#multi-slide die casting

[diecastor]

#Sand casting #die casting #high pressure die casting #cold chamber die casting #hot chamber die casting #multi-slide die casting #conventional die casting

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

Since its loki we are talking here, can we have loki lusting for his half sister, reader who is the goddess of lust and love. He does magic on her so he could do on her

Courtyard Shenanigans

Damn what a gorgeous evening tonight turned out to be. Its just what the fuck I need after the most grueling day of coming second to Thor in everything. Plus there's nothing more peaceful then enjoying the beauty of Asgard as the day settles out. Dusk makes the orange stained sky unsually gorgeous, infused with dusty pink clouds that cast the prettiest of shadows over the Royal Palace of Valaskjalf. The crisp clear breeze seems fresher than any air I've experienced on any planet.

But trying to enjoy the phenomal view, as I step out into the courtyard, is short lived. Sus muffled grunts sound off from a few feet away, seemingly near the statue my worrysome mother insisted be created in my image. What or who the hell is that moaning in terrible pain?

Crouching low, I creep along the edge of the full shrubbery leading in that direction. I can't help my eyes transforming into saucers as I peek through the multi-colored rose bushes. Utter disbelief smacks me like a speeding freight train at the scene unfolding right before my eyes: my slutty half sister riding the fuck outta one of my guards face.

The lucky bastard is horizontal on the cemented circular bench that surrounds my stone doppelganger. His hand is flying at the speed of light on the pathetic member that sticks out through the guard uniform as you grind your clearly soakin wet pussy on his mouth; transparent rivelts drip from your oozing center down his chin to his neck. I'm not shocked that his lips are so damn red and raw from your treatment but from the way he moans into your core and fucks his fist is a clear indication of satisfaction. Piercing moans of approval get louder before you begin to speak out loud.

"Fuck, riiiiight there! Come on, cause you-ah!- finished allova yourselfself twice but haven't made me cum once. Haaaah, fuuuuu- mmm.. Shame on you soldier, maybe you need a little incentive."

I watch intently as you throw your head back on a moan with closed eyes and roll your neck counterclockwise. I rather soak you in your every move, purposely ignoring the wad of cum pooled around his balls. Your freshly done braids swing widly; cute, jet black nails grip his shoulder tight in your pleasure. The breeze gets stronger for a moment, swirling around the two of you in a glittery sheer sky blue mist before dissipating within seconds. When your lids reopen, eyes matchin the color of the sky, you stare upwards with an open mouth. The man beneath you seems to go insane, licking and sucking at your hungry little cunt like a starved man in the woods.

"Gods yes, so much better. Good boy, jus needed a little push huh? Thats it, aaaaah, lemmeuseyouuuuu!"

Fuck, your skin is radiate, glistens with perspiration from all your hard work. The humping of your hips makes your perfect soft flesh jiggle erratically. How I'd be perfectly happy to die right at this moment without making my way to Valhalla if it meant trading places with that insignificant bug. He has no idea how lucky he is to have the gift of YOU sliding what's gotta to be the the universe's most perfect pussy on his undeserving mouth.

The shocking incredulity surging through me at the scene seems very understandable, the raging boner however makes me pause. It's not the first one the little vixen has caused me but the guilt that comes with lustin after you is gut wrenchin.

Probably doesn't help that you appear to have strict orders to never come near asgardian clothing. Your fuckin itty bitty knitted baby blue top and salmon tinted scrap of cloth wrapped around your waist like a snug skirt damn nearhad me drooling. You are and always will be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Shouldn't be hard to guess why I'm relentlessly having to secretly grip my dick at the base almost every time I'm in your fuckin presence. I live in a life of hopelessly attempting to not nut in my royal robes because of you.

Damn, it's impossible not to witness how this plays out since I've yearned to be in the place of this unworthy fucker for years.. How I desperately wish it was my mouth you dragged your quivering quim allover like that. I'm entranced at the way you grip his medium length blonde locks and drag across his face even faster as you degrade him.

"Gonnacuuuuum! Oh God, finally! No thanks to youuuu, had to u-use my gifts jus to get the pleasure I yearn. Yeeeeees, stay right there! Ohfuckohfuckohfuuuuuuk!"

My hands flies to grip my clothed dick firmly, this time to aid the nut trying to spray outta me instead of stifling it. It only takes a couple squeezes, along with the image of you leaning forward as the scum sucks your little clit vigorously; the flutter of your vacate gummy walls paralyzing me as my cream sprays 5 abundant globs into my mother's rose bushes. I thank the gods for your booming whine that helps to covers my perverted groan.

Your hips swivel a few more times before you drop her head back down and gracefully slip off his face. Taking a few steps back, you watch my soon to be fired guard gasp for breath; his hazel eyes are unseeing and dazed as fuck. So memorized by her orgasm, I'm estatic to notice I missed the small peckered fucker cum for a third time. It seems my little sister has also noticed, the way narrowed eyes trail to his dick and your cute little nose wrinkles in disgust.

"Leave us." She demands to him curtly before looking right into my soul through the thick bush.

As confused as he seems to be, head ducking left to right quizzically, the guard scrambles away as he hastily tucks his dick away. It would almost be funny if it werent for the sinking feeling in my gut. Nothing else to do except sheathe my still hard cock and reveal myself, I stand awkwardly and watch you fix your clothing to hide your drippy little slit.

"Come, brother." Y/n demands, finger crooked at me.

You step one leg over the bench and sit with it between your smooth chocolate thighs. Back straight with your nose in the air, you sit like a queen where that coward laid just a moment before. I walk over on stiff legs and do the same a few inches away, avoiding eye contact at all costs. The smell of your pussy lingering in the air entices my rock hard dick that taps impatiently underneath my clothing. Your stare on the side of my face almost burns but my guilt keeps me focused on the ground as you speak confidently.

"Why do you spy on me in my most private of moments, Loki? You must know it isn't proper of a brother to watch his sister do such things."

I swallowly visibly before answering.

"I'm- I'm sorry. It was not my intention. I came for air after a long day and heard noises of which I assumed were pain. Well, I thought.." I trail off uncomfortably.

"But you did not leave once you realized." You counter back.

My mouth open and closes as I fumble my response, cheeks feeling like they've been god damn torched.

"Well you- you knew of my presence and still concluded such distasteful acts, out in the open may I add." I shoot back, finally looking into your pretty, dark, almond shaped eyes.

"You didn't seem to mind as you stroked your fat cock to completion while starin in between my legs."

That stumps me as I sit gazing at your beautiful frame, mouth slightly agape. But you only giggle at me as you stand and prepare to exit the courtyard.

"Next time be more inconspicuous; my father wouldn't like to see you do such things. In fact I think mother would be amused even less." She teases me and turns to leave.

A snap of my fingers brings my statue to life. The stone scrapes loudly as it moves and grabs each of your wrists, locking them in place into the air. The way you stand there helpless and shocked does soothe my ego a bit, I can readily admit.

"You blame me as if you weren't gyrating allover that man's face like a common whore. Yes I lust after you, dear sister. But I know you do for me as well. Yet you charade around the castle flamboyantly, refusing to wear our royal attire. Instead insisting on donning tiny earthly garments and then bending in front of me every chance you get. You want me y/n and I'm sick of you pretending you fuckin don't." I say leaning in close, lips just half an inch from your own.

Already a bit agreeable, I sense how much our close proximity affects your state of mind. As tense as your flawless frame is, your gorgeous eyes shut and you lean in to try to kiss me. Before you can I raise my right hand, swiftly drawing a circle in the air with the tip of my finger, watching as glittery emerald green smoke forms a thin circle. I gently blow it into your face and you unknowingly inhale as I press my lips to yours lightly for a few seconds before pulling back. You try to follow, lips pouting as I deny your request.

"Lokiiiii. Kiss meeeeee." You whine, arms pulling at the stone hold on your wrists.

"Hmmm.." I pretend to think dramatically. "Beg me, sweetheart."

Your response is instantaneous.

"Please, big brother, pleeeeease! I want you, no NEED you so bad. Can I have your lips? No wait!Your cock? Pretty please? Promised to always take care of me right? Need you to take care of me now, Lokiiiii."

"Ok, Ok y/n. I'll give you what you want, but only if you answer a question. If you lie, you don't get my cock. Understand?"

"Yeeeees big brother." You slur back at me, lookin a bit dazed from my little homemade concoction.

"How many of my personal guard have you fucked?"

"Just the one you seen me with today. It was awful: he came with a quickness I couldn't have imagined. He's the only man I've ever been with." You answer honestly.

"Glad to hear I needn't murder my entire guard then. Alrighty, honey sit up a bit."

You do as I ask and I slide underneath your restrained body, taking out my leaking dick. I wiggle the shaft back and forth, smacking it against your plump soft brown ass cheeks. Fuck, your moans are like music to my ears and I curse myself inwardly as a feel a tautness in my groin from the way you frantically hump back at me.

"Please Loki, you promised me. One question and I answered. Gimme my dick. I've earned it, have I not big brother?"

That filthy fuckin mouth spurs me to lift you by your hips and rapidly poke my fat cock tip into your snug little hole. (Although he should fear my wrath, I am suddenly semi grateful for the foreplay my guard provided for how fuckin drenched you are now.) It feels so fuckin good.

The way you squeal and tremble has me mandhandling you with a tight grip, keepin you in place as I dig into the tightest pussy I've ever felt. It's so warm, so wet, just the most perfect little slit to ease into. I can't cease the breathless way I repeatedly grunt your name into the air of the courtyard loudly.

The tense sensation bubbling in my balls and pelvis quadruple and its my turn to whimper loudly. It's barbaric the way I fuck into you for the first time, carelessly crying my pleasure into the wind. Your wails are even more unhinged and it's a miracle that nobody has come by to see who's out here groaning like a wounded animal.

"Haaaaaah! OhmygodsLoki! Ohgodsohgods, so very good big brother! Just like my dreeeeams- aaaaahhhfuu-Loki!!!"

You've hit feral and I've only just got in all the way. Our chests heave simultaneously as I reach up to flick your little top out the way, watchin your breast flop out and shake uncontrollably at your attempts to fuck onto my cock. If not for my hold on your hips you'd most definitely would be successful in milking me within seconds. It shouldn't be this hard not to breed you but it's taking all my will power not to creampie my little sisters pussy.

"Y/n s-stop it, lemme-FUCK! Darling, please just lemme handle it. C-can't hold back if you don't keep still. Haaah, ohgods! Please sweetheart!"

The swiveling of your hips is gonna be my demise. All I can do is match your frenzied pace, pulling out only half way before slamming in each time. I know I'm giving my princess what she deserves as continuous praises for me spill over your plump lips.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyoubigbrother! Your cocks the best! I'm yours Loki, only your yours tohavetoholdtofuck! Ohgods! You'resofuckinamazing!"

The whiny dirty words, plus the way your soaking wet pussy puts my spasming dick inna chokehold makes me lose all concentration. The stone statue releases its grip on you and falls back into place as if it never moved and inch.

Your quick to lean forward on my chest, one hand slipping down to rub at your sticky little clit as your hips never miss a beat in their delicious torture. Its almost pathetic when you cum on the first stroke of that throbbing button, except im grateful because there was no way I could hold out for much longer.

"I'mcummingLoki! Yesyesyes, cumming on your cock big brother! Feelssogood! Ah ah ah! Mmm yeeeees Loooki!"

Warmth spreads throughout me as you put your pretty face in my neck and fuck the shit outta me. Fuck the tables have turned, high pitched moans flowing from me as I stare into the sky blankly as you force me to creampie your tiny little cunt. I'm gasping through my groans as I try to breath through this intense fucking orgasm.

"Y/n haaaah oh Gods, y/n! Suchabrat for thiiisss. Gonna make you pay little girl. Ohfuuuuck, big brothers gonna get you back.."

Gush after thick gush pours into you as my arms drop limply to the ground. My hips quiver and I can't control the small humps they give as I fuck my heavy load into you. I don't notice how the last of the sunlight slips behind the castle, dimming the courtyard. It's hard to observe anything other than my cock becoming overstimulated from cumming twice so powerfully within just a few minutes.

"Ah, ah, ah y/n! Waaaaait darling, gimmeasecondplease! 's too fuckin good, haaaah! Please pretty girl, need a moment." I beg unashamed, head thrashing from left to right.

Thankfully your hips circle to a slow halt, but you dont immediately release me as you did the guard. I can admit I am less than pleased at the way you sit up and look down at me sinisterly while I suck in air desperately.

"No fair big brother, you used your powers on me.." You say in-between heaving breaths as I look at you in shock. I had no idea you knew..

Your hypnotizing eyes swirl with that tantalizing sunset color as the shimmering blue mist appears again but this time surrounding the two of us thickly.

"Now I wanna use mine on you."

OH. FUCK.

#loki x reader #loki x black!reader #black reader #black fanfiction #all readers #smut #lick my pussy #pussylicker #pussy eater #public fun #watcher #spying #creamp!e #breeding k1nk #spells #spellcasting #magic

[aqueluna]

Prompt 3 - Temper

CW: Illness

The aurete amber glow of a vibrantly verdant spring’s late afternoon cast the bustling Kugane thoroughfare in an equally brilliant light, thousands of souls passed by the numerous, nestled stalls, each advertised as much by the brilliantly woven, colourful awnings and bunting banners and the paper lanterns just now starting to be lit - as to the fervent cries of the hawking mechants. To the port-city ever flooded Hingashi’s own; collectors eager for ijin imports, hired blades looking for employment in the lands across the sea, merchants bringing wares from beyond Shishu and of course, the ijin themselves.

Garleans, Domans, Nagxians, Eorzeans, Thavnarians, Namazu, Kojin, the occasional Sharlayan, even the rare Xaela from the steppe or desert - each and all eyed with scrutiny by the ruby-robed Sekiseigumi patrolling the paven streets.

