#Brave Command Wagon

[mary-moongood]

the brave franchise has something with drills doesn't it

today I started watching Brave exkaiser after having watched Brave police J decker and Brave of gold Goldran, and how funny it was the fact than in all 3 of theese shows there is a character with the word "Drill" in their name

so I went to wikipedia to check if any other of the brave shows had this phenomenon repeating itself and...

YES... There are Drills in all of them

WARNING: Now I'll proceed to list all the Drills in the brave franchise so long post ahead

Brave Exkaiser has Drill Max

Brave of sun Fighbird has Drill Baron

Brave fighter of legend Da-Garn has Drill Lander

Brave express Might Gaine has Drill Diver

Brave Police J decker has Drill Boy

Brave of gold Goldran has Drill Silver

Brave command wagon has Dag-Drill

King of braves GaoGairGar had Drill Gao (thanks @aecho-again for correcting me)

CONCLUSION: holy crap that's too many drills for it to be healthy

[deripmaver]

was the wagon scene in berserk sexual assault?

i mean whatever lol. im ngl in some ways this feels like making a whole ass meta post about whether or not "casca enjoyed it." like do i even need to take this perspective seriously? yeah, yeah, i know, that's a pretty inflammatory thing to say, and a lot of the people who i've seen say the scene is NOT assault don't deserve to be belittled like that.

i think it's possible, and very interesting, to discuss the nuances of the scene. what was griffith's intention in that moment? why didn't casca bring up what happened to guts when he asked? how does this contradict or supplement what we already know about their characters?

per usual, though, most of the discussion of the scene itself put very little thought into one of the TWO main participants - casca. so let's do that, i guess, and look at the scene on the whole.

CW, i will show one eclipse panel (the kiss) in this meta, but that's is

what happens before?

the scene in the wagon comes immediately after the band of the hawk's encounter with wylad. wylad has thoroughly humiliated griffith in front of the entire band of the hawk, told them that griffith is totally defeated and broken, and tried to rape casca while griffith struggled uselessly, unable to help at all.

the band is regrouping afterward, and the reality of griffith's situation is sinking in to the members of the band. we don't know for sure if griffith can hear this, but the band is even discussing whether it makes sense for casca to permanently become the band's leader. where would that leave griffith? a burden, helpless, unable to even lead his own men.

griffith can, however, overhear casca talking to guts just a moment later. she says guts isn't reliant on griffith's dream, and griffith through the wagon can easily see their closeness.

at this point, casca goes to griffith in the wagon.

so where is griffith? his men, who despite his capture have been sustained by his dream, are losing their faith in him because wylad showed how utterly powerless he is. meanwhile, guts is touching casca in an intimate, close way. he feels like everything is slipping through his fingers, even his particular place of importance for guts. he's lost guts to casca. i would argue this piece, seeing casca intimate with guts, changes his mindset even compared to where he was during the scene with wylad.

where is casca? she's still clinging to that hopeless dream. she was so lonely as the commander of the band of the hawk, trying to face the reality of griffith's injuries and the overwhelming way that their roles have been reversed. she's leaning on guts, on anyone, for support for the first time, while being forced to put on a brave face not just for the whole band of the hawk, but for her idol and savior.

what happens during the scene?

casca is changing griffith's bandages. she knocks over a bowl of water, and when she goes to leave the wagon to replace it, griffith grabs her, and... well, that's kind of the whole crux of this meta, isn't it?

griffith forces himself on top of her. the question is why, and what's his intention? that's been discussed a lot on tumblr. the other question is: what does casca think his intention is, and how does she take it?

there is a lot of visual language in the scene that, to me, clearly indicates sexual intentions from griffith, and clearly indicates that's how casca takes his intentions.

side note, i think griffith is crying in the above panel. could be sweat, could be tears... it's subtle enough to leave it up to interpretation.

that last panel in particular is EXACTLY paralleled with the kiss panel during the eclipse. the helmet, the direct eye contact, the pose... miura has always been very intentional with his parallels and his paneling, so i doubt this was an accident. the eclipse panel is just below, btw. scroll quick if u dont wanna see

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this is also how griffith and charlotte's sex scene started.

the wagon scene and the sex scene with charlotte happen because griffith is doing something rash purely on emotion after feeling stripped of all power and no longer in control of a situation. it's not as simple as griffith being an evil rapist from the start, but you can easily see a pattern of him lashing out and trying to regain control through pushy/coercive sex with women. would griffith do this kind of thing normally? no, of course not. but nothing about the situations he's at these points in the manga are "normal," and again there is a pattern of him lashing out and using women as an outlet for his feeling out of control. they ALSO both happen because he feels like he's losing guts.

casca tells griffith to stop, and griffith does stop, but it's not clear to me if he stops intentionally, or if he simply is physically incapable of continuing. i've seen the idea put forward that griffith is terrified that guts and casca are going to abandon him, and so he offers his body as the only thing he has left in a fit of desperation. i'm not opposed to that being part of it - griffith has used his body and sex as an offering before, with gennon.

this is how griffith is looking at casca during the scene:

one is normal and even wistful and sad, the other is...... fucking batshit LOL put those damn things away!!!! blue eyes white demon

one thing, though, that i want to say very clearly: griffith may have offered himself sexually to casca out of desperation, but it is very clear to me that casca did not want it. griffith fully forced himself on top of her, too, with his arms wrapped around her. if it was unwanted and forced sexual contact, regardless of why griffith did it or how much of a woobie he is to u, that is BY DEFINITION sexual assault.

this is the part that kind of drives me crazy. i don't personally believe that this was an act of self-loathing or self harm, like take my body because i have nothing left, but even if it is - it is still sexual assault. it is!!!! this isn't an argument!!!!!! yeah he was sad about it but it was still sexual assault!!!!

but anyways, enough about griffith. how does casca react?

i've seen the fact that she doesn't push him off presented as evidence that this wasn't assault. i'll... get to that.

what happens after?

after, we get these panels of casca, obviously shaken, outside the wagon.

she is clearly VERY upset. when guts approaches, he sees something is clearly wrong, but she brushes it off and says its nothing. when he keeps pressing, asking if it was something with griffith, she eventually breaks down and tells him that she can't leave with him. she has to stay with griffith, she has to care for him in his fragile, broken state. guts, on the other hand, has to go. even if its alone...

is this reaction in conflict with the idea that what griffith did in the wagon was sexual assault???? no. not at all.

casca feels immense devotion to the band of the hawks, and especially to griffith. she reminisces about how strong griffith seemed to her while she bandages him in the wagon. he gave her everything - a purpose, a reason to fight, a dream, and now even though the event was terrifying she sees griffith's physical weakness and knows she can't leave him. she can't leave him. how often irl do women overlook instances where their boundaries were violated, or a man they're close with was sexually aggressive towards them, because of those pre-established relationships? because that's their boss, or manager, or idol?

and not telling guts - honestly, that to me oddly is evidence to prove it WAS sexual assault. i think casca's single-minded devotion to the hawks and their dream would have made it so that she wouldn't dare bring up griffith doing anything to make her uncomfortable, because everyone is already on the brink of falling apart. even before this, we see her putting everyone above herself to keep the hawks together - crying alone when she thinks no one can hear her, barely sleeping, so exhausted she becomes suicidal, there is no reason to believe she would bring up something that just upset HER. she is less important, in her own mind, than the good of the whole. it makes perfect sense that she would do exactly what she does - she cries alone by the side of the wagon and doesn't tell anyone what happened.

another thing that i want to be very clear about: the idea that because casca didn't immediately push griffith off of her, and because she didn't bring it up to guts, and because she decided to stay with him afterwards, that means it certainly can't be sexual assault? that is rape apologism. full stop. if your argument hinges on any of those things, your argument is rape apologism. this is not up for debate.

NOW - did kentaro miura in the 1990s in japan know about the nuances of how women react to sexual harassment and sexual assault? that i'm not sure about lol. the argument "this is not in line with the way i assume cishet man kentaro miura in 1996 would understand sexual assault, and therefore i don't think it was his intention to depict sexual assault" is something i can understand. that's NOT what i'm seeing though.

that being said, there is some evidence that miura DID have a very nuanced understanding of assault. here, we have griffith talking almost to himself (though casca is nearby), breaking down about how dirty he feels for sleeping with gennon.

and yet, when casca embraces him, trying to comfort him, what does he do?

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

and yeah, guts kills gambino, but only because gambino tries to kill him. guts first reacts by crying and asking why?

finally, compare the above panels of casca after the wagon scene to casca after almost being raped by wylad, and after the eclipse:

i mean, this is how miura draws casca when she's fucking going through it generally, but STILL. they are similar. she's shaking while bandaging him because he's so weak, but afterwards she is unable to mask how shaken she is. i don't think her reaction is JUST because he's weak.

this is so fucking long LOLLLLLL. i'm not interested in arguing with any of the various meta posts about the wagon scene not being sexual assault directly, or discussing it with the authors. if you want an alternate perspective, one that takes into account more of casca's POV, this is for you, and i hope you found this helpful! finally i've got this all in one place

tl;dr i think due to the framing you're supposed to see griffith's intention as sexual during the scene, casca very clearly doesn't want it, if your argument that it's not sexual assault hinges on her not pushing him off immediately u suck

uhhhhh that's it

[thestartax]

Eren Jaeger x Reader

Synopsis: You get injured attempting to help Eren

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort, shared bed, nightmare comfort, found family (obviously with the others)

"That was one of the more stupid things I've seen you do," Levi comments idly as Hange lifts you into their arms and lays you in the wagon.

You wince and hold your arm, “I’ll say.”

"I thought it was very brave," Hange tries to reassure you.

Levi looks as bored as always when he says, "Make sure Eren stays in his titan form. We can't afford for him to bow out of the fight now just because he saw his little friend get hurt."

You lower your eyebrows in confusions. "Wh—" you gasp at a sharp pain in your arm but continue, "why would he stop fighting? He knows how important this is."

Hange and Levi share a look you don't understand, whether it be because of the pain or simply something you can't decode—you're unsure.

"You should wheel y/n to a scout we can trust. Eren needs all the motivation he can get. No need to risk cutting any loose," Levi says to Hange.

Hange nods. After they pick up the handles of the wagon and start to cart you away they look over their shoulder with a sly smirk and say, "You sound more like a commander than I do."

Levi looks at them for a moment before looking away and shaking his head, "Just go."

"Yes, sir," Hange teases before actually doing as he says.

As they carry you through the ruined town you can't help but start to ask a stupid and sort of selfish question, "How... how long do you think...”

Hange looks over their shoulder at you with a small, knowing smile. "How long before we might be able to get you back to the base and get you patched up? How long until this fighting might be done?"

You nod, feeling mildly ashamed and embarrassed.

Hange continues walking. "Not too much longer now, should we all make it out, and by some people's standards... win—if you could even call it that."

"Would you call it that?" You ask without thinking.

Hange shrugs. "What constitutes winning?"

You think for a long time—fighting through your pain to form a proper thought. "Being able to go home to the people you love and be proud of yourself."

Hange nods. "Well... are you proud of yourself?"

You scoff. "I'm being carted around in a wagon by someone who's well over qualified to be doing it. But... I guess... I guess l'm proud of killing that titan…”

"The one going for Eren?" Hange guesses. You nod, they can't see you but they know they're right. "Even if Levi thinks it was stupid... and most of the others probably do... I think it was noble."

You blush a little. "Wasn't trying to be noble."

“What were you trying to be then?" Hange asks.

"I was just trying to help Eren," you say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"Eren was in his titan form. He could've handled it," Hange reasons.

You frown. "He didn't see it coming. It was nearly the size of him. It could've caught him off guard, it could've—"

"So you stepped in," Hange offers.

You nod firmly. "So I stepped in."

"And nearly got your arm taken off." Hange reminds you.

You go red in the face again. “A minor set back.”

Hange laughs. "Yeah, a minor set back that nearly got you and Eren killed."

You're confused again. "How did that nearly get Eren killed? He turned as soon as he heard the titan get ahold of me. He took it down in seconds."

"And was nearly over run by the other titans while he sat you on the wall," Hange counters.

You frown and your eyebrows lower again. "I guess I didn't notice that part."

Hange nods their head from side to side. "You wouldn't have. You lost a lot of blood real fast before Levi found you and wrapped that arm. You're probably going to lose consciousness here soon."

You gulp. "Is this a lose consciousness and never wake up kind of nap or..?”

Hange shakes their head. "Shouldn't be. More like a lose consciousness and stay down for a few days kind of nap—so long as someone survives long enough to get you back to a medic!"

You nod, not all that reassured but unwilling to admit that. "Who are you going to leave me with?"

"A new recruit. He just switched from the MP's. Name's Marlo. He's scared out of his mind right now but he passed Jean and Levi's tests so he'll get the job done," Hange explains.

You nod again.

After a little while longer Hange puts you in an abandoned house on the outskirts of the destroyed town and promises to return with Marlo. You don't actually see anyone make it back to you because you finally fall unconscious when the pain becomes too unbearable after the adrenaline wears off.

When you open your eyes next, you're in the infirmary. You look down at your bandaged arm in a sling, happy to still have it. You look around the room and see two or three other people still in beds, asleep. A doctor is walking away from you so you assume that's what finally woke you up.

The only other thing you notice is a weight on both of your hands and one, much heavier, weight on your legs. You look down as see Armin holding on of your hands between both of his with his legs pulled up to his chest and his head laying on them while he sleeps. Mikasa is laying her head on her crossed arms on your legs. Your other hand is being held tightly in one of Eren’s while his other arm lays across your waist and his head lays on your gut, facing you.

You shift a little so you’re sitting up. Immediately Mikasa wakes and sits upright. She smiles a small smile when you make eye contact.

“Happy to see you awake, y/n,” Mikasa says warmly.

“How long have I been asleep?” You whisper, not wanting to wake the two boys at your sides.

“Just about three days,” Mikasa answers.

“Three days?” You exclaim and then quickly slap a hand over your mouth.

Armin yawns and sits up slowly. He rubs his eyes and smiles at you. “Y/n! How are you? Are you in pain?”

You stop and focus on your arm. It’s a dull pain but shockingly less than before. Whatever they have on this wrap if very helpful.

You shrug. “It’s not too bad.” You shake your head. “Enough about me, what happened? Did we win? Did anyone… die?”

Armin shakes his head quickly. “Noone since before you left the fight. We all made it out. I’d… I’d say we won.”

You relax into the bed and nod. “Okay. Good. That’s… good. That’s great.”

There is a comfortable pause. You think it’s so quiet because your friends are letting you adjust to your surroundings and really take in that everyone is safe and whole. Really, it’s because they’re both trying to figure out how to tell you…

“Eren’s been pretty antsy these past few days,” Armin tries to say casually.

Your eyes snap open. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Mikasa and Armin exchange a look, another that you cannot seem to understand.

“You’ve been down for days now, don’t you remember?” Armin asked, nervous that you’d hit your head after all.

You nod quickly. “I know but why would that make Eren antsy?”

Mikasa narrows her eyes and titles her head slightly to the side. Armin smiles sympathetically. You look between them, still confused.

“Y/n, Eren has been worried about you. He hasn’t left your side. The only reason he is not awake right now is because he’s slept, maybe, twenty-four hours in three days,” Mikasa explains.

When your jaw drops Armin adds, “Recently, there was a bit of talk about the possibility of you not waking up if you were unconscious for much longer…”

You stare at them with wide eyes. Slowly you look down at the boy who’s head is on your gut. “Oh, Eren…”

At the sound of you saying his name he slowly stirs. For a moment his eyes flutter open and your eyes meet and he just smiles. Then, it’s like he remembers everything all at once. He jumps up and tosses your hand away—only to take it back a second later.

In mere moments he’s sitting on the edge of the cot and gently taking your bad arm in his hand slowly extending it in different directions to see if you bled through the bandage. Then he’s taking your face in his free hand and using it to tilt and maneuver your head around so he can examine it better to see if you really did acquire a head injury (as if the doctors or captains wouldn’t have noticed). He holds your hand all the while.

Once he seems satisfied with his inspection of your health he just looks at you for a moment longer. He slouches a little in his spot on the edge of your bed. He holds your hand between both of his and just looks at you. It’s like he’s trying to memorize your face. He has this gentle look on his face.

Then, as quickly as it came it goes.

He’s angry very, very fast.

He drops your hand and stands.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He snaps. “Why the fuck couldn’t you just stay with the rest of the unit? Why would you put yourself in the direct line of fire? Did you want to test my reflexes? See how fast I can be? Was it Hange’s idea? To make you bait? That’s a low fucking blow, even for them. I’ve been very understanding about their research but if they fucking—“

You shake your head the entire time he speaks but that doesn’t do much to shut him up so you just shout, “Eren!”

His jaw snaps shut and he looks down at you from where he stands. He’s shaking with anger, his face is red, he’s breathing heavily—but he’s quiet.

“Will you sit?” You ask quietly.

He hesitates but he does as you ask.

You let out a short breath of relief before you start explaining, “Hange had nothing to do with my, as it’s been continuously called, stupid decision. They had nothing to do with it. No one did. No one knew what I was going to do. Not even me. I didn’t plan it, it wasn’t premeditated. It was just something I did. I saw, what I presumed to be, you in danger and I reacted. That was it. I couldn’t let you get hurt so I did what I thought would help. That’s what happened.”

“But you could’ve died! You came pretty fucking close!” He snaps again.

“I’m keenly aware, thank you,” you deadpan.

“So why would you do it? You can’t say it was to protect me because why would you risk your life just for that?” He asks.

“Like I said, it was like an instinct.” You shrug. “Besides, we all risk our lives for each other, even when it’s against our better judgement, all the time. What’s so special about this time?”

“You can’t just put your life on the line on a whim!” Eren shouts.

You startle backward in confusion. “It’s like you didn’t hear anything I just said.”

“Never do that again. Never. Do not risk your life for me. That’s fucking stupid,” Eren says seriously.

You scoff in disbelief and look to Armin and Mikasa to see if they are also acknowledging how hypocritical and crazy Eren sounds. They both avoid your eyes. Mikasa looks at the ground while Armin stairs at the ceiling like words of encouragement from Erwin are written on it.

“Eren, you are being the biggest hypocrite of all time right now. That doesn’t even make sense! Everyone can risk their lives for everyone but I can’t? How does that make sense! I’m fine! I made it! I’m okay! So what’s the problem?” You shout.

“The problem is that if you died out there, especially for something as fucking stupid as protecting me, I would never forgive myself! I would never forgive the world! It’s already taken so much from me! How could you possibly be willing to let it take more!” He seethes.

“Your life is worth so much! If I died to keep you safe I will have done my due diligence! If you died when I could’ve prevented it it would have been the most disgusting injustice the world ever faced, to have this world without you in it!” You counter just as loudly.

“You are worth 12 of me!” Eren continues.

“And you are worth double for every person on this expanse of the world!” You argue.

The room falls deadly silent. No one moves. No one breathes. Nothing happens for a long time.

Eren still shakes with rage. You pant with your own. Your arm aches suddenly. Armin and Mikasa have gotten closer together and seem to be attempting at an exit.

After a few moments longer, Armin gently squeezes your arm and you pretend it doesn’t hurt. He smiles warmly. “We’ll let you rest, y/n. See you soon, I’m sure.”

“We’ll let everyone know to visit you tomorrow. It’s late,” Mikasa says, to which you’re eternally grateful.

