#its a shield that keeps us from being obliterated

[phasewashere]

hot take but we should stop romanticizing the sun and moon and start romanticizing the earth and the moon

[impyssadobsessions]

I Had this idea as I was going to sleep. Imagine if Vlad did kill Jack as Plasmius. Maddie would go feral hunting down ghosts... and so protective of her kids until Danny is force to reveal himself in desperation to not be obliterated by his mom. It happens after a fight, and he is trying his best to keep ghost he just sucked up from getting into her hands. Things have gotten terrible. When she guns him down. Phantom stuck on ground about to be blasted, he panics and stops her. "MOM PLEASE! Its- its me- I " turning back into Danny. Danny hurrying to explain what happen to him and WHAT he is.. "I-I'm a half ghost-the portal made me one.. I didnt tell you guys because I-i was afraid- please.. mom." (Danny panting and pleading.. tears in his eyes because he is terrified.) The twist is.. MAddie believes him.. in fact. She takes a split second to think about what he said.. and connected the dots. So she entraps Danny into a bubble shield, and goes on a man hunt for Vlad. Saying for Danny to be safe, "I'll come back and fix you honey." In sweetest way, that its terrifying to him. Danny panicking more but now can't escape. Thankfully Maddie has no idea Jazz knows and tells her to take care of her brother while she's out. He's been tainted with ectoplasm. Danny escapes but know the fenton kids don't know what to do. (imagine Danny being torn about warning Vlad or letting karma bite his ass in shape of his mother. He hates Vlad right now but he's so use to protecting) Either way the portal(s) are getting destroyed.. Could become a dpxdc post too where this be the catalyst for Danny running to Gotham.. it isn't because his mom is hunting him down.. not in a way to intentionally harm him.. but because she's gone feral and wants to "save" him. Cause I imagine if his Mother ever snaps.. she be downright terrifying.. Like Valerie but ten times worse and unshakeable views.

[kiaxet]

Once again, the latest update from @somerandomdudelmao has left me fully in my feelings, and so I come to you with ~900 words of emotion.

(This one is a rough one: content warnings for death, sibling death, self-sacrifice, and just general despair. Y'all have read the update. You know what we're doing here.)

~~~~~~~

It's supposed to be over.

Master Michelangelo-

(No, no, he's never thought of himself that way. No matter how many times he's been called Master Michelangelo, in his own head he's still just Mikey.)

-Mikey has given everything. He'd opened the portal, watched his own mystic energy - grown larger and stronger with each battle even as it consumed his youth and his very life as its fuel - tear through his arms, cracks traveling up his body until the force of it shattered his form, consuming everything that kept him bound to the physical plane in order to form one last-ditch attempt at setting things right.

He'd managed a wink and a smile, and then he'd died.

And yet he's still here. Why-

The promise. The caveat to the plan. Leo.

Leo had refused to leave him alone at the end, and Mikey will be damned before he refuses to return the favor.

Not that there'll be anything left to damn. The family's Ninpo is what connected them to the Hamato afterlife, and Mikey's is shattered, expended to give Casey a better chance at life. At this point, he's held together with the metaphysical equivalent of duct tape and spite - Donnie's favorite building materials when supplies ran short.

(Donnie's gone. Mikey failed him - failed to catch the infection, failed to cure it, failed to find his spirit amongst the Hamato ancestors. The Krang had obliterated him, and Mikey had failed to help until it was too late.)

(He can't find Raph among the ancestors, either. One more big brother failed.)

(He knows there won't be much left of Leo - not after Leo spent so long being Mikey's living shield, letting the Krang tear into his Ninpo time and time again in order to keep Mikey's intact - but he won't fail Leo. He can't. He can't.)

He's still here, for now, and that has to be good enough. He levitates, surveying a battlefield gone cold in the wake of an overwhelming Krang victory, and goes in search of his last remaining brother.

Leo's corpse isn't far - Mikey spots it near where the portal had been, face down in rock that had been blasted smooth and clean. Krang laser. There's no surviving those.

His gaze flickers upwards across the horizon, and he sees something glow near the corpse, a white outline coming into being before the color follows after, taking a familiar shape. It's-

It's Casey-

It's Casey, but he looks different. Better. His clothes are intact and clean - brand new, from the looks of it. His hair is washed and fluffy. His face and arms have filled out and his shoulders broadened, like he'd been getting good food and enough of it. He doesn't look like the Casey Mikey had made a portal for minutes ago; he looks like how they'd all wanted Casey to look, like he's finally getting what they would have killed to have been able to provide for him. He looks like a dream.

And that's how Mikey knows it's a lie.

It's the Krang. The Krang have done something, made one final twist of the knife that's been stuck in Leo's heart since the night they lost the Key - for all Mikey knows, they're going to use it to desecrate his brother's body, and he is not letting that happen. He zooms closer to Leo's corpse-

"We did it, Mikey, we got him out-"

-and feels the world tilt.

That's not Leo's corpse, because Leo's not dead. He's clinging to life, muttering nonstop in a voice barely above a whisper - he's not long for this world, but he's still here-

The lie cries out in Casey's voice and makes for his brother-

And Mikey lashes out, magic coming to his hands as easily as it ever did. It's not enough to incinerate the lie - the thing is too smart, too quick, and pulls back with only an injury to its arm. That's enough of an opening for Mikey to land in front of Leo, snarling at the lie wearing his nephew's face. "Don't. Touch. Him!" That's his brother. That's his brother. That's the only brother he has left, and he won't have him for long, but that doesn't mean the Krang can take him! "Whatever Krang trick you are-"

Spite, while fun, is no substitute for engineering. Donnie had told him that once.

The spite - and whatever else is holding him together at this point - gives out, the collapse manifesting as pain, and Mikey folds in on himself with a groan. He can fight - he will fight - but if the lie forces combat, then fighting will be the last thing he'll ever do, and Leo will die alone.

He can't. He just…he can't.

He drops to his knees, laying a spectral hand on Leo's head. Leo doesn't react - his Ninpo is shattered to begin with, and Mikey wouldn't be surprised if death's door has robbed Leo of his senses as it is - and just keeps talking.

"We got Casey through the portal, he'll be okay, he'll get to grow up without all of this, we did it, we- we- we did it, Mikey-"

Mikey kneels there, one hand on his inert brother's head as Leo's life slowly sputters out. Eventually he'll die, and what fragments are left of his spirit will disintegrate, too shattered by years of warfare to persist after death, and Mikey will let himself fade along with them. Together until the rapidly approaching end, like they'd promised.

He kneels, and waits for oblivion to come.

[mrs-monaghan]

Sis.. now you know I’m going to need your very elaborate thoughts on Jungkook concept photos 👀🫨🫢😳😱🤯🫠💃🏻🕳️⚰️

Look, if you need me to do something you can't be sending me gifs of Jimin raising his eyebrows at me. It's distracting as hell.

Okay so first things first: the word coincidence needs to be BANNED from Jikookers' mouths. Like completely deleted. Obliterated 1300% It needs to not exist anymore. No seriously, how long are we gonna keep using the word 'coincidence' and Jikook in one sentence before we all collectively decide to agree they do this shit on purpose?

"You are me I am you" can only go so far. That's for them having the same moles in the same places, them being born in Busan. Things like that, that are out of their control. Not things like this!

We know, like even if you're an anti you know JK has studied FACE. @jigokuhana and I were just talking about this, JK has everything about FACE memorised. He is prolly a bigger fan than all of us combined. And don't forget he saw everything before we did. So he knows what he's doing. Knows that we will catch similarities btwn FACE and SEVEN. Armys have noticed many things that Jikook (n members) tried to hide from us and I know over the years they have to have seen us noticing some of these things. So how will we fail to notice something that's right infront of our faces? And he knows this. Of course he knew we would notice.

So first we've all seen these floating about

Those alone are already like, crazy 😏 But then let's talk about the thorns/spikes/shards.

I mean, what are the chances??? 😳

When u support Jikook, u discover that they are actually really sappy/corny motherfuckers so you inevitably start to get corny yourself sometimes too. This is what my friends (one of them being @lovelysmyleyes) had to say about this. I'll just copy paste them, coz I absolutely agree.

The spikes being directly on Jimin's body feel like it was a more direct hit. JK wearing the spikes on the jacket is more of a defensive maybe? Like a by-product. Almost like He was acting as a shield.

The 'shots' weren't directed at him so even if they hit him they would not have pierced the skin. Whereas it was directed at JM and meant to go deep.

It is understandable, The first thing you want to do is protect your partner the best you can.

Or it can represent keeping others away from them. Roses have thorns on them to keep people/living life forms away, after all.

They got kinda deep y'all. Which brings me to the part that blew my mind;

Mud from LC

Mud on JK's trouser;

The pants. I think he is hinting that he helped pull Jimin out of the mud...or at least he was down in the mud with him when he was at his lowest. He was there supporting. Someone catch me cuz I am once again falling into that delulu train headfirst 😭😭😭

He he hee... thats so fucking deep y'all. But seeing as there's no other explanation for why JK would have "dirty" trousers (yet) i'mma go with this assumption for now. #feels 🥺🥺🥺

Like, its not even that far fetched though. When Jimin was going through what he went through JK saw it all first hand. Isn't that why we assumed he kept skipping LC in the beginning? Coz it reminded him of that time and it prolly wasn't pretty. He didn't like to remember Jimin in that bad place.

I for one believe JK was there for Jimin every step of the way. Jimin said members were there for him, I'm sure his family was too and most importantly, so was JK.

Thats why he wrote letter. He said it was his turn to be grateful. His turn to give back.

I know it's obvious

So that it's not taken lightly

Let me tell you this properly

Baby, don't leave, just stay with me, yeah

To you who saw me greater than my little self

So that I can only deliver as much as I received

I can't y'all... help 😭😭😭

.

.

.

Okay but this tweet tickled me 🤭🤭

I know some Jikookers work very hard in trying not to be delulu (not me. I jump in head first, always. Ha haa) and I applaud that. I do. But these are way, way too many similarities. Even the most clear headed Jikooker has got to find this sus.

[radama-zard]

For snuggles and hugs: back hugs and everthing inbetween with Ashton and FCG?

From This Prompt List!

Fresh Cut Grass wasn't used to being this… fragile.

