#ws: season two

[wicked-science-source]

Wicked Science - 2x26 [ King Cuddly ]

[aq2003]

re your anon's "Also I find it funny that I keep finding out every other acclaimed Shakespearean actor has some weird ass theory on Shakespeare or his work. Like why?" - this so much! One is Baconian, another is Rutlandian etc, bless Tennant at the very least for "I don't really caring" this issue from the get go.

derek jacobi and mark rylance meet me in the pit !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lemongogo]

ahyways hi . liteally hey .whats up

[yellowanz]

hi!! I made more watercolor paintings

if you can't read my handwriting it's in the alt

click for better quality

[mournthebird]

Bleeding Heart. | B.B

summary: You're his assigned nurse.

warnings: Angst & Comfort | 40's!Bucky - WS!Bucky | Violence & description of injuries | Medical procedures | Brief description of torture | Death of minor characters | Creepy soldiers & scientists | Dehumanization | HYDRA experiments

a/n: EDIT: Originally posted on my main but deleted to post here and it will be a new series I will write for. Still writing for my recovery series too! But now I have two with WS <3

A lot of nurses in WW1 and WW2 were called 'mother' or 'mom' a lot by the soldiers and I just wanted to write something like that. I made it work lol. I also tried to write more dialogue in this one since I tend to just focus on details and painting a picture so hopefully it doesn't seem too much. Also, in the comics it is said that Bucky's mother died when he was young, but for the sake of this story, she's still alive. ;; wc: 10.6k 😭

Unedited because I just want to post this. Errors to be fixed later.

Bucky did his best.

He did his best to stay strong for his friend, his family, and his fellow soldiers. To be the role model he was always viewed to be, to put on a brave face and stare at fear without flinching.

But there were some things he couldn't stay strong for.

"Sergeant Barnes, this is the third time this week, and it's barely Tuesday." You frowned at the soldier sitting in your tent, his usual charming smile now tinged with a hint of pain as he clutched his side. "There are other nurses here too, you know. I'm starting to think you're deliberately getting yourself into trouble just to see me."

Bucky huffed and slowly lowered himself onto the bed, a barely suppressed wince crossing his face as he settled. His hand remained firmly pressed against his bleeding side, the crimson stain slowly spreading beneath his fingers. "Now, doll, would I do something like that?" He asked, his voice strained despite his attempt at levity. "I only like when you tend to me...you've got the gentlest touch in the whole camp. I swear it."

He grunted softly through gritted teeth, clearly trying to maintain his façade of nonchalance. But you could see right through it - the tightness around his eyes, the slight tremor in his hand, the paleness of his usually ruddy cheeks. Your frown deepened as you approached, worry gnawing at your insides. You maintained professionalism the best you could, but you couldn’t help but care a bit too much for this one soldier.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Sergeant," you replied, though your tone was gentle. You were already reaching for your medical supplies, your training kicking in despite your exasperation. "Now, let's see what mess you've gotten yourself into this time."

"It's nothing, really." He attempts to deceive, fully aware that his lie is transparent to you. A visible grimace crosses his face as his gaze reluctantly drops to the crimson stain spreading across his uniform. "Just got roughed up on the battlefield, a little scrape," he adds, trying to downplay the severity with a nonchalant shrug that doesn't quite mask his discomfort.

Your eyes narrow as you carefully examine the injury, gently pushing his protective hand aside to get a better look. The wound is angry and raw, far more severe than he's letting on. "This is significantly more than a minor scrape, Barnes," you chide softly, your concerned gaze meeting his. A flicker of embarrassment crosses his features; the seasoned soldier, so accustomed to projecting strength and capability, felt himself struggling with this moment of physical weakness.

"It's...it's not that bad, sweetheart, don't go worryin' too much about me," He chuckled through gritted teeth, his strong front crumbling as you delicately probe the inflamed skin surrounding the wound. His body instinctively recoils from your touch, a sharp intake of breath betraying the intensity of his pain. "Ah, damn it!" He hisses, his composure finally shattering under the weight of his injury. "Why'd you go and do that for," he asked with strain.

"Oh, Barnes...this seems like something you could have easily avoided," you observed, your keen eyes quickly assessing the shrapnel wound and the way it had likely come into contact with his body. You couldn't help but furrow your brow slightly, concern and mild exasperation crossing your features.

Bucky was known for his agility and quick reflexes; he typically managed to escape fights with either minor scrapes or, in the worst scenarios, severe injuries, or even completely unscathed. This particular wound, falling somewhere in between, was uncharacteristic of him, suggesting that something must have been distracting him.

"You have absolutely no sympathy for me," he grumbles, though there’s no real bite to his words. His steel blue eyes remain fixed on your hands as you carefully apply the gauze to his injury, your touch gentle and practiced. There's a subtle softening in his expression, a quiet appreciation for your care despite his feigned complaint.

"It's deep..." You muttered, your brow furrowing with concern as you carefully examined the wound. Pulling your hands away, you reached for more of the sterile gauze you had ready behind you. "I am going to keep holding some gauze over it so I can help the blood clot and stop flowing so quick," you added, your voice calm but tinged with an urgency he picked up on that only helped that tiny seed of anxiety begin to sprout.

Bucky's face contorted, his eyes met yours, searching for reassurance. "Just tell me I won’t die from it, and I’ll be fine" He attempted a wry smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was always a subtle tease in his playful tone. You were almost certain Bucky Barnes couldn't take anything seriously.

"You’ll live, Sergeant Barnes," you replied, your tone steady and professional. "But I won't sugarcoat it, and it isn't a simple scratch. You're going to need a substantial number of stitches, and the recovery process won't be pleasant." You turned back to the wound while you spoke to him, pressing the gauze firmly against it, the white fabric quickly bloomed with crimson. "Especially knowing you and your inability to sit still."

Bucky let out a long, weary sigh. "Fantastic. Just what I needed to add to my list of battle scars," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. But then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth twitched upward. His eyes, still fixed on you, softened slightly. "Well, if I have to be patched up, at least I'm in the best possible hands," he murmured, his gaze lingering on you. "And scars are pretty attractive, huh?" He quipped with a lopsided grin.

"Uh-huh. Be still for me, alright soldier?" You hummed softly, your voice soothing him a little. You could read him like a book and the more cheeky he got, the more nervous he was. You prepared a needle to numb the site of the injury before you could begin the delicate process of suturing the wound, something you had done many times prior with other patients. You were the best at stitches, able to leave minimal scarring, even on large injuries.

Bucky nodded, his body tensing slightly as he tried to suppress the involuntary shiver that cascaded down his spine at your clinical tone. A potent blend of attraction and a hint of intimidation stirred in his gut at your tone. He found your authoritative presence both alluring and slightly unnerving, he always had a secret attraction to commanding women. Something about that stern, yet caring tone of yours just made him want to pull you on top of him.

Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep, steadying breath, attempting to steel himself mentally for the impending discomfort. "Just get it done and over with," he muttered, his voice a low rumble.

"You can squeeze my hand if you want, I can do this with one," you offered. You began to clean the area of insertion, the antiseptic cool against Bucky's skin. He flinched slightly, the wipe tickling him. You smiled at the subtle flinch his body gave, observing the smile that tugged at his own lips, the short huff out of his nose that resembled a quiet laugh...it was human. A small hint that you liked about him, that little bit of him that he allowed you to see. Despite most of the nurses seeing their patients as stoic soldiers, you never did.

You angle the needle, poised to begin the procedure. Bucky's eyes flickered open, his gaze drawn inexorably to your face. He studied your features intently, noting the concentration etched in every line, before his eyes drifted to your outstretched hand. He swallowed thickly, feeling a familiar knot of nervousness tighten in his chest.

"Don't let me break your hand, doll," he warned, his voice affectionate. He reached out, enveloping your hand in his. His grip was firm enough to convey his need for support, yet gentle, mindful of his own strength and your delicate fingers. The warmth of your skin against his provided comfort, grounding him with silent reassurance.

Bucky flinches as the needle pierces his skin, the sharp sting causing an involuntary reaction. He maintains a firm grip on your hand, just as you had requested he do, but he was conscious enough not to squeeze too hard. "Damn, that stings," he grunts through gritted teeth, his voice strained but determined. The strange feeling of cold medicine rushing through his body gave him a weird taste in his mouth, his fingers remaining intertwined with yours.

You notice his discomfort and frown slightly, working as swiftly as your expertise allows, careful not to compromise the quality of your work. "I know, I know," you respond, your voice soothing his frayed nerves. "You're doing so good, Sergeant. Just a few more seconds for the medicine to get in you." Your words are gentle, almost melodic, as you maintain a deliberately calm demeanor. You modulate your tone, keeping it soft and reassuring, hoping to quell any rising anxiety he might be experiencing. “Too quick plunging it in, and it will burn more and cause extra discomfort. We don't want that, do we?”

Bucky swallows hard, his throat working visibly as he processes the sensations. A light huff escapes his lips. As you carefully withdraw the needle from his side, his eyes find yours, seeking reassurance. "You know how to make a grown man melt, don't you?" He murmurs, his voice low and tinged with affection.

"It's a gift," you reply with a hint of playful modesty, your lips curving into a small smile. You tend to the injection site, dabbing the area with a clean piece of gauze. The soft cotton absorbs any residual blood, leaving the skin clean and ready for the next step. Once you were satisfied, you reached for the nearby tray, your fingers hovering over the surgical thread and needle.

Bucky's smile softened, his grip on your hand loosening slightly as the numbing agent began to take effect. The gradual fading of pain didn’t deter him from letting go, he maintained his gentle hold, unwilling to sever it. He liked how your hand felt in his, he wished he could be holding it while you both walked down a boardwalk together, or across from one another in a fancy restaurant, a drive-in, or just…sitting close. His eyes locked onto yours, searching for something beyond the surface. "You're far too sweet for a place like this," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his words hung in the air, the room remained quiet.

"War, murder, death... these aren't things you should be surrounded by. You should be at home, safe with your own family, far from the horrors of this place."

As you methodically prepared the medical supplies, Bucky watched you intently, his mind racing with questions about your presence here. The starkness between your gentle demeanor and the harsh realities of war was not lost on him. His mind couldn't help but drift with thoughts about the circumstances that had brought you to this profession. Your beauty, youth, and kindness seemed so out of place amidst the chaos and destruction.

It wasn't that Bucky believed women had no place in war, it was the thought of you, specifically, being exposed to the brutal, soul-crushing aspects of conflict that troubled him deeply. He struggled with the idea of your innocence being tarnished by the grim realities that surrounded you both.

