#there's a big move towards using machine translation

[vixenscratch]

Okay, so, sad industry facts time. I've not actually worked as a subtitler, but it was a career I considered for a while, and I have at least one friend who's done some.

At least Swedish subtitles, though I suspect this is pretty industry wide, suffer from subtitlers' labor being seriously undervalued. Most subtitlers could probably do a better job, if they were adequately paid and given adequate time to do their job. Instead the pay is low (for translation work, which is also seeing a drop in perceived value) and the expected volume high.

I roll my eyes and/or laugh at errors in subtitles as much as anyone, NGL, but the solution is 100% not gatekeeping. Because I can pretty much guarantee that the problem is someone up the food chain making bad/stingy decisions about what's good enough.

one profession that does need better gatekeeping is people who write or translate subtitles. brother that is not what was said.

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 3

The Nerve Suit was skintight and left nothing to the imagination.

Casper had already tried plucking the thin layer of jet black second skin away from himself, but hadn’t been able to get any purchase on it with his covered fingertips. Looking back to the mirror, the only thing exposed was his face and shaved head. The young man grimaced, he’d never been one for hair styles, but cutting off his messy brown curls had been an unpleasent twist that he hadn’t expected when agreeing to this experiment. Glancing down in the mirror, he instinctively covered himself, the suit rendered him genderless at a glance, but it was still rather obvious after more than a passing glance.

“Casper?” Came a voice and the now telltale sound of robotic legs whirring and walking towards the room the human was stood in. He glanced back at his normal clothes, then at the mirror again.

“In here.” The young man called out. The sounds of the robotic legs go louder until he saw Wren appear in the mirror in the doorway to the room. She was atop her bipedal robotic platform that most geckins used around anyone larger than their single foot in height.

“They’re all ready for you. Last chance to run without anyone seeing.” The foot tall green geckin offered without emotion in her voice. Neither judging, nor leading him in a certain way. Casper suspected that she had her own horse in this race, but out of everyone who the young man had spoken to; she’d been the most warm.

“This is going to be fun.” Casper began, convincing himself as much as her as he turned and, whilst trying to ignore that he was very much on display to her, she matched his pace as he marched toward the hanger. Speed and stride wasn’t a problem for the geckin, at least not for their platforms. They could outrun Casper at the push of a button, completely ignoring they’d outlast him with the fusion cores that powered them.

“It’s certainly going to be interesting, but why would you use the word ‘fun’?” Wren asked calmly, keeping the conversation light, but still obviously monitoring the man. The small green geckin had become his doctor and psychologist of sorts. Carefully watching him and seemingly keeping the more extreme ‘Zeet’, the head engineer, in check.

“Well, we have media and fantasy stories about piloting mechs. Whole franchises that are built around the concept of bipedal or multi-legged technicals. Apparently, I’m living the dream, and I didn’t even need to train for it.” Casper shrugged, feeling oddly disconnected from the current events.

 

“You understand this is unlikely to be easy right?” The small green alien gently pointed out. A glance down at her and Casper noted how her neck ruffle was pulled tight against her. He gave her a wane smile and nodded.

“Oh yes, Zeet has explained at length that it’ll be like learning to walk again. Moving an arm or leg on its own, is its own thing. Even all four limbs is another level, but I’m going to be controlling a thirty-foot mech, dealing with its balance, its systems, everything.” Casper grinned and chuckled as they entered the hanger proper, and the noise went up significantly. Casper had to raise his voice somewhat to ensure Wren could hear him, she had to practically shout back at him.

“He made a big deal that I would struggle to balance it without a tail.” The human said with a smirk.

Wren grinned a sharp grin.

Taking a moment to look up at the giant machine, Casper could only be impressed.

The mech itself was a rough translation of a human body. Two legs, two arms, a torso and a head on top. They had toyed with the idea of a more mobile machine, with digitigrade legs or even giving him equipment for his first outing, but Wren had been present and argued them all down. In the end, it was her pointing out, not for Casper’s safety, but the cost of breaking or damaging complicated equipment if the first piloting effort failed.

No point in having a fancy jetpack if a panicked human trigged the jets and crashed into the ceiling, rending the bay unusable for the foreseeable future.

So as Casper gave the giant bipedal vehicle a critical eye, he noted that it was surprisingly thin. The legs were slim, several meters wide to a normal human, but compared to the rest of the mech it felt like they were too small to lift such bulk. Likewise, the arms were malnourished, obviously barebones. He could see pistons and wires. They were all strapped down and had metal plates protecting them in places, but this mech was not designed for anything other than an experiment.

A prototype. Saying their true mechs often looked like geckins; digitigrade legs for explosive speed and massive mechanical tails for balance. Casper had to guess that this was the first, truly humanoid machine they’d made… and only in the short space of time too.

Their industry capability was frightening.

“He was quite upset that he had to remove the tail section of the mech. No point in adding parts and complexity for the first step.” She pointed out, that wasn’t something Casper had heard yet. Interesting. The next time Casper spoke, it was to Zeet in the form of a short, sharp ‘good luck’ and nod.

“You look ready, like a real geckin pilot.” The blue geckin pointed out, gesturing to the skintight Nerve Suit from his position on his own mobile platform.

“Just a bit taller.” Casper grinned, but realised he made a faux par with the immediate frown form Zeet. “Sorry. Nerves. The suits pretty tight, I didn’t realise it would be like this.” The young quickly said, running a gloved hand over his stomach. Thankfully, this change in topic was enough to remove the dark look on the blue geckin’s face as they rejoined the conversation again. He had to remember that geckins were touchy about their height…

“Yes, well the Nerve Suit is needed to ensure the body has as little feedback from your true body as possible. It should be plenty light as it’s only a pawful of atoms thick.” Casper pulled a face and rubbed his fingertips together. He felt pressure, but not sensation other than how slick his grip was.

“You ready to climb in? Remember, we’re just calibrating. Remember; don’t be disappointed if you can’t run yet, all we’re looking for is movement. Wiggle the feet, twitch the fingers. Look up and down.” Zeet rambled, nervous all of a sudden at the prospect of the human experiment. He continued to run through a check list of basic movements.

“I understand Zeet, I’ll do my best for you.” Casper promised, unsure if he could reach out and touch the shoulder of the geckin, or if that would be too far. Was he supposed to be the nervous one? With everything going on with humanity, it seemed impossible that they would allow anything to happen to the young man. Like walking along a tourist bridge and it has a glass floor; this was all simulated danger, not real danger. Right? Casper turned to the mech itself and headed towards the team of technicians who were waiting for him. They were crowded around the open hatch where Casper would climb in like a pack of scavengers waiting for their prey to fall over.

The clamber into the pilot chamber wasn’t the issue, nor was the coffin-like pod that required Casper to lay down with his arms crossed over his chest, it was the needles. The pod pressed in on his legs, hips and shoulders, his arms were still free for the moment, but would be locked into place when the sarcophagus’s lid came down into place. The inside of the casket was filled with a gel that had given way by several inches as he sat down, then shuffled himself in. If he was struck by anything, or more likely; fell over, the gel would absorb the impact to his physical body. It would also swell, once he was sealed, securing him in place.

“Legs in place!” Called one of the techs as they fit a breather over Casper’s nose and mouth.

Then, after a moment, Casper was stabbed.

Along the various rivers and paths that followed his nervous system, hundreds of hair thin needles all stabbed into him like a wave of bee stings, causing the human to grunt and flinch. The shoulder locks stopped him from moving too much as the techs gave curt nods that all was well. Then a series of five needles thrust into and along the young man’s spine and he lost all feeling of his body.

His eyes snapping open and gasping at the sudden pain and of a fear that something had gone wrong! He couldn’t move!

Zeet appeared in his vision, next to two of the techs that were disconnecting tubes from the mech itself.

“You’re good. First disconnect from your nervous system is always the worst they say. We’re about to give up control on the mech, you’ll be in the dark for a few minutes, but that’s it. Blink twice if you understand.” Asked the blue geckin, staring down at the human. Without a voice, the young man, blinked twice.

“Outstanding, good human. Lets get this closed and submerge him. Casper? You’ll hear me over the radio. Follow my instructions. You’re going to be seeing the world from a whole new perspective.”

Casper tried to nod but was reminded again that he couldn’t move at all. He just laid there.

Flat on his back, from the perspective of a corpse in a grave, looking up at the techs and Zeet, as if they were mourners about to throw the first handfuls of dirt upon him.

Then the lid of his casket slid closed and sealed against him. He felt pressure on his body as the gel filled casket embraced him and then all was still. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t see or hear. He couldn’t smell anything. His body wanted to twitch, to move and kick. But even when he tried to test the limits of the pod, of the gel, he couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t even tell if he was moving!

Panic was rather rapidly growing within his chest as he lay there, alone in a sensationless void.

Was this what death felt like?

“-asper? Casper can you hear me?” Zeet’s voice appeared in his head.

He tried to instinctively respond, to say ‘[Yes]’, but immediately felt and knew it was pointless, his [paralyzed throat and mouth meant talking was out].

“Excellent! We’ve got your feed here. You don’t need your throat anymore.” Came the excited reply.

[What?]

“You’re connected to the machine’s transponder. You talk, or try to talk like normal, and we will read you.” Zeet explained, Casper could hear the excitement in his voice.

[Is everything okay?]

“It’s going fantastic! We literally just turned this system on and you’re already communicating with us. You’re a natural, human! You ready for more systems?”

With nothing better to do, Casper thought of his reply.

[Sure, let’s do it.]

“Alright, give me a minute.”

It was a strange method to talk. Casper could… feel? The correct way to communicate. It wasn’t his unprocessed thoughts being transmitted. He could feel what he was sending to Zeet, like he was approving every syllable. What information the human wanted to send, was sent, and nothing more. There was no tone, no emotion. His words, thoughts, sentences, were words on a screen.

Light appeared, briefly blinding Casper, who squinted, and the hangar immediately came into focus. His head was drooped forward and for the most part he could only see the floor that had been directly in front of the mech itself. There were geckins down there all running to and fro. Focusing on one, Casper’s vision rapidly zoomed in and he could see each and every individual scale on the yellow geckin tech’s face, before Casper relaxed his eyes a fraction and his vision pulled out slightly. The geckin tech monitored a console that sat beneath the tower where Casper had entered, seemingly unaware he was being watched.

“Okay, we’ve turned on your external cameras. Do you feel any new sensations? Any sort of… connections that you can access?” Zeet asked carefully.

[I can see.]

“Yes, we want you to access those so you can see out of the cameras attached to the recon unit.”

[No Zeet, I can see. There’s a yellow geckin at my feet.]

“You can- Hoy! Who’s below us?” Zeet shouted, Casper could tell it was loud, but the radio wasn’t being ‘heard’ in the sense that the human wasn’t using his ‘ears’ to hear the radio. He was… understanding it without the need for such things.

As Casper watched, the yellow geckin reacted, looking up and waving his arms up at someone before shrugging.

“You’re right! You’ve already… Hah! Okay then. This is beyond what I was hoping for. I think we can jump a few steps.”

“Sir, this is ill-advised.” Wren voice said, coming over the radio loud and clear.

“You’re here as a courtesy doctor, you’re welcome, but now as a courtesy, you will not interfere with my work.”

[What’s happening?]

“We’re going to disconnect you from our power and control. You will have full control of the mech and its systems.”

[You said that was dangerous?]

“For a normal pilot yet. But your aptitude for this was off the charts. I think it’s time to jump a few levels.”

There was a flurry of activity as the geckins who were milling about at Casper’s feet suddenly began disconnecting from the various consoles and began disappearing from the edge of the human’s vision. He could see the metal platforms that counted as the mech’s feet, but aside from that and the bottom of the tower, there was just the hanger floor.

“Alright, we’ve got everyone to a safe distance. In a few seconds, we’re passing control of the whole mech to yourself. We won’t be in control of anything. You ready?”

[As I’ll ever be.]

“Good. Hand off in 3… 2… 1…”

The change was sudden and startling. Immediately, Casper’s legs buckled as his knees weren’t prepared to take the sudden weight of his body once more. His arms flung forward as the ground rushed up to greet him, but he stopped himself from bouncing his head off the concrete by completing a half press-up.

There was too much, too fast. His body felt, stiff; tight. Like he’d been in a cramped position for so long that his whole body was sluggish.

It was too much. Casper felt lightheaded, as if he was suffocating! His heart was pounding in his chest so fast that it was humming! A giant metal hand reached up and clutched at his metal torso, sparks flying as the two metals clashed against each other.

[Something’s wrong!]

“It’s fine, just activate your intakes.” Zeet ordered calmly, despite the panic rising.

“He’s panicking, eject him.”

“No, he just needs to start up the intakes. Casper? Your reactor needs air flow, active the intakes.”

“Power it down Zeet! His vitals are spiking.”

[I don’t. I can’t. My chest feels tight!]

The human was panicking, he could feel something was wrong, like he was running on empty, like he needed to close his eyes and lay down. It felt like he was dying.

“Casper! Batteries are running low, active the intakes!”

The words were less clear now, like his mind was swimming. The young man felt for the first time since getting into the machine his vision failed, like he was blinking despite not needing to before now.

Wren’s voice broke through the roaring and nonsense that Casper was being bombarded by.

“Breathe Casper! Take a breath!”

The human sucked in air as deeply as he could shocked that he had forgotten such a normal thing.

From outside, the vents that lined the pectoral area of the mech slammed open with great turbines that sucked in the vital oxygen needed for the reactor that sat in the centre of the mech’s chest. It burped to life and the exhausts along the back of the machine began to spew heat and a cough of black smoke. To the geckin engineers, the ever-pleasant noise of a system booting up to full power whined to life as the human mech heaved in an oddly biological movement.

There were no ‘lungs’ built into the machine, only vents, fans, and a reactor to power it all, but the way it was gyrating, put only the image of someone who had been suffocating gulping in air into their minds. The mech was currently on one knee, the other leg folded to support its weight. One arm was placed on the ground and the second was still touching the chest plate, scratching the bare, unpainted metal.

[I’m okay.]

“’Breathe’ doctor?” Snapped Zeet, not addressing or not seeing the text on his console that Casper had sent.

“He’s not trained on the technical specifications of a machine. His point of reference is what he can feel. What he knows.” Replied Wren, defensively, but not backing down.

“He said they had media of mechs, that it was a common fantasy. What popular media doesn’t have common sense specs?!” Barked Zeet’s voice.

“He’s not a geckin, he’s human. The importance of certain subject will be different.” She replied, still sturdy in her observation.

The voices in Casper’s head continued to bicker as the world stopped swimming and he slowly raised his head to look around. He felt less sluggish now, like he had started to shake the cobwebs from his bones and movement was easier, as if he was awake again. He felt strong. Fast. As if his body not just wouldn’t fail him; but couldn’t.

== 0 ==

To the outside, whilst Zeet and Wren continued to argue the toss, the techs watched as the giant mech’s recon unit raised up and scanned the hanger. With a great heave, one of the legs raised the body up in a single smooth movement before the second leg straightened and held the giant mech upright and proud.

The mechanical hands, simple things, were raised as the cameras of the recon unit that sat atop the mech inspected them, as if seeing them for the first time. This was more than any of the techs had expected. New pilots barely got their radios working after the first hour, let alone movement. Why was it so… biological in its movements?

“Sir?” Called the head technician, up at the two geckins that were still arguing over utilizing the correct terminology in a professional setting and pointedly ignoring the several hundred-ton mech that was now moving around in a manner that was thought impossible for the timeline.

The mech took a single step forward, then a second.

“Sir?!” Shouted the head tech again, more urgently now.

Thankfully, Zeet and the good doctor paused their debate to look round, only to realize the mech was no longer where they left it.

It was currently headed towards the great metal shutter that blocked the outside world from the hanger. Beyond the shutter was the proving grounds, where pilots that had finally fully integrated with their mechs would prove that they were ready for furthering the geckin interests.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[akane171]

I've searched for Easy Company in Hell's Highway - so you don't have too.