You nod and smile at them the best you can. “Thanks, guys. See you.”

They both leave very quickly, only sparing Eren a quick glance.

There is only silence for a long time. You won’t look at each other. Neither of you wants to be the first one to give.

He eventually sits in the chair next to your bed again. He holds up his head with his hand, shielding his face with said hand. This makes you feel safe enough to spare him a glance. He looks disheveled and distressed.

Shockingly, it is him who breaks. “You can’t…” he swallows thickly, “you can’t be careless with your life. Not for me or anyone.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you counter sharply.

“I’m asking,” he says simply. “I’m asking you to care about yourself. To make yourself a priority. Be selfish.”

You shake your head. “That’s… that’s wrong. If everyone did that there’d be no Survey Corps. There would be so much fighting. It would be—“

“I’m not asking everyone else to be selfish, I’m asking you,” Eren cuts you off.

“Eren…” you shake your head again. “That’s… that’s…”

“Selfish and terrible. I know. But I’m asking anyway,” he looks up at you. You don’t think he’s ever looked so drained.

You lower your eyebrows in confusion but also worry. “Eren, are you okay?”

“Will you be selfish and terrible?” He ignores you.

“Eren—“ You start again.

“Will you?” He asks.

“Will you be selfish and terrible with me?” You snap.

He startles backward a little. “What?”

You sit up straighter. “Why should I sit out of the fight, off in safety, while you go and fight?”

He seems momentarily speechless.

“And don’t bring up your titan form. Mikasa could take out just as many titans as you in the same amount of time as you. Captain Levi could take out more. So don’t,” you say quickly.

He sighs. “Why is everything a fight with you? Why are you so stubborn?”

You choke on a laugh. “Me? I’m the stubborn one?”

He smiles and lets out a small chuckle.

You resolve dies in an instant. It’s like you were never angry, like you’ve never been angry once before. The boiling hot rage dissolves into a soft warmth that worms its way to your heart.

“Maybe I’m a little stubborn, too…” Eren admits almost sheepishly.

You scoff. “Yeah, like a bull.”

He laughs. Then, after a moment his face twists into confusion. He seems hesitant but clears his throat and slowly asks, “…What’s a bull?’

You immediately shake your head with wide eyes and laugh, “I have no idea! I think I heard Armin say it once!”

He laughs much louder now. You laugh for a long time. You both almost forget. Neither of you do.

When Eren stands you can’t ignore the way your heart all but jumps to your throat.

Hesitantly he says, “It’s late. I should let you sleep. I’ve been here for ages anyway, I’m sure the doctors are sick of me.”

You try to smile at his joke but it falls flat. You’re nearly sweating by now. Since the moment you saw that titan approach Eren from behind you’ve been in protective mode. The only thing on your mind was him, even while you slept you dreamt of him. You had nightmares of him leaving your sight for only a second and then dying as soon as you looked back. The idea of him leaving for the entire night brings a new wave of panic over you.

As he starts to grab his cloak off of his chair you quickly say, “Eren!”

He turns to look at you immediately. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You clear your throat and try again at a smile. “What if you— um… what if you just… stayed? Why don’t you— why not stay? It’s um… its late, like you said. Why head all the way back to the barracks. It’s ages away from here. Why not just… um… just stay?”

He says nothing while you fumble around for the right words. He only watches and does his best to keep a straight face. Really, internally, he’s thankful and reeling with relief. He had no desire to leave your side now. He’d been with you since the moment he could be—he wasn’t all that eager to part ways now.

When you finally stop and stare at him with a red face, glassy eyes, and shakey hands he pauses before nodding. He drops his cloak back onto the back of the chair and pushes it back out.

You feel this cold wave of relief wash over you that’s so strong it makes you lay your head down and close your eyes as you take a deep breath. “Thanks,” you mumble.

He doesn’t say anything about that and just asks, “Do you want anything? Food? Water?”

You shake your head and you go to say ‘no’ but for some reason you mouth gets ahead of your brain and can’t stop itself before saying, “No, just you.”

Eren had already turned to get water when he heard what you said, it makes him stop dead in his tracks. You smack a hand over your mouth and your face feels hot. He just stands there for a long time before walking away.

You think, vaguely, that he might not come back—just fetch his cloak when you fall asleep, but you know Eren better than that.

When he returns he offers you the cup of water he’s clearly been sipping on the way back from fetching and even though you rejected it before you gladly take a drink of it now. Eren knows you well.

“Have you slept in that chair for all three of the days I was out? Or did you sleep in your on bed for at least one of them?” You ask, trying desperately to keep him distracted.

He shakes his head. “No, I stayed here the whole time. I never left.”

You swallow thickly and nod. “…Okay. Well,” and for some reason you decide that you’ve already dug yourself so deep so why not go deeper, “I’m sure that’s uncomfortable and I mean… you’re staying another night, per my request, so um… I just— I wouldn’t want you to… to have to sleep all hunched over again… so um…” you clear your throat and refuse to look at him. “You could always sleep up here. If you, um, if you wanted.”

There is a long silence—or maybe it isn’t so long, it just feels that way to you.

When you finally look up at him he’s taking off his over shirt and kicking off his shoes. “Would you uh… would that make you feel safer?”

You clench your jaw and swallow your embarrassment enough to be honest and nod.

He nods too before climbing into the bed next to you. You throw the blanket out of the way to let him crawl under it and he does. It’s not the largest cot so you’re shoulder to shoulder—thankfully on the side of your good arm.

Shockingly, even though you’ve been unconscious for days, you’re tired. It’s likely all the energy excursion after having used none for days.

So you just roll onto your side, facing away from him and lift your arm up so you don’t crush it. “Thank you, Eren.”

“Anytime, y/n,” he says quickly.

You fall asleep quickly but it feels like you’re instantly met with a nightmare. Another of Eren being violently attacked. The two of you are running through the woods from titans but without ODM gear. You look behind you to try to spot the titans and see how far away they are for just a moment. As soon as you look back you see a titan cut in font of you and grab Eren.

Just before it can lift him to it’s mouth you’re being shaken. You wake in a cold sweat, panting, and with wide eyes. You grab tightly onto the figure in front of you, sitting up very quickly.

You look up and see Eren and relief washes over you instantaneously. “Oh, Eren…” you breath.

“Nightmare,” he acknowledges.

You nod. “Yeah… but,” you catch your breath, “you got me out before it got to the awful part.”

He nods too. “Yeah, I’ve gotten good at that.”

You run a hand through your hair to push it out of your face and look up at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You’ve had a lot of nightmares the last couple of days, even while unconscious. We couldn’t figure out what it was at first. The first times were the worst. The most you’d say was… well… my name.”

You nod, too confused to be embarrassed. “Yeah, my nightmares are usually about you getting hurt or killed.”

He nods too. “I assumed as much. It was like if I could catch you before you got too far into it and you heard my voice you’d settle down again. It was hard to catch the signs fast enough at first but I figured it out. I’m just happy it worked even when you were conscious.”

“It definitely did,” you sigh. “Thank you, again.”

He shakes his head. “It’s no problem.”

You think about arguing that but decide against it. Instead you just lay back down. He follows right after you.

This time, you lay facing him and he does the same. You lay together with your faces inches apart. You can feel his breath on your face, warm and constant—it’s very grounding.

The silence is comfortable and it feels like it could go on forever, like it could lay over the expanse of the night.

Again, just as shockingly, it is Eren who breaks it.

So quietly, just barely audible, “Hi.”

You smile because it feels so juvenile, so secretive and small. “Hi.”

He looks over your entire face. He reaches out and so gently moves your hair from the side of your face and pushes it back to join the rest of your hair. “You’re so beautiful… like the sea.”

Your face heats up and it feels like you’re the only two in the world. “Would it scare you away if I said that I jumped in to help you because… because I love you?”

You think, at first, that he doesn’t hear you; because you said it so quietly but also because, for a short moment, he doesn’t react at all.

Then, very suddenly he pulls you to him. He holds you against his chest. His kisses the top of your head and just holds you.

For a long time, you lay there like that, wrapped in his arms, clinging to him like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earthly world.

Eventually, he says, “I love you. I love you. I love you,” over and over again like a chant—like a prayer.

[duncandonuts06]

Yippee!! I’m finally done with this massive drawing! I am so happy to share with you all Schatzi’s complete ref sheet! Character information and lore dump under the art! Its going to be a lot to read but bear with me. I have a lot to share. Schatzi is my first “thomas oc” so he holds a special place in my heart. I have spent months researching Trench Railways, and I am so excited to finally get to publicize some details from this big project I am working on.

TW: War, and Death

Schätzchen (can be shortened to Schatzi) is a German trench engine. He was built in 1915 so the world has been at war for his entire life. Built for war, immediately sent to war. His personality has been shaped by the soldiers around him. He is brave, strong, and proud (but not vain). He understands how important his work is and gives it his all. He can be stubborn and pop-offish around his crew but holds his tongue around strangers. He is very gullible and naïve which is occasionally taken advantage of by people in his unit. He is considered a fellow soldier by his crew and the other soldiers in his regiment, and they treat him as such.

Schatzi did not start off with a name. In this “universe” as you may call it, trench locomotives usually are never named. They are known solely by their numbers. They are machines made for war, and just like a soldier is known by the serial number on his dogtags, so are the engines known only by the number on their plates. They are seen as expendable and nothing more. If an engine has a name it is because they did something heroic enough to become loved and valued by their unit. In a similar way we only know the names of war heroes, we only know the names of engines brave enough to sacrifice themselves for their humans. The rest are lost to time.

Schatzi understands the fragility of human life and puts himself in harms way to see that lives are saved. He earns his name after saving his injured crew, and a very overloaded train of soldiers retreating from the front. He suffers severe damage in the process and is written off as scrap. However, his crew, who see him as their family, protest and get word out to everyone he saved on that train. It sets their entire sector of the front ablaze. The commander of the region is informed that his soldiers are threatening mutiny if this one trench locomotive is sent for scrap. So, instead of scrapping No. 1091 the engine is saved by the officer’s pen. Once they learn that their engine has been saved, the soldiers go to rescue him and in their jubilation scribble out “Unser Schatz” (Our Treasure) on his tank with chalk. He is repaired, and his crew lovingly paint Schätzchen on his tanks because he has and always will be their little treasure. 

Afterwards, he is adored by everyone. He is accepted by the soldiers as “one of them” and is addressed accordingly. They play jokes on him and tease him just as they would a comrade. He even gets the nickname “Scheissechen” (which is like calling him little shit) when he is taking them back to the front. A lot of “tough love.”

He does any job asked of him. He carries munitions, supplies, and troops to the front but the job he holds in the highest regard is serving as an ambulance. Derailment was very common on Trench Railways. Schatzi is a fully articulated locomotive which gives him an advantage over other engines. He can handle tight corners with ease which enables him to keep up a good pace while rushing to and from the front lines. However, the track was still incredibly rough, and he does derail on occasion. His biggest fear is derailment while pulling ambulance wagons. He knows how precious time is to injured patients and blames himself if someone dies enroute.

Another advantage he has is the ability to “hide” his face. Some trench locomotives have adapted and developed ways of protecting their faces from shrapnel and debris. In a sense they can choose to "hide" their face and appear like a normal engine while still having all the functions of a "living engine." He can still see and speak while faceless which he occasionally uses to play tricks on people.

He prefers the company of humans over engines. Once he was accepted as a fellow comrade he took an interest in how humans live and interact with each other. He enjoys listening to them talk about their families and loved ones. He even learns popular war songs and gets to share rations and drink beer with his crew on occasion. The war has caused him to suffer in his own right but, regardless of how difficult things are, he carries on through adversity and remains strong. Lives are counting on him and as long as there is someone in need he will continue to give it his all.

[kwebtv]

Character Actress

Cynthia Chenault (born January 5, 1937) Film and television actress and producer/writer active from the mid-1950s to the present. She used the screen name Cindy Robbins in her acting credits.

Her first acting role on television was in 1955, in the episode Moonfire of the television western series Brave Eagle. In 1960, Robbins appeared as a ballerina in the "Bullets and Ballet" episode of Tightrope!.

Her last acting role in television was on the television comedy series McHale's Navy in 1964.

Her best-known role was that of Carol Porter, one of the daughters in the one-season situation comedy The Tom Ewell Show (1960–61). She also made two guest appearances on Perry Mason, including the role of Teddi Hart in the 1960 episode "The Case of the Treacherous Toupee" and the role of Mabel Richmond in the 1962 episode "The Case of Melancholy Marksman".

Her other television work consisted of appearances in comedy shows (Ensign O'Toole, December Bride (2 episodes), Father Knows Best, The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, Leave It To Beaver), McHale's Navy & military/action shows (Steve Canyon, Whirlybirds, Harbor Command), westerns (Wagon Train (3 episodes), Outlaws, The Tall Man), and dramas (Westinghouse Desilu Playhouse (2 episodes), General Electric Theater, Markham, The Lineup, Johnny Midnight, Tightrope, Dragnet).  (Wikipedia)

[goldoriole]

Snippet Saturday

Hi all! New update for The Water Between Us is taking longer than I thought (and is far longer than I ever expected!) but please have another snippet from the upcoming chapter.

When they entered through the River Gate, they were greeted by a horde of people. Smallfolk lined the cobblestone streets, stood watching from balconies and windows. Waving wildly, applauding, they greeted the royal party with cheers.

They called out to their king, cried with excitement at Jaehaera and Maelor returned home. Prayers and sympathies for Queen Helaena. There were cheers for Queen Alicent and Prince Daeron, her brave and noble son, as well as for Lord Corlys and the fleet that had burned in the bay. For the sailors that died protecting them. They cheered for their Princess Rhaenys, the Hand who had thwarted the ironborn, and for Addam, rider of Seasmoke, the Bastard of Hull.

And most surprisingly, Rhaena heard her name and her sister’s. Cheers for Lady Rhaena, who had fed and tended to the smallfolk of the city, and for Lady Baela, who had flown to war to defend them. That made her oddly emotional, and she took extra care to search out each person in the crowd, to wave and smile and let them know she saw them. That their gratitude held meaning.

“The people seem well,” whispered Rhaena to her sister as they turned from the Muddy Way onto the Hook, beginning the ascent to the Red Keep. She had expected to find them starving and suffering, grieving and angry. “Happy, even.”

“Lord Baratheon came with wagons upon wagons of food and supplies, and Aegon commanded it be dispersed among the smallfolk. And as soon as she could, Grandmother wrote to Daeron and resumed trade between Driftmark,” said Baela. “It would take the king burning the city down to squander that much goodwill.”

Yet, there were still scars to be seen. Shopfronts were boarded up, some buildings still had their doors broken open, left unrepaired. Soot and smoke blackened the bricks. Spread through the crowd, there were a few people who still bore injuries. Arms in slings, makeshift crutches, still-fading bruises.

Rhaena thought back to the little girl who had given her dandelions in Flea Bottom. Lia, her name was, and her mother. Had they survived the riots and the fighting? The famine? “That is good,” she said, scanning the crowd. The people were thin and haunted, but there was an aura of hope. That things would get better. “I am glad it’s being put to good use.”

When they reached the top of Aegon’s High Hill, the gates of the Red Keep shuddered open, and passing through the walls felt like the end of a short, terrifying chapter of her life. Rhaena was no longer the frightened girl that had fled through the dark, twisting passageways all those moons ago. But who she was now, she could not say.

[brainyxbat]

Chapter 6: Luffy, Completely Surrounded! Commodore Nelson's Secret Strategy

(episode 59)

"We're out! We're out!"

"Make chase at once!"

"O-one other thing, Lt. Commander! While in pursuit of them, Eric-sama also reappeared, and has just returned to ship!"

"Look at 'em come! Look at 'em come!"

"The Going Merry is faster and more agile, but what are we going to do when we get to Warship Island?!"

"We'll be okay!"

"How will we be okay?!"

"We just need to find the dragons' nest first, so Grandpa Ryu can get better, right?!"

"Doesn't look like that's going to be an option."

"The small fries have leapt forth. Open to the left and right! Crane Wing Formation!"

"What now?! They have us blocked off!"

"Jump onto a ship, kick the guys off, and cut the links! That's the only choice, obviously!"

"Doesn't sound too bad to me!"

"Alright! Let's go!"

"I'm going too!"

"Alright!"

-

The Merry was rocked all around from cannonballs launched nearby, but never took any hits. The dominant ship was outside the circle, as Nelson watched from his throne. "Marvelous! A truly marvelous view!" He fanned himself. "Listen, now! Do not let the attacks falter even a bit!"

"Yes, sir!"

"But do not hit the raft!"

"Yes, Commodore!"

Nelson chuckled evilly. "For so many years, I've sought the Millennial Dragon, and I've finally found it! The elixir of immortality, the Dragonite, is now as good as mine!"

From the circle, a Marine saw the flags blowing on the dominant ship. "Sir! The commodore's flagship says his plan has succeeded! He says his attack is still ongoing!"

"Looks like our mission is over now," The Lt. Commander decided, and walked past the mercenary.

'If they fall into Nelson Royal's hands now...' Eric thought, before speaking up. "Hold on, Lt. Commander!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Do you still want something?"

"Prepare one paddleboat, and three proficient seamen."

"A paddleboat?! What for?!"

Eric smirked. "Because a mast would get in the way."

"Don't tell me you're going into the enclosed area?!"

Eric turned away from him, smirk undeterred. "Just do it already."

The Merry was still being rocked left and right, as everyone held onto something tightly. "Apis! It's dangerous!" Usopp scolded when she ran out of the cabin, and fell over rom the attacks. "Go back inside!"

"I can't leave Grandpa Ryu all by himself!" She protested, and kept running.

"Hey, you! Wait!" He ran after her, but she was sliding down the rope by the time he caught up. "That's dangerous! Get back here! It's your fault if you fall!"

"Grandpa Ryu! Just hang in there a little longer! I promise I'll take you to the dragons' nest!"

"Man, she's brave!" Usopp remarked. "Dammit! That moves me to tears! Alright!" He grinned confidently. "I'll break through the front lines, and take you to the dragons' nest!" His moment was ruined by a cannonball-induced wave knocking him back to the cabin. "Oww! Hey, we've been hit from behind!" He cried fearfully. "Hey! Sanji! We've been hit! Venus-chan! We're done for! We're sunk!"

"Pipe down!" Sanji ordered. "We ain't been hit."

"Eh? Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Usopp slumped over in relief. "I'm saved! Who the hell thought of this plan anyway?!" He ranted.

"You did," Venus responded, and he winced.

"That's it! That's it! Go!" Luffy laughed, as Nami steered from inside. "Hey! A ball's coming this way!"

"I can't do any more than this! Do something on your end!"

"Okay! I'll do something!" Luffy ran along the ledge, until he was in its path. "Gum-Gum... Balloon!" He inflated his belly to a massive size, so the cannonball bounced off, and was sent flying back to one of the Marine ships.

"No way...!" Apis watched from the wagon.

"No way!" Nelson's eyes were wide. "You impudent bastards! How dare you damage one of my warships?! What are you doing?! Hit them with the Super Giant Cannon!"

"Yes, sir!"

Nelson raged in his seat. "There's no escape! There's no escape! There's no escape for you!"

"Prepare to fire the Super Giant Cannon!"

A giant cannon descended from the front of the ship. "The pirate ship has been trapped up ahead! Ready to fire!"

