#but the guy was a soldier and had to return to his home country

[bug-catcher-in-viridian-forest]

once i woke up after dreaming a fucking entire movie and i was so distraught that the movie didn't exist anymore because i was forgetting it by the second that I infrodropped it all in a group chat and they were like "that's actually very long???"

well not even remotely as long as the actual dream was before I started forgetting it, it was a whole movie!!!

[ateliersss]

Oh, take me back to The Night we met

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: 1936, eighty-eight years ago, you met him, the creature that changed your life in a way that goes beyond human imagination. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: Attempted Rape, SA, Murder, English isn't my first language Word Count: 10.162 After the Blooming Family series

⇨ Surprise! I hope you are surprised because I was starting to doubt myself. I actually believed I wouldn't even finish it this year. Anyways, I wrote the finishing 6.800 words in the last seven hours and my brain is mush. I hope it didn't affect the pace or logic of the plot. If so, I will edit it in a few days. Comments are always appreciated.

⇨ Also, if you tell me I wrote an unrealistic reaction to seeing a Yautja's face for the first time, let me tell you, you and I wouldn't be here if I hadn't reacted the same.

1936, Earth

"Thank you, ma'am." The soldier in front of you returned your identity card, the national animal printed on it facing you.

You returned his bright smile with a tight one. You were already used to identifying yourself to patrolling soldiers after work. It was for "safety measures", according to the government.

While you were busy putting away your identity card, the boy looked nervously over his shoulder to his comrade who nodded back to him, encouraging him to finally man up and just tell you what he had rehearsed a dozen times already to eventually make a move on you and ask you out.

"A-And thank you for your service, ma'am!" He blurted out, louder than he intended to, with a soft blush covering his cheeks.

You closed your purse and looked up at him in confusion.

The boy, you now noticed, had to be at least five years younger, probably around the same age as your younger brother, Emil. And you recognized him now, too. He was patrolling around this area two to three times a week.

At your confused face, he gestured a little awkwardly to your uniform, the white dress and blue-grey blouse underneath it. "D-Doctors and nurses are in desperate need in times like these a-and saving lives is a remarkable job!"

"Oh." You looked down at yourself before you pulled your coat tighter around your body and smiled softly at him. "If that's all, I'll take my leave now. Have a good night, gentlemen."

He visibly deflated at your words and mumbled a quick "Have a nice evening, ma'am." but you barely got half of it when you turned around to continue your way back home. The second your back was facing them, your smile dropped.

You hated it, hated this, this so-called life you and everyone around you had to live. Horrible and disgusting things were happening, but no one dared to speak up. You were all trapped, too scared to act, too afraid to do something.

And the people could feel it, the tension that was stretched so tautly that was just waiting to snap. The whole world was holding its breath, deferring that one moment when the match would ignite and reduce everything and everyone to rubble and ash.

Meanwhile, your brother was beaming with pride as he was now considered old enough to join the army and could finally fight for his country. On the other hand, your father, the only other family you still had in this world, was far more reluctant when it came to the plans of the government and his son's naive blindness of patriotism.

No one was talking about the horrifying wrongs your home country was doing for years now, but everybody knew, everybody saw. And if someone even dared to utter a word about it, they disappeared.

That didn't stop your father from ranting about it behind the closed doors of your home. He did so, of course, in Emil's absence. He was family, yes, but nowadays blind obedience could manipulate even a brother and son to go against his own kin.

You loved your brother dearly. He was a good guy and he only held a very strong pride for his home, his people, and his culture. But sadly that was the only thing he acknowledged around others. He denied the "rumors" of a genocide going on and overlooked unintentionally the more sinister motives of others in the world of politics and the military. He was truly and utterly blind, but you couldn't condemn him for that. Not really.

The Great War ended when Emil was three years old and you remembered him crying when your father told him he couldn't participate in it anymore. Ignorant of the horrors that happened at the Front, he and a few boys from around the neighborhood would play war and were disappointed when they were told it was over. The worst part was the elder men sitting on benches near their battlefield, telling them their people were the superior power since they had been able to hold their own against three opposing countries in the end.

You sighed and started to fumble around in your purse for your keys as you reached your destination. After a quick look into the mailbox — the usual evening newspaper and another flyer that encouraged men between the ages of twenty and forty-five to sign up for the military — you made your way up to the first floor and poked around in the lock with the key, a little distracted by the newspaper as you were searching the headlines for anything concerning. There was another report about a skinned man found hanging upside down from a church tower. Unbelievable. At times like this and there was a maniac running around, killing people in the most grotesque way for fun.

"I'm home!" You called into the dimly lit hallway, knowing your father was sitting in his usual spot in the living room.

After dropping your purse next to the wardrobe, toeing out of the white pumps, shrugging off the coat, and hanging it on the coat rack, you walked through the corridor and past five doors. The ones leading to the bathroom and the kitchen were open as always, just like the door of Emil's bedroom. Although it hadn't been inhabited for a few months now, you would always leave it open after cleaning. It was false reassurance, but that way it seemed as if he was still home.

"How was your day?" Your father asked gruffly from his spot on the wing chair, the morning newspaper still in his hand before it got replaced by the evening issue you handed to him with a kiss to his temple.

"It was…"

Screams.

Blood.

Wails of a newborn.

A cold body.

"…long."

"Mhm." Your father hummed, his eyes scanning the front page before turning it. "Hah! Sightings of another black cloud of smoke and the authorities tell the public another farmhouse burned down. Do they think we are stupid? Unbelievable these people! Think they will get away with it, hiding it from the public eye, and no one would notice!"

You weren't entirely sure if he had even listened to you, but you didn't care. You weren't very eager to start a conversation with him anyway.

"I'm in my room. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Though you didn't expect a response, you waited a few seconds — maybe today he would ask if his son had finally sent a letter — before you turned around to retreat to your room.

Since your father had lost his legs in a bomb attack at a munitions factory where he had worked during the Great War, he had changed. A lot. Before, he was quite a gentle and jovial man who worked hard and never shied away from showing how much he loved his family. Nowadays, he was resentful and bitter towards everything happening around him.

It was exhausting, not only listening to his complaints day in and day out but also being nothing more than a maid and caregiver to him. You were the sole breadwinner in this house. You worked yourself to the bone in a business that was equally about life and death but gave you more grief than joy. At least it made the medical care of your father a little easier. The surgery, the medicine, and the wheelchair would have cost you a fortune.

When you would get off work, more would await you at home. Taking care of the household was your responsibility for nine years now since your father wasn't capable of doing it anymore. After the first week of dusting and sweeping, washing the dirty laundry and ironing the clean ones, going grocery shopping and cooking, as well as taking care of your father like washing him, helping him get to the toilet, and such, you cried yourself to sleep with the thought of quitting and running away.

But you didn't.

You were miserable, yes, but you stayed. You stayed with the hope of a better life in the future. Maybe you will be married to a nice man in a few years like your girlfriends already were. You had experience with men, sure, but none of them you would consider fit to be your husband.

In your bedroom, you quickly got rid of your uniform until you were only in your undergarments, a baby-blue silk panty that flowed around your mid-thighs and an uplift brassiere of the same fabric and color, both with a lacy hemstitched design. You were about to throw the white and grey-blue dress into your other dirty clothes when you noticed red speckles on the left sleeve.

Yes, the day had been long, too long for your taste, and when your shift did end, you felt hollow once more. You could still see her in that bed, screaming and crying.

Watching her, you had wondered if you would ever end up like her.

You shifted in your place, second-guessing before you finally turned and looked at your reflection in the mirror that occupied one corner of your bedroom. You hesitantly lifted your hands and placed them on your belly.

No. Your job showed you women struggle and in pain every day. You would never do that to yourself. Being a mother was not worth the probability of taking your last breath during labor, giving your own life while granting another to your child.

Today was another reminder of that.

The girl in the delivery room, Johanna, was sweet and lively. You met her occasionally on a monthly check-up when you assisted the doctor who took her into his care. She would tell you about her and her husband trying for this baby for years and how excited she was.

You bit the inside of your cheek when tears once again started to well up in your eyes when you thought of how helpless you had felt when you stood in that room. Your colleague, an older and more experienced woman, was holding the crying newborn in her arms. The doctor was doing his all to save the unsavable while Johanna's body got colder as the dark red spot grew bigger on the white linen of the bed.

Today had shown you once again that you would never let something like that happen to you.

"You have to incise into her abdomen."

Not ever.

"No!"

Not in a million years.

"No, Mi'ytiar… you have to, you have to."

You would never put someone else's life before yours, not even the one of your never-going-to-happen baby.

"Save our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please."

Sighing, you got ready for bed. You were far too tired this evening to get anything done. The laundry had to wait until tomorrow and your father probably already had eaten, so there was no need to get to the store. For now, you needed to stop thinking.

A whole week passed and you had followed your everyday routine like every other day. Occasionally, when you walked past the room where Johanna had delivered her baby and made her husband a widower, you paused and stared. Instead of the freshly made bed and the stark white linen, you saw her dying as she bled out. You saw the doctor, yourself by his side and the nurse holding the baby at the foot of the bed.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see said nurse smiling pitifully at you.

"You are still there, right?" She asked softly, her eyes scanning your face.

You swallowed and nodded. "It's like that every time I come here. I don't know why. She's not the first I watched dying during childbirth."

The elderly woman patted your cheek and guided you away from the delivery room by the crook of your arm, pulling you away from the sorrowful abyss before you could drown any deeper in it.

"You liked her, that's why." She started, "I had a Johanna, too. A long, long time ago. Although she was a lot younger, she was just as excited to be a mother. Poor thing died just like her baby."

You gasped and now it was you who looked with pity at her. "Why?"

"The baby was stuck." The older nurse sighed, "She pushed and pushed and tore. By the time the doctor started to cut her open, she died of internal bleeding." She had to clear her throat before she continued, "The baby died with her. A little boy. He got himself tangled up in the umbilical cord."

You turned your gaze from her face down to the ground and watched your feet walk an unknown route. Swallowing down your tears, you forced yourself to concentrate on not stumbling over your own feet.

You did like Johanna. You had empathized with her, even though children would never be part of your life. She had just wanted a baby, a part of her and the man she loved united in one body, and all that she got was death. She hadn't deserved it. At least the thought that she might be together with her baby in heaven now, thanks to her belief in God, soothed your heart a little.

"Go home, (Y/N)." The elderly nurse interrupted your train of thought.

Looking up, you saw her holding up your purse and coat. Apparently, she had led you to the lounge where the doctors and nurses spent their lunchtime.

"But I still have six hours to go." You tried to argue but bit down your lower lip when she shook her head.

"If someone should ask for you, I will tell them you didn't feel well and that I sent you home. There are certain benefits as the head nurse." She winked at you, pushed your belongings into your hands, and shooed you in the direction of the exit.

"I promise I will feel better tomorrow." You called over your shoulder and waved at her, giving her one last smile before you shrugged on your coat and left.

Thirty-two minutes later, you got off the bus and turned around the corner into your street, your purse dangling back and forth on your wrist. With your extra five hours, maybe you could finally start that book on your bedside table if your dad wouldn't find any reason to turn your attention to him.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, you walked a little faster, already searching for the key. Like always, you checked the mailbox — nothing again — before you hopped up the one flight of stairs to your apartment, the sound of your heels on the wood filling the otherwise silent staircase.

The noise seemed to attract the woman living across from you because you barely reached the top of the stairs when she ripped her door open and stared at you with wide eyes.

You paused and looked at her in concern. "Mrs. Walter? Is everything okay?" You asked and carefully inched closer to her.

For several moments, you didn't get an answer. Only when you opened your mouth to ask her again did she slowly lift her trembling arm and point past you at something you could not see.

Strange. The only thing back there was your apartment door, so…

The slamming of Mrs. Walter's door barely reached your ears when you turned around. All you could hear was eerie silence, not Mrs. Walter quickly putting her distance between her and the door, not the dog barking from above you that got awakened by the slamming door, not the traffic noises outside.

The door that you diligently locked every morning before you got to work and unlocked every evening when you returned home hung on its hinges. In quick strides, you reached it and ripped off the note that was nailed into the wood under the peephole. Your eyes scanned over the words as you pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

A search was carried out here due to a tip-off of a conspiracy against the country and its people. All residents are requested to report immediately...

Tears clouded your view and made it impossible to make out the rest of the words. But there was no need to. You already knew what you needed to know. Your father was dead, no questions asked, no evidence to prove that he was innocent or guilty, no interference by the judiciary. He had dug his own grave since he started to badmouth and criticize the current sins committed by the government.

You slowly navigated your way through your destroyed home, your hands supporting yourself against the wall, careful not to get caught in something with your pumps. You had to duck under the big shelf close to the entrance of the living room. It was tilted to the side so that the upper part was now leaning against the other side of the wall. Everything that had ever been placed onto it — pictures, plants, certificates, and other little knick-knacks — was now scattered on the floor.

It got even worse in the living room. Everything had been turned upside down. Your father's chair was thrown to the side just like the couch and the coffee table. The books from the huge bookshelf that covered the length of the smallest wall in here were pulled out and tossed on the floor, pages ripped out and strewn on the floor. Pictures were taken from the walls and the glass crunched as you stepped over them. Dirt was covering the floor as if someone had been digging in the soil of the potted plants. The carpet was overturned, partly thrown onto the couch, and revealed the wooden floor it usually covered.

Your living room had been thoroughly searched and you doubted the rest of your home looked any different.

In a daze, you carelessly let your purse drop to the floor and shuffled to your bedroom. Opening the door, you were greeted with a view you had expected — your bed was tilted to the side, clothes from your closet were now scattered on the floor, and your mirror was lying face down on the floor.

When you saw the pictures of you and your family carelessly thrown into the corner, you couldn't hold the sob in any longer. You sank to your knees, curled into a ball, and cried to your heart's content with your eyes squeezed shut.

You lost your mother at a young age, lost your father for the first time after his accident, lost your brother to the country, and now lost your father for the second and final time. Now, you were wholly and utterly alone. Not for long, though. If you didn't come forward and turn yourself into a possible fair trial in the next sixteen hours, you would be taken just like your father and die the same way he did.

Your breakdown had been apparently so nerve-wracking and tiring that when you opened your eyes, it was dark inside your room and outside your window. Groggily, you propped yourself up and looked around, disappointedly ascertaining that you hadn't been dreaming at all. Your eyes scanned your room, still a little out of it, until you spotted your clock on the wall, surprisingly intact. 9:24 PM. Now you had less than ten hours left.

How would you spend your last ten hours in freedom? You didn't know, but you for sure wouldn't do it in here. You needed to leave.

As quick as you could you switched your nurse uniform to a skirt and your favorite blouse, fixed your make-up and your hair to look less like a mess and more like the respectable woman you usually were, and left the apartment after putting on your shoes, coat and grabbed your purse. At first, you strolled around with no real destination in mind, but the darker it got the higher the risk of being stopped by a patrolling soldier.

You had enough money with you to occupy yourself with a few drinks, so why not enjoy yourself, let a little loose? You never really got the chance to try it out. Your job unironically prevented you from unnecessarily damaging your liver and you had the responsibility to take care of your family. Your girlfriends always invited you on girl's night, but sadly, you had to decline almost every time, be it your father or another night shift forced upon you. They had another planned on the weekend in a few days, the first one in a very long time you would have had time for. Not anymore. When they would sit around a table and share the newest gossip, you had already started to rot away in a mass grave.

You entered the first, non-shady-looking bar and plopped down on one of the bar stools on the right. When the bartender finally took notice of you, all he needed to do was to take in your gloomy figure pitifully slumped in your seat to grab a glass and fill it with a brown liquid. No words were spoken — you didn't feel like it and he noticed that — as you grabbed the glass, tossed the liquor back, and placed the now empty glass back down. The alcohol, whatever it was, burned like hell and you couldn't help but cough, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. The bartender, meanwhile, wordlessly filled your glass again and without any hesitation, you emptied that one too.

You spend almost four hours like that. Losing count after your sixth shot, your head started to feel funny, like the world around you was spinning too fast. You mused what your life would have been like if your mother hadn't died when you were just nine years old, if your father hadn't lost his legs when you were seventeen, if your brother had chosen a normal job at your current age. You could have grown up like any normal girl, could have joined your friends more often to hang out, could have started going on dates again after your last boyfriend dumped you for neglecting him.

And what about your future? What about the man you wanted to marry in a few years? Every day, you daydreamed of someone who would just sweep you away in his arms and take you far, far away from here. There had to be a place somewhere where you could live your life in peace without a brewing war and the constant fear of death. You waited for someone who would make your life easier than it currently was, who would take the weight from your shoulders and not add some more on them every single day. Someone who loved you passionately and would spoil you after nine years of labor where you worked yourself to the bone. Someone who would take charge and let you rest when you needed it. Someone who was the other half of your soul that hopelessly awaited to be rejoined with its counterpart.

When you reached out to your glass for the nth time, a hand softly clasped your wrist. Looking up, you saw the bartender giving you the same pitiful look you had received for God knows how often today, from your colleague at the hospital to some of the other patrons who entered and left the bar during the last few hours.

"I think you should get home." He said firmly and pulled his hand away.

No longer being hindered, you lifted the glass up to your lips and emptied it in one go. "I no longer have a home." You dully answered, your speech a little slurred.