Hell's Highway: A Chronicle of the 101st Airborne in the Holland Campaign, September-November 1944 by George Koskimaki

Just before the jump: “Colonel Sink, who was in plane#1, had been looking out of the door when something shook the plane and he saw a part of the wing whip loose and dangle in the breeze. He turned and said: ‘Well, there goes the wing.’ But nobody seemed to think much about it as they figured by now they were practically ‘in’ it”.

The Son bridge. Oh, look who is here: “A few minutes after the first groups headed on their missions, a Dutchman approached 1Lt. NORMAN DIKE, the assistant S-2 for the regiment and informed him that the two auxiliary bridges had been blown by the Germans several days earlier”.

Eindhoven. T/4 Donald G. Malarkey’s recollection of the advance by the 2nd Battalion is as follows: “We came into the city from the northeast with scattered resistance but rounded up a lot of prisoners on tips from the Dutch people. In fact, at one time, we had so many men going after holed-up Germans that we had to stop following their leads.”

Easy’s 1Lt. Robert Brewer being wounded. Hewas ordered by Capt. Clarence Hester (S-3 for the 2nd Battalion) to flank some Germans. He questioned with his poor French the school kids who asked their parents in Dutch and then translate it to French again about German positions (what a comedy, lol). He’s learnt Germans were sitting in some orchard. As he said, he had a little time to study the route, so he had map and bincons out as they were approaching.

“At the moment I was hit. A round entered my right jaw and exited my left neck. Both holes, just below the third molar from the back, spouted blood immediately and blood flowed from my mouth like a fountain. I knew I was going into shock. (…) I heard one of my men yell ‘Lieutenant Brewer’s dead! Get going to those trees ahead!’ and I remembered feeling good about that order. Someone was taking over.”

Sgt. Al Mampre (surgeon from 2nd Battalion) was the one who patched him along with Pvt. Holland (from E). “I was in the process of administering plasma to Brewer, which was very difficult because his veins had collapsed, when we were fired. Holland shouted that he was hit in the heel and scooted back to E Company in the ditch. Dirt was kicking up around and I heard the sharp crack and thought the plasma bottle was shattered. I looked up and found it intact in my hand, so I lay down beside Brewer. He was yellow in colour and not moving at all. In my best bedside manner, I said to Brewer ‘Are you dead? If so, I’m getting out  of here!’ He croaked back , barely audible and just understandable ‘No, but I don’t know why not.’ I said ‘Good, I’ll stay with you”.

Right after he was wounded too. Three Easy men came to help them but they were shot. In the end they were saved and taken to safety by some Dutchmen.

The 2nd battalion was sent to Helmond. Lipton: “When we got there it was seen that we were over-extended and outgunned, so after a forced march of several hours, we were immediately marched back toward Eindhoven.”

Generally speaking, there were a LOT of enemy tanks and they were fucked.

Don Malarkey: “We joined British tanks to attack toward Helmond where major German forces were reported. The German panzers and infantry had set up a semi-circle defence ,well concealed, on the west fringe of the city. The British tanks on the flanks and the 101st infantry were allowed to penetrate deep into the throat of the positions before the Germans opened up. We were well in front when all hell broke loose. We had several people hit – our platoon leader, Lt. “Buck” Compton, the worst. He took machine gun blast through the butt as we were told to pull back to Eindhoven. Compton, who had been a guard on the UCLA football team, was too big for a couple of people to move. He wanted to be left for the Germans and told us to get the hell out of there. However, we tore a door off a Dutch farmhouse, rolled him on it, and four of us dragged him up to the ditch along the road until we got him back to where he could get him on a British vehicle.”

Highway between Veghel and Uden

When the Germans cut the highway between Veghel and Uden, part of E Company was in Uden with Colonel Chase and Regimental HQ.  Captain Winters and 1/Sgt. CLIFFORD Lipton (I always forget this was his first name XD) were part of the advanced element. Sgt. Don Malarkey, a member of S/Sg. Bill Guarnere’s platoon, was caught in Veghel during the heavy shelling.

He said “The E Company members wondered about Winters and the rest of Company. The size and depth of the attack was so heavy we thought the rest of the company on the Uden side of the block would be wiped out as we assumed the enemy force had also sent a column to the  north. Captain Winters, in Uden, thought a similar fate had befallen us. He had positioned the rest of the company near a street intersection in shop buildings on the south side of the town waiting for the German tanks turn to the north. They had been able to view the assault on Veghel from a towering church steeple located near their position. Winters thought Veghel might be overrun so he discussed the possibility with the remaining elements of the company. Winters then decided they would make their stand, even if it was their last. Although the next 24 hours were tense, the Germans forces were routed and a last ditch defence of Uden did not have to be made”

Lipton recollected: “We set up a defensive plan and set booby traps and kept up fire from different positions so the Krauts would think we were a large force. Some British were there, too. Captain Winters told me to organize as many men I could find into one defensive position. I tried to manhandle one Britisher into the defence when he seemed to be reluctant and he stopped me short by pointing out that he was a major and not accustomed of being ordered by a first sergeant – even American.” – that’s our mama Lipton, people xD

St. Oedenrode

Lipton remembered how they were sent to find main Germans body. They were in a spread formation and were fired on in the middle of large open field. “We hit the ground, which was slightly rolling, and gave some cover to the men. I heard Bill Guarnere yelling and setting ip the 2nd Platoon machineguns and mortar in the middle of the area to fire on the woods. The tank fire was skipping right over me so I crawled for the woods we had just left when suddenly I saw someone standing right by me. I looked up and It was captain Winters, trying to pinpoint where the Kraut fire was coming from. Feeling somewhat foolish, I stood up and together we tried to evaluate the situation.”

Behind Americans, were Sherman tanks manned by British troops.

Lip continued: “The tanks could see the German positions and three of their tanks on the far side of the field, we yelled to our tanks to come up to fire on them. The British lead tank left the road and came forward through the trees.”

They yelled to the British tanks the Germans were right across the field, but for some reason the Shermans continued to move forward to open field.

Lip: “Within 15 seconds, a 76 mm shell from one of the German Panther tanks slammed into the British tank, hitting the shield around its 75mm gun and deflected up without penetrating it. When it hit, I was standing right by the tank and I must have jumped six feet and dove for cover in a ditch. I knew there would be more shells right away. They weren’t long in coming. The second shell came about 15 to 20 seconds later. The Sherman was open throttle in reverse to back into the woods again but it was too late. That second shell hit below the 75mm gun shield and penetrated the armour. The tank’s commander hands were blown off and he was trying to get out of the hatch using his arms when the third shell hit the tank, blowing him out and killing him and setting the tank on fire. It burned all night with its ammo exploding intervals.”

The same situation from Don’s perspective: “We had five tanks attached to us. We got the tank commander and took him to a sandy knoll where the Tiger could be seen clearly through a small opening in the trees. He brought a tank up, spun the tracks into the knoll so they could lower the 75mm cannon enough to get on the turret of the Tiger."

"When that was accomplished he suddenly decided he didn’t want to fire from that position because he would only get one shot and, if he missed, the Tiger would take him. About a hundred yards to the south there was a finger-sized trip of 25-foot tall pine trees. The strip was about 40 yards wide and ran for a distance of 200 yards. The tank commander decided to line his five tanks behind the trees and move through them together with all the Shermans opening fire from the edge of the pine trees prior to breaking out into the sandy field.”

“The 2nd Platoon spaced themselves between the tanks moving through them assaulting across the field to the Veghel road. (…) The Tiger, in rapid succession, poured 88mm shells into the woods, knocking all five tanks out in a minute or so. We were able to pull some of the crew  members out of the tanks. Several were on fire and we threw sand and blankets in them to douse the flames.  When the first machine gun fire rattled, our new platoon leader stuck his head in the sand and so ended his career with the 101st.”

“Platoon sergeant Bill Guarnere and squad leader Joe Toye controlled the men and completed the crossing. I had the mortar squad and was busy getting fire on a German machine gun position. Once the Shermans were knocked out, the Tiger jauntily pulled out. Its machine guns were of no use as they were below the crown of the road, which was fortunate for 2nd Platoon.”

Lipton concluded: “We set up a defensive position for the night and Captain Winters told us that he would personally see that anyone who knocked out one of the German tanks that night would get a silver star. We couldn’t find them, however, and the next morning when we attacked the German positions, we found they had all withdrawn.”

Meanwhile:

When General Tylor was wounded, after picking himself from the ground he said: “The sonsabitches got me in the ass!”

It was also mentioned when Major Oliver Horton was killed by a shrapnel as he approached the railroad station near Opheusden in the midst of the heavy fighting in the morning of October 5th. I got an impression from the book that he was really liked among the soldiers.

Operation Pegasus

Screaming Eagles were aided by British airborne engineers and Dutch underground members – jfyi.

E Company men were in the most suitable position on the line, that’s why they got the job.

David ‘Mad Colonel of Arnhem’ Dobey was absolutely fucking mad: wounded, taken a prisoner, escaped from hospital, contacted the Dutch underground, crawled the German lines at night and swam across the Neder Rijn to reach allies.

Malarkey: “In mid-October I was taken to Division HQ by my company commander, 1Lt. Fred Heyliger, for a meeting with G-2, the purpose unknown. We were escorted into a room that contained large wall maps and aerial photos. There were several British officers, together with our G-2 personnel, Lt. Heyliger and myself.”

“At the time of the meeting, I was the sergeant of 2nd platoon, having succeeded Bill Guarnere, who had been injured. Part of our platoon responsibility during the period included the night-time out-posting of an orchard and complex of farm buildings on the bank of Rhine, due north of the island village of Randwijk. It was one of the few areas the Division occupied that had Rhine River concealment. I was asked if mall British assault boats could be concealed in the orchard, so as not to be visible by the Germans across the Rhine of from the air. Also needed information on whether these boats could be brought in one night and used the following night. I responded to both questions in the affirmative and explained that there was a deep, high water overflown ditch that circled the  south edge of the orchard. It was 6 to 7 feet deep and 8 to 10 feet across. The bordering fruit trees spanned the ditch with their limbs, blocking visibility from the air.”

“Following the preliminary discussion, a somewhat dishevelled red-bearder British colonel was brought into the room and introduced. It was explained that he had worked his way through German lines and swam the Rhine the night before into the Division sector. He related that he had been working with and aided by the Dutch underground. They had a plan to effect the escape of as many as 140 allied soldiers, mostly British paratroopers, from German territory west of Arnhem. He laid out a detailed and elaborate plan that was to culminate in a river crossing through the 2nd Platoon sector a week later.”

“Dobey stated that all the troops were secreted in various Dutch homes, barns and buildings, some as far as fifteen miles from the projected crossing point. They would move each night toward the Rhine, led primarily by Dutch women. The line of direction was to be identified by firing each night, at midnight, of ten rounds from British 40mm gun from atop the dike, across the orchard, into the high ground west of Arnhem. The British assault boats would be placed in the orchard ditch the night before the crossing, which would occur at 0100 hours, the following night signalled by a flashing red light. Two men from 2nd Platoon, with rifles and tommy guns, would ride in each boat in the event German opposition was encountered.”

The following Monday night was set as the rescue attempt. Further precautions called for a machine gunners and riflemen from the 3rd Platoon to be positioned both east and west of the orchard on the banks of the Rhine for additional supporting fire. Two machine gun teams would accompany the rescue craft and set up position on both flanks on the enemy side of the river, to ward off any German troops who might rush forward to interfere with the landing operation.

Don: “All personnel were to be positioned in the orchard before midnight, at which time the Bofors gun would be fired for the final time. Following this, a corps of British artillery would blast the high ground west of Arnhem with incendiaries which would provide background light for the boast making the crossing. Then they were to be abandoned on the bank of the Rhine.”

“Colonel Dobey was asked how many soldiers could be oved in weeks’ period, to a specific assembly point. He stated it would be done by Dutch women travelling at night by bicycle. German forces were apparently not very suspicious of the Dutch women. Driving to our company area, I remarked to Lt. Heyliger that the plan seemed almost too perfect to have a chance. He said the British were exceptionally resourceful when they were concerned.”

Cpl.  Walter S. Gordon was one of the machine gunners involved in the flank operation: “One day while positioned on the bank, 1Lt. Fred Heyliger called a company formation and asked, or rather stated, he needed men to accompany him on some sort of mission. I don’t recall him asking for my volunteers but rather pointed to a number of us and that was that. He required two machine guns and a number of riflemen. PFC Francis J. Mellet was designated as one of the gunners and I was selected as the other. I recall we were later transported to a rear area and introduced to the canvas boats which were part of the British equipment. They were fragile and had plywood-like bottoms. We were asked to familiarize ourselves with the operation of the boats by paddling about on a small pond.”

48 hours before the operation the Dutch informed Dobey that Germans had ordered all able-bodied men in the village to report Monday morning to dig defences. For the British and Americans to appear for this detail would mean almost certain discovery and capture. Dobey decided to set the rescue ahead 24 hours.

Malarkey: “So far, all the pieces of the British colonel’s puzzle had fallen into place. ”

“At about 0100, Ed Joint who was with me on the boats, and I were sitting with our backs against a tree on the edge of the orchard, looking intently across the Rhine. Ed remarked that he did not see how everything could work without a hitch. I said he might be right. About two minutes later, Joint said ‘Look Sarge, a light!’ The red light was flashing as planned. I yelled at the crew and we shoved the boat into water. We were the first boat to cross.”

“I was in the bow with my tommy gun, fully expecting that some kind of opposition would be encountered. I was crouched down, so that my eyes could see over the bow. The fires in the distance provided a good background for any silhouette that appeared. About ten yards from the north bank of the rhine, I saw figures milling in the water and above them, a huddled group. I jumped in the river and met a British sergeant. I told him we would take ten men in each boat that was to be in the crossing.”

Sink: “Heyliger was in charge of fanning out his troops after he reached the other side, gathering in the fold, or inside the box, these people that were over there, corralling them toward the boats, putting them abroad, getting them back across the water, then gathering his men and getting them back, also.”

Cpl. Walter Gordon: “The idea was to establish two lateral outposts flanking the route which was to be used by the men rescued. The machine gun I manned was set up and rifle-men were stationed nearby. We lay there quietly and guarded the front which had been assigned to us. I do not recall how long we were posted but eventually we were summoned back to the boats which had transported us over the river.”

Malarkey: “I brought ten paratroopers in my boat. The most interesting one was a sergeant from the British 7th Armoured Division, who had escaped from German prison camp. He said, ‘Sarge, I’m all through. My wife has been a widow five times now, and she is not going to be again. He was from the famed ‘Rats of Tobruk’ and had been reported MIA several times in Africa and for the last time on the continent”

Cpl. Walter Gordon: “In spite of the fact we had been admonished to be quiet, we did a bit zealous on our return and paddled like demons. Each time a paddle made contact with the wood frame of the boat, it had the sound of a kettle drum. I was astonished that we were not heard in Berlin. Not a shot was fired.”

Malarkey: “The next morning all hell broke loose at the orchard and the bank of the Rhine as heavy German artillery devastated much of the orchard, buildings and all of the boats.”

And there is a nice memory of Sergeant Taylor from F Company about Strayer.

Taylor and a few other soldiers were on a patrol that went bad, they ended in the water on cold day and when they rerurned to the S-2 Battalion: “Gosh, it was cold riding back in the jeep as we were soaking wet. Colonel Strayer was back there. He gave us a cup of coffee and I think it was the best cup of coffee I ever had in my life. We were told to take off our wet clothes. Strayer threw a blanket around us.”

