#Hall of Heavy Metal History

[dirjoh-blog]

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

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

[nasa]

Let's Explore a Metal-Rich Asteroid 🤘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5. This mission runs on collaboration.

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

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

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

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

6. You can be a part of the journey.

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

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

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

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

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

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

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

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

"Robbie?"

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

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

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

"Criminalistics?"

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

"Wow that’s…really?"

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

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

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

"Oh god, what is it?"

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're correct."

Eddie blinks again, "Who're you?"

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

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

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

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

"Oh have you?" he smirks.

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

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

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

His expression softens just a bit.

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

"Oh?"

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

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

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

[lexosaurus]

Gym 101

In which Valerie forces Danny to go workout with her

[ao3]

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

****

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

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

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

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

He hadn't stuck around long after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And repeated the process.

Again.

And again.

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

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

"We godda fix your core."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Certainly, she had said something.

Something that Danny was supposed to be listening to.

Oh, shit. 

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

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

Danny tried his best to follow.

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

"Try adding what?"

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

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

"Well, you have them, ghost boy."

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

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

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

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

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

"But the bar feels weird," Danny defended.

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

"I know." 

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

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

Oh, his face was burning burning now.

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

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

So, it was fifty-fifty at this point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know what, I believe that."

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

Two down, about five million more to go.

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

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

And they thought it was fun?

That seemed absurd.

Valerie scrunched her nose at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank god."

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

A few weeks?

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

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

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

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

"Aye-aye, captain."

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

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

"Literal torture."

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

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

And so, he began.

****

[read more of my fics here]

[toxinoire]

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

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

but I'm tagging some ships because why not

~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

• Aaron can bake really well

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

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

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

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

• Janis is an English nerd

• Regina is a History and Literature nerd

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

• Safe to say that she has daddy issues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• Janis and Damian are FNAF enjoyers

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

• Damian was Jane Doe

• Cady secretly enjoys dark romances

• Gretchen is a walking first aid kit

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

• When that happens everyone knows they fucked up

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

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

[thebitchesterbrothers]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stranger looks clearly amused at mister Gadlings obvious embarrassment.

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

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

Gadling looks as relieved as he looks stressed by now.

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

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

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

Apparently Gadling finally found his voice again.

“You came all this way just to…”

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

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

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

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

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

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard

*COD medieval au - Simon Riley x reader

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

word count: 1.1k

“Again.”

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

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

“I’ve seen enough, thank you.”

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

“Your Grace..”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ser Simon Riley, Your Grace.”

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

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

“Your Majesty.”

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

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

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

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

“Reset-”

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

“Your Grace, this is-”

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

“None, Your Majesty.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

“What experience do you have then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What in the seven hells have I done..

[chapter 2 >>>]

[watchoutforthefanfics]

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N-"

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

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

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

"Y/N."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Take care of yourself, raggedy man."

"Y/N, just let me speak-"

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

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

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

“Don’t do this to me.”

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

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

“Identify yourself.”

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

“I love you too.”

[ultralightpoe]

Mini Me - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Word Count: 956

Warnings: none

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

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

Happy Halloween!

Being normal was hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am completely honored.”

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

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

“Too early. Dinner first.” 

- 

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

He was having the absolute time of his life. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[th3-0bjectivist]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy 4th,

th3-0bjectivist (Luke)

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

[argisthebulwark]

Time Moves Slow - Miraak

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is this true, Dragonborn?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[an-idyllic-novelist]

dark schenider with shinobu!reader headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

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

PART TWO

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

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

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

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

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

Go to hell! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Part Two, anyone? 😉]

Taglist:

@sleep-all-day-everyday

@theanimekid

@ccruzmoon

@cassanderasblog

@technikerin23

@justamegafan

@myrisan-melodies

@harame

@saltyfruitbat

@nunezs-stuff

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[tiredwitchplant]