"We close in a few minutes." He tried another route, anything to get you to stop drinking.

He may not be interested in what personal business you have to drink yourself under the table, but even he wouldn't let a young woman like you do that to herself.

"Fine." You mumbled, grabbed your purse, and searched for the money that was stored somewhere in there. You hummed when you finally found it and without looking at it, you dropped it down on the counter. "Here."

You held onto the sleek surface of the bar to lift yourself up and from your seat, supporting your whole weight with one hand while you needed several attempts to grab your coat. Not bothering to put it on, you turned to leave and even you were surprised that you could still walk in a (more or less) straight line.

"Hey, you paid too much!" The bartender called from behind you.

Not bothering to stop or turn around, you simply proclaimed, "Keep it. Where I go I won't need it." and pushed the entrance door open.

Outside, you tilted your head up, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It instantly freshened you up and cleared your mind a little. Looking left and right along the sidewalk, you decided to take the left and began strolling wherever it was taking you, once again with no actual destination in mind. You had no idea what time it was, but you guessed you had around five or six hours left. If you're lucky and didn't get held up by some patrols, you could visit the park one last time where your parents, Emil and you would hold a picnic every summer when you were younger. It would only take you ten minutes on foot. It wouldn't hurt to visit the place that held so many good childhood memories and bask in them in your final hours.

You were walking for a mere two minutes when you heard a whistle from your right. Halting your steps, you turned your head to the side and looked over to the source. There, on the other side of the street, were two men sitting on a bench and two standing around them. One was holding a beer bottle while the others were smoking their cigarettes.

"Hey, pretty lady." The one with the beer bottle called over to you and lifted it to toast to you.

You quickly snapped your head back forward and continued on your way, your strides bigger and faster to create as much distance between you and them as possible.

When you thought you were safe, you felt a hand clasping your wrist whose owner pulled you back and against his strong chest.

"Hey, hey, hey." The voice of the man with the beer bottle breathed against your ear, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. "Don't be shy. We were just celebrating my friend's promotion." To your horror, he put his hands on your hips and turned you both to his three companions who had seemingly followed him, all of them wearing leering grins. "Why don't you join us, hm? We could need a little entertainment." He murmured against your neck, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Before he could place his lips anywhere close to your skin, you struggled out of his grip and stumbled a few steps away from him. "I-I'm sorry, but I need to go home. I'm already late."

The man who seemed to be the leader of the bunch stepped closer to you, smirking when you accidentally walked right into one of his friends. The guy immediately held you against him, keeping you in place.

"I think you could spare a couple of minutes." The leader said firmly and reached for your blouse.

Fear seemed to be a great way to quickly sober one up because the next thing you did was stomp down on the foot of the man that was holding you, your heel hitting his toe perfectly, causing him to let you go with a cry in pain and a curse. Next, you rammed your knee into the crotch of the man in front of you and when his body doubled over, you pushed him to the side and bolted down the sidewalk.

Not daring to look back, you sprinted as fast as you could, but the alcohol made it hard to keep balance, not to mention the nausea that bubbled up in your stomach. But you ignored it and tried to keep it down when you heard their calls from behind you, coming closer and closer.

This was not how you wanted to spend your last night, this was not how you imagined it. Tears clouded your view and you narrowly escaped the grabby hand of whatever guy that was closest to you when you ducked down and sharply took a left turn into an alley.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

The next thing you felt was hard concrete as you fell forward when a heavyweight collided with your back. You cried out in pain when you hit your head, then hysterically screamed in panic when you felt hands on your skirt and you started kicking around, not caring if you hit something or not. You heard a grunt when your heel finally made contact with the shoulder of one of them, but you barely had time to bask in your little victory when a punch to your face almost knocked you out cold. Your body went instantly slack, a long-winded groan leaving your mouth.

"Move your ass and hold her down." The voice of the leader sounded from somewhere above you. "And turn her around. I like to watch their face when they give up."

Hands turned you on your back as your screams and cries accompanied your attempts to fight their hands off.

"No… please no." You begged as your wrists were pinned above your head by a pair of rough hands. "No!" You screamed louder, in a high-pitched, panicking voice when your blouse was ripped open, your brassiere following suit, and your chest got groped by a calloused hand.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt an eager mouth around your nipple, harshly sucking on it while your breasts were still in a painfully hard grasp. You tried to gather your last strength, the drinks earlier and then the hit to your head from the fall tempted you to just fall unconscious, but you bucked your body up in hopes you could throw whoever was above you off of you.

Only you couldn't move. Someone was straddling your thighs, hindering you from moving.

You finally forced yourself to open your eyes and the blurry image of the leader pushing up your skirt presented itself in front of you.

"Stop, please! Help!" You started screaming again, causing the leader to sigh in annoyance.

"Could you please shut her up, for fuck's sake? I'm trying to enjoy myself here." He growled at the guy who was holding your hands down, his patience growing thinner with every passing moment he wasn't able to force himself inside you. "When I'm done with her, you get what's left of her."

"No, no, no..." You wailed when you heard the clinking of his belt and a zipper being opened, but you soon got silenced when a palm pressed down on your mouth.

Rather than keep watching him, you closed your eyes in defeat, now only feeling how he moved closer to your crotch, his fingers pushing your underwear aside, and positioned himself against your entrance.

A dull thud behind your attackers stilled them for a moment, but a raging roar got them to whip around. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see whatever feral animal was going to maul you and those men.

A scream, something wet splashing on you and something, someone, heavy landing on top of you got you to finally open your eyes again. You stared right into a gaping hole where the head of a person normally should be. Maybe it was the shock of almost ending up left on the ground in this alley, covered in bruises, blood and bodily fluids after they were done with you, that kept you from screaming.

In a daze, you pushed the corpse off of you and looked down at your body. It was covered in blood, parts of a splattered brain, and white fragments that had been the skull of the leader of the group. His head had burst into pieces. No animal could have done that and no human either. There was no weapon on earth with that much destructive power, so what…

With slow eyes, you looked up from your soiled legs. The guy now lying dead next to you had been obscuring the view of a large creature standing no more than three meters across from you.

Whatever it was, it seemed livid. Its body was heaving with wrathful breaths and its long fingers were twitching, clenching into fists before relaxing them again. Its massive form was hidden by darkness and you could barely make out its silhouette.

It felt like an eternity with you just staring at the creature and it (probably) staring right back. The other assaulters, two of whom had fallen to the ground in shock with the sudden attack on their leader, hadn't dared to move a muscle. Maybe they were in a trance just as you were, not for the same reason, of course.

"H-Hey!" The fourth guy squeaked, breaking the tension that seemed to suffocate the whole alley. "Wha-"

In a practiced, seemingly effortless movement, the creature whipped out its arm, and something silvery shot out of the darkness. It wrapped around the throat of the man, choking him and sending him to his knees. He was clawing his neck and tried to remove what seemed to be a whip made out of sleek silver and grey material. 

You watched him as he desperately tried to free himself and blood started to flow from where the whip was wrapped around his neck down to his shirt, turning the light blue fabric deep red. Your eyes then traveled along the bladed chain, you now noticed, to the other end of it, and found the large creature moving towards you.

If you would have been able to make a sound, you would have, but you were still too out of it that no noise escaped your bloody lips when you were finally able to distinguish your savior. 

It was indeed huge, a massive body that was dwarfing any human being you could think of. Its appearance was bizarre. Its feet and calves up to its knees were in unusual boots made out of metal instead of leather with an interesting design. You wondered if it was the skin of the creature or if it was wearing a net-like cloth that was visible on every body part that wasn't hidden beneath armor like the chest plate that bled over into a full sleeve of its arm. It was covering the left side of its chest but not enough to conceal a rather fit upper body. You found yourself staring a lot longer at the well-defined, almost sculpted abs of it. It was no doubt a male.

As you were eyeing the creature up, he yanked on the whip. You were only aware of a dull thud when the bladed chain cut off the head of the man who had been in its hold. 

You didn't register when more blood sprinkled on you as you were too busy trying to imagine a face underneath that strange mask. With his green, brownish, and beige reptilian skin, the long black tendrils sprouting from the head, the long claws, and the animalistic posture, he was, without a doubt, not human. 

An arm wrapping around your throat from behind, preventing you from breathing evenly, brought you back to reality. You immediately put up a fight, scratching it and pulling on the arm in hopes he would let go.

It was one of the attackers that had fallen to the ground when the creature had appeared. He must have scrambled over to you when his last companion was foolishly enough to run up to the murderous beast, trying to do something quite laughable, only to be impaled by a spear and was now hanging on the wall to the right like he was a portrait above a chimney, the spear rammed through the brick of the apartment building.

The idiot behind you thought the creature would let him go if he was holding you hostage as if he wasn't going to kill the both of you just like his buddies. So foolish, you internally sighed.

"S-S-Stop! I'm warning you!" He screamed at the towering figure which was closing in on you. "I will… I will kill her!"

The creature stopped a few steps away from you and reached behind his back. Quicker than your eyes could keep up, his hand shot forward and he threw something of the size of an orange at the man.

Yelling, the man loosened his grip, his instincts kicking in to fight against whatever was sticking to his forehead. In his struggle, he fell on his back and started rolling around on the floor when the little device made a strange wiring noise. His body went stock still when he was engulfed in a net, restraining him. Then the man screamed bloody murder when the wiring noise grew louder and the device pulled the net tighter around him.

You turned to him, only to see the strings cutting into his skin, drawing blood, until only pieces of his body were left of him, leaving him unidentifiable to whoever would find him and his friends.

Now, it was only you in that alley. You, the beast that saved you and the bloody massacre, turning the place into an image of horror.

You were going to get sick if you stared at what had been a living and breathing human once any longer. Rather than wanting to face the creature when it was going to kill you, you turned back around and then startled back. Said beast was crouching in front of you, the head cocked to the side.

He reached out a clawed hand and you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever gruesome death he had planned for you. You thought back to everything you had achieved in your life, every person that was still dear to you, said goodbye to every place you loved to visit, to the movie you had wanted to watch in a week with a friend, to the unread book on your bedside table and every dream you had wanted fulfill — you had actually planned to do that in a few hours. At least he was going to give you a quick death and not whatever the authorities had done to your father.

Something poked your cheek.

Your eyes snapped open and you were met with a closer view of the strange mask covering the creature's face. His hand was outstretched and a finger was prodding your skin. A strange noise was coming from behind the mask, something you could only describe as a rumbling purr. 

You stayed still, afraid if you would only move a muscle, it would set the creature off and let him drag his clawed finger up to your temple where a trail of blood had started to run from the wound you got from the fall. You hissed in pain when the pad of his thumb stroked — probably unintentionally hard — over your lower lip, the rough skin touching where it was busted. He pulled its thumb away only to replace it with the back of his pointer and middle finger to caress your jaw and down to your throat. The touch caused you to swallow which he most likely could feel. Only when you felt the scaly sensation on your skin dip too deep, too far beneath the ripped remains of your blouse, you gripped his wrist.

The creature's head snapped up where it had followed his exploration. You flinched back at the sudden movement and quickly loosened your hold on his wrist, pulling it away like you had burnt yourself.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice hoarse.

What if you had just signed your death? What if you touching him like that had triggered him? What if he thought you were a threat now? What if he thought of it as highly offensive? What if he was going to kill you now? What if-

A low thump caused you to flinch when he hit the left side of his chest with his right fist. With parted lips, you looked from his fist up to his masked face and then back again, confused, both at the gesture and the lack of aggression towards you. Almost as if he could understand the look on your face, he repeated the action with a little more determination after he inched closer to you. You were more focused on his sudden closeness, daring not to move back, but you hastily turned your gaze down to his fist. It was a little hard to concentrate on what he was trying to tell you after the vast change of demeanor — from murdering in cold blood to trying to… communicate with you?

"You?" You tried hesitantly.

It really was your best guess on what he could mean.

A soft growl reached your ears from underneath his mask, making you tense up but relaxed in relief the second his attention turned to his forearm. You watched in curiosity as his clawed pointer finger ghosted over the armor-like wristband that started flashing in a bright red and made strange beeping noises like when a caller on the other line hung up before you could. Your mouth opened without you even noticing. You had never seen something like it, probably no one ever had. How was it functioning without cables like your telephone and radio did?

"Are you telling me you are married?"

You jumped back a little when a male voice chimed from his wristband.

"To a cup of tea, I will never say no."

"I can't believe you put the jar in the oven!"

You looked at him in astonishment as more voices sounded from his forearm. Human voices.

He kept repeating the same three sentences, but they seemed to get shorter with every replay.

“-telling me you are… telling me… me.”

"-a cup of tea… tea."

“-you put the jar in the… you put the jar… the jar… jar.”

He seemed to be satisfied as he let out a deep, low-pitched chirp before he played the cut and put together word snippets to you, his head facing you now.

“Me-tea-jar.” He hit his chest once again before playing the word again. “Me-tea-jar.”

"Meetja?" You tried the word, tried how it felt on your tongue.

He let out a deep grumble before he played the same word again and leaned even closer to you.

“Me-tea-jar.”

"M-Meetiar. Mi'ytiar."

With his head slightly cocked to the side, he tilted it forward in a one-movement nod as if to say, "Now you got it." and his fist hit his chest one last time.

"You. Mi'ytiar. T-That's your name?" You asked and hoped you put the puzzle pieces together correctly.

Another nod before he pointed at you.

"Oh." You softly said, shifted your hips slightly, and nervously placed a hand on your own chest. “(Y/N). I'm (Y/N)."

“(Y/N).” Your voice sounded from his forearm when he touched his wristband. “(Y/N).”

You couldn't help the small smile and you nodded. "Yes. (Y/N)."

The creature — Mi'ytiar — lowly grumbled in appreciation and you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs with a laugh. You couldn't believe you talked, more or less, to something that undoubtedly didn't belong on earth while you were surrounded by death after being spared from something that would have scarred you for life just because you had been out drinking to have one last night in freedom until you would follow your father in an early grave. Your life really had taken a strange turn in just a few hours.

"What are you?" You asked him and tilted your head to the side.

"Hunter." He communicated with the help of his wristband.

"Where do you come from?"

"Sky."

"Sky." You repeated the child's voice and looked up.

So he came from the sky. You wondered if he meant the clouds or maybe the moon. It could be the stars for all you knew. Was he the only one living there, or were there more? Maybe one like him lived on each star the night sky had to offer.

As you were looking up in thought, Mi'ytiar took his time to admire you. You were, what you humans would use, adorable. He didn't hunt humans very often as they weren't much of a challenge, but sometimes he would visit earth out of curiosity. Your kind was interesting and his ancestors had been quite fond of them when they used them to breed their prey centuries ago. Humans have continuously developed from then to now, so it was fascinating to watch.

Like he watched you now. He admired your wide eyes, the curve of your nose, and your rosy cheeks that displayed the dried tear streaks of panic and fear. He admired the shape of your lips and the cut that had caused you pain when he touched it. He admired your shiny hair that had once been pulled up in a neat bun but was now hanging loosely and messily around your face, framing it like it was a piece of art. He admired your small, shaking hands that were desperately holding the ripped-open blouse together, protecting your modesty and the naked skin of your trembling shoulders when the fabric had slipped down to your biceps. You had been so incredibly warm and soft when he had touched what you were hiding now.

A quiet hiss got you to look back at him and you watched with uncertainty as his fingers first pulled on the one tube that was connected to his mask and then the other before he removed it anxiously slow. You mentally prepared yourself for the most horrific sight of your life, but when the top half of his face was laid bare, you sucked in a breath. It wasn't the foreign shape of his head, the texture of his skin, or the spiky triangle-shaped bumps that circled the sides and the back of his head like a crown, clearly dividing where the roots of his hair ended and his face started. It was his eyes, though an abnormal orange, that was salient and captivating you. They didn't look like what your wildest fantasies had to offer, but they somewhat seemed almost human — a black pupil surrounded by an orange iris. And not just any orange. It was the kind of orange that stretched across the sky at every sunrise and sunset. The only difference you spotted from your own eyes was that he had a black sclera instead of a white one.

You would have gotten lost in them if he hadn't removed the mask fully, so his lower face was showing too. You wouldn't exactly describe it as terrifying, but the sight of his mouth was, to say it simply, unnerving. It was hidden behind four tusks that represented his mandibles. You were fascinated when he suddenly made a clicking noise but were taken aback when he extended the fleshy texture to reveal two rows of teeth. It was like he had two jaws, one when the mandibles were retracted to his face and one when they were extended and showed his actual mouth. His upper jaw held three teeth with two larger fangs on each side, his lower jaw held the same amount only were they a little thinner, so his fangs wouldn't hinder his mouth from closing.

Even after the initial shock subsided, you wouldn't exactly use the word pretty, but there was something about him. Thrilling and particular, astounding and intriguing, but also alluring.

The longer you looked at him, at Mi'ytiar, the more accustomed you got to his appearance.

Another clicking sound reached your ears and you stopped mapping his features with your eyes, only now realizing how he looked down at you with his head tilted to the side. When you mumbled his name, almost as if it took all your courage, he straightened up and his eyes snapped to your hand that had loosened its grip on your blouse. He followed its movement, getting closer to his face, and when you turned your hand so your palm was facing him, his own hand reacted fast and grabbed your delicate wrist.

Bad idea, real bad idea, you thought. He wasn't exactly hurting you, but his grip wasn't exactly soft.