Of those hoping to captivate an audience, from artists peddling masterfully brushed paintings and chiselled sculptures, collectors bearing crates and chests of antiques, artisans of all shapes and sizes peddling everything from the rarest of the rare, to the prodigiously bountiful, the humblest - lacking lantern, bunting and possessed of only the feeblest, most tattered awning, little more than a rag. A lonely lopsided sign tied together from scrap wood had, had painted across it in alternating lime and apricot hued letters, “Nest of Stories.” Though in truth it was less nest and closer to the union of a rickety stall and a tiny, elevated stage framed with stray twigs and a colourful collage of feathers and on that stage, puppets.

“You cannot defeat me! I am you! You owe everything to me!” a high-pitched, colloquially-accented voice hissed from behind the screen, trying just a little too hard to sound gruff and menacing. a tiny, painted wooden katana suspended by half-concealed strings bobbed up and down as the voice offered its dramatic threat. “No… not any longer,” another, more natural cadence stoically states, possessed of a more aristocratic timbre, continuing, “I renounce all that I am, all that I was - and so I wash myself clean of you.” The blade descended “clickety-clacking” a few times until it slotted into the hand of a stylised, colourfully-painted puppet.

In spite of the ramshackle theatre, the puppet, props and even the background scenery were lovingly detailed. The sword-clutching, grim-faced puppet’s pale scales and horns had been each carefully painted on, his face expressively grim, torso nocked with chips and nicks from which had been painted crimson rivulets of gore, patches of brilliant, jade-hued cloth crested by straggling pieces of lamellar armour, a broken, defeated man brought to life amidst the backdrop of a temple. Wooden limbs contracted, strings lowering the doll of a Raen down, angling him so that the blade slipped free, lapsing to the stage floor.

“AND YOU THINK IT SO EASY TO BE RID OF YOUR OATH?” The first, shriller voice boomed villainously, seething with menace. Hammy menace. Very, very hammy menace. The grotesque form of a multi-armed, masked, slug-like monstrosity sliding forth onto the stage, accompanied by the sound of the first speaker offering an accompanying, “Boom! Boom! Boom!” A sharp breath taken before a renewed villainous screed, “YOUR SOUL IS MINE ISAMU, YOU SWORE IT IN BLOOD. NOW YOU WILL DIE!” 

“Calamity will no longer dog my footsteps, Isamu is no more,” the second voice cooly stated, the puppet weaving its way to the wings of the stage. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” the first screamed, shrill enough to draw gazes and grimaces both from passers by. The theatre shook as a quintet of pebbles fell from above limply and an “UGH!” rattled out, just in time for the monstrous vibrantly hued puppet to flop over with a “THUNK”!

“And so I left that place and left everything behind, to reflect on the future and the past and I had many more adventures but those are stories… for another time,” the stoic voice stated, a squeaky creaking accompanying a tattered, crimson curtain slowly drawn out across the stage, pulled along by a string until the theatre beyond was put to rest. A few, scattered hands of applause just scarcely made themselves audible against the background din as did more than one snore. 

Masked by a fiery-orange, stubby black-beaked robin mask, a figure clad in a tattered old cloak wheeled another masked in a lime green, equally stubby blue beaked pigeon mask, sat in a rickety old wheeled chair, garbed in a filthy old dress, colour long-since faded. The robin considered the audience, three onlookers filtering back into the crowd, one flipping a few gil into a bucket at the foot of the puppet theatre, two remaining - five heads in all. “More than usual,” she noted in her well-spoken drawl, resting a fond hand on the smaller figure’s head. “Did we get better? Did we like?” the higher-pitched of the two cooed excitedly, voice cursed by a particularly thick, urchinesque accent. “Most definitely,” the other offered with scarce a second thought, offering the pigeon’s pale locks a fond, gentle tussle.

“And with that ladies, gentlemen and those that subscribe to neither, I’m afraid our story has ended… for now,” the robin called out, to a grand audience of a fidgety, muck-stained Hyuran lad and a middle-aged Raen woman snoring, head lolled to the side, sleeping standing up. “But do not fret! Tomorrow brings with it a new tale - three in fact! A tale of mystery! A tale of betrayal! And a tale that falls… tantalisingly in between!” the aloft puppeteer called out, finishing with a phenomenally proper deep dip of a bow at odds with her ragged garments, “Until next time! Pigeon and Robin will be waiting for you in the wings!” Pigeon lowered her masked head somewhat belated, leaning forward in her chair in a mock bow of her own.

Taking a moment to simply let the air of the soon-approaching evening rush over her, to stretch limbs that’d been cooped up behind the stage with her sibling, Robin couldn’t help but smile behind her mask. Once again, the excitable exuberance of the younger sibling had met the refined collectedness of the elder, to temper each other to create something that was simply… magical. Not for the audience, they mattered little - but happiness had come to roost there, in that most ramshackle of nests for two birds of contrasting hues. For Robin to respin a tale to her liking, to live the parts for hours, even in the medium of puppets and for Pigeon to bask in the dramatic deeds and exaggerated characters her sibling spun for her… Ever their wants tempered each other, weaving threads in the middle, embroidering mutual happiness.

“Sis… do you think the pebbles helped?” Pigeon inquired, stifling a chesty cough into her tattered sleeve elbow. “I do,” Robin answered without hesitation once again and so they did. It had been a struggle to incorporate them without damaging the demonic puppet, but the suggestion’s inclusion had brought the younger girl joy when she’d agreed. “How do you feel?” the loftier Raen asked, brushing a few pale locks back from Pigeon’s pallid horn. “I’m fine, me,” she chattered softly, only to hesitate as the older girl’s hand ceased mid-brush, hurriedly correcting, “All the shouting made me chest ache a little…” With that little fib self-corrected, Robin resumed her preening of the untidy, vanilla-hued mop.

Angling her wiry frame around the theatre to dig free a ceramic bottle, removing the lid, the elder sibling found herself at the tail end of adding a carefully prepared mix of dried and powdered imported herbs only to find her attention snapped by a brisk, “Oi.” The previously lingering, mucky Hyuran boy ambled his way over surreptitiously, then slipped a purse free from a sleeve across to the masked puppeteer. Pulling it open with her free hand, inspecting the collection of gil within, Robin emptied roughly half into a compartment in the stall, offering the rest back. The Hyur boy grinned, skittering away after a businesslike, “A pleasure as always miss.” The puppeteer didn’t doubt the pickpocket had stashed a fair few of the coins away before presenting his findings to be split, but it was a good trade all the same. Gil better than street puppet acts could yield for they, and distracted victims for the lad to pilfer.

Bringing the bottle back around to the younger sibling, the elder gave the contents a good shake, mixing them around, then offered it over. Pigeon reluctantly reached a scale-flecked hand across to accept the medicinal mix, raising her mask a little to better be able to drink. “It costs a lot, don’t it…” the sicklier sister stated, more than asked, gulping down a sip, gagging, spluttering at the deceptively bitter taste, prompting an encouraging circling of a soothing hand to her back. “It does, but I’d pay more if I had to, any amount to see you comfortable, Robin conceded. Taking another, somewhat more cautious sip of the medicine, sparing herself another fit of coughing if not the shudder of displeasure.

“You’ve given up so much for me and I don’t never…” the colloquial mumble of the younger sibling mumbled, interrupted mid-utterance by a finger placed onto her mask’s beak.

“In your veins flows the blood of champions, a lineage near without equal. You -are- a champion. You -are- special, a warrior. In you the echoes of our forebears reap ripe fruit! You are just, strong and you have persevered thus far, yes?” Reaching up to loosen the straps holding the fiery robin mask in place, the elder sibling pulled it away to offer her sister an encouragingly broad smile, ruby gaze upon her, “I would give up everything and more to see you smile, so do not fret my pigeon. I am happy and my only regret is that I did not find you sooner.” Pigeon briefly met the other girl’s gaze through her own mask, then turned her eyes groundsward bashfully. An amused giggle drew itself from the unmasked Raen’s lips, letting the speechless girl off with a peck atop her head, gently instructing, “Drink while I pack everything up and we’ll be off, hm?”

To the daughter of old aristocracy who’d excelled, who’d been drowned in meaningless praise and starved of connection, to the other who’d been abandoned, struggled and void of given worth, come to loathe herself, bound together with strings and puppetry, For one who longed to dote and the other who longed to be doted upon, pain ever tempered pain and need ever tempered need and tomorrow, they’d show Kugane the result again. Through paint and wood and string. 

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #temper

[dynacasttechnologies]

Global Die Casting, Metal Parts Manufacturers | Dynacast Technologies

Dynacast is a leading global metal parts manufacturer of small engineered precision metal components utilizing proprietary multi-slide die casting technology and tooling techniques. We specialize in metal manufacturing of zinc, aluminum, and magnesium die casting alloys that match any application.

#precision metal

[technologygd]

The Evolution of Aluminum Die Casting: Innovations and Applications in China

Aluminum die casting has undergone a remarkable evolution, propelled by advancements in technology and the relentless pursuit of efficiency and quality. In China, a key player in the global manufacturing landscape, this evolution is particularly pronounced. This article explores the latest innovations and applications in aluminum die casting within China's dynamic industrial ecosystem.

Innovations in Aluminum Die Casting Technology:

Chinese manufacturers are at the forefront of innovating die casting China technology. From advanced simulation software for mold design to real-time monitoring systems on the factory floor, these innovations enhance efficiency, reduce waste, and ensure consistent quality. High-pressure die casting (HPDC) machines equipped with robotics and automation further optimize production processes, minimizing cycle times and maximizing output.

Aluminum Alloys: Engineering the Future:

The selection of aluminum alloys plays a crucial role in die casting, influencing the performance and characteristics of the final product. In China, research and development efforts are focused on engineering new aluminum alloys tailored to specific applications, such as automotive lightweighting and electronic enclosures. These alloys offer improved strength, thermal conductivity, and corrosion resistance, expanding the possibilities for Aluminum die casting across industries.

Precision and Complexity:

The ability to produce intricate, high-precision components is a hallmark of aluminum die casting in China. Advanced die design, multi-slide technology, and computer-controlled machining ensure tight tolerances and complex geometries are achieved with consistency. This capability is particularly valuable in industries such as aerospace, where lightweight yet durable components are essential for performance and safety.

Sustainability and Environmental Responsibility:

In line with global trends towards sustainability, Chinese die casting companies prioritize eco-friendly practices. Aluminum, a highly recyclable material, aligns with this commitment to environmental responsibility. Closed-loop systems for material handling and waste management minimize environmental impact, while energy-efficient processes reduce carbon emissions. Additionally, initiatives to develop low-emission melting technologies further enhance the sustainability profile of aluminum die casting in China.

Applications Across Industries:

The versatility of aluminum die casting finds applications across a wide range of industries. In automotive manufacturing, aluminum components contribute to fuel efficiency and vehicle performance. In consumer electronics, die-cast aluminum housings provide both structural integrity and aesthetic appeal. The aerospace industry relies on aluminum die casting for lightweight, high-strength components that meet stringent safety standards. From medical devices to renewable energy systems, the adaptability of aluminum die casting continues to drive innovation and progress.

Conclusion:

The landscape of aluminum die casting in China is characterized by innovation, precision, and sustainability. Through continuous advancements in technology and materials, Chinese manufacturers push the boundaries of what is possible, delivering high-quality components for diverse industries worldwide. As the demand for lightweight, durable, and environmentally friendly solutions grows, aluminum die casting in China is poised to play an even greater role in shaping the future of manufacturing and engineering.

[hippiegirltravels]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: GOURMIA Food & Meat Slicer Professional Counterman 100 NWT.

[plungermusic]

You pays your money, and you takes your choice ...

Last week if you were feeling flush you could have paid an arm and two legs to go and see a stellar array of superannuated veterans of British music’s glorious past paying tribute to one of their own, in a cavernous echoing monument to another era’s bygone British glories ….

Or, for pretty much the same money, you could have booked a train, a hotel room, and tickets to see a bright light of Britain’s musical present, the Mike Ross Band, playing at The Greys in Brighton, like Plunger did.

Looking for all the world like a late-70s Danny McGrain, Mike was here (with Lindsey Oliver bass and Dan Postin drums) as part of his tour promoting new release Third Eye Open, and the set opened with a triplet of tracks from that album. Without the multi-tracking resources of the studio, the trio format cast an X-ray light on the essential structure of the songs: and what structure! The bare-bones energy and catch-you-off-guard rhythmic quirks of I Swear; the earthy hoedown oomph of Born To Me; and the stunning opener Never No More, delivered perhaps a little slower than the album, its stately pace highlighting the grungy Youngian sinew and power of the track.

The middle section of the show was given over to a selection box of treats from Mike’s previous albums: from Spindrift came the dreamy wistful regret-laden Cali-country of Lazy, the tremolo guitar matching the tremulous emotion of the vocal; next, Origin Story’s Ships Pass Me By, keeping up the laid-back West Coast vibe and featuring harmony bvs from Lindsey; The Clovis Limit Pt.2 provided the pugnacious pairing of a gutsy None Of Your Business and (dedicated to "all the Tories”) the heartfelt rage of The Only Place You Ever Take Me Is Down.

After the searing Greeney blues of an appropriately explosive Dark Powder (from Jenny’s Place, with an interesting variation on the usual latinate midbreak) Mike returned to Third Eye Open for the contrasting duo of the sun-kissed ambling Pettyness of Fallen Down, and Ugly Brain, a curled-lip glam swagger with a playground catcall chorus, then rounded out the set with another Clovis Limit Pt2 track, the shimmering menace and corsucating slide of Leviathan.

While the crowd at The Grey’s could have been larger (clashing with Brighton’s all-important game against Man City probably didn’t help), they were in fine voice and no mood to leave without an encore, and in fact we got two! The Mule-tinged reggae lope of Die Trying (from Origin Story) preceded the salacious snarl of Jenny’s Place opener Bamboozled for a barn-storming finale.