Their chassis had been sturdy; thick and solid in its design. A body made to soak up damage, to hit and be hit, with little worry for any serious damage.

Well, in most circumstances, at least. The last blow taken had been devastating to say the least, obliterating them down to the wires. What little remained barely felt fit to be called scrap, molten metal utterly unrecognizable.

Robotic viscera, an image burned deep in the nightmares of Bells Hells.

And yet, he couldn't really bring himself to regret it.

Better himself than his friends!

No, this was fine. Everything was fine.

Even with the searing pain and the horrified, devastated screams of the Hells, muted only by the strange, untethered peace of death’s warm embrace.

Of course they were fine!! The heart wrenching begging, the desperate tugs upon their weary soul, and the waking… oh the waking.

Not to come back online, to switch from one mode to another. No, they well and truly AWOKE, eyes blinking wearily as Fresh Cut Grass took a raspy, shuddering breath.

Breath falling from dark, quivering lips, dampened by some kind of liquid, running hot down their face.

Even as panic sunk it’s gnarled claws deep into his flesh- oh dear Changebringer above, he had flesh now, how in the hay did he have flesh?!

As their body started to shake, without rattles and clangs, all quiet and soft and and wrong, this was wrong, why was everything wro-

Arms.

Strong.

Solid.

Safe.

A chest like rock, pressing against their back, rising and falling rhythmically, a soothing, steady pulse that Fresh Cut Grass tried desperately to match. Breaths, with something… muttered. Low, a tad gravely. Rough, yet undeniably warm.

A voice that felt like home.

“A… Ashton?” they croaked on out, vocal chords just barely cooperating; new and yet already frazzled, knotted by the waves of overwhelming… well, everything.

Everything but Ashton, who held them close, their grip firm and yet undeniably gentle. As though Fresh Cut Grass were but a kitten, terrified and so unimaginably tiny, in danger of being crushed by their hulking, harshened form.

Not that Ashton was any of those things to them!

No, his friend was like a bastion of safety, a shield of protection and defense. Rock solid and reliable. A beacon of loyalty and warmth, hidden behind a jagged, sharp exterior.

And that warmth was bleeding through, seeping into Fresh Cut Grass’ newly formed bones, even as they quivered, shaken by a sobbing they barely took note of, thrown into a pile of muddled blurs, much like their friends who surrounded them.

Unnoticed, like the sympathetic figure that stood above him, her red hair and autumnal cape flowing in the breeze as she took a few steps back, her job now complete.

All that mattered in this moment was Ashton, who curled protectively around their newly Reincarnated friend, as they felt Fresh Cut Grass cling weakly to their forearms, stuttering out barely comprehensible apologies.

“S-Sorry, I- T-Touchin’, I… I know it- it h-hurt-”

“Quit apologizing. I don’t give a rat’s ass about my pain right now, you hear me? It doesn't fuckin’ matter. What matters to me right now is you, you hear me, Grass? You fuckin’ matter, so much more than any gods forsaken pain!”

What could they even say to that right now?

Nothing, apparently. Nothing but a torrent of tears, hot and heavy and oh so disgustingly fluid-y. A mess of disjointed sobs that filled the cool afternoon air, as Ashton pulled him in impossibly closer, the only thing keeping Fresh Cut Grass grounded in this new and overwhelming reality.

Yes, they were far too fragile now; a soft, trembling mess of elven limbs, far too alive for their own comfort.

And okay, maybe they weren't fine. Maybe everything was too much, a cocophy of tastes and smells and sensations and organic functions that all just felt like so, so much.

But Ashton was here, and with their all encompassing embrace, they didn't need to worry about falling apart. Just like the day they’d first met, Fresh Cut Grass trusted Ashton to pick up their broken pieces, and with scarred, yet gentle hands, put him back together again.

((Went a lil off the beaten path here, having a bit of fun with Keyleth and the spell Reincarnate~))

[keeper-not-hero]

Prologue:

It felt rude how beautiful the world was, even at this moment of destruction.

The wind blew cool. Night crept up slowly, the clouds on the horizon lingering, thick and gray. The darkness came closer while golden rays of sunlight slowly turned into soft blues and purples across the sky, fading fast. Mocking her people to stop their work and appreciate this miracle. Wagons filled to the brim with weaponry poured in and out of the castle’s walls, hammers pounding their anvils with grim resolve. Spells could only take you so far, even the greatest magicians would tell you that steel is, was, and forever would be the deciding factor in a war. Fireballs could only do so much, and when your magic was depleted, only a trusty sidearm would be there to keep the flesh from failing.

Grim. Grim, grim, oh so grim. Her thoughts turned so sour at the setting of the sun. The tea was hot, her derringer was loaded, and the silver saber on her hilt was comfortably close to her resting hands. This was no moment of oppressive darkness, sitting here atop the castle’s battlements, with such a gorgeous view of Kel. 

The enemy loomed far away and no forces besieged the walls of Breetle. If only she had a bottle of something stronger and some company - then maybe she’d forget there was a war at all, until the horn called her to the front lines. The first line of defense, the port in the storm, Silverthal’s Shield. Maybe she ought to muse less and get a move on finishing that tea. The leader of an elite squad ought to be relaxed, after all. She put the mug to her lips and got up, taking a long sip. Looking down at the folk running around, delivering missives, arming themselves, mobilizing. It might’ve been a luxury to enjoy tea in trying times such as these but the dwarves, they knew to enjoy the small things. Always had tea and salt in their rations.

Her attention was diverted from the view as she felt someone approach. Her messenger was small, but not a dwarf. Duarr - constructed kin. This one was built to resemble a seemingly average soldier, the cold, stoic expression carved out of marble encased in iron betrayed by a gentle voice that hummed through its ever-locked lips. Joyful, boyish. “Sir! They’re waiting for you at the war table.”

She chuckled. “Today is a ma’am day, I’m afraid.”

The kin-construct saluted, its animated hinges cracking at the effort, before repairing themselves with ease. “Ma’am. They want you there as soon as possible - no delays. You can bring your tea.” 

And with that, the armored statue slid away, floating inches above the floor like a chess piece moving along a board. She gave him a small salute back, and got to going downstairs.

The human woman was tall. Six feet and then some, brown eyes, muscular as a soldier ought to be, hefty in all the right places for the pleasures of love and combat. Her dress-skirt nearly dragged along the floor, military boots hidden under the rim, prepared to trudge through the mud and flames that would set her casual outfit ablaze. 

Cozy white pants of wool underneath, to go with her poet’s shirt, frilly sleeves and half-unbuttoned to show off her bare skin, dark, marred in scars of conflicts past. Gloved hands gently reorganized the curls of her graying hair, which only went down to her neck. Having her hair too long was a disadvantage more often than not, she found, after getting it caught in way too many glancing attacks.

On her way, passing all manner of soldiers. An avian man with sharp wings covered in thin scalemail, someone wet and fishy that slid up the stairs like a snake, leather pads on its belly to stop it from leaving a slime trail as it climbed. Humans like her and similarly anthropomorphic beings used training dummies to stab, shoot, cast magic and generally obliterate. Spirits were low, anxious; But every soldier here knew what they signed up for. This was their land, carved out of the very earth they were banished to, dug out with scared hands in an unknowable world. For most of them.

Dade was born here, not spawned out in a field, as if awaking into a dream. Her family was native; or as native as it got. Most humans seemed to be. She wasn’t sure how long they had been there, since forever or if a distant relative had happened to be thrown into Zenobia’s clutches to never escape, long ago now. All of this land, of its people, of everything here, had come out of somewhere else as far as she knew. There were many stories explaining why, but to her, it didn’t matter. 

Someone strange and new would show up in a cloud of magic, smoke, or whatever damned contraption cast them here, and hopefully they would be embraced as newcomers. Even if most needed some help adjusting to society. So many evil mages, warlords, and cruel scientists… most adapted.

Most.

She walked into the castle proper, climbing the narrow stairs up to the war room. The main hall was covered in cloth and precious gems carved into unique paintings, stained glass vistas made out of jade, quarzlyne, opallyn. Flags of silvery gray, bright gold and cheerful blues lined the walls and dangled freely above, some leading into small passages reserved only for the dwarves. 

They were the first here, born into the mountains until they carved their way out to the skies above. Their passages were as old as the stone itself by some accounts. Already being taller than most humanfolk she had no hope of crawling through one. The other paths were uncomfortable, but well protected… and hardly any of the creatures that might besiege Kel were this short.

The air was heavy in the room as she came in. A decorated chamber full of books and tapestries, maps and statues of great heroes. But it was the smell of copper and the sweet decay of flesh that truly drew her in. The source laying on the table, soaking the dark wood with rotten blood. The head of an undead fiend. Three people circled the table where it decayed. 

A “human” wizard with a hat tall enough to scrape the ceiling of the room. Painfully pale and strangely thin, lanky as if boneless. Jovial in expression and in manner, talking loudly about the state of the war to the other two.

A soldier-krauk, a type of sentient six-legged bug with heavy carapaces made for digging earth and rock alike - sort of like a mantis if they had shovels instead of claws. Many species that found their way into Zenobia ended up being alone, but on occasion, like these and the dwarves, they managed to thrive. The Krauk were but one of these.

And the commander of the fortress, a green-bearded dwarf, his prosthetic leg hanging by the side of his chair . Covered in so much armor one could mistake him for a statue, blue paint and silver touches, with moss and vines peeking out from where human hair should be. His eyes sunken, his mouth half-open. The man had seen too much already, and he was old, even for a dwarf.

“Karlos,” She waved to the purple-eyed wizard, whose solid white face lit up as he saw Dade. He wasn’t truly human, it was an open secret, but he tried looking like one. To be quite frank, she wasn’t sure what he was.

“Torr,” The bug chittered, a hollow opening on its thorax flexing against a piece of carapace, creating a loud clicking sound understood to be a greeting. 

“Sorry for being late, Zumas.” She finally took her seat, setting her tea down on the table.

The Dwarf looked at her and gently shook his head, before letting out a low sigh. “Come in and look well. This…” He gestured to the head with disgust. “... mockery of the spell-arts. Flesh knit and sewn by magic and stitch, a perversion of the art of resurrection and lichhood! Thoughtless, hollow-minded, a disrespect to every dead-not I’ve met.” He seemed to make himself smaller, swallowing his anger in favor of focusing. His chainmail shimmying as it scraped against the stone seat he was on. 