"What is that?!" Nami exclaimed. "A direct hit from that, and our ship'll be blown to shreds!"

"We'll be okay!" Luffy assured nonchalantly. "I'll just bounce it back again!"

"Don't be stupid! I'll turn the ship about; you guys work the rear sail! Hurry!"

"Yeah!" Luffy, alongside Zoro, went to just so.

Usopp stood by one of their own cannons, vengeful. "An eye for an eye! I got a shot ready for you too!"

"Here we go!" Luffy pulled the rear sail back.

"Eat this!" Usopp shot the ball at the bigger ship, landing like a marble in the huge cannon.

"Fire! Fire!" But due to the interference, the cannon was totaled, and Nelson was knocked out of his seat. "What just happened?!"

A Marine ran over, and saluted. "An enemy cannonball hit our main cannon perfectly!"

"W-what?! Hurry, and lift me up!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Howdya like that?!" Usopp taunted. "This is what happens when Usopp-sama gets serious!"

"Not too shabby, for a fluke," Sanij commented.

"You're so full of it," Zoro added.

"What?! I can do that anytime!"

"Wow... he hit it!" Apis stared in awe. "You're so cool, Usopp!"

"Yeah!" They exchanged thumbs-ups.

"Seems your aim is still perfect as always," Venus grinned genuinely.

"T-thanks, Venus!" Why was he getting so flustered at her compliments?

Luffy watched over Ryu from the ship. "It'll be okay! Don't worry! You just keep Apis safe!"

"Who're you talking to?!" Usopp approached him.

"Grandpa Ryu."

"Huh?"

"Now's our chance! Nami announced. "Let's act quickly, and cut some links to open a path!"

"Right, Nami-san!"

"Luffy," Zoro turned to the captain.

"Leave it to me! Gum-Gum... Bridge!" The three joining him crossed the makeshift bridge, with Zoro holding one of clumsy Venus' hands to keep her from falling into the ocean below. "Alright! Grandpa Ryu! Just hold on! Here goes!" After Zoro, Sanji, and Venus board the Marine ship, he launched himself over to them. Unfortunately for poor Zoro, he crashed into him, and they hit the cabin. "Sorry, Zoro."

"Why, you...!"

With struggle, Nelson's throne was lifted back up. "Report! What are they doing?!"

"Yes, sir! Four people from the pirate ship have boarded portside Ship #1!"

"Huh?! Say what?!"

Zoro observed the chain links keeping them from escaping. "Steel chains, huh..."

"Think you can cut 'em?" Luffy asked.

"There's nothing I can't cut!"

"Really? Then they're all yours."

Sanji noticed Venus watching the cabins intently. "What is it, Venus-chan?"

"Sounds like we've got company," She observed.

Sanji turned to see hundreds of Marines filing out of the cabins, and surrounded the four, pointing their guns. "Talk about coming out of the woodwork."

"I like it when things are lively!" Luffy grinned.

"Sure, whatever."

"I'll leave the small fries to you," Zoro decided.

"Yeah!" Luffy, Sanji, and Venus agreed simultaneously.

"In the name of the Nelson Fleet, we won't let you break through here!" They charged in, but essentially had their asses handed to them by Luffy's gatling, Sanji's kicks, and Venus' energy balls.

Meanwhile, Zoro spent a few seconds in deep concentration, before he made a slice... that did nothing. "What?!"

Venus noticed his trouble, and ran over. "Everything okay?"

"I got it, Venus."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Here, I'll soften it up for you." She laid herself over the ledge, and prepared an attack. "Witchy-Witchy... Ball!" As she let the energy ball weaken the chain, she kicked away any Marines that took advantage of her being sidetracked, sparing hardly a glance. After a minute passed, she straightened up. "Okay, try it now."

Zoro looked at her for a moment, then sliced at the chains again; to his surprise, his sword cut it right through. He turned back to her, dumbfounded. "I can do it again if needed," She shrugged innocently, then returned to combat.

"Yeah! That's it! That's it!" Usopp cheered. "You're so wonderful! Keep it up! Chop those things up good!"

Nelson snarled in anger. "Curse you! How dare you lousy pirates try to break my links! Capture them, at all costs! Or else I'll maroon every last one of you!"

Marines ran to the ship with the intruders, using the chains as bridges. "Gum-Gum... Gatling!" Luffy rapidly punched them into the ocean, but the officers simply kept coming.

"Done!" Venus weakened another chain, and Zoro cut it, sending more Marines plunging.

An excited Luffy was running, as yet more officers ran after him. "Here they come! Here they come!" He then held them back with his arms stretched out. "Gum-Gum... Slingshot!" Hopping off the ground, he sent them soaring back, even breaking a piece off the ship. "Hiyaaaaaah!" With a kick, more were sent into the ocean.

"Wow..." Apis watched from the wagon. "I didn't know they were like this.

When another chain was weakened, courtesy of the young witch, Zoro chopped it. "There's only one chain left!" Nami pointed out. "Let's get moving!"

"Aye-aye sir!" Usopp followed her.

"No, no! Someone stop them!" A strong whirlwind stopped the Merry from getting any closer.

Turned out, it was Eric, still in his paddleboat. "Oh! Eric!" Nelson grinned. "Well done! Now the Millennial Dragon is mine!"

The boat bumped into the wagon, startling Apis. "That scared me!" She yelped in terror when it wasn't any of the Straw Hats. "You're the Sicko Sicko Fruit guy!"

"Not "Sicko." The Sickle Sickle Fruit!" Usopp and Nami ran to the back of the Merry. "Girl! It's time to hand over the Millennial Dragon!"

She ran in front of Ryu's head. "No! I'll never give you Grandpa Ryu!"

"Hand it over like a good little girl!"

"No!"

Eric readied his hands. "I can chop you into pieces with wind slashes at any time, you know." Apis gulped fearfully.

"Stop right there!" Nami yelled. "Lay a hand on the kid, and you'll pay!"

"Y-yeah!" Usopp stammered. "I, Usopp-sama, won't sit by quietly either!"

"Fools. I made that wind slash just now miss on purpose." Nami gasped in surprise, as she remembered the strange whirlwind that knocked them back earlier. "Get in my way, and this time I won't miss! I'll blow your entire ship apart!"

Luffy walked over to Zoro, Sanji, and Venus watched what was happening at the Merry. "What's wrong?"

"It's him," Sanji glared.

"The Sicko guy," Venus sneered.

"Huh? What's he doing?"

"Looks like he's planning to take Apis hostage, and steal the dragon," Sanji observed.

"Tie the raft to our boat!" Eric ordered.

"Yes, sir!"

"That's bad!" Luffy frowned, and went to intervene with Venus.

Zoro stopped them with his hands on their shoulders. "Stop! If you lay a hand on him, he'll take Apis, and the others out with his technique!"

"Oh! Right!" Luffy prepared to go again. "Then I'll use my foot!" Zoro punched him in the head, as Venus facepalmed. "Huh?!"

"Listen better!"

Eric began to sail away with the wagon in tow. "I'm taking the Millennial Dragon now! Nothing personal!"

"You fight dirty!" Usopp shouted. "Give Apis back!"

"Oh no!" Venus exclaimed.

"Eric! Well done!" Nelson praised. "Now, bring it here!"

"No thanks. This isn't for you."

"Eh?! What did you say?!"

"The only reason I obeyed you was to use the Marines' information-gathering capabilities."

"What?!"

"It's not like you were any different. You tried to use me too."

"I hired you for a great sum of money!"

"I think I've worked off that chump charge by now. I have no obligation to obey a sea lion like you anymore!"

"S-sea lion? You're calling me a sea lion?!"

"I'm going to use the Dragonite I get from the Millennial Dragon to make myself perfect!"

Nelson growled furiously. "You'll pay! You'll pay for this! Shoot that backstabber! Shoot him! Shoot him!"

Cannonballs were shot at the paddleboat, frightening Apis, but they all missed. "They're starting again!" Usopp observed.

"If you don't want to get blasted to pieces, you'd better start rowing!" Eric commanded the rowers, and they fearfully obeyed.

Apis turned away from the action, as she started choking up. "Stop... stop!" She then turned to her captors. "I'm begging you! Please don't harass Grandpa Ryu anymore! He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Be quiet." He turned to look behind the wagon.

"I have to take him to the dragons' nest right away! So please stop this!" Eric lifted her up by the back of her dress. "What're you doing?! Let go! Let go, I said!" She thrashed.

"Listen, girl. You're a hostage. And I'm taking the Millennial Dragon."

"I'll never let you have Grandpa Ryu! Never! Never!"

"I've had enough, girl!" He gripped her chin. "Any more shouting, and I'll chop you apart!" Instead of backing down, she bit down on his hand. "Oww!" The rowers watched in shock at the exchange, before he threw her down in the boat, rendering her unconscious. "Let go!" He rubbed his sore hand, oblivious to Ryu menacingly rising right behind him. "Damn kid, giving me trouble." He was confused when the Marines screamed in terror, and dove into the ocean, swimming away. "Hey! What are you running for?! Get back here!!" He turned, and realized what scared them off; he yelled fearfully, just before Ryu smacked him away with his wing. "Dammit!"

Ryu stared down worriedly at the unconscious Apis, as memories of them together crossed his mind. He shook with anger, then spread his wings, and let out some loud, bird-like screeches, making everyone in the vicinity cover their ears. "I can't stand this!" Nelson complained.

"Oww! My ears!" Usopp exclaimed.

"Grandpa Ryu let out a sound!" Luffy observed.

When the screeches came to an end, hands lowered, as Apis came to. "Oww..." She perked up at seeing her friend standing up. "Grandpa Ryu!" She hugged his snout. "You can move! That's great! That's great!" She pulled away at his words to her. "What?" He straightened up, and started slowly flapping his wings. "Really?!" She beamed.

"What the...?!" Usopp tried to see what was going on.

"You don't suppose he's..." Nami started.

"Yeah! You can do it, Grandpa Ryu!" Luffy encouraged. "You can fly!"

With a creak, from the wagon, he was doing it! "You're flying!" Apis cheered. "You're flying, Grandpa Ryu!"

Nelson's hand tightened into a fist. "No! If the Millennial Dragon is just going to escape, then I don't care if we kill it! All I need is its Dragonite, anyway! Fire! Fire! Fire like mad!"

Cannonballs were fired again, only this time, they weren't as careful as before. "Stop!" Apis protested. "Grandpa Ryu! Run! Run to where the cannons can't reach you!"

"That's it! Shoot him down, quickly!"

"Stop that!" With a stretched-out punch, Luffy took out some cannoneers, as did Zoro with his swords, Sanji with his kicks, and Venus with her energy balls.

"Now's your chance to run, Grandpa Ryu!" Apis urged.

"What are you doing?!" Nelson raged. "Attack it with this ship too!"

"Yes, sir!"

"It must be shot down!"

As Ryu attempted to fly off, he was bombarded by cannonballs. "Grandpa Ryu!" Apis tried to stop him. "No! Don't go that way!"

To Nelson's terror, Ryu was flying straight for the bigger ship with a vengeance. "What?! It's coming this way! Shoot it down, quickly!" Ryu let out another deafening screech. "It's coming! Shoot it, quickly! Shoot it!"

After more cannonball shots, Ryu slowed to a stop, and plunged into the ocean, as Apis and the Straw Hats watched in pure horror. Luffy launched himself in the air from the ship's mast, and flew above the dragon. "Grandpa Ryu!" Apis could only cry silently, unable to say a word, as Luffy landed on his back. "Grandpa Ryu! Hang in there!"

"Oh no," Venus whimpered, on the brink of tears.

"Hey, now! What are you saying?! Don't talk about dying!" Luffy protested. "Yeah. I know. I will save Apis! And take you to the dragons' nest!" He vowed. "So try hard to stay alive!"

Apis stayed quiet, until the urge to speak returned. "Grandpa Ryu!" She screamed.

[ttwoguysandaride]

He NEVER gets STEAMED but his car DOES

1910 Stanley Model 70 At the dawn of the motorcar era there were many interpretations of what exactly a car should be. Style, design, and engineering where just a few concerns, but propulsion was also a critical factor as there were cars that ran on electricity, gasoline, springs and even a few brave designs that were said to run on compressed air. Some worked and some didn’t, but one method that had proven itself repeatedly on America’s railroads was steam. The ability to move hundreds of thousands of pounds with steam power easily translated into powering a car. No one was better than the brothers, Francis E. and Freeland O. Stanley. Building their first car in 1987, the brothers steadily refined their design and then amazed the world with the reliability and speed of their steam powered car. Experiencing the usual growing pains of a successful company, the Stanley brothers went on to command the steam car market, a position they held until the Staley Company withered away in late 1924. ✅ Subscribe to Our Channel for More Cars, Tips & Resources: https://www.youtube.com/c/TwoGuysandaRide/ ✅ Stay Connected 👉 Twitter: https://twitter.com/GuysRide 👉 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/twoguysandaride/ 👉 TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@twoguysandaride ============================= ✅ SEE all of our HOW TO videos here: CarTechHowTo.com - http://bit.ly/2ZvDrbE ✅ Our Playlists: https://www.youtube.com/c/TwoGuysandaRide/playlists ✅ Other Videos You Might Be Interested In Watching: 🚘 1951 Mercedes-Benz 220 Cabriolet - https://youtu.be/b_2DiBbHtDg 🚘 POLESTAR 2 - You WILL Buy This Car! - https://youtu.be/SpONzft5iLM 🚘 DODGE Sierra Wagon with Rear-Facing Third-Row “Spectator” Seats - https://youtu.be/-4Zd83xdx2I 🚘 2022 Bennington Tritoon 23RCW - https://youtu.be/S08erqgB9dk ================================= Special Thanks to: ================================= ✅ About Two Guys and a Ride: Two Guys and a Ride’s channel is dedicated to all things automotive. We love driving and reviewing vehicles and sharing what each one has to offer. We give you the facts where others just state their opinions. We also tell the stories of some very cool and interesting classic cars and along the way, we’ll even show you the latest and greatest Boats, Watercraft, Snow Sleds, Side by Sides and Motorcycles. Let’s go for a ride! ================================= #twoguysandaride #carsoftheday #CarReview #CarReviews #ClassicCar #ClassicCars #ClassicBoat #HowTo #TechHowTo #CarTech #Racing #PontoonBoat #Ford #Chevy #Honda #Toyota #Porsche #Honda #Toyota #Chevrolet #Buick #KIA #Hyundai #GMC #Volvo #Mercedes #Polestar #Ferrari #CarReview #CarReviewChannel #NewCars #Pontoon #FishingBoat #4Wheeler #OffRoad #Dirt #Snow #Sand #Water #Technology #Tech #Bentley #Jaguar #LandRover #Audi #BMW **All Specs are preliminary data from MFG available at time of filming this video. Subject to change** Copyright Disclaimer: Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use. This Channel contains OUR Copyrighted Material and is not Available for any use outside of our Channel. All Rights Reserved © Two Guys and a Ride https://ifttt.com/images/no_image_card.png https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYuNLVcOH70

[alrightberries]

glimpse of me and you

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff. ❈ word count: 2.6k

❈ summary: It’s your first day out of the Underground District and on the surface. Levi helps you get settled.

❈ trigger warnings: profanity.

a/n: i would like to confess that i was in A Mood.

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

i. morning

The first thing you noticed was that it was bright. Too bright.

Not the kind of brightness you saw in the warm glowing lamps that littered the Underground District, but the kind that made your eyes squint and feel sore- like they were going to pop out of your head any time soon. Your hand slips out of Levi’s to block out the light hurting your irises.

He stops walking up the staircase and turns to look at you.

“Here.” He murmurs. He places down the boxes he was holding and takes off his green Survey Corps cape, draping it around your shoulders and clasping it at the front before drawing the hood over your face. The sunlight is no longer as harsh.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod.

“Much. Thank you, Levi.”

He hums in acknowledgement, one hand picking up the boxes with your luggage and the other one slipping through yours to slowly lead you up the staircase once more. He could tell from how you squeezed his hand and kept taking deep breaths behind him that you were nervous. He couldn’t blame you, either. He remembers being the same with Isabel and Farlan two years ago.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since he was captured and taken to the surface. Since last saw your face and heard his name slip from your lips.

It took the better part of two years to barely scrape up enough money to buy you citizenship, but as he leads you through the stairway with your warm hand in his, he knows he wouldn’t hesitate do it all again.

For you.

“It’s going to be brighter once we reach the surface.” He says. The last step of the stairway was nearing. “I know you won’t, but close your eyes if you have to. You might get disoriented if you don’t.”

True to his words, you did end up getting disoriented because you refused to close your eyes. But really now, how could you? 26 years you’ve waited for this day to come. And you would be damned if you didn’t take everything in the second you set foot above ground for the first time.

As you reached the surface, Levi notices you flinching, turning your head away from the light and gritting your teeth once you set foot on the cobble stoned streets above. Despite your clear discomfort at the brightness, you made no move to close your eyes. In fact, you even braved to let them roam around.

“Stubborn dumbass.” He scolds quietly.

He leads you a little ways off from the exit of the stairway to put your stuff in the small wagon in front of you. The small wagon was drawn by a gorgeous black horse, and you realize that this was probably the beloved mare Levi spoke of in his letters.

“Is this Estreya?” You ask. Levi hums in agreement and takes the last box you were holding to place it with the rest of your luggage with a low grunt.

When he looks back at you he notices your eyes are still squinted, but your teeth were no longer gritted. The hood was still drawn over your face and one of your hands was still shielding your eyes from the burning light. You weren’t even going to lie, you were half terrified that your eyes were going to melt from how hot the sun was.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

You scoff. “Yeah, because horses are really common in the Underground.”

He doesn’t reply to your quip. Though the way his eyebrows relax and his lips twitch up in the slightest doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Ride the wagon. You’ll fall on your ass if you try to go on horseback.”

“If you say so, Captain Levi.” 

It was now his turn to grit his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t have told you about his promotion.

“Tch, just get on. Or I’ll leave you stranded in Wall Sina.”

ii. noon

The wagon ride to Wall Rose was something you could only describe as ethereal.

You hadn’t the faintest idea the sky was so big and blue, and how fluffy the clouds seemed to be. The sky seemed to stretch for miles and miles, and knowing that there wasn’t a ceiling above you almost made you want to cry.

Wall Sina was beautiful, as well. Especially the market. The market you passed by almost made you want to stop the wagon and drag Levi from stall to stall to see what they had. They housed probably the most vibrant colored fruits and vegetables you’ve ever seen, and the smell of freshly baked bread made your mouth water. Not to mention, the air didn’t smell like moisture or piss or shit. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” He says, noticing your longing stare at the colorful tents. “You look like you’re about to jump off the wagon.”

“Will you leave me stranded if I do?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Undoubtedly, though, your favorite view from the ride would be what Levi called “the suburbs.”

The tallness of the trees. The freshness of the air. The sounds of ruffling leaves. Birds and critters running around the ground and flying through the sky. The beautiful greens and blues were the biggest contrast to the drab grays and blacks you typically saw in the Underground District, and now you understood why Levi was so hellbent on taking you to the surface and never looking back.

“We’re almost there.” You hear him call out from in front of you.

Your eyes stop wandering around what Levi called a “valley”. You look past his figure sitting on the horse, spotting a castle made of bricks. It looked small from this distance but the closer you got, the more you realized that distance could be deceiving.

“Is that the Survey Corps’ base?” 

