#but it's the most accurate word i could think of

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (vii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: hello. i am late again. i almost gave up but we are here. for better or for worse. i will most likely go back ad edit the second half again ok love u guys mwahmwah

Previous part || Series masterlist

Only after hours, nay, a full day of hunching over his desk, eyes red-rimmed and burning, four crushed cans of energy drinks next to him lending to him the nervous energy of a chihuahua, Bucky realises that there’s no beating it.

He absentmindedly takes another sip of the RedBull, flinching when the taste registers. Either he’d reached his threshold or the medicine flavour had begun morphing into something else entirely. The caffeine didn’t even work on him, so really, he was just placebo-ing himself into having energy. 

Every site he’s visited has had a vastly different interpretation; ones that don't match what he thinks has been happening, or the context past his past provides. Others are simply blatantly wrong based on the additional research he, in his infinite wisdom and totally accurate self-assessment tendencies, has been gathering in the last 3 days. 

The Star. Six of Cups. The Hanged Man.

Bucky knows he could ask someone in real life about this, someone who possibly had more experience than a simple website whose code broke every time he tried to scroll to the bottom. However, that would mean that he had to tell them his dead sister was probably haunting him out of her spite and hatred for the very fibres of his being.

Also, Bucky may be haunted by his dead relatives, but he’s not haunted enough to actually leave his room over it. 

Video consultations were also an option, but he’s convinced that if word got out that Bucky Barnes was half-convinced ghosts were following him around, it would make headlines for a mighty long week. 

Therefore, he resorts to shady, online websites that demand he pay up before giving him the results of the readings they’ve done for him. 

The “lady” that he paid to talk to using Steve’s credit card on mistytarot.com types for a very long time before a message comes through.

The thought bubble disappears for another half an hour, and Bucky thinks hat either she is a complete scam, or it’s run by someone who is about as technologically proficient as Steve was. 

But a message does in fact come through, and it’s enough to have him be covninced that the 20 bucks he blew on Steve’s card was worth it. 

Lady Lilia 

Considering that you think you’re being haunted, The Star could represent the absence of hope. Do you feel like you’re being trapped in darkness? As if you are being abandoned by the universe and with no room for healing?

B. Barneswell i forgot about it until now

Lady Lilia If your sister passed away a long time ago, the reason The Six of Cups may have presented itself is because you may be feeling like you're ensnared in the past, constantly reliving moments that hurt or confuse you, rather than finding peace. 

A frown grows on his face. 

Lady Lilia If you’re haunted by a person who used to be in your life and it is reminding you of past mistakes, The Hanged Man could be because feel like you're stuck in a cycle of stagnation, unable to move forward, as if these spirits are keeping you suspended in a state of emotional paralysis. 

However, if the cards were upright–

Bucky slams the laptop shut, inhaling and exhaling sharply through his nose.

From the corner of his eye, his phone lights up with the fifth missed call in the last ten minutes, but considering that he keeps that thing on silent, he never even noticed.

Shoving aside whatever he may be thinking for the moment, he checks the caller ID, only for feelings of confusion and despair to be immediately replaced with annoyance, or disgust even. 

He calls back anyway, preparing for the worst. 

“Did you drink all my RedBull?” Clint booms the second he picks up.

“No,” Bucky lies smoothly.

“Fucker, I know it was you. Pay me back. With interest.”

“No.”

Clint switches to whining. “You know I need that shit to stay awake at night. Some of us don’t have superhero cocaine in our system.”

“I don’t care, go to sleep at a normal hour.”

“Say, did you drink every last one?” Clint instantly switches to a curious tone for a second. “Because one of them’s not like the others.”

Bucky looks at the cans that littered his bedroom floor. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you what it is over the phone.”  

“Why?” 

“Let’s just say it’s not exactly allowed in the country, but–”

Bucky cuts the call and tosses it onto the bed. 

He runs a hand through his hair, softly exhaling while contemplating whether or not to continue the chat. Steve wouldn’t miss another 20 dollars, he had the wealth of a small prince with all that army back pay bullshit. In fact, Steve should ideally be funding more of Bucky’s endeavours. 

There comes a knock at his door.

Bucky immediately leaps off the bed, sprinting to the door, because he fuckin knows that knock, goddamn it–

He throws open the door before you get the chance to full body slam against it.

“Oh.” You blink, relaxing away from your stance. “Hey. How’d you know–”

“You do this every week,” he breaks in. “You do this multiple times a day.” 

“Don’t you dare say I’m predictable,” you warn, raising a finger. “I’ll start crying right here, then you’ll have to deal with that. You wanna see snot running down my–”

Bucky slams the door shut again, waiting to turn around. 

“Can you take me to the doctor?” Your voice is muffled through the solid wood.

It’s enough to make him hesitate, hand on the doorknob.

“What’s wrong with you?” he inquires.. 

“Nothing, I’m perfect,” you reply instinctively, before course correcting, “Wait, no, I’m sick.”  

He lets his head drop against the door. “Go to the fucking infirmary.”

“The infirmary told me to go to the hospital. Can you just take me?” you bug. “They won’t discharge me unless I have someone with me to drive me back.”

“You have a head injury?” Bucky asks, before following it with, “Actually, that tracks.”

“Rude.” 

“Ask Nat.”

“Nat’s in Lagos.”

“Ask Sam.” 

“Yoga.”

“Clint.”

“Really.”

“Glad to know I’m your first choice,” he mumbles, opening up the door. 

You send him a blistering smile. “You’re my favourite choice.” 

______

“You gotta take this turn,” you instruct, too close to the actual crossing. 

“The nearest hospital’s five minutes away, what the hell are you talking about?“ he points out, eyes on the road. 

“We’re going to the one on King’s Road,” you read off of Google maps. “Take that lef-– well, you missed that. Now you gotta make a u-turn.”

“What’s the problem with Chastain Park?” he demands. “King’s Road is half an hour away.”

“This one’s got all my files,” you insist. “Otherwise I gotta start over and it's so much effort.”

“Aren’t you in a database?”

“Yeah, but not a medical one.”

Bucky lets out something akin to a growl and a groan. “What's the time?”

“Like eight thirty?”

“What’s the time,” he emphasises, because he most definitely had another email due from another lady on the internet who he had sent his cards to a few hours ago. 

“Fine, it’s eight twenty two,” you shoot back.  “Did that make a big difference?”

“Yeah, it did actually,” he fires indignantly, “My life is radically different. You have no way of knowing.”

“Liar. You’re a lying liar, who lies.” You scoff. “And details are for losers.”

“Losers can drive all the way back to drop you off at the infirmary and let them deal with you.”

You relent, flashing him a grin. “This won’t take long.”

“You say this every fuckin’ time,” he groans, before complying and taking a u-turn anyway.

“You’re fucking joking,” he states. 

“No, it’s actually called lying,” you correct casually.  

“Is this an abandoned hospital? What the fuck?” Bucky asks, staring up at the huge decaying building.  

The outside looks run-down, with cracked, weathered brick walls and broken windows. The entrance is blocked off with rusted gates, some sections of which have fallen over. As the car rolls up, the air is thick with a musty, damp smell, mixed with a faint odor of decay.

“Yes,” you say simply, opening the trunk of the car and pulling out all the supplies you had from last time. “Video time. Let’s go.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” Bucky mumbles. “I’d have showed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “You famously never do.”

That’s fair, but also, that was the old Bucky. The new Bucky circa this week is a bit more… invested. He feels the need to gather some more information, and unfortunately, the only opportunity to do that is here.

So for the time being, he decides he will hang on. For purely selfish reasons. 

“Just tell me next time,” he grunts. 

You observe him for a second like you're about to call him out on something, but instead you simply say, “Okay.”

Bucky grabs his usual stuff– the spirit box, a lapel mic, while you levitate the camera. 

“Hello?”

You both look beyond the camera at the same time to someone stalking up to you.

“Who’s there?” demands a middle aged woman with straw blonde hair, wrinkles decorating sunburnt skin, and a navy blue jacket. 

“Uh–”

“Who are you?” she asks, cautiously stopping a few feet away.  

“We’re here on a video shoot,” you inform. “Just wanted to check the place out.”

“Oh, you’re one of them camera folk,” she says, ponting her flashlight at you. “Those ghost hutner types.”

“That’s us,” you agree, flinching from the bright light. “We're from The Graveyard Shift.”

“Who are you?” Bucky cuts in, because why should only the both of you explain. 

“I’ve been working security here for the last thirty years.” She shines her flashlight at the musty place. “Name’s Brenda.”

“Why does an abandoned hospital need a security guard?” Bucky inquires. 

“Management just underwent a shift. White collars are setting up a mall here, so they bought up the whole place, fired everyone and now they’re gonna build an all year ski world or something in there.” There’s a tick in her jaw as she draws it out. “Whole damn place is cursed. They better hope it only burns down.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving Bucky a sideways glance. “Anyway, we’re gonna go check out the place. See if we can find some ghosts.”