And that’s all about Easy and other familiar faces but there are some memories of other paratroopers that caught my attention:

Before jumping. “Pvt. C.D. Kreider had a feeling of impending doom. Sgt. C.D. Edgar related:  Kreider gave me his watch and wedding band and told me to  send them home to his wife as he was not going to make it. I told him: If you don’t make it, I’ll be with you and I won’t make it either. Kreider responded: Sarge – you are too mean to die!” It seems he was indeed too mean to die, because he survived the war xD

It was never mentioned in BOB, but a lot paratroopers came by gliders. Cpl. Michael J. Friel, medic for the 327th Glider Infantry Regiment, was in the co-pilot’s seat of Hillyard’s glider. He wrote: The pilot gave me instructions on how to land a glider in case he, the pilot, was disabled. This lesson occurred while the fight to Holland…

In Eindhoven, memories of Bert Pulles, a young Dutchman. He noticed soldiers passing by and asked ‘Are you English?’ Someone said: ‘No, we are Americans!’ My answers was ‘Even better!’. “I was so excited that I did not notice anything – just so happy to see American paratroopers that I could talk to. I am sure that I never noticed their ranks, if they had any, I just saw 12 or 15  young ‘gods’ who came to liberate us. The only thing I noticed was the proudly-worn Screaming Eagle patch on their left shoulder – a badge I will never forget”. 

Cpl. Pete Santini: “Pvt. Floyd Ankeny, a man who has been in the company almost since its beginning, gave his foxhole to one of the new men who had never been under fire before and calmly began to dig himself another hole. I questioned him later and asked him why he did it. His answer was: I thought the new man was a little frightened.” Who wasn’t?!”

Veghel

Cpl. Chester E. Otsby: “I felt a tug on my leg and there was a little boy with a red wagon. He was trying to tell me to put my radio in the wagon and he’d pull it alongside. I was trying to tell him as the best I could that I had to carry the radio. All of sudden it dawned on me that since the radio was broken what the heck,, it wasn’t doing an  good on my back so I obliged him by putting it in his little agon and we marched along. He was about the happiest little Dutch boy in entire country”.

Eerde

Pvt. Jesse Garcia, form G Company: “We were  dug around a perimeter and I was short distance from the captain Kraeger. Evidently I was dug in too deep. I didn’t hear him calling me. He crawled out of his foxhole and looked down in my position. I remember looking up and seeing the captain. He said: Garcia, if you dig that foxhole deeper, I’ll consider you AWOL!”

Another memory of that Captain. Pvt. Garcia accompanied him to the HQ, where the Captain talk to Colonel Ewell and Colonel Griswold. They came under a fire. Garcia wrote: “I don’t know if we were spotted by a few Krauts or not but they opened small arms fire. I hit the ground immediately. Neither Captain Kraeger or the Colonels ever flinched or jumped. I remember Colonel Ewell saying in his southern twang ‘Well, I guess we better take cover.’ They were real men in combat.”

PFC Monaghan: “Warren Reudy and I were down in a very small ditch when a shell exploded so close it covered us with dirt. After seeing that neither of us was hurt, I looked up and there on the road, just as calm as could be with not care in the world, was Captain Kraeger. I said ‘Hey, Captain, when are we going to get out of this mess?’ He replied very calmly ‘Don’t worry Monoghan, I got you in and I will get you out’. Well, that was all I needed, and he did get us out. He was one of the greatest leaders I ever met.”

And now, my fave story form the entire book:

Sergeant James E. Breier and the most hilarious action during whole Market Garden. He and a few other soldiers were on a patrol and noticed Germans waving a white flag, like they wanted to surrender. The Americans approached them to realize that the flag only appeared in the sun as white, but was orange in reality. They were taken prisoners but… they started to argue that the Germans were the prisoners not them xD Breier even argued with a German lieutenant xD He was even warned they were going to shoot him, if he would not shut up. The best thing? He bitched so hard, the Germans finally decided he came to them voluntarily and was not really a POW. So the next day, they took him to American lines and let him free xD

Conclusion of the whole Market Garden operation:

„The cost had been high again, just as in Normandy where 1,098 had been listed as killed. The KIA’s numbered more than 858 in Holland, 2,151 were listed as wounded and 398 were counted as missing or captured during the campaign.”

It's a very good book and if you are a fan of military non-fiction and memories of soldiers - highly recommended.

I've also read book 1 -> here.

[halsieakuma]

“Now Predaking knows he is not the only one who feels uneasy and shy about long lost intimate encounters.”

Thank you for reading my Predashock short novel🥰I am currently trying to create more content about Predaking and Shockwave, they are so cute

(From machine translation, the original text is in Chinese.)

Due to the lack of rationality in the previous clones (let alone their transformation into humans), Shockwave always mistakenly believed that Predaking was just a larger beast shaped weapon, and during cultivation, he placed a positioning tag next to his Spark pod and did not take any further action.

After the initial battle, Shockwave, as the owner, naturally leaned over to care for and comfort the confused and defeated beast (actually evaluating the injury and recording experimental data). But when his claws landed on Predaking's shoulder armor and head, the dragon blinked its bright yellow light mirror and muttered a few times seriously, as if conveying some message, but he couldn't understand. However, he vaguely remembered that there were records of Predacons grooming each other to express friendliness, so he tried to get closer and reached out to stroke the dragon's long horns and peculiar mouthparts, using his claws to pry out the stone fragments stuck between the armor plates.

“It has responded to the mocking sound of Srarscream, proving that it has high training potential, good news. It will be useful to us, and for a long time, hopefully even longer... Predaking... "The scientist pondered secretly. In fact, Shockwave accidentally pronounced Predaking's name lightly against his receiver while thinking.

The dragon, trembling with anger and about to make a big fuss, happened to be distracted. After venting his anger, he arrogantly turned his head to the other side and sat up straight, using his tail to violently smash the ground to express his dissatisfaction. Upon hearing Srarscream make a fuss and take a few steps back, Predaking shook his wings half in protest and half in relaxation.

Predaking noticed that Shockwave's optical mirrors are almost fixed, so whenever there is any sound, he will turn their heads and stare. Shockwave, despite having no expression, can express emotions through the brightness of optical mirrors and the twisting of auditory fins, which is quite novel.

———Many things happened in between———

Phew, I'm refreshed! "Darksteel, who had just come out of the cleaning cabin, stretched lazily and turned to run to the open space. The sound of flapping wings and cheers came from outside, followed by Skylynx's complaints. The cleaning robot slowly and accurately absorbs the energy liquid stains on the ground, and extends its small claws to pinch the metal fragments that fall to the ground into its recycling bin. Predaking lay in an open area not far from Shockwave at the research base, lifted his head, and watched the two brothers leave.

“Aren't you going?”

Predaking moved slightly. The sweeper slowly approached him, extending its claws to pick up the fallen metal pieces. Shockwave's auditory fins rotated towards the ground.

“Do you have time? "The dragon spoke in its internal voice while also making a slight grunting sound in Predacons' language.

Without answering the question again, Shockwave studied a certain cultivation tank without looking back. The young animal in the tank twitched slightly in its sleep. Listening to the stable heart rate sound on the monitor, the scientist finally lifted his head.

“Yes.”

Unlike Skylinx and Darksteel, Predaking prefers to maintain his dragon form when relaxing. At most, the cleaning cabin that can only be used by large Cybertronians cannot even fit the heads of Predacons, so Shockwave specially connected a pipe to extend it outdoors. There are no functional issues, it's just that they are often held and played with by the younger two, and the storage capacity of the cleaning solution is not enough to clean all three dragons at the same time.

“Do leaders need to maintain the demeanor of the Predacons clan?”

Shockwave sat on the ladder holding the water pipe and asked Predaking, who was sitting with his wings open. The latter paused for a moment and wagged his tail.

“Consider it like this. It has a certain deterrent effect. ”

Predaking remembers clearly the day in the cave. He couldn't forget the subtle expression on the scientist's face when he first saw his second form, which he had never been afraid of before. He couldn't forget the scientist who was seriously injured and frightened by the Predacons zombies at that time, and unconsciously retreated and trembled when Predaking tried to approach him. Shockwave probably hasn't even looked in the mirror to observe his face, and he doesn't know how obvious his towering auditory fins and contracting optical mirrors are when he's scared.

Besides, does it seem too formal to transform into a human form? After all, Predaking has never been treated as a pure dragon by Shockwave since then. And although Shockwave called him 'Your Majesty Predaking', he always felt subtly alienated by Shockwave. Although the two people on the table are indeed in a cooperative relationship, Predaking cannot think of a second person who can stay by his side and feel safe like Shockwave while dozing off. Without a doubt, he is one of our own, and even more so……

The infinite extension of Predaking's thoughts came to an end when his gaze met the scientist's bright red optical mirror. Shockwave seems to be curious about the silence of Predaking, as the brightness of the optical mirrors has increased slightly. The giant dragon opened its eyes wide and snorted innocently twice, then pretended to be solemn in an attempt to cover it up. Shockwave didn't say anything, just slowly turned his head to continue rinsing the dragon's armor, but it was obvious that he was using his residual light to continue peeking.

“I…can feel some impurities stuck in my neck shield.”

The eerie silence was interrupted by Predaking, who inexplicably stirred up small emotions. He regretted it as soon as he finished speaking. But soon the noise of hydraulic ladder lifting came from the blind spot behind, and then the scientist's icy claws gently rested on the armor plate.

“It's stuck deep, did it hurt you? ”

“Not yet, but I can't reach it. ”

Why did his tail sway on its own?

Predaking can feel Shockwave gently moving those metal fragments, then simply pulling them out and throwing them aside. Fingertips occasionally lightly graze the internal protoplasm and quickly leave, making these brief minutes precious yet somewhat difficult to endure.

“Pshhhhhhhh——”

The sound of the internal cooling fan being turned on inappropriately and immediately suppressed caught Predaking's attention. The hand from the source of the sound silently withdrew from the dragon's neck shield.

The dragon turned its head, and the scientist turned sideways towards him, lowering his head and kicking the metal sheet from the ladder to the ground.

“Clear. Please also let me know if there are any blind spots. ”

Now Predaking knows he is not the only one who feels uneasy and shy about long lost intimate encounters.

[pearlsinmyhair]

༄ breath of venus ༄

chapter four • eywa’s will

word count: 4.9k

warnings: cursing. cannon typical violence and weapon use. the recombinants make fun of venus and make some crude remarks. mansk and venus have a few moments. venus goes through a moment of slight mental distress towards the end.

a/n: a few this time! first, in this au mansk is younger. his exact age will be discussed in later chapters, but know that his mental age in this story is at twenty one. second, venus is a child. she makes some immature decisions and has a few moments of uncertainty that would happen to most young people in her situation. this is a traumatic experience, so please try to understand why she does certain things. last, rutxïryo is here! his name is pronounced “root-z-eye-row” with a rolled r. it translated to “strong wind/loyal heart”. and yes, he’s BIG. he has a wingspan of 14.5 meters, or about 47 feet.

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“you are so brave and quiet i forget you are suffering.” ~ Earnest Hemingway.

༄

The recombinant soldiers stood in a circle at the beginning of the tarmac, joking and rough housing just as they did when they were human. It was almost enough to forget that they were now blue and nine feet tall. But then a soldier or pilot would walk past them, casting a cautious glance that made them snap back into reality.

“They’re just jealous” Lyle was saying as he knocked his shoulder against Ja. “We can breathe, they can’t do shit. We got carbon reinforced bones that take tons to break. Who wouldn’t be glaring?”

Of course, they chose not to dwell on the truth behind said glares. The truth being that they now looked like the enemy. As well as that they were resurrected humans that had been dead for sixteen years.

Zdog was laughing at Lyle when her posture stiffened. Her eyes widened slightly at something over Quaritch’s shoulder, and he turned to look.

He internally balked at what he saw.

Mansk and Lopez escorted a muzzled Venus to where they stood. Her wrists were bound, and as they neared Quaritch could see where the skin of her cheek pushed against the metal of the mask.

It was too damn tight. It looked like it was suffocating her.

Maybe that was the intention.

The whole time her eyes were on him. They weren’t alight with rage, nor were they stubborn as they had been in her cell. While those emotions had set him off before, he would gladly trade the empty look she gave him now for them.

He glanced at Lopez and Mansk, noting the stiffness of their shoulders and the grim set of their mouths. He cracked his neck in an attempt to dismiss whatever tension had settled onto his own body.

He called out to his squad, and they began walking across the tarmac quickly to an awaiting scorpion. He placed a hand onto the back of Venus’s neck to guide her.

She flinched, hard.

When he pulled his hand away, he saw the two purple bruises from the prongs of the interrogation machine. He winced. He moved his hand lower, to the base of her neck.

She kept pace with them easily, keeping her head slightly down.

“Get on the ship, find a seat and keep out of the way.” he yelled over the sound of the choppers blades. He gave her a little push and she jogged onto the ship, seating herself right behind a mounted gun.

“Hold on there hot shot” he called, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her down into a seated position. Now, he could see a bit of humor in her eyes, and a little bit of irritation as she was tugged away from the gun.

“Listen up. The tracker in your arm has a very strong magnetic signature that can be seen and heard even through the flux vortex. You hit the ground running, I will have you back in two minutes, and I will give you an old school ass whippin’. Understood?”

She raised her eyebrow at him before she dipped her chin. He supposed that was going to be the only answer that he could get since she couldn’t exactly speak.

He and his soldiers hung out the open doors of the aircraft, watching the landscape go by with the same childlike awe that they had the first time they flew over the trees. Venus stayed planted in her seat.

He supposed that she had seen this all before, especially if she had a banshee. She would be more than familiar with trees and such.

But instead of closing her eyes or looking around the craft, she watched them, and she didn’t seem too concerned with hiding her curiosity. Her ears pricked forward, swerving as she listened in on their conversations. Her eyes had a warmer look to them, but there was still something missing.

Whenever she breathed, there was a soft wheezing sound. Quaritch glanced down to her chest, watching how her ribs expanded unsteadily, and when he glanced back up her eyes had fluttered closed. When she started to lean forward he caught her with his hand, moving her so that her weight rested back against the seat. Her eyes peaked open at him, before she closed them once more.

Wheeze went the mask as she tried to breathe. Quaritch’s ears flicked back.

He turned away from her to find the soldiers already staring at him. Their eyes held the same thoughts as his most likely did.

It seemed that Parker Selfridge’s agenda to conserve their public image was long forgotten. The RDA, or at least Ardmore, had no problem restraining a teenage girl like an animal.

༄

The chopper landed, and Quaritch gave the pilot a thumbs-up as they lifted off without them. Wainfleet had woken Venus, and she leaned against a fallen tree not to far from where the squad circled up.

The group was silent except for the sound of her ragged breath.

She watched as Quaritch nodded to Wainfleet. The man took his knife from its holder and approached her, raising the blade. She flinched away.

This is it. It’s over. I’m done.

She closed her eyes, bracing for the feeling of cold steel cutting through her body.

She was therefore unprepared when it slipped under the strap of the muzzle and sliced. She gulped fresh air down like water, coughing. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Quaritch held the muzzle.

Without once looking at her he set it down against a large boulder, picked up a rock, and smashed it.

Venus lifted her hand and traced the indents of the mask. Seeing her concern, Ja walked over and examined her for cuts. He shook his head at her expression.

“There shouldn’t be any permanent marks, it’ll just itch a bit.” he said, voice surprisingly soft.

She nodded, moving to sit on the log behind her, finding a ray of sun to absorb.

Quaritch arranged himself in the middle of the circle, turning to address his squad.

“Sully’s gone to ground, but that doesn’t matter. Well find them, and his batshit crazy wife too.” he said, self-righteous and proud.

He flinched when Venus let out a low hiss. He turned to her, making an effort to have a blank face.

“You got something to add, princess?” he asked her, and she bit her tongue at the nickname. “My mother is not ‘bat shit crazy’ , she was protecting her children. If you do not want to elicit that reaction from her, then you should call off this mission.”

Quaritch scoffed, and the other recombinants laughed at her outburst.

My mother will gut you, all of you, with no remorse. You forget I am her daughter.

Oh, how she longed for her knife and bow.

He continued, ignoring her. “To do so, we go na’vi. We eat na’vi, we ride na’vi, we think na’vi. And that starts with speaking the language.”