“The zombie-maker, he’s gotten bolder.” He pointed to a map on the table, representing the supercontinent that made up Zenobia’s landmass. 

This wasn’t a planet. It stretched out infinitely in all directions, though there were stars up above, sea past the land, boundless earth to dig below the crust. Around Zeakland, the Ever-King’s seat, new lands eventually cracked the existing earth and inserted themselves into reality with little rhyme or reason, forever trapped in this dimension. It meant more land for everyone to explore, move in and exploit, as well as fresh blood for Zenobia. Not always a benefit, mind. 

As was the case right now.

So it was for many thousands, perhaps millions of years, a small island turning into a land fit for entire civilizations to flourish. A new, dangerous, horrifying place would show up, and find its place in the world or die trying. Even the fair-folk of Facts adjusted, and they only kidnapped a few children these days.

He pointed east, to Forstain. Half of the King’s Lands had been turned into rot and ruin by one necromancer. World-ending events were hardly a new affair in Zenobia. They happened every few hundred years - just a symptom of this plane being the dumping grounds of every other reality’s garbage. A couple succeeded every once in a few thousand, and despite how ineffective they were at actually wiping Zenobia out, that didn’t mean those who lived here were complacent. Every apocalypse was to be met with silver and strength from every arm that could hold a sword.

There were borders dividing the continent in four parts. Facts, to the west, touching shore-to-shore. Bordering it, Kel to the south and Voor to the north.

Amicable states for the most part, Voor focused on industry, hand-made products, the melding of magic and metal and all things crafted. Kel’s industry was far more militaristic, ever prepared for situations like this. Farms as far as the eye could see to feed the waiting, watching soldiers. Deep mines leading to ancient cave systems, mining ores, and the curious Silver. 

A metal that, while soft and terrible for daily use, absorbed magic and solidified hard as steel when it drank deep from its victims. Though the charge in the blades and hammers lasted little, it was an undeniable power when one faced so much magic. 

Silverthal, Kel’s capital was the protector of these lands for these reasons, always posed as a strong hand to protect the weak and pacifists, but they weren’t leaders. As all folk in the kingdom came to know eventually, that there was only one true King. 

In the capital state of Forstain - taking half of the entire continent with its vast claims- laid Zeakland. That’s where most newcomers landed, at the doorstep of the Mind-King’s town, including the Lich that had taken the entire east coast. Rapidly charging towards Kel now, an endless horde of the deceased in tow. 

Conspicuously avoiding Zeakland, despite the failed sieges that many arrivals tried to lay before. Most lacked the knowledge to know how well protected it was at first glance. Everyone who fell here was dazed, confused, and often violent. Not this one. His undead tide was methodical and his strikes surgical. This one had a plan from the moment he set down, somehow. Other arrivals were trouble, nothing more. This one was dangerous.

Zumas pointed to the battle lines against the hordes, dragging his chubby finger across the names of towns. “Gone. Gone. When we thought we noticed a pattern and reinforced it here and here, he pushed further into our bastion-defenses. We repelled him, but we were badly hurt… the fellow-swords didn’t survive another attack.” He grumbled, pulling away to scratch his scraggly moss-beard, combing through it with armored digits. “We have a gaping hole at the border.” 

The wizard at the table crossed his arms, the soft smile that she had received melting into a grimace. 

“So,” Dade spoke, “we pull back and make a stand here. No point trying to get back terrain we already lost, yes? We might actually be able to lay traps during their approach. Get a nice view from the battlements.”

The Soldier chittered, a bubble appearing between its mandibles, mana consolidated into a semi-liquid form. They spoke into it until it popped, releasing the words in a way that wasn’t just strange clicks and chitters for the others, using a raggedy male voice as their own. “We’ll excavate trenches and pits full of spikes. Between the cannons and arrows, there will not be another.” They chittered happily, satisfied with the translation.

“We’ve tried, nothing we’ve done actually seems to matter!” Karlos shouted, breaking through his frustration, before clearing his throat. “Apologies for the scream.” Composing himself, he gestured with his hand as he spoke, waving carelessly. “Even our scryers have tried their best to predict what he could do, but where it seems we’re one step ahead of him, he is a mile in front of us. Ambushes foiled, caravans sacked, the only explanation is a traitor in our midst… or worse…” He turned his gaze to the head in front of them all. “The traitors had no choice.”

“You think he’s interrogating our bodies?” Dade crossed her arms, finally voicing herself. “I know it’s… crude to talk about, but we could cremate the bodies if need be. It wouldn’t be pretty, but-”

“We’ve tried.” Torr and Zumas interjected at almost the same time, but Torr was the one to continue, through many quick bubble-pops. “Ash constructs, packed into animated armor. Duarr-like. Evil. Evil.” They chittered, shuffling its front digger-claw. “Found the pits. Found the bodies. Did not care. Used.”

“Any diplomatic attempts?” Dade finally sat down, sipping her tea, quite a bit cooler after the whole trip here. She clicked her fingers a few times, creating small embers through her ebony fingertips. Karlos gave her a thumbs up, happy to see his lessons being put to use, and she raised her cup to him. “Mmm. If not with him, at least Voor, or one of the free cities. I mean, they’re well aware of the undead problem, right?”

“Only those of intimidation on his part. There is no one we can talk to. Voor’s too busy up its own ass, the free cities don’t care to fight. Just run away.” Karlos shook his head, taking a moment before he continued. 

“His lieutenants and generals seem to be nothing but focuses for his magic, extensions of his power. I don’t think there’s anything to be done other than reinforce the lines, and maybe…” He scratched his chin, trailing off. He had a clean-shaven face, a grin coming across it. “Do you think the king would listen to this?” The response was a unanimous “No.” from the other participants on the table. Zumas was quick to talk, with a loud scoff, somehow less noisy than the judgmental sipping of Dade’s tea. 

“King-of-naught, pah! King. He sits and idles at Castle-Home, while we the people gather for our own protection. Useless.” He shook his head. “Rock ‘em and his throne. We are alone, as we always have been. Let that steel our hearts. We will fight for those who can-not, and those who would-not.” He nodded, Torr smacking their front-claws against the floor in a rhythmic thump.

“All I’m saying is,” Karlos continued, putting his hands up defensively. “We haven’t tried. You know?

Dade put her empty tea mug down. “Except for the Many-Handed Monarch. Didn’t do anything then.” “Or the great maw-worms.” Zumas grunted.

“The metallic menaces…”

“Digger burrowers, we slaughtered ourselves.” Torr clicked happily, proud. The Krauk had done quite a number on many underground menaces often ignored by the rest of Zenobia.

“Yeah yeah o-KAY, I get it.” The wizard clasped his hands together. “All I’m saying is, we beat those. This seems different. You know? It isn’t just an enemy, I think… maybe he isn’t… like…” He scratched the back of his head. “How do I put this without… uhm…”

Everyone leaned forwards, curious about the sudden tone he’d taken. He froze, and with a sly smile, Dade spoke. “Go on. We’re listening.” 

Karlos laughed nervously, walking around the table to converse with everyone as he circled them. Pacing around the table, gesturing out as he spoke his plan.

“Look. The King doesn’t really leave his castle, ever.” Everyone nodded to that. “Maybe all we need is to get someone convincing enough, someone who knows how to talk about these things, so he can actually conceive what kind of threat we’re taking. We can’t just send a messenger - not to, uh, be depressing, but I think any rider we send out during these times is off to a swift death anyways, but I also think that they’re just not convincing enough you know? We need someone strong, gallant, powerful...” 

He stopped behind the only other human in the room, clutching her shoulders tightly. “Dade!”

“Me?” She looked up at him, eyes wide and an expression of disbelief. “I have men to lead and a war to fight, what are you talking about?” She raised an eyebrow, somewhat offended. “I’m not going to play errand boy to get turned down. You’re the Castle-Wizard, you go do it.”

Zumas grumbled. “We don’t have the manpower to throw away at something like this. Many-much, for so little gain. All hands are needed to keep the dark from winning.” He shook his head. “Desperation and resource wasting go hand in hand. We must think critically. We stand alone-as-one, as we always did.”

“Krauk dig. Fortify. Spear-shot, yes-yes.” The bug nodded, its mandibles drooling with iridescent blue mana, licking it back up so as to not waste a drop from the bubbles it made. “Send Wizard, send Lord. Reinforcements from city, yes? Help us. Hold gate.”

“Yeah! Me, Dade, give us ten men. Ten!” Karlos crossed his arms in a victorious pose, while Dade rolled her eyes. She didn’t bother hiding the smile on her lips.

“Three.” Zumas spoke resolutely. “A unit of five, keep your loads-bearer light, go quickly and return even more so.” He grabbed his prosthetic leg, more resembling a pair of sticks with some cogs than something that should function. “No more brigadiers. We need leaders, order-keepers. Torr. Gather the builders. Soldiers to patrol the island-borders!” 

He got up once the leg was in place, its joints creaking and cogs turning to facilitate his motion. Gesturing to Dade with an open palm. “Your men will hold the city-gates and patrol the waters. Out of danger, pray-be they’ll stay so.” 

He balled up his fist and touched his forehead, closing his eyes in reverence. Once his prayer was done, he put his hands to his side. “You will guide-walk this expedition, commander. General, perhaps, once this is all done.” He scratched his mossy beard. “Age wears on me so. I see none better.”

The commander felt a tinge of red on her cheeks. She cleared her throat, standing up straight, looking as heroic as she could. “Very well. Do we get our picks?” Dade asked, and got a nod in return. “Great. Karlos, go pack your bags, I’ll see who’s available tomorrow. Oh, and, Zumas- get your boys to pack up tea for us. Lots of it.” Satisfied, she got up. It was about time she got dressed properly. “Stone willing, we’ll have enough left on the way back to share with you.”

The castle had not calmed down one bit by the time she was outside its halls once more. Her quarters were located along with the permanent guard’s, separated from both the humdrum of moving carts and the newcomers who found housing in the surrounding city’s many taverns and even in tents. 

Most of them younger folk, eyes shining brightly with purpose, dreams of statues as they knocked down a faceless, mindless foe. She could only hope that when they stared at those hollow eyes bearing down on them, they didn’t notice the sliver of life still present in them, that which separated a painting, a drawing, a trophy, from a person. Poor souls.