“Oh, you’ll see ‘em, alright. Everyone who was collateral damage in the buyout is still in there.” Her voice is distant, arm coming to rest on her hip.  “You’ll have to hit up specific rooms. Y’all got a floorplan?”

“No, figured we’d just wing it.” You pause. “Hospital wing it.”

“Shut up,” Bucky replies on instinct. 

“You’re gonna be spending a lot of time in there if y’all dont know where youre’ heading. It’s a maze,” she continues, ignoring your brilliant joke. “I can show you the rooms, but I can’t guarantee that it has ghosts in there.”  

“Uhhh—” you begin. 

“It’ll cut down your time in half.”

“Deal,” Bucky says immediately, sticking out his hand for a shake.

Brenda sticks out her hand too, only to wince immediately, following it up with a curse.

“What’s wrong?” you interject.

“Damn back’s killing me,” she mutters. “You’d think death would stop the pain, but it’s not let up yet. Come on then.”

Both of your eyebrows knit together at her statement, but she leaves no room for a reply as she marches inward, one hand on the small of her spine. 

Bucky elects to use his phone flashlight, as if he keeps that shit charged above 40% at any given point of time. If anything is not going to make it out of the night alive, it was that thing. 

The air inside is stale and heavy, filled with the scent of mildew and old, rusted metal. All three of your footsteps echo in the silence, reverberating through empty halls with each cautious step. The moonlight  in conjunction with the flashlight casts long, unsettling shadows. The faint taste of dust lingers in the back of Bucky’s throat that he cannot get rid of. 

“Y’all gonna sleep in here tonight?” Brenda pipes up, swinging her flashlight around.

You look at Bucky with a grin that’s alarming.

His face immediately pulls into one of “What the fuck”

“No, we aren’t,” you announce instead. “But do people do that often?”

“You’d be surprised,” she comments. “You’re not the first folks we’ve had here with those fancy shmancy gadgets.”

“That explains how you have a tour all planned.” 

“We get a bunch of you every couple of months.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Bucky cuts in.

She pays him no need. “Y’all run a podcast?”

Bucky looks personally affronted. “No, we do not.”

“We run a YouTube channel,” you offer instead. “It’s for ghosts and stuff.”

“I see,” she considers, tone thoughtful. “So, this will go up online?” 

“Unfortunately,” Bucky murmurs.

“Have you caught ghosts before?”

“Not even one–”

“Several,” you chirp. “And we have a witch cat. Her name’s Alpine.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. “Since when is her name Alpine?”

“I gave her a bunch of options and she told me she liked that best.”

“The cat can’t talk.”

“To you. She and I chat shit everyday,” you dish back. “She hates that stupid fern in your room, she says it smells.”

That fucking fern was not even his idea. But Sam got it for him when he moved in, so there was a zero percent chance it would be leaving any time soon. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“Y’all got a large following?” Brenda interrupts.

“Building towards it.” You look at her before looking at Bucky. “Once we hit a sizable amount and Bucky becomes an official internet boyfriend, we’ll stop the series.”

He sends you a withering look. “We’ll be doing this till I die.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves you,” you dismiss. “You’re a pretty boy and extremely irritable. They think you’re hilarious.”

 His nose twitches, and he feels the need to clear his throat. 

“Your camera records ghosts?” Brenda asks again. 

“We’ve got a bunch of devices. We’ll catch it,” you sound confident. 

“Great, because here’s the first stop,” she says, pressing her shoulder onto a double door.

The door groans as she pushes, its hinges protesting with a long, rusty screech, the cold metal heavy under her hand. A stale gust of air hits your face, carrying the faint smell of rot as the door finally gives way.

She steps back with a small huff, stretching her back with a small, “Shit.”

The pale blue walls had turned greenish, wallpaper peeling away. Counters were covered with a thin layer of dust. Old tools laid unused on the surgical table, once stainless steel but now rusted. 

“A lotta deaths happened in this operating theatre,” she imparts after a bout of stretching. “They thought this place was cursed for a while.” 

The sterile, tiled walls are cracked and chipped, and the old surgical lights hang dim, their bulbs long burned out. The air still lingers with antiseptic that’s long since turned sour.

Bucky feels a little too acquainted with this setting. 

He doesn’t even realise his silence is palpable until you nudge his side, drawing his attention sharply back to you. 

“You doin’ okay?” you whisper.  

“Fine,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the tools and towards you.

It only twists his stomach a little. It makes him think of how different his reactions used to be even a few years go. 

“Old, dingy hospitals may not have been the best idea,” you admit to him, using the flashlight to shine a light in the corner. 

It occurs to him a second later once he forces himself to compartmentalise. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice low. 

“Yeah,” you reply, slowly looking around. “Just looks like my nursery.”

A small crease forms between his eyebrows. 

“Not gonna lie, mine was way prettier. Lot more mould on the walls,” you continue, tone light. “You know, timeless decor.”

His nose lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh. “Leviathan not into blood stain wallpaper?”

“Couldn’t afford it. Fuckin’ place kept referring to itself as Hydra’s sister org but had none of the budget,” you say, swiping a finger across the dust. “You’d think that at least some of the people that left would give alumni donations, but no.”

Bucky snickers at jokes literally no one else would laugh at. It feels good for once, not to feel the need to censor himself to make others less uncomfortable. 

You take a step forward, camera following behind you. 

You shine the flashlight around the room, noting all the surgical trays piled together. 

But something flashes on the ceiling. 

You swing your flashlight toward it immediately, only for the table beside you a few inches away to start rolling, making a loud whining noise as it did, snapping your attention towards it.  

By the time you finally bring the light back up towards the ceiling, it’s gone. 

“What the–” you mumble. 

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up from where he was scrolling through his phone. 

“Could’a sworn I saw–” you frown at the empty space now, only an old defunct looking camera staring back at you. 

“Red eyes?” Brenda inquires, looking at you. “Yeah, that happens.”

Bucky glances up at you, and then the wall. “Probably just the lens glare.”

You scrunch up your face at her. “How’d you know it was red eyes?” 

“That’d be the spirit of ol’ Doctor Damon, chief of neuro,” she says. “You’ll find him here or his cabin, but that’s a few floors away. He never liked climbing the stairs.” 

“Right,” Bucky acknowledges monotonously. 

“When he worked here, he spent so long in surgery that his eyes were always bloodshot. One day he just dropped dead from exhaustion,” Brenda explains. “So his spirit walks around here, red eyes, wheeling surgery tables waiting for the next patient.”

“What’s he doing on the ceiling?” Bucky questions, going back to his phone. “He did his surgeries suspended midair?” 

“Are you trying to gatekeep the ceiling?” you scoff. “Have you never seen Spiderman hanging upside down for fun?” 

Bucky finally lifts his sight from the phone. “The doctor is not an insect superhero, he would have no reason to be hanging upside down–”

“How would you know if he’s a superhero or not? What if he was bitten by a bat?” you challenge. “Like a bat…guy. Batman.”

He jeers. “Then he’s got a stupid codename.”

“Oh, and Captain America is poetic genius.”

“At least Sam has a codename, where’s yours?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe you should have paid attention when your mother was screaming it las-”

“Shall we move on?” Brenda asks calmly. 

“Yes,” the both of you reply simultaneously. 

She doesn’t even bother looking at you, almost as if she’d seen it all in her lifetime. 

“Besides, sometimes you can see him sitting on one of the operating tables. He doesn’t just hang out on the ceiling like… bat…man,” she explains, leading the way back out. 

“See?” 

“See what?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he replies. “There’s nothing to see. That’s the fuckin’ point.”

You shove him lightly. 

Bucky bites back a grin.

_____

The morgue is silent. 

The ceiling is low and chipped, streaked with stains of old water damage, the paint fallen away in patches. 

Against one wall, old, disused morgue drawers stand open and half-broken, the once-sleek stainless steel now speckled with rust. Some of the drawers are bent out of shape, while others are stuck, sealed tight from years of neglect. Inside some of the open drawers, tattered, yellowed tags hang loosely from the handles, swaying gently as the chill air moves through the room.

“This room’s self explanatory,” she says. “Sometimes, you can hear spirits still trying to claw their way out of the drawers but they never open.”

“Skill issue,” Bucky mumbles under his breath.

“Shut up, oh my God,” you whisper-yell, still mouth pulling into a thin line to stop from laughing. 

“What?” Brenda asks, suddenly from near the drawers. 

You had no idea when she even went there. 

“Nothing,” you reply, before thoughtfully asking, “Bucky, truth or dare?”

“No.”

“Dare it is.” You shine a flashlight at one of the closed drawers. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you get in one of them for a few seconds. Let’s see if the ghosts come at you.”

“You're deranged,” he replies, incredulous. 

“It’s for science,” you insist. “How else will you know for sure?”

“I’m sure it’ll be comfortable,” Brenda quips. “Like a coffin.”

The both of you look at her together in silence.

She shrugs. “It’s what I’ve heard from them.” 

You look at her for a second more, before turning to Bucky. “Anyway, if you want I’ll come lie in there with you.”