"I... well, I don't really have what you'd call a family," you spoke slowly, your hands busy laying out a towel under his side. Your voice carried a hint of melancholy as you continued, "I lost both my parents when I was young. After that, I kind of... bounced around, I guess. From one home to another, never really finding a place where I truly belonged or felt wanted."

You paused for a moment, your fingers absently smoothing out a wrinkle in the towel. "So, I decided to pour myself into school. I worked incredibly hard, determined to make something of myself. Eventually, I earned my medical license, and now...now I feel like I've found my purpose in life."

You realized you had never opened up to any of the others like this before. Talking about yourself, especially your past, wasn't something you typically enjoyed or felt comfortable doing. But there was something about Bucky, his presence, his quiet understanding, the gentle look in his eyes, it made you feel...safe. He was just so easy to talk to, like a calm port in the storm of your memories.

"These days," you added, your voice growing stronger as you carefully began to dab at his wound, preparing to stitch it, "I dedicate myself to helping others reunite with their families. It's my way of...I don't know, maybe making up for what I never had." Your eyes flickered up to meet Bucky's for a brief moment before returning to your work. "I want to make sure that other people don't have to experience the loneliness and uncertainty that I did."

Bucky watched you intently, listening to every word with a deep ache in his heart. The image of a small, vulnerable version of you, shuffled from house to house, unwanted and alone, formed in his mind. The capable, compassionate person before him now was so different from that little girl you once were.

"Well," You cleared your throat, changing the subject. "I'd strongly recommend bed rest, but...I have a sneaking suspicion your superiors won't allow you the luxury of recuperating properly." You let out a weary sigh, your skilled hands meticulously finishing the final sutures.

Bucky struggles to suppress a visible wince as the needle repeatedly pierces his skin, his hand instinctively tightening around your forearm in a reflexive grip. He inhales sharply through clenched teeth, making a concerted effort to maintain steady breathing. While the sutures weren’t necessarily painful, the sensation was enough to elicit a visceral reaction from him. The foreign feeling of the thread weaving through his flesh threatened to induce a wave of nausea.

"You've hit the nail on the head," he grunted, his voice strained with a mix of discomfort and resignation. "I can guarantee they'll have me back in the field at the crack of dawn, injuries be damned." His gaze shifts towards you, catching sight of the subtle frown tugging at the corners of your lips. Noticing your concern, he attempts to reassure you, his tone softening slightly. "But don't worry too much, doll. I've been through worse, and I've got a certain image to maintain, after all. Can't let a few stitches tarnish this soldier's reputation, now can I?"

You exhaled deeply, your fingers carefully finishing the last stitch. You gently dabbed the wound clean, concern and frustration crossed your features. "I wish I had more influence around here," you murmured, your voice tinged with exasperation. "If I did, I'd insist they allow you proper time to rest and recover. At the very least, until the wound begins to knit itself back together and the flesh starts to heal properly."

Bucky observed you intently as you completed the stitching process, his grip on your arm remaining firm and unwavering. "Don't stress about that," he said, his tone gentle and reassuring. His gaze found yours, holding your own steadily. "What's important right now is that I'm patched up and ready to get back into action." He attempted to sit up straighter, his muscles tensing with the effort, but couldn't suppress a sharp wince as the movement pulled at his freshly stitched wound.

"Ah, not so fast, Sergeant..." you frowned, gently placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising. "I still have to dress the wound properly. We can't have you strolling out of here with those fresh stitches exposed to the elements. That's a surefire way to invite an infection, which could lead to complications far worse than your current injury. Let's not undo all my hard work, hm?" You spoke clinically and with a slight firmness, indicating that you were going to finish.

He let out a resigned sigh, his features settling into a familiar downturn. Bucky had always been the type to leap back into the fray at the earliest opportunity, even when his body screamed for rest. But he knew you well enough by now, knew the determined set of your jaw when you were in what he fondly called your 'fixer mode.'

Reluctantly, he eased back onto the bed, his muscles relaxing incrementally. "You're worse than a mother hen sometimes, you know that?" he muttered, but there was a warmth in his eyes that belied the gruffness of his words.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you resumed your work. "Is that why some of the soldiers are calling me 'mama'?" The term of endearment, far from being an insult or a source of mockery, was one that never failed to warm your heart.

These soldiers, some barely more than boys, had been wrenched away from their homes and families. Many were as young as 18, thrust into a world of chaos and violence they were ill-prepared for. It was only natural that they might seek out a maternal figure, someone to offer comfort and care in this harsh new reality. And you, with your willingness to tend to their needs, no matter how minor the injury or trivial the concern, had inadvertently stepped into that role. You were the constant, nurturing presence amidst the tumult of war, a reminder of their own mothers who anxiously awaited their return.

You recalled a recent incident involving one of the younger soldiers who had come to the medical tent for something as trivial as a paper cut from a rations wrapper. You tended to his minor wound, providing not just physical care but emotional comfort as well, knowing that was probably more so what he came for than anything.

While you applied the band-aid to his finger, you couldn't help but notice the vulnerability in his eyes, a misty fog of homesickness clouding them. Your heart constricted painfully when his voice, barely above a whisper, uttered the word mama. The raw longing for his mother was etched in every line of his face as he perched on the edge of the cot, looking so young and lost in the stark surroundings of the medical tent.

Bucky's warm chuckle broke through your reverie, his lips curving into that familiar, endearing smirk that never failed to lighten the atmosphere.

"Well, with the way you fuss over everyone, I can see why they'd view you that way," he teased, his eyes twinkling with affection and playful amusement.

"Oh, is that so?" you retorted, your tone matching his playful banter. "And what about you, Sergeant Barnes? Are you next in line, hm?" Your eyebrow arched challengingly as you met his gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"For what, doll? Motherly fussin'?" He quirked back, smirking at you.

"Callin' me mama, silly." You chuckled, securing the gauze over his wound. Bucky's cheeks flushed ever so slightly, his heart fluttering at the words. He swallowed, unable to deny how much he liked the idea of calling you that, he felt that it was a bit strange but...something about it was appealing.

He searched your face, making sure it wasn't just a lighthearted joke, before letting out a soft breath. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"Do you miss your mother?" You inquired gently, your voice laced with empathy. You wondered about the depth of his longing. Most of the soldiers you met harbored a special place in their hearts for their mothers, which always warmed yours. Bucky was such a sweetheart and undoubtedly no exception to this rule. How he treated you was a peek behind the curtain, he must love his mother dearly.

His gaze dropped to his fingers, which were now absently tracing patterns on the sheets. A shadow passed over his features as he responded, "Yeah, I miss her."

The admission came out soft, barely above a whisper, but the wavering pain in his voice was unmistakable. "It's just...it's really tough, you know?" He continued, his voice strained with growing emotion. "My momma, she’s the kindest soul you'd ever meet. And now here I am, thousands of miles away, caught up in this senseless war." He paused, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in his throat. "The truth is, I was drafted. I...I tried to put on a brave face, make it seem like I was eager to serve, but...I didn't have a choice."

For a moment, Bucky fell silent, his eyes fixed on a distant point, avoiding any eye contact. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with resignation. "But I knew I had to be strong. For her sake, for Steve's too…before all that super soldier stuff happened to him. And in doing so, I guess...I never really allowed myself the luxury of feeling sad about the whole situation. It was easier to just...keep moving forward, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," you replied softly, your empathetic heart ached listening to him, never having heard him this way. "It's natural for her to be incredibly worried about you. But try to hold onto hope. You're strong, and you'll make it through this. One day you'll walk out of here and return home to her waiting arms."

Bucky exhaled shakily, his eyes lifted and locked onto yours. Something about your reassurance made his heart simultaneously ache with longing.

"Thank you..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, rough with emotion. He shifted slightly in his seat, subconsciously leaning towards you, as if drawn by an invisible force. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that he rarely allowed others to see.

Bucky swallowed hard, fighting an internal battle. That seemed like the norm now.

He didn't want to admit, even to himself, just how desperately he needed this moment of connection...how much he needed you and the comfort you provided.

"Until then...I'll fill in as that nurturing figure in your life, like I have for the others. You just have to let me." Your voice was soft and reassuring as you spoke, your fingers gently brushing away the stray locks of hair that had fallen across his forehead. The longer strand in front had curled slightly, disrupting the careful styling he had done that morning. Your touch was tender, mimicking a maternal touch in its care.

Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He struggled to maintain eye contact, not wanting to betray just how deeply your offer had touched him, how much your presence alone affected him. The weight of your words, the promise of care and nurture, settled in his chest like a warm, comforting blanket despite the raging environment he had been thrown to.

"You'll be my mama?" He whispered, a hint of playfulness dancing in his voice, even as his heart thundered against his ribcage and a smile began to tug at the corners of his lips.

Despite his initial reluctance to show weakness, he found himself unconsciously leaning into your touch, seeking more of the comfort you offered. The walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble under the gentleness of your gaze. "Then I'm all yours, mama," he murmured, the term of endearment fell from his lips naturally, as if he'd been waiting to say it for longer than he led on.

"Excellent work today, my brave little soldier. You've been such a wonderful patient, sitting still and following instructions like the courageous boy you are," you praised softly, your voice filled with warmth and affection. To an outsider, this might seem like a silly interaction, but it was simply a cherished game of tender make-believe between the two of you. Completely indulgent to their needs.

You enjoyed giving the soldiers a hint of maternal love, reminding them of their boyhood amongst the war and death they endured. Seeing their eyes light up from being dull to shining with tenderness was something you’d never get tired of. "Now, remember to be gentle with yourself and try not to put too much pressure or strain on your left side, alright?"

Bucky nodded obediently, his expression softening into something almost childlike and vulnerable. He was accustomed to following orders, but there was something uniquely comforting about the way you spoke to him, as if he were something precious, something to be protected. He winced slightly as he carefully maneuvered himself off the bed, mindful of his injury. "I promise I'll be careful, mama," he replied, his voice brimming with sincerity and a touch of eagerness to please.

"That's my good boy," you cooed, your eyes crinkling with fondness. The dusting on his cheeks wasn’t hard to miss, but you didn’t comment on it. "Now, off you go, but remember - be cautious and take it easy and if you need anything at all, come right back to mama.”

“I will.”

Things happened with such rapidity that you struggled to react to the unfolding chaos.

The tranquility of the camp after nightfall was abruptly shattered by an influx of unfamiliar soldiers, their presence bringing devastation and death to those you had come to know. Your eyes, wide with terror, took in the horrific sight of fallen comrades strewn across the blood-stained earth. The amount of gore you saw would be permanently etched into your eyelids, you were sure you’d never be able to un-see such disgusting sights. Unmarked soldiers rushed, killing brutally, starting fires, grenades exploding in the dirt and splattering the earth and guts everywhere.