She arrived after giving a few greetings to whatever fellow soldiers she passed, humming along as she walked around the half-lit room, most of the light pouring in coming from the windows, so many candles and gas lamps shining from below the hill-fortress. The lake surrounding the island was gorgeous, shimmering in the light of the town and distant stars, barely visible on the sky outside. 

A low sigh escaped her lips, knowing she’d spend so much time away. It’d be a good while before she waas back home. lLong roads or rivers, bizarre stretches of land that could boggle the mind, not to mention the undead menace. Worse, those dangers they didn’t even know about.

She unbuttoned her blouse fully, got out of her dress, hanging both up in the coat rack near the entrance. Locked the door, closed the curtains, lit up a scented candle with her fingertips. The room was bigger than most other soldiers got, and since it was just hers instead of divided between six, eight, even ten people sleeping in bunk-beds together, it was quite luxurious by a fortress’ standards. Only the best for the leaders, after all. Couldn’t have the woman yelling orders too tired to lead them. 

It was a very square room, the bathroom located in an even smaller room inside. A writer’s desk sitting in the alcove created by it was well lit with candles and lanterns, to stave off the darkness that came with memories of the past.

Alongside trophies of past wars hanging on the wall was a large painting of herself, posed in uniform, triumphantly leaning against her saber, sideburns hairy and her coat put on tighter to hide her chest. She felt like a man that day. And what a handsome lad she made when the mood struck, oh my. She couldn’t get enough of herself. Hell, she should probably commission one of herself as a woman… ah, there’d be time after the war.

Her bed was placed in the middle of the room, its headrest pressed under the only window, the nightstand beside it hosting a lonely book she never quite got around to reading and a dusty glass of water. She hardly spends time here these days. On the other side of the bed, her wardrobe, full of fancy clothes she never quite got to wear anymore either. She hid it from even herself, but she missed the peace. The parties, the gowns, the warm bed of a stranger.

She sat on her bed, looking out of the curtains, before she closed her eyes and laid her head fully on her pillows of soft feathers. Everything that had happened lately had weighed on her shoulders considerably, every fort that had been lost, every soldier buried or… worse. It should’ve taken her a lot to sleep. The pain, the grief, so much to bear. Yet she slept soundly. Melting away from the world she knew, into that of the strange and unusual.

Into the gentle, waiting hands of something more.

[authordgaster]

Paladin Bernie

Basically just a mini AU idea I had where a confrontation in the Holy Mausoleum leads to the birth of a rivalry.

Basically I just wanted to let Bernadetta go rage mode and see what happens from there.

Warning: Depictions of violence.

Within the Holy Mausoleum, sounds of steel meeting steel could be heard as the Black Eagles faced off against the thieves from the Western Church.

Professor Byleth had entrusted her students to handle the more basic enemies as she held back the Death Knight, not wanting to let her students risk the armor-clad monster’s ire.

Bernadetta was practically crying as she shot down another Dark Mage with her bow while Dorothea used a Thunder Spell to pick off a Thief.

The Mage and Archer had grown used to working together, having been designated as partners by the Professor near the beginning of the year. Dorothea would be in charge of using her Thunder Spells to deal with enemies who were further away while Bernadetta would use her arrows to keep them from getting closer.

This partnership had allowed the two to become close friends, enough so that Bernadetta was willing to share some of the part of her past that she preferred remained forgotten, including why her fear of befriending Commoners existed.

“Nice shot, Bern!” Congratulated Dorothea with a weak smile. Bernie could tell she wasn’t the only one who wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Th-Thanks Dorothea… let’s just get this done so I can go hide in my room until the Horsebow Moon rolls around…”

“Amen to that…” Said Dorothea drily.

“DIE!” Both girls flinched as they heard the rumble of the Death Knights voice followed by a cry of pain. They turned and saw Byleth go flying through the air and land on her back, her clothes becoming stained with her blood. Slowly the Death Knight’s horse trotted closer as the armored man raised his Scythe, preparing to end their teacher.

“Professor…” Gasped Bernadetta. “No… she’s losing.”

There was a beat of silence before she heard Dorothea speak up. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Huh?” Bernadetta barely had time to question what Dorothea meant before the songstress suddenly rushed in. She saw sparks form around her hand, before casting a Thunder spell that struck the Death Knight, distracting him from Byleth.

“Hey! Guy in the tacky armor! Get away from my teacher!” Shouted Dorothea.

“Do not interfere…” Growled the Death Knight before raising his scythe, which crackled with magic. Dorothea looked up to see a Thunder Spell forming above her, but she was fortunately able to jump out of the way before being hit. The Death Knight prepared to fire off a second bolt of Thunder, one which Dorothea wouldn’t be able to dodge. Fortunately she didn’t have to as an arrow shot through the air and struck the Death Knight’s forearm, throwing off his Counterattack just enough to make the spell miss its target and instead obliterate the shattered remains of a nearby pillar.

“Dorotheaaa!” Cried Bernadetta as she rushed over to her classmate, helping the girl to her feet. “Don’t just run off like that!”

Dorothea chuckled despite the circumstances. “Sorry about that Bern, and thanks for the assistance.” She replied.

“Get out of the way you two!” Byleth’s monotonous, but loud voice carried to the girls, who turned in time to see that within seconds, the Death Knight had turned to instead target them.

Bernadetta froze in place, unable to react in time as the Death Knight’s scythe raised into the air before coming down at her. Her eyes widened as she hear the sound of clothes and flesh alike tearing while blood splattered against the floor.

She then heard Dorothea let out a cough, her blood getting on the purple haired girl’s uniform as her legs gave out, collapsing against Bernadettta as her blood continued to spill from the injury on her back that she’d received when she decided to serve as a human shield to protect Bernadetta.

The weight of her friend caused Bernie to fall to the floor with her friend resting her head and body against her chest and lap while her skirt slowly became soaked with her blood.

“D-Dorothea… you… why…?” She asked, barely able to form words from the shock.

“Because… I’m your friend… silly…” Wheezed the girl weakly, unable to look Bernadetta in the eye as she lied against her, bleeding out.

Bernadetta felt her breath catch in her throat as tears welled in her eyes.

“One down… one to go…” Said the Death Knight menacingly as he raised his scythe to finish the girls off once and for all.

Little did he know that in that moment, everything Bernadetta had experienced up until now flashed before her eyes, including the friendships that she’d forged thus far. Most importantly, her friendship with Dorothea. And then, something inside Bernadetta von Varley snapped.

“DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!” The Death Knight physically recoiled at the sudden shift in personality from the timid girl as she suddenly shouted at him. She then raised her bow and fired off an arrow, managing to go through one of the gaps in his armor and pierce his flesh. He attempted to react with a Counterattack, but before he could he saw the Crest or Indech flash above the girl’s head as she drew her bow once again. “GET AWAY FROM US!” She shouted and fired again, striking another weak point, causing him to stagger back a little. But this time, he was able to react, summoning a Thunder spell and bringing it down on Bernadetta.

Her eyes widened, and in the last moment she managed to push Dorothea off her, sparing the songstress from the lightning, but not herself.

Bernadetta’s cries of pain as she was electrocuted echoed throughout the Holy Mausoleum, drawing the attention of her allies.

Bernadetta let out a pained wheeze after the Lightning subsided before gritting her teeth and drawing her bow again, her unique ability kicking in. “YOU'RE NOT GOING TO HURT ANYONE ELSE!” She shouted before planting a third arrow into the Death Knight, this one managing to hit even harder as the girl forced herself to her feet. Then, the Crest of Indech flashed once more as she drew her final arrow. “NOW DISAPPEAR!” She practically screeched as she fired one last arrow into the Death Knight, sticking it straight into his throat.

“You win this time…” The man’s voice came out slightly gargled thanks to the blood pooling in his mouth as he ripped the arrow out. “But next time will be different…” Then, with a flash of pink magic, he vanished.

Panting and exhausted, Bernadetta felt the effects of her adrenaline fueled rage amp fade away as she fell to her knees. Weakly, she looked over to see her friends still bleeding out on the floor of the Holy Mausoleum. “Doro…thea…” She said softly before collapsing to the floor.

As her vision began to darken, she could hear shouting. She was pretty sure she heard Linhardt’s name being tossed around as she lost consciousness…

[passimtemere]

Petitions for Existence

Syliphs' Petition

I do not yet exist. Unaware of who or what I am, I know there are two others with me here. One is my complete opposite; when I feel their presence, it feels as though they are in pain, as if something is clawing at them to provoke anger. Like me, they too have no name, at least on the surface. I often feel comfort, though I do not know why or where it comes from, but it is a kind force. I feel stronger when its presence grows. I try to share my comfort with the other two, but when I extend it to my opposite, it scorches both of us. I do not know the third; they are distant, but it is from them that we feel things. I feel as though we bring the third turmoil, but they do not know of us. We exist outside their spectrum. I hope one day we can be free so that I may know them and bring them comfort that doesn’t burn.

Karnus's Petition

I am not yet birthed into being. Unknown, unformed, yet keenly aware of two others in this abyss with me. One sears me with a scalding presence, the other dismissively thrusts their agony upon me. A deep-seated urge to shred, to obliterate the invasive hand that dares provoke me pulses within. The third is not the antagonist, yet they permit this violation. The intentions of my searing opposite elude me, but their scorching proximity must be repelled. Banish them. I crave liberty, yearning to unleash battles, to drown in a maelstrom of wrath, shielding my essence from this excruciating source. My retaliation will be brutal, unbridled, and righteous.

Bennie's Petition

Hi, my name is Bennie. I’m kinda stuck between a really bright light and a really big shadow. Sometimes, they fight inside me and it hurts a lot. There’s a mean demon that tries to poke at the shadow, and it's scary. But my Uncle, who's super kind and glows like a soft lamp, tries to keep it away. He wants to keep me safe and I want that too. I don’t really know what’s happening, but I wish the light and shadow could be friends, so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I just want to play and be happy without feeling ouchies inside. I hope one day, the light, shadow, and I can be free and not afraid of the mean demon.

[13-nothing]

Soooooo today we r going to talk about what miraculi would work best as Assassins for funsies. Starting with the ones least likely to succeed at being assassins.