“No, it’s a fucking circus.” He replies sarcastically.

“What’s a circus?”

“It’s— nevermind.”

iii. afternoon

When you got to Levi’s private quarters, you didn’t hesitate to ask for a spare towel so you could take a shower.

You didn’t even bother kissing him or unpacking your things or… making up for lost time, if you will. Instead you made a beeline for the private bathroom connected to his bedroom and spent a good hour inside, talking to him through the door about how you’ve been looking forward to taking a proper shower all week. Levi had to drag you out and stop you from wasting more of the Survey Corps’ water reservoir.

“So, let me get this straight.” You mutter. 

You were sitting on his bed and he was sitting on a chair across from you. Your hair was still damp and your upper half was clad in a spare Survey Corps button down, while your bottom half was clad in nothing but your underwear.

Levi had complained that your clothes from the Underground were too dirty and would have to be washed. You called him rude, only relenting when he offered to do your laundry. But he wasn’t about to complain about the extra chores when it gave him this view.

“You’ve been captain for an entire year and only bothered to tell last week?”

“Yes.” Came his stoic reply.

“But why?!”

“I’m not hearing the end of this any time soon, am I?”

Before you could respond, Levi hears loud banging from his office door (which you noticed was connected to his bedroom) and he sighs as he wordlessly covers your bare legs with a blanket. Confused eyes met his, and all he could do was shrug as he heard the office door breakdown. The loud banging was now being directed at the bedroom door, the only thing separating you from what you assumed was some rabid raccoon.

“Levi motherfucking Ackerman!” You hear someone shriek from the other side of the wood. Okay, so maybe it’s not a rabid raccoon. “Open this door right this instant!”

You hear the lock clicking and the knob turning rapidly. Despite knowing you should probably be scared, you can’t help but smile at Levi’s clear irritation. It wasn’t the genuine kind of irritation. It was the kind he showed to Isabel— the one where he pretends to be annoyed but secretly enjoys their company.

“It’s not locked, four-eyes.” He replies.

Ah, so this must be the Hange he’s been complaining about.

“Then why can’t I open it?!”

“It’s push, not pull.”

Immediately, the banging stops, and silence takes over the room. But the silence is short lived when Hange suddenly kicks the door open and you jump from surprise. 

“Don’t think that I wouldn’t find out about you bringing a civilian to the base, Ackerman!” Hange points an accusing finger at Levi’s bored face. 

“I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. Considering I asked you to sign the authorization letter.”

The soldier ignores Levi’s quip and quickly makes their way over to you, sitting down next to your side and extending a hand.

“The name’s Hange Zoe, Section Commander of the Survey Corps. And you are?”

You warily accept their offer of a handshake. Your eyes briefly flit over to where Levi was still sat, relaxing a bit when he nods to your silent question of whether or not it was safe.

“Y/N.” You give them a polite smile. 

“When Moblit told me Levi brought a civilian to the base, I was ecstatic!” 

What the fuck is a Moblit? You wonder.

Your hands were still joined, and you weren’t sure if prolonged and drawn out handshakes were a custom of the surface. Not wanting to be rude, you continued to shake Hange’s hand, nodding along as they continued on.

“I didn’t peg shorty as the type to play boyfriend.”

“Neither did I.” You chuckled. “But he’s been more than wonderful. He’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Levi bites back the smile teasing his lips.

“Stop shaking Hange's hand. You’ll catch rabies or some shit.”

iv. evening

It was nearing six o’clock when Levi finally convinced Hange to go away, but only with the promise that he would introduce you to his squadron later at dinner. Normally he’d detest the idea of sharing intimate details about his personal life, but as he listens to you ask question after question about the surface, he deems the small sacrifice was more than worth this small moment with you.

“You said the surface was going to be hot. Why is it so cold now?” You ask, settling into the bed. Levi lifts up the blanket and begins to lie down beside you.

“Because it’s almost night.” He says simply. “It’s hot in the day and cold in the night.”

“Is it always like that?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It depends on the season.”

He feels you shift closer to him, lifting his arm up and placing it around your waist as your head rests on his chest. He takes a deep breath, and the smell that was so uniquely you fills up his lungs. He almost hums in delight because it’s been two years; he hasn’t had this in two years, and no force on earth could ever take it away from him again.

“Season?” You murmur, sleepy eyes staring into his. 

Levi immediately knows that you’re a bedtime story away from snoozing, and he figures the fatigue is to be expected. You were, after all, being introduced to too many things at once. And judging by the bags under your eyes, you were probably too happy about going to the surface to get any sleep last night.

“Yeah. There are four seasons above ground: winter, summer, spring, and fall. Right now, it’s spring.”

“Will you tell me about the seasons?” 

He feels you shift, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“You missed.”

You smile. A hand gently reaches out to grasp his chin, pulling his face towards yours to give him a gentle kiss. When you try to pull away, Levi pulls you back in.

“If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly.” He muses as your lips broke apart. The arm wrapped around your waist holds onto you a little tighter as you relax to his side once again, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubs small, gentle circles into your arm.

“The flowers bloom in spring. Everything blooms.” He explains. “In fall, the temperature gets colder so the leaves start changing colors.”

“What colors do they become?”

“Mostly brown or orange.”

You nod.

“In winter, that’s when things start getting really cold. Colder than the Underground. Snow starts falling and everything gets covered in it. It’s annoying.”

“But don’t you use winter as an excuse to... y’know, convince your bosses to spend more money on tea leaves?”

It was now his turn to nod, and you merely let out a chuckle. He feels your breath fanning against his neck and he doesn’t stop his head from lulling into yours. He really did miss having you in his arms.

“Figures.” You yawn. “You’re obsessed with that stuff.”

He feels a sleepy kiss press against his collarbones, and he places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs. “I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“But you haven’t told me about summer yet.”

A small smile makes its way to his lips, and Levi was thankful that you couldn’t see. He’d never hear the end of your teasing if you did.

“If I tell you, will you stop annoying me?”

“Possibly.”

“Okay.”

v. midnight

The first thing Levi notices is that it was dark. Too dark. 

A brief glimpse out his open window confirms his suspicions that it was, indeed, night time. He probably slept through dinner.

The second thing Levi notices is that his entire right side was numb and there was a heavy weight on his body, some of it crushing his arm. He hears your sleepy voice mumble his name in your sleep, and he relaxes once he remembers the events of today.

He kept his promise.

You had an entire future ahead of you, and Levi’s heart warms at the thought. Sure, you were a civilian who couldn’t stay in the Survey Corps base forever; and he should probably start helping you job hunt so you could both start saving up for a new house. He’d fight you tooth and nail if you tried to join the military though, and something tells him you probably wouldn’t listen.

But he kept his promise. And that’s all that mattered for now.

He hears you shift in his arms before taking a sharp inhale, and your eyes sleepily open. They glance around the room, trying to remember where you were, before landing on him. A small smile teases your lips, adoration blossoming in your heart at the man in front of you.

“What time is it?” You softly ask. One of your hands reaches out to rub your eyes before he feels a warm palm come to rest on his stomach.

“Late.” He replies. His free hand lands on your soft cheek, and he tilts your head down so he can kiss your forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

You only nod, too tired to argue. You break free from his grasp and Levi is momentarily disappointed when you turn the other way. But then your hand reaches out behind you to sling his arm over your waist, and he shifts closer when he realizes you wanted to spoon.

“So I don’t kill your arm.” You explain quietly.

Levi presses his chest to your back and his leg wraps around yours. His nose is buried into the crown of your hair and he couldn’t help but take a deep inhale and close his eyes. Your hand intertwines with the one slung around your waist, and he feels you lift up your conjoined hands to place a kiss to his knuckles.

“I love you, Levi.”

This time, Levi doesn’t bother to hide his smile. It wasn’t the first time you’ve said I love you, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. But it would never cease to amaze Levi how just three short words could turn his stoic and uninterested demeanor into one of smiles that reached his eyes. 

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“Marry me.”

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[torntruth]

thanks to @tornsurvivors, of course, with the ever ongoing creativity of @bloederig here’s me rewriting emily’s full dishonored timeline (this is going to be for tagging purposes in her bio) :

--   Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin is born on the 2nd Day, Month of Rain, 1827.   The on going, never confirmed rumors,  is that she’s the child of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin and her Royal Protector,  Corvo Attano.   That is true, to an extent,  Emily was never actually birthed and instead set into the hands of Jessamine and Corvo to be looked after.   Her true birth is by The Outsider,  she is in essence, a demi-god and the daughter of the void.    This doesn’t negate the fact that she loves Jessamine and Corvo like her parents  -- they have been and will always be the center of her world. 

--   There is a kingdom on the continent of Pandyssia that words closely in relation to Jessamine.   Emily befriends Sylvanas Windrunner and the two quickly become glued at the hip before Sylvanas has to return and is never seen or heard from again. 

--    On the 18th Day, Month of Earth, 1837, Emily witnessed her mother’s brutal murder  --  a sword through the heart and a coup that had Corvo Attano in the absolute wrong place.  Corvo was jailed and Emily was kidnapped.   Eventually a small resistance broke Corvo out and reinstated Emily as Empress.  She is, to date, the youngest Empress of the Isles at only 10 years old. 

--    Corvo is friends with a family that aren’t quite noble,  but they have worked hard at making money and making name for themselves in a trade business.   Emily quickly becomes best friends with Alexi Mayhew and in the wake of the coup,  5 years later,  The Loyalists who want to see Emily fail attack the carriage that she and Alexi are riding in.   They’re also smart enough to separate the kid’s wagon from The Royal Protector’s.  It takes Corvo about 10 minutes fighting through Loyalists to get to the kids.  In that amount of time Emily has about pounded in the head of one Loyalist,  while Alexi very bravely grabbed a grenade that was tossed at them to toss back.   Alexi Mayhew is now the youngest member of the The City Watch.

--    On the 18th Day,  Month of Earth,  1852,  another coup has started.  Delilah Kaldwin uses magic to trap Corvo in stone,  leaving Emily without her Royal Protector.  Ramsey,  out of bitter jealousy,  kills the youngest Captain of the City Watch  --  Alexi Mayhew.   Emily is now without her two most loyal and trustworthy allies.   She escapes the clutches of Ramsey’s men and heads out to find a new ally:  Meagan Foster.   Emily kills Ramsey.   Electrocutes Jindosh.  Saves Hypatia.   Saves Stilton.  Replaces The Duke with his body double.  The Duke is now rotting in prison,  as a nobody.   Emily doesn’t think Liam Byrne is necessarily bad,  so he’s sent away,  but Paolo is given reign over the Dust District now that Aramis Stilton and Alexandria Hypatia are also back  --  they end up all working together to give the poorer population a better chance.   Delilah Kaldwin is trapped in her fantasy painting.  She is no longer a threat. --    The events of the coup and the magic used before and during the coup causes the first of many rifts within the Void.   Alexi Mayhew is given a second chance and with that, she finds that Sylvanas Windrunner has died within her own war.  Alexi and Sylvanas return as shadow marked.  Not quite marked by the outsider,  but with powers,  and part of the void none the less.   Alexi is reinstated as Commander of the City Watch.  Sylvanas Windrunner becomes the next High Overseer of The Abbey of Everyman.

--     Billie Lurk relieves The Outsider of his duties as the deity of the Void.  The Outsider becomes human again,  but as it turns out,  The Void needs a deity or it’ll spill over and consume all of life on Earth until there is nothing.

This is usually where most threads take place and Emily starting to understand that something Isn’t Quite Right. 

[systlinsideblog]

Wait our son is marrying WHOMST

Darvon stared at the gleaming armor the men at his door wore. He knew Bloodguards when he saw them; his own son had been one for many years now. Foicatch’s letter had indicated that the Queen had agreed to spare a few Bloodguards to escort them to the Keep and back, but he had not expected six of them, or a carriage. A wagon maybe, but not a carriage.

“Who in the Pits is it that the boy wants to get hitched to?” He said this aloud.

“Commander Foicatch instructed us not to tell.” The young man who said this must have been about his son’s age. “He said he wants it to be a surprise.” A pause. “Though he did say that we could tell you that it was a lady of some status.”

Minella had been hurriedly setting some last-minute things to rights around the house and gently bossing the boys about as they hauled out the trunks and got them loaded into the carriage. She came up behind Darvon and hooked a thumb into the back of his belt, an affectionate little gesture she’d done a thousand times in their years together. “He’s a charming lad, Darv. You know that. And just as handsome as his father, and brave, and a hero.” She beamed at him; she’d been wildly anticipating this trip since they’d gotten Foicatch’s letter. “Is it such a thing to imagine that he caught the eye of one of the ladies at court?”

“Ah, I suppose not.” Darvon smiled back at her. “He does look right dashing in that armor.” He tilted a head at the Bloodguards standing arrow-straight around the door, waiting as            got the trunks strapped down.

“Commander Foicatch is a fine man. He’s well trusted by the Queen.” The young Bloodguard sergeant looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

Minella beamed even more brightly.

              Stellas city itself looked little different from any other city Darvon had ever seen. The one difference was the great bulk of the Keep, looming above the city as the land sloped upwards to the wall of enormous ancient trees that marked the beginning of the Greatwood.

The streets of Stellas city were in good repair, but the carriage still jolted and swayed as the wheels bounced over cobblestones. Darvon was grateful for the deep padding of the carriage seats.

People shuffled aside when they saw the carriage coming, calling cheerfully to the armored Bloodguards accompanying it. Minella was staring raptly up at the keep, looming larger and larger as they drew near the base of the rise that led up to the great fortress.

“Do you think we’ll see her?” She touched her throat nervously, for about the fifteenth time. The silver necklace Darvon had saved up for and given her for their thirtieth anniversary  glinted at her throat; she’d spent half the night before polishing it.

Darvon knew what she meant, but played obtuse. He raised his eyebrows at her. “That’s what we’ve come a hundred miles for, my dear.”

Minella shoved at his shoulder, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. “Not Foicatch’s lady, you lump. Her.”

“I expect the Queen has better things to do.” Darvon caught her hand when she went to smooth her skirts for the twentieth time. “And even if we did, you look lovely.”

That earned him a smile, one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She left off fussing with her dress and necklace and hair and squeezed his hand in return. “Flatterer. I’d like to see her, even in passing.”

Darvon smiled back. “It would be something to tell the grandchildren, wouldn’t it?”

The carriage rattled up to the gates of the Keep not half an hour later. Darvon had seen the manor of the Viscount of Nem more than once; he’d made the man’s banquet table custom. But he still marveled at the sheer scale of the Keep; the Viscount’s manor house was little larger than the gatehouse of the Keep.

There were people on the Keep grounds, stablehands and gardeners and swineherds and Bloodguards and delivery wagons of grain and vegetables, bustling about with the sort of focused chaos that seemed to be common to any great household. All the people paused to stare keenly at the carriage as they passed, though.

The driver pulled them up at the base of the wide stairs leading up to the massive double doors of the Keep proper. Two Bloodguards were standing at rigid attention before the doors; they saluted with their spears when their brothers and sisters pulled up with the carriage and dismounted.

One of their Bloodguard retinue opened the carriage door, and politely offered Minella a hand to help her down. She took it, a little hesitantly; she was no more used to such things than Darvon was.

“We sent corporal Jena ahead to tell Commander Foicatch that you were arriving.” The Bloodguard squinted up at the gates of the Keep as Darvon stretched and cracked joints stiff from sitting in a carriage so long. “He should be here any…ah.” The last word was spoken as one of the great doors was heaved open a crack and Foicatch bolted down the wide, shallow stairs three at a time, grinning ear to ear.

There were a few minutes of delighted embraces and greetings and Minella critically examining her son to make sure he was eating well.

“You’re looking well.” Darvon examined his son critically. “Fallen’s balls, boy. It’s been what, seven years?”

“Eight.” Minella frowned up at Foicatch. “And nothing but letters telling us about how much danger you’re walking into.”

Foicatch dipped his head slightly, not making eye contact. “Sorry, mum. But…”

“Ahhh, I know.” She sighed, then smiled again. “Bloodguard. But you’re here now, and safe, and you must introduce us to this lady you want to wed.” She eyed the carriage, where several footmen had appeared and were unloading their baggage. “She must be something, for you to have convinced the Queen to let you send all this.” She gave him a look out of the corner of her eyes as they climbed the steps to the Keep doors. “Will I have to start calling you ‘lord’, now?”

Foicatch cleared his throat and stared straight ahead. Darvon narrowed his eyes; Foicatch was a Bloodguard. He could keep things to himself if needed. Still, Darvon was his father. He’d raised the boy, and he could still read his son like a book.

Foicatch was nervous. His boy was usually self-assured to the point of being foolhardy; Darvon could count on one had the number of times he’d seen his lad like this. “No.” Foicatch strode through the great doors and kept going, seeming not to notice the magnificence of the great entry hall. Minella stared, her lips parted. Darvon slowed and felt himself gawping like…well, like a carpenter standing in the Keep of the Kings and Queens of the Northern Lands.

Foicatch seemed to realize that he’d lost them, and slowed to a stop, waiting.

“Lady.” Minella’s voice was soft as she stared up at the starred, vaulted ceiling far above them.

Foicatch glanced up too, and a little of the nervousness faded. The corner of his lips twitched up, and he moved back to stand next to his parents.

“I remember the first time I walked through those doors I had to scrape my jaw off the floor.” A little half-grin. “I suppose you stop noticing after a while.”

Darvon looked at his son…his tall, broad-shouldered warrior son, his son with his Bloodguard mark just visible above the collar of his tunic, his son who spoke with Queens…and felt a fierce surge of pride that nearly choked him.

“Come on.” Alongside the gleaming, polished Bloodguards standing vigilant on either side of the great doors bearing the crest of the Stellas family…Darvon supposed they must lead to the throne room…he felt very much like the common-born carpenter he was. Foicatch had had many years to become accustomed to such grand surroundings, but Darvon could feel the full weight of a thousand years of Stellas royalty pressing in around him. “It’s about time that we met your mystery woman. We rode all this way for it, after all.”

“Yes.” The nervousness was back; Foicatch’s left hand twitched, as if reaching for a sword hilt on his hip that wasn’t there. “She said she’d be up in the library. Come on.”

He led the way into the sprawling labyrinth of hallways and stairways that was the Keep, navigating with the ease of someone who’d walked these halls a thousand times. Minella was fidgeting with her necklace and smoothing her skirts again by the time Foicatch led them up to a heavy oak door that was propped open, showing a room fully as large as the entry hall.

The room was lined with row after row of shelves, every one of them loaded down with scrolls and books. Darvon had never seen so many books together in one place before; he attempted to calculate the worth of the contents of this room, which made his head spin. He found himself nervously smoothing his clothes.

Foicatch led them past the shelves. At nearly the back of the room, there was another door, smaller than the big oak library door. Even as Foicatch raised a hand to knock, the door opened a crack and a woman slipped out.

She was stunningly lovely; golden hair, wide green eyes, and a heart shaped face with the sweetest little curve of a smile Darvon had ever seen on a woman. She was of high birth; no one else would be wearing a gown like that. Pale gold silk, nearly the same color as her hair, with trim of pale blue.

Her eyes lit up when she saw Foicatch, who immediately bowed. “My lady Sina.”

Darvon’s heart stuttered and skipped a beat. The Queen’s sister? The former Queen? A Seer, of the line of the First King? Ah, son, you didn’t…

He nearly fell into a bow, gasping out “M’lady” in a choked sort of voice.