The usual consummate heart-on-his-sleeve performance, Mike’s guitar work was as always a joy to hear - fluid, organic, never forced but seeming to flow out of him as a natural progression to the song rather than ‘and now it’s time to shoehorn in a solo’… and the tone! Top work too from Lindsey and Dan, and it’s a pound to a penny the sound (and the beer) were better here than in South Ken… oh, and the Royal Albert Hall weren’t throwing in breakfast too.

Pound for pound Plunger are pretty confident we got the better bargain…

Third Eye Open is available from the usual online suspects and physically here: https://shop.mikerossmusic.co.uk/product/third-eye-open-cd for CD

and here: https://shop.mikerossmusic.co.uk/product/third-eye-open-vinyl for marble vinyl 12″ album.

#mike ross #mike ross music #taller mike #the greys brighton #twenty music roots #third eye open #brighton rock

[greyssbook]

Quickslide crimp sizes

Quickslide crimp sizes install#

Using a caliper make two measurement in opposite directions. Always check the crimp diameter to ensure that it is within the published limits. 1 2 3 List of recently opened presentations. In QuickSlide versions that do not use a startup screen, the masters are located directly under QuickStart. Worm drive or worm gear hose clamps are the most commonly used hose clamp.Machining tolerances exist for each crimper, die set and supporting piece of equipment which will affect your actual setting. QuickSlide Help QuickStart 8 When you start PowerPoint, the QuickSlide startup screen opens automatically (fig.). Standard Worm Drive Hose Clamps SAE Type "F"

Quickslide crimp sizes install#

Installation Torque: Install at 50% to 70% of the rated durability torque 3M Scotchlok Female QuickSlide Disconnect 952 t-tap connector is nylon insulated, self-stripping and accepts 12 AWG. Superior corrosion-resistance - Torque: 16 lbs./inch QuickSlide is a little app that takes the standard slide show further with great features to let you easily show off all your photos and still images: random lists that can be stopped at any point and re-started where you left off, a novel way to make use of multiple monitors and automatically scan folders within folders. Marine Grade - Torque: 16 lbs./inchĪll 316 Grade Stainless steel band, housing and screw. Hoping for sharks from the shore in the 4-5 foot range (not going as big as what your. That gives me a drop from my OM 12' rod that I can still do both a Hatteras style cast or an OTG. S AE # - Society of Automotive Engineers industry size designation for the maximum ID of worm-drive clamps (except for constant-tension and high-torque styles) according to SAE J1508.Ģ01/301 Stainless steel band & housing with zinc-plated screw - Torque: 20 lbs./inchĢ01/301 Stainless steel band & housing with 410 Stainless steel screw - Torque: 20 lbs./inchĪll 300 Grade Stainless steel band, housing and screw. Plan is a steel 'bite leader' of a few inches for the teeth area, followed by a leader of the 150lb mono to guard against the tail whip. You cannot use a Micro Crimper to crimp anything larger than a 1x1mm crimp, for example. portion with fingers which grip a Male Quick-Slide and a tongue extension to be. Make sure your crimp sizes match the crimping pliers. Make the crimp the proper station of a recommended 3M crimp tool: 3M. A smaller crimp might not be as secure and too large a crimp and the crimp may slip. 3M Products - Quickslide Nylon,Female, 22-18. It withstands temperatures of 221 degrees F (105 degrees C). The connector is nylon insulated and is 600V-rated for building wire and 1000V-rated for signs, fixtures and luminaires. * Sizes listed are a general reference and may vary between each manufacturer. Make sure you select the correct crimp size for your project. 3M's 94803 nylon insulated quick slide disconnect with insulation grip and butted seam for wire sizes 22 18 gauge. 3M Scotchlok 951 Quick-Slide T-Tap Disconnect Electrical Connector is used to electrically tap into a wire in mid-span without cutting or stripping the wire. Miniature Worm Drive Hose Clamp Size Chart - SAE Type "M"Ĭlick on the size below to search products The construction can be made with a combination of stainless steel bands and zinc plated or stainless steel screws. They typically have a 5/16" wide band and a 1/4" slotted hex head screw. SAE - Society of Automotive Engineers industry size designation for the maximum ID of worm-drive clamps (except for constant-tension and high-torque styles) according to SAE J1508. Miniature worm drive hose clamps are commonly called micro hose clamps. Sizes listed are a general reference and may vary between each manufacturer. Multi-Purpose Tools Corded Parts & Accessories.Compressors, Blow Guns, Hoses & Fittings.Testers & Indicator Parts & Accessories.Lubricants, Leak Detectors & Penetrants.Adhesive Dispensing Equipment & Accessories.

#Quickslide crimp sizes

[mellointheory]

God’s Favorite Angel - Part 3

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

Punz stands in an ocean of glass and speaks to the figure beneath the surface. XD’s figure is warped by the layers of green glass that span to eternity in either direction, but the gash of void in his face remains crystal clear, like a slice of oblivion.

“When do I wake up?” They ask, hands in the pockets of their hoodie.

“When I decide you can,” XD replies brusquely.

Not very descriptive of him. Punz starts walking. The god in their reflection keeps pace with them as they move.

“Why the glass?” Punz wonders, mostly speaking to himself.

“What?”

“Why all,” Punz gestures at the infinite layers of rippling emerald glass beneath the featureless steely sky, “of this?”

“What else would it be?” XD asks from beneath him. He taps the underside of the glass and it cracks directly beneath Punz’s feet.

“Dunno. A forest?” Punz regards the single crack beneath his boots for a moment, then lifts a foot and stomps. Glass snaps and shatters, and they fall. Splinters threaten to gash their face and arms, but when they close their eyes the only thing that brushes their skin is leaves.

He’s standing in a forest now, the rich-earth smell of moss in the air. Water drips from the leaves and the ferns and the craggy trunks of ancient trees.

“What, you like this better?” A voice asks, this time absent the multi-layered timbre of XD’s normal voice. Punz turns to see someone he knows well. Dream.

The man’s hair is longer than it was when Punz last saw him, the time he was thrown into prison. His mask is pushed to the side, and Punz can see his sparkling green eyes for the first time in…a long time.

“You have the eyes wrong,” Punz says as they walk towards him. Moss crushes under their boots, leaving footprints behind.

“I do?” XD grins at him.

Punz reaches out and XD lets him angle its face so that a beam of sunlight illuminates the clear green of its eyes.

“Yeah,” Punz stares into the gods false eyes, lowering their hand from his chin. “The pupils are too dark.”

XD’s eyes are like void in the canvas of the world, and the pupils it’s made to fit Dream’s borrowed face are no different. Where the sunlight strikes his irises and sets the green alive like so many layers of rippling glass, the pupils remain pitch black and unreflective.

“I see now,” XD takes a step towards Punz, tilting his head to see their eyes. Slowly, as Punz watches, the surface of his eyes begins to take on the shine of a normal human’s, until there’s no discernible difference between the man standing before him and the friend he watched be cast into prison.

“Dream has scars,” Punz adds. On his back, his thigh, his arms. Punz has helped his old friend dress his wounds after many a war.

“Show me.” XD reaches for its throat and unzips the green hoodie, sliding it off and tossing it to the ground. He’s barechested underneath, unlike Dream. The man always had on a long sleeved or shortsleeved black shirt. Punz has had to cut it off many times in order to get to a wound. And, like Punz guessed, the god’s skin is unblemished aside from the copied freckles on his shoulders.

Punz wonders for a moment how long it’s been since they saw someone without scars.

“Punz,” XD demands, taking a stride towards them. “Show me the scars.”

“Why do you need to replicate them?” Punz looks up at XD’s face. It, like Dream, is just a few inches taller than him at the moment.

“For anyone who wants me to look like him.” XD grins.

“You couldn’t fool anyone into thinking you’re Dream, unless they’re delusional.” Punz reaches out and taps XD’s collarbone. “There’s no point in trying.”

“I think I could,” XD disagrees. “Look at me. I can eat like you, walk like you. This body does everything like one of you except die.”

Punz raises an eyebrow and slides his hand up, cupping the side of XD’s neck. They can feel a pulse there, steadily throbbing the lifeblood of a god through imitation veins.

“You’re not Dream, and you can’t trick me into thinking you are.” Punz tells him, and they lean forward, pulling him in to meet them, and kiss God. Just a press of lips against each other, a split second where he can feel the exhale of XD’s warmth in his mouth, and he pulls back.

XD stares down at him, its brow furrowed in confusion.

“I can’t?” It reaches up and touches a fingertip to its lips.

“Nope.” Punz releases his grip on the side of the god’s neck and slides both of their hands into their pockets. “I would literally rather lose a life than kiss Dream, that would be awkward as hell.”

“So you kissed me because I’m not him?”

“Just proving a point.” Punz explains. He glances down at the smooth, unblemished skin of XD’s torso. “So don’t bother with the scars.”

XD is silent. Punz shrugs and leans past him, eyes roving the depths of the forest. “So what’s in here? Acid dew? Starving beasts to devour me?”

“Kiss me again.”

Punz stops and stares.

This was not what they intended. They wanted to prove to the god that he wasn’t all powerful, that he couldn’t replicate being someone no matter how much he looked like them. The purpose was not a distraction or anything else; they were accustomed to the surreal dream-violence that overtook them in cycles. They weren’t used to this.

“Why?”

“Did I ask for questions, angel?”

“No, you asked me to kiss you.”

XD’s eyes narrow.

“You never say no to me.”

“I…” Punz stops to think. “I guess I don’t. There’s no purpose. But you ask me to do things in the real world, not here.”

“What makes this different?”

“It’s a dream, it’s too unreal to even pretend to be the waking world.” Punz nods at the sky. “There’s full sun, but there’s dew on the leaves. The trees are way too close together, but somehow light reaches the ground.”

“The kiss, Punz.” XD hisses at him.

“Oh.” Punz stops to think. “It’s not the kind of service I’m used to providing.”

“Aren’t you my angel?” The god demands. “You never say no to me.”

You never say no to me.

There’s a reason Punz doesn’t. Why deny God? XD defines their very existence, controls the dreamscapes he spends weeks in. It gives and it takes and Punz doesn’t bother caring which. So why should this be different.

Punz leans in and catches XD’s mouth in his, swallowing the last words it tries to form. They close their eyes, pressing closer to him.

And now the god is kissing back, his hands winding through Punz’s hair and his teeth catching their lip. Its body is pressed flush against theirs, all the human warmth under Punz’s hands as XD surges forward and knocks them both off balance. Punz falls and instead of moss he hits the feathers of a snow-white wing as XD’s weight bears down on him. They’re swathed in a cocoon of wings now and his tongue is in XD’s mouth and he wonders how in the world a god learned to be this hungry.

XD pulls back first, ever so slowly. His weight still pins Punz up against his wings, and Punz has to take a deep breath.

He always needs to breathe, even in these dreams.

“I’ve seen dreams like this,” XD says. He’s still so close that Punz feels the warmth of his exhale on their lips. “Time after time.”

“Do you understand why now?” Punz leans in and sinks their teeth into XD’s lip, bites down for a moment, then lets go.

“You asked what was in the forest,” XD says.

“I did indeed ask that.” Punz soothes the mark of their teeth with a quick swipe of their tongue.

“Starving beasts to devour you,” XD replies, and it dives back in.

And, in the moment between the need and the fulfillment, Punz wakes up.

When Punz awakens their dreams always burst like a bubble. One moment XD is swathed in his own wings, tasting the warmth of his angel on his lips. The next, everything vanishes. The smell of moss, the feel of Punz’s hair beneath his fingers, the hands pressing against the muscles of XD’s back. All gone, replaced by the void of its realm. Their human guise has vanished with the dream, and with it the heat and the hunger is gone as well.

No, no. He is still hungry.

XD spits a curse in the language of the gods, slashing its claws through the void.

He’s returned to his godly form and shed the trapments of flushed skin, rushing blood, and quickening heart. All he has now is the unmet desire.

It’s strange, really. XD knows his angel is his, body and soul. It owns the blood that runs through their veins, the dreams in their head. This touch, though…the kiss…

XD has torn this man apart in a thousand dreams. It has shattered his body and raised him whole from the depths of his own blood. It takes him apart and puts him back together, because thats what gods do with their toys.

This, however, is a new way to play.

Oh Punz, Punz, angel of mine. Our next meeting will be much sweeter.

#punz #c!punz #mello writes #long post #dreamXD #xdrunz #punzxd #i made this gaaaaay

[clouditae]

First Love | 07

Yoongi x reader | 18+ | college au | tattoo artist au | angst | fluff | swearing

Word: 2.1k

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

The car ride is awkward for you. Hoseok and Ari are chatting away while you and Yoongi sit in the back in complete silence. This is not what you expected, but it seems that Ari has something else in mind and drags Hoseok along, waiting for who knows how long until the two of you left the shelter. You open your bag, pulling out your camera. Turning it on, and going to your pictures, you begin to browse through all the photos you took today.

“Did they come out good?” Yoongi asks, voice just loud enough for you to hear. 

You look to him, surprised that he’s interested, but his eyes are on your camera. Trying to see how the pictures came out. “Yeah. I got some good ones,” you tell him, showing the screen as you browse through the pictures together. The two of you browse through the photos you took. The photos you took capture the moments of joy for the animals. When they played with Rory, when the dogs ran around the fenced area, not wanting to go inside. Even when Charlie came up to you, sniffing the camera; you got a perfect picture of his big brown eyes and the round of his snout. You then reach the photos of Jasper, you’re clearly aware of Yoongi leaning in close to you. When you reach the photos, you try your best to not linger on the photos of Yoongi and Jasper. 

“Wait,” Yoongi murmurs, and you stop, glancing at him. “Go back.” You click back to the previous photo of Yoongi petting Jasper. “Can you send me that one?” he asks, finally meeting your gaze.

You’re fully aware as to how close the two of you have gotten. Swallowing hard, you reply with a small voice, “Yeah.” 

“We’re here,” Hoseok bellows, making you jump away from Yoongi. 