In a moment of panic-driven self-preservation, you attempted to flee, only to have your escape halted by the heart-wrenching cry of the youngest soldier in the unit.

The anguished plea emanated from his prone form, his life essence seeping into the unforgiving soil beneath him. The weight of the situation bore down upon you with crushing force, threatening to overwhelm both your emotional fortitude and mental resilience.

Suppressing your own fear and anguish, you found yourself kneeling beside the fallen soldier, gently cradling his head in your lap. As his life ebbed away, you summoned every ounce of strength to maintain a façade of calm and comfort, though you knew you were doing a poor job. The young man's quiet sobs, born of terror and agony, pierced the air around you, louder than any of the gunfire. “Ma…ma.” The poor soldier rasped at you, his shaky, bloodied hand rasping around your wrist. It was only after his final breath had passed that you allowed your own tears to fall, having shielded him from the depths of your own fear in his final moments.

He still wore the brightly colored band-aid you had applied to him earlier contrasted against his dirt-smeared skin. The blood somehow washing right off as if to mock you.

God, your heart couldn't take this. Neither could your mind.

He was barely eighteen.

You stood, your eyes wide with terror as you frantically scanned your surroundings as things only proceeded to get worse by the second. Without another thought, you bolted off in a random direction, your only instinct being to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the chaos of the battle raging behind you. You were overwhelmed by panic and fear, only being able to focus on escaping. The lack of any combat training or experience left you feeling utterly helpless, knowing full well that you stood no chance against the well-armed and battle-hardened soldiers.

You plunged headlong into the dense forest to at least seek some cover, your feet pounding against the uneven, damp ground. Ferns slapping your bare legs as you ran, the dew from them helping wash away the blood staining your skin. Your blind rush left your sense of sight helpless and you collided with something solid. The impact was jarring, sending you sprawling backwards onto the forest floor with a resounding thud from the force.

Before you could scramble to your feet, a vice-like grip encircled your wrist, your heart sank as you realized it was one of the attackers who had caught you. As if materializing from the shadows, several more emerged from the cover of the dark ferns, their piercing gazes fixed upon your uniform as they silently deliberated your fate.

The air around them was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. Carried on the wind was the unmistakable smell of burning flesh, the destruction wrought by grenades and the inferno consuming the camp's tents.

You finally saw a single emblem that you had all but recognized, causing a wave of panic and nausea to intensify. It was red amongst their black uniforms, making out the shape of tentacles and a skull.

HYDRA had methodically and ruthlessly stripped away every last shred of your humanity, leaving you a hollow shell of your former self. Their relentless assault on your psyche knew no bounds, pushing you far beyond what you ever thought possible for a human to endure.

When they first approached you in that tiny cell they stored you in, their request seemed simple enough - they were in need of a skilled nurse to care for their injured soldiers. However, your initial refusal to comply with their demands almost made you wish you had agreed at the beginning of your capture.

Almost.

If there was one thing HYDRA excelled at, it was the systematic destruction of an individual's will. Their techniques were refined, honed over years of practice, designed to break even the strongest of spirits.

The facility was designed to erode your sense of self until you finally shattered under the immense pressure. Like a relentless tide, they wore away at your resolve, bit by bit, until you crumbled like a fragile twig beneath their unyielding boot. The speed at which you broke filled you with a deep sense of shame, feeling like you were incredibly weak minded, but after enduring weeks of near-starvation, psychological torment, and unrelenting physical abuse, you simply couldn't withstand it any longer.

You weren’t meant for this. You weren’t a trained soldier. You were just a nurse who wanted to help people.

A paralyzing fear had taken root in your very core. This hellish existence was so far removed from the life you once knew, from everything you had ever prepared for. You were adrift in a sea of terror, desperately clinging to the last remnants of your sanity.

They had curiously allowed their lead scientist to conduct experiments on you, though the exact nature of his work remained a mystery. It wasn’t like he was going to sit down and explain to you what he was going to do.

The HYDRA scientist was a man of undeniable brilliance and questionable ethics. He bestowed upon you a myriad of gifts, each more terrifying than the last. His demeanor was characteristically cruel and rough, embodying the very essence of someone who thrived in such a morally bankrupt environment.

He subjected you to a barrage of experiments, each more harrowing than the last. Serum after serum was mercilessly pumped into your veins, their effects causing you to writhe in agony on the cold, unforgiving table. Your screams were his favorite symphony, echoing through the sterile laboratory walls as the bastard actually hummed along.

The scientist's excitement was disturbing, his eyes gleaming with a twisted fascination. It was evident that having a female subject at his disposal was a novel experience for him, one that he relished with disturbing enthusiasm, devoid of basic human empathy and consumed by his perverse scientific pursuits.

Sick freak.

But you were consumed by shame, feeling that you had succumbed far too quickly to their demands. The pain was unbearable, the excruciating torment they put you through felt never-ending. You were unable to withstand the relentless torture and psychological conditioning for long, and you loathe to acknowledge just how swiftly they managed to break your resolve.

You thought you were better than that, if not physically, mentally.

The ease with which you submitted left a bitter taste in your mouth. While the scientist overseeing your case expressed disappointment at your rapid surrender, viewing it as a setback in their research, the director of the facility was elated.

They now possessed a somewhat compliant and skilled nurse for their own soldiers, one whose will had been thoroughly crushed and who lacked the ability to refuse any command, no matter how unethical or dangerous. Your newfound obedience was seen as a valuable asset, and they made good use of that without hesitation or remorse.

However, your status a caretaker did not save you from everything.

It did not grant your safety or autonomy.

You vividly recalled being guided towards a strange looking chamber, its cold metallic surface gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights. As you were carefully placed inside, the last sensations you remembered were the gradual drop in temperature and an overwhelming drowsiness before consciousness slipped away entirely, leaving you in a void of nothingness.

The cryogenic process proved to be unreliable in your case.

The facility frequently used you as a test subject for their cryo chambers, ostensibly to ensure their proper functioning. Their decision of subjecting you, their only nurse, to potential risks seemed counterintuitive. The reasoning behind their actions remained unknown, leaving you with more questions than answers. You were used to this reality, your mind fogged with an array of questions that were never answered.

Your days were a blur of tending to injured agents and wounded soldiers, with scarcely a moment to think of your situation or the facility's cryptic motivations. As time wore on, the once-distinct uniforms began to blend into an indistinguishable mass. You noticed a gradual change in yourself as well; the spark that once animated your eyes had dimmed, replaced by a weary, almost vacant gaze - you didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror.

The director issued an order for you to tend to another soldier, prompting you to make your way towards the designated room for your work. The room's layout was standard for medical procedures and treatments, devoid of any personal touches or unique features. Such personalization was strictly forbidden in this sterile environment, no photos or even a tiny plant was allowed, they didn’t allow you any individuality. The space was equipped solely with the essential supplies required for you to carry out your duties efficiently and effectively.

Upon entering the room reeking of alcohol and plaster, your eyes were immediately drawn to the soldier restrained on the bed. Thick, unyielding straps securely held him in place, allowing not an inch of movement. Even with the evident effects of sedation to ensure a drowsy state, you couldn't miss the all too familiar look of fear in his eyes. It was a look you had seen countless times before, confusion and helplessness overriding any other sense. The soldier's drugged expression did little to mask the underlying panic that seemed to radiate from his body.

"Get to work," the guard commanded, his voice gruff and authoritative as he stepped aside to provide you with access. "The subject's performance was subpar today, resulting in numerous injuries. Address these wounds and restore it to full health. The director has made it clear that a complete recovery is expected by morning, without exception."

It?

You hesitated, your eyes widening in disbelief at the unreasonable demand. "Complete recovery? But sir, the extent of his injuries is too severe for that. The sheer number of wounds on him, it’s impossible to-"

Before you could finish voicing your concerns, the guard's hand struck your face with a resounding slap, the force of the impact causing your head to snap to the side. The sting of the blow had barely registered when his fingers roughly grasped your jaw, forcing you to meet his cold, unforgiving gaze. His grip tightened painfully as he leaned in close, his retched breath hot against your skin as he growled, "I said get to work, now. Your objections are irrelevant, do what is ordered of you or you will be pulled to the corrections room again. Do you understand?"

You emitted a soft whimper, forcing every muscle in your body to remain perfectly still as he seized you roughly. This was behavior you had painfully learned over time, a survival mechanism to avoid provoking additional blows. Somehow you managed to stutter out a response, your eyes reluctantly meeting the guard's harsh gaze. "I... I understand," you rasped, your voice barely above a whisper. Immediately after speaking, you lowered your gaze submissively, another gesture that had been ingrained in you through harsh conditioning.

The guard abruptly shoved you away, satisfied with your compliance. He took a step back, silently commanding you to proceed with your assigned task. Your limbs trembled and your heart was rapidly beating against your ribcage, but you obediently gathered the necessary supplies to tend to the wounded soldier. You approached cautiously, your eyes were drawn to the gleaming metal arm that caused your brow to furrow with curiosity.

Whispered rumors and hushed conversations had taught you about this particular soldier. He was described as a lethal asset, a relentless force that pursued its targets with unwavering determination. The way the agents spoke of him was chilling - more like discussing a piece of equipment or a weapon than a living, breathing human being.

That’s where the it came from.

HYDRA held little regard for anyone outside their upper echelons. In their eyes, guards and agents were as disposable as common household items, easily replaced and forgotten.

The soldier wore a muzzle-like mask, obscuring most of his face. It left only a small opening for breathing and barely enough room to moisten his lips with his tongue. You could hear his labored breaths, raspy and wet, indicating the presence of blood in his mouth. You reached out to remove the mask, wanting to allow him more room to breathe and to see what was going on beneath it. Your fingers trembled slightly as you gently pulled it away from his face, setting it aside carefully. As you did so, you noticed thick, viscous strands of blood clinging to the inside of the mask, stretching like grotesque spider webs before finally breaking.

The moment his face was revealed, your heart felt like it had stopped beating entirely. The shock of recognition hit you like a physical blow, leaving you momentarily breathless.

What you saw before you felt... impossible.

Your mind reeled, trying to make sense of it all.

You realized with a start that you had no concept of how much time had passed since your capture. In this place, this Hell on earth, you had been cut off from all natural rhythms. The sky, its comforting cycle of sun and moon, had become a distant memory. There were no clocks, no way to mark the passage of hours or days. Time had become a fluid, disorienting concept, sometimes crawling by with agonizing slowness, other times rushing past in a blur of monotony and fear.