She couldn’t suppress the small chuckle that escaped her lips.

He turned to her with a glower. “Something funny?”

“Your na’vi is barely passable. A three year old can speak better.” she answered in na’vi. He sounded like an over-eager child, far too confident in his pronunciation.

She could tell from his face that he didn’t know most of what she said, but that he had understood it was an insult.

He rolled his shoulders and puffed his chest, turning fully to her. “Okay, smartass. You just went from being our little mascot to our official translator.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead opting for a small, albeit fake, smile. “Thank you for the promotion, Colonel. I won’t let you down.” she said sarcastically with a mock-salute.

Quaritch glared.

She tossed her head back and let out a short laugh.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

༄

Venus tried so hard to make them understand how loud they were. So hard.

Did they not understand that they were stomping? Did they not see how the bugs and birds scattered as they approached?

It was a little funny at first. Now Venus wondered if a predator would come and find them. Their thrashing and laughing served as a beacon.

She pushed her irritation aside.

They are babies. They don’t know. They are learning.

Except that they wouldn’t learn. They had chuckled at her advice on where to walk. They had glanced at each other when she tried to teach them.

It was downright demeaning. Patronizing, even.

So she took some pleasure when they couldn’t keep up with her. Or when Lopez’s boot got stuck in mud. Or when Pragar hit a stinging plant. Or when Zdog stumbled over tree roots.

She couldn’t stand how slow they were. A part of her thanked the Great Mother; any time wasted was time that kept her family safe.

But Eywa, she was going to have to drag these soldiers if they were going to get anything done.

Eclipse was already starting to set it, and she noticed how Quaritch and Wainfleet spoke in low tones.

She slowed her step, dropping from a tree limb that she had been walking on to stride alongside Lyle.

“I would not recommend traveling at night. It is very dangerous on the forest floor.” A pause as she contemplated her next statement. “There is an abandoned hunting post that only I use nearby. We could camp there for the night.”

Quaritch gave her an incredulous look. “Like hell we’re stopping. We’ll keep traveling.”

Venus raised an eyebrow.

“How intact are your old memories?” she asked simply. Quaritch looked at her quizzically.

“Intact enough.”

Venus smiled. “So then you remember what happened to your face when you were human.” The infamous three marks, the thing that stopped the old quaritch from allowing night patrols.

She watched as it slowly dawned on him. It was odd, seeing him experience past memories. There was clearly a disconnect.

Questions for a later time.

“I still don’t like the idea of you leading us somewhere.” he said, looking at her fully.

Venus shrugged. “It’s our best option. There’s strong branches to rest on, and we shouldn’t be bothered by predatory wildlife.” she took a step ahead of them. “Or we can continue and risk the nantang.”

Zdog eyed her “And those are?”

Venus took some relish with translating. “Viperwolves.” She walked through a bush, taking the lead. She didn’t need to see their faces to know that they were picturing them. It was only a matter of time when Wainfleet’s hand closed around her forearm.

She spun so fast that he had to take a step back. “Do not touch me.” she said, looking hard up into his eyes. He let go.

“Colonel has decided that your base is a good idea. But he doesn’t want you to lead.”

Venus shrugged, allowing some of the soldiers to pass her as she gave Lyle coordinates. When he nodded to her, she fell into step beside Mansk.

Mansk. She had learned his name from the conversations in the copter. She had tried the word on her tongue when she had her muzzle taken off, finding it hard to say. Only Mansk had noticed when she uttered it, and she had flushed in embarrassment.

Now, she looked up at the soldier beside her, trying to discern if it suited him. He had a first name, but she had gathered that he chose not to reveal it. She was so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed that his face had turned to her.

“You’re glaring” he said, voice low in the hush of the group.

Venus blinked. She hadn’t heard him speak yet, but his voice sounded pleasant to her. Not too loud, unlike most of the marines. It also confirmed her suspicions that Mansk may be younger than the others.

“I’m sorry” she said softly, tail lashing once. “It’s your glasses. I can’t see your eyes. Covering them is unusual.”

He reached up and put his glasses on top of his head, allowing her to finally see his face.

Oh.

Her father had explained to her what the term ‘baby face’ meant when he said Neteyam had one.

Mansk was baby faced.

His nose was more pointed than a typical na’vi’s, but that wasn’t unexpected. His face was slightly round, his cheekbones not too sharp.

But what stunned her were his eyes.

They were a pretty lime green, with long eyelashes framing them. She briefly noted how unfair that was, but didn’t dwell.

Because he was looking at her in a way that made her heart stutter.

It was empathetic and unyielding. Yes, he was pretty, and she couldn’t be blamed for admiring. But what startled her was he looked like he was seeing her.

And that was terrifying from a recombinant soldier who was on a mission to kill her father.

Her fingers twitched, and she had to fight the urge to reach up to bring his face down closer to study. Her mother had always warned her against her tendency to reach out, and she exercised the same restraint of her curious instincts that she had in her youth.

She realized that they had been standing there for far too long when Wainfleet cleared his throat and she noticed that it was only three of them. The others must have kept walking.

She looked away as Mansk gave a small cough, and they rejoined the group. Lopez reached out and jostled Mansk by his shoulder, and the soldier pulled his sunglasses back down. Venus tried not to be too upset at that.

He’s an enemy. He cuffed you. He held you while you were muzzled. He will kill your father if given the chance.

But that was the problem with being an interpreter of Eywa. She was too empathetic to ignore any possibility of nonviolent solutions. It was something that haunted her, the possibility that these soldiers could be redeemed.

The only problem? They had to want it.

They neared the base of the tree, and Venus looked up, easily finding a path up the branches. She looked back at the recombinants expectantly.

“Let’s go.” was all she said before she leapt, grabbing a branch and climbing up expertly. The soldiers followed, this time heeding her words of guidance.

Soon, they were well into the canopy, concealed from most fauna. Branches intertwined with one another to form nest-like structures, and they were thinker than their bodies. It was a very old tree, and she chose it for that reason. Even now as she ran her fingertips over the bark, she could feel the whisper of history.

She reached into an alcove, pulling out a stowed bag of clothing and an empty water flask. This was her hunting spot, where she would stay during long trips for large game. She made sure that clean clothes stayed there just incase.

She looped the bag over her shoulder and turned to the group. “There is a spring nearby. I’m going to wash up, if anyone else is interested.”

She took one step before Quaritch stated “You’re not going anywhere.”

She turned slowly. “I’m covered in muck and blood. You all got showers, id like to atleast scrub myself.” she said, voice low and dangerous. She was tired of being a mess, tired of the way mud stuck to her skin and red gathered under her fingernails.

Quaritch looked torn. Probably because she was a teenage girl who so happened to be his daughter. It made his commitment to treating her like a prisoner much muddier.

“You can’t go alone.”

“Then send someone with me.” she gritted out, loosing her patience. “There’s a tracker in my arm. What was it you said? You’ll have me back in two minutes if I escape?”

Quaritch pointedly ignored the second half of her statement, looking at Zdog. The sole female recom nodded, rising to walk towards Venus.

They descended, and she carefully led the woman through the trees to the babbling spring nearby.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Venus mumbled. All she got was a soft chuckle in response.

When they got to the water, she suggested a spot for Z to sit before walking into the spring.

She had no qualms about stripping in front of her. They were both women, and Venus had grown used to showing skin.

She sank under the cool water, scrubbing her body with a nearby aüti. It gave off a thyme-like aroma, and she felt the urge to sink into sleep. She took her hair out of its braid, combing through it and removing mud and gunk.

When she was satisfied, she reached towards the bag and pulled out a na’vi sized towel, a gift from the avatars that she was eternally grateful for. She then slipped a woven top over her head, tying a matching tewng around her lower body. It was hunting apparel, much more appropriate for whatever long term flight they were about to embark on.

She forwent the riding chaps, electing to put them on in the morning. She stashed her other clothes in the bag. She patted her hair down with a towel and left it long to dry. Zdog looked up as she rose, clean and dressed. The woman nodded at her, and they went back to the tree.

When they reached the branches once more, she felt their eyes linger. Particularly on a certain scar on her waist.

“You have questions.” she said. The silence was enough of an answer as she turned to them.

Eclipse set in as she settled into one of the little nests, and she watched as their tanhí began to glow. She wondered if they realized the full extent of their…transformation. She laid down on her belly, resting her head on her hands as Ja spoke.

“The scar.” he said simply.

She nodded. “I got it while taming my Ikran. By all accounts it was a quick bonding, but he was able to slam me against a cliff. I was impaled by a sharp rock, and I hid it for as long as I could. Because I hid it, it made it hard for the scar to be cleanly stitched and it wouldn’t fade. But I don’t mind how it looks.”

She observed their reactions. They had come to tame an ikran, and now they were beginning to realize how hard it would be.

This time it was Lopez who asked “How long?”

She smiled. “Six seconds.”

Lopez let out a small whistle, and she realized from their faces that she had just set a record for them to beat.

Good luck. They’ll kill you in six seconds if you’re lucky.

A soft voice. “How old were you?”

She looked at Mansk. He had taken his glasses off, making direct eye contact with her.

“Eleven.” she answered, and she made an effort to keep her tail from lashing happily when he nodded and the recombinants gave her looks of shock.

She decided that now would not be a good time to explain the logistics of what would occur in less than twenty-four hours. Besides, maybe she could kill two birds with one stone: Eywa would decide their fate, removing the decision from her conscious, and the ikran would throw them from the rookery, freeing her.

The hair on her skin suddenly raised, and whispers filled her ears. Breath tickled the back of her neck.

An atokirina floated down slowly to Quaritch. The man had remained silent since she had returned, ears pricked forward as she spoke. Now, his ears pinned back, and he reeled back a hand and slapped it.

“No!” She lunged up and forward, throwing herself off balance. The exhaustion of the past twenty four hours finally caught up to her as her vision swam.

Mansk’s hand caught her upper arm, keeping her from tilting over the branch and falling to her death.

But she didn’t focus on him.

“Mawey!” she cried out of instinct, then translated “Be calm! It will not hurt you!”

Quaritch watched her with wide eyes as the wood sprite drifted down to rest on his raised fingers. She watched as he made an effort to not move. She didn’t miss a note of recognition in his eyes as he looked at it.

She reached forward, grabbing his hand and carefully flipping it so it sat in his palm. He looked down at it right as another landed on his head.

Venus looked around to find a whole swarm around her and the recoms. They lit up the darkness of the canopy, casting soft white and blue glow to their faces.

The soldiers mimicked their colonel, allowing the sprites to touch them but not engaging with them either.

Venus sat back into her spot right as an atokirina swam towards Mansk. He moved to push it away (gently, she noted). She reached out and grabbed his hand, moving it down to the space between them.

It’s alright, her eyes said as he glanced at her.

The sprite drifted to their touching hands, hovering over them. She glanced up to find Mansk already staring at her. Then, his eyes moved slightly to her shoulder.

When she turned her head, a sprite came into view. She lifted her face to it, and it landed on her nose, moving with her breath.

I am here, it whispered.

All at once, the atokirina floated up and away from them, disappearing into the night.

Wainfleet was the first to break the silence.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, pointedly glancing down at the hand that rested over Mansk’s. Venus removed it. “Wood sprites. We call them atokirina. They are the seeds of the spirit tree, and they are said to be the spirit of eywa in physical form.” She made eye contact with Quaritch. “They are very pure.”

They cast a few disbelieving looks at each other, some even smirking in amusement. She simply rolled her shoulders and curled up in her branch-nest.

“Get some rest. You will need it tomorrow.”

She listened as they all settled down, waiting as their breathes slowed into sleep.

Eywa had made her decision.

They are strong hearted, my little one. But they need guidance.

Venus knew that already. But having it be blessed made it more…tangible. She clenched her eyes closed and prayed for the exhaustion that had taken over her body only minutes ago.

It did not come.

༄

She had finally convinced the recoms to leave their boots.

After one slip on behalf of lopez when they were making their way to the ground, the group decided that maybe rubber soled combat boots weren’t the best thing for pandoran forest terrain. Venus had to fight to not say ‘I told you so’.

Now, they walked through the forest towards the step stones to the ikran rookery. It was mostly silent, but occasionally they asked her questions.

“Is it difficult?”

“Very.”

“How exactly?”

“They’ll kill you.”

Silence. She was becoming uneasy with the fact that she was leading them to such a sacred space. They didn’t deserve ikran, not yet. The forest hadn’t accepted them yet.

Venus had already denied Quaritch the right to hunt, explaining that Eywa had not given her approval for him to take a life. The group had laughed at her, and she heard their whispers from behind her as she led the way.

Hippie. Native. Savage Princess. Tree Hugger.

She could ignore it. She had been called much worse and much more barbed names in her youth. These soldiers with their fragile egos and broken minds would not disturb her.

Babies, she reminded herself. Babies.

But even infants and toddlers had manners.

“Bet you her crazy bitch of a mother taught her all her tricks. She’ll probably go ballistic the moment we’re not looking. You saw how she fought against Lopez when he dragged her back. She’s a fucking monster.” whispered Pragar.

Her gut churned and her fist tightened. Her father had always taught her to command respect with silence and maturity. But this was hopeless.

She settled on glaring over her shoulder. “If you are going to speak so candidly about me, then you could at least raise your voice. No point of hiding your words if you are confident enough to say them out loud.” She promptly strode away, faster than the others were capable of.

She didn’t care as thorns sliced her thighs, or as she stepped on rocks. Tears stung in her eyes.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

She wouldn’t break in the way they wanted her to. She wouldn’t reveal her secrets.

But she may just snap and slit someone’s throat.

She was walking fast when a hand caught her upper arm and wrenched her backwards.

She was pulled against the solid form of Quaritch, and she beat her open palms against his chest. She took a step back to glare up at him, but his hand tightened, keeping her from going any further.

“You will not antagonize my corporals, you hear? You will shut up until it is necessary for you to speak-“

“Oh, so you want me to be a fucking blank slate then? How the hell am i supposed to remain calm when they’re insulting me constantly?” She didn’t care how childish she sounded, didn’t care how her voice cracked as she forced the words out.

“If you wanted me silent why did you take the muzzle off?”

The question was like a gunshot. They both went still, at a draw in the conversation. Quaritch worked his jaw thoughtfully, and Venus waited for an answer. Why free her mouth if he did not want to hear it?

But the sympathy that he had shown her then was gone from his gaze now.

He just ‘tsk’ed and pulled her back towards the group. She dug her heels down. “No” she said, firm as she tugged against him. “Let me go.”

He, of course, did not. He yanked her arm, making her inhale in pain. “Let me go.” she said against, voice rising in slight panic.

Trapped. I’m trapped. Help me.

He ripped her arm towards him. Venus hissed in his face, reeling back to try and-

A squeal. A cry of loyalty and anger. A sound that made her heart sing in gratitude and palpitate in fear.

A massive blue ikran pinned Quaritch to the ground, using his body to separate him from her. The striking orange stripes and dots down his wings were his mark of familiarity. She almost sobbed in relief before the rest of the squad burst into the clearing, guns raised.

Rutxïryo didn’t seem to care. He simply leaned down to Quaritch’s face, opened his jaws, and roared.

Quaritch at least had the sense to lay still under the beast, allowing him to hiss and spit.

“Venus, call it off!” shouted Wainfleet, gun pointed directly at Rutxïryo’s chest. Venus hissed.

This is a warning. This is what I am capable of. This is what we’re capable of.

She chirped, and Rutxïryo peeled himself off of the Colonel, cooing at her as he approached. The ikran pushed his forehead against her chest, giving her a small shove in greeting. He slipped his face under her arm, circling her until he stood at her shoulder. He used his beak to tug her back towards his chest, safe in the blue and white of his wings.

The marines did not lower their guns. She couldn’t blame them. Rutx was much bigger than a usual ikran, his wingspan at least a meter longer on each side. It was something that her brothers were always envious of before they bonded their own.

She sighed, choosing her next words.

Rutx extended his queue to her, and she lifted her braid to connect to him. Almost instantly, he flooded her brain.

