teleport, but doing it too much caused her to get physically sick. The longer the time went by, the less distance she could cover at one time.

Being unfortunate enough to be born under the Cestus constellation, her level was higher, but still not as high as what Higgs shown. 

With that connection to the other side gone, so were the nightmares. She never had to see him again. Her brother, waiting for her on the beach. Trevor. Mara shivered even with the heat of the day around her. She knew he wasn't really at the beach waiting, he was long gone, but it still didn't lessen the chill it caused her.

She was lost in her thoughts until movement caught her attention and she crouched down to  blend in with the rocks. She gasped once the figure came closer to where she was hiding and became clearer. It couldn't be, she heard he was dead. It was Higgs.

*

Higgs awoke on his back, staring up at the sky,  confused he lifted his head slightly to get a look around himself. He was no longer on the beach, and that's when the memories came flooding back. Amelie stood above him, giving him that god awful pity look, like she felt sorry for him, knowing good and well she was the reason he was there to begin with. She had bent down to him, touching his face, saying something along the lines of he didn't belong there. He couldn't fully understand her, it's like he had been floating in water when she was talking, and next thing he knew, he was here.

Had he repatriated here? His guess was probably yes, he slowly sat up, how long had he been gone? How long had the world's been separated now? That ever looming feeling that haunted him before was gone, its weight lifted from his mind. No more DOOMs, for him that was a bittersweet problem.

He stood, his legs shaky, weak from being at the beach for however long, and he began staggering around. 

"Wonder what happened with Sammy-boy." He pondered aloud to no one in particular. "Wonder how he's handlin' bein' screwed over." He felt he had to talk, even if it was just to himself, he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. The cause of his memories to be exacerbated may be gone, but the memories still remain.

Oh the things he's done, to himself, to Sam, to...Fragile. Higgs really did feel terrible for what he had done to Fragile, she had been the one person who he felt was really a friend. However, he had to do it to show the Homo Demens he wasn't weak so they would keep following him.

He carried so much guilt with him now as he trekked across the valley floor, he wonders if he could ever express how sorry he really was for what he had done.

Fragile being the person that she is, would probably eventually forgive him in time, but he felt he didn't deserve such mercy. 

His stomach growled and he sighed dramatically, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Hoo-wee, do I miss teleportin'." He complained aloud, as he bent at the waist and rested his hands on his knees, wishing he had a canteen of water or even a creek. He straightened when he heard the familiar sounds of teleporting behind him, he turned quickly to find a woman with snow white hair and wild sea foam green eyes glaring at him. Glaring for what reason, he wasn't sure, he's never seen her before in his life.

No, wait, he has, his blue eyes looked her up and down before a playful smirk tugged his lips.

"Hey there-" She chucked a canteen at him and vanished again. Higgs juggled the canteen, caught by surprise, and finally getting a good grip on it, he spun in circles looking for his savior.

He remembered seeing her face several times, she had been watching him as he tried to help Amelie bring around the end of the world. Why she had been watching him, he had no clue, but it didn't detract from the fact that he found it interesting. He had tried talking to her once before back then, wanting to convince her to join the Homo Demens, but she just teleported away from him, never getting close to him again after that.

He unscrewed the cap on the canteen and sniffed at the opening, who was to say she wasn't trying to poison him? He didn't know her well enough or know her motives to give him water.

"Huh...smells like...water." He turned it up slightly, dipping a finger in and hesitantly tasted it. "Tastes like it too."

"It is only water." He turned again to find Mara standing behind him, her arms crossed, a heavily annoyed look on her face. "If I wanted you dead, you would be." Her voice was nearly lost in the breeze, soft as a ghosts sigh, but Higgs gave her a lopsided smile, shifting his weight to his right leg.

"Oh, 'sat right?" Mara rolled her eyes at his attempt to sound charming, she knew better, and she wouldn't be drawn in by such futility.

"Just drink, I want my canteen back." She held out her hand, palm up, curling and uncurling her fingers several times impatiently.

"Bossy one, aren't ya?" Higgs continued to ooze out his charm before turning up the canteen and drinking slowly. "Why'd ya teleport away from me then, if ya wanted this back?" He asked, waving the canteen around over her head and she growled, quickly jabbing him in the stomach. He coughed, doubling over and dropping the canteen which Mara swiftly caught in mid air.

"Do not tease me. I am not a child." She warned as she bent down, tilting her head so she could see his face better. "And really, I am not Sam. Sam is a good person. I am not. I will not cower to you." Higgs' face was red from coughing, yet he still grinned at her, chuckling, which caused him to cough again.

"I think I'm gonna like you." He promised, his drawl heavier in his strained tone. She scoffed, standing up straight again, replacing the canteen on her hip, before removing a second one, dropping it at his feet. While she was distracted, he returned her gesture by punching her in the ribs. She staggered slightly, snarling at him, shoving him away before holding at her ribs.

"I thought you may need one, not that deserve to have one." She spat acidly, and Higgs picked up the metal container before straightening back up, smirking at her, shaking the canteen in his hand teasingly at her.

"Not a good person, huh, darlin'?" She rolled her eyes, still snarling, before disappearing again.

*

Why had she gone back? Mara slammed the door to her home hard, she shouldn't have. Now she's spoken to him, which means future interactions will be easier. She has got to keep her distance from him, avoid him. Should be easy in this vast valley, certainly he's just passing through anyway. She can't trust him, she can't trust anyone. Except Sam...he was the only one who tried.

She slammed her fists against the door, her legs shaky and weak from teleporting so much so quickly. She felt the bile rising and she rushed to her bathroom to wretch into the toilet. She panted, falling to her knees on the floor. She shouldn't have done that...not for him, yet she did. There had been something in her, something deep down that was yearning for connection, was she so desperate for it that she would allow herself to get close to him of all people?

Although, he had seemed different than the first night he approached her, and probably for the same reasons she was calmer these days. She would let fate decide the answer for her. She will not actively seek him, but if they do cross paths again, maybe she could let herself get to know him like she had done Sam.

~~

@savage-rhi @disneymarina