Instead of tugging against his hold in an attempt to free yourself that would obliviously fail, you let your arm go slack. Instead of panicking, you remained calm. Instead of screaming at him to let you go, you kept your mouth shut and waited for his next move. If you triggered him in any way, he would surely kill you.

Mi'ytiar, on the other hand, was amazed by you and in awe. He wouldn't be the first Yautja to be enthralled with a human in this kind of way, sure, but he hadn't expected to be one of them one day. You were extraordinary in the way you looked at him, didn't mind the proximity he had put you in, and apparently seemed to seek for it.

Contrary to what you believed, he pulled your hand closer to his face by the wrist, causing you to move from your side-sit on the floor to get on your knees. Your lips parted in surprise when he pulled his mandibles in and he himself brought your hand up to his cheek.

The sensation underneath your touch was unusual and new. His cheek wasn't like that of a human when you would press the fat until you could feel the jaw bone. It was springy, considering it was only a fleshy layer that covered his mouth. You moved your hand down to his outer jaw, which consisted of his mandible, and followed its length with your palm. You could feel the firm muscle and bone and gave it a gentle, experimental squeeze. Almost automatically, he made a soft purring noise like that one of a cat and you blushed at the possibility that he was enjoying the caress.

You, of course, had no idea that you were touching a highly sensitive part of his anatomy and would be alive to tell the tale afterward.

Just as you were curious about him, he was eager to explore you as well. Carefully, he reached out and through the ripped-open front of your blouse. Seconds later, his palm made contact with your stomach and he could feel how you tensed up. He looked up into your eyes, but when he found nothing that indicated that you despised his touch, his hand ran along to your waist and down to your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your belly. It was strange how you could feel his thumb near your navel and, at the same time, his other fingers on your lower back, taking the width of your hip like it was nothing.

The both of you were too busy in your explorations that you had grown ignorant to your surroundings, so when a scream filled the previously quiet alley, you grabbed his extended arm, not to push it away but to hold onto it in panic, while Mi'ytiar whirled his head around to the two outlines standing near the street at the end of the alley. Your body was hidden by his massive one, so it looked like a monster was kneeling among his freshly killed victims, basking in the glory of his crime.

Mi'ytiar's mandibles flared and the guttural roar that left his lungs made you cling to him in fear. Not of him, but the consequences that you would have to face if those who had stumbled upon this scene without context would call for the patrolling soldiers. You heard more screams and hastily retreating footsteps as the couple ran as if their lives depended on it.

Large hands grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up on his shoulder, causing you to squeal in surprise, and you had barely time to hold onto him before he started climbing up the metal scaffolding of the balconies of the apartment building, jumping up and landing on the roof. With an arm secure around your waist, he jumped and ran further and further away.

And you let him.

2024, Yautja Prime

"What you smiling for?"

And all of a sudden, those purred words were taking you from your past life to your current one. You hadn't even noticed you had stopped drawing random figures and forms on Mi'tyiar's naked chest. At some point, you had started daydreaming with that far-away look in your eyes and a smile slowly making its way on your lips as you were lying on him, between his legs.

"Just thought of the night we met." You drawled lazily and rubbed your cheek against his reptilian-like skin. "My hero in shining alien amour."

"My amour does not shine."

Now you had to laugh. Sometimes, you couldn't help yourself when he was so bluntly clueless. Humans and their analogies were oh-so confusing.

"It's a human saying, my love." You explained as you crossed your arms on his wide chest and rested your chin on them. "A male who saves a female from danger. A male who would sacrifice himself so the female can get away without harm."

Mi'ytiar reached towards your face and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek before he dragged it over your lower lip. You were dreamingly looking up at him, basking in his loving touch. You were placing your hand on his and turned your head to the side so you could pepper his palm with light kisses.

He couldn't help his body's reaction, he just couldn't. He was starved of your touch.

You suddenly stopped your sweet kisses when you felt something big poking your stomach. You looked down, although you could only see how your breasts were pressed against him, before you looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You are insatiable." You smirked and hoisted yourself up after placing one last kiss between his pecs.

You straddled his midriff but left enough space between you and him so you could reach underneath your body and grab his semi-hard cock. Even at this size, you had a little trouble fully embracing it and getting your fingertips to touch.

You hissed when you felt the familiar sting of his sharp mandibles and teeth digging into your skin. You tilted your head to the side and offered him more access. Mi'ytiar let out a feral growl when your blood finally hit his tongue. He relished in it, tasting so sweet, just like the rest of you.

Grasping your hips with both of his hands, his claws scratching your delicate skin, he pushed them down to his crotch.

He needed you again, needed to be so deep inside you, so he could see the bulge of his cock forming in your tummy. Just the thought of it made his hips snap up, barely missing your entrance and dragging his cock through your sopping wet folds that were covered with your combined releases from your last mating moments ago. It elicited a whiny moan and a wiggle of your hips.

"Stop teasing, tanhì. Put it in." You groaned and started rubbing yourself up and down his rock-hard cock, coating it with your mixed cum that was still leaking from your hole.

Mi'ytiar wrapped a large arm around you and started to get up, his other arm supporting himself to manhandle you on your back to be on top. The second your hazy mind registered what he was doing, you placed both of your hands on his chest and pushed him back down. You preened when his body immediately went slack, allowing you to do as you pleased with him.

He was staring up at you with flashing eyes. You didn't take the lead very often, preferring it to be dominated by your mate, but when you did, he was gladly giving you the power you wanted.

The first time you had tried to be on top, it had gone from steamy to ugly pretty quickly. You had been on your back when you tried to push him and switch your position, but since he had been unmovable like a rock, you had untangled yourself from him and told him to lie back. You were straddling his hips, humping his hardening cock for exactly thirty seconds before he flipped you over and on your back again. You had then mewled and tried to push him back once more, causing him to growl. For your attitude, he bit roughly into your throat, hoping it would keep you submissive. You let out a cry and hit his chest with both of your fists. This time, Mi'ytiar showed you his displeasure more vocally when he slammed his flat hands next to both sides of your head and roared right into your face. Safe to say, it scared the living daylights out of you and caused you to escape his caging arms. He, of course, followed you quickly and tried to amend his outburst with purrs and snuggles rather than words.

The next time you were on top, he vehemently focused on staying seated on the edge of your nest with you on his lap as you rode him with his helping hands on your hips. His eyes strayed from the spot where his cock was disappearing inside of you, to the bulge in your stomach that grew and shrunk with every movement, to your bouncing breasts, to your pleasure-contorted face.

After that, he couldn't get enough of you being on top.

The same was the case now as you slowly inserted his throbbing cock into your-

A wail broke the sensual atmosphere, causing the both of you to jerk your heads to the doorway connecting the room to the rest of your home. With your maternal instincts kicking in, you practically jumped up from your mate, his half-inside cock slipping from your tight heat, and ran to the room where the sound was coming from.

Mi'ytiar slumped back with a displeased grunt. He loved his pup dearly, truly he did, but he hadn't been able to mate with you for an eternity — five months, double the time the healer had advised you to keep from being intimate with each other after the pregnancy because a certain someone had been overly cautious with you — and his cock throbbed painfully at that sorrowful thought.

He got up from the nest and followed the direction you had run off to. Your five-month-old pup was sleeping alone in his room for only a short part of his life. Before that, his crib had been standing next to the nest in your room, quickly accessible and in reach should he need any sort of attention. Now, he was sleeping in his big brother's former nursery, which you had lovingly prepared when you had been pregnant with Akail, your first pup.

Mi'ytiar watched you standing in front of the crib in the middle of the room, your back to him, as you rocked the whiny pup in your arms. The wholesome thoughts of his beautiful mate taking such good care of his youngling quickly turned into an animalistic need to breed you once more when his eyes trailed over your curves that had gotten bigger after bearing his second son. They fixed on your legs where trails of semen were running down your skin from between your inner thighs.

He was faster by your side than you would expect from a being of his size. He pressed his bare body against your own, hands on your hips pulling you closer, his cock digging into your back. Mi'ytiar bent down to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck, purring lowly.

"He was just hungry." You whispered as you watched your pup falling back to sleep.

Bending over, you placed your little one back into his crib, careful not to disturb him. You had to bite your lip when you felt Mi'ytiar pull you back against his crotch to rub himself against your ass. All you needed to do was push your ass back into him for him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and turn to leave your son's nursery.

Giggling, you looked back to the pup's crib and whispered, "Dream of the stars, my little Toyah." before you got carried back to your nest.

Masterlist: here

Tag List

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[flawseer]

#14 - "Fish"

Smaugust 2024

Here is Webs. Oh Websy... Perhaps one of the few dragons who can give Starflight a run for his money in regards to attracting misfortune. Much like Dragon Ball's Yamcha, nothing ever seems to go right for this old guy.

Here are some depressing facts about the life of Webs:

He was a soldier who became a pariah among his people for deserting during an important battle. This brought infamy and stigma to himself and his family by association.

He joined a group of political dissenters to end the war and redeem himself. Under their orders he was made to stage a kidnapping of the royal heir, which enraged the local government and necessitated his immediate escape from the country.

His wife got implicated in the kidnapping, and since she didn't flee with him, she was left to bear the brunt of a tyrannical and vengeful queen's fury. She died a cruel death for his crime.

His then-two-year-old son was left parent-less and grew up shunned by the populace for being his kid.

He can never return home, as he is a wanted man and will be killed on sight.

The organization he ruined his own life for later tried to kill him too.

He nearly got himself and his son killed by trying to appeal for mercy to a queen who he knows not to be particularly merciful.

While escaping from said queen he got poisoned and would have died, if his foster children hadn't bailed him out.

He is currently employed by the daughter of the woman who arranged his wife's death.

Said employer is also his foster daughter, who is dating his biological son, meaning said wife killer will eventually become part of his family via marriage.

It is unclear whether he is on good terms with his son, since they don't share many speaking scenes together and live in separate places.

When he was raising his foster children, he had an opportunity to teach the one who shares his heritage about their ancestral language--aquatic--which is very culturally important to their people. He declined to do this.

What he DID teach her is that the primary purpose of said language is to get hook-ups.

There is only a single moment in the graphic novels that shows him smiling.

Said moment occurs in someone else's imagination.

Everything in his life that he ever had a hand in has turned into abject failure. Everything that did not end in failure did so in spite of his actions, not because of them.

This is so sad. Why did I make this list? I'm sad now.

[bejeweledblondie]

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish Headcannons

A/N: I’m very happy y’all are enjoying these!

Warnings NSFW

• Y’all met while you were on a study abroad program

• You had been returning from a night class & decided to go to the local pub for a pint & some food

• It was another soldier that pointed you out initially but he caught your eye

• “Oi, what’s a wee lass like yourself doin’ all alone in the corner?” (It definitely didn’t come out THAT clearly)

• it took you a minute to process what the hell he had said since his Scottish accent is so thick

• You spent hours chatting in that bar, about your home life, studies, etc. Johnny was limited in what he could tell you about his profession

• The two of you exchanged numbers & on your first date he took you to the Scottish countryside

• The view took your breath away, & he explained the history of his homeland to you (he’s very patriotic)

• You’d FaceTime, call, text etc. once you had to return to your home country

• He was so proud to see you graduate (he knew how hard you worked towards obtaining your college degree)

• He told you he couldn’t go to your graduation due to work (it was a lie)

• He planned out a whole secret proposal with your parents over FaceTime

• imagine your surprise when you saw him after the ceremony

• He proposed in private in your childhood house’s backyard

• You initially got married in the states to be able to live with him due to his military service & start receiving housing

• Y’all had a ceremony & reception at a castle in the Scottish countryside complete with a hand tying ceremony

• Yes, you had a bagpiper at the wedding

• He wore a kilt (are we even surprised?)

• Your garter had his last name on it & was in tartan plaid that matched his kilt (yes you had a garter toss & he was in shock when he saw the garter)

• Y’all got a gorgeous little cottage by the sea & ofc a sheep dog to go with it

• He 100% would be hosting for football matches

• And if you’re American y’all would definitely host a Super Bowl watch party

• I feel like he’d love reality tv (especially 90 Day Fiancé & the Kardashians)

• He has commentary too for every scene

• “what a fooking idiot.”

• His favorite Kardashian is Kris Jenner

• Since he can barley keep his hands off of you, he knocks you up only a month after your wedding

• Since he was deployed you mailed him ultrasound photos of the bean

• For a man who is incredibly intelligent it didn’t click that you send multiple photos of the same ultrasound

• He thought he was having quints at first & nearly had a stroke

• “You’re having five of ‘em?!” “No that’s the same fetus just different photos”

• He kept the ultra sound photos in his plate carrier

• Tactical baby gear is a must (also it’s a real company which is awesome)

• Hear me out little baby kilt, Simon gifted it to y’all

• You nearly cried when you opened the gift d

• Simon is 100% the godfather of your baby, if you trust him with Johnny’s life you can ensure if anything happened your baby would be taken care of

• Johnny was lucky that he was able to be there the entire time you were in labor

• He almost fainted when he saw the epidural (I don’t blame him)

• You guys had a little boy

• Unfortunately while you were in recovery he got called back into work for a mission

• Before he left he held your son just incase it was his last time holding him

• You sobbed when he left & one of the nurses had to console you

• Thankfully it was just a hostage rescue so he was back within a few days & ready to help out with the baby

• He carried your son around in one of those baby carriers that your strap to your chest

• Your baby boy is so giggly just like his daddy

• He will constantly be making his son laugh with silly faces, hand motions, anything

• Whenever the boys come over to watch a match your son will be passed around like a hot potato one moment he’ll be sitting with Price then next Simon has him

• As your son gets older he gets interested in what his daddy does, & he’s infatuated with being a soldier

• He’ll play pretend soldier with Soap all the time

• You’re constantly picking up Nerf darts

• When Soap is away on a mission, your son will crawl into bed with you because he misses his daddy

• He draws photos of him & the Task Force to send to overseas

• I also feel like y’all’s son would be incredibly helpful around the home especially when you’re expecting baby No. 2 & after baby No. 2 is born

• Baby No.2 is a little girl

• He’s definitely very protective over his little girl

• “She’s just as beautiful as you, Bonnie”

• Y’all’s son would also enlist or commission to the British Military but I think he’d actually be a King’s Guard for a bit

• And I feel like your daughter would be incredibly creative, she’d use those talents to be an artist

• I do believe Soap is a die hard family man & that’s one of the many reasons why you fell in love with him

✨NSFW��

• He’s definitely a cheeky bastard & will not hesitate to smack, grab, or make comments in public about you

• He’s 100% dominant in the bedroom & loves to be called “daddy”, or even “Johnny”

• He fucked you right before y’all walked into your wedding reception, perks of wearing a kilt

• This man loves your legs & especially your thighs

• He loves to watch you squirm when his hand trails your legs all the way leading up to your pussy

• He’s not quite during sex whatsoever, he’ll full on groan, moan & tell you good you feel

• He’s a sucker for flexibility

• You take up yoga to improve your flexibility

• I definitely believe y’all wouldn’t even make it through the front door when he comes home

•He’d either fuck you on the hood of the car or the damn back seat in the parking lot

• He loves it when you wear his old PT shorts & no panties easy access

• He definitely loves you & your body & would know how to take care of you

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 6

A/N: hey so did you guys know I find writing dialogue infuriating?? English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, weed, smoking, slight mention of manipulation, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Present

The flight to America was long. After leaving the van, Butcher had led the group, including you, towards a private plane. How he had gotten that in his possession, you didn’t dare ask.

"Russia."He had told you when he was asked where the hell you were. All this time, you had thought you were in your own country—the one you were raised in, trained in.

Manipulated in. Shaped in. Lied in.

You hadn’t dared to sleep on the plane. Your eyes were too focused on the people around you, and they, in return, didn’t take their eyes off of you either. It was an endless cycle of silent distrust, like a coiled snake ready to strike at the faintest flicker of weakness.

Butcher, with that permanent sneer etched onto his face, seemed oddly at ease, lounging in one of the leather seats as though this were all routine. The others, however, shifted uneasily, side-glancing at you and occasionally muttering in voices too low to catch. They knew things about you, things you hadn’t been allowed to know about yourself. Secrets planted in you, roots twisting through your memory, leaving a tangled mess you were just beginning to understand.

When the wheels had touched down, the silence between you and the others was heavier than ever. One by one, they had risen, adjusted their coats, hid weapons or stashed them, preparing for…something. You weren’t sure what. Butcher glanced back at you as the group headed for the exit.

"Stick close," he growled, his tone hinting at the consequences if you didn’t. You rose to follow, but a thought tugged at you—the same one that had haunted you for weeks now. Why am I here? You had been trained to follow orders, to be useful. To be a fucking soldier. But now, without a team of your own, without a clear purpose, with complete strangers and a man who didn’t remember you, you felt like a weapon without a target.

As you stepped into the next van, a white one this time, the biting chill of Russia was replaced by the dry, metallic heat of the American air. And the drive was, once again, long, through silent stretches of deserted roads, a landscape that grew more barren and industrial as the minutes ticked by. A landscape way too modern for your liking.

Eventually, you pulled into a shadowy parking lot, a motel shining in its glory on the other side of it. The motel loomed in the dark like a fortress of faded neon, its sign shining so brightly, that it cast a sickly glow on the empty lot in the burning daylight. Butcher muttered something to the driver, then turned to you and the rest of the group with a thin, humourless smile.