They were not speaking the same language. It was hard to explain how she could feel what he was telling her, but the emotions materialized into words easily in her head.

Of course, nearly eight years of partnership had honed their bond.

Are you alright? Do you want me to kill him? I’ll kill him. He’s your father? That one, really? He looks tasty. Is your arm ok? Are you sure? It feels hurt. You look tired. We should take a nap.

She brushed his smooth skin, looking into one of his eyes.

You will not eat him, if you try and hurt him you will die.

And his answer made her heart crack.

I do not mind.

She turned her attention back to the recombinants.

“The tracker in my arm will lead you to where you need to go. You scoff at my advice, you mock my way. Let’s see how you enjoy traveling on your own.”

She leapt up onto Rutxïryo’s back easily, settling herself into the saddle. It must have been on since she went foraging, she realized, and she reached a hand under the leather to itch his skin.

Quaritch stood. “You’re not going anywhere. Get off the ikran, now.” he commanded.

If she had been one of his soldiers, it would have worked. But she saw the bluff in his eyes.

“Then shoot me, Ranger Rick.” she said as she flipped her visor down.

Rutxïryo let out a cry of victory and glee as they took off into the sky, racing to the clouds.

༄

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[firewolf-pyro]

4. ICE PLANET

Miles away from the twin peaks lies a half buried science building with a large futuristic plow pushing snow off of a runway to the left of the entrance. The front of the building is short, shaped like a half oval with big black windows on either side of the double doors. People are walking around the front of the building in full winter gear going too and from carrying boxes and crates with sample markers on them. This was the local science facility.

Anis, a tall spindly woman dressed from head to toe in a bright orange snow suit, strode towards the facility clutching a briefcase to her side. The wind was blowing snow around her and threatened to rip the briefcase away from her side even as the Siamese cat-faced lady made her way into the temperature controlled entryway of the facility. Once she was inside she stripped down to her suit and trousers, a brilliant red dress shirt paired perfectly with some slim black leggings. A bit chilly for where she worked but it was a statement she desired to make.

“Ood, come here and take this to my office, the file on the top there, take that down to the head of bioengineering. Thank you~” Anis hands the folder off to an ood dressed in the usual clothing, a dark navy blue jumpsuit. She gives a catty smirk before turning away from them. Her confidence in her research, her work environment was intense.

Anis turns away to follow the ood down the crowded main hallway down a flight of stairs. They are passed by my people in red and orange body suits. The ood heads down a few levels and crosses the white empty hallways to a steel door. They bring their translator to the keycard reader to get it open. Behind the doors stood Lesly, a short middle aged man with short brown hair and stubble. He has pudgy features and is dressed in blue and white plaid button up and jeans.

“Man. That is some serious mutation.” Lesly grumbles as he stairs into a powerful looking microscope. The lab around him is a large circular room with a desk at the center, shelves and counters around the walls and bright orange tubs with sample labels on them sat around in the walkways. There are papers and scientific journals set around the room with fridges sat on the counter. The area seems to be set up to look over liquid samples of microbiology. The ood sets the bright red folder down beside the microscope Lesly was looking through.

“Doctor Anis asked me to bring this to you.” The Ood keeps a hand on the folder until Lesly sits up to look at the folder then up at the Ood. He assumed this would have been about what she had found in the ice layers a few miles beyond their last sample’s location.

“Thanks, I’ll take a look through this in a second.”

Lesly flinches when a slight popping noise comes from one of the machines with tubes of liquid media in it. He stands and waves the Ood off, intent on fixing the pressurized device that had just become disconnected.

“On second thought, could you bring that to Bastion? I have to deal with whatever is going wrong there.” Lesly walks past the Ood to deal with the rattling popping box. The folder full of information would have to be peeled over the next available time.

“Of course, Lesly.” The Ood takes the folder and leaves the room with the folder clutched to their chest. Just down the hall was another lab Bastion would have been working in. That was where the Ood was headed. They were met with a pair of secured double doors. Stepping through them they would have to wait in a decontamination station for the misting system to finish. Once sprayed down they were allowed into the lab.

The second pair of doors opens letting them into the small square lab. The walls here are mostly barren besides some lock out shelves with vents that go up to the surface. The middle of the room has two counters in which are different pieces of technology used in studying and isolating bacterias. Bastion was busy at one of the counters carefully moving one strain into another container.

“Bastion, Doctor Lesly has told me to bring you down a folder from Doctor Anis.” The Ood steps into the room and sets the folder down on the black topped counter beside Bastion. Bastion, a blue humanoid dressed in a white full body clean gown turned to glance at the Ood. Their facial tendrils coiled up a bit to express their distaste in the Ood’s presence.

“Oh- must be about the new samples they recovered from the glades a few days ago.” Bastion sets the petri dish on the counter before tossing their rubber gloves into a biohazard waste bin. After washing their hands they take the folder from the counter. Flipping through the contents of the folder their expression deepens into one of displeasure.

“Is there anything else you would like me to deliver?” The Ood holds its translator device up a bit as Bastion picks over the folder. They slow their flipping through the pages for a moment to consider the question.

“Not currently. I will be up to meet with the two once I’ve filed these bad boy’s away.” Bastion gestures behind themself with a thumb at the Petri dishes waiting for them on the counter top. The Ood bows in understanding before turning away. With their dismissal they would return to the main floor back through the decontamination station.

On a level far above the Ood, Anis sat in her office. A small office with warm colored walls surrounded her. A large dark window to the left of her desk looks out into the snowy abyss. Her desk is a solid black wood with no real decorations on the press board. The wall to her right had a black wooden shelf with crates of folders and tube samples. The wall behind her is plain with a doctorate of hers tying her to the cat nuns. She smiles quietly to herself recollecting pictures of New, New York sent to her from her family back home.

“If we tell them now…” Anis whispers softly as her hand plays with a pen. She was rolling it over the surface of some paper in front of her. She is leaning over her desk lazily as she watches the world outside of her office. Her eyes flick up towards a ball of silver trailing orange behind it. A look of concern crosses her face as she squints at the glistening ball streaking across the sky above the twin peaks outside her window. She flinched as a sonic boom rips through the air shaking the windows - the strange silver item became clearer now as it hurtled closer and closer to the ground. It was some kind of spacecraft. Her look of concern turned to one of horror- that was a spacecraft! She ducked down as the ship vanished behind the two mountains- just in time it seemed as the crash from it shook the building hard enough to topple samples from her shelves.

“What in the Milky Way???” Anis dusts herself off as she sits up and watches the sky around the entrance point of the anomaly begin turning and swirling. She leans back as she hears the wind picking up outside as it howls against the window. The atmospheric disturbance had prompted the planet to start another snowy storm.

“Oh - oh no-“ She stands and bolts to her office exit. Out her window the smoke from the crashed ship trails up from between the two mountains. The black bleary smoke gets quickly swept away by a growing, powerful storm. It doesn’t take long for the storm to darken so much that the sky seems to go black.

[hestzhyen]

!!CW: DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE/SA (and spoilers, obviously)!!

Highlights from my Paradise playthrough. Shout out to my saint of a partner for letting me spam him with my bullshit.

I use generic names for my partner's benefit (they're a sane person with no interest in BL VNs), so MC-kun is Azuma, Fluffy-kun is Takara, Asshole-kun is Mitsugi, and Reliable-kun is Madara. Let's begin!

Paradise is the 20th VN I've played and I think it's the first one to have this option. Overall I really liked the technical presentation.

I generally avoid checking spoiler tags when going in so at this point all I had was my experience with other BL games and a few hints about this game's brutality. Overall the content itself is in line with things I've seen before, but hoo boy did some of Azuma's inner dialogue hit hard. That poor guy.

As an aside: I always approach a VN blind until I get an ending. After that I choose who to target and get all their bad ends first, then the good before moving on to the next LI. This approach was perfect for Paradise since the bad ends gave you the context needed to fully understand the good endings and greater mystery in the narrative. Mitsugi > Madara > Takara is definitely the best experience.

(This is subtle foreshadowing of me using up the nation's entire copium supply a few days later)

(And this is subtle foreshadowing of my choice for Best Boy)

The translation for this game was pretty good until the last arc. Mitsugi and Madara's routes all felt natural. I'm not the kind of person who wants everything to be literal, so it was nice to see a real effort put towards localizing their routes. I think the only line I raised an eyebrow at was the Scooby Doo reference (which I'm assuming is localizing an extremely Japanese joke/reference). Sadly this didn't hold up in Takara's route. Suddenly it felt like a very unpolished machine TL- stilted phrasing and sudden tense switching pulled me out of some big moments. Inconsistent terms were suddenly an issue too; namely, the literal transliteration "log house" being used instead of the localized "cabin" in a few places. Lastly, the many instances of "we're" instead of "were" in the script. C'mon! I've read fan TLs with more polished writing and editing y'know? Was it due to a deadline crunch? Careless oversight? Don't know, but I do care.

My heart broke for Azuma over and over again. Just, all the time. At this point I knew the game was an utsuge so I just sat back and let my feelings get trampled as intended.

Classic BL problems.

Classic BL "solutions".

Go ahead and laugh at past me. I am so disappointed in him.

I can't tell you why I like having my heart crushed, spit on, set on fire, and launched into the sun. But at least I know what I like.

I have mixed feelings for the story itself but the characters are above par for a BL VN. Faint praise? Maybe. But I get the sense that the happy ends are supposed to make you feel despair too despite the upbeat music and framing. It's not a good thing that MC-kun comes to accept the guys who have fucked him up. It's uncomfortably true to life how he makes excuses for their abuse just because they showed him some kindness, and it leaves me feeling hollow to watch him disappear into the sunset with them. Yes even Mitsugi. He doesn't get a pass just because he sticks to verbal abuse in the same story as a violent sadist and a murderous cannibal.

Case in point about the "good endings still feel bad".

I was down so, so bad. Good job Paradise you successfully got me to pin all my hopes on this little fucker.

I'll spare y'all the long barganing phase I went through but it ran the gamut from "maybe he's possessed" to "split personality" to "unholy experiment gone wrong". By his first bad end the scales had started to fall, though. I hit rock bottom at last in the second bad end.

I generally limit the title of Best Boy to a LI, even if it's closer in spirit to "Guy I Hated the Least". The only VN I've changed that for is Tokyo Onmyouji because none of those men deserved Tengenjibashi. It wasn't even a fucking contest. Here? Well...

Badly stilted TL in a crucial emotionally heavy scene. This is just the worst example I snipped while playing but man, did anyone look at the script for this route after the machine TL spat it out?

I learned nothing.

And here is where all of my negative feelings about Paradise stem from...

I understand that writers need to rein in the story at some point. You don't have infinite budgets for VAs and all. But the janky, sudden skip to the reveals being recited right away followed by the drive off into the sunset soured the whole experience for me. I wasted hours of my life trying to figure it out when the writers just said shit we gotta go here's the Cliff's Notes see you never. I bought in and was rewarded with the most underwhelming delivery I've seen this side of Phantom Thief Jade. The payoff is the second most important part of a mystery story guys! You gotta take the time to pace the Big Reveal and let the player chew a bit before taking the plate away! It's such a shame that they went through so much effort to layer and misdirect only to give up right at the finish line.

Despite that, I still had enough fun that I consider Paradise a worthwhile investment. I hope the fan disk can be brought over too someday.

Never mind- burn it all down. No survivors.

[spitblaze]

ever start writing something and then drop it because you don't know how to write it, and also don't really know where you're going with it?

Anyway here's like four or five paragraphs of Neku and Beat hanging out and talking about writing rap lyrics

The sun beat down on the bustling city, a city full of art, full of culture, full of people. The unexpected heat wave sent a ripple through the crowds, redirecting destinations, changing plans, as people crowded towards shade, towards the inside of buildings, cafes and restaurants that offered cold drinks, shops that offered air conditioning, awnings and underpasses that offered shade. And as the living inhabitants of the Shibuya ward sought refuge from the sun, the less-than-alive followed suit in their own realm, the ‘Underground’ plane of existence that- while Neku wasn’t completely sure how or why- experienced the same weather as its ‘Realground’ counterpart, heat waves included.

At any rate, physics, metaphysics, thermodynamics, or meta-thermodynamics be damned, the two partners found themselves avoiding the sun by squatting in the shady alleyway of A-East. Being undead (or just regular dead? He wasn’t very sure) thankfully meant no need for hydration, but that didn’t necessarily translate to ‘no want’. Neku took another sip of the soda in his hands, still somewhat shocked that he never thought to try the vending machines while in the UG. He had assumed that the only places he could purchase things were storefronts with Reaper decals, but it wasn’t like a vending machine cares if it can see you or not. As long as it gets the money, it’ll give you what you want. 

It was Beat’s idea, really- he saw a vending machine, stuck a few hundred yen in, and got a sports drink. He hadn’t even considered the fact that he was dead, he just walked right up and did it. That was the thing about Beat- he was impulsive, and rarely thought before he did anything, assuming he had the mental capacity to do so. Neku could try and talk some sense into him, but it was hard to argue with the kind of results Beat got by just...doing what he does. Well. Most of the time, anyway.

“Shibuya...blew ya...nah, no…” Beat muttered under his breath, tapping intently on his phone. Neku raised an eyebrow in his direction, completely unnoticed. “Shot through ya...yeah, okay, hm…”

“Beat?” Neku finally asked.

“Whuh-huh?” Beat snapped to attention, almost startled.

Neku rolled his eyes. “You’ve been talking to yourself all afternoon. After Joshua, the last thing I need is for my partner to go insane on me.”

“Nah, yo, you got it all wrong.” Beat moved his legs from a squat to a crisscross on the ground, turning to face Neku rather than the street. “I’m thinkin’ up some rhymes.”

“What?”

“Aw, c’mon, Phones,” Beat sighed. “Rhymes, lyrics, somethin’ I can put to a rhythm. How you gonna wear those things on ya head all day and still not know what I’m talkin’ bout?”

Neku glared in response.

“Well, anyway,” he continued, completely undeterred, “I got struck with a bit of inspiration a while back, and I got some music stuff stewin’ now.”

Awfully big word for Beat, Neku thought. “What kind of stuff?”

“Aw, it ain’t much.” Beat looked up and scratched his head through his beanie. “When I get real stressed I like to put it into somethin’ more creative. Punchin’s cool, but sometimes you gotta use ya brain, right?”