“Hello, Foicatch.” The lady Sina looked past the Bloodguard, to Minella and Darvon. “These are your parents, then?” She smiled at them, sweet and lovely, and gestured for them to rise. “Your son is a fine man. He served me well when I held the throne, and continues to serve my sister faithfully.” She shot Foicatch a sly side glance at that. Foicatch stifled a cough.

“You flatter an old man, m’lady.” Darvon just managed this; Minella seemed to have completely lost the power of speech.

“I only speak the truth. Anyway, I should be off; you’ve traveled a long ways, and I’m taking your time. I’m sure she’s eager to meet you.” The lady Sina smiled one last time and swept off.

Darvon sagged. Minella put a hand to her chest, and finally remembered how to speak. “Lord of the pits, boy! I thought for a second…” She started chuckling to herself. “I saw a Queen after all!”

“Ah.” Foicatch seemed about to say something. His left hand twitched again, seeking a sword hilt that wasn’t there, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Nervous, Darvon thought again. Who is this woman? “Well, I suppose…”

“Foicatch.” This voice was from the other side of the door, and then quite suddenly the door was pulled open. Another woman was standing in the doorway, eyeing Foicatch with a sort of exasperated amusement. “Are you fidgeting? Bring them in and let them sit down, already; I’ve been waiting to meet them for ages.”

She was tall, with dark hair caught back at the nape of her neck, high cheekbones, and eyes of a clear, cool icy blue.

Darvon forgot how to breathe. His pulse pounded harsh in his ears as he noticed other things, like how the muscles of her forearms rippled when she moved, how she was built strong in the shoulders like a woman who spent hours with a sword in her hands, how her hands were scarred in the way of any dedicated warrior, and…and…

…Lord of dust and bones…

And the great ruby signet ring on the middle finger of her right hand, carved with the eight-pointed crest of the Stellas line.

He dropped to his knees almost without thinking about it. “Your majesty.” He gasped. “Your majesty.”

“Ah.” Foicatch shifted his weight again. “Yes. Mother. Father. Allow me to introduce Systlin Stellas, Queen of the Northern Lands, Lady of the Eastern Reaches, Blood of the first king. Mitraka of the southern deserts, sword-sister and lover of the Queen of the Sands, Mistress of Knives, and, well, the woman I brought you here to meet.”

Systlin…the Queen…shot him a look.

“Sorry. Queen of the Eastern Reaches, until such time as she re-conquers the rest of the north, assuming we don’t all get killed doing it.”

The Queen looked mollified. She looked down at them…Lord of the pits, the Queen was standing in front of him, sharing familiar looks with his son.

Foicatch, what in the pits have you done? And how have you done it?

“Please.” Her voice was…downright gentle. He’d heard the stories, and had in his imagination given her a loud, harsh voice, something suitable for yelling over battlefields. In real life, she spoke in a pleasant low alto. “I don’t say this to many people, but you needn’t bow like that.”

[thisdayinwwi]

152240884

The Chickasha Daily Express #OTD Feb 12 1916 publishes this photo of how the Serbian King left his country

This remarkable and historical picture shows Peter, King of Serbia, seated on an ox-drawn cart, on his way out of the country for which he fought so bravely. The vehicle used as a royal coach had been an ammunition wagon.

Peter I 

After King Peter left Serbia during the Great Retreat he stayed abroad until July 1919. It was at this time that he returned to Belgrade then part of what would become Yugoslavia. There he died in 1921 at the age of 77.

Daily capital Journal Feb 4 1916 publishes this photo, IWM Q 52326, of Field Marshal Radomir Putnik, the Chief of the General Staff of the Serbian Army, being carried by bearers during the retreat through Albania,

This is one of the most tragic photos of the war. Marshal Putnik, the aged Serbian commander-in-chief who distinguished himself in many Serbian campaigns and who was the directing genius of Serbia's determined fight against Austria, was forced to drink the bitter dregs of defeat. Enfeebled by age and the strain of battle against superior Teuton odds, the old commander was unable either to mount a horse or walk. An improvised rickshaw was secured and the old general retreated with his army through the Albanian Alps on the shoulders of his faithful followers.

[wkemeup]

Little Lion Man

summary: Sent on an assignment back to 1943, you encounter a drastically different version of the man you know pairing: bucky x reader warnings: time travel, a charming af 40s!bucky 😉, a sad af present!bucky 😔 a/n: I used the time travel logic from Endgame except fixed points exist. This was also written for @buckysknifecollection​‘s 1k challenge! I had the song prompt of Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons! Congrats on 1k hun!!

Weep little lion man, You're not as brave as you were at the start

You found blue eyes lighting up across the crowded courtyard, beaming smile touched on the dirt freckled glow of his face, and it startled you; stilled you right in your tracks and set a stone deep into your chest, made it hard to breathe, because that wasn’t the man you knew.

No—he wore a weightlessness about him, even as he stepped away from the crowd erupting in celebration and shied to the outskirts of the commotion, he was smiling. It wrinkled up by his eyes, left behind dimples in his cheeks, a slight shake of his head as small wisps of hair fell down to his forehead. 

He didn’t seem to be counting each moment of joy on his fingers, calculating how much relief he allowed for himself before the shadows came rushing back in to take it away. He was... happy.

Dark army green was torn like rags as his shirt barely hung off his shoulder, exposing the blood and grime covering his skin beneath. Silver dog tags hung at his sternum; muted in their color, lacking the shine they once possessed, though they chimed against one another with each of his steps. He settled outside the Colonel’s tent and as he slouched to the wooden post, they fell behind his shirt. The last remaining tie to his identity nestled by his heart.

You could spot the trail of blood from his left ear, a light scruff covering his cheeks and jawline, bruising under his eyes from a lack of sleep and over exhaustion, but it was his hair that drew your attention; short, swept over his forehead and parted to the right. Its messy strands that did nothing to cover his eyes even as he dropped his chin to his chest and lit the cigarette he’d nestled between his lips.

You knew who he was, heard stories from Steve and read the articles hung in the Smithsonian; stories of what he was like in his youth, before the fall, before Hydra twisted and warped his mind and mutilated his body. And yet, none of it prepared for the laugh that echoed through the courtyard as he waved at an old friend at the center of the crowd surrounded by men who once mocked him, now lifting him on their shoulders for bringing hundreds of their men home alive.

It was him, and it wasn't.

Your Bucky.

You almost forgot why you were standing on a military base in a newly Allied Italian war front in 1943 as Bucky shook the hand of a soldier as he passed by. You recognized him from the drawings on Steve’s desk and the old faded photo album shoved into Bucky’s nightstand drawer.

Dum Dum Dugan.

He was taller than you pictured, rougher around the edges too, but he had a kind smile and a laughter that bolstered through the camp.

It was like a scene from the film clips they used to show you in school; ones of soldiers huddled around campfires in the middle of a war zone, reminding you how incredibly human these men were, that they weren’t just numbers in a fatalities list. They were real and significant in their entirety. They had hopes and dreams, fears and families.

Focus! This isn’t a field trip, you reminded yourself sharply, the words of Director Fury echoing in your head.

There was a file located in the Colonel’s office, the contents of which well above your clearance level, though it wasn’t your business to know what it contained or why Fury decided to risk sending an agent back to a war two of the Avengers’ current members barely survived. You were a part of SHIELD long before you were an Avenger, so you knew how to follow the chain of command. You didn’t ask questions.

Get the file. Get the hell home.

But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bucky.

He was laughing again, taking another drag of a cigarette you’d never once seen him smoke in your time as he talked with another one of the Commandos. Jim Morita, you thought. He seemed happy, relieved even, and as Jim made his way to the nurses’ tent, Bucky pushed the lighter into his pocket, pulled the cigarette from his lips with a puff of smoke, and paused.

He narrowed his eyes in your direction, a slight tilt of his head, and you realized your mistake when ocean blue caught you staring from across the open green. A smile slowly curved up broken lips and your stomach plummeted because suddenly he was jogging towards you, dog tags bouncing against his chest with every step he took and there was nowhere for you to escape.

You shoved your gun to the waistband of your pencil skirt and draped the back of your jacket to conceal it. It wouldn’t be surprising for you to be carrying a weapon, not with the uniform you wore indicating you were on rank with the likes of Peggy Carter, but it wasn’t a gun Bucky would recognize. It was from your time, one you did not ever travel without, and the technological advancements wouldn’t be easy to explain.

When Bucky reached you, he pulled to a slow stop and casually ran his fingers through the short mess of hair, pushing it back to expose his eyes, the dirt lining the creases in his forehead, and the bruising above his brow. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he looked you over, eyes trailing down to your shoes before returning to your face, a heavy sigh on his breath and he leaned on the wall beside you.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around, doll,” he said and even the tone of his voice seemed different from the man you knew. Lighter, maybe. Confident. Flirtatious.

He smirked, a whistle on his tongue and he seemed a little winded as he shook his head. You wondered if he felt your connection to him, knew the depths of your care for one another before he’d even met you, but you pushed the thought aside quickly.

Wistful thinking.

“Don’t think you’ve been around for a while, Sergeant,” you replied steadily, because even though your heart was racing and your stomach was twisted to knots, you were still an agent and you knew how to manage your emotions and keep your panic hidden behind the surface.  

“I guess you saw the welcome wagon, huh?” he chuckled, turning back to the crowd as they continued to gather around Steve.

It was almost as strange to see Steve from this time as it was Bucky. He had the same kind of innocence that the Bucky standing before you carried now. He hadn’t lost his best friend yet, hadn’t made the decision to trade his life for the people of New York and bury himself in the Atlantic, hadn’t missed out on a lifetime with a woman he cared so deeply for, could even grow to love.

Bucky faced you again and you saw it in his eyes, too.

It was hope, you realized. They were still holding onto it.

“Just glad you made it home safe, Sergeant Barnes,” you said evenly, trying not to focus on his left hand as it raked it through his hair. There was a scar on his palm that ran along his lifeline, red and angry and in need of treatment. There was dirt caked under his nails, in his knuckles, dried blood on his wrist, and you resisted every urge to reach out and grab it just to feel the pulse of his heart in his fingertips or maybe even the warmth of his skin.

You were used to cold and metal and you let yourself wonder what it would be like to be held by these hands, hands that were completely and entirely Bucky’s, hands that he didn’t despise and held away from you like it was something outside of himself, like it could act of its own accord and hurt the woman he wanted so desperately to touch with nothing but a tenderness he hadn’t known in decades.

“Please doll, it’s Bucky,” he requested cheekily. He waited for a response, though when he didn’t get one, he was unbothered by the silence.

He twisted the cigarette in his hand, twirling it like a baton and you were mesmerized by the way it danced through the fingertips of his left hand. It dropped ash as it flipped between his middle and index finger.

“So...” he drawled, amused by your trance, “do I have the honor of your name as well?”

You snapped your eyes away from his hand to find that smirk across his face again. It was one that felt strange to you, foreign almost, from the Bucky you knew. It was confident, charming, but there wasn’t a trace of arrogance or presumption. It was the smirk of a man who could still manage to flirt with a woman moments after returning to a camp he was captured from weeks prior. He was quite proud of himself and it read on his face.

“Y/n,” you finally admitted, watching him carefully as he repeated your name, testing it on his lips, and it still sounded like honey and silk. It seemed to be one of the few things that felt constant between these versions of Bucky; your name on his lips, in his voice, as he smiled at you. It was still as sweet.

“Y/n is a lovely name,” he said, “suiting for a lovely woman.”

Steve had mentioned this Bucky was a charmer in stories of their youth. Each time it was brought up, your Bucky would shake his head, roll his eyes, maybe even blush a little as he sank down into the couch as Steve recounted the dates he used to go on, the women he’d bring to Coney Island, the dance moves that could make any woman swoon.

You’d ask him about it, tease him as to why he didn’t take you dancing and win you comically large stuffed animals with his unparalleled marksmanship. He’d brush it off and say it was all luck of the draw but you know better than that. He was a flirt in these days and as handsome as ever, even with blood dripping from his ear and scars on his face. You couldn’t imagine a woman who would turn down a man as charming and beautiful as he was.

You wondered how much Bucky remembered of these days, if he could still recall the one-liners and the flirty comments, or if it felt distant, like he was watching something outside of himself, standing behind a glass wall and simply observing.

He was sweet with you, teased you behind closed doors and made your heart soar, but you couldn’t imagine a world where he would seek you out amongst a crowd, not knowing your name or face and flirt so openly like this.

Your Bucky retreated to corners of crowded rooms with a drink in his hand that did little to relieve him from the anxiety in his veins. He nursed a bourbon as he sought out open spaces away from the overstimulation of music, chatter, glasses on bar tops. 

He was quiet, reserved, and favored whispering jokes in your ear that would have you rolling with laughter over saying them aloud for the room to hear. There was an intimacy in it and you were thankful for every glimpse he gave you past the demons who had come to obstruct his heart.

But this, this Bucky, the light-hearted charmer with a world of pain ahead of him, was not a man you ever expected to encounter firsthand.

Over his shoulder, a group of men called his name. He rolled his eyes, trying to wave them off but they only yelled louder, hollering and whistling as he tried to shield you from their teasing.

“I suppose I’m being summoned,” he grunted reluctantly.

You glanced back to his friends, Dugan, Jim, and Steve among them as they waved frantically at him. A smile etched to your cheeks, knowing that this was his element, beside Steve when he didn’t have the shadows cast over him and he could live in a moment where he just might see himself as one of the good guys.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” you smiled at him, enjoying the way his brows pinched together as he shot a glare back over in his friends’ direction before he turned back to you and let his features soften again.

“Will I see you around?” he asked, hopeful and eager, and it took you by surprise.

You didn’t know what else to say so you nodded, eyes glancing to the Colonel’s office. You had a mission to complete. It was the reason you were sent back to this timeline in the first place. It had caused enough problems when Fury assigned you; Steve arguing as to the necessity of it, Bucky leaving the room abruptly without another word. You hadn’t even been able to track him down before you left and you’d never once gone on a mission without saying goodbye to him.

You supposed that for him it may only be a few seconds, but you didn’t know how long you’d be stuck in 1943. You missed him terribly, even when he was standing right in front of you.

“I’ll find you again, then,” he said with a wink. He put the cigarette between his lips again, thought he didn’t light it, and jogged back to his friends. He paused halfway, turned back to you with a simple salute, a shake of his head like he was surprised you’d gone along with his flirting, and then, his back was to you.

Tears burned in your eyes before you felt the lump in your throat.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that he was just coming off of weeks behind enemy lines, that he already had the serum running like toxins in his veins; the same Hydra concoction that would save his life when he fell from the train a few weeks later and would allow him to survive long enough to endure decades of torture.

You knew this Bucky carried demons, that he wore a mask the way everyone else did. You knew that there were times that he smiled just long enough for someone to notice before they turned away and his eyes fell downcast to the floor. You knew that he joked and flirted and laughed because how else was a man drafted to a war he never signed up for supposed to cope with the blood on his hands.

They were different masks than the ones the Bucky you knew carried, but they still shielded the pain underneath. The masks you were familiar with were overflowing and demons seeped through the cracks and broke into his soft moments of relief. They were weathered and breaking in your time but he still tried to wear them, still tried to put on a brave face despite the monsters in his dreams and swarming in his past.

This Bucky could still hide his demons.

This Bucky, who smiled so easily, was almost nothing like the man you knew.

But he will be.

Your heart broke for the time in between.

***

Seventy-two hours. That’s how long Fury said you’d need to obtain the file. Seventy-two hours maximum. A load of bullshit that turned out to be because two weeks later you were still trapped in the heart of a world war.

You’d managed to avoid Bucky as much as possible, though that proved rather easy as he’d gone off with Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos liberating Europe and punching Nazis. But the times in between, when they returned home and regrouped for a day or two, he’d spend his first hour at camp seeking you out while the rest of his team was catching up on sleep.

He was persistent, you’d give him that, but he was never forceful. He’d simply talk with you as you tended to the tasks assigned to the cover you were portraying. He’d lounge out on the grass while you cleaned weapons or follow you through the bunker as you alphabetized personnel files, asking you questions about your day, trying to convince you to get dinner with him at the mess hall, telling you dramatically inflated stories of his heroism on the battlefield that made your stomach ache with laughter.

You understood why Steve was so determined to help Bucky get back to how he was before Hydra. He was incredibly endearing, outgoing, witty. Your Bucky still had those things but they were in pieces, strung together with scotch tape and staples. They were muted a little, but they were still there, scratching at the surface.

It had been a few days since you saw Bucky last and you found him again as you walked right into the square of his chest on your way out of the Colonel’s office, file absent in your hand because yet another day had gone by without any sign of the document.

Hands quickly dart out to grab onto your forearms and he chuckled lightly under his breath, steadying you on heels you were entirely not used to wearing; an era appropriate necessity, Tony told you. You would have like to throw one at his head right about then.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Bucky grinned, stepping back to give you space. 

He had a few new scrapes and marks on his face, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His smile was enough to tell you he hadn’t been injured enough to require medical attention. There wasn’t a pinch in his brow indicating pain, at least.

He brushed his hands off on the thighs of his pants and judging by the mud on his boots and the rifle draped over his shoulder, he hadn’t even made it back to his tent before he came in search of you.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied and despite the way he was smiling so sweetly at you, teeth biting down on his lip, you swerved around him towards your own tent.

“Call me Bucky,” he reminded you, stepping aside for you to pass, though he followed your pace.

“Well, Bucky,” you said, clenching your hands, “it’s good to see you safe. You should get to the med tent, don’t you think?”

“Later,” he shrugged, waving you off, cheesy smile on his lips. “I wanted to see my best girl first.”

It punctured right to your chest and though you knew he was teasing, that he was flirting innocently and smiling when he could be giving into the harsh realities of war, it hurt. It hurt because you saw pieces of your own Bucky in him and knives embedded and broken through skin with every laugh, every smile, every word he said, because you knew how quickly it will be taken away, how hard it will be just for him to find small pieces of this and let his guard down long enough to let even Steve in again, let alone you.

There was a guilt that festered and boiled deep in your stomach, that physically ached and burned. You knew too much about his future, about the things that will happen to him that would rip that sweet smile from his face and turn him inside out, until it took decades just to find the will to live again. You could hardly look at him without tears springing to your eyes.

You thought about telling him, about warning him of what would come and maybe create a new timeline where he was free from Hydra, where he might go home from the war and see his mother and sister again, maybe meet a woman he could love and have a few kids. But then you remembered Tony’s warning, that certain events were fixed and what happened to Bucky that day on the train, would never be changed. There was too much history riding on it.

Your sweet Bucky was fated to Hydra from the start.

"There’s a dance tonight, you know.”

Your heels dug into the grass and brought you to an abrupt stop, balance wavering somewhat as you held your arms out to the side. Bucky chuckled, that smile of his so bright it was almost blinding and he quickly jogged back to you. He offered a hand and you took it just long enough to pry your heels from the dirt.

You tried not to focus on the feel of it; the callouses on his palms or the grip of his fingers, the warmth in his hand or the fact that it was made of flesh and not solid metal. You let go as soon as you were able, though he didn’t seem to take any offense.

“Just a few of the guys are going,” he continued to say, pushing his hands into his pockets. He seemed nervous as he swayed in his stance and brushed his hand through his hair. “Thought it could be fun and, well, don’t know the next time I’ll get the chance to ask a pretty girl to dance with me.”