"Home sweet home," he sneered. "Get comfortable."

He climbed out, his boots crunching on the gravel as he motioned for everyone to follow. You felt a strange disorientation, a sense that you were stumbling into a world half-hidden, a world that you weren’t quite part of yet.

Butcher led you all through a side door into a bright hallway, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and bleach. The walls were a sickly yellow, way too bright for your eyes. You heard voices somewhere down the hall, muttered and low, a constant hum that seemed to blend into the buzz of blinding lights overhead.

One of Butcher's associates—the scrawny man who you had learnt to be named Hughie—looked back at you, sizing you up, as if he was trying to decide if it would be a good idea to make conversation with you. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth opened regularly, just to be closed again immediately after.

Who names a kid Hughie, anyway?

Finally, Butcher stopped outside a door, fishing a key from his pocket. "This is where we’re holed up for the night." he grunted, throwing the door open. It was a room with multiple doors, making it almost feel like a five-bedroom apartment. You glanced towards the back of the room, where a cabinet held a single device- which almost looked like.. a TV?

The carpet looked soft, patterned with designs you couldn't quite place, and the smell was almost too good to believe. This whole damn situation was too good to believe. Nobody just gets you out of a facility with that much trouble.

Soldier Boy immediately left the main area, opening the furthest door before slamming it shut with such force that you almost flinched.

You were left with the rest of the group, the man whose accent you couldn't quite place dropping onto the couch before lighting what seemed to be a blunt. You frowned upon seeing his actions.

“Is that-“ you started, but the man cut you off almost immediately.

“Want one?”

That shit was illegal, last time you checked. How did he just light up one so casually?

“But, isn’t weed-“Once again, you were cut off before you could finish your sentence.

“Hasn't been illegal for a long time, love,” It was Butcher who had cut you off this time, a teasing smile edged onto his lips. “At least I hope it isn't. Frenchie can’t keep his hands off of the damn shit.”

Frenchie. Ah. Because he was fucking French?

A girl sat down next to him, and it was then you realised she hadn't uttered a single word all this time. But quite honestly, you didn't care. You didn't want to speak to anyone here anyway.

“Give me that.” You muttered as you reached towards the joint hanging from Frenchie’s lips, snatching it from his loose grip and inhaling the sweet drug yourself while taking place on the chair in the corner of the room.

Damn, did that feel fucking good.

“Great. Another junkie. You know how to pick them, Butcher.” The broad, dark-skinned man looked you over, a look of distrust in his eyes, with something you’d say looked like hatred.

Full-on hatred.

He left soon after the words had left his mouth, aiming for the room the furthest away from where Ben had just entered.

“Forgive MM. He’s a li’l tense.” The words left Butcher's mouth like they were rehearsed, almost like he’d had to say them many, many fucking times before.

You looked a Hughie, who had a glint of wonder shining in his eyes. And you decided you could no longer take his silent admiration.

“Just speak up, you're going to get your brain cooked if you think about it any fucking longer.”

Hughie’s face flushed, and he gave a nervous half-laugh. "Right, yeah, sorry. I was just—uh, thinking you might, you know… need anything?"

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Do I look like I need help?"

He shrank back slightly, rubbing his neck. "Well… no. But you do look, uh, tense."

The edge of his voice grated on you, but you found yourself holding back the sharp reply that sprang to mind. Hughie’s wide-eyed sincerity was almost… disarming. Not quite annoying, but close enough to be irritating. You took another drag from the joint, exhaling the smoke in a slow, curling stream that made him squirm under your gaze.

"Maybe I am," you replied finally, as the burn of the weed started to settle in, softening the sharp edges of the moment.

Butcher, sensing the tension as easily as a shark senses blood, chuckled as he slumped onto the couch on the other side of Frenchie, his arm sprawled across the back. "Best to relax, eh? Ain't no reason to trust us just yet, but might as well get comfy." He shot you a pointed look. "Wouldn't want you lashing out at us, soldier."

You stiffened slightly at that. Soldier. The word felt heavy, loaded with every fragment of an identity you’d been handed, and then dragged through hell with. But right now, you felt as if the word was used against you.

A form of manipulation you recognised all too well.

You glanced around the room, sizing each of them up—their guarded expressions, eyes flickering between caution and something sharper. Like you, they weren’t here by choice; they were pulled into the world of someone else’s agenda, their every move shadowed by doubt.

Butcher turned away, seeming to lose interest as he gestured toward Frenchie. "Frenchie, Kimiko, see if you can find us some real food. Nothing from the motel vending machine."

Frenchie and the girl gave a lazy salute, him mumbling something in French as he rose, giving you a quick nod as he passed, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes. You got the feeling he could read you better than most, maybe even better than Butcher, but he wasn’t about to pry. They sauntered out of the room, leaving you and the others in a strangely awkward silence.

Hughie broke it, clearing his throat. "So, um…what’s your story, anyway?"

You shot him a cold look. "What’s it to you?"

He raised his hands in defence. "Nothing, just…you don’t exactly look like the type who follows Butcher around willingly."

"Right," MM added, stepping back into the room. His stare was unyielding as he glanced from you to Butcher, his shoulders tense with barely contained frustration. "Another question I’ve got too. Why’d we pick up this one, Butcher? First Soldier Boy, now Fury?"

Butcher’s smirk widened, almost enjoying the tension. "Easy, MM. Trust me, she’s gonna be useful. This one’s got a… particular knowledge."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "So, what is it you expect me to do, exactly?"

Butcher leaned forward, that dangerous glint in his eye intensifying. "We asked your li’l friend from the past to help us with a problem. He, however, has proven unuseful at the first opportunity to fix it. Along with us, we’d like you to take down a supe named Homelander, together with Vought. Some big fish need taking care of, and you’ve got a rep that says you’re more than capable. Or, am I wrong?"

It was a baited question, but you didn’t flinch. "You tell me. You seem to know a lot about what I can do."

"Only what I’ve heard." Butcher’s tone was amused, but his gaze was sharp, unwavering. "But I figure you’ve been in the dark about most of it. They’ve kept you chained up in that facility for so long, all locked up with nothing to lose but your mind. Well, here’s your chance to earn back a bit of that freedom."

You tensed at the thought. Freedom was something you’d nearly forgotten the taste of, something that had felt like a distant memory until you were thrust into this strange company of misfits. Now it was dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick, but you knew Butcher well enough to know it wouldn’t come without a cost.

You had fucking expected this anyway.

Fucking manipulation all over.

"So what, you want me to play attack dog for you lot?"

Butcher snorted, glancing around the room. "Attack dog, cannon fodder, hell, maybe even an ally. You’re here because you’re dangerous. I figure you’ll either find a use for that, or you’ll find yourself out on your ass. Your call."

The threat was as clear as the invitation. It hung in the air, thick and potent, as you studied each of their faces again. They were all different in their ways—MM with his sceptical eyes, Frenchie with his enigmatic grin, Hughie with his fidgeting nervousness, and Butcher with that smirk that told you he never played fair.

A sliver of something—maybe adrenaline, maybe the weed—flickered in you as you took in the group around you. For the first time in a long time, you felt the urge to fight, not for anyone else’s agenda, but for your own survival, your own questions. Maybe Butcher was right. You’d play his game. For now.

"Fine," you muttered, leaning back into the couch, your posture finally relaxing a bit as you held Butcher’s gaze, unblinking. "Who’s this Homelander, anyway?"

Butcher looked at Hughie before the younger boy walked over to you with a device you couldn’t quite place. He held it up, almost like a picture frame, but the unexpected light coming from the device burnt into your eyes.

“What the fuck is that?” You muttered in disbelief.

“A real son of a bitch, isn't he?” Butcher let out a low chuckle from afar.

“No, the fucking picture frame.”

“My phone?” Hughie spoke up carefully, as if afraid of letting off a bomb when he responded.

“That is no fucking phone.”

“21st century, uh, we got them like this nowadays.”

You would grow to hate his irritating stutter of responses. You already knew that.

Hughie held up his phone once more, and instead of trying to comment on it even further, you took the device from him with foreign precision, as if scared to hold something so far from your mental pictures of life.

As you looked at the image that was shown on the screen, you frowned once more upon looking at the man named Homelander. It was a strange feeling that went through you, almost familiar. You glanced at his facial features, slightly recognising the way his nose hung over his lips and the way his eyebrows framed his eyes almost the same as-

“Who’s he?” you asked before you could dwell on it further, and handed the phone back to Hughie.

“He’s the new Soldier boy.” Butcher answered.

“Great. Another fucking asshole leading a shit team of supes, then.” You muttered, taking another drag from the joint still smoking between your fingers.

Butcher’s grin widened as he watched you process the information. “You catch on quick, love. Homelander’s a bit more than an asshole, though. This one’s got the power of a god and the mind of a tantrum-throwing child. You think Soldier Boy was bad?” He chuckled darkly. “This one’s got a streak of crazy you wouldn’t believe.”

“Doubt that.”

Hughie, still looking slightly wary of you, chipped in. “He’s, uh… not just strong. Homelander’s got all of Vought backing him. They protect him, market him, and turn him into the perfect hero for the public. All the while, he’s probably the most dangerous person alive.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the familiar irritation bubble up. You’d been a weapon for someone else’s whims before, a pawn in a game you hadn’t even known how to win in the end. And now, here they were, trying to sell you on another mission with vague promises of freedom. Still, something about the threat of this “Homelander” stuck with you. Maybe it was the hollow rage Butcher seemed to carry in his words, or the way MM’s shoulders tensed just at the mention of the supe’s name.

But you couldn't shake the feeling about Homelander building in your chest, the confusion making its way to your mind.

Butcher leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. “This ain’t about heroics, love. We’re not out to save the world. We’re out to make sure this bastard doesn’t burn it down just because he feels like it.”

You scoffed, taking another drag of the joint before you exhaled, watching the smoke drift toward the sickly yellow ceiling. “And you think I’m going to be your secret weapon?”

Butcher shrugged, unbothered by your doubt. “We know what you can do. And frankly, I don’t think Vought or Homelander would expect it. They don’t know you’re in the game now, and that’s a hell of an advantage.”

For the first time, you let the thought settle. A weapon Vought didn’t know they’d lost. You hadn’t had a chance to choose your side before, but if you were honest, the thought of putting someone like Homelander down had a certain appeal. A weapon they’d shaped, was now in the hands of the one group that seemed hell-bent on destroying them. There was something poetic about that.

You looked over at the people still present in the room, the strange, broken people you’d been thrown in with. Hughie, nervous but oddly steadfast. MM, controlled anger simmering beneath a calm exterior. And Butcher, the man who looked like he’d die laughing at the end of the world.

You exhaled slowly, letting the thought take root while glancing back at the ceiling.

“All right, then.” You grinned, feeling the old fire flicker to life. “When do we start?”

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

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[hooked-on-elvis]

ELVIS GIVING ALL THE DOLLAR BILLS HE HAD ON HAND TO A SOLDIER.

The White House trip, late December 1970.

Elvis Presley (1) Army years, ca. 1958 and (2) December 1970.

PLANE TRIP FROM LOS ANGELES TO WASHINGTON D.C. ON DECEMBER 20, 1970. I had to snap into action to work out all the details for Elvis’s return trip to D.C.—lining up our airline tickets, making preboarding arrangements, booking our hotel rooms, and hiring limos to get us to and from the airports. There was no way to do this without spending some more of Elvis’s money — I charged most of it to his American Express card. A short while later, with Sir Gerald [Elvis' favorite Limo driver in L.A., according to Jerry] again at the wheel, we were driving back to LAX. It had occurred to me that we might need some cash during the course of the trip. I didn’t have any (not an unusual situation for me back then) and Elvis didn’t have any, either. All we had was his credit card and a checkbook that I’d found in his desk at Hillcrest. The ever-resourceful Sir Gerald spoke up and said that he knew someone at the Beverly Hilton Hotel who might honor a check for $500 on a Sunday night, so we made the stop there and succeeded in getting the money. Elvis handed it to me for safekeeping. We got to the airport and were the first to board our red-eye flight. As the rest of the passengers boarded we noticed that there were an unusual number of soldiers on the plane — guys coming home from Vietnam who had first stopped in L.A. and were now heading back east to their homes, just in time for Christmas. Many passengers recognized Elvis, and he was cordial with everyone who said hello. Before the plane took off, one of the soldiers came up the aisle to stand next to Elvis and talk with him. He told Elvis what a big fan he was, and Elvis took an interest in the young guy, asking him where he was coming from and where he was heading. I saw that the two were having a very friendly conversation, and my attention drifted after a while. It was refocused when Elvis put a gentle elbow in my ribs. “Where’s that money?” “What money?” I asked. But I’d seen enough of Elvis’s gestures of generosity to suspect what was coming next. “The $500.” “That’s all we’ve got, Elvis.” “You don’t understand—this guy’s just come home from the war. He’s going home to see his family. I want him to have the money.” The soldier got the $500, and I was suddenly in the strange situation of traveling across the country with Elvis Presley, [alone and] absolutely penniless. Excerpt "Me and a Guy Named Elvis: My Lifelong Friendship with Elvis Presley" by Jerry Schilling (2006)

A little something extra to add to this story, something possibly easy to understand, but anyway. Think about today… it's becoming increasingly uncommon to pay for things with real money, we mostly use debit/credit cards - even our cell phones and watches can be used to pay for a purchase. Back in the days there were places that only accepted real currency as a form of payment - it was the 70s. Imagine being alone with Elvis Presley, a guy who wanted everything done as quickly and easily as it could be (TCB), wanting or needing to buy something and you, the only one responsible for him, not having the means to buy it and having to find a way to do it fast, out of nowhere! Jerry really wasn't in an easy position at that moment, but everything turned out just fine.

This is just for illustration purposes. Elvis' money clip.

[shuenkio]

-ˋˏ ༻ISEKAI LIFE WITH ENHA ❁༺ ˎˊ-

Paring: Enha X m!reader

Content: Fluff, emotion, [curse words]

Isekai: reincarnated to another world as a mc for a mission

Do not copy my works

Crd to all pics&dividers

Heeseung: The day you were here, was the day of his accession. A crown prince who just became the king of his kingdom, since his father, the previous king got ill in his old age. Despite how fresh he was in this field, his father hired you as his assistant, a royal secretary, he knew that his only son could do everything but he was lacking in making decisions, and he needed some advisor to give him a path, which is you. A few years had passed, and his kingdom was doing well because they had Heeseung who was in charge as a King. But he's not doing it alone, all the royal assistants are included too, especially you. If you are not here with him, he'd make a mistake. His Nation keeps growing and developing however that's not the only thing that grows, his feelings for you are also growing. Ofc the rule can't be in love with a lower class like you but he can't stop the feeling, love is love, the fact that you're a boy, made it even worse nevertheless he doesn't give a damn about it, you make him this way, Love.

"Don't worry M/N, if I can't have you nobody will, and please don't push me away, I've loved you since the day you made my life easier, so please give me this chance to make me yours, and you're mine?" You stood on the spot, unable to open your mouth nor to make a move before a system popped out in front of you and announced "You've completed your secret quest: make King Lee fall for you!" What!

Jay: He'd be likely a Royal captain, a masculine man, who stood strong for his country, a bloody demon war who takes victory home every time. You were reincarnated into his student, a training soldier. However things are kinda complicated for you since this is back in the past, a historical world where they didn't have technology, everything was going along with tradition, religion, manners and behavior was a big problem if you did something wrong. Soon enough after half a year, you have become familiar with your life and now is a royal soldier just like what you had been trained for. You had participated in some war and gained a great experience from it which gives an impression to Jay. One day during the bloody time, Jay was in bad shape while fighting with the other captain, he couldn't move because of his wounds as a result he was on the ground right now, moving his body by using his hands. You too were in critical shape, or maybe even worse than him, blood stained all over your body, every corner however for the love of country, and to protect the captain, you're risking your life by shielding him with your body at the very last moment when the opponent drawing a sword toward Jay. A sword cut through your rib, blood dripping, but that didn't stop you, with a dagger in your hand, pressed through against your enemy too. In return them and you, fall to the ground, lifelessly. Jay's eyes wide open, speechless reaction can't even explain well before taking your body, holding you close to him. A captain never cries, but he might break this rule. He brawled his eyes out, and didn't give a fuck about his surrounding.

"Please stay with me, M/N!! you can't die you can't do that, it's my order!!" He shouted, couldn't accept what he'd witnessed rn. "I-- *coughing* have completed my mission -- my lord! My mission is to protect you at all costs, for now since you're okay I think I can close my eyes peacefully ever after... Thanks for everything Captain - Jay" "System: Mission completed!"