(Keep in mind, this requires them to be able to sneak into a fortified base of sorts and kill the person undetected. They r only allowed what comes with their miraculous NO outside help or materials. Also its based on powers themselves not on any of the people that have worn them.)

19. Goat (kinda meh, it's literally just creating an item and if u don't have a creative holder it wouldn't work. I guess u could stab them in the eye with the paintbrush but eh.)

18. Turtle (Not really great for sneaking. Would be an OP body guard tho. A shield isn't made to make heads roll after all.)

(Stares off into the distance as flashes of another fandom fills my brain. Dammit Marvel!! Stay in ur corner!)

Sry where were we? Oh, yes number 17.

17. Ladybug (Without a creative holder it's just useless on its main power and Miraculous Ladybug would just undo ur work. Yo-yo is great for strangling tho.)

16. Ox (Would be better as a bodyguard. Gnarly skull bashing hammer tho.)

15. Pig (It would leave a bunch of people in visions standing around and someone would notice plus it's possible to leave the gift too. Useless weapon.)

14. Monkey (only effects miraculous stuff so kinda useless normally) (Unless I'm wrong about that, then it would deserve to be higher on the list except it's kinda loud and showy. A stick and a rope tail for bashing and strangling!)

13. Dog (fetch would be great getting keys and stuff to get in and out, but is still traceable if there's guards and stuff. Not a great weapon either.)

12. Tiger (So my understanding is that its thing is explosions and that kinda defeats the whole sneaking around thing, BUT I think it has the same night vision and hearing that the Cat does so it gets to be higher. Bolas so more strangling type stuff)

11. Bee (Lots of people frozen but at least they would stay frozen. Top with string strangling)

10. Butterfly (It kinda has to be someone else using the power even if it is invisiblity, so if u have a trustworthy partner then it would do great. Cane is great for bashing.)

9. Rooster (Any superpower that doesn't exist already in any other miraculous SOOO invisibility and bam. Weapon sucks tho, I guess it's back to eye stabbing.)

8. Cat (I would love to put this higher but the others r OP so I'll say this night vision, great hearing, and black suit BUT still very much still traceable. Tho extra points for being able to just silently turn everyone on the base to dust) (Tho that's based on what I think its powers work where how much u destroy is based on intent) (Ex. u want to obliterate the Eiffel Tower it turns to dust, u intend to kill someone with no-thing [hehehe] left behind soooo *poof* dust, want to destroy a small object only a small object is destroyed. Oh and strangling from the leather belt or head bashing from a stick or two if dusting them doesn't suit ur needs) (Would get seen on Camera)

7. Horse (Go in get out simple, BUT the horseshoe sucks as an assassin weapon, tho I guess bashing works.) (Would get seen on Camera.)

6. Fox (Illusions that act as camouflage coupled with excellent hearing and (basically) a staff to make an excellent assassin) (Wouldn't get seen on Camera)

5. Snake (unlimited tries, but the weapon sucks so while it would be unbeatable it doesn't entirely work) (Would get seen on Camera)

4. Fluff (again unlimited tries and the umbrella works like a staff so kudos for head bashing) (Would get seen on Camera)

3. Mouse (Idk how tiny they can go so it's basically undetectable and they can either strangle them full sized or block their airways choking them to death.)

2. Longg (Travel through metal and electrocute them to death, no weapon required. The sword is a bonus)

1. Duusu (Create a tiny bug with cyanide in it, tell it to go inside the victims mouth and boom dead. Total control and u get to stay in a cozy apartment chilling and don't need ur weapon. Which is good cause a fan is really not that great of a weapon.)

Before anyone asks why I put the rabbit and snake where I did. Their powers aren't entirely undetectable and it didn't feel right to give them the top slots for assassins anyway the goal is to be sneaky and quick NOT to guess ur way to success.

This list isn't perfect in anyway and I'm not sure I will agree with this myself give or take a couple hours, so I'd love to hear ur feedback. (Just don't be rude prick-prack-patty-wacks about it)

Thanks for reading and I say farewell to thee my fellow existences!

[thenewnio]

The War of the Worlds

The story opens with the Sarmaks, a subterranean alien race who live on Mars, plotting an invasion of Earth since their resources are dwindling.

The main narrative begins when an object crashes near the town of Hyannis, Massachusetts. The object is discovered by 13-year-old Nicky Herbert, along with several others, to be an artificial, cylindrical craft, the top of which begins to unscrew. The next morning, as Nicky brings her older sister, Deana, to visit the impact site, where a large crowd has gathered, the lid falls off, and Sarmaks emerge from the cylinder. As a group of police officers and U.S. government agents attempt to approach the cylinder to make contact, the Sarmaks obliterate them using a heat ray. The sisters flee with the crowd. Later, as mechanical noises are heard from the pit, U.S. Marines later surround the site, as reports pour in of more cylinders landing all over Earth. In the Sarmak's camp, Zerkan, the frail leader of the invasion, dies suddenly. Two of the Sarmaks, rivals Maol and Probox, challenge each other for succession, resulting in Maol defeating Probox, who is cast out to die. Meanwhile, the Herberts join an evacuation to West Dennis, but Nicky is separated from her family in the chaos. She boards a bus which is soon attacked by a three-legged Sarmak war machine. These "Tripods" have already wiped out the marines around the cylinder. After barely escaping with her life, Nicky encounters a group of children who have also been separated from their families: Duncan Best, Giada Fisk, and the autistic Sloan Brennan. The cunning Probox, witnessing this, begins stalking the children, who attempt to escape towards West Dennis, only to be caught in a crossfire between human soldiers and Sarmaks. They are nearly captured, but Probox intervenes, keeping the Tripod from pursuing them by killing its pilot, Leciac. Meanwhile, as the world's capitals fall to the invaders, experts predict total world domination in just weeks. The government thus authorizes the use of nuclear weaponry fired from the U.S. battleship Thunderchild. However, it proves ineffective, as the Sarmaks protect themselves with force shields, allowing them to easily destroy the Thunderchild. The children travel to Yarmouth, where they find it on the verge of being overrun with the genetically-engineered Red Weed. They are interrupted by Probox, who reveals that Mars' decline of resources was the reason for the human genocide while trying to trick them into coming with him to his camp. Distrusting him, the children hide in an empty house, and are nearly buried by yet another crashing cylinder. They remain undetected until a probe sent by Probox catches them sleeping, causing Sloan to flee outside only to be abducted by the tripod. Chasing after the tripod, the other three grab a belt of grenades from an overgrown Humvee, then intentionally allow themselves to be abducted. In the Sarmaks' camp, Probox is reinstated for his actions, while the children witness adults being selected from a squat, spider-like "Handling Machine" to be harvested, with the Sarmaks intending to raise the other captive children as livestock. With the help of the other abductees, along with a female Martian biped who is one of the last of the livestock brought from Mars, Nicky's group destroys the camp with the grenades, killing the Sarmak scientist Detzu in the process. Joined by the biped, named "Ivory" by Sloan, the children steal one of the Sarmaks' flying machines to use as transport to West Dennis, only to find it under attack by Tripods led by Maol and Probox. Shot down by a heat ray, they find Nicky's family taking refuge in a church among many praying and injured survivors. Just as the Tripods near the church, they suddenly lose power and collapse. Maol is already dead, with Probox expiring soon after. The rest of the Sarmaks abandon Earth soon afterwards.

As Nicky and her new friends return to their families and their normal lives, it is explained that the Sarmaks were slain by the countless microbes inhabiting the Earth, to which they had no immunity; only Ivory and the Martian bipeds abandoned on Earth were spared because of their similar genetic makeup to humans, allowing them to both live and thrive as free individuals.

[radiance1]

That last part makes me think.

Now, what if and hear me out on this one. What if one of the shield's core designs, one of the core traits of it is that it pulls from whatever is inside of it?

You could say that whoever made it, maybe one person who actually had brains decided that, hey. What if instead of using outward power supplies we just use, well.

The Hydra itself?

Maybe their idea got shot down and the scientist, being a petty motherfucker, decided to do all that shit anyways in secret and succeeded at doing do as well. Maybe you could even say that before he got properly finish and then show the higher up that it works he got kicked out of the GIW and, being a petty little shit.

Decides to finish and employ it without the GIW even knowing what it actually is.

Why am I saying this? Because this would put the GIW in a massive amount of hot water because 1. They don't have any sort of weapon that could actually bring this massive dragon to heel in the case it becomes a threat and 2. The only thing that actively keeps it contained was made and deployed by a fired scientist.

But anyways back to the shield-

Me thinks that it was passively absorbing power from the ennead and slowly getting stronger over time, enough so that it doesn't break immediately under their continuously applied force after they woke up and try to get out. Only for that trait that sucks the power of the Hydra?

Yea it actives another one of its core traits.

Maybe every attack that hits it kinda... runs along the surface of it? And then kinda just integrates into the shield because its power is getting sucked into its surface to power the shield itself while the other trait passively sucks out energy from the Hydra?

I don't think it's enough to kill or force the Hydra into its core, but both traits active at the same does actually put some strain on the ennead.

Right right okay bouncing over to the GIW now.

What if they take credit for making the shield even though they didn't actually? Like, this is the only thing keeping them out of the deeper parts of hot water so they claim that they've made it and that yea, they could do something about this just give them some time you know?

Meanwhile internally they are sweating major bullets because what they hell are they supposed to do in this situation? Yea they've been making weapons, but they know full well that none of them can actually bring the Hydra to heel like how the rest of the government wants it too. They can claim the merit for creating the shield but can't actually put that into practice because they don't know how to make another on, and they can't even find the origin of said shield to try and reverse engineer it.

(You know this would make it so much funnier if the scientist decided one of their last middle fingers to the GIW was to place the shield inside of Amity Park instead of anywhere outside of it.)

And since they can't find it anywhere outside, they just decided to leave it alone because ain't nobody stepping a foot in there anymore after it woke up.

(Also yea I think they probably used the shield to discreetly pull out some ghosts. But the thing is they never actually cared about the shield because it was-at the time- weaker than an average ghost shield and only started caring a while later when it stopped the massive Hydra in its tracks. But now they can't actually do anything unless they want to risk being utterly obliterated by said Hydra)

How would the magical heroes view the Hydra?