You almost felt like you had been driven mad by the mere concept of time itself.

Your world had shrunk to the confines of your prison. The stark, featureless walls that surrounded you had become your entire universe since the moment of your capture. They were constant, unchanging, a blank canvas for your fears and dwindling hopes. And now, faced with this unexpected revelation, you felt those walls closing in even tighter, your sense of reality shifting once again.

This soldier...his vibrant blue eyes dulled with pain and exhaustion, his once-pouty lips now chapped and drawn tight with tension and crusted with blood. You felt your throat constrict and your eyes begin to burn with unshed tears as you took in his haggard appearance.

Sergeant Barnes, James, Bucky. The name echoed in your mind, the memory of the charming soldier was nothing like the broken man before you.

He was barely recognizable.

His frame appeared gaunt and frail, even under the thick layers of the clothes he wore, you could tell this was not his ideal weight. His hair, previously neatly trimmed, now hung long and unkempt around his face. But it was the obvious new appendage that truly drove home the extent of his transformation. The metallic arm shone coldly under the harsh lights, the red star on his shoulder like a goddamn brand.

He wore what could only be described as a perverse fusion of a straight jacket and a uniform. The black material bound him tightly and restricted his breathing, a reminder to him, and blatant display, of control. Yet, it also seemed designed to showcase their improvements to his body, as if he were nothing but a prized experiment.

Surely, there were wounds hidden beneath the uniform judging by his clear uncomfortable grimace, but removing the garment to assess his condition was out of the question. The guards would never allow it; unbinding him from the table was too great a risk in their eyes.

Bucky's eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, no longer staring blankly at the ceiling and following the many cracks in it, or possibly counting the tiny dots on the paint to stay sane. His gaze was almost unbearable to meet. His eyes were always so full of warmth, now blinked with nervousness, glossing over with a sheen of unshed tears. The man before you looked so utterly unlike the Bucky you once knew. He appeared caged, not just physically, radiating an aura of defeat that broke your heart.

"Bucky...oh my god, what have they done to you?" The words escaped your lips in a trembling whisper, your hands quivering as you gently placed them on his chest. Your fingers nervously traced the unfamiliar straps of his new uniform.

At the sound of his name, a flicker of confusion crossed his features. His brow furrowed deeply, as if trying to grasp at a memory just out of reach. The sight of his fearful memory loss sent a chill down your spine, realizing that even his own name now seemed alien to him.

The soldier lying motionless on the bed regarded you with an unsettling blankness. It was as if you were looking at a stranger wearing Bucky's face - the familiar contours were there, but the essence of the man you knew had vanished.

Your mind reeled, desperately trying to comprehend the transformation before you. The Bucky you remembered - with his easy smile and unwavering loyalty - seemed to have been erased, replaced by this hollow shell. The man you once knew, the one whose eyes used to light up at the sight of you, was gone.

In his place sat this new entity, molded by HYDRA's cruel machinations into something entirely foreign.

They had systematically dismantled him and rebuilt him from the ground up. The organization had taken the brave, compassionate soldier and twisted him into a weapon forged in the fires of their ruthless ambition.

You gazed into those vacant eyes, wondering if any trace of the old Bucky remained beneath the surface, but there was nothing.

The guard spat venomously at you, his words dripping with malice as he demanded that you immediately attend to the injured soldier. His harsh voice sliced through your thoughts like a razor, and the menacing threats he uttered were more than enough to spur you into action. You managed to carefully remove the top of the soldier's uniform with trembling hands, revealing his bare chest and the horrifying extent of his hidden injuries.

His skin was a canvas of violent bruising, ranging from deep purples to sickly yellows, creating a grotesque patchwork across his torso. A jagged stabbing injury that looked raw and angry, and an active gunshot wound in his lower abdomen that was still oozing blood at an alarming rate.

Your medical training kicked in, overriding your initial shock. "How long has he been in this condition?" You demanded of the guard, urgency in your tone as your hands moved swiftly, pressing a thick wad of gauze firmly over the bleeding gunshot wound. The sudden pressure elicited a sharp hiss of pain from the soldier, a momentary crack in his composure. However, almost immediately, his features smoothed back into a mask of stoicism. You couldn't help but notice the flicker of terror in his eyes. The potential consequences of displaying weakness in this hostile environment rushed through his expression.

"Just patch it up, we don't have all day. It's due for cryo." The guard replied coldly, "Damn thing's malfunctioning too often, can't get it to obey a single fuckin' thing."

"HE." You retorted with a frown, glaring up at the guard. "This is a person! Not a machine, he is a he. Not an it." You insistence on Bucky's person only seemed to piss the guard off even more.

There wasn't much you could do to avoid the baton colliding into your face.

You were so careful, your hands steady despite the cruel denial of numbing medication as you carefully stitched his wounds. The deliberate withholding of pain relief was something they commonly did to their assets, to increase their pain resistance. Though, whether or not it was punishment for you or him, you had no idea.

The soldier lay motionless on the bed, his stoic demeanor betrayed only by the occasional twitch and curl of his lip with each precise poke of the needle. Your voice broke the heavy silence as you looked at him, "I'm sorry, soldier, I...I am, I promise...I don't meant to hurt you." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt to convey that your actions were not born of malice, like every other action he had been used to dealing with. It pained you to think that he might perceive you as just another source of suffering in a world that seemed intent on causing him harm.

The fog of pain and confusion was thickly clouding his mind, but something about your demeanor resonated with the soldier.

A faint glimmer of recognition flickered in his eyes, as if some deep-seated instinct was trying to tell him that you were different from the others he had encountered. Yet, his thoughts remained fragmented, like scattered pieces of a puzzle he couldn't quite assemble. It was almost something instinctual, rather than logical, like his core was telling him different from his mind.

You were safe. You were a safe person.

He couldn't afford to trust the people here; that was a lesson hard-learned and deeply ingrained. The facility was a maze of deception, where even the smallest gesture of kindness could be a carefully orchestrated ploy.

They were manipulative in their methods, planting agents who acted nicer, their false warmth a siren song designed to lure him into a false sense of security. They waited patiently, hoping he'd lower his guard, crack under the pressure, or attempt any form of rebellion. And when he did, the whip came down, harder each time to break his trust.

But you...you were different. Your actions, your words, your very presence was completely different to the calculated manipulations he'd grown accustomed to. You weren't hurting him.

You were a fragile thread of hope.

That was...good.

His icy gaze seemed to be cataloging every minor detail of your appearance. The soldier's eyes traced the contours of your face, lingering on the hues of your eyes and the curve of your lips, noting with particular interest the way you furrowed your brow in concentration. His attention was drawn to the surprisingly dark, angry bruise that marred half of your face from the guard’s baton.

A soft sound escaped the soldier's lips, drawing your focus away from your task. Your gaze lifted to meet his, noticing the intensity in how he stared at your throbbing cheek. You weren’t sure why he looked so concerned, considering he had been so silent and emotionless the entire time but part of you hoped that maybe a bit of himself was actually coming to front.

"Oh... it's nothing to worry about, soldier," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you continued to tend to his wound, carefully cleaning it before preparing to apply the next stitch. “Doesn’t hurt that bad…”

The soldier appeared far from satisfied with your response. His body tensed, muscles coiling beneath his skin as he shifted slightly in his restraints. His metal arm tore free from the binding that held it in place. The unexpected action caught you off guard, and you instinctively took a cautious step backward, your heart rate quickening. You were unsure of his actions, and you’d much rather keep yourself out of reach in case he retaliated.

He remained motionless after freeing his arm. He made no attempt to rise or to reach out towards you.

The lack of reaction gave you some confidence, and you came back to his side. "Easy..." You spoke cautiously, his behavior had been docile so far, but he could flip on a dime.

He simply stared, his hand lifting to your face slowly, the plates in his arm realigning and whirring quietly. You gave a soft flinch when his fingertips grazed the bruise, the skin throbbing and raw from recent injuries.

The metal of his prosthetic hand felt surprisingly pleasant against your skin. It was cool against your skin, soothing the warmth of your flushed face. His touch was unexpectedly delicate for a prosthetic limb, each subtle shift of his fingers executed with a finesse that seemed almost impossible for an artificial limb. Your mind thought about the potential intricacies of the arm's design. The details of its construction and capabilities were closely guarded, known only to its creator and the select group of scientists who worked tirelessly to refine and maintain it.

The feather-light quality of his caress was so lifelike, so nuanced, you wondered if his nerves had been intertwined with wires. You remembered the science fair before you were brought to the camps, the magnificent tales of the future of science. Maybe HYDRA had somehow made flying cars.

It wouldn't surprise you.

Letting him lower his arm, you carefully finished stitching the gunshot wound and the deep laceration on his abdomen, your brow furrowed in concentration. You tried to ignore the faded scar on his side from your previous work on him, remembering that exact wound was it reminded you this stoic, hurt soldier was in fact your Bucky. Well, yours might be taking it far but…to you, he was.

The guards' refusal to allow the use of site-numbing medicine only added to your efforts to make things quicker, knowing it was hurting him. Their callous disregard left a bitter taste in your mouth. Heartless bastards.

With the stitching done, your hand moved gently to assess the area around the wound to ensure everything was ready for bandaging. As your fingers lightly grazed his side, you noticed the soldier flinching under your touch. His body tensing as he struggled to stifle a shudder that rippled through his chest. You observed as he swallowed hard, his neck muscles visibly straining as he fought to keep silent. The familiar response triggered a memory in your brain, though they hadn’t brainwashed you like most of their assets, some things faded over time.

Not this. You remembered the sensitivity in his side.

It seemed that some things remained constant, despite the circumstances.

"Ticklish?" you inquired softly, your lips curving into a gentle, reassuring smile. The soldier continued to maintain his stoic façade, but you could see the cracks in his armor. His eyes briefly met yours before quickly darting away, unable to hold your gaze for more than a fleeting moment.

Curious, you repeated the motion, your fingers ghosting over the same spot. This time, you caught the unmistakable twitch at the corner of his mouth, a smile threatening to break through his stern expression. The subtle huff of air from his nostrils and the sharp upward jerk of his chest confirmed your suspicion.

Yes, it definitely tickled.

"It's okay, Soldier," you reassured him, your voice warm and understanding. "I know it probably feels a bit strange, but don't worry, I'm almost finished. Then I’ll wrap you up."

The soldier responded with a curt nod, maintaining his silence.

After bandaging his severe injuries and applying dressings to the lacerations on his face, you leaned back to assess him one more time. Your eyes scanned over your handiwork, ensuring every wound was properly tended to. With a sense of accomplishment, you let out a breath, "Alright, there we go...all done." A look of satisfaction crossed your face as you offered him a reassuring smile, your demeanor calm to try to put him at ease.