“How does that make it better?” he exclaims. “I am not lying in the morgue.”

“Even if I’m in there with you?”

“That’s even worse–”

There’s a loud knock from one of the drawers on Brenda’s side. She looks down at it, almost like she was expecting it. Soon, there are further loud thuds that come from inside the remaining drawers. 

“Hey, Magda,” she calls, before more knocks come from inside. “You’ve got visitors. Say hello.”

You grab the spirit box from behind Bucky’s ear and hold it in the direction of the wall. Nothing registers.

“Animals,” he answers the question hanging in the air calmly. 

“The spirits?” Brenda replies. “They’re not gonna like that.”

Sure enough, a few of the drawers start rattling on their own accord.

You look at Bucky with an eyebrow raised.

“What?” he carps. “I’m not gonna go lie down in there, if that’s what you want.”

“Come on, take one for the team,” you whine. 

“You take one for the team.” 

“I’m literally the one pulling all the weight around here. You do it.”

Bucky doesn’t agree with you on the last part, but the first one is undisputably right. He makes a mental note to start contributing a fuckton more if he plans on continuing on in the series. 

The rattling around comes to a halt eventually. 

“If none of you want to get in there, should we move to the next one?” Brenda points to the door. 

“Yes, please,” you confirm, sending Bucky a glare.

She leads the way up the stairs while you both follow, bickering and shoving lightly.

Once upstairs, Bucky glances down the hall, only to  see a large double door that is noticeably different from the rest you’ve seen so far. There’s a fading rainbow drawn on the front, little footsteps painted onto the floor leading towards it.

Bucky hesitates, steps faltering. “Is that the children’s ward?”

“Yes,” Brenda looks over her shoulder briefly. 

For a second, he wonders. Whether it was worth a shot. He hadn’t heard from her since the incident at the house, and the tarot cards have been suggesting nothing but reasons to believe she may actually be there.  

“Are we going to check that out?” he asks. 

“No, there’s nothing there,” she shrugs it off. “No spirits. I’ve asked the others too.” 

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “Are you sure?”

You shoot him an odd look that he refuses to meet. 

“Yep. Next stop’s the other way.”

Bucky spares the doors another long look, before traversing down the hallway with you. 

“Why do you wanna go to the children’s ward?” you query, voice low. 

“Just thought it was worth checking out,” he replies, voice steady.  

“We can always make a run for it and go check.”

“No,” he says, giving you a curt shake of his head, “it’s alright.”

“We’re right down this way,” Brenda calls, turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

“Coming!” you call back before spinning to Bucky. “Hey.”

“What?” he responds, moving at his own brisk pace. 

You tug him back with you with force. 

“What are you doing–’ he hisses.

You link your arm with Bucky’s, pulling him along with you as you walk, shutting him up. He eyes your elbow looped with his and the proximity with which you walked beside him and all of a sudden, the back of his neck feels quite warm, extending down to his chest.

“I think Brenda’s a ghost,” you tell him casually.

Bucky stops in his path, drawn very much back to reality. 

“Keep walking,” you grit through a smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead. Why else is she totally chill with the ghosts here-”

“Because there aren’t any. It’s animals.”

“Why is she saying coffins are comfortable? Why is she talking to the ghosts and knowing exactly where they are and aren’t?”

“I can make shit up too, look,” Bucky comments enthusiastically. “Oh, down the hall is the isolation room. You’ll hear heavy breathing because that’s where the tuberculosis patients were–”

“That’s one of the isolation rooms,” Brenda’s voice echoes down the hall. “It’s next up.”

You yank your arm away from Bucky when he blinks, a bit surprised himself. 

“Are you dead?” you whisper-yell.

“Only ‘cause the government declared it,” he sighs. “Do you know what a fuckin’ pain it is to get undead.” 

“Come on.” Brenda beckons to the both of you with her flashlight. 

With a slight shove, the door to the room swings open easily, but the smell of old paper and mildew floods your senses. 

The bed is now a rusted, sagging frame, the thin mattress long since torn and discolored with age. The once-clean sheets have yellowed and frayed, with remnants of old stains. Thin, brittle blankets lie in a heap on the floor.

The walls are bare, save for a few faded medical charts and broken instruments that were left behind in haste. The small window that once offered a faint glimpse of the outside is now cracked and filthy. The weak, filtered light that struggles through the dust-covered glass barely illuminates the room. 

“Patients who were highly contagious were quarantined here. Some of them died without family by their side, so you can still hear their cries. Some of them have problems breathing, so sometimes you’ll hear it through the vents,” Brenda explains. 

“I bet,” Bucky drags out, sending you a “I fuckin’ told you so��� look.. 

Down the hall, something makes a loud sound, almost like something had crashed into the floor. 

All three of you turn towards it. 

Brenda’s face flickers for a moment before turning back to its regular calm. 

“I think someone’s angry,” she decides. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” you offer.

“I’ll be okay, I’ve known these people all my life. We’re friends,” she comforts. “Oh, sometimes if you look out the door, you’ll see shadows of people in the waiting room down the hall. They’re just old families lingering around, hoping for better results but they always leave upset.”

“Is there no way to get them out of here?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Unless you find a way to fix their disappointment, I doubt they'll leave. They’ll stick around until something improves or changes.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at the implication. If that were truly the case, and not just something he concocted in the deep, self hating crevices of his mind, then he had to figure out which part of the fucked up mess that he was had pissed his sister off enough to come back to let him know she was disappointed. 

You nod at her and she nods, spinning on her heel to exit the room, but not before she stops for a second, hand on the doorframe as she catches her breath, and one hand on her spine.

“Are you okay?” you sound genuinely concerned.

She flashes you a thumbs up, leaving without so much as another word. 

“She’s gonna come back with some bullshit about the hospital canteen staff dropping their pans or some shit,” Bucky remarks.

“Yeah no, that was me. I just wanted her out of the room so we could discuss something,” you wave it off quickly. 

Bucky stares at you.

“What? I dropped a cart. It’s not a big deal. Anyway, listen–”

“She’s not a ghost,” he states resolutely.  

“But what if she is,” you insist, a wicked grin on your face. “Imagine saying we got a ghost tour. By a ghost.”

“I can imagine saying that, yes. I have a very wide and limitless imagination.” 

“Ugh, what if we’re meant to help her find her way back?” You peer over his shoulder to see if she’s walking back. 

In the distance another crash sounds through the empty hallways. Bucky stares at you.

“I’m just making sure, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone” you insist, dismissing it. 

“You could've just closed the door,” he says, extending one hand behind him to slide it closed.

“Don’t do that,” you blurt out.

He stops, eyebrow raised.  

“I don't like when doors are closed,” you shrug it off. “Anyway, back to the point. We should totally figure out how to help her exit this realm.”

He slides the door back open slowly, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“EVen if she were a ghost, which she’s not– she seems happy here. Maybe,” Bucky comments, taking a seat on the worn out bed. “I can’t really tell.”

“She can’t be. Imagine being forced to roam the same hallways over and over again till the end of time.” you shudder. “Sounds miserable.”

Bucky shrugs, poking at the pillow, watching a cloud of dust fly up from it. “Routine sounds fine to me.”

“I’d hate it,” you counter immediately. “I hate routines. Fucking inescapable once you get stuck in one.”

Bucky watches you curiously as you shift up and down the small room. “How do you get anything done?” 

“I can get things done without a routine.” The camera follows your command, checking outside the window or the door occasionally facing Bucky. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he replies, checking the time on his phone. It’d been a while since Brenda had gone to investigate.

“And having a routine totally makes you an easy target. Haven’t you watched any assassination movies?”

“No. I didn’t like bringing work home.”

You look at him in surprise before your face splits into a smile. 

Something makes a noise from the wall adjacent to the door. 

You both look at each other, and he gets off the bed to go see what the deal is. The door is adjacent to the wall, giving him a clear look into the hallway that was still empty. 

A faint wail sounds through the vent above his head. You take quick steps towards where he was, and the camera follows suit, pointing at the grill on the wall.

You stand underneath it, spirit box raised as close as you could get it, but the damn thing picks up nothing. 

Another noise comes through, almost like someone was wheezing, before the vent rattles, stopping altogether.

You stare at it, before taking a gigantic inhale and exhaling obnoxiously, forcing all the air out of your lungs with a wheeze. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky stares at you like you're insane. 

“Well, you can’t just back down,” you argue. “I’m gonna breathe louder than that thing.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.

You give another gigantic inhale and exhale, rattling all the bones in your body, and the faint noise from the vent stops too. 

“We win,” you beam 

 “You’ve completely lost it.”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. I totally won.”

“That’s not what I–” Bucky starts but stops himself when you grin at him devilishly. 

He sighs, asking instead, “Should we go looking for her?” 

“I guess so,” you shrug. “We’re not exactly cut to be her saviours right now. I’m pretty sure she knows the layout of the hospital better than we do if she’s been haunting it for fifteen years.”

“Where did you get that number?” he demands. 