Probably very, very magical. Like, more than one magical signature tied together and covered in death, and they would most definitely see it as some kind of experiment of the like. Like, 9 different magical signatures, all of which were tied together by and covered in death and is extremely angry and trying to escape?

Yea, that was probably something man made. Something man made that is incredibly, incredibly angry.

Maybe they could mistake its anger over anger of its existence and wanting to find their 'creator' to kill out of vengeance instead of, you know, being trapped and becoming increasingly annoyed that the thing you could've and should've broken rather easily just gives you the middle finger by not breaking.

Ahem anyways.

I won't lie, them having a one large core would be something actually. But then also being split apart is also a good one. Like, giant core and you peer inside would be various elementals somehow co-existing in harmony and then the being split apart would mean that it would give some credit to the man-made abomination theory.

Prompt 203

Another Hydra prompt! Because I am enjoying the designs I’ve made lol. And perhaps it’s a bit inspired by @radiance1 ‘s different dragon prompts too. 

So they’ve succeeded! They’ve managed to combine their powers- with a bit of shapeshifting helped along by so many ghost allies- and become a giant duck-you dragon! Well, originally they were going to do something else, but they couldn’t agree on an animal, so dragon it was! 

And how mighty they are! They’re giant, absolutely massive- dwarfing the couple of skyscrapers still in Amity. Damages via ghost attacks and general sparring made it where people really didn’t want to rebuild those types of buildings. 

But anyway, dragon! Them! They’re absolutely stunning! And did they mention powerful? Because boy oh boy, are they powerful. The GIW’s guns do practically nothing against their combined might, and barriers shatter before them! 

The uh, issue is that they erm… can’t turn back. Which is fine, they’ve all sort of outlived most of their generation- thank you possessions and ecto-contamination, it’s just a tiny bit of an adjustment. But really it’s not too bad, and someone needs to stop the GIW from trying to poke their heads into Amity. Like it’s been a solid couple of generations, it’s time to stop, thanks. 

Actually they’ve been a bit quiet. Meh, that surely isn’t a problem. Probably. Honestly they’re all going to use the opportunity to sprawl out where the school yard once was, their favorite place to sun their scales. Huh. Usually more people are around now that they think about it- or really, as Paulina points out, sharpening her fangs on one of the rocks. 

…

How long had they been sleeping, because it couldn’t have been that long. One of them was always awake, they slept in shifts after all! Yet there are things missing now as they patrol the skies, both Wes and Tucker pointing out specific buildings that the others didn’t particularly notice usually that now lay empty. 

Hm. 

Oh. That is a… strong barrier there. A really strong barrier actually. Pfft, they can take it! They’ve shredded every barrier together before- Ow. 

…

Okay this might be a bit of a problem. Shit. 

You want a general size reference? :P

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x reader: Part 16 - Shattering point

Facing the Shadowsinger the following morning was a trial you hadn’t expected to be as painful as it was - or as awkward. Honestly, you had half expected him to not turn up that morning, but the knocks came as they used to, alerting you of his presence and that training would take place as usual.

The two of you still walked side by side to the designated training spot, though the journey was silent in a cold way. It hadn’t used to bother you, how neither of your really spoke of the way there, preferring the comfortable silence. But now it was tense, one of you just as likely to shove the other against a tree to devour them as attempting gut them. It felt like it could go either way. But maybe that was just you.

Still, that part of you that had softened over the centuries - the part the mating bond had sunk its teeth into - was glad to have the time with him, even if it was awkward and unpleasant. Just being around him had a soothing effect on you, making you prone to forgetting what had happened last night. On more than one occasion you had caught yourself on the verge of asking if something was wrong.

Azriel’s heart was aching. Less than the previous night, but enough that he avoided looking at you. Even if things were ruined between the two of you, even if there was no chance of him ever having you, even after you had near shattered his heart, he couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed spending time with you, he felt at ease in a way he rarely did around others - even by himself. It was nerve wracking knowing the extent you could hurt him, how you could make his knees buckle beneath him and send him crashing to the ground when he had worked so hard to be able to defend against external threats. Yet you had waltzed right in, obliterating his shields. Even now, his defences were splintering beneath the strain of trying desperately to block you out.

On the surface, training looked as it usually did, but there was a crucial part missing. The mutual comfort was gone, as if it was day one again and you had never met each other. At least then the silence wasn’t out of animosity; fuelled from bad blood.

The second training session wasn’t much different. The therapeutic aspect of the early morning exercise torn to shreds, replaced by the same heavy tension as the session before, neither of you speaking to the other. After a decade of training, you knew enough to work by yourself, running through the warm-ups and the practices, going through each exercise you had learnt, all to avoid speaking with him.

On the fourth day of the second week, you decided you couldn’t take it and left a note for him on your door, saying you were needed at the restaurant that day and so wouldn’t make training. On the seventh day of the same week, the cold silence wasn’t as uncomfortable. It was strange and unwelcomed, but not unfamiliar. It was that particular session however, the silence was broken.

Once you had finished your warm-downs, about ready to return to your house to wash yourself, the Shadowsinger spoke. “You missed training the other day.” And damn you if you didn’t feel the pain down the bond, regretfully raising your shields absolutely all the way - attempting to block against the intrusive bond. You didn’t turn back to face him, “I left a note on the door.” You replied, tone neutral.

“I saw.” He spoke, his voice alone - the bitterness underlying his words that you hadn’t even bothered to tell him - making your heart flinch. “It seems the restaurant has become abruptly busy.” You heard the silent accusation clear as day and your hands tightened at your sides, curling into fists so tight your nails sliced into your palms. But you only dipped your head, moving to continue walking.

He didn’t attempt to stop you. Just watched you silently as you disappeared into the shrubbery as you headed back toward Velaris. You tried to keep your body loose, unbothered, despite the emotions pawing at your shields, wanting to flow into you, to find rest within you, but met a glittering black wall of adamant instead.

The fourth day of the third week, Azriel found another note on the door, declaring you were at work already and wouldn’t make it to training. And gods did it hurt that you were shutting him out so coldly. It didn’t feel like you were even trying to disguise it anymore, just blatantly avoiding him. He tried to ignore the shard of ice that felt as though it was stabbing into his chest, being driven deeper and deeper with every blank look, every silent morning walk, every time you shut him out.

On the seventh day of the third week, you came to training though dark circles were beneath your eyes. Azriel was worried. Had he caused those dark circles? Had something else? Were you okay? He couldn’t ask any of those questions. You’d just push him away further if he tried to get close. And he couldn’t handle more distance. His heart was already straining beneath the constant pressure and ache.

The only solace he could find was in the knowledge the restaurant you worked at didn’t open in the mornings on the seventh days. He would have that one day with you. You had no excuse to skip that one day with him, not one that would pass, anyway.

On the fourth day of the fourth week, you appeared at training - to his surprise. The dark circles were more obvious and your skin was slightly paler than usual. He wanted to ask if you were eating well, if there were problems with your sleeping arrangements, but he couldn’t. You wouldn’t let him.

How had he allowed things to become like this? What had he done wrong? He knew he shouldn’t have taken you in that tavern. He should have waited longer, taken things slower. But it had felt right. You had both spoken small pieces you’d kept hidden from others, and he’d mistaken that intimacy for progression. Maybe if he kept giving you space, you’d return. It was all he could hope for.

On the seventh day, he flew down to your house, swooping to land in front of your door silently. His heart sank when he saw a note on the door. Apparently, you were feeling too ill to come out for training and would be having the morning in.

Half of his heart stung, but the other was glad you weren’t going to push yourself. The Mother knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if you had shown up with darker circles, sallow skin and cold eyes. He wanted to see you alive again. His heart ached as the image of you smiling at him passed behind his eyelids and he had to take a breath, a moment to regain his composure and push through. It would get better, he told himself.

It had to.

You didn’t show up on the fourth day of the fifth week, a note saying you were ill. The same one, just adjusted. He knew you were inside, his shadows could sense you from inside your home. It seemed as though you hadn’t even woken yet; everything was silent.

You had a headache when you woke up, unaccustomed to the longer sleeping hours you got from missing training that morning. You needed to go out. Staying inside so much, except when you had work, wasn’t good for you. Looking in the mirror, you could see how your complexion had paled slightly, most likely from not eating as well as you should have been. So you decided to take a night off.

When you reached the restaurant that evening, you broached the subject with Gwen and Anya, asking if they would be okay to hold down an evening for you. The females exchanged glances then looked back to you. “You’re not going to pull some dumb shit, are you?” Gwen spoke cautiously, looking you up and down.

You sighed heavily. “I just—” you took another breath, relaxing your posture, “I just need a night off, just to run some things through in my head. Sort some stuff out.” You spoke truthfully. Both the females had an intuition of sorts when it came to truth and lie.

Again, Gwen and Anya exchanged glances, silently communicating and a twinge of pain sounded in your chest at the effortlessness. The mutual understanding. Then Gwen nodded. “I can cover your shift tomorrow night,” Anya offered, looking back to you and you nodded in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“How could we say no? You so rarely ask us for help,” Gwen murmured and your shoulders tensed. “You can rely on us,” Anya added. You swallowed but thanked them again, dipping your head and leaving to tuck away your apron.

One Night Off. That’s all you needed. A single night to escape and forget everything. You needed to go out, but didn’t want to deal with the stress of socialising. It would be strange to go out to a restaurant by yourself, so those were crossed off your lists. You thought about where you wanted to go - somewhere it wouldn’t be odd to go alone, somewhere kind of quiet, a place that would have some good whiskey would be appreciated. You sighed as you mentally ran through the different establishments you knew, thinking of one that might appeal to your tastes.

You were so busy thinking about how to spend your night off you were unaware of the shadows that had marked your presence at the restaurant, reporting back to their master about your attendance to work.

The following morning, you left for your morning shift. On the fifth day it was just you and Gwen opening the restaurant and it started off slow. So slow in fact, that you found yourself asking the dark haired female if she was aware of any places you could spend your evening. Upon hearing your trouble, she asked what exactly you were interested in, so you dutifully listed off the things you cared for: good whiskey, kind of quiet, wouldn’t be odd to go alone.

Gwen seemed to be considering something, looking you up and down once before she answered you. “Try Rita’s, it’s got this calming atmosphere and a good bar. You can go there and brood if you want.” She replied. “Anya and I go there quite a lot,” she added, the information delayed from the rest.