[driftwork]

a tall woman walks - scenes of collision (3)

what is that? what is that? This is pedantic and  a little too serious.  I will have to adapt my writing if I want to move from the past into the unknown future.  I would like to succeed, even if this is impossible. I was thinking how nice it would be to prove to  R that its possible to write a long piece, in parts or no parts at all.  I was reading sections of his novel over christmas, many small parts in his novel.   He says its a novel, whilst  I am sitting here reading his almost completed draft and wondering if that is a possible description. I suppose he is writing in a realist or naturalist tradition, how can he write this is in a liner fashion? Not that I have any big stories to tell. Nor am I really trying to describe my uncrisis filled life, perhaps i should just be sitting down at my keyboard and type. Yes, typing, write with finger ends rather than with a pen.  This is all its about really, words and  fingers touching the keyboard,  which produces sentences,  and the phrases and sentences are connected into paragraphs. Sometimes at least there are paragraph.  It's not scientific or engineering, usually not even grammatical.  R says he works with a subject and writes about human emotions, feelings, thoughts, machines and of course more than anything else conflict. Surely all there is is is words,  fingers, keys depressed, words. Sorry but my typing has been interrupted by...  I'm back but  am now having a network problem with the computer which is not attaching to the cloud.  It's later but not that later... Anyway the next two or three things belong after this

The woman approaches. This evening she has to work carrying out the list of installation tasks on the project chart. Does she need to be there? she is thinking. She is wearing high heel shoes  which are elevating her height until her already long body appears to glide.  She carries two bags and a feeling  that she should be wearing more utilitarian shoes. In one of her bags she has a pair of running shoes, in the other the usual supporting tools of an office bound manager.  Am I a manager these days? She wonders.  The occasional touches of instability as she strides along the pavement, remind you that it is hidden behind the passion, devotion and desperation to make it work, that belongs in her role,  concealed behind her personal history of work and expression.  This feeling possesses  artistry, power and the potential for extreme violence. Once she had been shorter, perhaps when she was a reptile, or a bird, or a human, then she had not really known about feelings.  In those days she had been pure action,  acting on events, reacting to situations, but here she imagines things are different.  Attempting to maintain a fidelity to the events.   Running, acting, waiting, sitting, fleeing or attacking.  Then had come her private ice ages,  everything had dropped as they had tried to kill her. She remembered when her world had been considerably warmer, gentler. Her mother and family.  The long waves approaching the coast, the pacific coast, the warm waters of the ocean.  Krondratiev would be proud she used to think watching the waves striking the coast.  People at home pleased to see her. And now, here,  well the sea is always cold here, though the land is warmer in winter and it rarely snows here. Still as she walked,  listening to the sound of her heels striking the pavement,  she wondered what it would like to have her family around her again […]

I watch her weaving through the pedestrian traffic,  her unique gait making me want to smile.  Her bag occasionally colliding with the legs of some person who gets to close to her. To diverge and yearn for the translation to be complete, this is what feelings are like and are capable of and her, as she walks towards me she is liquid desire.  Almost everything else is a matter of combination and difference. My grandparents and great-grandparents back into the nineteenth century were engineers and modellers.  Before that, if you go back far enough they were peasant farmers, serfs.  Most of my life was in the twentieth century. She though, that woman  who is approaching, with her jacket moving as she walks on her high heels.  tap tap tap. Her forebears were criminals and bureaucrats in the Asiatic mode of production. Further back still we had shared ancestors who were arboreal climbers, expelled from the trees and forest by the strong and the powerful, fists, biting, screaming, being hit by sticks. Our shared ancestors were not very human.  I can see her smiling at the sight of me.  There was no Eve and Adam though,  only a fuzzy set of indescribable beings we are descended from.  And  the set of feelings related to variations in heat and cold.  No woman was ever created out of Adam's rib. No paradise from which we fell.  It was always this terrible. She is  negotiating the spaces between the tables. Warm and cold,  thirty degrees in the tropical sea. I remember when I arrived sitting down in the bright sunshine. She is late and opens her mouth to say hello, sorry I'm late.  I can never forget this, I'll remember this in the chill of the day.  I'll remember this until I am beginning to die.  I feel warmer as she joins me at the table.  Have you finished for the day? I ask her.  She shakes her head, no I still have a long list of tasks to carry out before the installation completes. And you?  I'm going home after this... We collided long ago...

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

How do you feel about AI art and ChatGPT?

Going to show my ignorance here, because honestly, I don't really see what the big deal is?

I'm not saying that the development of these projects is a good thing. I don't know enough to really comment one way or the other. But I know how angry a lot of content creators are getting about this, and it just doesn't make a lot of sense to me. I get the idea in theory, how it steals work from writers and artists. And maybe that's happening. That could be a problem, a huge problem even. I won't presume to know the situation.

But given the limited nature of artificial intelligence, I don't see a great migration coming.

ChatGPT can't be much more advanced than other AIs, and an AI writing passages for us is a concept that already existed, leading to great moments like Harry Potter and The Portrait of What Looked Like a Large Pile of Ash. If you've not read that yet, go check it out. It's hilarious. But you know, it's only hilarious because it's so clearly "off." It doesn't sound natural, because it was never going to. Computers may be good at mimicking humans but they still don't have a soul, and in creative writing, that's going show itself. Nah, I predict the most common use of ChatGPT is going to be teenagers using a machine to do their homework for them. Which isn't...good, I suppose, but it's not the end of the world either. People have been using Google Translate to do their Spanish homework for years. It's just a thing that happens sometimes.

As for AI Art, I mean, same thing applies. I've seen AI Art. John Oliver did a whole hilarious segment on it. AI Images aren't exactly perfect. I've seen them before, and there's always something a little "off" about them. Plenty of them don't get the instructions exactly right or otherwise cannot translate what you tell them to create, at least not perfectly. I've experimented with an AI art generator, just to see what all the fuss was about. Let me tell you, it could not make heads or tails of my request to depict "short middle eastern androgynous kid with heterochromia in hufflepuff robes cuddling a snow white cat." While not all requests are going to be quite so specific, I feel like this probably isn't a big deal? Best thing I got out of it, by far, was this image of the Cheshire Cat wielding a lightsaber.

(Which, by the way, my instructions for this one were "Cheshire Cat having a lightsaber duel with the Cat from Coraline," so. Even this one was lacking. I still love it though.)

I could very much be wrong, and it's possible I just need to shut my mouth. If there are artists and writers out there who could help me understand what I'm missing, please, I welcome the counterargument. But speaking as a budding writer myself...I dunno, I just feel like this isn't going to be as big a problem as people think it is. Maybe I've been watching too much Star Trek, but this feels like the first step toward the Holodeck simulators, and I wouldn't exactly call those immoral. (...Depending on you use them...) Like, this was an inevitable step as we move toward the future of AI, and while I do think AI is something we should always be careful about...this just didn't seem like a major leap to me.

[art-of-manliness]

The Right Way to Do Leg Extensions for Strong and Meaty Quads

Last month, I talked about how I’ve reincorporated weight machines into my strength-training workouts to good effect. This year, we’ll be doing some articles on how to use various weight machines properly. One of the benefits of using machines is that they have a much easier learning curve than lifting barbells. But there are a few things you should know about using each in order to avoid pain and injury and use them most effectively for building size and strength. First up in these tutorials is the leg extension machine, which targets your quadriceps and your quadriceps alone.  There is some folklore out there that the leg machine can cause injuries and puts too much stress on the knees. But this isn’t borne out by research, which has found that leg extensions are safe, including for ACL rehabilitation.  There’s also a myth that leg extensions aren’t functional. But quad strength translates to everything from walking to running, and particularly to explosive movements like jumping and cutting. Also, because people often use compensating muscles when doing other leg exercises (especially if they’re dealing with injuries), leg extensions, by isolating the quads, can help correct strength imbalances created by these compensating strategies. This is useful in preventing new injuries, as well as re-injuries, particularly a second ACL tear.  Not only are leg extensions a safe strength-building exercise, they also help give you defined and meaty legs, so you can confidently wear your shorty shorts around town. And, since you’re only moving a single joint, they perform this function without requiring the kind of recovery you need after doing the squat or leg press.  But since leg extensions, like all exercises, are only safe to do if you do them right, let’s get into how to perform them properly. Setting Up the Machine My home gym, plate-loaded leg machine doesn’t have as many adjustment options as one you’ll find in a commercial gym, so I couldn’t dial in my position as much as you might be able to, but this a generally good set-up position. The leg extension itself is a simple movement. The big thing you have to pay attention to is setting up the machine before you start doing them. There are several adjustments to make to the machine before you begin this exercise to ensure ergonomic comfort, maximization of strength-producing, hypertrophy-creating force, and the prevention of undue pain and strain on your joints:  Weight stack/plates. There are different schools of thought on what weight you should use for leg extensions. One is that you should go with lower weight because you’re only using a single joint to move the weight, and you’re not able to exert that much force without form breaking down. To get the hypertrophic stimulus with lower weight, you’ll need to do high reps in the 15-20 range. If you’re going to go the high rep route with leg extensions, perform them at the end of your workout, so you don’t fatigue yourself for the main leg exercise like the squat. The other school of thought is that as long as you can perform the reps with good form and without pain, you can stick to the traditional 8-12 rep range prescribed for hypertrophy and go heavier. Experiment and find what works for you. Seat back distance. The seat back can be adjusted forwards or backwards. Positioning it correctly will minimize undue strain on your knees and allow you to produce maximum force. You want to move the seat back so that when you sit down, your knees are not too far in front of the edge of the seat’s base, nor too far back. Your knees should align with the leg bar’s pivot point. The creases at the backs of the knees should sit against the edge of the butt pad.  Leg pad height. The pad that will sit on top of your lower legs can sometimes be adjusted up or down. The pad should rest where the ankle flexes. Not up on your shins or down towards your toes. Leg bar range of motion. The leg bar can be adjusted so that it sits more or less under the seat’s base. The further back it… http://dlvr.it/T4ywTj

[muscular-fantasies]

Can you help me? Recently, My nerd roommate stole all my muscles using a weird machine! I was a football player and heavyweight bodybuilder, but he took away all my positions. And now my life is hell by him. I was nice to him, but he betrayed me! Can you please get us back to normal? I want to revenge on him!

You wanted everything back like it was. He had made your life hell, after everything you did for him. It wasn't enough that you tried to help him with training or against the bullies. He used you, as he stole everything he wanted.. that nice smile, those big arms, that hairy chest and well groomed beard.. but mostly that dominance when you walked through the hallway, seeing the crowd open as you passed... Exhilarating!

Luckily for you that also meant you got his life, including all those books about transfiguration and body snapping. It took you weeks however to translate them and figure out what to do and another month to prepare everything.

You waited at you old room, until he showed up.

"WTF! What are you doing here little shit! Gonna beg for this amazing bod again?" He snarled pushing you aside.

"I'm not begging! Not anymore." You snapped back.

You opened a bottle and a smoke formed in the room. It surrounded the two of you as it shrouded everything else. You then swallowed the liquid inside as you started stepping towards him. Each foot hitting the ground harder as you prepared to grab him.

"Dude! Get away, whatever you do I'll reverse it anyway and take even more!" He stammered, as he stepped back. His back hitting the wall of fog, unable to move through it.

"Haha.. I've prepared for everything, there won't be a next time!" You growl, hunger in your eyes.

You jump on him, your flesh merging where you touch. He screams, but the smoke doesn't let any sound pass. You push your face against him, embracing the growing strength.

"Ahhhh!" You scream, waking up on the floor, memories of pushing and someone... no the twig trying to take over.

You look into the mirror laughing as you see your new body, having lost a lot of the body hair you were so proud of you still smirked at the reflection. Your new boyishly good looks could make any guy fall on his knees, at just the right height to suck on that throbbing dick..

"I know your still somewhere in there, you little shit.. Thanks for bringing my intelligence back to me, I kinda missed it.. Maybe you should have used it to look for the flaws I prepared in those books. Now be a good boy and enjoy riding in our hot bod, as I'll go fuck that sexy linebacker."

[deviiancetv]

Cinema Starview Presents: The Legacy of T’Challa

I just got done watching Wakanda Forever, and all I’ve got to say is that, this movie was a beautiful love letter to Chadwick Boseman’s T’Challa. This review will be a little short, contain some spoilers, and just overall my opinion on why I’m glad they did the movie this way.

Shuri’s journey throughout the film is an incredible tale of a young princess watching her entire family die right in front of her, leaving her to be the sole survivor and heir to the throne (or so we think). The opening to the movie shows us a stressed Shuri trying to find a rapid cure to help save her brother, T’Challa from a mysterious illness. Then later towards the middle of the movie, Queen Rawanda dies from drowning after saving when our underwater mutant villain, Namor, strikes Wakanda with his soldiers. The backstory of Namor, it was so cool how much the Talokans share similarities to the Wakandans, from the heart shape herbs to both nations having vibranium as a precious resource world governments want colonize. I’d love if in the future we get a movie where both nations come together to protect vibranium from the hands of a big evil. If Dr. Doom has any involvement with this, that’ll be 10x more amazing. It’s important to remember that this movie shows us how that minorities are always combating against each other and within our own communities, when the real enemy are the colonizers and governments that continuously steal from our own. I do hope they focus on that in a future BP movie along with a Namor movie.

But back to Shuri, the scene where she took the purple herb and was transported to the Ancestral Plane, her conversation with Killmonger. It was touching how much her similarities to him were of battling that need for revenge vs. trying to be passive and forgive. Even her suit has gold and silver accents that are mirrors of both T’Challa and Killmonger’s suits. I loved that slight touch to Shuri’s suit and even her portrayal in this movie. From being the tech girl in the background in the first film to now being in the forefront with a complex hero arc.

The introduction of Riri being an MIT student who created a machine to locate vibranium… can we say YOUNG PRODIGY ALERT!!! We definitely needed her in this film as the lighthearted comic relief, as well as Mr. Thicc Legz himself M’Baku, those two really made this movie somewhat lighthearted amidst all of the grief and sadness. Knowing that Riri’s show will be about the battle of technology vs. magic and she’s going against the whole Hood (pun intended) I’ll be invested to see where her character arc translates from this movie to her series.

// ⛔️ SPOILERS ⛔️ // So, Nakia & T’Challa had a son together!!! This is sooo exciting, because there’s so much that can happen from this alone. Toussaint aka T’Challa Jr. or TJ is definitely gonna take on the role as Black Panther in the next few years. I wonder if they’re gonna age him up so that he can take on the mantle a bit sooner, or if they’ll just wait for him to get a little bit older to join the Young Avengers.

Lastly, I know there was a lot of uproar on Kevin & Ryan not wanting to go about recasting T’Challa, while some fans wanted this to happen, others wanted a new actor to take on the mantle. The reason why I personally never liked the idea of recasting, is because T’Challa meant A LOT to many black people, and it was one of the most important and beautiful films about our people in YEARS. Every black film is either a trauma film, or a ghetto struggle film, Black Panther was the first film where we actually saw ourselves in a fantasy superhero world and the mix of afrofuturism and African royalty all mixed together in one. T’Challa meant a lot — and still does to everyone, especially black people. So, the idea of recasting him, to move on from Chadwick’s passing with a new actor that wouldn’t have made the same impact… it would’ve felt like pouring sugar on an open wound.

Plus, Chadwick passed when we were in the middle of the pandemic — we’ve all lost loved ones in the past 2, 3, 5, 7 years that we still haven’t fully moved on from. I know from experience that grief isn’t easy, and it never gets better, and you never fully move on. That’s what this movie symbolizes. That is the beauty of this movie in my eyes. This movie is grief perservering as Vision says. I’m hopeful for the future of the franchise and I do hope Letitia does decide to stay for a few more movies. Her role as Shuri was really amazing!! This movie was just extremely sad, but it was an important movie to hurdle over.

Also, just to make men upset… if you’re mad about this movie having black women take on bigger roles, and being the main characters, I’m gonna need for you to look deeper into yourself and figure out why your masculinity is so fragile anytime women take the lead. If you are genuinely mad about women taking the lead, please croak. Thank you very much.

🖤✊🏿 WAKANDA FOREVER ✊🏾💜

SCORE: 9.5/10 ⭐️

[myherowritings]

PART 1. A VERY WELL-DESERVED TIP

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.0k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. my brief work as a barista is finally paying off. i suffered at sbux all to write this fic ✌︎('ω'✌︎ ) LMAOOO i frl had so much fun writing this and i’m very excited to share the next parts ;) i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i do!! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

You were not looking forward to your new work schedule for the next month. 

The employee who usually came in for opening shifts at four in the morning gave her two weeks notice...two weeks ago. And since you had your availability open (you knew you should’ve blocked it off and said you had morning class), your manager asked you to fill her place. 

The night before your first—of many—morning shifts, you tried tricking yourself into thinking it was a good idea. And it almost worked! Sort of. 

You told yourself waking up early when the sun rose worked with your body’s natural circadian rhythm and this experience may adjust your sleep schedule for a healthier one in the long run. Better health and wellbeing and lower risks of cardiovascular disease. Or something. You weren’t too sure exactly; you never paid much attention in biology but it sounded like something you’d find in a textbook, right?

When you arrived on your first day, the morning shift was just as hectic and chaotic as you expected. People in business suits with name brand bluetooth earphones in their ears and the latest new smartphone in their hand filled the shop and waited for their online order. It was as if they wanted the least amount of social interaction possible, which would be fine if being able to make connections with customers wasn’t the most interesting part about being a barista. 