Everything You Need to Know About Crystals: Chrysoprase

The Stone of Venus

Requested by @acovenoftwo

Chemical Formula:  SiO2

Color: Apple green, lemon

Rarity: Easy to obtain as a tumble stone, finer quality is expensive

Hardiness: 7

Type: Chalcedony

Chakra Association: Heart and Solar Plexus

Deities: Venus

Birthstone: May

Astrological Signs: Gemini, Taurus

Element: Water

Planet: Mercury

Origin: Formerly Poland, Now Australia, Brazil, Madagascar, Russia, Tanzania, USA

Powers: Encouraging development, Compassion, Tolerance, Growth, Forgiveness, Connection to Nature

Crystals It Works Well With: Mountain “jade”, Tourmaline, Smokey Quartz

How It is Created: Chrysoprase is a type of chalcedony quartz with a microcrystalline structure. Its color comes from nickel deposits, and it can be found in pale shades through to brighter green. Raw pieces have a granular appearance, similar to pieces of coconut, and a waxy sheen when polished.

History: Chrysoprase, called Stone of Venus because in antiquity it represented the goddess of divine love, the famous Venus, is a magnificent apple-green nickeliferous chalcedony belonging to the family of microcrystalline quartz. The ancient Egyptians also used chrysoprase for practical purposes such as sealing letters, but they would also wear pendants, amulets and other jewelry made of chrysoprase. For hundreds of years, the only major source of chrysoprase was a region of southwestern Poland between the Czech Republic and Germany, formerly known as Lower Silesia. This area has a complex geology and is extremely rich in all kinds of mineral deposits, including gold, silver, serpentine, quartz, marble, granite, alabaster—and chrysoprase. Stone artifacts from as far back as the Iron Age show the long history of Silesian carving and masonry. In the eighteenth century, Frederick II, King of Prussia (now part of Germany), conquered Lower Silesia. In particular, he wanted its deposits of green chrysoprase, which he used to decorate the halls of his favorite palace at Potsdam near Berlin.

What It Can Do:

Known as the healer of the heart space and helps connect you with infinite supply of compassion and love

Supports cardiac health and provides a centered peace

Helps people suffering from melancholy and manifests optimism and joy

Can be placed by homegrown herbs and vegetables to boost production

Perfect to artist as it increases creativity and talent

Encourages fidelity, forgiveness, compassion, and nonjudgmental thinking in relationships, while banishing greed and selfishness

Helps with inducing deep meditative states and promotes the love of truth

Calming and nonegotistical, creating openness in new situations

Stimulates fluent speech and mental dexterity, preventing you from speaking out unthinkingly in anger

Lifts oppressive and recurrent images, preventing nightmares, especially in children

Is said to detoxify heavy metals in one’s body and stimulate liver function

Is said to enhance fertility, reverse effects of infertility that are caused by infection and guard against STIs

Increases the absorption of Vitamin C

How to Get the Best Out Of: Wear as a necklace, bracelet, earrings or even use it in an elixir. Carrying chrysoprase for long periods attunes to the devic realm, a band of frequency found present on Earth which can connect you to nature and the planet directly

How to Cleanse and Charge: Can be cleansed briefly under running water then recharged overnight among a host of rock crystals for a few weeks. Cleanse during a rain shower for optimized cleansing,

Crystal Grid:

Healing for Children (Nightmares)

Shape: Fruit of Life

• 6 “issue” or calming stones

• 4 grounding crystals

• 2 light-bringing crystals

1. Hold your crystals in your hands and state your intention for the grid.

2. Lay the central keystone to represent your child.

3. Lay six crystals around the keystone to assist with the challenge or issue. (These crystalscan either represent a single issue, or different ones—whichever feels best to you. However,it may be more effective to address separate issues by laying individual grids.)

4. Lay four grounding crystals to anchor the grid at each corner of the “square.”

5. Lay a light-bringing crystal at the top and bottom.

6. Leave in place until the issue or issues have been resolved, remembering to cleanse thegrid regularly.

Crystals to use: Chrysoprase, Amethyst, Prehnite, Bloodstone

Sources

[sacredwrath]

P3. Meeting the monster

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

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

Around 3 he loses patience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No" Logan snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's your problem now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-they're just pathetic-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels good

He lets himself touch rage.