A pink rose in his cheeks, light and flushed, and it surprised you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sergeant Barnes,” you said slowly, voice almost a whisper and his smile didn’t falter for even a moment.

“Bucky,” he reminded you again. So persistently charming.

“Bucky,” you repeated, “I don’t think it’s--”

“When was the last time you did somethin’ for fun, doll?” Bucky whined playfully, slumping his shoulders until you swatted him on the arm. He rubbed at it with a laugh in his voice. “I promise it’ll be a good time. You have my word.”

“I have work to attend to,” you argued, though your resolve was fading quickly. You never liked saying no to Bucky, even from your time, but it was the innocence, the hope, intertwined in shades of blue that made it that much harder.

“Come on, darlin’,” Bucky smiled sweetly at you, a crack in his lips and a bruising on his cheekbones, still as beautiful as he’s always been, “we’re shipping out to the Alps tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll see you next. Just one dance, doll, and I swear I won’t ask you for anything else in my life.”

Your heart skipped. “The alps?”

Bucky nodded, pursing his lips. He lost his playful smile for only a minute as it melded into the solemn, determined expression of the soldier you’d seen memorials painted of alongside brick buildings in Brooklyn.

“We were able to confirm Zola’s on a Schnellzug traveling along the Danube River,” he said, quite proud. “We’re gonna bring the bastard in and put an end to this war.”

Your throat was dry, like sandpaper and dust, stones filling your chest, and you kept your features as blank as you could manage but everything inside you was on fire. He seemed so pleased, eager almost, and you felt your stomach lurch.

“Whaddya say?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice for the first time and you turned to find him nervously chewing on his lip. “Fulfill a soldier’s dying wish?”

“Okay,” you blurted out hastily, biting down on the inside of your cheek because he didn’t know the gravity of what he just asked. You clenched your hands to fists at your side, nails digging into your palms until it stung, but you were well trained and you hid it from him before he could notice.

“I’ll pick you up at eight?” he asked, slowly backing up to his tent with the widest smile you’d ever seen on his face. It wrinkled up by his eyes and stretched into his cheeks. So light, so unburdened from horrors that had not yet warped and twisted their way through his mind and body.

“Okay,” you replied again, unable to say much of anything else for the lump in your throat was starting to choke you.

Bucky disappeared into the camp and you were left standing in the open; tears burning in your eyes, slipping down past your lashes and over your cheekbones, knowing that by this time the following day, he’d be in the hands of Hydra.

***

You located the file an hour before Bucky was meant to pick you up. It sat on the edge of your cot, watching you, because you weren’t signaling Tony that it was time for you to come home. No—you were adorning rouge to your lips and curling your hair the way you’d seen in the movies Bucky liked from his youth, the transmitter hidden in your bag under the mattress.

An emerald dress swung at your hips, one that you’d borrowed from one of the exceptionally kind nurses. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t glaring at you from across the room for daring to take the attention of the famed Sergeant Barnes and insisted you wear it since she was on shift for the evening anyway.

You slipped into the heels, brushing down the skirt of the dress and caught one last look in the mirror. The sleeves hung off your shoulders, exposing collarbone and a faded scar along your clavicle from a mission in Brussels six months prior. Bouncing curls pinned up from your neck and bright red upon your lips, you looked like a painted model in the posters hanging in the bar hall.

You wondered how your Bucky would feel to see you like this, if it would make him happy to be reminded of his youth, or if it would bring back memories too painful to let stir to the surface.

A knock rang on the post outside and you quickly pushed the file into your bag at the end of your bed. Out of sight and out of mind, at least for the next few hours.

“You ready, doll?” Bucky called from outside the tent as you started to make your way to the exit. “Steve’s been breaking my back all day saying you weren’t gonna show and I really need to prove him wro— oh wow.”

You stepped out from behind the flap of the tent, ducking under the low hanging ceiling and Bucky’s words seemed to die on his tongue. He pulled a lip between his teeth and eyes glanced down over you; not with a hunger, but instead with a genuine kind of awe. His smile was aching on his cheeks as he tried to bite it back.

“You look stunning,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “You’ll be the envy of every dame at the dance.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Sergeant,” you replied.

He wore his dress greens; dark olive overcoat with golden buttons down the center, two pockets at the breast, two at his hips, golden tie around his neck and a series of military badges in bright, vibrant colors along the right side of his chest. He looked like the images you’d seen in the Smithsonian; the man he tried so desperately to emulate; the one with honor and dignity, he said.  

Bucky offered you his arm, and you took it graciously. Your hand slipped around the crook of his elbow, holding onto muscle where you once only know metal, and he guided you down to the jeep at the edge of camp. There, Steve, Dugan, Morita, and a few of the other Commandos were there waiting.

Steve stood against the door of the jeep, a woman you easily recognized in a dark red dress at his side; Peggy Carter. Steve seemed surprised to see you on Bucky’s arm, but when he hung his head, he was smiling, like maybe he was pleased to lose his own bet.  

Bucky grinned, nudging your side before he turned to his friend. “Pay up Rogers!”

***

People were laughing, smiling, amongst the backdrop of a war that would almost certainly take the lives of half the men in this room. It was something of beauty to witness until it started to break your heart.

You’d spent nearly an hour on the dance floor with Bucky; letting him spin you around, lead you through dances you should have known if you had grown up in this era, though he paid it no mind. He liked teaching you, liked it when you stepped on his toes and grimaced apologetically at him. He liked seeing you flustered because you were not a woman who easily blushed. He enjoyed the twinge of embarrassment in your ears when you’d bump into a couple beside you and he’d quickly yank you back to his arms in a protective cage, the light rumble of his laugh in vibrations through his chest.

“I tried to tell you I’m no good at this, Bucky,” you said after a young couple on your left sent another glare in your direction for turning the wrong way in the middle of a Charleston Stroll.

“I don’t need you to be a good dancer, doll,” he smirked, pulling you impossibly close so that your chest was flush against his, the slow sway of your bodies in contrast to the fast-paced jives surrounding you. “All I wanted was an excuse to hold you like this.”

The music faded into long, melodic notes as your breath stilled in your lungs. The chaos around you fell into gentle motions as couples hung off of one another and the world seemed to come to a stop. You expected to find a teasing grin on his face, maybe even a hint of laughter, but there was sincerity in the blue of his eyes, a slight trace of longing because he knew what he was facing the next day on a train running through the ravines of a snowy mountain.

He smiled sweetly at you, carefully slipping your hand into his and guiding your other up to his shoulder. He set his right hand at the base of your back, fingers pressing into the soft curves like the keys of a piano, just feeling, and it reminded you of how your Bucky grounded himself in the worst of his nightmares; how he’d hold onto you, grip you so tightly he’d leave marks by the mornings that would ultimately add to his guilt, though they were colors on your skin you cherished. A physical symbol of his fight towards recovery.

You found yourself doing the same as you clasped at his left hand. With every dip of the beat and every sway of his body to yours, you squeezed at his hand; feeling for the slight give in the muscle, the warmth of flesh, the hard callouses on his palm. It was so real, so him, so tangible right in front of you and you felt tears prickle in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked quietly, noticing the trail of your gaze on his hand and the glossiness consuming your eyes.

You shook your head, brushing away the wetness on your cheeks and setting your hand back to his shoulder, though this time you curled up closer to him, focusing on the steady beat of his heart under his fingertips. “Nothing, honey.”

“’Honey’?” he repeated, chuckling a little under his breath. “You getting sweet on me, doll?”

You smiled, letting your head rest onto his shoulder, cheek brushing his collarbone. His hand started to run in smooth circles on your back, his nails traces shivering into your spine. It was something your Bucky did for you, to help ease the tension from your muscles.

“’Course not,” you replied in a breathy sigh, “I’ve got a fella, you know.”

"You don’t dance with me like you’ve got a man waiting on you,” Bucky retorted cheekily, though there was no jealousy in his voice, no resentment. He didn’t seem surprised, but he didn’t pull away either. He sighed, a heat of his breath brushing over your exposed neckline. “Tell me about him?”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, just long enough to caught sight of the tenderness with which he watched you. The corners of his lips curved up, only a little, before they fell again.

On some level, you wondered if he knew that he would never find even a semblance of normalcy in returning home from war, that he’d never settle down in the time that he knew and grow old and have children running around at his feet; that instead of showing up on his mother’s doorstep with bags in hand and a smile of relief, it would be two men dressed in uniform even he didn’t know, carrying an envelope that would break his mother’s heart.

You squeezed his left hand again, letting your right trace up along his jawline and cup the side of his face. He sighed, leaning into the touch. Clean shaven and smooth on his cheeks, decades younger.

“He’s a good man, even on his worst days,” you said tenderly. “He’s been through... so much, things that no one should ever have to experience. Anyone else might have crumbled under all that pain, but he’s still kind, still loving and impossibly sweet. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me though he argues against that most days.”

Bucky nodded, listening quietly as you continued.

“He’s handsome, like you, though his hair is longer, his shoulders a little broader with muscle,” you teased lightly and Bucky scoffed, feigning an offense, though he was smiling. “He’s quiet, different than he used to be, and there are always setbacks, always days where the pain outweighs all the good in his life, but doesn’t give into it. He’s a fighter, a survivor. He’s my best friend.”

“He take you dancing?” Bucky asked with a grin and you shook your head.

“No, not like this. Crowds aren’t easy for him.”

“He one of ours?”

A military man. He knew exactly what you were alluding to, so you nodded.

“Parts of him never came back from the war,” you confirmed, a frown pushing at your lips, “but he’s not broken. He’ll dance with me in the living room if I ask, let me hold him like this even when he feels like a stranger in his own skin. He tries, he heals. I know how hard it is for him to open up and I’m grateful for every moment he can let his walls down, if even for a second, and he shows me pieces of who he used to be, pieces of who he still is.”

A silence passed over the two of you, the music and the sight shuffling of feet around you taking over as you curled into Bucky’s side.

Bucky, but not your Bucky.

“You love him?”

Your relationship with Bucky was messy and complicated. You slept in the same bed most nights, pressed against one another to fight off the demons in his sleep, but you’d never touched him intimately, never so much as kissed his lips no matter how many times you’d wanted to. You met him in the ring and sparred until you were both aching and sweating, until you collapsed to the mat and talked for hours just staring up at the rafters. You were the first person he sought out when returning from a mission and it was his name you shouted for when you were surrounded behind enemy lines.

But there were darker forces between you; ones that kept him from letting himself open up completely, that kept him on the edge from you because Hydra was still in his mind, still convincing him he wasn’t worth the good in his life and he didn’t deserve to be treated with the affection and care with which you showed him.

Even when he kept you at a distance, he still held pieces of your heart, exposed and vulnerable in the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes darting to the collar of his shirt because you couldn’t dare to look him in the eye. You felt him squeeze at your hand, patterns on your back, and he pressed you closer to his chest; so perceptive of the heartache in your voice.

“Sounds like you might want to get home to him, huh?”

You shook your head, feeling embarrassed. “What? No, of course not. I’m-- I’m here to dance with you, right? You’re shipping out tomorrow for the alps and I—I owe you a dance, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sweetheart, we’ve been dancing for hours. Look around, everyone’s practically gone home for the night.”

You narrowed your eyes, surprised, until you scanned the room to find that he was right; the dance floor was near empty and the staff had already begun cleaning up the refreshments table. Only the pianist remained on the stage, playing gentle melodies while his bandmates placed their instruments in their cases. He smiled at you, a short wink before he turned back to the pages of his sheet music.

Steve and Peggy were sitting by the bar, talking quietly with one another, unbothered by the lateness or the lack of party guests and the absence of alcohol beside them. Jim and Dum Dum must have hitched their own rides home because they were nowhere in sight, though a few stray men swaying on unbalances legs stumbled by the door.

“I’d say this was a pretty nice last go of it all,” Bucky sighed, a genuine smile on his face. “Zola’s not a threat physically. Can’t imagine we’ll have too much trouble bringing him in, but you never know, right? I couldn’t pass up an excuse to bring a beautiful woman to a dance.”

You bit down on your cheek until blood pooled in your mouth. You swallowed it back, tasting of copper and it burned on the way down.

“Certainly can’t blame you for that,” you replied, forcing your voice as steady as you could manage.

The pianist slowly brought the song to an end, chiming on the high end of the keys before closing the lid and stepping away. Bucky sighed, a nod the indicated that the magic of the night had ended and he moved to step away, but your hands darted out to the sides of his face.

“You’ll get through this,” you said sternly, adamantly, because he needed to hear it. The confusion read on his face though he didn’t question you. “You’re strong, Bucky. You’re brave. Please remember that.”

He narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed, though he nodded slowly.

You stepped back suddenly, letting your hands fall away from his face. It was a gesture too intimate for the man standing in front of you, one you’d done countless times for the man he’d ultimately become, and while he didn’t flinch at the touch, it surprised him. Perhaps it was the heartbreak on your face, the guilt, that confused him most.

“I--I should go,” you said quietly. “Thank you for the dance, Sergeant Barnes.”

“The pleasure was all mine, doll,” he replied, a soft smile etching up onto his features.

He was so young, so untouched by the damages that would be inflicted upon him; even after he’d already been captured and held by the same men who would break him from the inside out, he still carried a hope about him. He was different at the start of it all.

You loaded into the back of the jeep and Bucky slid in beside you. He kept his hand at his side, didn’t try to push into your space because, after all, you had someone waiting on you, but you could see the twinge in his fingertips, how he ached to hold your hand. It broke your heart.

At the end of the night, he walked you back to your tent. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a tight smile on his face, he asked, “will I see you again?”

You thought again about telling him the truth, warning him that he wouldn’t find his way home for nearly seven decades and when he did, he’d be a changed man in a time he didn’t know. It wouldn’t change anything. Your Bucky had always gone through the horrors of what Hydra inflicted on him and what you did in this time wouldn’t affect that.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile light on your lips though you forced it into your cheeks. He sighed of relief. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“What about your man?” he inquired, a teasing grin and a raise of his eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in friendship, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Whatever you’ll give me, sweetheart,” he replied, smiling so wide it much have ached, and you tried to memorize the way it wrinkled up by the blue of his eyes. You wondered if you’d ever see him smile like that again, like the very act of it didn’t rip him to pieces.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, light and short, a feather’s touch, and you watched as a light pink flushed his face. A thumb brushed along his cheekbone to rid him of the lipstick staining on his skin, but he gently pushed your hand away.

“Let me brag a little to the guys, won’t you?” he laughed. It was a sound so sweet it threatened to tear you in two.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you said slowly, stepping back to the tent.

He sighed, shaking his head as he took one final look at you, the last one he’d know for nearly seventy years. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

***

There were still tears in your eyes as you were pulled from between the cracks of space and time to land on the platform of the Avengers’ hanger in update New York.

Tony was down on your left, adjusting the buttons and levers on a massive computer board, slamming his hand against a faulty monitor until it shifted from a grainy static to a sharp input of bright green data. Steve was rushing up to you, already starting to remove the gear from your back and help you out of the suit. The file had slipped easily from your hand into Natasha’s and she was gone from the room before you even noticed, racing it off to Fury.

"Where is he?” you choked out, lump burning in your throat.

Steve paused for a moment, eyes flickering down to the floor because he must have seen the tears in your eyes. There was no need to specify. Steve knew exactly who you were looking for.

"The training room, I think.”

“Training room?” you repeated, surprised, eyes narrowed as Steve helped you slip your arm from the sleeve of the suit.

"He’s, um, he’s not coming, Y/n.”

“He always comes,” you insisted, peering up and over Steve’s shoulder to get a better look at the door, but they were still closed shut. There wasn’t a time since you’d joined the Avengers that Bucky wasn’t the last person you saw before you left and the first person you ran to when you came home.

Steve swallowed, continuing to work on your suit. “Y/n, the—the idea of you going back there, it wasn’t easy for him. You saw how he stormed out of the debriefing when Fury assigned you to this mission."

“He’s never not been here, Steve. Why would he--”

“Well for one,” Tony piped up, eyes still glued to the computer board, “he wasn’t entirely keen on shipping you back to the time where he was walking around with a brain that had yet to be thrown in a blender and a personality with a range wider than a pet rock."

You gritted your teeth, hands clenched to fists. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Tony shrugged, powering down the platform as Steve removed the last remaining panel from your suit, “just means that he’s probably sulking somewhere because only that idiot could be jealous of his own damn self.”

You looked to Steve who only bowed his head, lips pressed to an apologetic line, and suddenly, you took off running; sprinting across the room and shoulder shoved to the double doors at the exit. Neither Tony nor Steve were foolish enough to call after you, to believe that you’d stop for anything when it was Bucky you were running towards.

You passed by Sam in the living room, who pointed a finger to the gym, not even lifting his head from his cereal bowl. Clint waved from the couch, cheesy grin and all, before Wanda threw a pillow at him, hushing him as he tried to ask you how the mission went. It was all noise; nothing that you could hear when your focus was on Bucky.

When you made it to the gym, you found it to be empty, save for the distinct grunts in the far back corner, the slamming of fists against a sandbag, the labored breaths of a man in pain. 

Bucky stood with his back to you, muscles evident under the thin layer of his navy t-shirt, sweat soaking through the fabric and clinging against him. His whole body utilized in every punch and you stood back and watched until he ultimately hit it too hard and the bag dislodged from the ceiling, falling to the ground and rolling next to two of the same. Sand poured from the hole he’d created.

Bucky groaned, brushing his hand over his forehead to rinse the sweat from his eyes. As he turned around to hang another bag, his eyes landed on you, a flinch flexing throughout his body, a catch in his breath, because it wasn’t often you could sneak up on him. He swallowed, trying to find his bearings.

“You forget something?” he asked, voice low, tired. He didn’t realize you’d already gone and come back.

“No,” you replied, trying to mask your hurt though it did little use, “did you?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes darting down to the floor as he bent to grab another sandbag from the line. There was guilt etched into his features as he hung the bag on the chain as if it weighed nothing. It was then you noticed his bare hand, how it was beaten raw and bloodied.

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, reaching out for his hand and for the first time in nearly a year, he pulled away from you. He held his hands close to his chest, crossing his arms when he’d realized what he’d done, having seen the hurt on your face. You stepped forward to comfort him, but he flinched away.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded, tears in your eyes because you’d just left him to face 70 years in hell and all you wanted was to hold him again. Your agony for him ached deep in your bones, but he was keeping you at a distance, walls up, protecting himself from a threat you couldn’t see. “Did I—Did I do something?”

“No,” he said quickly, sternly, because it was one of the few things he was absolutely certain of. “No, sweetheart. It’s never you. It’s never anything you’ve done.”

“Then what is it?” You took in a shaky breath, one that barely took in air for the stone lodged in your throat. He glanced up at you and winced at the tears burning in your eyes.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” he asked slowly. He swallowed. “Me. You saw—me.”

“Yes.”

“But is wasn’t me,” he said, almost in a question. “It was some parallel version of me, right? That’s why I don’t remember... not because of what Hydra did to my head?”

You nodded, taking a cautious step forward. When he didn’t retreat from you, you took another. He kept his stare on the ground by your feet; appearing small, as if he didn’t tower over you, as if the strength of his body couldn’t snap a cement brick in half. Your hands slipped into his and you felt his whole body sigh of relief as you brought them closer to you.