“Does it matter?” you urge. “Didn’t realise you’re a valid ghost only if you have a certain number of years in haunting.”

Bucky ignores you, taking off down the hall. 

“If you had to haunt a hospital or a ship, what would you choose?” you quip, matching his pace. 

“Hospital,” he answers without thinking much.

“Why?”

“I spent a lot of time in them,” he tells you, voice clear. “Steve’s mom was a nurse. We’d meet her there a lot when he got his ribs broken or his nose busted.”

The memory, though faint, is enough to pull a smile from him. 

“He also used to be sick a lot, so I used to come pick up his medicine for him,” he adds. “They used to know us by name because we’d be there nearly every second day.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Every hospital in the state of New York has a chart for Steve even now.”

“Fuckin’ guy just dosn’t learn.” Bucky shakes his head with affection-laced irritation. 

The hallways stretch out endlessly, dim and wide. A few doors line the walls, some ajar, revealing only darkness inside. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the soft sound of you and your footsteps.

Bucky looks over at you. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you hum, small smile still on your face. 

“What would you haunt?

“Ship, I guess,” you reply. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate.”

“Should be your next job.”

“You gonna come with? We’ll turn it into a vlog.

“Fuck no.”

“Well, thanks for taking the time to really consider it,” you sing, not really offended. “Way to let me down gently, Barnes.”  

“What? It’s got nothin’ to do with you.” Bucky clarifies still, pausing before letting out, “I get seasick. Can’t be on water for more than five minutes before I’m throwing up all over the place. You want that in your vlog?”

It’s enough to elicit a laugh from you, that in turn makes the corner of his lip curl.

“We could always–

Right in front of him, something moves darts across the wall at the end of the hall.

It cuts you off mid-sentence too, the both of you glancing at each other before turning towards it again.

Against the glare of your flashlight, another shadow darts across the wall. 

“That’s what she was talking about,” you whisper, slightly in disbelief that she wasn't wrong. “Shadow people. Do you think they got to her?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, continuing to walk on ahead. 

“Um, hello?” you scramble to catch up with him. “Where is your self preservation?”

“Against what?” he asks stoically. 

“That,” you say pointedly at the wall, when another figure darts across the wall and disappears out of sight. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s a shadow, the fuck’s it gonna do?”

“Haven’t you heard of shadow demons? Succumbing to darkness?” you chastise. 

Bucky stops walking, standing solidly in the middle of the hallway.

“Okay,” he says, refusing to budge. 

The hall goes silent, no movement other than the steady rise and falls of your chest. 

You stare at him. “Now what.”

“I'm waiting for them to do something,” he says. “I’m waiting to succumb to the darkness.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you bite, dragging him along with you. “And I’m tired, we’ve been walking for like, eight hundred hours. Let’s go.”

“We’ve been here for two hours,” he reminds you, taking a turn into the corner that the shadows disappeared into. “You did this to yourself.”

“Fine, next time I’ll bring an electric scooter with me.” You huff. “And I won’t even let you use it.”

“Where’d Brenda fuckin’ go?” Bucky mumbles, eyes squinting into the darkness to see if there are any clues.

“Where are you guys going?” Someone pipes up from behind you, sending the hairs on his neck up. 

The both of you spin around instantly, arms clenched in a fighting stance. 

“Sorry, it's a habit to take the scenic route back.” She chuckles, unfazed. “Not a lot to do when you’ve been here so long.”

The both of you lower your hands slowly, letting out an exhale.

“Y’all ready to head out?” she inquires, coolly. “I think it’s time we all get some rest.” 

The walk back is relatively quicker, ater she leads you down a path she calls a shortcut. 

The only thing that slowls you down are the occasional stops you had to make for her back ache.

Right by the entrance of the hospital, she holds onto the door frame again in the midst of explaining who was haunting the basements. 

After a particularly hard exhale and a clamour to stand back up, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat to ask, “Have you tried this stretch?”

“What?” Brenda asks, eyes curious. 

“Learnt it in physio. Doesn’t cure it, but it helps,” he explains, craning his neck to the sides, before taking a step ahead towards her.  

You watch him in thinly veiled delight as he shows her exactly what joint to bend and in which angle, and the degree to which she had to pivot.

He even uncomfortably guides her shoulders in the strangest yoga session you’d ever witnessed. 

“Should help,” Bucky mumbles, taking a step away. 

She raises her shoulders and drops it, lips pursuing and bows raising in a look that seems impressed. The small hunch she carried wit her seems to have disappeared too. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky doesn’t wait for a thanks or anything, taking a step away from her and towards the exit. 

“Now that you’ve fixed her back ache, how do we fix her haunting the place?” you ask lowly. 

“She’s not a fuckin’ ghost, she’s fine,” he whispers back. 

“Nothing about what she’s said tonight is normal,” you argue.

The night is clear and cool when you step out, the musty scent of the building dissipating almost immediately.

“Just say bye, we’re fuckin’ leaving,” Bucky shoots. 

You sigh loudly, giving him a glare at his lack of helpfulness before plastering a smile on your face and turning around. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Brenda,” you say, turning around to stick your hand out. “We sure couldn’t have–”

But she’s gone.

“Holy shit,” you say. 

Bucky looks over his shoulder at the disturbance, before turning around fully. “Oh, fuck off.”

“I told you she was a ghost,” you gush. “You fixed her back ache and now she has crossed over to the other side.”

“Shut up,” he replies, looking all over the place for a sign of where she could have disappeared to. 

“You did it, Bucky, you helped a lonely spirit,” you cheer. 

“I did not.”

“Hey!” Someone shouts from afar, commanding your attention to the gate again. 

“Not again,” Bucky mumbles, eyes snapping shut. 

“More ghosts,” you point out excitedly. “Come on, Charon, ferry those spirits–”

“You ferry your own spirits, I’m going to sleep,” he interjects, fully intending on ignoring the person at the gate and simply getting in the car.

“What are you guys doing here?” A man pants, jogging up to the both of you before Bucky had the time to leave. 

“We were just taking a look around,” you say, sticking your hand out, much to Bucky’s displeasure. “We heard the place was haunted.”

“Ah, I see,” he replies, taking in your appearance. “Podcasters?”

“No,” Bucky replies instantly. 

“We were just leaving,” you cut in. “We already got a tour by this ghost, and Bucky totally sent her to the afterlife.”

“I did not,” he seethes. 

“She disappeared after saying ominous shit this entire evening, what do you call that?” you challenge. 

“Going home,” Bucky responds, frustrated that he was clearly not afforded the same privilege.  

“Uh–” the guy holds up his finger. “--not to intrude, but you got a tour by a ghost?”

“Yes,” you bubble over with excitement. 

“And this ghost… did they have a backache?”

Bucky’s interest piques, the irritation giving way to intrigue . 

“You know her?” you puzzle.

“Uh yeah, that’s Brenda,” he admits sheepishly. “She’s very much alive.”

Bucky would have sworn he had never been this elated in his life, but unfortunately he realises very quickly that he simply does not care.  

 “She said she was a security guard here– wait, who are you?”  you tilt your head at him, seemingly not upset at all. It reduces Bucky’s non-existent triumph even more. 

“Travis Dowell, Labyrinth Inc. representative,” he says, shaking your hand. “We’re–”

“--the company that bought the place,” you complete, eyebrow raised.  

“Yeah.” He nods. “Brenda was a security guard here for nearly thirty years. We had to let go of her when we bought the hospital. We’ve been trying to turn it into an apartment for years, but there’s a lot of red tape that we have to get past because of healthcare reasons.”

“Yeah, she told us that it got bought,” you follow along. 

“Hospital was in the worst financial situation possible. There was just no way out.” He shrugs. “But she was super attached to this place. She didn’t take the redevelopment plans well, so she’s taken it upon herself to make sure it never happens, I guess? I don’t know, she spends a lot of time here convincing people that it’s haunted so that people don’t build anything here. She’s got an apartment close by so she knows when someone’s around. You’ll probably find her there, if you want.”

“You guys know about her?” Bucky questions, crease between his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah, we do,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We sorta ignore her. Her schtick’s annoying, but it’s not the reason we haven’t demolished this place yet. Once all the zoning issues get cleared up, the building’s coming down. And besides, all the PR’s just gonna have people pay a shit ton to stay here. You know, novelty of it being haunted, and all that.” 

“How’d you know we were here?” you ask pointedly. 

“We’ve set up motion sensors in the place?” he replies. “You may have seen them. The red lights in the operation rooms. We know she takes people there.”

“Oh, that’s what that was,” you turn to Bucky who simply shakes his head lightly. 

“Yeah, she really goes the extra mile.” Travis shifts from one leg to the other. “There’s raccoons in the morgue that start running around if she hits the door. What else… oh yeah, she’s made a hole in one of the isolation rooms to make noises through the wall.”

Bucky wonders what will happen of all the footage now that none of it was essentially real. It made sense why she kept trying to find out where the video was going to be posted and how many people were going to view it now, as if a large number of views were going to save her beloved building. 