Turning off your camera, you look out the window to see a building with blue shingles, a big sign running along the wall, and a jukebox like entrance, with different colors. “Mary Ann’s?” Ari asks as Hoseok pulls into a parking space. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok beams, putting the car in park and turning the engine off. “I heard this place is great. Great burgers; amazing shakes. Plus, everything inside is a 50s theme.” He exits the car, giving the three of you no time to say anything. As you close the door, Hoseok is already reaching for Ari’s hand. “I’ve always wanted to go on a double date—or I guess date and two friends tagging along,” he corrects, smiling sheepishly at you. 

“Well I for sure am hungry. Let’s go,” Ari exclaims, walking with Hoseok towards the building, but not before grabbing your hand and dragging you along. You stumble a bit until you finally match her pace, looking both ways to make sure no car is going to hit you since Ari didn’t even bother looking. 

Entering through the blue pastel double doors, you’re immediately hit with the smell of burgers and a song you don’t know but can tell the singer is Elvis Presley. The inside of the diner is your typical diner; booths to the left and right, a counter running along the middle with stools, and a waitress or two wearing blue dresses with their hair up in a bun. The floor is checkered, walls pink with photos of people you recognize and don’t while the seating is blue. You’re pretty sure if you look up a 50s diner, this is it. Hoseok, who is still holding Ari’s hand, who is still holding yours, drags the two of you past several booths occupied by people before finding a booth at the end.

Ari lets your hand go, gesturing with her head to enter the booth. As you get in, expecting Ari to sit next to you, you’re shocked to see her sitting across from you. You shoot daggers at her as she smirks in response as Hoseok occupies the seat next to her and Yoongi slides into the booth next to you. You look to the side, staring at the photos on the wall, only recognizing the photo of the cast from I Love Lucy. Your dad would always drag you into the living room to watch it with him. 

“It’s a family thing,” he would tell you every time you would question him. 

“Welcome to Mary Ann’s,” a voice interrupts, placing four menus on the table as you look up at her. “My name is Irene. Can I get you started on something to drink?” Irene is wearing the blue dress like everyone else, a white apron tied around her waist, and a small white hat on top of her head. She’s pretty, and you can’t help but imagine her living in the 50s. As you all give her your order for drinks, she smiles, writing it down and leaving the four of you. 

“So what’s your project about, Y/N?” Hoseok asks, folding his arms on the table. 

You’re caught by surprise by his sudden question, but quickly recover and answer. “The project is to convince the audience to buy or participate in your project by capturing moments of what your project is about.” 

Irene appears with a tray full of drinks. She hands them out to you, tucking the tray under her arm as she pulls out her notepad and pen once again. “Would you like to order now or do you still need a few minutes?” she asks, eyes meeting yours briefly. You quickly glance at the menu, finding what looks the most appetizing as Hoseok and Ari agree to tell Irene their order. 

After everyone has said their order, Hoseok turns to you. “So your project is to convince people to adopt animals through pictures?”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink. “There are a lot of animals in the shelter that need homes. Especially the older ones.” 

Ari sighs. “I don’t like going to the shelter because all I want to do is take every animal home. My dad wants another dog, so maybe I can convince him to adopt one of the dogs here,” she says, tapping her chin in thought. 

“Is there a way to convince your dad to adopt an older dog?” you ask in a hopeful tone, sitting up straight. 

“An older dog?”

You nod quickly. “There’s an older dog named Jasper. He is such a sweet dog. He loves resting his head on your lap and sleeping.”

Ari laughs, “He’s just like my dad.” Pulling out her phone from her bag, she is typing away at her phone for a few seconds before she locks her phone and puts it back in her bag. “Knowing my dad, he’ll be out here on his day off to look at the animals. Which should be tomorrow or the day after.” She smiles. 

You can’t help but lean back in your seat in relief. Ari’s dad may take Jasper home and he can live the rest of his days in a happy home being loved and taken care of. He won’t be sad and alone when his time comes. You’ll have to send Ari’s dad a big basket of his favorite things if he takes Jasper home. 

“So,” Hoseok chimes in. “Ari and I were thinking about the four of us going camping during break.” The way he looks at both you and Yoongi tells you that he’s not going to take no for an answer. Hoseok seems dead set on getting the four of you to go together. One couple and one person who has major feelings for the other. This is bad.

“No,” Yoongi says blatantly. You turn to Yoongi completely shocked by how quickly he denies the request. 

“What’s your excuse?” Hoseok challenges, a daring look on his face. 

“I’ll be working most likely,” he states, grabbing his glass to take a drink. 

Hoseok sighs, “You can’t be stuck in the studio the entire week.” 

“It won't be the entire week. I’ll be in the shop from time to time, too.”

“How about this”—Hoseok adjusts himself in his seat, pointing a hand in Yoongi’s direction—“I help you with whatever you need if you’ll just come with us.” 

“I’ll probably—” 

Hoseok interrupts Yoongi, “Listen Mr. Producer, I’m gonna convince you no matter what. Every year you spend break either in the studio or shop. I get being in the shop, but I bet your boss will let you go on vacation.” 

Irene appears at the table with a tray of your food. She places your plate in front of you before plastering a smile and saying, “Enjoy.” 

You grab a fry, ready to dig in when Ari speaks up, “Are you going to come with us, Y/N?”

You look up to see both Ari and Hoseok staring at you. Lowering the fry from your mouth, you answer, “Yeah, I’ll go.” You can see the joy in Ari’s eyes and Hoseok’s smile grow. Your original plan is to stay in your dorm since your parents are going on their anniversary trip that week. You could have gone home and stayed there, but it seems like a waste of time when you have everything here. 

“We’ll have lots of fun,” Ari tells you, smiling as she takes a bite out of her burger. 

“What exactly is the plan?” you ask, finally taking a bit out of your food. God is it delicious. Everything about this burger is amazing. From the patty to everything they put on it. It feels like taking a bite out of heaven. 

“We rent out a cabin. Since there may be snow it’s best to just get a cabin so that we don’t die out there,” Ari explains. 

“How much will it be?” you can’t help but ask. You don’t have a nine to five job, and that only means saving up like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Oh don’t worry about that. A friend of mine owes me,” Hoseok tells you. 

Now you’re really curious. “How much are they usually?”

Hoseok stares at you for a moment before glancing away and clearing his throat. “A couple hundred per night,” he mutters, but you hear him loud and clear. 

“A couple—” Ari starts but can’t finish. You look at her. Clearly she didn’t know about this either based off of her shocked expression. “And he’s okay with this?”

Hoseok meets her eyes. “Yeah. He owes me big time.” 

“Did you save his life or something?” she asks, clearly not letting it go. 

Hoseok chuckles. “Not that drastic. I just saved him from failing class.” 

“That’s it?” you and Ari ask in unison, but she was louder than you. 

Hoseok smiles triumphantly. “That was the last class he needed to graduate.” 

It takes a while before Ari finally lets it go. For the rest of the dinner you eat in silence, listening to Ari and Hoseok talking to one another, then you, and Hoseok mainly talking to Yoongi and receiving a few words from him. You want to ask Yoongi questions about his major, but you don’t want to be ignored by him in front of Ari and Hoseok. From how protective Ari is about you, and how friendly Hoseok is, one of them will say something and the drive back will be awkward. 

Maybe you’re just blowing things out of proportion. Maybe you’re not. 

“Is there anything else I can get you guys? Desert?” Irene asks as she begins to grab the empty plates. 

“I want ice cream,” Yoongi requests, not even looking at any of you. 

“Guess we’ll have some shakes,” Hoseok says, suppressing a laugh most likely from Yoongi’s small request. 

After finishing your shake, letting Ari try yours and you trying hers, and paying for your dinner, the four of you leave the diner, making your way towards Hoseok’s car. You can’t deny that you enjoyed today. You finally start on your project, you surprisingly spent time with Yoongi without him questioning you or analyzing you openly, and you had a great dinner with your friends and Yoongi. 

By the time Hoseok drives into the parking lot of the dorms and finds a spot, it’s already past nine. Thankfully you have class at nine tomorrow so you can stay up late to get everything ready for your paper and presentation on your project. You follow Hoseok and Ari through the route towards your dorm from the outdoor stairway. 

Before you turn the corner to pass the staircase leading down to the rest of the dorm building and enter your hall, you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn around to meet eyes with Yoongi. Letting go of your arm, he says, “Meet me at the back parking lot Friday.” 

“O-okay,” you stutter. 

He nods in acknowledgement before walking past your and towards his room. You follow, feeling both happy and dreading meeting with him on Friday.

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #btsgoldnet #hyunglinenetwork #bts #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi au

[uchihasakurawrites]

Manifest (1)

Rating: T for language & depictions of violence

Summary: Their soulmate bond is borne of blood. With war on the horizon and tensions rising in Konoha, Itachi and Sakura try to navigate their newfound connection while balancing the growing demands of their own worlds. [Non-Massacre AU; Soulmate AU; ItaSaku]

Word Count: 3,394

Warning: This chapter contains somewhat graphic depictions of violence, so please wait until chapter 2 if that's difficult for you to read.

Note: Itachi doesn’t actually appear in this chapter. Chapter 2 will focus more on Itachi’s POV while the events of this chapter are happening - if you’re looking for ItaSaku interactions right away, please wait until I post the next part before you start reading!

(Also, heads up that I’m studying for graduate school & changing positions at work right now, so my updates on any multi-chapter fics will be slow this spring/summer. Thanks to everyone who’s still sticking with me!)

Cross-posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

_____________________________________________________________

Two careless hand signals from her captain telling the team to scatter and engage  bring Sakura’s pristine ANBU record crashing down in blood-soaked shards.

Every logical fiber of her being had screamed at the silent command, her near-decade of experience with Team 7 having seared the importance of teamwork into her mind. If not for the rogue nin on their heels, Sakura would have pressed the issue, arguing for a tactical retreat with the information they had gathered on the budding Iwa-Ame alliance.

Not that her rookie captain - a Hyūga with a superiority complex that could have easily topped Sasuke’s during his genin days - would have listened.

Staying together was the only way they stood a chance. Their mismatched ANBU squad was as well-balanced as Tsunade could manage with the current strain on Konoha’s ANBU forces. Impending war stretched ANBU thin, and those who weren’t assigned to diplomatic security details were saddled with near back-to-back missions; in the past six months alone, Sakura had almost doubled the number of missions she had completed in her entire first year with ANBU.

Intel of a meeting between Ame and Iwa leadership reached Tsunade’s desk when most of her veteran ANBU had already been dispatched. Amegakure, which had never fully recovered from the previous war, had remained neutral despite increasing tensions between the five great nations, and it was imperative that they remain so.

Losing neutral territory that bordered both Suna and Konoha would provide the enemy a staging area far too close to home, so Tsunade scraped together the best reconnaissance team she could with the resources she had left. Sakura knew from the grim look in her mentor’s eyes as she explained the parameters of the mission that she was assigned to this team for the sole purpose of dragging them all back home alive, as was usually the case any time she was assigned outside of her unit.

Sakura counted herself lucky that there happened to be a Hyūga and an Aburame available for the mission to make infiltrating the meeting undetected easier.

Out of her four-man cell, Sakura had the most field experience with just over ninety successful ANBU missions under her belt. The Hyūga had only recently been promoted to captain, and she could read his need to prove his worth in the way he carried himself: nose held a touch too high in the air, a smirk twisting his lips, and an arrogant sway to his hips as he strutted into the Hokage’s office.

A small part of her mind, the one that kept her entertained on particularly mind-numbing missions, absently wondered if punting him halfway to Suna would fix both his ego and his stride.

Pride had no place in ANBU.

The Aburame and the boy who looked as though he had been promoted three years to young were tolerable enough. She’d seen finer control of the Aburame Clan techniques during her occasional work with Shino, but Tetsuya still managed to get the job done and relayed enough information back for Sakura to record in a sealed scroll that she would deliver to Tsunade upon their return.

Kaito, who she discovered had joined ANBU less than a month prior, had surprised her with his fine-tuned tweaks to the strategy she had laid out once she’d managed to get their captain to shut the hell up  for two seconds and listen to input from his team. Sakura became rather fond of the younger boy during their two-week mission, perhaps because his personality reminded her of a teenage Naruto.

When she witnessed Kaito’s chakra control firsthand, she’d proposed the idea of recruiting him into the ANBU medical program. She could hear the grin behind his mask through the string of eager questions he endlessly chattered about as they sprinted home. With a laugh, she promised to file the request with Tsunade as soon as they got back to Konoha.

What she didn’t expect was for him to be slaughtered as they crossed the border into Grass.

With the odds stacked against her team 3:1, Sakura decides retreat is the cleanest option for their team and turns towards her captain, expecting him to reach the same conclusion and give the order.

His two hand signals and the team’s immediate obedience lock her muscles in disbelief; sure, taking a prisoner from this situation could provide another well of information, but that was only if her team somehow managed to win the fight.

Reporting back that their team had been pursued by Grass nin would have been enough information for Tsunade to work with. A different team could have been assembled to follow up, and Konoha would have at least been warned.

Her team is at a severe disadvantage fighting on unfamiliar terrain after a full day of running at top-speed to clear Earth’s border. Torrential rain means that they will have to fight almost blind, and the Hyūga seems to have forgotten that the rest of his team doesn’t have the same benefit of a dōjutsu.

Sakura won’t even be able to provide adequate medical support for her team if they scatter, as summoning Katsuyu would both expose her identity and require more chakra than she should expend with how much further they have left to go to reach home.

Well aware that her actions could give her captain adequate grounds to write her up for insubordination on the off chance they survive, Sakura takes off in the same direction as Kaito. He’s the most likely to accept her assistance, and the faster Sakura can drag him back to regroup with their teammates, the faster they can leave.

The third rule for all medical nin rings clearly in her mind: No medic shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon.

Sakura has yet to lose a teammate on a mission, and she’ll be damned if the Hyūga’s reckless call changes that.