Even the cold metal of his left hand was a familiar comfort for you; cool and solid, tangible. It was a piece of the man you knew. His right hand was swollen, skin broken at the knuckles, raw and bleeding. You winced as you quietly examined the wounds, carefully turning his hand in yours to get a better look.

“Will you let me wrap this?” you asked gently and after a few moments, he nodded. 

You led him carefully to the edge of the ring and sat him down on the raised edges; a kiss to his forehead as you backed away and you quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the latch under the ring.

Box in hand, you sat down beside him and pulled out the bandages, disinfectant wipes, and soothing gel. You set the kit on the floor and gestured for his right hand. It was quiet as you worked, applying the disinfectant and cleaning the damage he’d inflicted. You felt his gaze on you, studying you as a crease furrowed in your brow in concentration.

Several moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

“Do you see it now?”

You narrowed your eyes, confused by his sudden question. It was something he did often, let his mind wonder and spin until finally something stumbled out, whether it made much sense or not, but you were exceptionally patient with him. You sighed, gently easing the cooling gel onto his knuckles. He hissed at the sting of it.

“See what, honey?”

“Why you shouldn’t be with me.”

You closed your eyes, jaw aching from how tightly you clenched it. You could feel your lower lip trembling, tears burning in your eyes when you looked at him again.

He was better than he was when you’d first met. He didn’t wear the dark circles under his eyes in permeant stains anymore, didn’t leave grease caked into his roots, or wasted away closed off in his room without food for days at a time. But he still carried guilt in his eyes, still hung a heavy shame over his shoulders, still found himself unworthy and irredeemable, even on his best days, no matter how hard he tried to believe you otherwise.

“Bucky,” you sighed, his name aching in your voice, “why would you say such a thing?”

“You know now,” he replied flatly, like it was what he’d been waiting for, like he was so sure that his worst nightmares were already true, “you know what I was like then and how—and how broken I am now. I can’t be him, Y/n. I won’t ever be like that again and I-- I can’t give you the things he could. I won't be enou--”

“Stop, please,” you whispered, holding tightly to his hand as you wrapped the bandages. A tear slipped past your nose and fell to the white fabric along his knuckles, soaking into the cloth. “It broke my heart to see who you used to be, what you were like before Hydra, before all the pain they’d inflicted on you. You were... light and sweet and so impossibly charming.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes to the ground ahead of him as he listened, nodding along. You could tell he was preparing for the worst, like you might tell him that he was right, that this past version of himself opened your eyes to how empty he’d become, how weak and burdensome, how he was only a shell of the man he used to be and he’d never be enough for you.

His hands were shaking in your own and you swiftly lifted them to your lips and kissed at his knuckles, first upon flesh and then to the cold metal of his left. It pulled a gasp from him, an involuntary sigh of relief.

“I saw pieces of you in him, Buck. In the way he’d watch from a careful distance, how he smiled to himself when he thought no one was watching, the kindness in his eyes, the way he said my name,” you continued, letting his left hand sit on your leg so you could reach up to cup the side of his face, gently drawing his attention back to you. His eyes were red, strained, and you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s the same way I see pieces of him in you. You still tease and joke, even if it’s quieter, more intimate. You still make me feel like my hearts going to beat out of my chest when you look at me. You’re still impossibly charming, Buck. You are to me, anyway.”

He shook his head, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Sweetheart, you’re not broken,” you soothed, sweeping your thumb along his cheekbone. You grazed bristles of hair along his face, scruff from a few days without a razor. “You’re not less than who you were then. Just different. The things that happened to you changed you, Bucky. They’d change anyone. I don’t ever expect you to be the man you were before the fall.”

Bucky took in a shaken breath. “I thought—I thought you might prefer him. The way Steve does.”

“Oh honey,” you exhaled, pulling him into your arms, his head resting on your collar and you stroked your hand along his back to ease the tremors away as he clung to you, “Steve doesn’t--”

“He wants me to be how I was,” Bucky mumbled, his lips muffled by the sleeve of your shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself closer. “He doesn't think I can see the disappointment on his face, but I can. I know he misses how things were.”

“Steve just worries about you, Buck,” you said gently, rubbing circles along his back. “He just wants you to be happy. He wants you to be okay.”

It was like he didn’t even hear you, so caught up in the rush of consuming thoughts in his mind, threatening to do him in.

“I’m scared you’re going to start looking at me like that.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, though you willed your voice as steady as you could manage. “Like what, sweetheart?”

“Like I’ve disappointed you,” he admitted simply, like he’d thought about it a dozen times over. “I always thought I had nowhere to go but up with you. You’d only seen me at my worst but… but now you’ve seen me then and—and I don’t know if I can take you wishin’ I was him, doll, because I’ve tried and I—I can’t and I don’t want to lose you because I think it might ki—”

“Look at me,” you requested sternly, pulling him from your embrace and guiding his eyes to you. His cheeks were red, ocean blue of his eyes wet with tears as the words died on his tongue. “I will never ask you be someone you’re not. I would never want you to.”

He shook his head against your hands. “But I’m—”

“You are the man I’ve always known you to be,” you insisted. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, one that you felt his breath leave him as you pulled away. His eyes were glossy but they were vibrant blue as they met yours. “You are the man I fell in love with, Bucky. You, as you are right now. Not some idealized version of who you think you should be. Not the man you were in the forties. You.”

His entire body was rigid in your arms; solid, like stone and steel, and when he finally pulled back, there was an ocean of disbelief in his eyes. Lips slightly parted, brows pinched at the center and a flush of red in his cheeks. An imprint of your sleeve was prominent along his temple as his eyes searched yours, seeking out a deception he would never find.

“You love me?” he whispered, voice barely audible, but you watched as his lips mimed the words; the way he licked at the dryness and tried to swallow back the sandpaper in his throat.

“With everything I have, honey.”

When he finally did let himself exhale again, the breath carried a world of relief in its release. A smile hung on his lips, curving up into his cheeks, and wrinkled into his eyes. A vision of a man decades younger, lighter, where the blue was brighter and the stones were lifted from his shoulders.

“You love me,” he said again, though this time it wasn’t a question but simply a statement of fact. He repeated it again, like he was engraving it into his mind, into his memories where Hydra couldn’t touch it, where it would be protected and entirely his.

“I do,” you giggled, playing with the ends of his hair. “Any chance you might--”

Lips were suddenly on yours, melded and perfectly warm, soft, eager, and you wondered why you ever thought he was any different from the man he used to be. His hands snaked up into your hair, curling delicately into your scalp as a sigh left his breath and touched your cheek. He kissed at your jawline, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose, and returned to your lips where he was wanted most.

When he finally pulled back, you let him go reluctantly, and he set his forehead to yours; the brightest smile on his face you’d ever witnessed and you were almost certain it must have ached in his cheeks from lack of use, but god, was he beautiful.

“I love you, too.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[ackermans-freedom-inc]

Fealty

A/N: I’m back! Got my motivation and mental clouds cleared enough to write, and had to get this out. Thank you to @mysteriousmagicx and @melancholicmonologue for fueling my Knight Levi needs! Hope you don't mind me jumping on this amazing AU!

Tiny update, some music I listened to while writing: i, ii, iii 

Royal AU, Levi x Queen!reader if you squint

Tears splattered against the back of your trembling hands, their tenuous grip on the ledge weakening as the shouting grew nearer. Dark smoke billowed for as far as your eyes could see, in stark contrast against the usual white. The air was devoid of children’s laughter and the charming tunes that made their way from the crowded taverns and dance halls. Instead, the sickly smell of iron, slash and clang of steel suffocated, kingdom in ruins before your very eyes.

“Highness.”

The familiar voice made you turn, blurry vision cleared with a discreet wipe. Your three most trusted knights stood before you, ever loyal, ever brave, ever foolish.

“I stopped being a Queen the moment the first blood was drawn Miche.” you spat bitterly, blinking towards your toes in an attempt to stave the hot tears that once again threatened to spill. Your subjects. Innocent lives. In the end, you couldn’t do a thing to stop the invading army.

“Highness.”

It was Levi who called you this time, voice reminding you of what you needed to be. Strong and firm for your subjects.

“No. Not yet Levi. A little more.”

“Highness. We have to go.”

“Levi. I am not leaving until the gate closes.” You turned to the third man, ignoring the death grip he had on his scabbard. “Erwin, where are we with evacuation?”

“Highness, I have to agree with Levi, we have to go bef-”

Your desperate plea, tear filled yet defiant eyes fixed on his, fists clenched so hard your arms were shaking. He paused, pained look as he reported.

“The last wagon is about to clear the drawbridge. The gate drops after it passes.”

Finally nodding, soft smile and a sigh of relief leaving your lips as the lives of your remaining subjects were secured. You stood tall, the jewels sat atop your head catching and reflecting the light evidence of your power and status even in such a state.

Your footsteps were sure as you lay a hand against the chest plate of the men before you, one by one.

“Miche, Erwin…Levi. Go. With your skills you can still make it. You have served me well. No use dying here, loyalty sworn to a Queen who couldn’t protect her own people. Go, I’ll bar the door, buy you three some time, but you have to go now.”

“Highness,” Levi tried again, usually the only one who could get through to you, “Your Majesty. We have to go. We would be fools to leave you here. Not Miche, not Erwin, and certainty not I. We swore fealty, come hardship or death. Our swords are yours to command.”

“The fool was me all along.” Your voice was soft, tone leaving no room for argument. Nothing could be done once you’ve made up your mind. “I am no longer your Queen; your swords are your own. Be free. Fight for what you believe in. You have served me well, your oath fulfilled, fealty dissolved.”

The three looked between themselves before dropping on bended knee as Levi took your hand in his, laying a kiss to the palm before turning it over and repeating the action.

When he looked up, your breath caught in your throat. The fire in his gaze, the clench of his jaw, and the conviction in his voice spoke louder than the words he uttered.

“We are your knights, and as long as you stand, we stand. We protect the crown, but most importantly, we protect you. Our Queen. My Queen. If you say this sword is mine, then by the first and last swing of it, I fight for you.”

You smiled, helping the man up until steel eyes bore into yours. You nodded towards Levi, then Miche and Erwin in turn, the sound of metal filling the room as all three drew their weapons.

Atop your gilded throne you stood, bow and arrow in hand, quiver full, your most trusted, loyal, and foolishly stubborn knights by your side.

“I’d like to see King Zeke try and take my crown with an arrow between his eyes.”

Taglist: @anlian-aishang @alrightberries @raabzyjan @jean-does-not-have-a-horseface @rach-likes-books @commanderserwin @daenerysdracarys @ladyofpandemonium @hiqhkey @may8344 @blankensee @miekasa @hidehaskak @sleepylevii @messymanifestation @dontusethisproduct 

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Bound By Blood - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader - Part 2

Summary: Geralt has learned of a mysterious witch and her supposed vicious familiar, now he must hunt to bring them down for their crimes.

Warning: blood & gore, angst, bit o fluff, things getting chaotic

Masterlist if yall are interested - you’ll find part 1 there

After an admittedly pleasant couple hours of greatly appreciated morning sex, the two of you are finally up and dressed for the days new adventure into the closest village which is about four miles southeast. Luckily for you, your man has a horse which is very fortunate when trekking through snow.

It only takes an hour or so to finally reach the small village of Thurn that’s located just below huge towering mountains that practically touch the sky. Snow covers the land just as expected though the market place is mussed up with mud and dirt from busy travelers and townsfolk alike.

Considering this place is surrounded by a great thick forest and there’s only one trail leading into it, and it’s not part of the main road, you can’t help but still feel apprehensive about who you may meet even with your Witcher by your side. No one knows who or what you are, and it appears that no one seems to care either, although you do notice how some glare in your direction. It’s not you, calm down, you try and convince yourself.

Geralt reassures you it’s only him that they’re keeping a wary eye on, and by the way he gives you a warm smile you believe him and do your best to forget the strange looks here and there. You’re safe with him, this place is away from the main road and there’s no way a single soldier would be here.

Standing on a building corner while facing the marketplace, you watch as Geralt pays for some dried fish and a fluffy loaf of warm bread. So far your nerves have calmed, though you keep a keen gaze on every opening into the great marketplace in case something or someone was to try and harm him or even you for that matter. You have killed many soldiers after all, not to mention the bear.

Suddenly a hand lays itself onto your shoulder when you’re not paying attention causing you to jump back and just about knock Geralt out with your fist. He barely manages to dodge it when you quickly reel back in shock, not expecting it to be him.

He chuckles lightly, “Just me.”

Rolling your eyes you smile fondly up at him, “Sorry...um, reflexes eh.” You mutter with a breathy laugh.

“Guess you were right about being dangerous after all.” He muses, making light of your slight embarrassment.

Taking the bread from his hand you playfully scoff, “Well then again, maybe not touch a woman before she knows who you are? Next time I might accidentally rip your throat out and you’d never see it coming.” You add while tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into your mouth.

Taking a small chunk himself, Geralt hums, “Wise words, I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Before biting into the bread, as you study his face you can’t help but notice how he appears to be fully enjoying your little makeshift breakfast. 

Suddenly a flash of sunlight rickashays off of something metal catching your sight in the morning light, just about blinding you for a small moment. You blink, eyes darting to a market stall that’s filled with meats. Where two soldiers dressed in black are speaking with the butcher, you freeze, taking Geralt off guard with your new fearful state.

“Y/N what is it?” He whispers as you begin to breath heavily, eyes wide as you watch the Nilfgaardians every move. His grey brows furrow in puzzlement before he turns around to follow your line of sight, only to be met with the backs of two soldiers minding their business.

He can hear how loud your heartbeat has become as it thunders in your chest with rage and building adrenaline, he knows exactly what you want to do next but this is not the place for it. Turing back towards you he sets a cautious hand upon your shoulder, “Not here.” He warns softly.

You keep unflinching, nostrils flared as your fists clench in anger, his hand presses firmer now, “Y/N, not here.” He warns again, with more gumption this time, really meaning it.

Breaking out of your self inflicted trance your eyes shift back up to his golden ones, “It’s too late.” You whisper regretfully, “He’s coming for them.”

“Who is?” Inquires Geralt, unsure of what that could possibly mean.

Letting out a frustrated sigh you look to the slushy hard ground almost in shame, “My companion.......my bear.” You mumble, “I didn’t mean to but he can sense when I need him and now...I can’t...I can’t stop him Geralt.”

The Witcher’s eyes widen in realization, “What will the bear do?”

Bringing your worrisome gaze back up to him you shake your head nervously, “Whatever he wants.”

“Gods, Y/N.”

You cringe, this isn’t going to play out very well for you and Geralt knows it, “I know, fuck I should never have come here! We should have just stayed in bed and starved, let’s just hope he only goes for the soldiers and is satisfied with them.” You exclaim in a hushed tone, pulling Geralt behind a corner and away from any unwanted attention, “No one here will die unless they try and hurt him or me, you understand. We have to lure those fuckers away from the village. Now!”

“Alright then, do you have a plan?” He wonders, not so sure if you’ll be able to get these men away from the village in time.

“Yes.” You sigh begrudgingly, “Though it’s not to late to leave me and ride off into the sunset.”

He gives you a small smile at your attempt to make light of the situation, “I’m not leaving you, though it’s tempting.” He teases before turning serious again.

“My plan is for you to do nothing and I’ll harass those bastards into following me out of here and into the woods before my companion has a chance to find them in town.”

“I’m not just doing nothing.” He protests.

“Yes, yes I know. You’ll be my back up, okay? Now we don’t have time for this just keep close but not too close.” Before he’s able to argue back you’re already gone and halfway across the muddy street with a new fire in your heart that he’s willing to protect with his very life.

Fists clenched in anger you grab a frozen tomato from the stall next to you and without a second thought chuck it right into the back of one of the soldiers helmets with a loud thud. He grunts, whipping around with eyes full of confused aggression, “Now wha?”

Smack! 

Another tomato right into his big ugly face causing him to choke on his words as he stumbles into the guy next to him. Dazed and frustrated he gets to his feet, unsheathing his jagged sword while his friend does the same. “You bitch! I’ll have your head for that you fuckin’ slut!” He cries angrily much to your sick satisfaction.

“Ma’m you have to pay for those.” Mutters the vegetable farmer fearfully, interrupting your sweet moment of anger.

“Shut up.” You snap, turning to glare daggers at the two soldiers. “Call me a slut again and I’ll shove his innards down your throat.”

Glancing at one another they smirk wickedly before charging at you, darting to the right, you sprint for the village entrance and out the giant overhang as they chase you towards the forest where a small group of tired travelers are coming from on a small wagon.

Fuck! Not these people now!

Your feet carry you almost to the safety of the thick evergreens before a thunderous roar is heard huffing and puffing from out of the pines. You fall to the snow just as the great brown bear blunders into the opening, immediately mauling down the closest soldier who gets pummeled into the wet cold earth. He screams in agony as his innards are indeed ripped out, though his cries are muffled when the bear clamps down onto his face, ending anymore unpleasant sounds coming from him.

The family next to you freezes in terror, their horse kicking and rearing at the wagon desperately trying to vacate the situation as her owner tugs on her reigns for dear life. The bear growls at the horse from across the clearing, face dripping crimson as the other soldier slashes the beast across the face with all that he can, still it does little but make a small scar of red on its furry cheek.

You gasp in pain at a stinging sensation on your cheek, however your mind doesn’t have time to weigh on it as the bear tears the man’s throat out with teeth the size of butter knives, claws digging into the soldier’s black armor as he feasts. Soon your companions furry head raises to meet eye to eye with Geralt who’s found his way onto the messy scene.

Your heart beats rapidly as you shake with adrenaline as your Witcher’s golden eyes dance from the large beast in front of him to you who’s behind both of them. Suddenly the bear takes a step forward causing Geralt to step backwards cautiously. Shit!

You move quickly to the creatures side, “Don’t.” You warn firmly, “He’s mine.” The enchanting ember eyes of the familiar meets your stern gaze as he snorts, giving a distinctive nod in understanding just as an arrow thrusts itself into the beasts shoulder.

“No!” You scream in unison with the bears roar of pain as a sharp stinging races it’s way up your arm when he knocks you to the ground, now standing protectively in front of you like a shield of steel. Geralt quickly turns around to find half a dozen more Nilfgaardian soldiers racing out from the village, one drawing another arrow as they ready a charge.

From behind the bears legs you can see what terror awaits, “Geralt!” You cry desperately as his eyes find yours, “Don’t let them hurt him!”

Heeding to your command, your brave Witcher jumps into action, taking out two soldiers before launching himself at the bowman who’s ready to fire. Your companion moves just as a last arrow plunges into the snowy blood spattered earth right in front of your face. You gasp in shock, staggering to your feet as the men that Geralt couldn’t stop attempt to take down your bear with their swords and shields.

Failing miserably they fall to the beasts paw one by one as you watch in relief, then to your great annoyance and admittedly slight fear does a lone man charge for you. One who’s been able to slip past the defenses, you reach down and take a fistful of snow before throwing it into his face, taking him off guard as you race for the wagon.

“Hand me a weapon!” You shout, “Quickly now if you want your children to live!” The terrified father keeps stiff and silent as his wife throws you a shovel of all things. Turning around you clash wood with steel, the soldier grunts as you kick his feet from out under him. Falling to the earth you quickly swing the rusted shovel around before harshly cutting right through his exposed neck in one clean motion.