“So you’ll just let her do whatever until the demolition happens?” you question. 

“If it gets her to stop vandalising our office downtown.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t make a difference to us either way.”

“Right. So the real horror…” you say. “...is capitalism.”

Travis stares at you, before raising and dropping his shoulders. “Sure.”

“Alright.” You blow out an exhale. “Well, was anything about tonight real?”

“I mean, she really does have back pain,” he adds helpfully.

You turn to Bucky. “Net positive, then.”

Sure. Why the fuck not.

“Okay, Travis, thanks for this. You’ve been an immense help,” you say aloud, hoisting the camera onto your shoulders. “You can watch us on The Graveyard Shift, if we can figure out what to do with all these videos now.”

“Sorry about that,” he replies, shoving his fists into his pocket. “Good night.”

You watch as he turns and jogs away to his car that was parked a bit closer to the gate than yours was. 

Bucky plucks the camera off your shoulder and places it under his arm, even though he’s well aware you can carry fifteen of them at once.

“That was fun,” you tell him, seemingly over it already. 

“I’m fuckin’ starving,” he replies. 

Bucky should be glad then, that he didn’t bother with the children’s ward, if nothing about tonight was real–

“Travis, wait,” you shout all of a sudden. “What about the shadows?” 

“What shadows?” he calls back, confused. 

“The shadow people moving across the hall from the isolation room?”

He raises his eyebrows. “We haven't heard reports of that.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hell yeah,” you reply, knocking into his shoulder. “Haunted hospital, baby.”

When you walk into the dining room, you don’t really expect anyone to be there that late at night.

But fiery red hair pulled into a ponytail and an oversized t-shirt perched at the kitchen counter catches you off guard, dulling the arguing between you and Bucky as you argue the logistics of Brenda having a hand in the shadow demons. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Nat keeps her mug down on the counter before hopping off the chair. You note that it’s the same one you got her a few weeks ago from the flea market, the blue ceramic one.

“Oh, hi!” you smile wide, when she pulls you into a hug. “I thought you were in Lagos.”

“I was,” she replies, pulling away. “Got done early.”

“Of course you did. Overachiever.”

In the end of the common room, Bucky can hear the faint sounds of late night infomercials play through the TV. Clint’s legs hung off the couch as he lay snoring in front of it, blanket dropped on the floor in a heap. 

“Hot chocolate?” she offers. 

“I’m good, we went to the drive-through before coming back.” You beckon with your shoulder towards Bucky. 

She finally turns to him. “Hey.”

Bucky gives her a curt nod, glad that she’s back safe. 

“Why were you out so late?” She gives him a onceover, before raising an eyebrow. “Together.”

“Hospital date.”

“Video shoot,” he says at the same time, glaring at you. You shrug. 

Nat’s lip trails up into a smirk. “Put on your big boy pants and finally admit your crush?”

Bucky drags a palm down his face. “I do not have a crush.”

“If you say so,” she concedes innocently, eyeing him over the rim of her hot chocolate.  

“Are you all in on this? Do you have a quota to reach?” he groans. “Why’s everyone asking me this?”

“Who is ‘everyone’?” you sound delighted. 

“If you don’t want people to call you out on our shit, maybe don’t walk around with heart eyes,” Nat comments.  

Buck’s look is ice cold, but Nat just gives him a wink when you laugh. 

“Hey, I needed to talk to you about something.” She turns to you. “You free for a second?”

“Always,” you reply in earnest. 

Nat leads you a few steps away, hand on your shoulder.  

Bucky takes his seat at the counter, stealing a sip from Nat’s mug. Of course, it was fantastic. Overachiever.

He tunes out intentionally, focusing on the fact that Clint was splayed out on the couch with the TV on a low volume. He knows for a fact the blonde was asleep, and probably would wake up with the worst neck pain in his life, but this was the life he chose.

After watching Clint nearly fall off the couch twice, he looks away, not intending on prying on your conversation but vaguely watching the interaction out of the corner of his eye.

He frowns at what he sees. Nat’s face has turned solemn while she talks to you in hushed tones. Your eyebrows were pulled together, arms crossed over your chest. 

Bucky feels a shift in the air, but he’s not sure what exactly has gone down. 

Nat finally tells you something surely, and you nod. She cups the side of your face and you force out a smile at her, before her hand drops.

The both of you make your way back to him. He turns his gaze back to the counter. 

“You owe me a hot chocolate,” Nat tells him, before giving him a quick kiss on the temple and stealing her cup right back. 

“I barely drank any,” he retorts, eyes still trained on you.

The TV clicks off and she drags a half asleep Clint back down the hall to his bedroom while the man rubbed at his shoulders, trailing behind her obediently. 

Meanwhile, you grab a glass of water from the tap, drinking it slowly as you head towards the elevator.

“G’night, Buck,” you tell him, passing by him.

“Hold on,” he says, voice less gruff than before as he watches you, face tight, “What’s going on?

You observe him for a few long seconds, but he gets the sense you aren’t exactly looking at him. Your eyes are slightly glazed over, and your mind is… elsewhere. 

“What do you do when people refuse to let go of something you’ve already escaped?” you ask finally.  

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together tighter.  

“Do you feel like everyone’s eyes are on you?” you say, voice strange. “Like there’s nowhere to go?”

“Where is this coming from? What’d Nat tell you?”

It seems to snap you out of whatever funk you were in, at least partially. “It’s probably nothing.”

His frown only deepens. “Is someone threatening you?”

“No, nothing like that.” You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be fine.” 

Bucky stares after you as you press the button to the elevator. He isn’t really sure what to make of the what you just shared. He isn’t even sure he should ask Nat about it later on considering that she didn’t want him listening in now. 

He watches the light above the elevator light up before a ding sounds through. 

“Just so you know–”  

Bucky’s eyes snap back to you, one step in the elevator. 

“I had a codename, too,” you tell him. “I just never liked it.”

Bucky is only left staring as you disappear into the elevator, leaving him in silence. 

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[duexnuts]

silent | inumaki x reader⋆˙⟡

notes: not accurate to actual regency era london, but it is my attempt!

ch 3: perfect | masterlist | next ch.

It is now calling hour.

To your mother, it felt as if gentlemen suitors were coming in and exiting every minute– showering you with gifts and flowers in the process; however, to you, it felt like the minutes were hours.

You were only waiting for one person– the Duke of York, your dear Duke Inumaki. After all, the Duke was the most coveted suitor this season. You weren’t waiting because you loved him, right? If you two were close, it would look good on paper, in the Whistledown. Not because you loved him.

Across from you sat Lord Itadori and Duke Fushiguro, although it seemed like they were paying more attention to each other than you, the one they had called upon.

“Would you care to listen to my pianoforte?” you inquired. “I have been practising since childhood.”

The pink-haired suitor replied, “That would be lovely, Miss Y/N.”

In response, you rose from the white settee and moved to your piano stool. Seating yourself, you took up your sheet music and began to play Beethoven’s “Für Elise.”

The blonde-haired Duke did not visit that day. Instead, you had your mind picked at by Lord Itadori, Duke Fushiguro, and Lord Okkotsu, who had arrived later than the other suitors.

“Do you plan to have children?” “Have you studied any particular subjects or languages?” “Do you read? Who are your favourite authors?”

Question after question came until the end of the calling hour. You replied honestly to each question, and at the end of the day, you could not help but feel worn. Growing up, you had been quite reserved, often spending your days reading or practising the pianoforte rather than conversing with other ladies in the Ton.

Before heading up to your room, your mother came into the drawing room.

“Duke Inumaki did not call on me today,” you said, disappointment evident in your voice.

Your mother sat beside you on the white settee, placing a hand on your thigh before speaking, “That does not change anything, my dear. Perhaps he has other engagements.”

You nodded, “Perhaps.”

“I am surprised the Duke is the one that is on your mind after all the suitors that came today,” your mother giggled, “It seems you do have some interest after all, dear.”

Perhaps you were interested in the Duke.

Meanwhile, at Zen’in House, two girls were graciously waiting for suitors in their drawing room.

“Miss Maki, there is a suitor outside,” called their housekeeper, “A Prince Kamo.”

The girl’s instantly improved, “Please, let him in”

As Noritoshi Kamo entered the room, Mai left. She knew it was not appropriate for her to do so; however, she could not help but feel bitter at seeing her sister’s success when she had no suitors showing up.

In her mind, she could only think about how she was the prettier sister– she worked hard to be the perfect debutant while her sister was out riding horses and roughhousing with the boys in their family. She had always slightly resented her twin sister, but this season seemed to bring out something in her that she had not realized before.

Walking back into the drawing room, she sat down right next to Prince Kamo, quickly telling him that she had skills in needlework and harp.

Maki glared at her sister and whisphered, “He is calling on me, Mai.”

“Do not be selfish, Maki,” Mai retorted. “I am certain he would prefer to speak with someone possessing more… practical skills than yourself.”

Noritoshi, his face showing surprise, addressed both sisters, “There is no need for such competition. However, it is growing rather late. I shall look forward to seeing you both at the next ball.”