She catches up to Kaito quickly, calling out a quick Doton: Doryu Heki to throw up a fifteen foot mud wall between him and an enemy lunging at his back. She adjusts the flow of chakra to her feet to use the slickness of the ground to her advantage, releasing some of her traction on the mud to slide underneath the swing of a sword and slash chakra scalpels across the assailant’s heels. In a single fluid motion, Sakura thrusts herself up from her crouched position and follows through with a fist into the man’s back.

The sensation of muscle and bone snapping underneath her knuckles is so familiar that she doesn’t falter when the ANBU’s spine snapps clean in half. At some point, she’d lost count of the number of shinobi she’d broken with her hands alone.

Sakura doesn’t have time to check their surroundings further, opting instead to shunshin to Kaito’s right and weave her chakra into a Doton: Iwa no Doomu jutsu. It’s a strategic move to conserve chakra, building on her last jutsu as she wrenches additional walls from the ground to enclose them in a rock-solid dome.

She grabs Kaito’s wrist before the chokutō he jabs in her direction can make contact.

Kaito’s emotions are again an open book, even with his cloak and mask still intact. She can read the fear in the trembling left hand that clutches his shoulder, where a katon has seared his uniform into his skin.

His hoarse “S-Sakura-senpai!” instead of her codename broadcasts his inexperience; it’s pure luck that none of the Grass ANBU have gotten close enough to guess her identity. They don’t need the bounty on her head further complicating the situation.

Sakura makes a mental note to personally track down whoever gave this kid the green light for ANBU. He’s talented but clearly needs more field experience before he’s ready for ANBU-caliber missions and the heightened risks that come with them.

They have just under thirty seconds before she needs to release her hold on the dome. The Grass nins’ lightning jutsu grate at the threads of her earth-natured chakra, and there are already too many negative strategic implications for staying in one place as long as they have.

“Monkey,” Sakura speaks in code in hopes that hearing it will snap Kaito back to his senses. “I’m going to cast a genjutsu over the surrounding ten square meters. Escape underground, and get to Ant. Regroup with taichou and retreat. Move!”

She punctuates the command with a chakra laden smack to Kaito’s uninjured shoulder, just forceful enough to startle him out of the daze he had slipped into. With a shaky nod, Kaito snaps through the signs for the Earth jutsu and vanishes into the ground. Sakura drapes her genjutsu over the area just outside the dome and follows right behind.

Tetsuya is spread across the ground in pieces when they arrive at his position.

Choking down the bile that rises in her throat at the gruesome display - most field kills are more clean-cut, partly for efficiency and partly out of respect, even for an enemy shinobi - Sakura forces herself to focus on nothing but strategy and the enemies fully prepared to kill her next.

The rate she’s been burning through jutsu isn’t sustainable, but there are too many enemies left for her to engage in close-combat, and the ground is too wet to shatter. She’s already having to direct additional chakra to both her eyes for visibility and her cardiovascular system to maintain body heat.

She and Kaito are going to have to make a stand here, at least until they can thin the enemy’s numbers enough to create an opening to their team leader. With what little she’s seen of his abilities, their captain should be able to hold on for another few minutes.

Sakura is painfully reminded of why she prefers to work with her regular team when Kaito dives toward the nearest ANBU, the faint glow of lightning-natured chakra humming down his blade.

Team 7’s battle formations were second nature; they discussed mission-specific strategy setting out, but their battles were almost wordless. In this situation, Sasuke and Naruto would have taken on the long-range fighters as Kakashi drove the mid-range fighters into close-range combat with Sakura. Sai would have provided aerial support focused on mid-range fighters if Sakura had her hands full at close-range.

She resolves to never complain about her teammates’ penchant for turning every fight into a damn competition again - even with their dramatics, she’s never once doubted that her team will be there at the exact moment she needs them.

She’s yet to feel that level of synchrony with any other team, and she certainly doesn’t feel it now.

Sakura keeps Kaito in her peripheral vision as she catches a blade with her kunai and tries to fit his style into one of ANBU’s standard formations. New ANBU squads typically operate on variations of a standardized set of battle formations, as the sets allow for more flexibility between teams.

Kaito’s style, however, is erratic, driven by fear as his eyes stray towards every piece of his teammate he manages to spot on the ground. His stilted movements are more focused on keeping the enemies closest to him back than coordinating an attack with her.

Sakura adds yet another resolution to her increasingly long list, but she’s viciously stubborn that she’ll get back to Konoha and check every one of them off. She’ll need to speak to Tsunade about integrating more teamwork scenarios into ANBU’s training regimen.

Lashing out alone is the fastest way to die in the field.

Sakura sweeps her thumb along the seals on the underside of her left wrist-guard and launches a set of poisoned senbon at the three ANBU closest to her. She doesn’t actually expect the senbon to hit, and they don’t as the ANBU either dodge or deflect. Instead, Sakura takes advantage of the split second distraction to shunt chakra into her feet and drive close enough to an ANBU to trace a chakra scalpel neatly across their jugular.

The body hasn’t hit the ground before Sakura has the ANBU’s katana out of its scabbard and moves towards the next target.

She manages to hold her own for several more minutes, exchanging blows and countering a handful of A- and B-rank elemental jutsu with her own, until a scream cuts through the air. It’s the desperation in the scream - a wet, terrified noise almost ripped from Kaito’s throat - that draws Sakura’s attention from her own fight.

Time seems to slow as she realizes she’s not fast enough to stop what’s about to happen. She can almost hear Sasuke’s constant harping for her to work on her speed over the rushing sound in her ears.

Kaito stands frozen, mask shattered to pieces on the ground, as he locks gazes with one of the Grass shinobi. Before Kaito even has the chance to realize he’s ensnared in a genjutsu, the Grass nin’s companion brings his sword down on the boy’s neck.

Desperation immediately overshadows any grief Sakura might have felt over Kaito’s death as she finds herself surrounded by seven of the original twelve ANBU. Her natural chakra reserves are just over a third full, enough to push out a few elemental jutsu with her level of chakra control, and most of the wounds she’s sustained are minor sans the two-inch deep gash in her thigh. Her eyes burn from the strain of the chakra she continues to circulate through them, and she can feel the rain leeching warmth from her body.

She’s not hopeless, not yet. Not until long after she’s tapped out her byakugō and the scrolls at her waist. She’s got plenty of hell left to give.

That same desperation begins to give way to mounting anger at the brutal way her teammates have been killed, but she shoves it back in hopes of finding her captain in this mess and getting out. If they can lose the Grass ANBU even for a few seconds, she can use one of her personal genjutsu to hide their presence until they can work out a safe route to Konoha.

Her strategy is promptly dropped when the same man who captured Kaito in a genjutsu motions to one of his own teammates. Hyūga Ryota’s body drops unceremoniously to the muddy ground, at the best angle for Sakura to see that his eyes have been taken.

She’s only slightly relieved to notice the weak rise and fall of his chest.

As the pieces click into place, Sakura realizes that the attack with this large of an ANBU force was too well-timed to be a coincidence. If Grass had known there would be a Hyūga on their squad, this was an inside job.

A Leaf traitor had cost her two teammates.

It’s all Sakura can do to keep her breathing under control and steel herself against the steady voice in her mind that calls for blood. She gives Ryota a quick once over and decides that he may not survive long enough for her to retrieve the Byakugan and get them somewhere she can provide proper medical treatment.

Kakashi’s first lesson to her team - that those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum - runs through her head to damn the decision she comes to, but this is war, and she’s confident she can accomplish both objectives if she plays this smart enough. Her mind is already running through every possible scenario in which she can find the eyes in time to get Ryota out of there.

Sakura shifts into a defensive stance and surveys the ANBU who form a staggered circle around her, but curiously have yet to move against her. She promptly discards that observation, as she’ll gladly take the first move. She doesn’t even try to pretend she has a chance against all of them at once, so she prioritizes.

She’ll start with the ANBU who had been carrying Ryota and work her way through the masks she doesn’t recognize from her and Kaito’s earlier fights if that one doesn’t have the eyes.

A low laugh catches her just as she makes her way into the signs of a suiton jutsu she’d intended to use to capitalize on the relentless rain. Again, the voice is there, edging closer to the forefront of Sakura’s mind and clamoring for her to make the man who finds this amusing bleed.

She’s not sure how much energy she cares to spend continuing to stifle that voice.

“Haruno Sakura - the Tsuchikage requests your presence back in Iwagakure. Come quietly, and I’ll have the Hyūga boy dropped safely back in the Land of Fire near a well-traveled trail so he’ll be picked up soon.”

Sakura slowly drops her hands back to her sides, one with an active chakra scalpel and the other resting on top of her kunai pouch, as she unpacks that one statement. It’s evidence that Grass has joined the long list of smaller countries aligning with the enemy and that the contact in Konoha is privy to sensitive information beyond ANBU, who don’t use those regular trails.

She also notes the implications of how the Grass shinobi, who she pegs as the leader, phrased his statement - the Tsuchikage seemed to want her alive, most likely to lure the rest of Team 7 into enemy territory. It gives her a bit more leeway, since she’ll be the only one fighting to kill.

Baring her teeth, Sakura bites out a tart response:

“You can tell the Tsuchikage to go to fucking hell. Keep each other company once I take you out, asshole.”

Another laugh. The circle of ANBU take a step closer. Red tinges Sakura’s vision as the leader twists his sword into Ryota’s palm, earning a broken whimper she can still hear clearly through the rain.

Sakura’s moving with a speed even Sasuke would have been proud of in the next moment, her kunai bearing down on the man’s throat. She meets his gaze head-on, wanting to see the life drain out of them, and instead sees the world melt into an inverted grey-scale before she can even nick his skin.

The lead Grass nin is a fucking Uchiha. A shinobi from one of the Leaf’s most powerful clans turned rogue.

“You traitorous bastard.”

Sakura’s low growl is met with a louder, clearer version of the laugh she’d just heard seconds before that echoes in the empty space around her.

“Just say the word when you’re ready to come willingly, Sa-ku-ra-chan. Or don’t.”

The world around her goes dark. It’s an empty, infinite blackness without the sharply defined edges that come with shadows in reality. This is a formless, all-encompassing sort of darkness that threatens to steal the air from her lungs and breathes a chill of terror down the back of her neck.

It’s a genjutsu. Focus, Sakura.

Over the course of what feels like days stretched into weeks stretched into years, Sakura watches as her friends, family, and comrades are taken apart piece by piece. She feels the phantom pain as Sasuke’s Sharingan bright eyes are torn from their sockets, all while he rages at her for being the same annoying, useless, pathetic girl she was as a child.

Escape, Sakura. Focus.

She feels the slicing and tearing of a hundred swords piercing every inch of her body as she watches the same happen to Kakashi until he bleeds out, all while he spits venom about having ever been assigned to teach such a useless little girl who has no business playing kunoichi. Dead weight, he calls her.

She screams through the torture of having her skin flayed from her bones as Naruto is stripped of his. The image of his bright smile faltering into a silent scream follows her even as she tries to close her eyes.

Lee. Neji. Shikamaru. Kankuro. Hinata. Chouji. Tenten. Shizune. Sai. Ino. Tsunade. Okaa-san. Otou-san. On and on and on.

Sakura snaps. Black lines twist out from her seal, etching themselves down her cheeks and arms. She doesn’t even notice as the force of her chakra and rage shatters the genjutsu around her, the mantra of kill kill kill ringing through her mind as she lunges to the first sign of movement.

Soaked to the bone in blood, Sakura doesn’t notice the red string that knots itself around her wrist as her hand plunges through the chest of her enemy.

_____________________________________________________________

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I was a little hesitant to post this since another one of my works starts with a fight scene as well, but hopefully I was able to convey the emotional difference between the two. A Lesson in Practicality will be a Time Travel AU (eventually), while this one is obviously a Soulmate AU! I've also never written ItaSaku, so fingers crossed.

Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time. Your feedback means the world to me. ^_^

#itasaku #itachi uchiha #sakura haruno #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #itasaku fanfic #itasaku romance #soulmate au #itasaku soulmate au #anbu sakura

[amydancepants-peralta]

from the bottom of my heart

(Hi @dumpsteramy! I am your Secret Santa, and I have finally arrived with your Christmas gift! 🎅🏼 I hope you enjoy xx)

from the bottom of my heart 

For a detective that had - a mere five hours ago - participated in the takedown of one of Brooklyn’s most notorious killers, Jake Peralta knows that he is feeling way too nervous about the tiny parcel that is currently sitting inconspicuously on his kitchen counter.  

He reminds himself of this fact, hands obsessively wiping down each surface one last time in preparation for Amy’s arrival - running through his memory bank of various moments of bad-assery - but try as he might; every single time he glances at the box, wrapped in brown paper and too small to be anything but innocent, his heart leaps back up into his throat all over again.  

It’s possible, he reasons; as he grabs the last pair of dirty socks off the floor and throws them in the direction of the hamper, that it’s because this year is one of the few times that he’s actually had a girlfriend over the holiday season.  

(The reason behind that detail, he’s not entirely sure hasn’t been deliberate, however that’s just a little too much to unpack right now.)

But it’s also possible (and honestly, curse his impeccable detective instincts, because sometimes ignorance truly is bliss) that it’s because of who his girlfriend is this year; and how much he’s already hoping for a hundred or more Christmases together, that his nerves just plain refuse to take a chill pill for a minute or two.  (Or was it whom?  Seriously.  He cannot tell.)

And then, there’s also the minor fact that he’s kinda sorta already completely fallen in love with her - a tiny nicety that he cannot bring himself to say out loud just yet, because that really is a bell that one cannot unring.  But there were implications within that little brown box, connotations of many more years together that hasn’t yet been suggested but that he wants to imagine could actually be possible, and right now he could really do with Terry’s magic 8 ball to give him some kind of sign that everything is going to turn out just fine.  

Just be cool, Peralta.  No biggie if Amy doesn’t like it.  Jake winces, head shaking at his own thought; checking on the takeout keeping warm in the oven.  He really is a terrible liar.  