Jake: A cowboy from an unknown village, he's quite a popular guy in the town because of his handsome face. Every girl wanted him so badly that even their body, they can give it to Jake without hesitation. However all their doing is no effort to him, he's recently development his sexuality, and he has only a spot for men. Meanwhile, you are an odd boy, who has white hair with blue eyes in the village, which gives a reason for the people to hate on you because, at that time, something odd is what a demon does. On one fine day, while people are bullying you, throwing kinds of stuff at you, Jake suddenly appear and protects you from all those bad things before saying something to them, and they're gone in an instant. He asks if you're ok, you just reply with a dry response since you don't trust people for now. He Pause for a moment to appreciate your beauty while you reply to him, then snap out after you ask him again. He rubs his nape, asking you if you want to be his friend so he can protect you, you decide to give in and accept his request because he's the only one who cares about you. Day by day passed, he taught you about people's daily life, what should they do, what should they eat, blah blah as well as took you to a different place, the sea, the mountains, a place where you never wanted to visit before. In the end, you fail to keep your feelings and make a decision to confess your feelings to him. Under the starry night, watching the shooting star, both of you sitting beside each other, admiring the night galaxy, he doesn't say anything back once you tell him how you feel toward him. Before letting out a relieved sigh, speak.

"I've been waiting for that line for how long, I like you at the very first sight but I choose to make you confess to me first darling~" "mission: ___✓___"

Sunghoon: You and him are childhood friends, but you don't remember anything since you're just reincarnated into this boy's body which you assume, is a prince. Sunghoon is also a prince so it makes sense that both kingdoms are in a good relationship together. Soon enough, Sunghoon's kingdom is throwing a ball party, his father already has a plan, to find a suitable princess for him by doing this. Sunghoon didn't like it, to say that he freaking hate it, he don't want nobody, he don't need a wife, he don't want to start a family, he want to be free and not follow the king's path, he don't want to be a king. The queen tries to convince him, but nothing will do, he's a man of his word, whatever he spitted he'd never swallow it back. You arrived at the ball, in your nice-looking royal designer suit. You look around trying to find your childhood friend, and then suddenly someone pulls your hand before taking you away to a quiet place. You try to release yourself from this person's grip but fail eventually because of how strong he is, even his face you can't see it. When both of you reached the private place, he immediately stopped, and released your hand before turning around, revealing his face, Park Sunghoon! You question him why did he this before he kneeled and cried, at your knee. You began to panic and asked him why. Why? "Your Highness, you can't do this please stand up, if people see you like this, they might assume things!!" You speak, with your shaking voice, the feeling of scared washing all over your body. "M/n...*sobbing* my father and mother want me to get married, I... I don't wanna do this anymore, I wanted to be free, please tell me m/n what should I do!?" He continues to tear apart, you've never seen him in such a state before. "Your Highness, we can settle this in the Palace, we can't talk about something like this here!" You respond, however, it's didn't work."I don't want anyone but you, I want only you m/n! I know it's crazy to love someone who's the same sex as you but I can't help it... And please d-don't leave me ×2 you are the only one I needed the most" the last sentence when he said that, draws attention to you, making you wonder why in the world he said that. "Pardon your highness I don't understand what you're trying to say... I'm not going anywhere! I'm here" You become all sweaty, there's no way he knows who you are.

"I discovered your diary m/n I know everything, even if your mission had been completed some time ago, just please promise me you won't go anywhere, I LOVE you!"

Sunoo: Sunshine Boy would be the innocent, gorgeous, pretty face, and the son of a rich family in the town. He likes flowers, perfume, accessories, and many nice things that scream pretty! But besides his innocent looking and behavior, he had two faces, where the other one is purely evil, and got in his way, making him pissed off, in the next day there'll be a funeral in the town. However despite this personality, he does it for good, he only bullies those bad, pervert guys who take advantage of the girls. When you were doing your quest during the day, walking through the market in full black, his eyes landed on you, while he was doing his business. He thought you were one of those guys, so he began to follow you until both of you, reached the dark alley. You notice someone is following you, so you quickly hide yourself in the shadows. While he was looking for you, you suddenly appeared behind him and asked in a creepy tone why is he here. But the man was too starlet to the point he almost peed himself, so you took off your hood and revealed your face, which calmed him a little bit because of your kind-looking face or maybe not. He and you exchange information together and soon enough he realizes what you're doing, is the same as him so he wants to team up with you to take out the bad guys in the town for humanity together. You didn't deny it since it's a part of your mission too. A mission together with him every night is like a new experience with you, you get to know a lot of things in this world, how the system works and many more that have shocked you. Later on, one day after putting the bad guys in the cage, at midnight with him, both of you sitting on the clock tower, you know how huge it is. Eating your dinner while he steals a glance at you, makes you wonder after all the work with him, as a duo did he feel the same feeling you just discovered? Probably not, you thought this world was so close-minded about having a relationship with the same sex so you decided to not let any word out of your mouth even though you wanted to. Little did you know, he also felt the same way, he also found out he was drawn toward you, the word I like you is not enough to explain his love for you, he likes you... A little bit much. "M/n? Can I ask you something? Don't be mad at me ok? I'm being honest" he said, looking at the moon, that shining bright. You nod, waiting for his response. "It's crazy we've done this together many times and I feel like this part of me still wants you to be here, working with me for all the innocent live here but I think it's got a bit worse than I thought, I don't think you as a partner, I think you are more than a partner to me, more than a friend, and I'm sorry to feel this way, it's ok if you don't feel the same way, I just feel a pressure in my chest if I don't let it out-" he pauses before continuing.

"I like you m/n even though we just met a few months ago, i like you so much that I dream about it, i like you-" You couldn't bear all his heart confession and didn't want to keep him, thinking you didn't feel the same, you cupping his face before slamming your lip against his, his eyes wide open like he was just seen a ghost, then he realized what you mean before returning your kiss, smiling during the kiss. Maybe this mission isn't bad after all.

Jungwon: A young farmer boy who likes taking care of his animals and farm. He is a normal civilian just like everybody, people love him because of how adorable he looks, especially his charm, and dimples. When he discovered you lying down lifelessly on the street while he coming back home, he immediately picked you up, carried you to his house and took care of your injury. You were thankful that there are some kind people here, in this world you're assigned into You thought you would die on that street, freezing to death already but guess fate won't let you die this easy. At the time of his taking care of your sickness, he gave all his might to treat you until you recovered. Again after you have recovered, you thank him for being there for you when you were at your lowest point, and will do anything to pay back for his kindness. He smiled softly at your statement but he said it's fine, he doesn't need anything back, and he likes to see people happy. Once you hear that You just want to give him everything in the world for him, everything he wishes for, however at the moment you don't have anything with you, only yourself with his clothes on that he gives you. You have no better idea, but a hug for him is the least you can do right? You figured it out and decided to give him a tight hug, giving him all the warmth and kindness back to him. His gaze grew soft before resting his chin on your head, giving you the hug you wanted. You keep on giving him your squeezing hug until a system box pops in front of your eyes.

"Secret mission completed: you just made someone fall in love with you!"

Ni-ki: In the third POV, he would be a young pirate, despite his young age, he has been traveling across the sea for his entire life now, so his experience on the water is unstoppable and god-like. He had destroyed hundreds of hundred boats in the past few years, for now, he's the captain of his ship, a fear pirate whom everyone's Afraid of. He doesn't know what's the word rest or sleep since he always pulling all-nighters almost every single day, a part of him said he can't blink or else. In the course of fishing, his worker spotted you lying on an empty log, floating around the ocean, Ni-ki might be a heartless and cruel person but he was once in your shoes, and he didn't want to repeat it just like his ugly past, so he take you in on his ship. Later than for the last few months, you choose to work for him to survive and it's also your mission to do this too, and you didn't know for how long. It's a bit strange that your system didn't show or give information to you, therefore you don't give much care about it, it's better to be alive than die on this wide ocean. While you're staying on this ship, you like to write everything down in your diary book, even your past life and your mission here in this world you are in. One time you were drunk after drinking all the wine, and accidentally burst into the pirate's room because of your vision. You plop down on his bed, as you thought it was your bed, Ni-ki just sitting at his workplace, legs crossing, watching you intensely Before hearing your mumble words about your life and your mission. The next day, while you were moping the floor, he unexpectedly revealed himself behind you, an evil smirk growing on his face he liked teasing you. When you notice his presence, you lower your head as a sign of respect before greeting him a good morning.

"It's a beautiful morning isn't it m/n? Haa... I wish you could stay longer here with me" he spoke, trying to sound oblivious. "my lord, what do you mean by that?" You nervously respond while holding on to the mopping broom tightly. "Don't act dumb kitty, I have gone through all your dairy book, and your make-no-sense words last night when you were drunk, now that I got all the missing pieces, I finally get it, don't worry m/n! Once you step your foot here, you can't leave this ship until the day we grow old together, and Don't even think about leaving, if you don't want me to do something on you~ my sweetheart!"

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️ Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ this is the hardest work I've done, and also I can't promise I will update tomorrow.

🗣️ CRD to all the owners of dividers.

[illicien]

What drew you to winterbaron as a ship? What kind of content do you read? Is it different from the kind of content you write? Would you like to rec a few winterbaron works? My friend is into the ship and I'm trying to see if it's something I might like but all the fics they've recked me are kind of the same in tone so I'm looking for others opinions for some variety.

Hmm! I've sort of answered some of this in the past so sorry to my moots getting this rehash.

A friend of mine dragged me into WinterBaron (kicking and screaming!!!) rather simply, actually, though what kept me here was the more grand implications of her simple origins. I'm kind of a sucker for a true power bottom, and fanart my friend kept sending me implied the fandom saw Zemo as such, and I was at least a little bit intrigued there. Enough to take a deeper look, at least.

The better discovery wasn't that the fandom had decided he was a power bottom, but that there was a strong push and pull of power in their dynamic. Bucky has all the physical power between them, it's a big thing, he's strong as hell. On the other hand, Zemo is just a guy, and yet despite that Bucky should logically have all the power between them, Zemo's intelligence and knowledge tend to leave him with an edge. That continues to be the fascinating concept about Zemo to me, but that's a different matter.

So for me, it's the manipulation, the push and pull of power, it's Bucky trying to break free of being the Winter Soldier and Zemo trying to decide if Bucky's just like every other super soldier. But it's also about understanding that Zemo knows Bucky in ways most people alive don't. He knows and understands Bucky's history as the Winter Soldier both through his research, and as a man who did horrific things on behalf of his country. And that thought can sometimes lead to softer moments of understanding, I think, that can be enjoyable in fic.

As for content I read vs write: I generally gravitate towards dark fic with these two, though there's plenty of really good stuff that isn't. There are some excellent explorations of kink in the fandom for them which is refreshing. I don't really write them as dark as I read them, since I enjoy writing the power dynamics more than the overt manipulation, but if you're looking for more tonal variety I'm sure I can make some recommendations! (Under the cut!)

** Please make sure you read all of the tags thoroughly. What I enjoy in fiction may not be to your taste, and I respect that, but the best I can do is to link to the site with the tags. 💜

Recs (under 20k words)

Just A Little More by @six-demon-bag epitomizes a lot of what I've said above, and if I didn't start out with it on the list here I'd be doing myself a disservice for how often I reread this.

Bucky goes into a painful rut and Zemo seizes the opportunity to sink newer, more subtle hooks into him.

Breathless by @zsparz is one I like to return to whenever I'm looking to feel sad but don't have a lot of time to read. I can't explain why this one hits me so hard but holy smokes does it make me weepy. Sparz is great at making me cry, though, so like - anyway.

The water kept rising. Bucky could hold his breath a long time underwater, and he remembered vividly how he’d acquired that knowledge. Sam might find him in time.

But Zemo would be long dead by then.

Past Indiscretions by @sagegarnish makes me laugh, genuinely. The whole idea of it brings me a lot of joy, and the execution is delightful.

Bucky and Zemo are trapped in 1941.

Unfortunately Bucky's past self is the only one who might know where the missing Pym Particles are that they need to get home.

When young!Bucky pulls Zemo into an alley, Bucky is forced to watch as a drunken forgotten night from his past becomes a lot clearer.

Recs (20k+ words)

That Which You Fear by @spintwinwb is a trilogy that starts off feeling like an AU and turns into something really fascinating imo. Lots of extra goodies here for comics fans, too.

Instead of freeing the people of Westview, Wanda pushed out across multiverses to get her brother back, and the entire world was caught in the crossfire. Cast in a new, peaceful life in upstate New York in a world with mutants, no Avengers, and no HYDRA, Bucky Barnes struggles to reconcile memories and dreams that no longer make sense with what he thinks he knows about himself.

One Two Many by @six-demon-bag is sweet and fun and complicated, and I really did try not to double-up on authors here but agh. What am I supposed to do??

Bucky and Zemo meet on an anonymous dating app and find a deep connection in each other. In the meantime, they grow closer in person without realizing they’re falling in love online too.

Too Good To Be True by AnadoraBlack is really one of those fics where the tropes are used so well, imo. A very enjoyable read.

Bucky wakes up with no recollection of where he is, how he found himself there, and what the heck is going on. There's also a ring on his finger, and time lost. What the living FUCK?!

The Original Sin by @zsparz because I might as well completely fail at the "only one per author" in spectacular fashion. This sits here because it sits on a very peculiar line between canon and AU and just... like I said. Sparz makes me cry. This isn't a departure from that fact.

Bucky and Zemo keep meeting over the course of several lifetimes. Zemo remembers everything. Bucky doesn’t, but there’s an eerie impression of familiarity he can’t shake — an old pain he can’t explain, with roots too deep for him to reach.

AU Recs

Removing Bucky and Zemo from the context of their complicated history in the MCU can highlight different aspects of their characters that are really interesting to explore, as someone who finds their unique characters quite interesting as well, though I also know it isn't for everyone. Neither of these recs are short so if you don't mind an AU, set some time aside for these ones.

It Started Out With a Curse by Thorny is a fun AU I never really expected to find in this fandom. I personally have a history of writing in fantasy settings so this one has a special place in my heart.

What happens when the King and Queen of a human kingdom slight a powerful fae Lord known only as "The Baron"?

Enter a world of FairyTale/Fantasy Shenanigans as Prince James navigates his deadly curse and his confusing feelings for one (seemingly) cold and untouchable fae Lord. Meanwhile, something sinister is afoot trying to gouge a rift between the feywilds and the human kingdoms...

A Gentleman and a Scholar by EternalBeta is a no powers exploration of their dynamic that's... Beautiful. It also tackles a lot of things about kink that it feels like most fic and stories generally seem to ignore. There's also an amazing sequel series.

(this series doesn't have an easy summary available so I uh... I'll give it a go here: college student Bucky has a thing for his professor, and a whole series of bad decisions behind him. The trouble is, Bucky is impatient, and Professor Zemo doesn't fuck students. So Bucky better hurry up and graduate.)

Many of the writers above have at least a few WinterBaron fics, and I do highly recommend checking out their collections. Sparz and Six-Demon in particular have some really widely varied concepts and stories they tackle, and if you're curious at all I'd also recommend checking out Sholio who has some excellent Sam/Bucky/Zemo fics! I didn't toss recs here because they weren't the heart of the ask, but I gobbled those up easily for some very sweet treaties.

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (3)

summary: you found your goal, but the path to truth was more complicated than it seemed

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4k

warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, people getting stabbed, bad narrating of action scenes (sorry it's not my forte), bad words, english is not my first language, so sorry for any mistake!

note: hi guys! thank u all for the support in this fic! we're getting closer to the imminent reunion between these three! captain america and the winter soldier starting next chapter! i'll try to post next part as soon as i can. love u all and thank you for the notes! &lt;3

part 1 ; part 2 ; part 4

The days in Siberia were cold, but not as cold as that night as you returned home.

All the crumbs you had been able to collect from the mysterious culprits behind the death of Tony's parents had taken you to Siberia. From the moment you stepped out the door of the plane a sense of uneasiness was stamped on your body, having to look behind you every few moments to make sure you weren't being followed. Even if they were following you, you were sure it would be very difficult for you to spot them, because so far they were all doing a very good job of hiding, making your job up to four times more difficult.

You had been chasing ghost trails for eight months and if it weren't for that sixth sense that made you look over your shoulder, you would think you were in the wrong place. But you were on the right track.

Fury had told you that, once in Siberia, you would have to do reconnaissance on your own, because the people there were not as open to foreigners as in other countries, especially in the town where you would be staying.

So, in addition, you spent about two months camouflaging yourself among the people, trying to live a somewhat normal life among the villagers. Some already recognized you when you passed through their streets, just a nod as a greeting. But you were on the right track.

And that night you confirmed it.

It was late at night when you were returning to your small room in an apartment complex in the center of town. You had to cross a lonely snowy stretch to get into town from the place where you worked cutting and storing firewood. You already had that nerve-wracking feeling of surveillance making your hair stand on end like at no other time during your time there. If he wasn't a stalker, then this guy had fallen into the trap.

He started with light steps, and you knew he was doing it on purpose because he wanted you to know he was there, behind you, with the lead. So you gave in and picked up the pace, just beginning to notice the yellow and white lights of the entrance to town in the distance. The man matched your pace and you were incredibly tempted to turn to look at him, to see if it was him or someone else, even though you had no idea of his build. You were sure you could recognize him just by looking at his eyes.

But you had an act to keep up. So you slowly pulled your hands out of your jacket… and started running.

His response was immediate, but you were honestly surprised by the way his footsteps still sounded so light unlike yours. Not letting that catch you off guard, you kept your pace as a normal person would, letting him think you were running as fast as you could. And sooner than ever, you began to hear his footsteps getting closer and closer, louder and louder.

Sharpening your ears, you heard him take an almost imperceptible deep breath, which would totally take any normal person by surprise, but which you were foreseeing since you started chasing a ghost, a myth.