The boy, with haste, exited the room.

“How could you?” Maki demanded, her gaze piercing into her twin's eyes before she turned to exit the drawing room.

“You always get everything,” Mai retorted. “You always outshine me. I merely sought a chance for myself.”

Snickering at her sister’s words, Maki left the room and headed out of the estate.

Across from the Zen’in House stood Miss Kugisaki’s residence.

“It is calling hour,” spoke Nobara’s mother, “It is not appropriate for you to be here.”

“Excuse me, I wish to speak to Nobara for a second, if I may,” requested Maki.

Nobara’s mother, clearly displeased, responded, “Be swift. Suitors may arrive at any moment.”

The black-haired girl took a seat on a settee before addressing Nobara. “Have you been waiting all this time as well?”

Nobara’s nod prompted Maki to continue, “It appears that the entire flock of suitors is occupied at the Iori estate.”

“She seems to be the diamond of the season, after all,” replied Nobara, “Were I a suitor, I too would be calling upon her.”

“I suppose I agree,” Maki sighed, then added, “I had a male caller today, but was thwarted by my sister Mai.”

With Nobara now curious as to what happened, the other ranted about the situation that had occurred.

“Perfect,” you whispered to yourself, looking at your reflection through the carriage window.

You were on your way to the second ball of the season, hosted by the Earl Choso and Countess Yuki Tsukumo. Perfect is what you wanted this ball to be– while getting ready, you had made sure to pay attention to every little detail, making sure every jewel was perfectly positioned on your jewellery and that not a single thread was out of place on your gown.

Had you asked your former self, before your debut, whether she cared for such presentation, she would have answered no. Yet now, something had changed your heart. Perhaps, someone.

As you and your mother entered the ball, introduced by one of the Earl’s housekeepers, you could not help but smile while walking down the steps. As the Ton placed their eyes on you, only one person stood out to you– Duke Inumaki; however, your smile instantly faded after you placed your eyes on him.

He was speaking to Miss Kasumi Miwa. Well, rather, she was speaking to him and he was listening, but he was listening intently. He looked genuinely interested in what she had to say.

Your heart dropped as you whispered to your mother, “He is conversing with another, mama.”

“Y/N, do not overreact. It is still early in the season for such sentiments.”

You understood that it was only the second ball; however, you two had shared a dance. It was not as if he had danced with that blue-haired girl that night– he had danced with you after all.

Yet, you decided to listen to your mother, and rather than wandering over to speak to your dear Duke, you went over to Lord Itadori.

Curtseying, you greeted the pink-haired boy, “Lord Itadori. Good evening, it is always a pleasure to see you.”

While you spoke to Itadori about an assortment of topics, Inumaki could not help but stare at you two. Was his expression of interest in you not clear enough?

Miwa seemed to notice this too, as she remarked to the Duke, “If you hold any interest in Miss Iori Y/N, your Grace, you should be dancing with her at this very moment. Do not allow me to occupy your time.”

The Duke quickly shook his head, as if to say he was still interested in speaking to her.

“I am aware of your interest in her. You have been casting glances her way all evening,” Miwa observed, gesturing toward Miss Iori Y/N. “Go to her, your Grace. I will not be bothered”

After hearing the girl’s words, a smile popped onto the Duke’s face as he nodded. Almost immediately, he began walking over to where you were speaking to Lord Itadori.

Immediately after catching eyes with you, he offered his hand for a dance.

“Of course I shall dance with you, your Grace,” you replied with a smile. “Do excuse us, my Lord.”

This left Yuuji with a look of displeasure as you and the Duke departed, but you paid him no mind. You were now dancing with the one who truly captured your interest, the one you hoped might become your love match.

As you danced in time with Duke Inumaki, it felt as though the world had paused. The music seemed to fade into the background as you gently addressed him, “You did not call upon me yesterday.”

“It is quite alright, though,” you replied softly to yourself. “I understand you are a man of many engagements. However, if it is possible, I would very much like to see you tomorrow.”

The Duke nodded in response, smiling as he twirled you across the ballroom.

Perfect. That is how that night felt.

Dearest Gentle Reader, Her Majesty has yet to bestow the coveted title of Diamond upon any debutante, and it appears that this season may indeed lack a true jewel.

Since our last correspondence, the annual Tsukumo Ball has graced us with its presence.

Regarding the Zen’in sisters, it seems Miss Mai is embroiled in a most unfortunate feud with her twin, a discord that has curbed both of their interactions with prospective suitors. Might it be that dear Naoya is not the sole impediment to their matchmaking?

The Duke of York, meanwhile, seems to have taken a keen interest in Miss Iori Y/N. One might wonder if the first proposal of the season is merely a matter of time.

Additionally, it appears that Miss Kugisaki finds herself in a predicament akin to that of her friend Miss Maki—both ladies are conspicuously lacking in suitors.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown

Your housekeeper, Hana, had delivered the Whistledown to you that morning. While walking with your mother, you exclaimed, “This Lady Whistledown… she truly knows nothing.”

“She is well aware of your regard for the Duke, my dear,” your mother replied. “Even she can discern your interest.”

“That is not my concern,” you retorted. “Why does she feel compelled to speak ill of the Zen’in sisters and Lady Kugisaki?”

“Pay no mind to that. It seems you already have a certain suitor calling on you. Make haste.”

a/n: i had posted ch 4 on ao3 already but now that im reading it back, it is COMPLETELY different from what i had written in prev chapters so like, im going to have to rewrite that chapter. oh well. at least this chapter is good :3

[leighsartworks216]

Dove

Sylus x gn!Reader

Dove is the superior pet name I will not listen to any arguments

Warnings: pre-relationship, pet names, banter, guns

Word Count: 311

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"Relax, kitten. I don't bite. Unless you ask nicely, of course."

"Stop calling me that," you huff.

Sylus quirks an eyebrow. His red eyes seem to radiate intrigue. "Oh? And what should I call you, sweetie?"

You have to look away from his piercing gaze. It only makes you more frustrated. As if gathering the nerve to snap at him like that wasn't enough, he just had to look at you with that stupid, smug smirk of his.

His hands are shockingly delicate as he adjusts the intricate straps of your outfit. Instead of concealing your weapons, he said the place he's taking you encourages keeping them on full display. It's a power move, of course. Who's compensating for what, who's packing the most heat, right in plain view.

The holsters rest at your sides, but the straps criss-cross your chest and back, squeezing the fabric of your attire closer to your body. He tightens a strap that runs along the bottom of your ribcage.

"Well?"

You don't have to look to know what he looks like. "... Dove."

"Dove?" He chuckles lowly. "Hardly what one could consider an upgrade. At least 'kitten' is more accurate," he slips your guns easily into the holsters, "with claws like yours."

"Then think of it this way, I'm supposed to be your plus one to these events, right?" You try not to falter as you finally look up at him again. "Don't you want them to think we're together? As equal partners?"

He huffs another laugh, but tilts his head. "Alright, dove. If it helps you play your part."

The air doesn't feel so heavy in your lungs when he steps back. His own holsters mirror yours, hugging his dress shirt tightly to his figure. It's hotter than you want to admit. You compensate by imagining it on some fashion magazine instead of Onychinus' leader.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko 

[talshiargirlfriend]

How to Pet Name Your Vulcan

Happy birthday (month) @strze-lec ! 🥳

You requested fluff and it doesn’t get much fluffier than this 666 word confection…

“Hey, can you pass me that… honey?” Trip asked, grinning cheekily across the table. He had been trying to feel T’Pol out on pet names for a while, mostly in jest. Baby was obviously completely out of the question, but maybe he’d stumble upon something she could appreciate. Or at least tolerate.

T’Pol handed him the jar with what could only be described as a put upon expression, and he chuckled. “Honey’s a no-go then?”

At her slight frown of distaste, he continued. “What about agave? You know, sweet but plant-based. And prickly,” he bobbed his eyebrows.

He expected her to change the subject, but as usual she surprised him.

“It is not that I find the sentiment disagreeable as such. I simply do not understand the preoccupation with food-related monikers.”

“Well,” Trip considered as he slathered honey on his toast. “I guess we tend to associate emotional sweetness with… well, literal sweetness. Verbally anyway. Maybe it’s a language thing? I don’t know how common that is across human cultures, but it’s what I grew up with.”

T’Pol eyed him over the rim of her mug. “In Vulcan I would simply refer to you as my beloved, or my t’hy’la.”

Trip’s heartbeat was suddenly incredibly loud in his ears. Time didn’t slow to a standstill, but it was one of those moments he almost wished it would. This seemed like something he was going to want to remember clearly later.

“You would call me your beloved?” He asked slowly, because he wanted to hear her say it again.

“Yes.” As though it were obvious.

“Well, then why haven’t you called me that before?” he asked curiously, hoping it didn’t sound petulant. “What was the other word - t’hy’la?” He tried out.

T’Pol gave a slight nod before looking down. “First, I believe calling you by your chosen nickname has a similar effect.”