It’s only the sound of a key sliding into the lock - AMY’S key, because they are dating and have each other’s keys and it really shouldn’t make him this giddy two weeks later but it really does - that pulls Jake’s mind away from his slightly obsessive thoughts, and his face morphs into a happy grin as Amy lets herself in to his apartment.  

Her face is flushed from the cold, half hidden behind a layer of scarves and jacket collars, but then their eyes meet and she smiles and oh, he really is the luckiest guy in all of New York.  

“Hey!  Sorry I’m a little late.  Just got completely swept up in that last bit of paperwork, you know?”  Letting his front door swing shut behind her, she uses her free hand to unwrap the layers of wool, craning her neck to meet Jake’s welcome home kiss.  “But!  I made us some cookies for dessert.  Santa ones, with lots of icing.  You’re gonna love them.”

He gives Amy what he hopes is a convincing smile, helping her slide the last sleeve of her jacket off and casting it on a nearby barstool as her hands wrap around his waist.  “Sounds amazing, babe.”

“Mmm.  More kisses, please.”

It’s a polite request - honestly, he’d have responded the same even if it been a demand - and as a contented smile lifts Jake’s lips he leans in for another kiss, letting this one linger for a moment or two, purely because he can.  

She sighs against his mouth, shuffling closer and planting her palms against his hoodie; reaching up for the zipper as their lips press together once more.

His eyebrows raise as the zipper descends, pulling away slightly as her hands wrap around his now free middle with a secret smile.  She dips her head into his neck, that perfect mixture of flowers and ink that he’s come to know as Amy washing over him, and even though Jake’s technically been here for hours, finally it feels like he’s home.  

The hug continues for a beat, and despite the fact that he’d probably stand here for hours if Amy only asked, Jake breaks the comfortable silence to voice a nagging suspicion.  “Can’t tell if this is a sweet hug from my girlfriend, or a brazen attempt to steal all of my body heat.”

“You know I’m an excellent multi-talker, Peralta.  Clearly, it’s both.”  Her soft lips press against the base of his neck as though offering payment for his services, and Jake’s grip on his girlfriend tightens.  “You’re just so warm, and Brooklyn is so cold tonight.”

“Oh, so this is like a two-for-one deal kinda sitch.”

Amy nods, the soft edge of her chin rubbing along Jake’s collarbone and truly, he could have a thousand more nights just like this.  

Her head lifts slightly, sniffing the air before turning her attention back to Jake.  “Can I smell Thai Guy’s Tom Kha Kai?”

“You can.”

She grins, giving his waist a quick squeeze before releasing him from her warmth-stealing hug.  “Wow.  You definitely win Best Boyfriend for today.”

“Best Boyfriend?  Noice.  If I’d known it was that easy, I would’ve ordered double on standby for future awards.”

Amy grins, chuckling softly before noticing the parcel (because she honestly is the best detective - even if he’ll never say it out loud), letting her hands run along the edges of his hoodie as she pulls away to make a closer inspection.  “What’s this?”

His heart has most definitely returned to it’s seemingly new home at the base of his throat, but somehow Jake manages to persevere.  “Oh, it’s some-nothing really … just something I picked up and it’s nothing really it doesn’t matter.”

Her right eyebrow twitches up, throwing him that look she gets whenever she senses a lead, and Jake sighs. 

“So … I know you know how my mom used to work a lot, since my dad was a leaving jerk who left like a jerk and whatever.”  Amy nods, remaining silent.  “Well, the holidays always paid really well so I spent a lot of them with Nana or Gina or sometimes just me and the tv.”

“And Die Hard.”

“Naturally.  It’s the only Christmas movie worth watching.  And we’d make our own holiday day, somewhere in the week, so the whole actual date thing really wasn’t that big of a deal.  But … we did have this one tradition, that actually started the first Christmas after my dad left.”   

He watches nervously as Amy rounds the counter, using the tip of her perfectly manicured fingers to shuffle the parcel closer to her position, and takes a heavy swallow.  “My mom would buy - and sometimes make - ornaments, and put pictures of us from throughout the year in them.”  Running one hand through his hair, Jake moves until he’s leaning against the opposite side of the bench.  “She said that way, we were celebrating the year that was and making wishes for more of the same.  As you can imagine, as time went on the tree had a bunch of photos of her and I.  It was actually kinda cool.”

“It sounds really lovely, Jake.”

Nodding, Jake points at the package Amy’s nimble fingers have begun toying with, silently encouraging her to lift the lid as he continues.  “Yeah, so … I sort of had this thought that maybe … this year there could be one with us on the tree.”

Giving Jake one last curious glance, Amy lifts the lid of the small brown box, chewing her lower lip as the contents come into view.  

With his stomach feeling like it’s dropped to his feet, Jake leans into the counter, waiting with bated breath for Amy’s response; and she lifts the tiny wreath ornament from it’s resting place, letting the trinket spin as a selfie Jake took of the two of them two months ago flickers in front of their eyes.  

It���s the silence that’s killing him, the need to explain and deflect and pretend everything is fine too strong, and even though Jake knows he’s rambling, the words just start tumbling out of his mouth.  “It’s no biggie, really.  Just something that I thought might be cool.  It’s okay if you hate it, we don’t need to bother next year, thats if there even is a next - ” The gentle press of two of Amy’s fingers against his lips throws Jake into silence, and she holds them in place as she rounds the corner of the kitchen counter again, only pulling away once she’s by his side again.  

“Jake.  I think it’s wonderful.  I could never hate this.”

With the sense of relief flooding through his veins, Jake manages a smile, tucking the strand of hair that’s fallen from Amy’s work appropriate up-do behind her ear.  “Yeah?"

“Yeah.  It’s amazing, actually.”  Her hands come to rest on either side of his neck, the sheer familiarity and comfort of the move subsiding any linger nerves as she looks up at him with the softest gaze.  “A really special tradition, that I cannot wait to continue.  And honestly, I just feel so lucky that you’d want to share it with me.  Thank you, babe.”

Her lips press against his as she pulls him in for a grateful kiss; and even as his hands slide along the smooth edges of Amy’s back, Jake can’t help but think that if there’s anyone in this kitchen that’s lucky, it is most definitely him.  After all, not only does Amy love the tradition, she cannot wait to continue it - and what could be greater than that?

He wraps his arms around Amy completely, pulling her in for a tighter hug as the kiss breaks, and with her chin resting against his shoulder she takes in the rest of her surroundings.

“Hey.  You cleaned!”

Feeling a tiny glimmer of pride at her observation, Jake nods to play it cool.  “Well, you know.  Tis the season, and all that.”

“The cleaning season?”  Gasping, Amy tilts her face back up to Jake with a giant smile.  “Oh my gosh, can you imagine!?  There could be a different cleaning method each day!” 

Her eyes are bright, taking on that special sparkly quality that just takes her beauty levels from one hundred to one thousand as she describes all the different products that could be used, and he is most definitely, absolutely, totally and utterly, head over heels in love with Amy Santiago.  

“Look, all of that sounds amazing, Ames, and I’m sure one day if you wish really hard it might even come true.  But … for now, how about we eat this Best Boyfriend Award winning dinner I ordered and watch some top quality movies on the couch?"

Amy nods, raising one finger in a friendly reprimand.  “But no Die Hard, we watched it just last week.”

“It’s a vintage classic, babe!  The kind of movie that never grows old.”

Her responding eye roll is good-natured in it’s delivery, a gentle slap landing along the line of shoulder.  “Vintage or not, I get to choose the movie tonight.”

Letting out an exaggeratedly defeated sigh, Jake decides that a pre-dinner commiseration cookie is in order, and he lifts the lid to the container as Amy removes their food from the oven.

“Uh, babe … are these the cookies you made?”

“Yeah?”

“They look … neat.”  Jake smiles, one that he knows isn’t very convincing, but he’s also not entirely certain that the lumps he’s discovered in the container are actually cookies - even out of technicality.

Amy’s eyes narrow, abandoning her serving of rice to gaze over Jake’s shoulder, jabbing a finger into his spine.  “Out with it, Peralta.”

“No, it’s nothing, it’s just … have you ever seen that show, Nailed It?”

Her jaw drops, brows raising in obvious indignation as she reaches for one of the lumps.  “Hey!  Eat your damn cookie, detective.  Or don’t go expecting anything to happen with your candy cane tonight.”

“My candy ca- oh!  My ‘candy cane’.  Ha.  Nice euphemism, Ames.”  Winking, he snatches the cookie out of Amy’s protective grip, snarfing it down in one bite.  “Mmm, yummy.  Don’t mind me, just standing here enjoying this deliciously amazing cookie that my incredible girlfriend made for me with her bare hands and doesn’t taste like a salt lick at all.”

Casting a side-eyed glance at Jake as she returns to serving their dinner, Amy mutters something about how she really thought the extra icing would hide the salt taste; and even though it’s probably completely insane, he feels strangely excited at the thought of many more years pretending to enjoy his girlfriend’s cooking.  

The idea of it all - of a mixture of Christmases, Hanukkahs and Noche Bueanas alike filling up their years - makes Jake’s face break out into a stupidly wide grin; and without thinking he reaches for another cookie, this time making no complaint as the salty sweet combination begins to grow on him.  

And truly, there could not be any greater sign that he is completely in love with Amy if he tried.

*

(A few or so years from now, there will be a Christmas tree standing tall in the living room of the  Santiago-Peralta home, covered in ornaments and memories alike.  Their son Mac will place the very last decoration on the tree - a tiny little sonogram of his soon-to-be-born little sister - and Jake will ruffle his hair and remember a time when all of this had only been an unspoken dream.)

#MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! #I miss yall #returning from my forced hibernation temporarily #b99 secret santa 2020 #peraltiago fic #b99 fic #christmas fluff #peraltiago fluff

[dynacasttechnologies]

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[master-sass-blast]

Winter Stay-cation.

*insert pithy quip here*

Summary: A massive squall hits New York City. The snow, combined with a deep freeze, brings the city that never sleeps to a standstill once the police issue travel bans. Fortunately, you and Piotr know how to keep yourselves entertained during your impromptu stay-cation.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Ellie Phimister x Yukio.

Rating: G for fluff.

Word Count: 3.4k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

A/N: The movie quote from Day Five is from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window.”

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

“—continuing into the middle of next week, if not longer. Expect heavy snowfall and temperatures below freezing, with windchill taking things below zero over the weekend.”

“Good grief.” You shake your head as you watch the weather report on the morning news. “It doesn’t get that cold when I fly full speed.”

Piotr, your husband, hands you a cup of coffee and shrugs. “January is ugly month.”

You smirk into your mug. “Bet this doesn’t compare to Siberian winters.”

“Not really,” he admits with a chuckle.

“The Chief of New York City’s Fire Department has issued a statement reminding residents to be careful when using their fireplaces and to monitor children and pets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you quip, “Don’t use fireworks as kindling, we got it.”

Piotr snorts.

“In addition, the Police Department has issued a travel advisory in light of the predicted precipitation and sub-zero temperatures. All none-essential travel is restricted until the cold snap passes.”

“Groovy. Tell that to half the city.”

Piotr grins, shakes his head again, then turns the TV off. “Looks like we will have to keep ourselves occupied here this week.”

You cast a disparaging glance outside –where the snow is already up to Piotr’s knees—then say, “Like we were going anywhere else.”

 ***

 Day One

 There’s an upside to when the “deep freeze” hits. It’s already winter break, meaning there’s no coordinating classes, figuring out how to pick up students that don’t live at the mansion, or having to get up at the balls-ugly hours of the early morning in the stupid, frigid cold.

The two of you wake up at your leisure, around nine o’clock. You laze around in bed for a bit, snuggling and chatting and smooching, then head downstairs for breakfast. You wind up setting up shop at the dining room table, catching up on grading and filling out end of the semester report cards.

“Can you check these for me?” Piotr asks, handing you a stack of essays from his art classes. “I already made content-based marks; I am just not sure about English grammar.”

“Fun fact: most native English speakers aren’t sure about their grammar, either,” you joke with a smirk.

Piotr snorts, then checks his computer clock before standing. “Is about lunchtime. I was thinking soup and sandwiches?”

You nod. “Sounds tasty.”

“Would you like anything in particular?”

“Surprise me.” You make a contented hum when Piotr leans over the table to kiss you, then smile as you watch him head to the kitchen.

You really are the world’s luckiest woman (a sentiment you feel even more keenly when he comes back with a fresh cup of hot cider for you).

 ***

 Day Two

 “We should clean.”

The two of you are sitting on the couch. Your laptops sit on the coffee table, displaying the completed efforts of uploading grades to the online gradebook that the school uses. Two mugs that once contained coffee sit next to either laptop.

You look up at Piotr. You’re tucked against his side, head leaning on his shoulder while his fingers trace designs on the sleeve of your sweater (which is technically his sweater, but that’s neither here nor there). “Huh?”

“We should clean,” he repeats as he scrubs at his face with his free hand. “House could use it.”

You crane your neck to look over his shoulder. “We don’t really have that many dirty dishes.”

Piotr snorts, then raises an eyebrow at you. “When was last time we vacuumed? Or deep cleaned bathrooms? Or washed windows?”

“We can see out the windows just fine!”

Piotr grins and shakes his head. He stands, holding his hand out to you. “Come on, myshka. Clean home, clean mind.”

“I’ll have you know that my mind is nothing but dirty, and I’m offended that you would dare insinuate otherwise.”

Piotr laughs and helps you up. “We can start upstairs and work our way down.”

 ***

 Cleaning with Piotr isn’t so bad. He carries his fair share of the workload, does things to their proper doneness, and is a firm supporter of blasting tunes while cleaning.

“Take! Me! On!” You bounce up and down in time with the beat while you clean the sliding glass doors in your bedroom that lead out to the balcony. “I’ll… be… gone! In a day or two!”

Behind you, Piotr laughs. He’s hauling out a trashbag from the bathroom –no doubt filled with the sheer amount of crumpled paper towels it takes to get the place sanitary again. “I see you are enjoying yourself.”