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

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

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

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

"How could you?"

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

There's blood in Logans eyelashes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can't do it.

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

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

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

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

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them

[mychoombatheroomba]

Show Them What You Can Do

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 27

Training begins at Fort Benning, and Leon realizes just how far he's come.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

CW: assholes in the army in the 1990's and some slander against tank operators

The ride to Fort Benning was a long and strange one. 

When Leon had been "recruited" into STRATCOM, he'd been promised that they would teach him how to handle every kind of situation. He supposed that he hadn’t really expected that to include tanker training. More than that, he hadn’t expected to leave the base he'd called home for so long. He knew it was for more than just tank training that you were all heading there, though. Krauser needed time. He needed to convince the men upstairs that this training should be tell-all. 

To tell everyone what sort of horrors they’d be thrown up against. 

Leon tried to imagine their reactions. They might have heard rumors of Raccoon City and the undead that had stalked its streets, but that was all too different from knowing that such a thing was possible. That it existed. 

Assuming that Krauser could get access to what he needed. 

That was what he thought of as he sat in the Humvee, wishing that you had been put in the same vehicle as you. Or, at the very least, that there was some music. Instead, he'd sat with Valeria, Anderson and Alejandro, while Alenko drove and prattled on about the tanks that awaited them all. 

The man’s eyes lit up even more when you all arrived, searching for the heavy machines he was so excited to see. 

Fort Benning was massive. Large enough to house hundreds of soldiers, as well as the tanks and open space large enough to drive them. Your squad's home base wasn't even half that size. It was meant to be small. Covert. Everything about this place was shock and awe by comparison. 

And the soldiers being trained there acted like it. 

Your base had an air of bravado and arrogance to it, sure, but the men here were on another level. The minute your squad unloaded, Leon felt eyes on him. Heard whispers and snickered jokes. He supposed that driving around several-ton machines that were designed only to kill, could inflate one's sense of confidence. But he soon learned that it was more than just the tanks these men drove that made them eye your squad like vultures. 

"You'd think they'd never seen a woman before," Williams grumbled as everyone filed into the barracks, passing too many leering cadets on the way. 

"They haven't," Alenko shook his head. "At least, not here. The Armor School's never admitted women before." 

Leon had frowned at that. "What?" He'd looked over to you for confirmation, and you barely nodded before Valeria grinned and butted in. 

"So, these boys get to see history in the making. Lucky them," she said, giving one particularly offended looking cadet a wink, and even if Leon didn't like or trust her, he couldn't help but smile at the sentiment. He saw that even you did, as much as you tried to hide a positive reaction to anything Valeria did. 

And even if it was more training, more exertion and more methods of dealing death to learn, there was some excitement to be found in the fact that this squad was making history. And Leon soon found some small excitement as the squad lined up in the motor pool on the first day, and you were all surrounded by massive metal beasts. Things Leon had never thought to be so close to, much less operate. That excitement spread through most of the squad, he could see it in their eyes. 

But in your eyes, he saw something else. Something he only glimpsed at lunch in the mess hall, or when you would all retire to the barracks. Your eyes would linger on the soldiers of Fort Benning - not the ones that would cause you and the rest of the squad trouble, but rather the little groups they’d formed amongst themselves. Leon saw you watching them laughing together at mealtimes, talking in groups before turning in for the night . . . 

It didn’t take a genius to imagine why. You’d spoken very little about those you’d been stationed with before, but the Army had been your life. Your purpose. And the people in it . . . well, Leon knew you well enough by now to know that you hadn’t always been so guarded. 

He wondered if you’d shared laughs like that with your brothers in arms, once. If you’d shoved someone when they told a bad joke. If you’d shown the side of yourself that Leon had been lucky enough to know more freely. 

There was little time to think about it, though. Not when you were all essentially learning two Army roles at once. When you weren’t all learning how to operate and maintain the tanks, you were sent into the woods alongside the cavalry scouts, rifles in hand. It was more work in less time than either role would traditionally have to deal with, but Leon expected no less of Krauser. Even if the Major wasn’t there, he was still pushing you all to the limit. 