However, the guards didn’t make it easy.

They removed him from his restraints, the fleeting sense of relief that had begun to wash over him was abruptly crushed as they mercilessly jabbed him with their batons. The soldier let out a pained hiss through clenched teeth, his body instinctively scrambling to escape the source of agony. His movements were uncoordinated and shaky as he stumbled off the table, somehow still having enough strength to stand. You felt a surge of protective instincts rush through your veins.

"What are you doing?!" Your voice cut through the tense atmosphere as you stayed by his side, "He needs to stay still for at least 24 hours to allow the stitches to begin the healing process!" Your eyes darted between the guards and the soldier, you had taken a lot from this place, but you knew he had it much worse than you did.

You could only imagine what they did when no one else was around.

The guards fixed you with a menacing glare, their faces contorted with disapproval at your unexpected display of compassion. The lead guard's voice was cold and threatening as he spoke, "Your sole responsibility here is to tend to injuries, not to coddle. You will stand aside immediately, or face severe consequences for your insubordinate behavior."

As he issued this ultimatum, he raised his baton, pointing it directly at you. The weapon sparked ominously to life, its head illuminated by a dance of blue and white electricity that crackled erratically between the prongs.

"Move! This is your final warning!" The guard's voice rose to a shout, the baton still poised threateningly in your direction. The fear of feeling the weapon's cruel bite didn’t deter you. You remained rooted to the spot, standing firm between the guards and the injured soldier. Your eyes darted briefly to the hunched figure behind you, noting how he clutched at his side, his face a mask of pain.

This was The Winter Soldier, a man whose reputation preceded him, yet seeing him in such a vulnerable state stirred something within you. Your heart ached at the sight, especially knowing that beneath the fearsome moniker was Bucky - not the faceless monster so often portrayed, but a man who had endured unimaginable suffering.

A deep breath was exhaled through your nose, and you squared your shoulders and met the guard's gaze unflinchingly. "No," you declared firmly, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. "I will not move. You can inflict whatever punishment you deem necessary on me later, but this man will remain on that bed for the next 24 hours. He needs time to recover, and I will make sure he gets it." Your words hung in the air, the tense room quiet besides the occasional sharp breaths of the soldier behind you.

The guards remained silent for several seconds, it might’ve been the longest few seconds in your life.

They exchanged glances with one another, their eyes darting from face to face, before finally settling on their superior. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Not wanting to prolong the situation or potentially escalate it into something more serious, the lead guard slowly lowered his baton. His shoulders slumped slightly as he let out a deep breath through his nose. You watched as they yielded so readily, your mind racing with anxiety and preparing for a potential false sense of security. However, you quickly pushed aside your surprise, knowing that dwelling on it now could be dangerous.

"Fine," the lead growled, his voice laced with barely contained frustration and a hint of defeat. He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he fixed you with a stern glare. "You will answer to the director when this little game of caretaker is over." The way he emphasized 'caretaker' dripped with sarcasm and disdain.

With a final scowl, he spun on his heel, his movements sharp and angry. The other guards fell in line behind him, their boots echoing off the walls as they filed out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering tension in the air.

You exhaled deeply, releasing a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding and turned your attention back to the soldier. Gently but firmly, you assisted him in returning to the bed, carefully laying him down as he writhed and let out pained hisses of discomfort. Your heart ached at the sight of his suffering.

"Shh, I know...I know it hurts. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you're feeling right now," you murmured softly, your voice taking on the same gentle, soothing tone you'd use when comforting scared soldiers on the battlefield. Your words were meant to ease his distress and provide a semblance of comfort.

It seemed to work.

His eyes were wide and filled with an innocence that seemed so out of place in this Hell, reminded you starkly of the way Bucky used to look. This supposed heartless soldier, the boogeyman of so many stories, wasn’t real. The person before you was Bucky, trapped within a persona that had been forced on him. Fresh from brainwashing, he might exhibit that emotionless soldier, one with no humanity or heart, but the persona was already beginning to crack, revealing the scared, confused, and utterly lost man underneath.

"It's okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you tried to reassure him. "You're going to lay here and rest now. That's all you need to do." Your words were simple but laden with compassion, an attempt to provide him with a clear, manageable directive in the midst of what must be overwhelming chaos in his mind. The soldier did well with orders, while you didn’t want to order him, you wanted him to be somewhat familiar with what was going on.

You hadn't spent time around him in this state before, and the unpredictability that others had warned you about lingered at the back of your mind. Your eyes never left his face, watching for any sign of comprehension or compliance, all the while steeling yourself for any sudden changes in his demeanor.

He obeyed, thank god.

You carefully positioned him on the worn, uncomfortable bed in the makeshift operating room, ensuring he was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. Once he was settled, you dimmed the harsh overhead lights to create a more soothing environment conducive to rest. He was usually drugged, but like hell you were going to inject him with anything. A drugged sleep feels like a wink, and you wanted him to feel more rested, having the freedom of falling asleep on his own and all.

The unfamiliar surroundings clearly unsettled him, his eyes darting around nervously before finally settling on you as you bustled about, tidying up the room and preparing to leave. His mind was in a fog, thoughts jumbled and unclear, like static on an old television set. Only brief flashes of blurred memories began to shine through the static, albeit only for a split second. Regardless of his confusion, he felt an urge to prevent you from leaving, sitting up despite his weakened state.

"Ma...mama," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper, cracked and hoarse, yet somehow managing to carry across the room to where you stood.

You halted abruptly, spinning around to face him as he struggled to leave the bed. "No, no, soldier, you need to lie back down," you urged, quickly returning to his side to gently guide him back onto the mattress. "Please, you must stay put. Any sudden movements could jostle your stitches." Your brow furrowed with concern as you observed his face, noting the strange mixture of bewilderment and childlike innocence in his expression. It was a disturbing contrast to the hardened soldier, and it tugged at your heartstrings.

It was like his brain couldn't even function or understand what was happening.

It had been fried too much. When he wasn't the Winter Soldier, he was just...a confused blend of it all.

His metal arm grabbed your wrist with an unyielding grip, causing you to wince at the unexpected force. He looked up at you, it was clear he hadn't meant to hurt you, but something deep within him refused to let go.

"Stay. Mama, stay." The soldier's voice was barely above a whisper, rough and pleading. His eyes lacked their signature sharp and alert glaze, now sported glossy neediness. You could tell the difference immediately.

The sterile room around you, with its clinical smell of antiseptic and tacky gauze, seemed to close in around him and give him an increased awareness of the room and its possibilities. He didn't want to be left alone in this unsettling environment, one where he had suffered enough. His cell, though barren and cold, had become a twisted area of sanctuary for him.

This room was not, even if he was in a warm bed with a blanket and pillow. How sickening it must be to see, actual comforting items were so foreign to the soldier, almost outright rejected because of the unfamiliarity.

The pleading look in his eyes began to consume you while his rough voice wavered with barely contained emotion. The thought of leaving him here, alone and exposed, was becoming increasingly unbearable. It wasn't just the isolation that concerned you, the underlying threat of potential nightly visits from the guards loomed ominously in your mind. His gentle, almost childlike request for you to stay, coupled with the threat of overwhelming fear in his demeanor, ate you alive.

"Okay," you whispered back gently, your trembling hand delicately gliding over his forehead and into his hair. You noticed how tangled and unkempt it was, frowning a bit. The least HYDRA could do is let him brush his own damned hair, if they were gonna make him keep it long.

While your fingers carefully worked through the knots, you were struck by how vulnerable he appeared in this moment. How he leaned into your hand so subtly, like a beaten dog being given its first gentle pet. His features had softened, revealing a glimpse of the man you remembered from before. He looked so...harmless.

It was hard to reconcile this image with the stories you'd heard, the warnings you'd been given about this deadly asset. In the quiet moment, he seemed incapable of hurting a fly. Your heart ached, recognizing fragments of the Bucky you knew and loved, hidden beneath layers this forsaken place buried him in.

Goddamn the universe for never being able to tell him.

"I'll stay."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest

No taglist for this series yet.

[burberrycanary]

End of Year Stucky Picks #3

Stucky as a fandom is lucky to have a lot of classics and I rediscovered some old favorites this year!

Title: When the Season Comes Around

Author: theheartischill / @prettyboysdontlookatexplosions

Summary:

The other problem is that Steve loves him, and Bucky isn't sure he remembers how to love.

—

A great post-WS recovery fic that ends up feeling like an examination of the human condition. The storytelling is thoughtful, well-paced and with a lot of earned catharsis as Steve and Bucky slowly confront what the world has done to them, how to start healing and what they need to learn how to carry, even if the load is heavy, in order to come back to each other. Theheartischill really gets at how life is shockingly beautiful and shockingly unjust—and that the one doesn't have much to do with the other even if our moral intuition would want it otherwise. How do you find the strength to keep going is a big question that lies at the heart of what makes these two characters so fascinating. If you're not a fan of certain reductive codependency tendencies in post-WS recovery fics, just trust me on this one. Highly recommended. - B.

Art: William Herbert Hampton, Bombsite

[questalkcomics]

I know a lot of people feel connected to Bucky and rightfully so, but The Winter Soldier, as a character is as interesting and complex.

Yes, Bucky and the Winter Soldier are two different person.

In the comics, after his return to life, the WS was living and acting for a while before some issues in his conditioning left the Department X with no other choice than putting him on stasis between missions.

As for the rest, he did have a personnality as a loyal assassin to the Soviet Union.

This is the time where he came closer to Nat and eventually fell in love with her.

What If made a smart and interesting choice with the third episode of season 3 by giving us glimpse of the Winter Soldier as a character.

Not an entity or a mindless killing machine but someone, or at least, a body whose soul and memories were taken away.

“... I'm a nobody. I can't even remember anything. Nothing. Not even my name.”

The tragic part in this is how the Winter Soldier feel resigned as he is, he knows he only has one function, he's even suprised when he failed to kill the Starks and secure all the serum.

This mark a clear difference between Bucky and the Winter Soldier, the latter may feel more "empty" but his quest or finding out a purpose in this episode made him a complete character.

[odessa-2]

Good morning dear,

I have to ask....what is your opinion.

THE SCREAMING IN THE DISABLED BATHROOM DONE BY SAM, HIS SECRET PLACE.

Good morning to you,

I have been seeing a few episodes since the last NYCCOMCON, I wandered as many of you about the disabled toilet Sam spoke about.

Waiting to see the other 2 events still not broadcast namely, PaleyFest media event and Josh's Happy, Sad, Confused to get more details.