The Winter Soldier.

Hand in hand with the sound of his movements, you stopped abruptly and squatted down as you sensed him gain momentum to leap up and take you by surprise. But you took him by surprise when in the middle of his jump he continued straight, landing badly on the ground covered by a light layer of snow, but recovering quickly to turn around and look at you.

His entire face was covered by a black mask.

He stayed on the ground, just like you, with one leg outstretched and one hand on the ground for support. You started to get up without blinking a microsecond to risk losing sight of him, and he mimicked your movements as if he were your mirror.

He was intimidating and the stories you had heard about him seemed to have outgrown him.

That man looked like he could snap you in two with the minimal effort of his arms, his big shoulders and the line of his muscles bulging through his black suit.

You took a hesitant step forward, him mimicking you as if he was playing you, as if you were a fool to think you had a chance of beating someone like him. You could tell he was letting you feel like you had some control, because he easily understood your game with that little trick you played on him.

That was a very big risk for you to take. The moment the Winter Soldier realized you were no ordinary person, the decks would stop coming out in your favor.

So you kept approaching, willing to take the risk, because the only thing you could do from now on was to catch him off guard by doing everything as stupid as possible, the opposite of your survival instincts that implored you to run away from that place.

He came closer too, his steps full of grace and so light that if you hadn't seen him right in front of you, you would've thought there was no one there. His left hand imitated yours, when you reached for the knife you had hidden behind your back, under your trench coat. And when you uncovered your hand all at once, he also had a knife in his hand, a little smaller than yours, but no less lethal in the hands of an experienced killer.

So if he knew why you were there, because that was the reason he must've followed you, you must've made enough noise about mysterious murders, especially that of Howard and Maria Stark, which was the reason many townies stayed away from you, then he must've been working for the culprit or he himself was the culprit. There was no other reason that man had to have followed you so late at night, armed to the teeth if not to kill you for being a snoop in matters not your own.

The real killer could have sent him to finish you, the only person in that town who suspected that the murder he had passed off as an accident in the States hadn't been a mere accident. And he must've deduced that, if you had gone to the trouble to travel there and make such a fuss, it must have been because you knew something. Something about him. And he couldn't take any chances.

So here was the Winter Soldier, ready to take out the trash, looking sublimely menacing under the yellow sidewalk light.

You had to get that mask off him somehow.

So, following your incredible plan to disregard your survival instincts, you lunged at him, looking all inexperienced and foolish, to proceed to dodge one by one the flicks of his wrist in your direction, some too close to your face. Not lagging behind, you tried your best to hurt him anywhere on his body, moving in different directions as you tried to evade his stabs and trying to fit yours in when he moved less than a second just before you could hit him.

The bastard was as good as you had hoped.

He leaned forward, when with a hard blow to your side he knocked you back and you didn't have enough time to compose yourself when with more speed than you had seen anyone move, even Steve, he leaned forward and plunged his knife into your lower abdomen.

Because of the adrenaline you didn't even feel pain, but he took it upon himself to move as if he did, holding you with his left hand on your shoulder as he twisted the blade as if it was his intention to bleed you out on that half snow-covered dirt path under his watchful eye.

That probably was what he wanted. He probably had to give the report that he had seen you die. Maybe he had to bring your body to the real killer.

The only thing you knew was that the soldier lost his senses when he was about to kill someone, because he gave no sign of feeling your hand move across his side, the blade you were holding taking him by surprise as it plunged into his abdomen, close to his lung, letting out a choked exclamation.

An electric current whipped through your body at how his voice seemed to alert something inside your head, your body reacting first in surprise. But the familiarity that echoed through your body like a bell disappeared as soon as the man strided away from you, his right hand grasping the long knife stuck in his side, smart enough not to pull it out immediately or he would surely bleed out walking to wherever he had to go to hide. You couldn't get that mask off, but the tone of his voice kept repeating like a broken record in your head.

You grabbed his knife, right in the middle of your abdomen, barely feeling the twinges of pain as you began to walk backwards, the soldier mimicking your movements, returning to where he had come from. If he hadn't hurt such a crucial spot that you needed to treat as soon as possible, things would've ended very differently.

You walked backwards until he disappeared into the darkness and only then did you begin to pick up your pace, passing the entrance to the town and looking for the center.

If the few people who were around saw you, they preferred to turn a blind eye. It didn't surprise you, when many of them had warned you what would await you if you stepped into the lion's den.

As soon as you arrived at your apartment, with some melted snow near the wound, the first thing you did was to take the phone that Fury had given you before the trip and send the automatic emergency message. Next, you grabbed the first aid kit you had right on the living room table and collapsed on the wooden chair. Treating your own wounds was not something you enjoyed very much and you kept grimacing and moaning as loudly as possible as you tried to sterilize the wound around the razor.

A few minutes later, just as you felt you were about to pass out listening in the background to the blood dripping from your side to the floor, with the crimson on your left hand glistening in the yellow light of the living room, the door to the apartment opened wide. Faces you recognized from the town square rushed in, but your consciousness from blood loss barely allowed you to remember Fury's words as he handed you the phone, only to give you reassurance before succumbing to the darkness.

“SHIELD is worldwide. I know you've been out of that whole spectrum long enough and thanks to Peggy you've never needed it, but this time you'll need all the help you can get. This is an emergency phone. It doesn't take calls, it doesn't make calls. It just sends an emergency message by pressing the button in the middle and I want you to use it when you're at a point where you feel you're not going to make it. I assure you that you won't be alone and, when you least expect it, you'll be back with us.”

-

An incessant throbbing in your head was the first thing that greeted you as you opened your eyes, struggling because they felt extremely heavy. You could barely register that you were dying of thirst with a dry throat, when pain coursed through your body as you tried to get up.

“Hey, careful,” you recognized a male voice and arms land on your shoulders, pushing you back onto the gurney. You moved your gaze, still somewhat disoriented, to meet clear eyes looking back at you. “Are you with me?”

You tried to mumble something, but the lack of fluid generated a coughing fit almost instantly. You felt yourself being leaned forward a little and then a glass cup of water appeared in your vision. You quickly grabbed it, drinking it all in a few seconds. You ignored the throbbing headache and the discomfort in your abdomen to concentrate on your surroundings for the first time.

Steve had returned to sit beside you, a hand holding you by the shoulder just to keep an eye out if you needed anything. His touch brought back memories of the night before, the soldier gripping your shoulder tightly as he pushed by the handle the knife that…

The knife.

“Where's my stuff?”

The blond stood up, moving around the room. You brought a hand to your head feeling incredibly dizzy, the pain in your head wouldn't let up for a second and now everything was spinning around you.

The weight of a small backpack on your legs pushed the pain back into the background, your hands moving quickly to open it and spread its contents all over you.

“It's not here. It's gone, why isn't it- why not-?”

Holding up the backpack, your eyes darted to your hands, images of the night before rushing back into your head, like a fast-moving movie. But there was something you wanted to remember as you looked at your left hand, something you had also thought about when you were in the apartment after sterilizing the wound. There was something… something you wanted to…

“Where's the knife? Why the fuck am I so clean?”

“The knife you had buried in your abdomen?” you turned to look at Steve quickly as soon as you heard him, ignoring the whiplash of pain that shot through your head from the sudden movement.

“Where is it?”

“I don't know, Y/N, I only got here yesterday and you were still unconscious. I haven't even been able to talk to Fury.”

“Yesterday? Yesterday I was unconscious?”

Steve nodded, his confused expression sure matching yours.

No.

You raised your left hand, remembering the crimson glowing under the yellow light.

His blood.

No.

No, no, no.

“No…” you wailed, interlocking your hands before running them over your face, the bent posture causing you some pain in the wound in your abdomen.

“You should lie down,” Steve tried to grab you by the shoulders, but you jerked out of his grip, a seed of helplessness growing in your chest.

“Call Fury, please,” you grabbed him by the wrist, pulling his body close to yours, hoping he could see the need in your eyes and not make you repeat yourself.

“That won't be necessary.”

The voice of the aforementioned filled the room, the memory of his voice before you passed out in the apartment causing you another dizzy spell. You wanted to stop and worry, but as soon as you saw him you opened your mouth to speak, only to get your words stuck when Fury raised a ziplock bag with the knife inside to your full face. You felt a little more relieved, because maybe that would give them a clue, something much better to work with, and you hoped Fury thought the same, but his stoic expression left you much to be desired.

“There were only your prints,” the man confessed, your expression dropping faster than you could process. The incessant dizziness was making you want to vomit.

You felt Steve's gaze sweep the room, shifting from your profile to Fury's, surely full of questions, but fearful that raising his voice was going to cost him too much.

“No…” you wailed again, raising your hand in his direction. “Why did you wash my hand?”

“Were we supposed to let you rot in dried blood for two weeks?”

“Two wee-yes, Nicholas, yes!”

The man frowned at you, passing his gaze over Steve as if he had any idea what was going on.

“It was his blood,” you told the man in front of you, his expression dropping in comprehension. “He stabbed me, but I stabbed him back and had his-his blood all over my hand.”

You wanted to throw yourself on the floor and cry. You had spent ten months waiting for that moment, for that little chance to go one step further and now… now you had nothing. You were at the beginning, with no idea whatsoever of his identity and, worse, him knowing that he wasn't dealing with someone ordinary. He probably already knew everything about you, finding the address of this hospital and heading at this moment to kill you.

He should've known where you lived by now. Two weeks was more than enough. Now he had you on his radar and of course he had the advantage.

“So we're back to square one then,” Fury gave voice to your thoughts, hearing it come from his mouth making it so real you didn't avoid the frustrated growl that left you. “Steve, can you give us a moment?”

“Sure, let me abandon my friend clearly in a stress crisis instead of letting her rest like she needs to, because her wound isn't healing,” Steve spat the words at Fury, who glared back at him incredulously mid-sentence, with you raising your head because you rarely heard Steve talk that way since he came back.

Those were ways to talk about pre-serum Steve and meeting him at times like that really was a band-aid for your heart, but you needed to talk to Fury and you needed to do it right then.

“Steve, I'm fine. Please, I need to talk to him.”

“Why can't you talk about it in front of me?”

“It's confidential information, Rogers.”

“Then make it non-confidential,” the blond determined, his square shoulders showing the tension in his body. “I spent a whole week in the fucking cold of Greenland without hearing from her and every time I called you to ask you told me the same shit. That fucking mission you sent her on almost cost her her life.”

“That's the price for the job,” Fury blurted out, Steve moving back, his face incredulous, as if he'd just slapped him.

“Nicholas,” your low voice brought him back to look at you, his hands clasped behind his back moving to slap his sides, frowning.

“Make up your mind right now, Y/N, you want him to know or not?”

“Know what?”

You growled in frustration, agreeing with Steve that you'd have a meltdown if you didn't figure out a solution for that right then. The room was starting to spin on you the moment you unfocused your eyes on the two of them.

“Do we really have nothing?” you turned to Fury, the man taking that distinction as his answer.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, Steve catching every glance and word that bounced around the room. “The nurses cleaned up the blood completely after they stabilized you.”

“You didn't even consider it?”

“We did, but we took the wrong sample.”

You dropped your head in your hands, feeling defeat and accepting it because there was nothing more you could do.

“Then that's it,” you turned to look at Fury. “He's coming back for me.”

“Him?” Steve came into your peripheral vision, his disgruntled, worried face squeezing your chest.

“The Winter Soldier,” Fury answered for you as you looked down, feeling panic mix with nausea.

“Who?”

“A lethal assassin. Y/N suspected him of being responsible for some unexplained deaths that occurred a few years ago and was investigating him on her own.”

“On her own?” Steve turned to look at you. “A lethal killer?”

“Believe it or not, Steve, I can defend myself on my own.”

“Well, that's pretty clear to me,” he commented gruffly, pointing at you. The fact that you were on a stretcher, no, it didn't help at all, but you had been able to put up a fight before that final blow.

“Anyway, it doesn't matter now. He must have all the information on me by now and he must be tracking me like a damn bloodhound. It won't be long before he gets to this hospital.”

“Hospital?” Fury arched an eyebrow at you, barely seeing it through your eyelashes when you felt a sourness at the back of your throat.

“Wherever we are, Nicholas,” you ran a hand over your mouth, closing your eyes tightly. “I don't know if it's the horrible headache, but I have a severe urge to vomit. Do you guys have any dramamine or something?”

Fury and Steve shared a look and you frowned at them, incredulous.

“Want me to throw up on your feet?”

“You didn't tell her?” Fury turned to Steve, wagging a finger between you and your friend, the blond shrugging his shoulders.

“You didn't give me much time.”

“Guys,” you almost implored the sky, moving to lean back again, catching one of the bedroom windows out of the corner of your eye.

You didn't come across a parking lot or a green space. That wasn't a hospital.

“We're on the SHIELD helicarrier, Y/N, a long way from a hospital,” Fury finally spoke, your gaze falling on the dark blue sea that stretched for miles.

“Shit.”

“I'm going to go get that dramamine,” Steve spoke to Fury, as you lay back on the bed without looking away from the window. The sea sure wasn't going anywhere, but the overwhelming sense of panic at least you could chalk it up to something other than the Winter Soldier.

“What's wrong with her?”

“Sea-phobic.”

-

You took it upon yourself to take a long nap when Fury told you you wouldn't be returning to mainland anytime soon, much less now that there was the desperate possibility that the Winter Soldier was after you.

Steve stayed by your side every step of the way, meeting your every request with patience. He knew that when it came to the sea you turned to jelly, so he took it upon himself to cover the window and keep you stocked with dramamine.

Fury said he would send undercover agents to your apartment and surrounding locations looking for any sightings of the soldier and the very thought sent shivers down your spine. To think that, against all odds, you had faced a fearsome assassin who was almost passed for myth with a small knife, with almost zero chance of beating him and still came out alive. You didn't know how you could continue with the mission, much less now that Fury had told you that you would need more days of rest because the knife with which that man had stabbed you was made of vibranium.

There they had something to work with and Fury assured you, after doing the respective studies, that they would investigate purchases and sales of vibranium near Siberia, if they could get any kind of resource before having to resort to field agents.

That gave you some peace of mind.

“Feeling better now?” Steve was still sitting on the side of the bed, his arms folded across his chest and his expression stoic, though in his eyes you could sense the nobility and his concern. When you nodded, he mimicked your gesture and moved closer to the bed, pulling the chair over with him and resting his arms on the wooden edge. “Now, are you going to tell me why the hell you got involved in investigating a killer who has as many sightings a year as Bigfoot?”

You rolled your eyes at Steve so hard that the twinges in your head almost returned. You moved to lie face up, your face turned in his direction detailing his disgruntled expression.

“You heard Fury,” was all you could say, trying to keep your face as serious as his.

“Yeah, he mentioned some mysterious deaths,” he reminded, not looking at all pleased with that vague piece of information.

“Is that not enough for you?” you arched an eyebrow at him. “The lives of innocent people who have nothing to do with SHIELD are also important.”

“That's not what I meant,” Steve shook his head. “The Winter Soldier has been credited, without proof, with two dozen murders over the last fifty years.”

“So you did your homework,” you looked back up at the ceiling, hearing your friend's irritated hiss.

“He's been in the field for fifty years, and SHIELD started investigating him a year ago?”

“You said it yourself. Knowing if he existed was as rare as proving the existence of Bigfoot,” you turned, Steve's confused look falling in realization.

“You'd been looking for him for a while, but you didn't know it was him.”

“Correct.”

“Because of those deaths Fury mentioned?”

You nodded in his direction.

Steve fell silent, immersed in his own wild thoughts, for a few seconds of conjecture, before speaking again.

“There had to be something about those deaths that motivated you enough to be willing to sacrifice your life like that.”

You hated him. You hated Steve at that moment. Why couldn't he just stick with the simple fact that you wanted to stop a crazed killer? There was also another option you could take, to divert him from the main reason, but you didn't have enough evidence for him to believe you and you couldn't risk him not taking you seriously later on. If the Winter Soldier really started looking for you, maybe he would do you a favor. He would bring all the answers to your playground. Two birds with one stone.

In response you just snorted, turning to look at him once more.

“It doesn't have that deep a meaning, Steve. I found a practically empty report on it one day and Fury told me it was a myth. But there were some coincidences enough to make it not real. So I decided to look into it, yes, on my own.”

You felt horrible when Steve looked away, a layer of embarrassment adorning his features. He was right and he was so insightful and you wanted to tell him, but that truth involved too many burdens that you weren't willing to pass on to him. You and Peggy were in charge of that investigation, Steve didn't have to carry that burden.

[maered613]

Dead to You (Are You at the Wake?) - Chapter 4: You Had to Kill Me but It Killed You Just the Same

“Luke Skywalker, in the flesh.” says Luthen Rael, who if all goes according to plan, will be Luke's new boss. “-delighted to meet you.”

Luke laughs and shakes his hand.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, my boy.” He says, “-look at it from my perspective. A young, extremely qualified and experienced Mortician calls me, an aging one man show, to tell me he's moving to the middle of nowhere, would I have a job for him? Sounds too good to be true. You can never tell with the internet.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Luke says, as they walk through the tiny funeral home.

“Tell me son,” Luthen says, “-why did you become a mortician?”

Luke gives him the same spiel he gave Din, about being eminently qualified, tells him about Wedge. He knows that Wedge would never tell anyone about the inquiry unless Luke told him to, so he's not too worried that this guy would dig.