And you and Leon pushed yourselves harder still. 

Your sparring sessions continued in your off hours and, somewhat begrudgingly so, Williams, Alenko and Valeria joined you most nights. The staff had seemed intrigued when you both asked for the practice knives necessary, and your sessions quickly drew crowds. The cadets wanted to see what was so special about these STRATCOM recruits, it seemed. And the five of you gave them a good show. Good enough that Leon heard the cadets whispering. At least, it started as whispering. Then it gradually grew loud enough for Leon to hear the words. 

“Don’t see what’s so special about them.”

“Shit, bet we could lay ‘em out.”

“I’d like to lay that pretty one out-”

“Which one? That boy with the fringe is prettier than all of them-” 

Leon’s eyes narrowed, ducking under a swing from Valeria as he heard the words. If his sparring partner noticed the conversation happening around them, she didn’t seem to mind it. 

Who did mind, though, was watching with crossed arms from the sidelines, giving Williams and Alenko notes in a way that reminded Leon of a bit of Krauser. He didn’t know how the Major would react to the comments, but you . . . he saw the annoyance on your face grow more and more.

Williams beat you to the punch, though. 

“You assholes don’t have anything better to be doing?” she asked, stopping her fight with Alenko and looking over at the sneering cadets. 

The leader of the little group just smiled. “Trust me, sweetheart,” he said, looking past Williams and to Valeria. “There are lots of other things I’d rather be doing.” 

The fight between Leon and Valeria ended quickly then, as the dark-eyed woman noticed the attention on her. “Don’t think you could handle me,” she said, and even if it was in her usual confident tone, the sharpness of her eyes betrayed that she didn’t appreciate the attention.

With a self-satisfied smile, the leader of the pack stepped forward. “Think I’d like to try, though.”

“Don’t be a dick-” Alenko began to protest, but Leon was a little faster.

“If you’re looking to get your ass handed to you, go ahead,” Leon said, because he of all people knew that Valeria could shut this man up with little effort. Any of the five of you could, he was sure. But this man didn’t seem convinced. 

“Bet she’d put up more of a fight than you,” the man said, stepping closer to Leon now. Two steps were all he managed to take before another voice joined in. One that made Leon smile, despite the irritation he was feeling.

“You wanna run your mouth all night, or you wanna fight?” you asked, looking over at the cadets that had been dealing out the trash talk. 

The men looked surprised, and then they looked far too smug. “Oh, yeah?” one asked, a young man with broad shoulders and short-cropped hair. A jaw that Leon thought was exceedingly punchable. “Didn’t think you spec ops types were allowed to mix with the rest of us,” he said, drawing a hard line between your group and his. 

You just held his eye contact, and Leon felt a surge of utter adoration for you as you spoke again. “We all have to get our hands dirty sometimes.” 

The cadet sneered, looking to his fellows before stepping forward. “Alright. Never thought I’d get to kick a spec ops soldier’s ass.” 

Your reply was cold and swift. “You won’t.” 

That sneer turned into a full-bodied frown, his eyes flashing with the fire of a wounded pride. “You think you’re special? An army of girls and pretty boys? What do they teach you over there, huh? How to paint your nails? How to style your hair?”

“How to humble assholes like you.” Leon couldn’t say where the comment came from, and he didn’t much care. He took some small pride in the way the cadet’s gaze snapped towards him, all angry fire. 

“You think you can take me, pretty boy?” It was amazing how, from you, the nickname sent chills down Leon’s spine. From anyone else, though - and from this cadet specifically . . . Leon just felt it stoke the need to show this arrogant bastard what you’d all spent so many hours learning. What so many bruises and black eyes had taught him. 

“I don’t just think it,” Leon answered, and he saw you smirk out of the corner of his eye. You and the rest of your little training group.

The square-jawed cadet tilted his head, popping the bones in his neck in an over-exaggerated way. “Alright then,” he said, stepping up to Leon. "Let's do this." 