Check at 50 mins.+ when Sam speaks about screaming after 11 years in the disabled bathroom being alone where there is still blood from season one.  And he never told Cait it seems. 11 years, retribution, forgiveness finally, end of it all.

He said he used that place when he needed to be alone.  We know season one was epic but can you watch episodes 15 and 16. I cannot and was reminded why there was fake blood in that disabled bathroom, and all the gorry scenes of blood that was shed and shown during episodes 15 and 16. No wonder Sam went there to be alone screaming after RDM had him do these scenes twice and I remember reading how the crew were in tears when doing these episodes.

How sadistic of RDM and even DG as she mentioned to Sophie in this year NYCCOMCON, she is Black Jack Randall, both DG and RDM sadistic in there exploitation of Sam if you ask me. Also how evil of RDM not giving the candidature of Sam that year for Emmy nomination that both Cait and Tobias got. We know the reason now, he was jealous of Sam, his good looks, his goodness and the fact Cait was in love of Sam.

No wonder Sam and Cait are so enamored, I'll say Art imitates Life, Sam suffering so much not being able to be the man he should be with this evil narrative, 2 husbands, 2 wedding rings for Cait, same DOB for Jamie/Sam and Claire/Cait almost. Same initials Claire Beauchamp, Caitriona Balfe, Sam change J in JAMMF for S. Too much, did the stars/STARZ really align, taking two novice individuals with all the evil behind not forgetting Josh reprising the WS/PC incident and all the disgrace done on Twitter on the fandom and personally to many women.

The only good outcome was the love endured by Sam and Cait who got married and now have a family, yes, seeing the dancing back to the stones in last episode of season 2 brings tears, how more to what these 2 individuals had to suffer for FAME and FORTUNE.

I am sure loads are taken off their backs now, praying, hoping their lives will OUTSHINE Outlander in all their endeavours.

Sincerely,

JClovely

Hello lovely. NYCC gifted us with more receipts and insights into SC's situation that we already suspected, but had it confirmed again. The special Disabled toilet comment from Sam surprised me a little as it did Cait it seems! Sam just let rip. The fact that he openly admitted to having and needing a secret hideout place where he could go and "scream" just confirms how much pressure Sam was under. The performing monkey 🐒, the emasculated puppet who was denied his God given freedoms. Denied his right to claim his family, forced into an ungodly narrative. A compromised man in many ways.

I agree that that RDM is a jealous piece of shit that used the rape scene to humiliate Sam. That slime bag had the major hots for Cait and I think everyone could see it, including Terri. Terri is batshit crazy but she had the air of a mistreated woman imo.

I still think we have a couple more years of narrative but somewhere deep down in my intuitive waters, I feel that SC will be free at some point. They will come out.

[chuunardo]

SPOILER FOR ARCANE SEASON 2

Some sketches I did of my two babies 🫶🏽 (forgive me for the sucky ass coloring)

(Also me sharing my thoughts, ignore if u want)

Did this before I watched the rest of s2 just to find out they're both dead. Not so fun day for me.

But im so happy the gays are getting their Ws, ie. Sesbian Lex. Still not so happy all my faves (Jinx, Isha, and Vander) got obliterated within the last two acts. Seriously had hope for all of them, especially Vander.

Also JAYVIK?! Ik yaoi when I see it and that whole thing they had going on, is it. And I very much screamed when I saw the sesbian lex scene. Winners really do love winning, I can tell you that! Was jumping in joy and everything. A very good day for the queer community.

Also ALSO Mel becoming the Wolf. OUUUUUUUUUU!!!! As deserved! She didn't walk down the witch's road for nothing!! DOWN DOWN DOWN THE ROAD— And bye bye Maddie!! Hahahhahahha don't trust a Ginger /j

And OMFG Ekko. I'm crying. Just everything about him. He deserves everything mane. I'll give him everything!!! I love him sm!!! For the boy savior to save the world only to get nothing out of it—truly tragic. How dare they do that to him! Jinx pls come back!! He needs you!! I NEED YOU!!!

[puckpocketed]

PART 3 of the modern defensemen transcripts I started a while back. You don’t need to have read/listened to the other parts to understand what’s being said, but they’re very fun reads if you have the time! Topics of discussion:

Broadly, more on Lane Hutson and how he defends (he is SOOO the main character of this entire series and I’m very happy about that)

passive vs aggressive defending

reading the pinch

surfing (skating forward when defending the rush)

inside vs outside leverage

the weak-side fold

Another archival effort as always… so many podcasts live and die by the whims of the services they’re hosted on + the guys who own the channels. </3 This is full of random extra media which is why it took so long. I ended up just making my own damn diagrams and archiving stuff and making gifs so I could put them here. This part is tactics-heavy and they kinda get into a little debate about passive/aggressive defending which I really liked! Will need to go over parts 1 & 2 soon when I can to clean them up <3

Published 20th November 2024, Hockey IQ Podcast: Modern Defensemen (with Will Scouch) Ep #3 - By Hockey’s Arsenal, hosted by Greg Revak (apple / spotify / youtube)

If you missed them: part 1 / part 2

[START Transcript]

Greg Revak: Alright, welcome back. Week three of our series here with Will Scouch, we're looking at defensemen.

First week, we talked about modern day defending. Last week, we talked about point play, so; shorting the zone, why point shots are truly the worst… Point shots just suck, point shots suck. I mean, everyone knows it, we all know it.

Will Scouch: The crusade, yeah.

GR: We looked at Zach Werenski; he was leading the NHL in goals — he's consistently up there leading the league in goals from defensemen. And Will, you had a great study there showing the offensive increases that we've seen have all basically come because of defensemen being more involved in the offense.

It was perfect for our point play piece — making sure [we’re] going into the details; catching with movement, catching in good spots, giving ourselves spaces to operate in; and common mistakes of players [where] they start in wide open spaces rather than maybe starting in more congested spaces, but having space to go into. So, common mistakes there.

This time, we're going to talk about defending the rush. So [the team has turned] the puck over, we're now having to play defense. There's that transition moment where we're going from offense to defense. And now, just straight, we're playing defense.

Two ways I think about this when we're playing the rush is one, passive; and two, aggressive. [If we’re being] aggressive, we have an opportunity to maybe kill the play early, we can really get in the attitude of “We play you.” Versus passive; maybe we're not in a good spot or our team hasn't set us up in a good spot as a defenseman, maybe there's some kind of scramble, whatever it may be.

And then the third piece I'd love to dive into is reading the pinch.

So where do we want to start? I feel like this is maybe a good opportunity to start with our main man Lane Hutson because I feel like he's someone who has the ability to play aggressive, but often he's pretty passive in his rush defense.

WS: Yeah. I think that you're dead on with that. I've seen a lot of Lane Hutson over the last few years. I remember when he was a draft-eligible kid, I remember watching him in college. Now he's in the NHL and actually he's been quite effective on paper in the NHL.

I know people are throwing around player cards, and throwing around this, and throwing around that. But in aggregate, on the whole so far this season, relative to the rest of the team in Montreal, he's been — for a kid who's, again, 20 years old, playing upwards of 25 minutes a night — he's doing pretty well.

I think that that's asking a lot out of a kid, and he's doing quite well, especially [at] 5 foot 9, with all the question marks people have with players like that. With him, I think he's a really good showcase of how smaller players can play defensively and be a positive impact player, right?

There have been… I mean, I wrote for you in the newsletter over the summer. It's the area where I think, in the context of the NHL draft, there is still a lot of work that could be done of discovering some good value. Of looking at these really, really mobile and creative guys that may lean a little more offensively, but… may not actually.

A great example, while we're talking about Lane Hutson; a guy who doesn't score a whole lot, but every single time I watch him, he just does the right things all the time and has done so since his draft year, is Tyler Duke.

He's in Michigan now, and that kid is 5'10, I think, 5'9, and doesn't score a tremendous amount. But I remember watching him at the NTDP, and I remember a few interviews with his teammates going, “This guy is the most underrated guy on the team. He's small, but he works his tail off.” Just like his brother Dylan — Dylan Duke is having a great year in the AHL too — but that's beside the point…

GR: Both are Ohio boys, just say that.

WS: Ohio, yeah, exactly.

GR: I gotta rep the state that I'm from. Ohio kids!

WS: Yeah, I mean, hey, I love me some Ohio, for sure. But yeah, I think that guys like that, and Lane Hutson, showcase a lot of the same things.

Number one, possession is good defense. If the opponent doesn't have the puck because you have it they're not scoring, so that's number one. And number two, Lane Hutson does a really good job using his feet to at least put himself in good position to block play from occurring. Like we said; staying between the dots, not over-committing but not opening up too much of a gap.

I think you mentioned surfing off the top of the show, but he is an aggressive neutral zone defender as well. He can track that play laterally, challenge guys with his stick and force them to make plays, force them to make decisions, before the puck even gets in the defensive end.

And from there, if you've got good support from your partner or a forward that's backchecking, then you're golden.

To me, it's the little things that you may not notice or that may not jump out at you, but when you watch game after game after game, you kind of go, “Oh, I see how this guy has got the trust of a coach. I can see how this guy is playing so many minutes relative to the rest of the guys on his team because of the things that he brings, even though he's not the biggest guy in the world.”

He's not perfect.. There have been situations where I'm watching Lane Hutson going, “Well, that didn't really go your way, and that's unfortunate.” But that’s any hockey player.

GR: That's also learning as a 20-year-old rookie defenseman — at five foot 10, if you're lucky.

WS: And that's hockey. Hockey is a game where sometimes things are going to go your way and [sometimes] they're not. If I got upset every time a big physical guy lost a physical battle, then… But nobody really does that, nobody really is concerned when that happens once in a while.

So with Lane Hutson, he loses a physical battle once in a while. He's not involved in as many because they often have the puck, and if they don't have the puck he's doing work in the offensive zone or neutral zone to prevent [the opponent] from keeping the puck.

There's a lot of good things that happen in his game that I think brought him to this point in the NHL. Faster than I thought to be perfectly honest. I thought Hutson was going to take a little bit more time, but he hasn't really looked out of place and I think he's a really fascinating case study as to guys like him and how they might be able to work.

GR: Yeah. You wrote on the Hockey IQ Newsletter, so I'm just going to reference it exactly. You mentioned, “Hutson shows off a number of strong defensive moments that highlight his style of blocking offensive zone exits, keeping opponents to the perimeter, and establishing body position on retrievals.” Three very translatable things to the NHL.

Note: one of my very first Lane Hutson gifsets was a sequence like this. He beat Robby Fabbri on a puck retrieval by gaining body position on him — this was from his 2 games with Montreal at the end of last season. I’m so glad the broadcast chose to highlight that play. He really is something special.