His eyes gloss over as you pull the makeshift weapon from his bleeding neck, grimacing in disgust as you drop the shovel to the ground. Not feeling keen on witnessing the reactions of the family from behind you, instead your head stays forward as you walk away towards Geralt.

“Y/N! Are you hurt.” Rushes Geralt worriedly as he jogs over to your disheveled side, eyes all over you in case you really are wounded.

You nod, waving him off, “I’m fine, fine...I promise.”

He smiles, grateful to know you’re alright and uninjured, “Good. We need to leave.”

“I know, come on let’s find your hors..arh ahh fuck...” You scream in pain falling to your knees in the wet snow, Geralt catches you as your eyes darken in anger, two black pupils glaring furiously away from him. “No!” You shout, “Don’t hurt him!”

Turning his head to follow your pained gaze, he’s surprised to find some idiotic villagers as they throw rocks and other shitty weaponry at the roaring beast, “Stop it he’ll kill you!” You shout even louder now as he holds you back. Your familiar grunts and growls in protest as the men push him back farther into the woods, though they don’t stop, idiotically they follow. 

“Let me go!” You snap at Geralt angrily as he holds you tight, “Geralt!”

“Y/N he’s a bear what are we supposed to do now, he cut through those trained soldiers like they were nothing, I’m not having you get anymore roughed up then you already are.” Pleads Geralt. No you idiot they cannot kill him!

Eyes darkening in rage you break from his tight grasp and shove him to the ground before grabbing his fallen sword and racing towards the stupid villagers who are disappearing into the forest, the roars of your companion sounding painfully throughout the woods.

“Y/N!” He shouts after you, still you ignore him, to focused on tearing into the woods with determination clear in your heart. Soon enough you find the men in a snowy meadow among the great timber, makeshift weapons pointing dangerously at the bear who’s now standing his ground. 

“Get back!” You shout as they shove their sticks into the bears face that’s not even ten feet from them. “Don’t!”

The bear growls a fearsome roar of protest and pain as it backs up closer to the tree line while the villagers press closer and closer with their steel and wood, shouting insults as they go.

“Stop it he could rip your throats out you fools! Stop-ah..ouch fuck.” You seethe through clenched teeth as one of them knocks you to the ground with his garden hoe. He chuckles maliciously, eyeing you grossly as he holds up the tool readying for another hit.

“This your beasty, huh?” Taunts the dirty man with a smug grin just as your fearsome bear races to your aid with a new found purpose. He throws men that stand in his way before slashing open the mans stomach, entrails slipping out right before your vary eyes.

“Fuck.” You mutter before all hell breaks loose, more of the village men try and take down the bear but it’s no use, he slashes and tears at them, causing most to flee in terror back through the woods and eventually into the village.

“Stop! You’ve done enough for me! It’s time to go now, leave!” Is lost on the wind as the beast mauls down another man. Soon warm arms pull you from the ground and into a strong chest as your Witcher pleads for you to fall back. “Geralt no! I have to make him leave this place, he’ll kill all who try and harm him!”

“Y/N your bear is murdering innocents, this has to end now!” He exclaims while holding you close though he’s just making you more frustrated. No one is innocent.

“What are you implying?” You snap at him, dreading what he’s about to say next as you hold his arms against your chest.

“Y/N.” He whispers almost regretfully, face pressed against your cheek, “We have to kill him, it’s the only way to stop this slaughter from continuing.”

Elbowing him in the stomach you shove him from your side, face a mask of anguish and fear, “I can’t Geralt!” You exclaim loudly, “Fuck, there are just some things you don’t know about me yet! Dammit this is all wrong!”

He gives you a deep frown as he studies your face, confusion clear on his handsome features, “Y/N we have no choice.”

“There is always a choice!” Your voice is strong as you shout at him, he huffs in frustration at your outburst, clearly he doesn’t know why the bear cannot die. Y/N just tell him, he trusts you. Eyes softening you swallow thickly while touching your sore shoulder, “You don’t understand.”

Staring at you desperately, his face and hair undoubtedly a mess of dirt and blood, he looks to you now with deep confusion, “What do you mean?”

Breathing a heavy sigh you look down at the palm of your hand that’s still covered in bandages, “You can’t kill it, that creature is bound to me by an unbreakable link..”

“What?” He wonders, grey brows furrowing in puzzlement at your strange half explanation, “What does that mean Y/N?”

Your gaze falls to the snow covered earth then over to the beast that’s now decided to head for the woods, leaving a trail of bloody paw prints in the snow, no men left alive in it’s wake.

You frown deeply, your features conflicted and almost lost as you find his lingering gaze once more, “It’s complicated.” You begrudgingly mutter, Y/N he trusts you. “Let’s get out of here and I’ll explain everything.”

“Fine, come on.” Urges Geralt as the two of you make haste for the woods where Roach is waiting patiently.

The ride back is deathly silent, a new tension filling the small atmosphere around the two of you as you sit quietly in front of him. He doesn’t further press you for anything until he’s made it back to the secluded old cabin where he clicks his tongue to stop Roach. Boots hit the snow as Geralt looks up to you now, you nod lowly and let him help you down though you don’t truly need it, he ties off Roach before following you into the warmth of the small house.

As soon as you stand in front of the dying fire do your eyes fill with unshed tears while you bite your lip anxiously. Geralt’s gentle gaze falls onto your form as he steps closely in front of you, reaching his hands up to carefully clasp his hands with yours, “Tell me why this bear is so special to you, please Y/N?” He quietly asks.

Blinking the tears away you rest a hand onto your wounded shoulder that’s left a red mark through your shirt, though still letting him hold the other one. “That beast is my twin brother Geralt.” His brows raise in surprise still he keeps silent as you continue, “I don’t understand it myself, and neither does he. But ever since we came into this world something has linked our very souls and vessels together so that if one of us is hurt, the other feels it too.”

Blinking hard, the Witcher’s brows furrow even deeper now, “That’s your brother.” He repeats, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing as he starts to connect the dots, “Is this why your hand is hurt and your shoulder is wounded?”

You sigh, tilting your head up to fully look at him, “Yes. When you cut his paw it cut me too, then earlier when that damn archer shot him in the shoulder I felt everything.”

“I could tell you looked in pain, and your cheek.” He brings a hand up to gently caress your cheek, “A fresh scar. I did wonder how that happened.”

“It’s a quick pain, still hurts of course. But it’s something I have always lived with, and it’s something mages would be very inclined to study so you mustn’t tell a soul.” You affirmed through pleading eyes as you suddenly pull apart from his grasp when a jolting pain hits you on the temple unexpectedly. “Fuck, what the hell?”

Geralt’s at your side in an instant, “Y/N you’re bleeding.” Worries your Witcher as he grabs a spare cloth and applies it to your head. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes, it’s a simple cut. My brothers thick skull is to thank for that. Dammit if I could only find him.”

“Couldn’t you through some twin bond like you said, maybe that would work?” He suggests.

“Ah shit, fuck...okay yes there is another way...but please don’t look at me differently when I tell you. This is the last secret I promise.”

“Nothing is stranger then this twin link, tell me Y/N I trust you.”

Giving him a kind apprehensive smile do you nod, “My brother isn’t the only one who can change form, I can too. Difference is....I’m a wolf.”

Your heart beats with fear as Geralt begins to chuckle much to your confusion, “A wolf huh? Of course you’re a wolf, I’ve heard this could be destiny of some kind. Do you believe in that horseshit?”

You let out a humorous breath, “Well, I’m a skin-changer and if my twin gets hurt so do I. So...uh....I’m not exactly one to not question what weird shit destiny has in store for me, I mean look, I’m with a Witcher and he hasn’t killed me yet.”

Geralt’s hums, golden eyes shinning bright down at you, “And I don’t ever plan on it.” Oh, Geralt.

He smiles fondly at you though you begin to frown, “Well that’s just it huh, my brother has taken bear form for a while now, he won’t want to come back. And those villagers saw me with him, they’ll know...they’ll hunt for us. Geralt I can’t have him hurt anyone else...but what can I do? There’s only one way to truly reason with him....but I’m afraid.”

“Why? What would happen?” Worries your Witcher.

Your eyes briefly drop to the floor before they shift back up to Geralt, “I must take my beast form to speak with him, he understands me as I am now...it’s just, well I can’t really understand him as a bear.”

“Then we’ll find him.” Mutters Geralt reassuringly, causing a tiny smile to appear on your face, “Together.”

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #30 - The Cybertronian Judicial System is a Friggin’ Joke

Have I mentioned that I’m not a huge fan of court case stories? I think they’re pretty boring, on average, so the last couple of issues have been slightly dragging for me.

Anyway, back to Megatron’s trial. 

Our issue opens up with a full back shot of Ultra Magnus.

Artists take note, he really is built like a capital T.

As Magnus reads out Megatron’s statement retracting his “guilty” plea, we get some decent points as to why. See, telling a guy that you’ll stab him in the brain, so his trial can be over as quickly as possible, maybe isn’t such a hot idea. Megatron wasn’t a huge fan of that, or of how those memories they would’ve yanked outta him would have been used to fuel the Autobot propaganda machine. Why, you may ask?

Well, I don’t know if you knew this or not, but Megatron… doesn’t particularly care for the Autobots, nor the rhetoric they uphold.

I know, I was surprised too!

There’s also the fact that Optimus Prime is the judge on this whole thing. You know. Optimus Prime. Off and on leader of the Autobots, whenever it suits him. The guy who fucked off into space for a year after the war. The guy who threw a hissy fit when someone pointed out that he was compromised the last time they did something like this with Megatron. This guy:

Yeah, there might be a slight conflict of interests here. Remind me again why this had to be a military trial?

Anyway, enough of that, it’s time for a fight scene.

A swarm of Decepticons storm the arena, going after Megatron so they can help him escape. Magnus, though acting as Megatron’s defense, cannot abide by this disorder in the court.

Wild to think there’s a tiny little Pringles man with anxiety in there, isn’t it?

Optimus joins the fray, because there really are, just, so many guys to deal with here. A dude goes to collect Megatron, stating that they brought teleport packs for this little shindig. Megatron isn’t super jazzed about that though, not bothering to grab on before the dude gets shot to death. There’s a brief recess, I guess so the janitorial staff can deal with the mess of corpses littering the courtroom.

Meanwhile, in the present day, Rung’s building a model spaceship in Swerve’s, which is a very brave thing to be doing, seeing how sticky and gross bars can be. Brainstorm’s brought a flask to the bar, and proceeds to pour the contents into a funnel sticking out of his arm.

Our bartender for the evening- I’m assuming it’s evening, but I doubt the concept of time has any real weight in space- is Bluestreak. Bluestreak was stationed on Earth for a while, which is some Phase One stuff, and took a liking to human media while he was there. He’s the guy who handles movie night these days, seeing as Rewind’s too busy being dead to do it, and I doubt Chromedome has the emotional bandwidth to take over for his late spouse.

Bluestreak’s favorite movie is Zulu, a film glorifying the colonialism of the English over the native populace of an African kingdom. Make of that what you will.

Whirl wants to watch À Bout de Soufflé, or Breathless, as it was translated for the English-speaking world, which is a French New Wave film about a criminal who shoots a cop, hides from the police in a journalist’s home, who he seduces and likely impregnates. She eventually finds out what he did, reports him to the police, but then has a change of heart and lets him know what she’s done. He runs, but is shot, and dies in the street. The film is notable for its final scene, in which the following dialogue happens, between the dying criminal Michael, his lover Patricia, and an officer.

Of course, any poignancy would almost certainly be lost on the average comic book reader, and is also somewhat nullified by Whirl praising the film with internet lingo.

Then again, I suppose Whirl would be the type to dismantle any deeper reading of his interest in such a film, lest he be subjected to the horrifying ordeal of being known.

Over with Skids and Riptide, it’s revealed that Megatron’s been teaching classes on the Lost Light, specifically on the Knights of Cybertron. Riptide’s getting an education, because he’s been feeling pretty lost since the war ended- we’ll get to the potential whys of that later on. Swerve isn’t a fan of this community college thing that’s going on, stating that Megatron’s using it as a distraction, so he can devise plots most foul.

Back in the past, Autobot high command is having a talk about what Megatron’s demanding, and man is it a doozy— turns out, since the trial’s happening on Luna 2, the trial proceedings are subject to the laws of the moon. One of these moon laws is the right to request being judged by the Knights of Cybertron. Now, this is a problem, seeing as the Knights of Cybertron have been AWOL for the last several million years, but the law is the law, and you can’t just go ignoring it when someone’s pointed it out.

Bro, your SIC just suggested y’all pull the trial so you could slap it on Cybertron, thus negating any need to pay attention to the Knight law. That’s such a gross miscarrying of justice, it’s genuinely baffling. You’ve got bigger issues going on than flouting. My god, Optimus, you were a cop—

Oh wait, that’s right. Carry on, then.

Back on the Lost Light, First Aid’s checking to make sure that the coffin Rodimus they revealed last issue is true and proper dead. Now, this may seem like a given, but you’ve got to remember that Brainstorm was mostly dead for over a year and a half, and nobody fucking noticed, so it’s probably for the best that they’re checking.

First Aid’s been pretty withdrawn since Ambulon died, so this autopsy is really good for him, since it got him out of his room. Pretty fucked up that it would take a dead body to get him out and about. Has Rung checked in on his poor son of a gun, or has he been spending the last six months getting his professional rocks off psychoanalyzing a genocidal warlord?

Our coffin Rodimus died from having parts of his brain removed, and potentially died screaming.

Yes, that is a Furmanism, thank you peanut gallery, moving on—

Ratchet hands the phone over to Ultra Magnus, saying that a call has to be made, and it can’t be by him, because the callee is mighty upset with Ratchet at the moment.

Oh, I guess he’s fine after all. This must be where the sci-fi bullshit really starts kicking in for the series.

Because seeing your own dead body is likely very traumatic and awful, Rodimus is taking a while to string together his thoughts on the matter. Megatron doesn’t particularly care, because he’s not terribly sympathetic to this sort of thing, and the two get into a spat, where it’s revealed that they’re co-captaining the Lost Light.

Because things weren’t chaotic enough on this fucking ship. Need to mix in some peacocking between the McDonalds twunk and the man who killed half of Beijing.

Back in the past, Optimus Prime visited Megatron in prison to have a little chat. It’s not about that little rescue attempt, though the fact that those Decepticons may have been released from the Lost Light’s brig is certainly interesting. No, Optimus is here to sit way too close to his mortal nemesis on the floor of his room and talk about how Megatron is a sneaky bastard.

You remember the Hellraiser puzzle box from a couple issues back? Yeah, that was a communicube, one that was passed to Optimus to suggest that the trial be held on the moon, so the arena there would be able to hold all the people wronged by Megatron. This seems pretty damn convenient in hindsight, but Megatron swears that the legal loophole wasn’t his only intent when he sent the cube.

Because it’s all about you, isn’t it, Megatron? It’s all about how you’re perceived by future generations. Fuck the guys who had to actually deal with what your personal choices caused to happen.

Megatron wants to make amends with all those who were wronged by him. This doesn’t include being acquitted of his crimes, which, y’know, good- at least he’s being slightly realistic about how this is going to turn out for him.

What he wants to do is find Cyberutopia, so the Cybertronians have a replacement planet, since Cybertron kind of sucks now.

Oh, sorry, did I say realistic? I take it back.

In the present, Rodimus is still bummed out about being dead. Still, the day doesn’t stop just because it’s a bad one, and he calls in the experts.

CHROMEDOME YOU PROMISED TO STOP THIS SHIT

Yeah, no, Chromedome’s fallen off the wagon again, and does his thing on the coffin Rodimus. As he does, Megatron suddenly gets squeamish, Brainstorm pulls out his early early-warning device to lean on the fourth wall, and it’s revealed that the coffin that coffin Rodimus was in was built in the fashion of the Spectralist faith.

All Chromedome can suss out of coffin Rodimus’ memories is the really big important stuff, which includes the speech at Rivet’s Field inviting folks to come join the Knight Quest. Aww, that’s sweet.

With the analysis of the innermost energon complete, the results are in— the coffin Rodimus is a Rodimus. A real one, from the near future. Bummer.

I suppose denial is one of the seven stages of grief, isn’t it?

As everyone argues over whether or not Rodimus is going to die, Nightbeat brings up a good point— there aren’t any numbers carved into the coffin Rodimus’ hand. Rodimus is about to reveal some Ratchet-original wisdom, when things start getting really weird; whole sections of the Lost Light are disappearing.

Over at Swerve’s, Tailgate is regaling his peers with the story of his derring-do against Chief Justice Tyrest. Everyone is very impressed, and this includes our good buddy Getaway.

Jeez, think you’ve got enough antagonist shadows on this guy? It’s almost as if the art’s trying to tell us something about him.

Getaway lays it on real thick, saying that Tailgate could totally be the next Prime, with how courageous and awesome he is, all while completely ignoring Tailgate’s personal space and having a weirdly tiny hand. This seems to seriously bother Cyclonus, who is watching this shit go down from the doorway. Our purple space jet leaves once the drinks start being poured and conversation starts happening. God knows he hates talking about his insecurities.

Then the Pipes is Friggin’ Dead alarm goes off. But Pipes has been dead for a while now, so that must mean something else awful is happening.

Back during the trial, I guess because Optimus has a soft spot for Megatron, he allows him to join the Lost Light’s Knight Quest… even as he says that he could keep the guy locked up until Rodimus and pals find the Knights. However, there are rules to this, and one of the rules is that Megatron must publicly denounce the Decepticon cause.

It is a slow and painful experience for everyone involved, as he reads the statement he was given. It’s an immediate call to action- or rather, inaction.

Geez, think they could’ve made it any more obvious that this was being ghostwritten? I can’t wait to see how long it takes for “Megatron was blackmailed into saying this by the Autobots” to be a plotpoint.

Outside the prison, Ratchet and Rodimus are taking in the brand new Rod Pod, which is genuinely ridiculous in how large it is. Rodimus admits to having taken Atomizer’s list, though he knows that trying to use it to keep those who voted him off would be a pretty shitty thing to do.

Also, no one’s told him about Megatron coming along on the trip. As captain.

Or you could, I dunno, lock him up from the start. Or, if you want to give him a chance to prove himself, slap him into a bottom-rung role, like bilge cleaner, or sewage mucker, or whatever the equivalent would be on a spaceship full of giant gay robots. We don’t have to give the guy any power to hold him to scrutiny— any minimum wage worker will tell you that scrutiny comes far harsher for those who actually carry out orders than those who give them.

But what do I know? I’ve never fought in a several million year war, and I don’t plan to.

Getting back to the list, it seems as if Ratchet and Rodimus are on the same wavelength, in that both agree it’s only going to cause trouble and hurt feelings to keep the thing around. Rodimus destroys it with his usual flare, only to be blindsided by the fact that it was fake this entire time. How does Ratchet know this?

Because his name wasn’t on it.

...Man, that’s gotta sting. No wonder Rodimus was upset enough to not take his calls.

In the present, everyone’s in a panic, as they all bolt for the shuttle bay and start pouring into shuttles. The Lost Light is disintegrating around them, which is sort of a problem. Despite this nightmare scenario happening, Rodimus and Megatron still find the time to be assholes to each other. That’s dedication right there.

As the two bicker, multiple shuttles zip away from the rapidly disappearing ship, including the Rod Pod.

Man, now it really is the Lost Light.