“Absolutely not. I’m suffering endlessly. I’m going to die any minute now.” And then, to prove you point, you flop to the floor dramatically (taking care to use your powers to cushion your landing).

Piotr lets out a choked gasp, then clutches at his chest. “You keep scared me!”

You look up at him and laugh. “You know I can catch myself! You’ve seen me do that before!”

“Changes nothing!” He lets out a ragged breath, hand still pressed over his heart. “I could have heart attack.”

You giggle, then lift yourself off the floor with a swirl of wind. You land nimbly on your toes before him and wrap your arms around his waist. “Aw, now who’s being dramatic?”

“I fail to see how concern for your well-being is dramatic!”

You suppress a grin, opting to pop up on the balls of your feet and kiss him instead. “I’m very sorry I scared you, baby.”

“Is okay.” He kisses you gently, then gazes down at you with a rueful smile on his lips. “What am I going to do with you, myshka?”

“Dance with me?” You flash him an impish smile, then start bouncing in time to the music again.

Piotr chuckles, then takes your hands in his and bops along with you.

The two of you dance around the room –well, as much as what you’re doing can be called dancing. You sing the lyrics of the song to each other, not sticking to any particular key or tempo.

You laugh when Piotr lifts you into his arms, bridal style, then squeal in delight when he spins the two of you around.

It’s perfect.

 ***

 Day Three

 You wake up to the sound of Piotr’s phone chirping –because, even on vacation, he still keeps a daily morning alarm.

He groans as he comes to, then laughs when you roll over him and shut off his alarm for him. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

You set his phone back on his nightstand, then straddle his hips and plant your hands against his brawny chest. “You’re not making me clean today.”

Piotr smirks up at you, bushy eyebrow raising in challenge. “Oh?”

“We’re spending today in this bed,” you continue. “Just you” –you tap his chest—“and me, and as few clothes as possible. Sound good?”

He pretends to mull it over, even has he takes off the shirt he’d been sleeping in. “Are we allowed bathroom and meal breaks?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Ah, very generous. Thank you, benevolent myshka.”

“You’re very welcome.” You giggle when he grins –then let out a delighted yelp when he rolls suddenly, pinning you between him and the bed. You sigh as he kisses you, eyes fluttering shut. You arms wind around his neck, holding him against you while his hands smooth down your body.

 ***

 Day Four

 Cabin fever starts setting in between the third and fourth day. There’s only so many chores you can do, only so many papers you can grade (and you’re out of papers to grade, which doesn’t help your case), only so much sex you can have before you’re gonna start losing your mind.

Fortunately, Piotr is well-attuned to you and your mental states –meaning he notices that you’re getting twitchy before you dip into pyromania to keep yourself entertained.

“We should do something fun today,” he says during breakfast. He spreads some sour cream over his plate of blinis, then adds cottage cheese and sausage meat. “Perhaps play some video games. Ellie has been pestering me to play some multi-people games with her and Yukio.”

“Could be fun,” you say before stuffing your mouth full with Nutella-covered blini. You swallow, then ask, “What did she want to play?”

“Ah… she had two. I think… Falling Guys and Among Us?”

A slow, wicked grin stretches across your place. Fuck yeah. “Let her know we’re in.”

 ***

 Piotr, unfortunately, turns out to be none too good at Fall Guys.

“No!” He wails, then flops back against the couch when he gets thrown off a platform and into the slime. “I could not run away!”

“You have to anticipate the enemy’s movements,” Ellie says over Discord. She’s already qualified and is spectating you and Yukio. “Predict their strategy, then counter.”

“I think it is less strategy and more ‘giant hands do not play nice with tiny controller,’” Piotr grumbles good-naturedly.

“Or maybe you got your butt kicked like a scrub,” Ellie fires back.

“I never contested that,” Piotr chuckles.

“Alright,” you say, eyes glued on your pink and yellow striped player. “I’m almost there, there’s plenty of slots left –no, you fucking pigeon! Let me go!”

“Language,” Piotr murmurs between bouts of laughter.

“It’s always a pigeon!” Ellie groans. “Fucking skyrats.”

“Language, NTW.”

You qualify for the next round (no thanks to the damn pigeon, who qualifies, too). Egg Scramble is next, and you wind up facing off against Ellie and Yukio for the win.

“Damn it!” There’s the sound of something hitting the floor –most likely Ellie throwing her controller—when she and Yukio get booted out. “Yellow always loses!”

“Is that it?” you ask while the loading screen plays. “Are we at the final round yet?”

“There’ll be one more,” Yukio says. “To finish whittling down the competitors.”

Sure enough, there’s a round of Tip-Toe –which you get through by the skin of your teeth—and then you and eight other players are sent to the finale.

“Okay, Hex-A-Gone. You’ll want to just hop from tile to tile,” Ellie advises you while the level loads. “It makes the tiles last longer.”

“Don’t be afraid to drop a couple levels at first,” Yukio adds. “You can carve out one of the lower levels, meaning anyone that falls above you will have further to go and will be more likely to get out.”

“I appreciate it, but don’t expect any miracles,” you say, laughing self-deprecatingly.

Piotr kisses the top of your head. “You can do this, myshka.”

You follow the girls’ advice; you let yourself drop down two levels, then start hopping from tile to tile to start carving out the platform.

“One guy’s already out!” Ellie announces. “You’ve got this!”

“Shit! I fell!”

“That’s okay,” Yukio reassures you. “Find a decent mass of tiles and hop, don’t run. Make them last.”

“The pigeon grabbed another player,” Piotr marvels, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, they both died, so fat lot of good it did them,” Ellie mutters.

You keep going, bounce from brightly colored hexagon to brightly colored hexagon.

“Only four left!” Ellie lets out a whoop. “Holy shit, you’re gonna make it!”

“Don’t jinx me!” you laugh as you dodge another player’s attempt to grab you. “Don’t jinx me!”

“Three left –two! It’s just you and one other guy!”

“You’ve got this, Y/N!” Yukio cheers.

You dive for a clump of tiles –and miss. “No!” You groan, then laugh as your character plummets into the pink slime. “Damn. I’m never going to do that good ever again.”

Piotr wraps an arm around your shoulders in a conciliatory hug. “You did wonderful job, myshka.”

“He’s right. That was really good. The winner fell a few seconds after you, so it was basically a coin toss as to who was gonna get the crown,” Ellie says while the winner’s animation plays on screen.

“Yeah! Great job!” Yukio congratulates you.

“Wanna do another round?” Ellie asks as she flicks between skins and accessories for her avatar.

Yukio laughs lightly. “Baby, we were going to get lunch.”

“Oh, right.”

“Perhaps we can try other game after lunch,” Piotr suggests. “‘Fall Guys’ is okay, but makes me too dizzy.”

“Yeah, sure. Text me when you guys are done eating.”

***

 Among Us doesn’t go much better for Piotr, if only because he doesn’t adhere to the strategy of the game. He does his tasks without fail –which usually leaves him alone, and thus a prime target for killing or pinning a murder on. He’s also a terrible liar, which makes it easy to tell when he is the impostor.

You laugh as Piotr’s little red spaceman goes floating into space. “I honestly feel bad.”

“I don’t,” Wade says (he and Nate hopped on the Discord call when Yukio sent them an invite). “Pay for some acting classes, Chrome Dome! Give us a challenge, at least.”

Piotr starts grumbling in Russian, but it gets cut off when the round starts up again.

(You all still wind up losing because Nate’s the other impostor and racks up bodies like nobody’s business.)

“I’m still waiting for when Ellie and Dad get the impostor role together,” you comment as the defeat screen flashes on your laptop screen.

“What, so we all die in five minutes?” Wade grumbles. “So we can suffer the agony of betrayal and not honoring trust again?”

“It’s just a game, Wade,” Nate sighs. “And I apologized already.”

“Is our relationship ‘just a game’ to you, Natey? I gave you an alibi –and then you shanked me in the shower like rejected prison bitch!”

“Language, Wade,” your husband pipes up, voice world-weary. “Please.”

You all start another round once Wade calms down –which, admittedly, takes a while and a great deal of coaxing from Nathan. You grin when you see that you’re an impostor alongside Yukio –then giggle to yourself when a plan pops into your mind.

You start stalking Piotr around the map. You fake doing tasks alongside him, acting as his shadow as he treks around the map. On the corner of your screen, you watch your kill timer wind down, then wait for the right moment once it runs out, and—

Downstairs, in his art studio, your husband lets out an indignant scream when your character murders his.

You fall back onto the bed and cackle.

 ***

 Day Five

 The squall rages on outside. The world is practically buried in snow. It’s a sea of white outside your bedroom windows, blinding and sterile.

You peer at the swaths of snow blanketing every inch of ground, every tree branch, and every shrub, then nestle further under the blankets. “Ugh. I don’t even want to get out of bed today.”

Piotr chuckles, then wraps an arm around your waist. “How come?”

“Have you seen what it’s like outside? It’s disgusting!”

“I thought you liked snow.”

“I do. That’s how you know it’s bad.” You sigh as you eye the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky. “I wish I could, like, go outside. Go to a store or something. Leave the house.”

“Is not safe to drive yet.”

“I know, I know.” You sigh. “Is it bad that I miss the color green?”

“Nyet. Is normal.”

You smile, just a little, when Piotr kisses the back of your head. You roll over to face him. “Can we build a blanket fort today?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What… here? In bedroom?”

“Yeah. We can make it look all pretty, and snuggle in bed, and watch movies, and have sex…”

“Bozhe ty moi.” Piotr snorts, then takes a moment to study your face, your eyes. “You really want blanket fort?”

“Kind of, yeah. I just… I want something new to look at.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a soft smile. He presses his lips against your forehead. “Alright, myshka. Let’s make fort.”

***

 “When a man and a woman see each other and like each other, they ought to come together. Wham. Like a couple of taxis on Broadway.”

You let out a content, relaxed sigh, then wriggle closer to Piotr.

The fort, admittedly, is simple –but you don’t mind. While you were taking a shower, Piotr assembled the whole thing, just to give you a little surprise.

He’d brought up a couple floor lamps from the main floor, then clipped some fairy lights to them before draping the largest quilt in the house over top to make the room. He’d pinned some throw blankets to either side of the quilt to make the sides, then made the bed and assembled the pillows so the two of you could have a nice, cozy, comfy den to watch movies in.

The recurring, delighted thought of ‘he made it for me; he made it for me because he knew I wanted one’ loops around in your brain like a bumblebee drunk on fermented crab apples. You grin, then loop your arms around Piotr’s neck and kiss his cheek.

He grins, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What was that for?”

“You made me a blanket fort.”

“You asked for one.”

“Yeah, but you made it for me. You could’ve just waited until we could both work on it.”

He shrugs, lips curving into a soft, pleased smile. “I wanted to see look on face. You were very happy.”

“Correction: I am very happy.” You kiss the tip of his nose, then his lips. “I love you, Piotr.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

 ***

 Day Six

 You know it’s bad when you wake up before Piotr.

You look over at your husband, who’s still slumbering away next to you –and sawing some logs, no less—then out at the winter hellscape outside, and decide there’s only one thing for it.

You’re channeling your inner Great British Bake Off contestant and demolishing the kitchen.

***

 Piotr comes downstairs around ten in the morning –which is a miraculous amount of sleep in time for him—but by then, the damage has already been done.

There’s a cake cooling on the counter (you’d found a box of cake mix in the back of the pantry and decided to use it as a warm-up. The mixer is working overtime on a double batch of sugar cookies –plus there’s already chocolate chip cookie dough chilling in the fridge.

You look up from the cookbook you’d been perusing –you were thinking pie next—and flash your husband a slightly sheepish grin as he gapes at the kitchen. “Uh… good morning?”

“Myshka…”

“I made cake.”

“I can see that.” Piotr drops his heads into his hands and makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Why?”

“Because being trapped inside is stressing me out and I want to cope by eating my weight in desserts.”

Piotr sighs, then lifts his head. He eyes the mixer, then the increasingly sheepish expression on your face. “How much is that?”

“In the bowl or in the fridge?”

“Bozhe ty moi.”

“Look, the way I see it, we can share—”

“You have that much correct. We do not need five million cookies.”

“Excuse you, I’m only making three million. Also, do you know where the lard is?”

Piotr’s face scrunches up. “Lard? Why—”

“I wanna make pie.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We already have cake. And goodness knows how many kinds of cookies.”

“But those aren’t pie.” You smile impishly at him. “Plus, like, pie has fruit, so it’s good for you. You like fruit. Think about how good it’ll be to eat something with fruit after all the cake, and the cookies…”

“Or I could just eat fruit.” He sighs, resigned and slightly frustrated, when you bat your eyelashes at him. “I will check pantry.”

***

 Day Seven

 “—as of today, authorities are lifting the ban on nonessential travel—”

“Yes!” You launch yourself into the air, twirling around and pumping your fists before landing lightly on the couch once more. “Finally!”

Piotr laughs and shakes his head. “What, is staying inside with me so terrible?”

“Absolutely not.” You crawl across the couch and into his lap, then give him a loud smooch. “I have enjoyed every single day of your company. However, you’ve got about fifteen minutes before I start repainting the walls out of sheer boredom.”

Piotr bursts into raucous guffaws. He puts a hand over his eyes, shoulders and stomach shaking with each laugh. He sighs, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes as minute giggles slip past his lips. “Well, we do need to restock on food. And flour and butter, since someone decided to open bakery yesterday.”

You pointedly ignore the pies and full cookie jar sitting on the kitchen counter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He snorts, then pats your thigh. “Get dressed, myshka. We will go shopping.”

“Fuck yeah!” You zip up the stairs.

Downstairs, you can hear Piotr start laughing again.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #negasonic teenage warhead x yukio #heavy on the fluff #because this year has been a shitload of angst #and quite frankly im done with it #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

[hippiegirltravels]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: GOURMIA Food & Meat Slicer Professional Counterman 100 NWT.

[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter One.