He smiled shyly. “It does. Most people call me Trip, but it feels different when you say it. I wasn’t completely sure if that was just in my head though.”

She looked up at him through her lashes. She uttered no words, but just that soft look set his heart thundering again. Not all in his head then.

“And second?” he prompted when his thoughts caught up.

“I was uncertain if I could properly convey the cultural context of t’hy’la. It does not seem to translate well into your language.”

Trip pushed his plate aside and looked at her seriously. “Try?”

“It is most often translated as friend or lover, but it would be more accurate to say that it is the person closest to one’s katra. The pre-eminent person in one’s life regardless of whether the relationship is otherwise familial, platonic or romantic. There is no direct analogue.” T’Pol eyed him carefully, searching his face for comprehension.

Trip pursed his lips and let her words sink in, not wanting to stumble here. Moments of emotional openness with T’Pol were still pretty rare.

“So,” he hesitated. “It’s maybe kind of like a soulmate? Not like a destiny thing but like… the … the partner - of your heart? Your katra?”

“That is an acceptable explanation, if rather imprecise.” She lifted one eyebrow in a recognisably playful way, and he relaxed. He hadn’t mortally offended her with his clumsy interpretation of her language and culture.

“And that’s what you consider me?”

“It is,” she agreed softly.

He reached across the table to touch her hand gently. “Thank you for explaining it to me. I might not completely understand, but I think it’s really beautiful, my love.”

T’Pol tilted her head and gave him a very soft look. It wasn’t exactly a smile but it conveyed her affection and approval.

“Oh! You like that one?”

“It is preferable to being referred to as a type of sugar,” she said archly, and he chuckled.

“You win, my love. As much fun as it is teasing you, there’s something to be said for keeping it simple.”

“A logical conclusion, t’hy’la.”

—

I went with @jennelikejennay ‘s recent musings on the definition of T’hy’la for this one ☺️

[katerinaaqu]

Heyyy I’ve recently looked at different English translations of the odyssey and noticed smth very confusing when I went to a specific translation (which is Emily Wilson) and her translation started as such :

“Tell me about a complicated man. Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy” now what immediately caught my eye was the complicated which she used for Odysseus and I wanted to ask what you think of that translation?

In other translations it’s always stuff like

“The various minded man”, “that man skilled in all ways of contending (not sure about this one)” or “the man of twists and turns” so yeah I’m well aware of her goal in trying to achieve a more objective and open to the audience kind of translation but given that she translated Agamemnon as a cannibal I’m just kinda playing safe and would love to know your opinion

I see. Well Emily Wilson wouldn't be my first recommendation because she dums down many things and she deliberately twists many words. She is also one of those to my knowledge who supports writings like Miller even though it is clear that Miller doesn't write accurately. Yeah for Agamemnon Emily Wilson translated "cannibal" because she dumped down the phrase:

δημοβόρος βασιλεὺς -> people-eater king

But the term "δημοβόρος" is not literal. It means someone who destroys his own people or someone who steps on others and that has as a result to destroy them. The accusation was spoken by Achilles in his rage. The word δήμος means "people" in the political essence. Not the literal. Wilson seems to have used deliberately the cruel word "cannibal" to dump that down AND judging by the general turning towards her direction to have a certain bias against several characters she seems to deliberately turn the political term into a literal one.

And that is not the only deliberate word she twisted. In the Odyssey for once Odysseus calls Penelope δαιμονίη which means "possessed by a god" or as more specifically "weird" or "unnatural". Wilson translates "extraordinary". Just like with Agamemnon that Wilson seems to be deliberately choosing a negative connotation for Agamemnon, she chose a word that means "unnatural" but also sounds positive too. But Odysseus was not complimenting Penelope, he was complaining. Likewise Wilson seems to mistranslate yet another passage in the Odyssey to deliberately deflect from the hero's motivation especially in an already interesting passage; the testing of Laertes. Wilson translates "with teasing and abuse". There is no such thing in the original text. The original Greek says "he decided to test him because that seemed right to wise people". So Homer called him "wise" for testing the waters. Wilson made it sound like Odysseus felt like doing some sort of psychological torment to Laertes.

As for the passage of the Odyssey, Wilson for some reason translates "πολύτροπον" (=of many ways, of many wiles or of many turns) and she translated it "complicated" for no reason, to fit for her metric system too. Wilson doesn't seem to care for accuracy. She cares for accessibility. Also in her introduction she seems to call towards the modern day feministic approaches and she doesn't speak with the most positive way on the characters such as Odysseus. She also says that the reason The Odyssey doesn't come to an end completely is because Odysseus will always have the desire to "be absent" or "to destroy other people" and yet that seems to have little to nothing to do with the hero. Odysseus was the guy that tried to avoid bloodshed when he could and he even tried to test and spare the suitors and yet of course his war trauma made him uncontrollable and impossible to stop, that much was true that destruction would be inside him but the way she voiced it seemed to me like she truly believed...dunno the way recent retellings wanna picture him as "monstrous". As for the "desire to be absent" I find it funny the very least. The character that identified himself with the name of his son many times instead of his father's out of his need to be there "wants to be absent"? I doubt it. She also conveniently left out the prophecy of Tiresias that dictates that Odysseus has yet to break his curse. The reason The Odyssey is not finishing is simply because Odysseus is not done. The Odyssey was never about a perfect ending of Odysseus's life in the first place. It was about his return to his home and the cognitive trip he had along the way. The fact that his story is a "nostos" aka the return home is simply that. The Odyssey just like The Iliad were never supposed to have a perfect ending to begin with. Wilson deliberately leaves that out and instead she projects it as if Odysseus has some sort of a desire to leave. He doesn't. At least not in the way Wilson presents it.

Last but not least from what I remember she is a full supporter of Telegony being a good continuation of the Odyssey even if it bears so many contradictions to the Homeric text starting from the prophecy of Tiresias for a peaceful death of old age for Odysseus (he dies by a spear in Telegony which we cannot exactly call "a peaceful death" by the hands of his son Telegonus (and even that according to some readings of the Odyssey is also contradicting the "only son line" from Cephalus's line) and he is not seemingly "surrounded by loved ones" either till the whole thing of Odysseus marrying another woman when Penelope is alive even if in Homer he rejected two goddesses and one young Princess for the sakes of Penelope.

As for the translation as I said by her biases alone has several problems but I leave you this post by @alatismeni-theitsa that you can see Wilson vs other translators before her:

And you can see the quality of precision from one or the other. On one hand it is true that Wilson aims to make the translation more accessible to the masses but I think she became so famous because of the projection rather than of precision. And here's my own translation of the same passage:

The man sing for me, Muse, of many twists and turns, who wandered in so many places, ever since he took the holy citadel of Troy

(Translation by me)

As you can see I can translate the words one by one, even focusing on the word "man" instead of starting with the classical way of "sing for me oh muse" for indeed the first word is "man" but what Wilson does is that she mistranslated the passage for the sakes of accessibility and yet the passage is not THAT difficult to begin with given how the words go as such:

ἀνδρα -> the man μοι -> for me ἔννεπε -> sing, chant (imperative) μοῦσα -> muse πολύτροπον -> of the many twists and turns/wiles ὃς -> the one who, who μάλα -> many, a lot, very much πολλά -> many (places) πλάγχθη -> wandered about ἐπεὶ -> ever since, after Τροίης -> of Troy, Troy's ἱερὸν -> sacred, holy πτολίεθρον -> citadel, castle ἔπερσεν -> took, conquered

As you see from your passage Wilson seems to be more interpreting than translating. Is it wrong? Not necessarily, for I have seen interpretative translations before. However you need to beware of these differences and unfortunately for the average reader that doesn't happen (thank goodness that people read more than one translations to get an idea). So no. By no means would I call Wilson "objective". Not at all. Does she do an effort to start with the opening word her translation? Yes. Does she write in a simple language that could bring more people to read the epics? Also yes. Is she objective and accurate? No. As I said Wilson tends to translate with more negative words certain characters while choosing positive for others. She also adds words that are not there to fit in her narrative and the metric system she chose. (By the way she uses pentaton while that is not the initial metric system of Homer but it makes sense that the original metric system would be almost impossible to capture with english text)

So yeah if it is accuracy you are looking for then no Wilson is not my first choice. If you wanna read her because her language is easy for you to understand then go ahead but bear in mind that she is not accurate and she has many different passages that do not correspond to the original. The most faithful text I heard in English is Lattimore although his language is harder and also I personally know the translation of Murray is also very accurate and I use it as reference myself from time to time when I translate from ancient Greek to modern Greek in my brain and then I translate to english. Butler is also very good as well as Feagles who is also very close to the original but also has a better language.

So if accuracy AND better language is what you want to go for I would suggest you Feagles or Butler over Wilson but if Wilson's translation is easier for you to follow (and she does have some good parts in her intros as well, I'll admit that much) then read it by all means but as I said I wouldn't call her objective by any means.

I hope this answers your question, Anon!