Yes, he's going to continue to grow and fill out, so he's got more progress [to make]. I mean, we talk about the deficiencies and my actual areas of worry [are] more around his skating base and feet and all that. But from a standpoint of, “Can you survive in the league?” The answer is yes.

Victor Mete would be the anti-example, I would say, where he didn't have the way of deploying the things that Hutson does. The brain wasn't there to the extent that Hutson was while being small — also a Habs draft pick, so track that one as well for those that want to nerd out.

There were some great quotes that Hutson had talking about his defensive game. I'm just going to read them out because I think they're so good, and then we can dive into the details here.

So from Hutson talking about defense, “I just think it's more about being in the right spot, being more skillful and knowing the game rather than just being a big frame. It's about making the right plays and the right reads.” 

And continuing on, [he’s talking about how he does that], he says, “Being able to get up in their face,” so having great gap control, “…without getting pulled out of position,” [as in] not overextending yourself, “Controlling my speed and my gap and my spacing around the inside of the ice to keep guys to the outside.”

He just keeps talking about the things we're talking about, which are playing the game with intentionality, playing it very smartly. Basically, the opposite of how Rasmus Ristolainen came into the league, which was like, “I'm a big body, I'm gonna go make things happen.” This is just more tactful.

It's not gonna scream at you — like you said, he's gonna have his moments — but from an overall standpoint, he's gonna drive positive results. He has a way of playing the game smartly, especially for his size, where it has to be a very intelligent game, where he can't make as many mental errors and be able to recover from it. He's shown so far we're off to an absolutely great, great start.

WS: Yeah, I mean, it's like a different side of the coin. I talk a lot on my show and with you about players who seize control of the ice when they're on the ice, but that doesn't necessarily mean physical play.

It's a lot of other stuff that happens, and I think Hutson's a really good example of what that means, and it’s everything you said. It's this understanding of the game, and this understanding of what your opponents are doing.

How to minimize… Really, it’s like, “I'm going to take control of this possession and I'm going to minimize their opportunity to do anything. As many things as they can possibly try, I'm going to minimize as much of it as I can.” 

And there's ways of doing that that aren't that physical style of play that you see out of defensemen that is unheralded, a lot of it just kind of flies off by the wayside. I think people look at a guy like Hutson and see the way he plays, and if you have a really strong [tactical and aggregate] understanding of what is going on when he's on the ice, both the offensive-good, but also the defensive-good, you see a lot of really interesting traits there.

Guys like him, I agree with you, that the skating base and the quickness and all of that, like it's not… He's not Quinn Hughes, right? That's not really his brand, so he has to think of other things and have an understanding of the game that can help patch that up.

And so, yeah, the things like gap control and guiding guys laterally and being a little more aggressive are definitely key areas of interest for me. Especially because earlier on in this series, we were talking about how much I love defensemen who can skate and how many doors it unlocks.

But if you're not an elite skater, which I don't think I would consider Lane Hutson an elite skater — at least defensively — you have to… It doesn't mean you're automatically not an option, it's just that the equation changes.

The things that you need out of that player shifts and you have to help guide them in the right direction so that they can use what they do have to the best of their ability while the rest sort of develops around them. It’s fascinating to me, it's a really, really interesting thing, and I love seeing guys like Lane Hutson figure it out and play the way that they do, because it just goes to show that you could, you know…

He's obviously special in a lot of ways, but it just goes to show that all kinds of different players have a place at the highest levels of hockey. It's just a matter of how you approach the game, how you see the ice, how you manage your behavior, and what you bring to the table.

GR: Yeah. I want to dive into some of these ways to play, starting with if you're playing it passively. So say we're just doing our normal two defensemen coming back; passive, letting the offense kind of have some space. First step needs to be inside.

You need to get inside ice, you need to get good positioning, you need to get within the dots, that's first and foremost. So, first step is inside. I've heard a few coaches call it lateral gap. For me, I just say you need to get inside positioning.

And really, if I take this to the football field, so American football, Canadian football, think about it as leverage. So either you have inside leverage or outside leverage. 

Note: this next section on inside/outside leverage was reaaally messy sentence-wise. I tried my best to clean it up and make sense of it. Whenever anyone says “inside” or “outside” in hockey they’re referring to areas of the ice defined by an imaginary line we draw through all the faceoff dots where the side closest to the boards is the outside and the side closest to the center of the ice is the inside.

Inside leverage means you're taking away the inside, that's where you are and you're giving the outside. Outside leverage is [when] you're on the outside, you're taking away the outside, the boundary, and you're giving away the inside.

Now, the question is, everyone's like, “Why wouldn't you always [want] inside leverage?” And that's the most common [way]. But when would you [want] outside leverage? When you have help on the inside; like, you're pushing them to a bad spot, into a teammate, into support, into someone who's there to help you.

But for the most part, we want to be starting with good leverage. Some coaches call it lateral gap, where we're taking that first step inside, getting inside the [faceoff] dots, and being able to passively let them have the bad ice.

We may not be in a great spot to finish the play [or] stop the movement yet, but we're going to put them in a bad spot where they're no longer an A-plus threat that we need to address immediately, like we're in deep doo-doo.

You can pokecheck out there, just don't extend yourself. The time that you finally get aggressive off of that pass [is], “Okay, I'm able to get this puck, I'm able to separate, I'm able to get position before possession, I'm able to cut it off, able to seal it off,” that kind of stuff.

When I'm developing my defensemen, that's what I'm talking about with them. Like, if you have to, if you’ve gotta play passive, just get inside leverage. Unless you have a good reason to play outside leverage, just let them have the wall until they overextend, whatever it may be, and give you an opportunity to seal it off.

Great example would just be good pokechecking. You're kind of like a cobra, you wait, wait, wait, and then boom, pounce! Rather than overextending.

Showing your stick early is another classic terrible example of something you don't want to do, or we call it declaring your stick. You declare where your stick is. You're overreaching stick on puck, because some coach told you to go stick on puck, and now you're reaching, you've lost good posture, good balance, good weight distribution. That's bad. 

We want to keep all of the good things, the posture, don't want to overextend, but just make sure we're positionally sound.

WS: Have you been watching me at beer league? Like is that what you've been doing here? Is that what the prep is for this show? Because I gotta take some notes for sure. But yeah, I agree fully.

I think playing passive defense is something that can work. Personally, I think that it's something that is not as successful as being a little bit more aggressive, which we'll get to in a second. But everything you said is, to me, bang on.

If you're gonna do it you do have to play a little bit more… I guess the word would be cerebral? A little bit more unpredictable and positionally aware.

Be aware of what's going on elsewhere on the ice. You gotta keep your head up and scanning in front of you, and really just try to force them into… Nothing. Force them into a situation where they go, “Well, crap, now I have to rim it around the corner, or dump it back to my defensemen and hope that they're there with a drop pass.” [Keep] them in a position where they're not getting inside space on you or getting the puck through you into scoring areas, whatever it takes to get that done.

I think handedness plays a part in this as well, depending on which hand your defenseman is and what hand the forward is. It just makes things like stickchecking both easier or more difficult depending on the situation.

There's all kinds of things to sort of keep in mind with more passive defenders. And it can work. I think a lot of NHL teams still deploy their defensemen a little more passive.

They go, “Yeah, here ya go. You can have the defensive zone, but we're not going to give you many options. We're not gonna give you so much space that you can pull the puck around us and get in deep with a carry or get around our defensemen with a carry.”

In my view, I think that it invites a lot of potential for really talented NHL players to do just that; sort of tuck the puck between your feet and the stick. Or drive, drop a shoulder, drive down low, and make a play. You see more and more of that in the NHL these days.

But… that doesn't mean it's everybody, and I think that there's still a place in the game for this kind of thing. It's just a matter of, do you have defensemen who are aware of their surroundings, aware of where their partner is, aware of where the other offensive players are, aware of their positioning? [Are they] staying within the dots, like you said, and just keeping options as low-risk as possible?

If you [are] aggressive you may suppress risk initially, but you may increase risk down the road, assuming things don't go your way, which again, in hockey definitely happens.

So it’s, again, it's all a balancing act. And that's kind of the thing I love about hockey, there's a lot of different ways to do stuff and they all have trade-offs.

GR: Yeah, I like how you put that. It may be low-risk now, but it could be high-risk later. Where do you want to start making your defensive plays? Is it in your own zone or is it higher up the ice? Modern day [defending] is finding ways to, as West Point says, be an active defender. When you're thinking about military doctrine, you're talking about keeping the initiative.

Note: West Point is a U.S. Military Academy. I honestly thought he was referencing a movie <3

Who has the initiative? It's super important. Even if you're playing defense and you're almost in a siege perspective or you're in a fixed position, you still need to be active so they can't have free maneuvering, [so] they don't have the freedom of setting up in a good spot to challenge you.

You still need to have a way to be active and find ways to keep the initiative in some way, shape or form, which will lead us directly into our other way of playing defense which is a little more aggressive, where we're talking about concepts like surfing.

So surfing [is like] angling [while] skating forward. My personal favorite, I call it the weak-side fold. So you‘ve got a weak-side defenseman, they're able to see the whole play. There's no real threat on their side, whether it be from a forward coming back or just no one's really there.

Note: Imagine the ice bisected through the middle of the goal posts. The side that the puck is on is considered strong-side, the side the puck is not on is considered weak-side. Strong-side and weak-side are relative to where the puck is! Diagram here

They've got good defensive positioning, they're able to go and skate and angle actively over to the strong-side to take out the puck carrier, [who] inevitably ends up chipping the puck right to the strong-side defenseman.

So, weak-side fold, boom, pull that over. That means that your strong-side defenseman needs to at least get inside the dots, just like they should anyways. If not, start going over to the weak-side in case that play does get made there, whether it be an area pass or whatnot.

Note: per Greg Revak: “An area pass can be defined as a tactic where the passer spots the puck into an area of the ice currently unoccupied but allows the receiver the space to skate to that area.”

So surfing would be the first concept I think we should dive into, [where] you're on the offensive blue line, you see the play starting up, rather than skating back and playing it passive, you're skating forward and going to attack the offense.

WS: I love it. I love seeing this deployed all over the place. If I were coaching a high-level team, that's how I would want to deploy the types of players that I would put on a team.

Again, I think a lot of the battle in hockey is understanding who you have on your team, what they can do, and putting them in a position to do what they're best at as much as possible. Not everybody is good at everything, but that's okay.

So for me, I look at guys and I go, well, the types of players that I like, this is kind of how they should be utilized. Be a little more aggressive.