He also leaves out the bit about the pull toward death he’s felt his whole life, as he's really only coming to terms with it now.

“I see.” Luthen says, “-why move all the way out here?”

Luke puts on a sheepish grin.

“Ah, well, I… followed my boyfriend.” He says, “-I know how that sounds, but-”

Luthen laughs.

“-and you're not even married? He’d better put a ring on it soon.”

Luke snorts but his stomach twists.

Him and Din are bound together now, in arguably a more permanent way than a marriage vow. But.

Luke pushes that thought aside.

-

Din’s son is dead: To begin with, there's no doubt whatsoever about that.

What there is doubt about, however, is how Din can possibly go on; having loved and lost in a way he never expected he would.

The only thing keeping him moving is the thought that Grogu would want him to. So, he soldiers forth, through the numbing pain and the aching grief; just trying to get through one day at a time.

Until he meets Luke.

Luke, who refuses to leave Din’s loneliness unbroken and makes him feel like, maybe, he could live again.

It's only fitting, then, when Luke reveals that he is a Mortician. It's his life’s mission to help distraught families send off their loved ones to whatever awaits in the undiscovered country from which no traveller returns.

Din thinks that being surrounded by death must be his life’s new purpose.

Din is more right than he knows.

[icycoldninja]

reader comforting raiden during a panic attack? feeling some hurt/comfort mood and wanna see my guy again... (and cos i love the way you write him!)

Yes, yes! Enjoy!

Safe with me (MGR!Raiden x Reader angst/fluff)

Raiden had been through a lot in his life, from being used as a soldier when he was just a little boy to commit heinous crimes, to having his brain and spinal cord surgically removed, then implanted into a cyborg body against his will. He'd suffered a great deal, and as a result, had developed quite a few mental issues, including DID and anxiety.

DID was one thing; Jack the Ripper could easily be kept at bay as long as he turned on his pain inhibitors, but his anxiety was another thing. When he saw certain things, or heard about certain things, or was reminded of certain things, he couldn't help himself but worry, and when he worried, he began to feel the panic creeping over the edges of his consciousness.

Such was how he felt now, having returned home from a particularly harrowing mission. He'd had to rescue a group of children being transported across the country to serve as child soldiers for some despicable organization. Seeing those poor, starving, clearly traumatized yet so determined children reminded Raiden of himself, and for a moment, he wasn't a tough cyborg, but rather, a terrified boy who just wanted to go back to his quarters, curl up with his teddy bear, and cry until someone came to get him.

That's what Raiden did after freeing the children; he went home, headed straight for his room, and sat on the edge of the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest. He felt so scared for some reason, so frightened and tense. It was unbecoming of a professional such as him, but professionals are still human, aren't they?

You ended up walking in on the man shivering on the bed while hyperventilating and clawing at his own metal legs, his one visible eye wide and shaking with fear.

"Help me," He was whimpering, thrashing about like he was tied down. "Please help me...someone...anyone..."

It hurt you to see the man like this. He'd never been one to Crack under pressure, normally being very calm and always having at least an idea of what to do. To watch him shake and beg for help like an ordinary victim was both jarring and heartbreaking.

"Raiden, Raiden, I'm right here," You told him, rushing over and wrapping your arms around his shuddering shoulders. "I'm here, baby, I'm here. It's ok."

Raiden sucked in a deep, trembling breath, and clung onto you with all he had, his terrified expression clearly stating he was not in his right mind.

"Don't let them hurt me," He pleaded, clutching your arms so firmly, his claws dug into your skin.

"I won't," You assured him, pulling him closer to you, pressing his head against your shoulder. "You're safe, Raiden, safe with me."

He probably didn't hear you, since he didn't seem to be aware of where he was and what he was doing, but his body subconsciously relaxed and seemed to melt into your embrace. His mind might not be aware of it, but his body was--his heart was. He was safe with you, and always would be.

[shadowkoo]

Chasing Clouds - Prologue

→ Summary: Namjoon made the decision early on in his training that he would abstain from dating or entering any form of relationship while in active duty. He’s determined not to burden anyone with the likelihood of being to be notified of his death or causing pain to someone he loves by his long absence. Ironically, he found himself drawn to you, a doctor who challenges his beliefs and contradicts everything he upholds.

↠ namjoon x f.reader | 1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: military au, angst (future chapters include: doctor au, s2l, slow burn, smut, fluff, romance

→ Warnings: Read at your own risk! war, ptsd, bombs, guns, violence, injury, death, blood, (future warnings include: murder, use of other weapons, smut warnings)

→ Author Note: my favorite kdrama of all time is descendants of the sun and in honor of my fifth rewatch, I wanted to write this series! it takes place about a year after the show ends, just so you know the timeline :) i would recommend that you watch it first, but it’s not a requirement - it just gives insight to some of the character's personalities (plus i’ll take any opportunity to tell people to watch it lol)

Prologue

MAY 02 - 0340 - USTANA

The darkness of the night feels heavy; its weight is unsettling as the soldiers start their most recent assignment. Namjoon has an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. It’s twisting and turning like never before. He isn’t usually nervous before missions; he hasn’t had a reason to be. He's always followed through and completed his tasks without issue; which is one of the main reasons everyone has such high hopes for him.

Tonight is different though, and he knows the others have the same odd feeling as they all take off their dog tags and set them aside. If captured, they need to remain anonymous.

"You guys know the drill. Once we locate the hostage, everyone will need to be attentive because it'll only be a matter of time until the whole building knows it's been breached. This isn't another exercise boys, lives are at stake here,” Big Boss, Captain Yoo Shijin, says to his team of special force soldiers.

"As this is the last mission of your training term, I expect nothing but excellence in your delivery of the hostage. We've orchestrated the specifics of this mission in such a way that will prove whether or not you are cut for these types of diplomatic high-profile assignments," Wolf, Big Bosses best friend Seo Daeyoung, adds.

"Whatever you do, don't compromise the mission. Don’t use your birth name to communicate, use the nicknames you were given, as well as ours," Big Boss hollers, finishing off their short speech as the back door of the aircraft opened.

Ustana, the country they’re secretly entering, is known for its drug and weapons problem due to its corrupt government. If things end badly, it will reflect on Korea. That’s why the team’s identities and nationalities can’t be known.

The plane jolts, narrowly missing the projectile that was aimed at the steel bird in the sky, solidifying the seriousness of the current situation below.

Namjoon repeats his orders to keep some level of sanity and peace of mind as he descended from the sky with the rest of the Puppy Pack, the soldiers in training to join the Alpha Team.

‘Find the hostage. Mislead the enemy. Return home. Stay alive.’

Once on the ground, he waits for the signal to ambush the guards watching the doors and proceeds to lead the group. Shijin and Daeyoung follow behind with the rest of the soldiers at their feet.

Daeyoung nods, giving Namjoon the go-ahead to align his gun on the enemy. This is the part he often tunes out. You need to be able to turn the switch, as he calls it, on and off with this kind of job.

He aligns his scope with the target and quickly pulls the trigger before moving to the others nearby before they even realize what’s happening. He watches as their bodies drop, waiting to see if anyone else runs into the room, but it’s quiet. Almost too quiet…

"Wildcat, All clear,” he says into his mic, letting the others know their access point is now safe for entry.

‘Find the hostage. Mislead the enemy. Return home. Stay alive.’

It takes less than two minutes for the group of highly trained soldiers to find the hostage. He’s badly beaten and unconscious, his body hunched over in the chair he’s tied to.

Wolf keeps watch by the side door while the team works on releasing the man. Jihoon, another one of the Puppy Pack trainees, helps Namjoon carry the man back to where the transport aircraft is waiting.

“I don’t want to jinx anything, but that was almost too easy…” Jihoon says, looking at Namjoon.

He agrees. Something’s not adding up…

He peers through the open door of the transport helicopter, gazing outside. They’re waiting for the last of the group to make their way onto the craft, and he just wants to ensure that everyone is safe. His shoulders relax when he can see their dark forms exiting the building.

Namjoon turns to look back at Jihoon, “I see them, they’re-” his sentence ends unfinished.

“What is that?” he says, taking a step closer to the unconscious hostage that Jihoon and a combat medic are helping. He points out the red blinking light on the man’s neck. It’s not a laser from a gun. It’s coming from inside his skin. ‘It’s almost as if…’ His thought trails off. “Run!” he screams, though it’s too late.

The bomb’s detonation rips through the helicopter, unleashing an intense burst of energy. In an instant, the searing shockwave propels fragments of debris outward. The air vibrates with a deafening roar, drowning out all other sounds.

The chaotic energy tears apart surroundings and scatters the remnants in all directions. A plume of smoke and fire billows upward, consuming everything in its path. The impact leaves a scene of devastation, marked by shattered glass, twisted metal, and a sense of raw destruction.

Namjoon feels the force of the explosion in his chest and is thrown far from his comrade, and debris crashes around him. His head bounces against the ground, and the ringing in his ears is so intense, he believes he will never hear again.

Jihoon is several feet away. His eyes are frozen open, and blood trails down his face from the head injury he suffers from. Namjoon reaches for his lifeless friend but it’s all too much.

Then, everything fades to black.

← series m.list | next →

©shadowkoo 2023. All rights reserved.

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Insurgency: Utopia

Summary: A totalitarian regime reigns over a South American country in which the virus is being distributed to its citizens at the pretense of a “cure.” Leon was sent to retrieve a sample of the virus mutation when he stumbled upon a group of anti-government activists whose main goal is to overthrow their government. Will Leon help the cause or will he fall down with the government as well?

Warning: Mentions of mature themes. Read at your own discretion. Slow burn. Age gap (Leon is 38 and reader is 21+). Reader is female.

Word count: 1,680

A/N: this is the last chapter. next chapter is just a bonus :) anyways guys I’m so glad next week is my last week of school. I’m tired of ts alr

[part one][part two][part three][part four][part five][part six][part seven][part eight][bonus]

“Accept suffering and achieve atonement through it - that is what you must do." - Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

Days passed ever since the victory of Pruye. People began to work on the reconstruction of the fallen cities. People finally returned to their homes and it felt like a weight had been lifted off everyone’s shoulders. No more dictator, no more law.

Leon stayed in the base, sitting on a chair near your hospital bed as he waited for you to wake up. It’s been three days since you’ve been in the infirmary. Doctors and nurses would come in and check up on you, occasionally updating your charts.

He never left your side- only to use the restroom or get some food.

“Argh…” you groaned as you woke up, catching Leon’s attention. He quickly rested his hand on your shoulder, “Hey take it easy,” his voice soft and quiet.

You opened your eyes and met them adjust to the light, “Where am I? What happened?”

“You’ve been out for about three days…” he responded.

Your eyes widened at the revelation and then everything had started crashing down on you.

The battle.

The president.

Falling.

Blackness.

That was all you remembered. It didn’t take time for you to connect the dots.

You looked over at him, “Did we win?”

He took a deep breath and nodded, “You sure did.. President Mendez died and so did the soldiers.”

“So… it’s over? Everything is finally over?” You asked weakly.

Leon nodded once again and you sighed in relief.

Your efforts weren’t in vain. If someone were to ask the younger version of yourself that one day you’d lead a rebellion to victory, you’d probably laugh in their face.

But that was the truth. No matter what, you did this. You brought freedom to a land that had long forgotten what that felt like.

-

Recovery was easy. You stayed a few more days before you could get discharged. Leon and some insurgents would visit you and catch you up on things.

The cities had been rebuilt, there is no sole leader anymore. The country became an anarchy.

But that didn’t matter to you.

No one told you the effects of being a war veteran.

Nightmares kept you up, certain sounds made you remember those bloody days- it was true hell. You weren’t okay and maybe it was time to finally acknowledge that.

You found yourself on a building- a memorial building for the fallen insurgents and other victims from the battle.

The building contained the history of when everything first started to when things ended. As you walked through the halls, you saw objects laying around. The guns that were used, the uniforms from both sides. It felt like a museum more than a memorial but maybe that was just you.

Behind the building was a cemetery. You walked through the grass until you stopped in front of two gravestones.

Esme and Franco.

It felt weird standing in front of the remnants of your friends. It was like they were there but also weren’t.

Death was a real mystery. You rest but you leave behind pain to others. That’s such a cruel thing to do. Death was nothing near comfort. It was unfair and cruel. But there was nothing anyone can do. We all have a countdown to our death.

You could die in the next five minutes. Maybe tomorrow or maybe in ten years. No one knows but everyone knows that death is inevitable.

War messed up with your concept of death. Death was something to be meant with meaning. Something that was supposed to be relieving and beautiful. But now? Now you see it as punishment.

Life is sanctity. There is no reason why someone should take someone else’s life. It’s not just. It’s not right. But yet human kind still finds ways to bend the beauty of nature and contaminate everything with the greed for power.

As you stood in front of the gravestones, you felt bitter. Not at them for dying but for leaving you alone.

But it was not their fault. No ones at fault for dying and yet you couldn’t pin point the cause of your emotions. And what better way to feel better about yourself than projecting it into inanimate things? It’s not like Esme and Franco are coming back from the dead.

Because they won’t. They’re gone. Forever.

All they are now, are just fragments of memories and pieces of what was.

You didn’t cry, you couldn’t. Because if you did then it be confirmation that they were gone.

Their presence was gone. Their voices were gone. They no longer existed and that is a pain no one should go through.

Life is supposed to be a blessing but now it all felt like it was just a curse.

If there is a god then you’d understand why humans were cursed with such small lifespans. We are evil, even if we claim to be otherwise. No one is purely good, no one is innocent. We all bear the bearings of sin and evil.

Because you finally understood that the world is nothing like the novels. At all.

You walked up to Yarina’s grave. It was the biggest one with an Athena statue. Fitting, you thought.

No one is prepared for the death of someone. What are you supposed to do? Forget that your friend no longer exists within the same universe as you?

And yet you were. People move on and soon they’ll forget their dead friends, including you. It’s not bad, per say, but it’s saddening. To let go of the last piece you have of them- a memory.

A memory is what they became. A distant one because you wanted to forget everything already.

Esme, Franco, and Yarina… they’re all a distant fragment of the memories you tried to forget.

-

Leon had to go back to the U.S. and it made you sad. You were getting used to him.

The helicopter landed on the helipad, prompting Leon to get on it. But he stopped mid walk to look at you. He seemed hesitant.

“Come with me,” he blurted out.

“What?”

“Come with me. Live with me in America.”

Your mouth gaped open as you tried to speak but nothing came out. He walked up to you and held your hands in his, “C’mon Y/n… we both know you don’t want to be here anymore. Come back home with me. I’ll let you stay at my place until you settled in. I’ll show you around. We can build a new life together… away from all of this. Just you and me.”

You stared up at his blue eyes and nodded slowly, “Okay… I will.”

He smiled softly and leaned down to kiss you softly. You hummed in response and kissed him back, just a softly as well. He pulled back and interlocked his fingers with yours as you two walked towards the helicopter.

A new life. Away from Pruye. Away from the memories.

A new life with Leon, the man who understood you inside and out. He has you all figured out and he didn’t leave. He stayed. That was all you needed to follow him to his home country.

You didn’t care that you left all your belongings behind. It would only remind you of the constant pain. Plus, Leon offered that you two should go shopping and spend time like normal people.

Like a normal couple.

A normal life.

And you couldn’t agree more. Leon was the blessing in disguise that you needed. And you were his ray of hope at being normal.

Trauma bonding works wonders. You two can’t seem to let each other go as your bond grows deeper than anything else.

-

Once you reached the state of Pennsylvania, he called an Uber for the two of you.

Leon’s house was modest. Being an agent brought financial stability yet he was humble and didn’t want to splurge all his money- he was too busy fighting anyway.

His house was two stories but small in size. You can’t blame him, Pennsylvania has had some housing problems lately but that was not of your concerns. You just got here.

He refused to let you sleep on the couch so you reluctantly agreed to sleep with him on his bed.

Leon let you borrow some of his pajamas- sweatpants and a tee. They fit big on you but it was okay. Loose clothing was more comfortable to sleep in anyway.

He laid behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Your back was pressed against his chest and for once you felt like you could finally sleep without waking up from the nightmares.

Leon brought you comfort. Leon was comfort.

And you were his comfort too. Leon didn’t need help falling asleep, he’s been dealing with this way longer than you but you clearly needed someone to be there for you. And he wanted to be that person.

Leon may be sarcastic and cocky at times but he’s a dedicated man with a heart. He cares a lot and would do anything for the betterment of the world. He’d do anything for you.

The age gap wasn’t something you two seemed to mind. What you two felt was not superficial and it went beyond just dating. It was as if your souls found each other after traveling through space and time.

Home. It was as if your souls were finally home together.

-

Leon kept his promise and the next day he took you out to see the city. He took you to the mall, where he offered to pay for your new clothes. You two went to eat at his favorite restaurant, you two visited the park near a river- it felt like you could breathe again.

You were glad to be away from Pruye and everything that had happened.

Slowly but surely you began to get better, and Leon was there to support you. You rebuilt your life- got a job, decided to apply to school, got your citizenship thanks to Leon’s connections. Life was finally beginning to look amazing for you.

You and Leon made life amazing together.

[scotianostra]

Dugald Stewart the noted Scottish mathematician and philosopher was born on November 22nd 1753 in Edinburgh.