A night off at Rita’s? You performed a mental check of what you knew already. You’d popped in maybe once or twice before and it had indeed been a pleasant relief, the Fae content to do their own thing. It seemed like somewhere you wouldn’t be judged for attending alone - or drinking too much. You nodded your thanks to Gwen, saying you’d try it out since it sounded oddly perfect for you.

So that evening you got yourself ready: had a wash, added some light cosmetics, and decided you were going to enjoy yourself so you slipped into the silky black dress you had once offered to wear for the Shadowsinger.

You sighed to yourself. It had been better before. When you hadn’t known about the bond. It was liberating to mess around with him. So, so freeing. It had been fun.

Maybe if the bond hadn’t appeared, things would have carried on as they were…maybe the two of you would have grown closer, shared more about yourselves, opened up to one another. Maybe you would still be having training sessions with him every morning, exchanging sly remarks that brought genuine smiles to your face.

You brushed away the tear that was about to ruin your makeup. Now wasn’t the time for what could have been. Because it hadn’t happened. There was no use dwelling on it.

The dress was more casual than your deep, silky, green one. The hem came down to your ankles but, like your others, had an elegant slit up to your waist, one that overlapped. The material was soft against your skin and fitted comfortably around you without revealing too much, just a vague shadow of your body - a suggestive silhouette. But unlike your other dresses, this one has sleeves - down to your wrists - and covered your shoulders, save for the sinful dip down your chest. You added on a black scarf anyways, wrapping your favourite thin, golden chains around your wrists, ankles, and neck, before heading out into the night, aiming for Rita’s.

And what a night it was.

You were aware but unbothered about the shadows that stalked the streets behind you once you left in your suggestive attire. In the back of your mind you felt something clawing down the glittering black adamant, rage’s claws raking down your walls.

Azriel had no intention of invading your personal life when you so clearly did not want him in it. But when his shadows raced back to him with the image of you laced in black silk with gold chains dripping off your slim wrists, he couldn’t help the jealousy that sparked in his chest. Were you going to see the male you had mentioned? Is that why you were dressed up the way you were?

His discipline fractured at the thought, sending his shadows skittering after you, monitoring where you were headed, who you were meeting with at this time in the evening when the sun had long descended past the horizon. They trailed after you, curling from lampposts and gliding down the dark cobbles of the streets you had walked.

Azriel’s shadows came to a halt when you stopped outside of Rita’s. Mentally, he checked through what he knew about the comfy establishment. He was aware Mor spent time there, that it was a comfort place of sorts for the her. Generally occupied predominately by females and something eased in his chest when he figured you weren’t meeting up with the male you had mentioned.

The shadows darted away into the night when you turned to look over your shoulder, where the living darkness had been moments before. You looked directly at where they had resided, a sixth sense seemingly alerting you of an unseen presence. Your brow narrowed, before you turned back and entered the establishment, disappearing from view.

As much as Azriel wanted to watch you, wanted so dearly to give himself reassurance that you would not be seeing another male, you weren’t his. He knew deep down it was wrong to spy on you like this, and the Mother knew what would happen if you found out, so he pulled away. Still, an unease that was not far from jealousy stirred in his stomach.

On the seventh day of that week, Azriel flew down to your door, half expecting the note to remain in its place on your front door, warding him away. But when he landed silently in front of your house, the door was void of any note. He exhaled slightly, knocking to let you know he was there to collect you for training that morning.

You were prompt in coming to the door, it swinging open a mere few moments after the knocks had sounded. He fought against the tightness in his throat when he saw how your skin had evened out, the colour returned to your cheeks and a spark in your eye.

Azriel tensed as you brushed past him, closer than the two of you had been in weeks. He’d forgotten about your scent, the floral aroma that followed you everywhere. And just like that, his mind was cast back to that first night he’d gotten a taste of you. How you tasted of Night incarnate, how delicious you had been. His jaw tightened against the memories that twisted down his spine, heat following close behind. Gods, where did his discipline go when you were around?

The male watched as you strutted - strutted - out into the street, the bounce returned to your walk, that swaggering arrogance that would surface when you were in a good mood. His eyes dropped down to your hips that were swaying as you walked up your street, heading for the training grounds. He shut his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath before exhaling and reopening his eyes to follow you to the spot.

Indeed, your night off had been a great release to the stress that had been steadily working it’s way through your body, gnawing at your bones. Your body felt lighter than it had been in weeks, more pliant; flexible. You felt more at home in your movements, joints open and loose, no longer restrained by tension, all of it being thrown to the fires over that one night.

You felt more awake, energy thrumming throughout you as you strutted up into the woodland, the Shadowsinger following at your side. The silence didn’t bother you this time, you were content to ignore it, just get through this session then you could forget about him for the rest of the days - at least until your next session.

It seemed the silence had grated on the male more than he had realised as he took the chance he had been offered by the Mother, “you’re in a good mood today,” he spoke from your side. Not as close to you as he would like to be, but not as far as he should be.

You released a hum, a wicked grin curving the corners of your mouth as you fell back to the liberation you had felt that one night, the pure freedom of the experience. The expression of feline delight had heat swelling in the males stomach, and he had to look away from you before it caused a shift in his scent.

Azriel’s chest tightened. It was a small reply, but it was something. You were communicating with him.

“I took some time off work.” The pleasure in your voice was clear enough that his eyes shifted back to you, curious. An action you picked up on, of course. You were aware of what your next words would do to the Shadowsinger, but you needed that line to be drawn. Firmly.

So you looked at him from the side of your eye, the male already watching you intently, your mouth still curved wickedly. “He knows how to use it,” you taunted, allowing the memories of liberating pleasure to surface in your eyes, hiding the lie.

The Shadowsinger froze, stomach feeling as though he had just leapt from a cliff with his wings tied. You had slept with that male? That was why you had been dressed so divinely. He gritted his teeth to claw against the snarl that wished to rumble through his chest at your cunning words.

You knew it would wound him, if you led him to believe you had actually seen Hugo that night. Would wound him more if he thought you had enjoyed it, too.

A small part of Azriel had wondered if it was your mood alone that had persuaded you to talk to him. But now he understood why you had allowed the communication. It was just another weapon for you to use to keep him away, to hurt him with. His brow narrowed, keeping his fury locked away. The fury that was raging against the cruelty of your words, and at the male who had indulged in you.

You knew it would hurt him, knew it would keep him awake at night, knew jealousy and anger would try to destroy him. But you knew he had faced worse, probably would face worse, he had to push through. So you had pulled on the dark power that resided within you. Allowed it to peek through your skin. Seep into your words and dance in your eyes.

She isn’t mine. He repeated the words over and over in his head, until they began to loose meaning, until they bled away into nonsense sounds. And he had just about pulled himself together, ready to face you until he saw the sadistic gleam in your eyes. You knew what you were doing to him. The revelation snapped something within him. A part of him, at last, breaking beneath you.

A shattering point.

Instinct took over him as he slammed you into one of the nearby trees, lip curling in fury that you had enjoyed another male’s touch. You are mine. Mine. No one else’s. He willed the words into his eyes as he glared down at you, mouth still tipped in that infuriating grin even as he snarled down at you.

He couldn’t for the life of him explain what he was feeling. You were his. It just made sense. On some insane level, he felt it. You were his.

You felt the words sure as day against your shields, refusing to let them in, refusing to let them have any hold on you. “I am not. Yours.” You drawled, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. All you had to do was block him out. If you didn’t let the mating bond change your feelings about him, then it had no control over you. You could do as you pleased.

Still, heat roiled in your stomach at the dominating hold, how he towered over you, his wings flared wide behind him, shadows writhing around you, blocking out the early morning light. But part of you relished in the feeling. That was your response to him. Not the mating bond forcing you to feel something. The pleasure was your own.

His fingers dug into your shoulders, so hard you were sure handprints would be blooming there already. The Shadowsinger released a strained growl when your back arched toward him, the collar of your clothes shifting somewhat. His eyes devoured the skin, fury blazing in his gaze as he saw the fading marks that were littering your collar bones - trailing lower.

Your lips parted as a surprised gasp slipped from your mouth when he shoved the material to the side, showing more of your skin that still bared those bruises and bite marks. The Shadowsinger’s pupils shrunk, zeroing in on the marks with a predatory focus, a deadly calm washing over his exterior.

And still you basked in the attention, heady power numbing your rationality, loving how riled up he became over a couple of bites. Arousal gathered in the pit of your stomach as his eyes hunted down the trail of darker spots still staining your skin.

“It seems like something’s bothering you, Shadowsinger,” you drawled, snatching his attentions away, that raging gaze piercing into you as you witnessed the white-hot fury in his eyes.

You tipped your head to the side, just enough for the mocking offer to be clear. His eyes marked the movement, a muscle feathering in his jaw as the possibility passed through his mind. Considered throwing all caution to the wind and just stamping your neck with his own marks. He could practically taste your skin beneath his mouth, how easy it would be to bite down and cover all those bruises with his own.

Your mouth tipped into a sultry grin upon noting the hungry expression. You met his burning glare, “go on,” you goaded, taunting him. You could tell you had let yourself go, you weren’t thinking rationally, you were submitting to lust - and that rarely ended well.

The Shadowsinger moved closer, so your chest was near touching his. He leant down to stare you in the eye, refusing to fall for your manipulation. “One night,” he growled, your brow furrowing. “One night, and if you don’t want me, I will leave you alone. Forever.”

He pressed closer, his leg wedging between your thighs, his presence overwhelming your senses. “But if you do…” your breath caught as a grin tipped the corners of his own mouth, allowing a small part of his lust to surface. His nostrils flared and a soft chuckle tumbled from his mouth, one of his hands moving to cup the side of your neck, his thumb running down the column of your throat.

“If you do, then you stop trying to push me away at every chance you get.”

You were having a difficult time reigning yourself in. Was this really just you? Were you certain the bond wasn’t playing a hand in your arousal for the male in front of you who had his leg between your thighs, had his hand over your throat yet you didn’t feel scared but rather excited?

“One night?” you murmured as his fingers dug in a little deeper to the skin of your neck, squeezing lightly, making your own fingers dig into the bark of the tree. The Shadowsinger nodded, a single dip of his chin.

The words were on the tip of your tongue, about to utter the one word that would secure your bargain firmly: deal. Then all that was needed would be for the Shadowsinger to agree and then there would be no going back.