Although the cafe you worked at was a small business who actually (tried) to pay their employees fairly and wasn’t a purely money hungry franchise like the certain green siren, it surprisingly had gained enough traction in the area to rival one of those cheap, chain stores. 

Good for the business, bad for sleepy workers who could barely function in the mornings.

But you enjoyed working here and the owners were kind, so you did your best to shove away the tiredness and put a bright and cheery smile on your face. The customers were grumpier than you were used to, but who wouldn’t be a little ill-mannered having to go to work at 5 a.m. and probably not leaving until 6 p.m. or later because of bosses who overworked them? Trying to get them their morning coffee with an amiable attitude to start off their day right was something you were more than happy to do. 

It was too bad barely any of them gave you the time of day. They just wanted to get their caffeine and leave with as little human interaction as possible. It was understandable, of course, but it wasn’t the lively cafe environment you were used to during later shifts. You sighed, hoping the atmosphere would be friendlier when it wasn’t a major rush hour. 

“Hi! I can help the next person in line,” you called for the twentieth time this hour. When they moved forward towards the cash register, you gave them a smile. “Good morning. I hope your day has been going well!”

“It’s been okay, thank you. And yours?”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you almost sputtered over thin air. Someone who actually replied back to what you said and asked about you in return? Even if the intent was a courtesy conversation that was meant to be quick and brief, the sentiment was there—the upholding of the values of common courtesy and human decency. Something too many people seemed to lack. 

“I’m good as well! A little tired but what’s to be expected a quarter ‘til 6 a.m.?” you said with a laugh. “Thank you for asking.”

The customer gave a small smile in return and you internally celebrated for finally seeing your first pleasant expression this morning. “Must be even more tiring dealing with all these people. Doesn’t seem easy. I have to commend you for it.”

He was a tall, handsome man with a pretty face, soft-looking hair, and genuinely nice? There was no way this was real; you had to be dreaming. 

You twiddled with the pen in your hands, taken aback and mildly embarrassed by the praise. “Just doing my job,” you said with a bashful look. “Thank you, though.” You cleared your throat, not wanting to hold the line up for too long, even if the customer was one you would rather keep talking to than the others. “Now, what can I get started for you today?”

“Right. Can I get a flat white in the medium size?” 

“Of course.” You typed in his order into the register before asking, “And is there anything else I can get for you? Like a pastry? Today we have some freshly baked cheese danishes that are really yummy if you’d like to try!” 

He thought for a while before shrugging. You weren’t sure if it was your eyes playing tricks on you or he actually had an amused look on his face. “Sure, I’ll take a couple dozen of those as well.” 

“A couple dozen—?” your voice faltered. The suggestion of a fresh pastry was one you made to almost every customer, though most turned it down on the spot. 

The cafe had a little weekly competition between workers to see who could sell the most pastries in the week and the one who sold most got...well, a free pastry and bragging rights. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but nothing revved up sales like friendly rivalries. An order of a couple dozen was sure to land you in the top spot this week! Still, you had to make sure he meant it. You’d feel bad if he was just spending all his hard-earned office work money because he was trying to be courteous. (Or at least, you assumed he was some office employee.) 

You cautiously asked, “Are you sure?”

Either your eyes were playing tricks on you yet again, or the look of amusement on his face grew even more than before as he said, “I’m sure. One medium flat white and, say, three dozen boxes of cheese danishes, please.” 

“C-Coming right up!” you said, quickly entering his order and celebrating your free end-of-the-week pastry in advance. “That will be $42.81. Would that be card or cash?” 

“Card.” He pulled out a sleek, black card with gold detailings on it and you never knew you could be sexually attracted to a credit card until now. 

“Perfect! Go ahead and swipe, insert, or scan your card now. In the meantime, can I get a name for your order please?” 

He scanned his card over the machine before looking back up at you. “It’s To— Ah, Shouto.” 

“Shouto?” you asked in confirmation. You assumed it wasn’t ‘Toahshouto’. That sounded too much like the abbreviation used to remember how to find sine, cosine, and tangent.

“Yeah. Shouto.” 

You smiled. “Well, Shouto, your order will be ready in a few minutes. Please wait over to your right to pick it up!”

He nodded. 

“It was nice meeting you!” you called, waving goodbye. “I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

“Thank you,” he glanced at your nametag, “Y/N.” 

Oh, how nice it felt to be treated like a human by a customer and have them actually address your name— And not to say it in a condescending way either. 

“Do individual baristas get to keep the tips here?”

You blinked, feeling your face warm up slightly. “We do, actually.” One of your favorite parts of the job, you had to admit. 

“Glad to hear.” Shouto pulled out some crisp-looking bills from his wallet and placed one in your hand that said ‘100’ to you. “Thank you for your kind service, Y/N.” 

“Wha—” Your eyes widened. You were expecting something along the line of three dollars. Maybe five at most. But a hundred? By the time you had processed what had happened he was walking away from the cash register. “Wait— Shouto...sir! I think you accidentally gave me the wrong amount.” 

He shook his head, only briefly turning back to face you. “Nope. It’s for you,” he said simply. “I’m looking forward to the cheese danishes.” 

His words left you stunned, but the next customer in line tapped their foot impatiently, signaling it was now time for you to take their order. You hoped the line died down before Shouto left the cafe so you could return the tip, but seeing as how the queue almost extended out the door, you had the sinking feeling that wouldn’t be a possibility. 

“Hello, I can take the next customer in line!” you recited cheerfully, mind still occupied by thoughts of your last encounter. 

The next few orders went along uneventfully (though you did manage to sell two more cheese danishes) and by the time Shouto got his coffee and pastry boxes, you still had a handful more customers to get through. 

“Pardon me real quick,” you said apologetically to the woman in front of you. “Please give me one moment?” 

She graced you with a nod and you thanked the stars above for an understanding patron. 

“Wait— Excuse me, sir!” You waved in Shouto’s direction before he could exit the cafe. He glanced at you curiously but walked over. In a hushed voice, you said, “I really appreciate the tip, but there’s no way I could accept this much money from you!” 

For the first time today, you say the hints of a frown on his face. “You cannot?” 

“No! $100 is a lot! You already bought $40 worth of cheese danish pastries— Are you sure you meant to give that big of a tip?”

“Of course.” He took a sip of his coffee with a satisfied hum. “You getting up at such an early hour to take people’s orders with a kind attitude isn’t easy. Plus, trying to build rapport with each of them all while keeping the interacting swift is a difficult task itself. And it’s probably worth more than your current pay, the $100 tip, and then some.” 

You blinked, stunned by his words. This man kept surprising you so many times in just one morning. 

“I find it ridiculous how certain occupations are paid an ungodly amount more than others, especially when a lot of it comes from privileges you were born into.” Shouto seemed to mumble the last bit to himself, but you were still able to understand what he said. “It’s bullshit.” Before you could respond, he recollected himself. “Eat the rich, right? All that to say, please accept the tip. You deserve it. And I promise it’s of no detriment to me, so please don’t feel bad.”

Seeing the determined look on his face, you couldn’t help but stare at him before nodding. He didn’t say anything you didn’t already believe yourself, and if someone really wanted to give you $100, you weren’t going to fight them on it. Think of all the dumplings you could buy, you told yourself.

“T-Thank you then.” You gingerly placed the folded bill back into your pants pocket. “I think that was really insightful of you and I’m very grateful.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled before glancing towards the exit. “I’m running a bit late for work now, so I should be going. Have a good day, Y/N.”

“You too, Shouto. And… Thank you again!”

With a glowing expression on your face, you walked back to the cash register ready to face the day and talk to more lovely customers!

“Hey, little barista!” a gruff voice called from the line, snapping you out of your stupor. “Hurry it up already before you force me to complain to your manager.” 

You internally sighed. You understood they were in a rush, but they still had no right to be that rude. 

“Can you even hear me? Or are you too incompetent?”

Cue another internal sigh. 

Yeah, okay. Maybe you did deserve this $100 tip.

Regardless of the rude customers that may have come in, at least you had your thoughts of a cute, kind businessman who went by the name of Shouto to get you through your shift. And you could only hope you’d be able to see him again.

a/n: the end of part one folks!! oh what i’d give to have gotten a tip like this when i worked as a barista BAHAHA only in my dreams. i hope you enjoyed this little intro part and are excited for what’s to come !! :3

what to expect in the next part:

~maybe~ y/n will see shouto again and,,perhaps,,get more tips from him idk who knows 

old lady imparts some...helpful(?) advice 

we briefly get to see shouto’s pov! ;D

[ughdontbeboring]

Stay

Syverson x Reader (WoC)

Sy adjusts to being home.

warnings: angst, ptsd (?), coping, mentions of war, smut 🥲🤷🏽‍♀️

sidenote: dammint I will finish those other wips before New Years! 😩🥲 this has been on my mind for months and I just did the outline and I hadnt been in the mood to write it but here it is! Its ANGST AF YALL! Ok so I do two things ANGST AND SMUT! Also it’s 2:30 am here and I’m at work sleepy af so yea.

do not use or translate my work anywhere BUT please do like,love,comment,reblog all that good shit if you fucks with it 🤪

Texas.

94°. It was a fucking 94° out, it may be a normal summer evening for Texas, but even after all these years she still wasn’t accustomed to this kind of dry weather, not a fucking breeze of wind in sight. Thank God the sun would be setting soon, the heat was slowly staring to break.

She shut the last bedroom door as she walked to the kitchen passing the master bedroom door, she had just finished cleaning the babies rooms. Both rooms fairly easy to clean since both children were still so young. She could relax now, the rest of the day was for her and her hubby once he finished up outside.

She looked through the cabinets for the snacks to start their binge Saturday. They usually reserved Fridays and Saturdays for their mommy daddy time since some Sundays they meet Sy’s mama for church in the morning and the evening was a big family dinner followed by time spent getting ready for the week. There was always a lot of work to be done on the ranch, though she had her own job in the near by city of San Antonio she made sure to help Sy on Sunday evenings plan the week out for his family business.

She was laying out all the snacks up on the cute tray she had for movie nights when the heavy wooden front door busted open and bounced off the wall, causing her head to snap up. He was moving so fast she hardly caught his imposing figure barreling past the kitchen and down the hallway.

“Sy?”

no response.

“Sy” she said a with a bit louder as she walked toward the hallway he just disappeared down, she could hear distant voices outside and thats when she realized the front door was still open. She moved to close it, wondering what had happened.

Before she could close the door she seen Sy’s riding lawnmower sitting idling in the middle of their lawn. Her mind started to whirl, not again.

One of the ranch workers was talking to another worker before getting off their horse and making their way towards the abandoned machine. She glanced at his face as he sent her a small almost sympathetic smile. One that no matter how kind, Sy would not appreciate. He wouldn’t want sympathy. She returned the small smile before mouthing thank you and shutting the door.

Her palms laid on the door as she took some deep breathes, sending a quick prayer that God would help her get them both past this.

Her body felt heavy, like she could feel the pain, the emotions suffocating the air as she walked down the hallway. Every step closer to their bedroom made her feel like her heart was going to beat right out her chest and die on the floor while she was forced to stay alive just to watch.

When she rounded the corner of the master suite she could make of the sound of a low buzz. If she closed her eyes she would have thought she stopped walking, everything felt at a stand still.

But her feet would not let her stop, her heart pulling her closer and closer to the heart it belongs to. That very heart stopped and squeezed in her chest at the sight before her.

His back was to her. The clippers in his hand, the buzz even louder now. Almost deafening. He was gripping them so hard his knuckles were white. His body tight, the muscles under his damp skin rolling with tension. He looked ready to pop at any moment.

His eyes, oh God his eyes broke her. She could see him staring at himself in the mirror, but his eyes were empty, so far away. No doubt replaying every moment every second of the hard things he had to do while a million miles away from home, from her. The life and duty he had lived since he was just a young man. The men he’s lost to war, the parts of himself he lost, still mourning all of it.

She had to fight back the sob that sat in her chest threatening to claw its way out. She couldn’t even stop herself is she tired as she moved forward to him slowly.

“Sy”

She waited a few feet behind him, standing to the side allowing her body to be fully visible. Though Sy would never hurt her on purpose she didn’t want to surprise him in this state.

“Baby look at me” she pleaded softly.

His eyes slowly moved to hers in the reflection. She moved forward and wrapped her hand around his wrist holding the hair clippers and the other hand resting on his back.

“Buzz?” She asked.

She watched as he shook his head yes.

“Let me help, please” she said in a gentle voice. She took it as an ok when he didn’t move to stop her as she slowly pulled him away from the counter. Once there was enough room she jumped on the large vanity, there was enough room to sit comfortably without her butt falling into the sink.

The past 2 days or so Sy had been slightly off and it made sense now. If she didn’t know the man so intimately she’s sure she wouldn’t have even noticed, that’s how well Sy hide it.

He was breathing heavy but at least he was looking at her now. Eyes watching her as she slowly brought the clippers up to his head. His hair wasn’t super long but it was getting longer then Sy had been allowed to have it since he joined right after High School. She watched the first patch of hair fall and gaged his reaction. His eyes followed it as it fell on her lap, his fingers brushing it off before looking back at her, a small nod letting her know it was ok to continue.

She let out a breathe she didn’t realize she was holding. He wasn’t in the clear but it was the first crack in the ice.

A few minutes later the last patch of hair fell, and she watched Sy look in the mirror, the icey exterior slowly melting, the warmth of a brilliant blue ocean on a summer day swirling back into his eyes.

Without warning the big bear of a man crashed into her, knocking the air out of her. A loud “oof” leaving her as he buried his face in her neck. Inhaling as his hand roamed her body.

“Hey hey, it’s ok baby” she repeated over and over as her hands ran over his tense body and scratching lately at his scalp. Her heart eased as she felt the tension slowly, very slowly start to leave his body.

“Thank you” he said startling her, she let the tears fall, he was slowly coming back.

“I love you” she replied without hesitation “always”.

She pulled him back from her neck to place soft kisses on his neck, working her way up his face, she kissed every inch on his face before landing on his lips. The salty taste of his sweat strong.

“Scooch back baby”

She jumped down from the counter and walked over to the tub. She turned on the water for a shower, her hand checking the temp. Once she was satisfied she walked back over to the father of her children and started to under dress him. She made quick work of his clothes before throwing them in the hamper, sitting his boots on the side of it. At this moment she was thankful her mother was in town and had the kids. They were having a grandparents slumber party at Sy’s mother house on the north side of the ranch.

She tangled Sy’s hand in her before pulling him toward the tub and guiding him in. She pulled her shirt and shorts off and left them on the floor before climbing in the shower with him.

She had Sy rise before working the soap into the loofah she had once she switched with him so she was standing under the water. She could feel her long box braids start to soak as she started to rub the loofah into his neck and shoulders. Taking her time as she working down each arm. She could feel his eyes burning into her.

She scrubbed his board chest and continued down, washing each strong thick leg and washing over this man hood, trying not to pull too much as she felt him start to harden slightly in her hand. She clenched her legs at the feel of his heavy cock in her hand.

Focus you hoe she lightly scolded herself.

She worked her way back up and ran up his chest, her eyes watching the suds before going over his neck and down his back. Her body pulling closer into his as she scrubbed his back. Her breathe hitching at the feel of his semi hard cock against her.

She quickly washes up while Sy rises off, his hand going to cup her breast. His thumb working over he nipple, soapy suds dripping down her full breast.

“Fuck” she moaned. Sy needs you YN! Her brain yelled, right now was not about her.

She had Sy lay down in the tub, they made sure from the beginning when the house was being built that the tub was big enough for her bear. Once Sy is comfortable, she crawls on his lap, the soap making her extra slippery.

With her straddling over his hips she grasp his cock in her hand, giving him a few strokes to get him from semi hard to just where she needed him to be. It didn’t take much, Sy’s cock growing harder and harder.