Dugald Stewart was a Scottish philosopher and mathematician. Today regarded as one of the most important figures of the later Scottish Enlightenment.

The Scottish Enlightenment began in the mid 18th century and continued for the best part of a century. It marked a major shift from religion into reason. Religion had been influential in every part of Scottish life. A little over a hundred years before it resulted in a war between the Royalists and covenanters causing countless deaths in period known as the killing time, indeed during the Enlightenment the strict Calvinists Government meant some people were punished for crimes such as blasphemy.

Dugald’s father was a Professor of Mathematics at the University of Edinburgh, his mother Marjorie Stewart was the only daughter of Archibald Stewart, writer to the signet, so he had a good pedigree, he was schooled at Edinburgh high school from then entered the University of Edinburgh where he took an arts degree although he also attended courses in natural philosophy. On the advice of Adam Ferguson, Dugald Stewart spent one year in Glasgow where he attended the lectures of Thomas Reid. On his return to Edinburgh University he spent 13 years teaching mathematics.

In 1775 he was appointed joint professor of mathematics with his father. However, when Ferguson resigned as professor of moral philosophy in 1785 he was succeeded by Dugald Stewart who held the post for 25 years.

His writing included: Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, published over 35 years in three volumes, Outlines of Moral Philosophy and Philosophical Essays.

Stewart left Scotland on a number of occasions to visit France. In 1806 for example he accompanied the Earl of Lauderdale in an attempt to negotiate peace with Napoleon. On a previous visit to the country, he had witnessed the outbreak of the French Revolution.

He spent much of his retirement at Kinneil House, Boness, a stately home owned by the Dukes of Hamilton since the 17th century.

My favourite wee story about Dugald Stewart involves other big hitters of the era like Dr Joseph Black, Professor Adam Ferguson, John Home and two other poets, Robert Burns, our national bard, and Walter Scott, famous for may poetic works as well as the Waverley series and Ivanhoe. I’m not sure about how Walter Scott had come to be at the meeting on Edinburgh Southside in Sciennes Hill House as he was only 15 at the time, but he must have been a bit star struck, these guys were the creme de la creme.

We know what happened, because Scott left several accounts of the meeting. Burns, it should be said, did not do so, but by then Burns was well on his way to fame and no doubt met many of Edinburgh’s literati in the Oyster Clubs and other clubs such as the Crochallan Fencibles Club, one of many he became a member of.

Scott recalled in 1827: “I was a lad of fifteen in 1786-7, when he came first to Edinburgh, but had sense and feeling enough to be much interested in his poetry, and would have given the world to know him; but I had very little acquaintance with any literary people, and still less with the gentry of the west country, the two sets that he most frequented.

“Mr Thomas Grierson was at that time a clerk of my father’s. He knew Burns, and promised to ask him to his lodgings to dinner, but had no opportunity to keep his word, otherwise I might have seen more of this distinguished man.

“As it was, I saw him one day at the late venerable Professor Fergusson’s, where there were several gentlemen of literary reputation, among whom I remember the celebrated Mr Dugald Stewart. Of course we youngsters sate silent, looked and listened.

“The only thing I remember which was remarkable in Burns’ manner, was the effect produced upon him by a print of Bunbury’s, representing a soldier lying dead in the snow, his dog sitting in misery on the one side, on the other his widow with a child in her arms. These lines were written beneath, – ‘Cold on Canadian hills, or Mindens’ plain, Perhaps that parent wept her soldiers slain: Bent o’er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, The big drops, mingling with the milk he drew, Gave the sad presage of his future years, The child of misery baptized in tears.’ “Burns seemed much affected by the print, or rather the ideas which it suggested to his mind. He actually shed tears.

He asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne’s, called by the uncompromising title of The Justice Of The Piece.

“I whispered my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, who rewarded me with a look and a word, which, though of mere civility, I then received and still ecollect, with very great pleasure.”

[sjsmith56]

Away Mission - Part 4

Summary: Sloan is given an exclusive about Bucky’s undercover mission. Bucky returns to New York, hoping for forgiveness.

Length: 2 K

Characters: Sloan, Clint, Bucky, Fury

Warnings: some explanation, some angst, Bucky grovelling.

Author notes: That’s it, a wrap up to everything that happened before. Sloan gets a story, Bucky gets more closure from his past and maybe they get each other back, better than before.

Part 3

📰 ❤️

Part 4

Sloan

I filed the story from the commandant’s office in that HYDRA base in Belarus. Allowed to enter the base, following behind Nick Fury via a sorcerer’s portal, I saw for myself the extent of what had been planned by HYDRA. By taking me there, Fury was giving me an exclusive to be the first journalist on site to post the story, my story, under my name, just me. Even now, on the Manhattan Daily website, I could see the reads, and the likes and reposts building.

HYDRA RESURGENCE STOPPED IN ITS TRACKS BY UNDERCOVER OPERATION

Avenger Bucky Barnes must be a hell of a poker player as he proved you can’t always take anything at face value. The famed super soldier, who just a couple of months ago was named persona non grata and unceremoniously fired from the famous anti-terrorism unit revealed he had spent the time since then as an undercover operative investigating a connection between security firm Excalibur Security Group and a plan by certain conglomerates to destabilize the country of Wakanda, in pursuit of control of its vibranium supply. What he found was more startling; the client of Excalibur was none other than HYDRA, the authoritarian fascist organization behind many of the world’s atrocities when they infiltrated SHIELD after the Second World War. HYDRA, thought to be finished after the exposure of their infiltration, and destruction of three helicarriers in the 2014 Battle at the Triskelion, an event that also released Barnes from his long captivity by the organization, had resurrected in the shadows over the years since then. They rebuilt a base in a remote part of Belarus, searched for the remaining followers they had and began a long plan to regain their stature. The plan, which involved the recapture and reprogramming of Barnes as the Winter Soldier, was foiled by him and by two other operatives in the Excalibur Security Group, Henri Ducharme and Daniel Nwabi, both of whom are now being hailed as heroes by their respective governments. There is more to come on this breaking story. Story filed by Sloan Hunter.

Folding down my laptop I stood up and headed towards the door. There was still a whole contingent of SHIELD agents, Wakandan security staff, and Avengers bustling around but the man I really wanted to see wasn’t there, at least not where I was. I didn’t know whether to wait there for him or go looking but the choice was taken out of my hands by the opening of a portal and Clint Barton suddenly appearing at my side.

“I’ve been told to escort you back to New York,” he said. “Buck knows you’re here, but he and the Avengers are preparing to arrest some high-profile people. Fury is giving you the exclusive on everything but it’s best if you’re somewhere safe while they implement the next part of the operation.”

“If the Avengers are all here who will be watching me?” He smiled at me, knowingly. “Ah, the retired guy. Alright, I’ll go back with you.”

I went through, but was deposited into my apartment, as the Manhattan Daily offices were still in a bit of a shambles. I guess until I heard more, I was working from home.

Bucky – Two days later

I reached for the door handle of the SUV outside of Sloan’s apartment building. Before I pulled on it, Fury coughed, and I turned to look at him.

“Take the week,” he said. “The others will get the last couple of them and transport them directly to the Raft.”

“Did you find the weak link?” I asked. “Rollins got out of there easily.”

“Yeah, we found out who it was and they’re already an inmate. The federal marshals have rotated the entire staff. Everyone has gone through a complete security check.” I reached for the handle again and the man coughed again. “The money that was deposited into your Swiss bank account.”

“Yeah?” I knew what was coming.

“Some of it is missing,” he said.

“It’s gone to paying off the debts of Henri Ducharme and to seed a fund that Daniel Nwabi will use to pay for the needs of several families he felt responsible for. I promised them I would help. Figured a million would do it. It’s blood money going to some good.” I looked at him. “You going to deduct it from my pay?”

“The thought crossed my mind but no,” he said. “Just ask next time. Mac is interested in both men, but they’ll be on probation for a while. How did you know they would help you?”

“Excalibur were thorough,” I said. “They had full dossiers on everyone, even me, although our little charade wasn’t completely bought by them. Everyone else except those two were posers, wanna be bad boys. Henri was the real thing, a decorated veteran who made a mistake and almost lost his family because of it. Daniel went through hell, accepted help and began to turn his life around until he crossed Excalibur when he tried to stop them from hurting one of his families. They gave him a choice to work for them or watch them kill his friends. There was never any doubt in my mind that they would help.”

I reached one more time for the door handle and this time he let me go. Opening the trunk, I pulled out my go bag of clothing. Until I got everything out of storage and back into my apartment which Fury made sure wasn’t sold off from under me, it was all I had. Closing the hatch, I watched as the SUV pulled away, leaving me in front of Sloan’s apartment building. I should have made sure she would even see me, but I didn’t have my phone as it was still in storage. A resident was coming out of the security door, and I grabbed it before it closed, avoiding using the intercom. Taking the elevator up to her floor I tried to think of what I would say when I saw her, but my anxiety ramped up and by the time the doors opened my mouth was dry, my heart was thumping, and my legs felt like they were encased in concrete. The doors started to close and at the last second, I put my hand out, stopping them. Stepping out, I looked at the door numbers along the hallway before stopping at the one that was hers. I wouldn’t have even known where she was, but Clint took pity on me and let me know, then Fury offered the ride. Clint also told me to be sincere when I groveled as she wasn’t a fool.

Gently, I knocked three times then waited. From inside the apartment, I could hear the television, then the sound of someone coming towards the door. Facing the security viewer, I stood tall. Then the door opened, and she was standing there, right in front of me.

“Hi,” was all that I managed to say.

All Sloan could manage was to start crying and I dropped my bag to pick her up. I held her tightly to me burying my face in her neck.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered over and over again.

I don’t know how long we stood like that; me holding her with her feet dangling above the floor, while she cried, and I begged for forgiveness but eventually I put her down. She backed up into her apartment and I picked up my bag, following her. The door closed behind me; I don’t even know if it was me or her who closed it but when it closed, we were left standing there alone and all I could do was look at her. My bag was dropped again, onto the hallway floor.

“I heard they came after you. Are you alright?”

She nodded. “They had a SHIELD agent watching me. Clint impersonated him for a few days when they learned when the attempt was going to be made. Sam was there, too.” She looked down at the floor then at me. “I believed you when you said you were done with the Avengers and done with me.”

“I’m sorry I was too convincing,” I sighed. “Fury said it had to look like I burned all my bridges. It’s going to take a while before the rest of the team completely forgives me. It tore me apart to do it. I understand if you want nothing to do with me.”

“I should be angry.” She breathed out noticeably. “You put yourself into grave danger to do this. Why?”

“I said no at first. It took two years for me to remember who I was, then it took another two years to have the programming deactivated and my arm replaced. For five years I was dust then Steve left and I felt like I had to start everything all over again. Wakanda helped me when others wouldn’t, even after I messed up in Madripoor. I couldn’t sit back and let anyone try to hurt the people who saw beyond what HYDRA made me. I owed them.”

She swallowed and for a moment I thought she was about to tell me it was over, that I hurt her too much for her to forgive me.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No, I’m starving.”

“Come on. I have lots of leftovers.”

I followed her into the kitchen and indicated with a yes or no, at the choices she gave me. After she heated the plate up and placed the food in front of me, she sat at a 90-degree angle to me at the table, leaning her chin on her hand. Feeling a little self-conscious I began to eat, then thanked her when she returned to the fridge, coming back with a beer. We said nothing as I ate but plenty was said by how she looked at me. When I finished and picked up my plate, putting it away in the dishwasher I leaned against the kitchen counter and looked back at her, still sitting at the table. Then I picked up my bag from where I left it in the hallway and turned off the hallway light. She got up from the table, turned off the kitchen light, then the TV and finally the living room light.

In the dimness of the living room, lit only by the glow coming from outside she came up to me and this time we kissed. It was tentative at first, having been a while since we last kissed in a way that meant something. The softness of her lips made me feel all sorts of good, but I restrained my instinct to wrap her up in my arms. Then she stepped back slightly.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she said, looking up to me. “If you break my heart like that again, even for the best of reasons, I will never take you back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “Is it too soon to say I love you and I missed you and I never want to be away from you again?”

“No, it’s just right,” she smiled. “I love you, too. Let’s go to bed.”

She put a playlist on; the first song was Otis Redding’s These Arms of Mine. We danced in the dark of her bedroom, getting used to being close again, moving our bodies in tandem to the music. Then we made love, gently, sweetly, and with a whole lot of tenderness and aftercare. When she fell asleep in my arms, I watched her for some time. Then I kissed her head and closed my eyes, thanking her for loving me enough to take me back. A major debriefing was coming for me, with Fury, the Avengers and even with her, but for now I was blissfully happy just being in bed next to Sloan. Despite the lies I told her to take on this away mission there was one truth that I kept sacred. No matter what, I would always come home to her.

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[paranormalsaga]

Nebulous (Chapter Three)

“Welcome to Liberation Today, the People's News Report. I’m your host, Elaine Newman. In the island nation of Ujamaa, at least fifty people were killed and over a hundred more were injured as the result of a military airstrike carried out by the United Republic of Corinthia. Multiple missiles obliterated an encampment for displaced refugees that had previously been designated a so-called ‘safe zone.’

“This news comes as the death toll in Ujamaa recently surpassed 100,000 deaths since the beginning of the uprising two years ago. This official figure is likely a gross undercount that excludes those who remain trapped under debris and who died due to chronic illnesses or infectious diseases.

“The United Nations reports that members of their convoy deployed to deliver vaccinations in Ujamaa for the Pluto virus were detained for more than several hours by Corinthian military personnel yesterday... 

“Last night, the 26-year-old Ujamaan American activist, Nabe Odera, was fatally shot in the head by Corinthian officers during a protest that disrupted environmentally devastating operations conducted in Ujamaa by the multinational tech giant, Atlas. Witnesses say she was shot even while she held her hands up and posed no immediate threat—”

Nagode paused the video and relinquished a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. That tended to happen when he thought about Ujamaa. He put his phone down and stared blankly at the floor while he sat at the edge of his bed, his chest caving slightly. Neither he nor his family had been back home since nearly a decade before the war started. Jonah had never gone back, all he knew was America. Genocide wasn’t enough, the Corinthians still needed displaced Ujamaans like Nagode and Jonah alive to endure the utter humiliation of it all.

What infuriated him more than the suffering, death, and destruction was his impotence in the face of it. He could hardly muster the mental energy to keep a roof over his head, let alone organize or fight back. No, he had resigned to isolating himself, bracing for more bad news about his people and country with each passing day. Often, he fantasized about revenge. He fantasized about forcing every Corinthian soldier and politician, along with their supporters, to suffer the same fate they delivered to countless Ujamaans daily, but this daydream only left him feeling more powerless when he snapped back to reality.

Now things were different. If what Annihilation said was true, then he did have power. Perhaps he could fight back.

His attempts at searching for real instances of telepathy and telekinesis online were fruitless.

He was distracting himself in a forum on superpowers when someone pounded on his front door. He ignored it, he wasn’t expecting anyone this late. In the best-case scenario, it was some idiot neighbor who thought their pranks made them the center of the universe. Hopefully, whoever it was would take a hint and walk away.

But the knocking returned, louder this time.

He walked over, grumbling under his breath, and glared through the peephole. There was a man who looked around Nagode’s age on the other side of the door, his neat haircut and black uniform made him look like a military officer.

“Who is it?” Nagode asked, keeping the door closed.

Nagode cursed, hiding Jonah’s bong out of sight before entering the hallway.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?”

He knew something was off as soon as he finished asking the question. The man was armed, but he wasn’t wearing any badge, he could have been anyone. Stupid, Nagode thought, he should have confirmed that before he opened the door.

“Let’s skip the formalities,” the strange man said. “We know there’s been abnormal activity in this apartment over the last 24 hours.”

Nagode’s ears grew warm. That statement could’ve meant so many things. Did this guy know about Annihilation? How could he? Nagode hardly understood what was going on himself.

“Show me your badge.”

The man reached to his side and produced one that read FBI. Nagode realized with some embarrassment that he couldn’t even tell whether it was forged, but it looked official.

There was only one way to know if he was telling the truth. Nagode would have to read his mind.

He regretted using his powers the moment he started. It felt as if he were experiencing the most extreme dissociation. His mind was split between a multitude of identities. Nagode could feel all the thoughts.

The man was standing in front of him, thinking about someone named Masquerade, and he was also standing in eleven other places outside. He was perched on the roof of the opposite building, staring down the scope of a sniper rifle aimed at Nagode’s head through a window. The other ten in the area also had their weapons drawn. Another one of him was talking to a nerd somewhere else. More of him were sleeping in different places, and others were getting ready for work. A few of him were in Ujamaa, delivering humanitarian aid.

This dude was all over the place. His mind was composed of multiple clones connected by a shared consciousness, working harmoniously. 

Nagode staggered sideways from the strain.

“What are you?” Nagode asked telepathically. He hadn’t even meant to, the thought just slipped out.

“Like I said,” the man responded aloud, unfazed. “Let’s skip this part. We know you have paranormal abilities, so just come with us. You’re a danger to yourself and others.”

“You keep saying, ‘we.’ Who is that exactly?”

A woman appeared out of nowhere and Nagode almost screamed. 

“We are the only ones who can help you,” she said. 

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