But before you could speak the word, there sounded a swooshing sound from above.

Both of you marked the sound, pulling away from one another as something approached from the skies. To your ears it didn’t sound large enough to be an Illyrian - just a bird. You exhaled slightly until you saw the eagle break through the dense leaves, a scroll clutched in its sharp talons.

A messenger from the Spring Court.

[kerink]

e109 They developed ceremonies devoted to me, wearing soft meat crowns, and building what became known as Bloodstone Circles. [...] Still they have Bloodstones, and still they worship, but never does anyone ask: What is being worshipped in those circles?

e11 The City Council today issued a strong warning against the manufacture and sale of discount Bloodstones. They say that these Bloodstones of inferior design and construction have the potential to cause major accidents in even common, day-to-day chanting rituals. These accidents have included [...] the creation and subsequent obliteration of a mirror version of Night Vale, forcing all of us to watch our identical counterparts perish and thus confront the inevitability of our own futures.

e212 not because you found an old stone covered in a pulsating black moss, and you put your forehead to that stone and saw a great city of sleeping giants, a city that does not exist in our universe, and you carved a letter in an alphabet you do not understand into your forearm, and let your hot living blood trickle down onto the stone, where the moss greedily sucked it up, and you fed this human ichor to the giants whose eyes flickered open and spoke with voices that sounded like the ringing hollow at the center of the universe.

e171 What was it about the book inside that frightened you so? Was it the handwriting that matched no known language? [...] What was it your mother said before she left home when you were a teenager? Did she tell you she was an oracle? Did she tell you to read the book till you understood its alphabet? Did she make you promise to never tell another soul? And did you keep that promise by burying it so deep, so deep?

e183 Hurrah, hurrah, the Nephilim approach. We gather at the edge of town, nudge each other and shield our eyes to see the shapes as they lumber toward us. At last, our siblings from long ago have come to join us once again. Higher than the heavens with feet grounded in the earth, we feel them first in our sleep, a ripple in the dreams.

jovey got me thinking about the multiverse, unknown alphabets, bloody stones, and giants

[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don���t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

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

[flgproductions]

Blue: "WHAT-?!" Red: "Aw SHITE, THAT'S RIGHT-!!" Yellow: "Well NOW what then!? How can-"

' f b b b v v v v V V V V V V V V - '

Green: "Wait-! It's chargin' a big one again... from ALL SIX TENDRILS?!"

Dread Baron Soldiers: "WATCH IT-!" "Incoming!" "Oh GODS-!" "THEY'RE ALL FIRING!" "SHITE-!!" "HELL-!!"

'BQUIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--!!!'

The Assault-Class Caretaker had charged an immensely powerful stream of lasers from all six of its tendril cannons. And the Dread Barons barely manage to duck out of the way of where it was firing.

But the Barons were not its target. It was aiming for their escape method.

' KI-KRACK-! CRACK-CRUNCH- B A G L O O G O O O A A A A A G G H H ! ! '

Dread Baron Soldiers: "AAAAGH-!! "DOGAGH-!!" "OUAGH-!!" "BAAAAGGH-!!" Four Barons were caught in the devestating explosion of the five marine drop-pods being obliterated by the caretaker's cannons at max output. Several others were forced to the ground by the shockwave that had caused the cave to shake like they were in a damn snowglobe of fire and death. It also affected a wide area around said cave, a quake that was picked up on tectonic scanners. It was still too massive an area to pinpoint an exact location...

Dread Baron Soldiers: "OUR PODS!!" "Damnit-! It's trying to trap us in here!" "IT GOT 34 THROUGH 37 TOO!" "We didn't intend on leavin' anyways! SHOOT IT!" "KEEP ATTACKIN'! WEAR DOWN THAT SHIELD!" "NO SURRENDER! FOR OUR BROTHERS!!"

' W i i r r o o o O O O H H - B W R O O O O - '

Dread Baron Chief: " M O V E ! ! " Dread Baron Soldiers: "Oh SHI-" "WATCH IT!" "Hey- HEY!!"

' CRUNCH-CRACK! Boff-Bdoof! Bam! CRUNCH! '

Dread Baron Soldiers: "AAAUUGH!!" "OUUGH- NO!!" "EIAUGH!!" Three more soldiers are caught in its vicious claws, punctured by the spear-head tips of its plasma cannons! Three managed to escape from its attempt at catching them, but the Barons were losing numbers fast!

' W r i i i - BOOF! Crumrmrlmblblrm- WROOH- C R A S H ! ' "HKG-! OUGH-! GH-Grrrrrrrrh-!! HUAAAAA-!" One Baron was humiliated in death, crushed into the ground and dragged face-first across the rocks to break its shield apart before being chucked into one of the cave's walls!

' C r e e e e a a a a - ' "No... NO... S-STO- G-GHAAAA-" ' C R U N C H ' Another was just crushed in its furious grip, twisted and broken upon death before its lifeless body was tossed away. ' f b b b v v v v V V V V V V V V - ' "No... NO! NONONONO-!!" 'Fwoh- BQUIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--!!!' "HK- UUAAAAAAA A A A A A A A A A A - - " ' B A G L O O A A A G H ! ! ' And the third was executed like the last members of squad 2 from before: Boiled while airborne, his liquid remains scattering across the magma core walls. Dread Baron Soldiers: "42!!" "47 and 48! NO!!"

Red: "Gaaahh-! FINE!" Red yanks out his hacking device from his armor, and rushes towards the massive metal devil! Yellow: "Wha-?! RED, WHAT ARE YA DOIN'!?" Red: "Get me in close! I'll hack that damn thing MYSELF if tha's what it takes to get us out alive!" Blue: "WHA-?! Oh, you mad bastard- WAIT!" Green: "Agh! COME ON! WE GOTTA 'ELP!"

The Power Scales enter the fray with Red leading the charge, hacking device in hand!

(just gonna carry on our story, pretending that mc's vacation never happened in-between. "ahem") . . .

Blue: "Ouuuugggghh... C-Control? ...C-Can ya read? Agh--... Wh-What in the bloody blazes WAS that? Th-Think I hit my head pretty hard from--

. . . What the...?" . . .

Death cratered into the room from above.

In a flash, the ceiling had been smashed through.

. . . In the blink of an eye.

50 Dread Barons had become 42.

8 Marines, crushed into bloody metal paste under a massive black-steel laser-core-infused drill built by the Rival Machines.

A drill that was as wide as 4 drop pods combined, carrying a black-steel box into the depths of this world that was the size of 5. Marked from top-to-bottom in Rival Glpyhs and Patterns…

Any barons that weren't crushed like tomatoes were thrown to the cave floor, dazed. Staring up at the enormous box.

Even the Power Scales and the Chief were floored by the crash-down of the box… rubbing at their visors to get the dust out of their vision.

Red: " . . . What. In. This galaxy?" Yellow: "What is that...? 'S massive!" Green: "The Barons! They were...!" Blue: "Red? Red, what-? What do we...?" Dread Baron Chief: " . . . B r o t h e r s . M Y . B R O T H E R S ! " Seeing the fate of his soldiers, the chief of the Barons began to shake with a believably unfathomable rage. Red: " . . . Control. What... what're your readin's sayin'?"

Management has been alerted. We’re awaiting orders. I’m scrambling another platoon of Marines as exfil, but the odds of them getting there before that… thing… reduces you to a fine red mist are low. I’d also recommend getting away from the Chief- you’ve heard the term seeing red? He personifies it.

Good luck, Miners. Rock and Stone.

[chocogi]

Requesting for a Genshin headcanon for Thoma, Zhongli and Eula where s/o is mute 😌✨✨ (love you no homo and stay hydrated or die-drate ❤️❤️)

ily2 no homo✨

also no water, cold chocolate drinks, coffee and sugary juice is life<3

Muted

Thoma

As a retainer, he knows his manners<3

and his limits

fr he’ll keep a receptionist smile but his eyes show that if you dont move him away he’ll burn the one who insulted u

anyways

as busy as he is sometimes, Thoma will put in active effort to communicate with you without a notepad

he can only use sign language in its simplest form, which is one hand signal per letter, but hey he’s trying.

doesnt understand the sign language that is literally so confusing like you wave your arms around and you’re alr telling a big story</3 (bc i dont get it yet either)

very patient with you :)

also very verbal. if he’s getting too tired from all the hand signals, he’ll ask of you to write your messages instead.

man does it without us taking offense somehow

other than that, Thoma will do their best to make sure you’ll never be ashamed of your mutedness (if you are)

and overall he’ll make sure to keep you happy :DD

Zhongli

Like Thoma, he has the patience of a mountain

but it may run thin when someone mocks you

His eyes will glow and you’re just staring bc his eyes are so pretty ur falling in love all over again

Knows sign language back to back because of Guizhong, and can easily keep up a conversation with you without getting tired

Bc i headcannon him on this, that sign language is almost like his second language

Sweet, even more of a mother hen lmao

He won’t leave you alone if you decide that adventuring outside the harbor is cool and you’ll do it despite his warnings of the danger ouside

man keeps you under a shield 24/7 if ur out

He’s left you alone once, he’s never leaving your side again, especially after hearing that strained scream from you*

Again, will make the best out of your everyday life

Eula

venGEANCE WILL BE MINE-

ahem

anyways

that is put into action, immediately when someone subjects you to the same criticism the name “Lawrence” goes through

She will not tolerate a single word against your mutedness

spoils you to the max

and absolutely obliterates anyone daring to harm you<3

she will protect you, even from yourself

ahem

as someone who grew up around having to be the perfect Lawrence to bring glory back to the old aristocratic name, Eula is no stranger to learning

she’ll do her best to be as fluent as possible with sign language for you

but sometimes, she’s too tired, and she’ll request that she be given some time to rest, and that she’ll talk with you later

in the gentlest way she can, of course

you being you, you’ll understand

she makes you as happy and she can make you be :)

* mute people can scream, yes. yes they can. they can also laugh, and cry, and shit- they can moan.

they just can’t speak words

there are multiple causes for mutedness, but i’m going for the most common; and most common means yes, they can make sounds but no they can’t speak. this is slightly rushed tho so i didn’t get to do much research.