This man, whoever he was, was massive. He was built well, no doubt from hours spent training. He looked like the kind of man who could knock someone unconscious with a single punch. 

So, Leon wouldn't give him the chance.

"Armed or unarmed?" Leon asked, his heart steady. Steadier than maybe it should have been. 

The answer came quickly. "Unarmed." 

And so, Leon handed his knife to Valeria, who gave him a devilish smile. "Fuck him up, blanquito ," she said and stepped back. Leon looked over at you, watching from a few feet away. You wore a smirk that matched Valeria's. A silent urging that he could see plainly in your eyes. 

Show them what you can do.

Who was he to disappoint you? 

So, he took up his stance a little ways away from the challenger, bringing his arms up. He had never liked the idea of violence to prove a point. He'd never been one to pick fights, and all the ones he'd chosen as of late were not out of malice or anger. But if the man was going to say shit like that, Leon could make an exception. Besides, he wanted to spar anyway. Krauser's words echoed in Leon's head, and they made him have to suppress a smirk. Might even learn something. So, as the cadet met him, taking up a ready stance as well, Leon exhaled a breath, and found that there was no fear to expel from his body. 

Only the need to teach this asshole a lesson. 

The cadet attacked first, as Leon expected he might. His fist came forward with a power that Leon knew would bruise, the force of it parting the air as the man across from him swung. But the blow never landed, and Leon met the man's strength with his own as he blocked the strike. 

And then, with a speed that he'd honed at the end of your knife, Leon moved.

There was no knife in the man's hand, but Leon knew that certain techniques would carry over anyway. Techniques like controlling the arm, his hands closing to keep it in place. Keeping the cadet he was fighting still long enough for the quick knee Leon brought up into his stomach to connect. He pulled the blow just enough not to hurt the man too badly, but the cadet still had his air forced from him as it landed. And then even more air as Leon leveraged his arm and forced the cadet face-first to the ground, pinning him down in the dirt. 

And from there, from his place of near-effortless victory, Leon knew exactly how you'd felt that first day he'd met you. He knew how utterly powerful you must have felt, taking someone down like it was nothing. He remembered so vividly what it was like to be the one down in the dirt. The one who'd been so thoroughly defeated. That day, part of him had thought he'd never know what it was to be the victor. 

But here he was. And as he looked up at you, as he saw the utter pride in your expression, he couldn't help but feel pride in himself, too. 

Pride enough for him to do as you did on that first day as he let the squirming cadet up, looking down at him with a smirk of his own. "Again?" 

The man was furious, Leon could see it in his face. Ears and cheeks red, eyes narrowed . . . but his pride wouldn't let him stop. He spat the word Leon was waiting for. "Again."

⧫⧫⧫

And again. 

And again. 

And again.

You watched Leon humiliate the cadet who'd challenged him over and over again that night, and with each victory, you felt something swell in your chest. Pride, yes, but something else too. Affection. Adoration. You thought back to that first day, when you'd faced down a frustrated and overwhelmed rookie, one you'd never imagined yourself caring for.

One you'd never imagined yourself falling for. 

You'd fallen for Leon's kindness. His empathy. His determination. But as you watched him fight that night in Fort Benning, you found yourself falling for another part of him entirely: his power. His skill. His steadiness. He'd come so far, and as the sun dipped beneath the sky and Leon went on, sweat beading at his brow and his beautiful blue eyes focused on his opponent, you couldn't have been prouder. More . . . 

You didn't let yourself focus on that deeper emotion bubbling in your chest. The one that bellied all others, which made the world a little brighter when you looked at Leon. When you spoke to him. When he kissed you. 

You didn't want to focus on that. Didn't want to name it. Instead, you watched as Leon brought the cadet he was fighting down with a powerful kick to the side, sending the man sprawling. 

And finally, it seemed, the man had enough. 

He stood slowly, trying his best to keep his balance after the thorough thrashing Leon had given him. His eyes told you that even if he'd been defeated, though, this fight wasn't over. "Fucking spec ops-" he spat, and the crowd that had gathered to watch the fight murmured a little. "None of that shit is gonna help you behind the controls of a tank." He was grasping at straws. Trying to keep some semblance of his tattered pride. 