[delphiniumjoy]

Listening to music that reminds me of you because I'm a simp

[newtscamandersbf]

’hikaru’ & yoshiki but theyre nennetti

cishet boy best friends behavior nothing to see here 🙈

[theshittiesttriangle]

it is fucking tragic that i will never get to experience watching this show for the first time again

one of the best shows ive ever seen, loved the shit out of it. need to find a place where i can watch it again

this is one of the few pieces of media i am comfortable rating at an 8 or 9/10, up there with prince of egypt

[captain-astors]

勝るとも劣らない歴史と呼ぼうか

"Let's call it a history that will only be surpassed."

[whiteshipnightjar]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOANNA NEWSOM! 🥳️💖🥳️ January 18th, 1982

“If you were a world leader, what would be your first law? Gravity. I feel like we need to tighten up the constitutional protections that particular law enjoys. It’s a ticking time bomb, if you ask me. Who would be your top advisers? Cute angel on one shoulder, cute devil on the other.”

[duexnuts]

silent | inumaki x reader ⋆˙⟡

notes: not accurate to actual regency era london, but it is my attempt!

ch 4: nodding | masterlist | next ch.

Expecting Duke Inumaki, you smiled and prepared yourself for a nice conversation. However, you found a pink-haired boy instead after walking into the room. 

“Lord Itadori! What a nice surprise,” you said, curtseying and sitting across from him. 

“My lady,” he began, pausing for a moment, “I am aware that you were expecting the Duke. However, I could not let this day pass without seeing you, even if my time is limited. You are, without doubt, one of the most enchanting ladies of the season.”

“Oh,” you replied, your cheeks warming, “You are most kind, my Lord. Thank you for your gracious words.”

He inclined his head slightly. “Regrettably, I must take my leave—my father has tasked me with pressing business. Yet, I hope, Miss Y/N, that you might consider granting me your favor this season, despite the... unfortunate rumors surrounding my actions.”

He quickly darted out of the room, offering a polite nod to Hana, who waited at the door with impeccable poise.

“He seems quite the gentleman, my Lady,” she remarked while carefully setting down a tiered cake stand full of macarons and finger sandwiches.

Selecting a macaron, you sighed, “Kind, indeed, but I do wish he were less inclined toward such… promiscuous habits at his gentleman’s club.”

Hana acknowledged your words with a subtle nod before opening the door for your mother.

“Y/N, I am so proud of you—such a flurry of suitors calls upon you each day,” your mother remarked, her tone warm with pride.

You returned her smile, replying sincerely, “I owe it all to you, Mama.”

“Well, my dear,” your mother said with a knowing look, “The Duke has sent word that he is waiting at the gardens. It seems he is eager to promenade with you. There is already a carriage waiting for you outside.”

Meanwhile, Mai, Maki, and Nobara were at the Zen'in’s drawing room. 

“What could they possibly see in her?” Mai asked Maki, her voice heavy with disdain.

Maki replied coolly, “Given that we have Naoya hovering over us, I suspect they see far greater prospects in aligning themselves with the Iori fortune.”

“I am certain suitors will come your way soon enough,” Nobara replied with a gentle smile. “It simply takes time. Both of you are most assuredly beautiful women.”

Both sisters graciously thanked Nobara as Naoya entered the room, his presence immediately commanding attention.

“Lady Kugisaki, I believe it is time for you to take your leave. I must converse with my cousins,” Naoya remarked.

Nobara departed with a subtle glance toward Maki, silently telling her to update on any developments.

Once Nobara left, Naoya turned to Maki, saying, “Lord Okkotsu is here to call on you, Maki. I dare say, he may be a suitable match for you.”

A faint smile came on Maki's lips as Naoya summoned Lord Okkotsu into the drawing room.

“I wonder what Lord Okkotsu sees in you, Maki,” Mai whispered with a hint of disdain, leaning closer to her sister. “You are certainly not as accomplished as I.”

Giving her sister an odd glance, Maki greeted the Lord as he entered the room. 

The sun began to set behind you as you walked side-by-side with the Duke– your mother and sister walking a few paces away.  

“So, your Grace, do you fancy horse riding?” you asked, glancing up at him. After a slight nod from the Duke, you continued to speak, “I find it exhilarating, though I must admit, it is a bit cumbersome to ride in my dress at times.”

He gave you another nod. 

“Have you had the pleasure of visiting France or Italy? It has always been my dream to go to France,” you paused, thinking of what to say next, “Usually during the Summer holidays my family and I just visit the countryside, rather than adventuring abroad.”

As a reply he nodded again, this time mouthing the word “Italy.”

Before speaking again, you hesitated, feeling as if you were just talking to yourself. “Your Grace, I do hope you do not find this too forward, but... might I ask if you would consider sending me letters? It is rather difficult to get to know you with such limited communication.”

A slight look of surprise came over his face, but again, he nodded.

“We should, of course, seek my mama’s permission as well,” you said before gesturing for your mother to come over.

Your mother agreed, which was the end of your interaction with the Duke for the day. You could only hope he would actually send a letter; however, your biggest concern was what the letter would entail. 

The next day, Hana brought you the daily Whistledown.

“Is there any sight of a letter, perhaps from the Duke?” you questioned.

“No, my lady. Perhaps it is too soon for the Duke’s letter to arrive.” 

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Her Majesty continues to keep us in suspense, withholding the announcement of this season's diamond. One wonders if the task might soon fall to this author—an honor I would, of course, undertake with great relish.

In less fortunate news, Lady Nobara Kugisaki, once a favored star of the Ton, seems to have dimmed in her appeal to suitors. Could it be that the once-prominent Kugisaki family is losing its lustre?

Meanwhile, fortune appears to have smiled upon the one of the Zen’in sisters. Much to the evident dismay of her twin, Miss Maki Zen’in has captured the attention of more than one gentleman this season. How long her streak of favor will last remains to be seen.

As for Lady Y/N, whispers abound that her courtship with the Duke has taken a more intimate turn—word of penned correspondence has reached this author’s ears. But one must ask: has our fair Lady sealed her fate too hastily, or is her heart guiding her true?

Yours truly, 

Lady Whistledown

a/n: heheheh... im telling you right now, i have plans that i cannot share with you right now because the haters will sabotage me. i have plans that I cannot share with you right now, because the haters will sabotage me.

p.s. i think im abandoning my ao3 😢 it hurts my eyes when i read on ao3 for too long

[balteus]

christian esotericism is so cool too bad it's heresy 😔

[arsenicflame]

ive been thinking a lot about my relationship with the ofmd fandom recently, and so i got curious about just how much fic of this silly little show ive read.

i dont have an exact way to figure this out- i dont bookmark things so it really is guessing but heres what i can figure based on my history

the first appearance of ofmd in my history is 370 pages in, on may 10th 2022

now, i can't say every single fic since then was ofmd, but i am pretty single minded in my fic tastes. if i say 50% of those fics are ofmd (a low ball, i would expect at least 75%, i can't recall reading anything else in any quantity) that works out at 3700 OFMD fics in 557 days- or a surprisingly low 6 ish fics every day!

(this doesn't even take into consideration fics ive read twice, three times- i know for a fact theres a couple of Long Fics ive read multiple multiple times)

also- the first appearance of an izzy ship fic is the second fic in! he starts appearing regularly on page 368/ 12 may! i honestly thought it was a little further on than this!!

[soullessjack]

unstoppable force (desire to post about how pretty and gorgeous jack is) vs immovable object (knowing it will flop because everyone is still under the shared delusion that he’s a baby) vs unstoppable force (needing to express how absolutely beautiful and lovely he is anyways) vs immovable object (ingrained notion that little to no traction renders my online presence worthless)

[llycaons]

googled medieval dildos out of curiosity and

2000 YEAR OLD STRAPON. FIRST RESULT

[medicinemane]

You know, you have the Whorf hypothesis, which talks about how language might effect how we think

I believe one of the things he (or someone else saying similar things) brought up was the idea that:

If we for instance have barrels which used to contain a toxic chemical that's now empty, but the barrel is still dangerous, does lacking a word for "empty but dangerous" influence how we think about or treat this barrel? Would someone be less cautious around it for instance because "empty" implies to an extent that the barrel is back to how it was before it was filled?

Anyway, this is just me establishing a concept here

My thought here is if poorly fitting words may disproportionately warp people's understanding of concepts

I wonder if by using phrases like "artificial intelligence" we don't meaningfully skew perception of "ai" programs towards a thinking program, even among people who have some understanding of how it works (basically rapidly running a number of calculations until it gets an answer it thinks will be good, it's similar to those "having a simulated bird learn to walk" things you'll see, just very fast)

How much do we end up having certain terms basically become poison pills because of how ubiquitous they've become while being almost totally wrong

I'm not even really talking about things like reasonable terms used wrong, like people saying "gaslighting" when they mean "lying"

It really is specifically with terms like "ai" where... well... where I'm afraid we may have done irrevocable damage to public understanding of something, and where... I don't know that there's a way to ever fix it and shift the language used

Just something I'm thinking about tonight