She sunk herself down into his length, slowly taking him inch by inch. They both groaned. Sex wasn’t the way to work through this, well not alone. She need Sy grounded and this was one of the ways that worked for them, after and when he was ready he would talk to her. For right now, she wanted him to feel her, ground himself, root himself deep inside her.

Once she had Sy full seated inside her, she let out a hiss at the stretch, it always took a moment to adjust. She slowly lowered her face to his. His gaze intense as he watched her every move.

Her body starting to rock, as Sy’s hand gripped her hips, pushing her into a pace he needed. Her breast brush against his hard chest as they stared into eachother eyes.

That cold ice that had went up so quick was slowly coming down more and more. She could start to feel the warmth from his body again, his body relaxing under her touch.

“I’m here, your here, your never going back so please stay here, all the way here” she whispered.

His face scrunches up for a moment as his eyes swell with unshed tears. Early retirement that been harder on Sy then they thought it would be. It wasn’t the worst case but he still had his moment here and there. That need to cut his hair as if he was going back a urge he couldn’t fight when he got like this.

It was a tell tale sign to her, their family and friends, when Sy showed up with a fresh buzz cut.

Her hips rocked harder as Sy started thrusting up into her. The feel of her tight pussy I’m gripping him in this moment just so overwhelming.

“Feel me Sy, your home baby and your gonna stay home with me and our babies, we’re all safe because of your sacrifices” she said as the tears rolled down her face again. She needed to remind him and she would whenever he needed to hear it, “you’re safe”.

“Fuck Suga” his hoarse voice said as she laid her forehead on his. Her lips pecked his check before falling to his neck, sucking gently before whispering in his ear.

“I love you Sy, you’re everything to me”

Sy groans as his fingers dig into her hips, his thrust becoming more brutal as he chased his release. She gripped his cock, her own orgasm nearing. Her mouth falling open, Sy took the chance to lick into her mouth before bitting her lip. The water from the shower head making the slapping of skin sound louder in the bathroom.

“Fucking dammint I love you more darlin’, you’re my life” He said, as his cock swelled, his milky cum spurting into her waiting warm cunt.

“Oh fuck Sy” she moaned out as her own orgasm ripped through her. Her cunt gripping at Sy’s large velvety cock. His thrusts still working them through their orgasm as her body tensed, the pleasure so overwhelming.

Sy’s thrust slowly came to a stop as YN rolled her hips gently.

She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. The shower water still hot as it rain down on them. Sy’s cock soften inside her.

“I know it wasn’t easy and it felt like hell on earth, the things you saw and did made you feel like you didn’t deserve it, that notice that you would be coming back for good but thank you for coming home to me, to us, you deserve this, you deserve all of this” She whispered a few inches from his face. Neither one of then wiped away the tears that blended into the shower rain.

“Bug, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me”

She smiled while cradling his face in her hands, her thumbs running over his bearded cheeks. His ocean eyes coming back to life.

Well damn

also!!!

henry would drop a sweaty selfie while Im posting this 🥲

[buckybarnesdiaries]

longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car

© mine.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky is kidnapped by Hydra to reactivate the Winter Soldier.

word count: 2.924 words. it worth it, i promise!!!

warnings/tags: none. angst as hell mostly. but it has a happy ending.

author notes: i don't speak russian, but i haven't used google translate either, so no worries. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list NEW!!! here.

No. It couldn't be possible. It had to be part of a terrible nightmare. Bucky couldn't have been kidnapped by Hydra again.

You didn't know what to expect in the ship flying to the secret location of the organization. For Stark, it didn't take more than a couple of minutes to track the arm down, since Shuri put a small monitor on it when the soldier stayed in Wakanda. She never told it, wanting to use it in some kind of circumstance like the one you all were going through now. And you couldn't be more grateful, but it didn't help to make you feel better.

You were sitting close to the back hatch. Back rested against the metallic wall and legs curled to your chest. Nothing inside your head more than the hallucination of a pair of blue eyes staring at you. Blaming yourself was something you couldn't avoid. You should have been with him, by his side, protecting him as many times you promised him. But in fact, you just failed him. You failed his trust, his love. You let them take him. Only God knew which torture Hydra was putting him under, while you were there, lamenting.

You didn't even notice Steve's presence squatting next to you until he placed a hand on your shoulder. Then, you raised your face towards him. He was suffering too. In the end, Bucky was his long-life friend, his big brother. He lost him once and felt like he was going to lose him twice. Although this time was different. You were carrying the dispositive that could put to sleep back the winter soldier, but, at what cost?

“Buck got you now. Everything is gonn—”. He spoke in plural, referring to your last night's talk.

“How could you be so calm, Steve? How do you do it?” You whispered through your trembling lips, about to break in crying.

“Because he needs us focused, not distracted”.

He was wise. Captain America was wiser than anyone in that ship. He curled the left corner of his lips up, trying to make you feel good, trying to transmit you the encouragement you needed to not give up. And he did, more or less. You had to fight harder than ever. For Bucky, and only for Bucky. That's why you didn't hesitate on jumping out from the ship when it landed on the cold hard ground, as the freezing weather hit you on the face.

Following the plan, you ran quietly to the back door hidden under a huge layer of snow. Shaking part of it with the palm of your hand, you placed the device with technology from Wakanda on the locker. Not later than fifteen seconds, it deciphered the code to open the hatch. Once in position, the Avengers followed you downstairs. The passage was empty and silent. The only sound that broke it was a couple of rats running away from your presence. You all had studied the plans of the building, mostly underground, remembering exactly where you had to go.

The coast was clear, that was the reason why you all were so confused. You were expecting to find more than a dozen of agents, but when T'Challa enunciated through your earwigs that he only located two heat spots, you couldn't believe it. How only one man kidnapped the most fearless assassin up to now? Tortuous and bitter screams dragged you back to reality, causing your brain to react to make your legs run faster than ever in your whole damn life. You knew by heart that voice beneath all the pain.

Your skin bristled when your gaze landed on that chair of horrors, connected to an enormous power source. Bucky was sitting there against his want.

“... добросердечный… возвращение на родину… один…”

“STOP IT”. Steve yelled.

Huge mistake. You were aware of it when —yes— that man stopped reciting the Russian words to re-activate the Winter Soldier, but only enough time to push a red button near to him and close the heavy door in front of you. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. At the moment you glimpsed Steve’s shield sliding above the floor, straight to the inside of the room where Bucky was being tortured, you followed the same way. Never in your life, you were this fast. Like a lightning bolt, you snaked yourself under the small distance between the door and the ground before being closed. Now, it was you, that man and the soldier.

“You’re late…” He mocked with an awful American accent, under James crying out loud in pain. “грузовой ваг—”.

Your left hand moved quickly to unholster your gun and shoot him. One… Two… Three… Four bullets right to his head. The man fell dead before he couldn’t complete the command. You didn’t lose time, running to the controls to try to turn that machine off. But it was impossible. Even if you knew Tony could do it, there wasn’t signal inside those large and wide walls made of steel reinforced. You were in one of those abandoned soviet bunkers, that could save you from Armageddon. You were inhaling and exhaling so fast that your lungs never got really full, trying to focus, trying to shut every single noise around up. Trying to think of a plan b. But it was your heart who pushed you to act and not your brain. Grabbing Steve’s shield, you aimed for the energy source before tossing it like a damn frisbee.

That thing blew up, turning off any kind of light and dispositive around, as the sparks and the cables decorated your surroundings. Just like the fire that started to burn down a pile of boxes with different documents of Hydra. But that wasn't why you were impatient. Catching the shield when it came back to you, your legs moved immediately to Bucky, still stirring on his seat for a few seconds else. Then, he simply stopped shaking. Her eyes were wide opened. Reddened, in tears. His chest rose and fell violently. His heart was racing. And you could see the trauma taking control over his body in holy silence.

You didn't doubt removing the protection from his mouth along the restraints keeping him on the chair. Your fingers trembled like never before, not having any more time to lose. Probably, the Avengers would be trying to open the door when the emergency red lights illuminated the bunker, producing a loud alarm sound to indicate that something was going wrong inside the facilities.

“C'mon, Buck… C'mon, we have to leave”. You told him, trying to help him to stand up.

But as soon as your hand was about to land on his arm of vibranium, the five cold digits got closed around your throat. Soon, the lack of air for you was more than evident. He got up on his own, not needing you to do it. The ocean blue in his eyes turned into a dark storm. There wasn't any gesture on his face, more than his jaw clenching, pressing his teeth together. That wasn't Bucky —your Bucky—, but the unstable trained assassin Hydra turned him in. You could barely gulp saliva, gripping his metallic wrist with both of your hands to try to stop him from murdering you.

He couldn't. He couldn't kill you. His strength was suffocating you with no mercy, though.

For a moment, you felt too weak to fight, seeing everything around you getting blurred and darker. Blacking out. But there was something inside you, a sweet tone of voice calling your name. A male voice. Your eyelids rolled down bit by bit, wanting to concentrate on that honeyed sound being closer and closer.

“любить”.

The sore whisper left your lips. Love. The first time Bucky told you about love came to your mind. He told you about his family. George, Winnifred, Rebecca. He told you how much he desired to have a family of his own. To be loved.

“новый”.

Your almost dead fingers traced the form of his new arm made in Wakanda when you felt him lifting you from the floor, being suspended on air.

“сороковых годов”.

Trying to keep a firm tone of voice as much as the pressure let you, the Russian words were spat to the confused soldier, who wasn't understanding what you were doing. The forties changed his life. He was sent to war and, lately, captured by HYDRA. It was something he'd never forget, part of his DNA.

“заката”.

You didn't know what the hell your subconscious was doing either till that precise instant. You were reprogramming him. You were using his own memories to reset his wiped brain from them. Dusk. The first night he spent in Wakanda, Bucky was terrified. But you stayed with him. You comforted him by saying that everything was going to be okay, that his life would be different. That he was safe. That he was at home.

“лето”.

His last night of summer in that kingdom, Bucky took you to his favorite place between the woods, wanting to show you the fireflies fluttering in the middle of the gloom. He used to walk there whenever he woke up from a nightmare. Those small insects used to make him feel better for some reason he didn't comprehend. Until he saw their light reflecting on your amazed orbs. Bucky knew then he was in love with you. Besides his long-life friend, the only person who never judged him, who never ran away from him. The same person that now was dying under his fingers.

“шесть”

Six years took him to be Bucky, after his last war, after the last effort, after the last jump. He was a new man. You made him a new man. A good one. You guided him through the right way. You helped him to get used to the twenty-one century. You accompanied him to therapy and stayed in the waiting room every single session until he finished.

“заткну��ься”.

The soldier ordered you to shut up, earning quite the opposite when you knew it was sorting some kind of effect on him, as soon as you felt some relief by the grip loosening around your throat and your tiptoes touching the ground. Little by little, you opened your eyes again, gluing them on the blue ones fixed on you.

“боец”.

He wasn't a super soldier, he was a fighter. He spent the last six years of his life fighting for it, fighting for ruling his existence, fighting for being pardoned for crimes he didn't want to commit, fighting for your love. Bucky furrowed swallowing, allowing you to place your feet on the floor.

“Бруклин”.

And when he demonstrated to the world that he was no longer the Winter Soldier, but James Bucky Barnes, he moved to his birthplace. Brooklyn. You and he rented an apartment together when you both learned that you couldn't live apart. That you were made for each other.

“Отец…”

A tear ran down your cheek, slowly moving your left hand to his free one. A shiver toured his backbone when he felt your warm touch holding his hand and, even if his cold fingers were still around your throat, the soldier bowed his head to follow the connection between the two of you. His flesh hand landed on your stomach, pressing it under yours, trying to transmit to him the news about your pregnancy status. Bucky was going to be a father. You were going to build a family as he always wished.

“Свобода”.

As the sob escaped your soul, his hand made of vibranium released your neck. Freedom was what he got after all those years.

Bucky was free.

His hold was the only thing that kept you on your feet, pining to the cold hard ground, as well as you trying to fill your lungs with the heavy air around you because of the dense smoke coming from the flames burning down that damn place. You watched Bucky picking the shield close to you, probably believing it could be easier to kill you with it than with his own hands. Your arms automatically wrapped your abdomen, as if you could protect your unborn child from that horror, crying James' name to remember you.

“James… James…”

You weren't able to stop whining, feeling a heavy sorrow under your chest, covering your vitals organs. The noisy sound from the bunker was suddenly turned into a constant beep, beep, beep that caused you to frown yet keeping your eyes closed. You called him once and again until a warm hand laced his fingers with you. Peace invaded you eventually, after a fond squeeze around your skin followed by a pair of rough lips pressed on your forehead. You let yourself go, not finding any strength inside your heart to continue awake.

The next time you opened your eyes, you needed a moment to adjust your gaze to the sunlight. Purring feeling more comfortable than before, you rolled on your stomach, sinking your nose into the large pillow. Bucky's scent was like a punch of reality. Your eyes snapped open as your pulse increased, starting to panic. Sitting up, your orbs moved quickly all around the room you recognized instantly. It was your dorm in the Compound, the one you used to share with your boyfriend —and the father of your child. It was empty. No trace of James anywhere. You tossed away the oxygen mask and the sheets covering your stiff anatomy, getting up from the bed. Another huge mistake.

Everything spun around you, feeling strong dizziness hitting your head, having to sit down for a second. But as soon as you felt recovered, you stood up again walking straight to the main door to step out. The hallway was deserted, hearing some voices coming from the meeting room. You followed them slowly, finding balance with your palm against the walls. Sam was the first one noticing your presence, coming faster to help you.

“James… James…” You mumbled, not really sure about when you started to sob again, whilst your muscles got tense with every syllable.

“He's okay, he's okay, take it easy, girl”. He tried to calm you as Steve reached you to bring you to the closest chair.

“We don't know what you did… but even if that man introduced the commands again… you turned it off”. Natasha spoke this time.

“I re— I repro— reprogramed him”.

The confusion was more than evident between the Avengers present in the room. But no one of them had the need to ask how. The spy taught you Russian in your free time, you weren't a fluent speaker, but it was enough to have a chat. Even so, you weren't going to say the words you used. You weren't going to make Bucky go through another wipe. If they worked, you'd make sure that he'd hear them when the occasion required it.

“I wan— wanna see him… please”. You cried covering your face with both hands, desolated after the hell of the situation you had to live.

“He's resting”. Steve informed you, squatting close and placing a hand on your right thigh to gently caress it. “And you should do the same. For your baby”.

“There's no way you're gonna stop me from seeing him”. You replied, raising your head and looking at him through your eyelids. Silently pleading.

He snorted, convinced that you wouldn't change your mind. Nodding two times with his head, he stood up and offered you a hand to hold it and help you to walk. Steve guided you through upstairs, following your pace step by step —he could have carried you onto his arms, but he wasn't sure if he could hurt you accidentally. You were too weak, barely breathing properly because of all the smoke you swollen inside the bunker. Although you started to feel somewhat erratic and excited as you were coming to Bucky's old dorm.

Steve opened the door for you, letting you walk inside before closing it behind your back. Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping under the sheets. There were some scars on his face, already healed but yet seeming painful. The only explanation you found to be there was that Bucky used the shield to open the door and take you out of the bunker. A theory that made more sense when you noticed that he hadn't his prosthesis and his shoulder was covered by a thin black microfiber.

You headed to the bed, tucking in to wrap his warm and heavy body between your arms. At the moment he felt you, he embraced you as better as he could, not opening his eyes but shedding a tear. His lips started to tremble as you pecked them, previous to hiding his face into your neck.

“I'm so sorry…” Bucky sobbed, causing your whole anatomy to shudder because of the sorrow in his voice.

“We're gonna be okay, my love… You, me, our baby… Our family”.

His crying increased after those two words, caressing his back slowly to comfort him somehow. You knew that this recovery would be hard and painful, being conscious of how close he had been to end with your life. He didn't want to do it, nobody could deny it. You were everything he had, everything he always wished for deep inside his soul and heart. And the acknowledgment of having a baby with you only provoked him to feel guiltier.

But as you said so, everything was going to be okay.

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