Your squad, though, wasn't having any of it, and you found your heart stirring for a different reason when Alenko stepped up beside Leon, clasping a hand on his shoulder. "No. And bruises won't help you behind those controls, either. So, I'd suggest you go get some sleep."

"Or stay," Valeria piped in, crossing her arms and smirking. "If you want some more." 

You watched from the sidelines as your fellow recruits stood by Leon, backing him up. Supporting him as a squad should. It had been so long since you'd felt that. Camaraderie. Unity. And then, even if it should have frightened you, it made you crack a small smile.  

The cadet Leon had beaten looked between you all, then to Leon, and his rage simmered behind his eyes. Still, he waved a hand, turning and storming off. Some of his fellow Fort Benning cadets followed him, throwing harsh glances at Leon. Not all, though. Some approached, grinning or giving respectful nods. Some congratulated him on his string of victories, their respect earned. 

And then it was just the five of you, and you were all smiles. 

"Fucking beautiful, Kennedy," Williams said, stepping up to Leon and then punching him a little too hard in the shoulder. "Next time, though, leave some for me." 

Leon laughed, and the sound only made your smile grow more. "Deal,” he nodded, and Alenko piped in. 

“There might be a next time, you know. Guys like that don’t like being made a fool of.” 

“Good,” Valeria grinned. “Because I think I’d like to see you land a few hits on him,” she looked at Williams, and you missed the way it made the taller woman go pink because you looked down, overcome with a sense of longing that you’d never quite been able to bury. A memory of smiles and witty comments, and a radio playing stupid, happy songs. A sense of togetherness that had been ripped away from you. 

And you realized then, when it was just in reach, how much you’d missed it. 

“Sarge-” your title. Always your title with everyone but Leon. It was that way by your own design, you supposed. It was less personal that way. But the way Valeria said it now, like more of a nickname than a rank . . . it made you look up, and you almost didn’t begrudge her the too-knowing look she shot you. “Aren’t you going to congratulate your boy?” 

Your boy. 

You should have been pissed at her for saying something like that, for risking even an implication of that connection. Instead, though, that frustration melted when you saw how Leon looked, smiling and surrounded by his squad mates. 

It made your troubled eyes soften. 

You didn’t move closer, not yet, but you did nod. “Never enjoyed seeing someone get their ass whooped so much,” you said, your eyes finding Leon’s, saying more to him with that look than you ever could with words. 

The smile it brought from Leon was worth more than anything in the world. “Learned from the best,” he said, and you wished that you could just grab him and kiss him, then and there. 

Instead, you volunteered for fire watch that night. 

And when you were sure that everyone else was asleep, when the shadows of the new barracks were at their darkest, you made your way to Leon’s bunk. He was dreaming, you could hear him shifting uncomfortably in bed, and you knew that his eyes were likely shifting back and forth beneath their lids. It made you feel less guilty about waking him up, placing your hand on his shoulder. You heard his sharp intake of breath, and he sat up a ways, the outline of him turning to look at you in the dark. 

Neither of you spoke - not wanting to even risk a whisper. You just kept your hand on his shoulder, and you felt his clasp over the top of it. A silent gesture.

It was a risk, but you leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Even if it only lasted a second or two, it was enough. You didn’t let yourself wonder how the hell you’d gotten here; how you’d fallen so hard. No, you just smiled at Leon through the dark and gently pushed him back down, silently telling him to go back to sleep. You felt him squeeze your hand and then obey, and you resumed your watch, glad of the dark for hiding the stupid smile that graced your face.

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[metalcultbrigade]

On August 15th and 16th, in 1972, DEEP PURPLE recorded what would become one of the most influential live albums in the history of Hard Rock and Heavy Metal, "Made in Japan"!

The recordings took place at the Festival Hall in Osaka, Japan (Aug.15th & 16th) and also a third night August 17th, at the Nippon Budokan in Tokyo, Japan. Happy 50th year historic recording/concert event anniversary! #DeepPurple #MadeinJapan