So in case you guys were wondering where I vanished off to, the answer is mostly work. This chapter also took way, way more brain power than I really intended, so I didn't really have the energy to post much else.

I could probably edit this more, but I swear if I spend one more hour editing this I will go insane, so here it is, chapter one of my first multi-chapter fic in, *checks calendar,* four years!?

Jeez, time really does fly, doesn't it?

Read on AO3

If I were Where I Would be, Then I Would be Where I Am not. But where I am, There I must be. And where I would be, I cannot.

-American Folk Poem.

________________________________________________________

As soon as Valerie had flown out of sight of Plasmius’ portal, she made a point to dump everything he had given her for the trip.

First, the communication devices. She had no desire to talk to anyone, much less the creepy, lying, traitorous ghost-thing masquerading as Vlad Masters. She gave the DALVco edition headset her best fast ball, taking no small satisfaction in watching it break piece by piece as it clattered against the frames of one floating door after another before finally vanishing into the mists below.

If Plasmius wanted to talk to her, he could crawl out of his portal and find her himself. Which he wasn’t going to do, because he had a cover to maintain. After all, what kind of delicate, elderly gentleman would throw himself into a dimension of rarified death? Not Mister Masters, oh no.

Especially not when he had a willing pawn to do it for him.

The more surreptitious listening devices went next. Fat, disgusting, bloated insects they were, bugs in function as much as form.And they were everywhere.

She found them wedged between her armor joints, the soles of her boots, in the crevices of her guns, and, after putting her systems through an intensive self-diagnostic, her hair.

When had he touched her hair?

She made a point to crush them all. Either plucking off the parasites directly, or, in the case of those lodged beneath her suit, pulling them into her storage unit and spitting them back out again into the open atmosphere where they could be destroyed.

She removed everything else Plasmius had given her immediately after: Several days worth of food, a large pop up tent, a sleeping bag, a map, several spare weapons, a well thumbed biography on Vince Lombardi and more spewed out of her storage units like a sickness, purged in gouts down to the waiting abyss.

Any thing he'd handled, all his supplies, every “present” he'd ever bestowed, she made a point to dump them all.

But God, when had he touched her hair?

Once she was finished, it felt almost like a victory. With no material proof of her obligations, it was easy to imagine she was already free.

She would finish this mission on her own. No outside aid, no puppet-masters, no regrets.

------------------------------------------

/Sorrysorry-soverysorry!/

“Shut up!”Valerie had regrets.

/sorrysorrysorry/

So many regrets.

“I said shut up, you stupid bug!”

She emphasized her point by kicking the target of her ire right in the soft parts of its creepy, eye studded thorax.

This was stupid, she was stupid, but more than anything, she was pissed.

Valerie took a few steps closer to her target, gait slightly uneven for the lack of both her usual boots. While she wasn't going to die anytime soon, as the black leather that fit snug as skin across her body, the true barrier against the toxic atmosphere of the Zone, remained fully intact, it didn't stop her from being mad about it.

The bug, which had finally stopped gibbering in that vile, hissing tongue that had become more and more common the deeper she ventured into the pea-soup hellscape otherwise known as the ghost zone, took the opportunity to cower against the calciferous outgrowth that had halted its pitiful attempt at flight from Valerie's relentless pursuit.

She had hunted ghosts stronger and faster than this every day back in Amity, and could not help the faint sensation of disgust that came over her at the sight of a figure so unexpectedly pathetic. Did she appear so weak that this creature, along with the half a dozen or so of its less successful, but no less kleptomaniacally inclined ilk see fit to prey upon her? Did she seem so low indeed, that even the meanest, most beggarly of the Zone's inhabitants should see her as some object to pilfer and mock?

It was the work of a moment to summon her laser cubes, pulling them from the pocket dimension from which they resided to slide noiselessly over to the insect lying prone before her. With a thought, they flew forward, two each to press down on the thing's chitinous skull, heightening the artificial glow of her suit as she did for that extra sense of intimidation.

It was an ability she'd never had the need for back on earth, only to find herself putting it to use with unhappy frequency not a day after she'd set off on her journey.

Everything in the realm of the dead glowed, and the capacity to put off and manipulate one's own aura was a hallmark of the creatures that 'lived' within it. Those that didn't stood out strangely, casting shadows upon themselves and the world in a way that made them an obvious anomaly in the otherwise antumbral reaches of the Zone.

While Valerie didn't enjoy wasting her resources on glowing like she was her very own spook, she also hated wasting time, which advertising her humanity to every ghost that glanced her way very much did; a lesson that she'd learned after fending off an entire assault squad of ghost police, who had chased her for ages while screaming about her criminal possession of so many 'real world objects' within their territory.

That it also made sure any enemies never anticipated her ability to phase through objects came in handy from time to time as well, such as when a would-be thief, for example, tried to duck into a thicket in an effort to snarl its pursuer.

As expected, the bug shuddered in response to the cold touch of the barrel against its skin, curling into itself as it looked up into the dark panel of her faceplate.

Valerie leaned down, pinning it between herself, her guns, and the stony trunk of what, on this particular island, seemed to serve as some kind of tree.

/Alright, Manbug, one more time./ Her voice crackled and popped through her translators, adding even more intimidation to a tone already modulated down to something lower and crueler than her natural snarl. /Where. Did you. Put. My Stuff. /

The insect whimpered a little harder, oozing something suspiciously close to snot from the hole above its writhing mouthparts. It remained otherwise silent, however, as it shook.

Valerie pulled back her leg and kicked it again.

The imitation flesh buckled beneath her toes, causing the creature to squeal, a nonverbal expression of pain peaking just beyond her range of hearing as it flickered invisible, writhing in a hopeless gambit to escape the weapons still clamped against its head.

Funny how ghosts kept so many features they really shouldn't need anymore. Like joints, for example. Was it a subconscious matter, or some kind of deliberate choice, Just one more means to mock the living, their very forms a cruel parody of everything they once had been?

She silenced the voice which whispered how she should know by now, that it wasn't that easy. There were more important things to focus on.

/P-please./

The bug focused its myriad gaze on the huntress' visor, all six limbs twisted over themselves, wrapped tight over its oozing midsection.

/In error, Milor- Milord. Your place, held, not neutral. Shall honor, please. /

It was leaking from the eyes too, now, viscous fluid pouring from its dozens of eyes, wetting it bodily, puddling down onto the dark purple earth, adding to the halo of scattered goods and tchotchkes that had spilled out from the overstuffed bags that it had clung to for dear life even as they toppled, overbalanced from a too-fast turn, dragging the creature headfirst into ruin.

/Mer- mercy./

This wasn't fair. This miserable thing, begging in the dirt like it hadn't gotten anything more than what it deserved.

Valerie grimaced, rubbing the heel of her palm against her faceplate. Phantom's visage, not long past, looked up to her from the depths of her memory, face just as desperate, just as indisputably, distressingly genuine as when she'd first seen it.

“Valerie, You don't want to do this.”

“Like I have a choice, spook.” She muttered.

She took a deep breath, sucking in the same recycled exhalation she'd been breathing for nearly a week now, and took a moment to actually think her situation through.

She wasn't lost. She had no idea where she was, but she wasn't lost: That would imply a level of helplessness she could not bring herself to admit. What little food and water she had brought with her had been eaten a while back, reducing her to scavenge among the portal droppage scattered through those areas not patrolled by mad policemen, hoping she could find something sufficiently sealed against ectoplasmic encroachment to remain edible.

She reconsidered her captive, still trembling on the ground. A ghost zone native, utterly at her mercy, and, by the looks of things, a serial hoarder of goods.

/You want mercy? Fine. But you do what I say, exactly as I say it, M'kay?/

While the guns pinning its head in place were something of an obstacle, the bug did manage a spasmodic sort of jerking motion, forebody pushed back and forth with desperate, eager haste.

/(Enthusiasm,) (enthusiasm,) assent! Lord, generous, gratitude, respect./

“Good, now-”She held out one hand, palm expectant.

/Give 'em back./

It responded slowly, still slobbering at the maw, all eyes fixed on the huntress as it unwound its uppermost limbs, which reached up towards those tattered bundles still clustered fungiform over its heaving thorax, rifling between twine-like bindings for what seemed an age.

Patience had never been a skill of Valerie's, and she found herself torn between wanting the moment to last forever and wishing go faster instead, tightening her mental grip over her laser cubes, fingering the internal triggers in anticipation of some sudden, traitorous motion on the part of her captive.

Ghosts were deceptive, dangerous creatures, except, of course, when they weren't.

Without any ability to tell the difference, she could do nothing but pace at the bars of her patience, waiting for the moment to act.

Finally, a claw submerged itself into one of the parcels, pulling out one boot, and, just beside it, a single leather fold.

This was it. Valerie snatched the wallet from its pincers. The boot was replaceable, her construct engines could make another now, if she wanted to waste the resources for it, but her wallet-She flipped open the small leather parcel, noted immediately that the contents were not any state remotely akin to how she had left them.

/Milord?/

The bug was still subtly trying to wriggle its way out from under her guns. Her systems noted, then deleted, increased energy expenditure from her laser cubes as they were forced to adjust to its motions.

Useless data. A ghost of so low a caliber could never hope to escape so easily.

Debit card-broken, bent until the plastic whitened from an excess of pressure; Dollar bills balled together and crammed into a single pocket, still damp with a kind of ectoplasm that looked disquietingly similar to the slobber still dripping from the mouthparts of the bug before her; Plastic wrappers, spare coins, a concert flyer for a band she'd always wanted to see.

/Ah, Milord? Pardon, Excuse?/

All of it. This vile, twisted excuse for an insect had messed with all of it. It had played with her most important cards and documents like they were toys, then shoved them back in with utter disregard for any sense of their value once it was done.

/Goods, returned, trust?/

Dread crept into her heart as she reached into the backmost pocket of her billfold, the place where she kept the picture of her.

/more goods? Information? Information on goods? Release, please?/

It was shoved in the very bottom of the wallet, balled into the crease where the two halves of leather were joined into one. She pulled it out, fingers shaking only slightly as they smoothed it back into a more flattened form.

The Red Huntress had no face, and never had Valerie been more grateful for that absence than in that moment, when she beheld the true extent of the damage done to Polaroid before her.

Soft white creases were everywhere, shattering the image into isolated fragments of its former self. It had been torn, too, at the edges, a grip too hard, twisting too far, integrity compromised as a result.

The worst of the damage by far, however, were a series of punctures, scattered at random through the center of the photograph, small to medium perforations forming little absences where there had once been trees and grass, where there had been a woman's face. A hole sat primly above her dark neck, arched back into nothing, a yawning gap where once there had been laughter.

The Huntress turned her blank visage back to her captive, who froze in the act of trying to pry her weapons out of position. Cowardly, but expected. Trusting a ghost was a fools game she had no intent on playing.

/Ah, haha, (nervous) (nervous,) (respect.)/ The target pulled its claws back up against itself, fiddling with the tips as it looked up to her absent regard.

/...Milord?/

The Red Huntress had no face, could betray no emotion, could reveal none of the cold black welter that rushed up through the depths of her breast and pressed against her throat. An impassive machine, possessed of a will stripped free of feeling.

No sliver of her intent showed through, no shudder passed from her shaking fingers to her gauntleted hands, not even the psychic senses of a ghost could hope to detect the lava that boiled up from her guts, pressing against her skin in an sheet of living fire even as the pits of her stomach chilled to ice.

The bug was still looking up at her, eyes all expectant, when she commanded her one of her guns to fire.

A bright streak of energy shot through the top of its head, hard pink flash cutting through a wave of green.

It squealed, jerked all six limbs towards the missing portion of its skull in a hopeless effort to stop the thick chunks of ectoplasm from slopping down the side of its face. Valerie brought her foot down at the same moment, crushing its forelimbs down into the dust. Forelimbs tipped with little claws, just large enough to fit the holes in a certain photograph.

/Why!? Ancients, why, why!?/

Why?

“Why the hell not?” she snarled, “Ain't that how it works here?”

If a different ghost wanted to rob her blind every time she tried to sleep, they could. If Valerie wanted to chase down the one that finally succeeded, she could. There were no laws here, there were no rules, there weren't even morals. There was nothing to stop anyone from doing anything, so why should she be the one to hold herself back?

She lifted her foot off its claws, then swung it once again into its thorax, only just crusted over from where she had kicked it before.

It squealed, just like she imagined another ghost would, red eyes wide and frightened, vampiric teeth shattered against her fist, choking as she wrapped her fingers around his blue, blue, skin.

He deserved this, it deserved this, she was in the right. She had been tricked, mislead, mistaken maybe, but she wasn't wrong, she was in the right.

And if there was some dark curl of satisfaction there, a self righteous flame alighted just where she'd been coldest in that moment of hate, then that was proof, wasn't it? Of just how right she was.

She bent down to her target, which had started drooling all over again, ground speckled green and wet as it heaved against itself. It was disgusting enough that she would have shot it in the mouth instead of the head, but she still needed information, which meant it still needed to talk.

It's upper set of antenna had survived the cranial blast, making for an easy handhold as she yanked its drooping head up to face her once again. At the same time, she sent her guns down to its chest, where its energy levels peaked their highest.

Ghosts, much like the cockroaches they resembled, could survive well enough without a head, but none, not one could ever hope to make it without their precious ghostly core.

“Listen up spook.” She hissed. /Here's how this is gonna work. You lie, I shoot. You run, I shoot. Got it?/Its head twitched up and down, the smallest possible motion of assent.

/Good./

This was what it took, when it came to ghosts. Cooperation proceeded pain, loyalty from the threat of it, and mercy not at all.

/We'll start with the questions./

She allowed her guns to charge power, deadly, scintillating hum filling the air with the sound of her malintent.

/I like what I hear, maybe I let you keep talking./

Author's note: If Sam is more pride than wrath, then Val is more wrath than pride, IMO. I've done my best to write her accordingly

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #Chapter 1 #Where You Belong #Danny Phantom #Valerie Grey