I love the weak-side fold idea. I think it gives a little bit more of a sense of safety because you have that strong-side defensemen who can play that more traditional style between the dots, but you're utilizing their partner to cut across the ice and apply pressure.

And in my world, again, this is where skating [becomes important.] You have the opportunity to go, “Yeah, okay, the weak-side guy is coming over to the strong-side and you have two defensemen on one side of the ice.” That opens up a whole half of the ice where there might be a lot of space, but then I'm going, “Right, but that's what you have a really good skating center for, that's what you have a really intense 200-foot winger for!”

It's why, when I look in the draft, I see guys who are more offensive leaning… I say a lot; you don't get the chance to really produce offensively a whole lot if you don't chip in defensively, at least in my books.

And so when I see guys like Zach Benson, for example, who we talked about in a previous episode… [He’s] a guy who did not take a shift off, a guy who covered for defensemen, a guy who chipped in defensively as a winger, and brought a lot to the table, that allows him to push play up the ice and be part of that, and allows his defensemen to be a little more aggressive.

That style of play definitely resonates with me; the style of defenders that I always value, those really high-end skating guys that, regardless of their size, those stick-first, body-later type of defenders, I think it works for those types of guys.

I love seeing this kind of play personally. I'm a person who, I think, on the ice, with my strategy and my view of the game, I'm a lot more risk-tolerant than a lot of people. But I think it's because in this situation and in the data work I've done over the years, no matter which way you slice it, when it all comes out in the wash, generally being aggressive is a better approach than not — on paper.

Obviously, though, that depends on the types of players you have on your roster.

To me, this is exactly what I want to see out of the game, this is exactly the kind of strategy that I think is a modern development that really benefits a good type of hockey player that I love to see more of. So I'm all about it. I'll throw it back to you, but this stuff gets me going.

GR: I can already feel that the passion has risen in Will Scouch.

WS: Well, it's also after 9 a.m. now, so I'm good, yeah.

GR: Yeah, the other piece here is… I'll call it the strong-side surf. That's that inside, like, you're getting inside or starting inside positioning. So either [your] first step is inside or you're already starting inside the dots, and you're able to just surf very short.

Rather than a big weak-side fold, you're able to do a short surf into the player. Again, position before possession, feel free to take their head off if the opportunity presents it, but really, you can do this all over the ice.

And finding ways to defend skating forward is a good thing. I've yet to find the defenseman that skates better backwards than they do forwards. I don't know any player that does that. It's probably impossible, unless you're that bad of an offensive skater and you need to absolutely skate backwards to have any ability. [It’s] something that we should all try to find; more opportunities to skate forward to defend.

The other piece that I think is super important is finishing with contact and staying on the inside.

So, going back two episodes where we were talking about Rasmus Ristolainen, where he would finish with contact, or he'd try to finish contact — or even if he made it, he was the last guy getting up and the other player ended up on the inside.

If we do go stick-on-puck, we are doing position before possession — you still need to rub that player out, you still need to hit the player; have some level of contact where you're now jarring them, you're getting in the way, you're limiting their freedom of movement.

In which case, advantage [to] you and your team.

And then [we’re] making sure we're smartly staying on the inside where we've gotta win the race off the wall, where we've gotta continuously have inside leverage over the opponent.

That's a common mistake I see with guys, we just do stick-on-puck and that's it. 

Well, now the other team still has the opportunity to get a second crack at a puck, or they're still very fast to get to it. Rather than finishing it, sealing it off, [the defender has] to now restart their speed, restart their feet, all of that, where they're in a terrible, terrible position.

So making sure that, boom, you may have got [the hit, then maybe take] another step or two to ride [the attacker] into the wall. That's a step or two well taken.

WS: Yeah, no, I totally agree. I don't have any real notes to expand on that, to be honest. It's a multi-stage process defending like that, and [you] don't want to give your opponent too many opportunities, you don't want to overcommit.

I think, being a guy who's played defense my whole life I can attest skating forwards is a lot easier than skating backwards, and so if you can have defensemen who can defend by skating forwards, it's probably going to be easier for them, especially at the NHL level. So yeah, definitely something that I'll get behind fully regardless of the risk.

GR: Yeah. The last piece I want to touch on before we go into reading the pinch [is] around keeping clean feet. One of the best opportunities for a forward to change direction — and this is something that I've been toying around with and it's been absolutely great for my offensive production off the rush — is just reading the defenseman's feet.

One; I gotta figure out, “Okay, where's their stick? Are they declaring it or are they not?” And after that, “Can I get them to cross their feet? Or are they really good at shuffling [and] therefore, they're able to move wherever I move and be able to respond easily.”

So, as much as humanly possible, defensemen that are [defending] the rush should be shuffling, not crossing feet.

Basketball would be the prime example, they do a ton of drills on shuffling your feet. [It’s] similar here with defensemen, we’re making sure we're able to shuffle — so going back to our passive [concepts], now that I'm thinking about this further — making sure that we're not putting ourselves in bad positions to [defend] the rush.

So if you have anything on that, feel free to add. Otherwise, we'll go towards reading the pinch.

WS: No, I see what you're saying, I get it. I think that lateral motion is extremely, extremely important. And, again, I have no notes on that situation. I'm all about all of this stuff, I'm learning lots.

GR: Prime example of this, for anyone who wants to see Connor McDavid absolutely burn someone. This exact example of changing direction when the defenseman crosses their feet — like, just starts the crossover — would be Connor McDavid. The goal against Toronto where he just absolutely burned Morgan Rielly there.

It's so noticeable, you can't unsee it once you're looking at Rielly's feet. As soon as he makes that crossover movement, McDavid changes, boom! And he's behind him already. It's insane, so feel free to look that one up if you want to.

Note: I looked it up. Good lord. Here is the clip, and I gifed it:

The last piece here is reading the pinch. So this is maybe more of a team component, [of] seeing more than just your role. [As opposed to how] Rasmus Ristolainen, early in his career [would] just go for the pinch, destroy the guy because he could. Like, he's got him, but is that good for your team? Maybe not.

For me, you‘ve gotta look. Do you have help? Where's that help coming from? Is your team’s system to always have F3 high where it's almost like a left-wing lock in the offensive zone?

Note: here’s a fun article I archived on the left-wing lock if interested!

WS: I mean, that's the difference between a two or three-on-one coming your way, or a neutral zone stop.

I think that it highlights the importance of mobility, especially from your forwards, because if you have a center who is caught between the hash marks in scoring position and your defenseman goes for a pinch and misses, it certainly helps to have a guy who can really skate and help backcheck and help cover for that. It sort of mops up for what might be a mistake from the defenseman, or maybe the defenseman thinks they have the support from a better skater. But that absolutely is a big thing.

It goes back to hockey sense, or awareness; being aware of where your linemates are, being aware of,  “If I cause a turnover in this situation, who is probably going to have the puck at the end of this? Does this guy — who I'm about to hit 20 feet inside the blue line — does this guy have someone directly behind him, supporting him, who's just going to get the puck after I hit this guy? And then just toss it to a breakout option coming up the middle, and I'm caught a third of the way into the offensive zone.”

It's these little decisions, and in the NHL…. Again, I go back to my work doing stuff outside the NHL, but the NHL is fast. These things happen really, really, really quickly. If you're caught, you can be caught for a while.

It's about finding and identifying players who can, if they are doing that kind of thing, they are either really, really effective at it, or they cover their own butt really, really well, or they just play it a little more safe and a little more reserved, and it works out for them in that way.

But in terms of reading it, yeah, I mean, awareness is so, so important. Head on a swivel, peripheral vision-type things, it's all super important.

GR: I like your point about, who's going to get the puck once you do smoke this player? Or if you go for the contact…

WS: It might not be you, you know.

GR: It’s probably not going to be you. So who's it going to be? Like, do you have F3 support? Is there someone on the other team? Thinking is always a good thing.

I know everyone wants to read and react, but there is an opportunity and there's time and places where [you can think, you know?] Like, “Oh, okay. Should I go? Yay or nay?”

Or team rules, if you're a coach, “Hey, if you have F3, go for it. You think you can get it, go for it!”

Or just reading, I always like reading the winger. “Did they scan up ice? Do they even have an idea where I'm at? If they're looking directly back at the puck, [I’m] probably going to go.”

[If] their best option is like, “Oh, crap!” And when you go, “Oh, crap!” rarely do you make the best play possible. Often, it's a turnover.

WS: Yeah. And I think the point about having support — winger support makes a huge difference as well. I think it's a really interesting thing. I mean, all of this, this whole discussion about defensemen, it just goes to show why guys might take longer to develop, why guys might take longer to play more premier roles in the NHL, because there are so many little details.

They might have an area of the game that when they're 18, 19, 20, 21 years old, they hit the NHL and they're comfortable with it, right? That's totally fine. But then, they play game after game, after game, after game. And opponents start going, “Okay, well, here's the thing they're good at. So let's try to target blah, blah, blah…”

But the better that they can be at these little fine details of monitoring defensive rushes, pinching in the offensive zone and trying to pick the right timing on all of these things… Not trying to do everything themselves, but chipping in as much as they can in a positive way. It’s all really complicated and very on-the-fly, considering how fast all this happens in the NHL.

It’s thinking a little bit more beyond the thing that's right in front of your face, that I think is a huge thing that makes the difference between a guy who may be able to play in the NHL and a really good player at that level.

If you have that ability to read the ice, take a good survey of what's going on, not take on too much risk, but take on risk here and there when you see an opportunity to do so, I think you're laughing at this point.

GR: I think the key piece for me in what you mentioned was, you're reading the ice beyond what is directly in front of you. I think this may be just a maturity thing as well, but the more mature a person becomes, the better they are at surveying their surroundings. They take in more of the picture, they're not just hyper focused on, “This is my thing. This is what I do.”

[In life and in hockey], having a better picture of, “How does my little detail play into the bigger picture?” [That’s a big part of] reading the pinch and the thing I love that you brought out there. [We’ve got to] survey the ice and understand, “More than just my little piece, is there speed ripping? All this guy has to do is chip it and they're off on a two-on-one or a breakaway. Bad time to pinch.”

If you're not reading beyond the one player that you're trying to pinch on, [you’re] likely to make a bad decision there. That is super critical. Read the winger, read your support, read the whole play. How is it playing [into] everything?

Will, I think this has been a phenomenal series on defensemen. I feel like everyone should send this out to their favorite defensemen in the world, or just send this to your favorite NHL hopeful prospect, or just like anyone in the AHL. What’s their (inaudible)?

Anyone in player development at the NHL level should send this out to the defensemen. And if you're at any kind of level of player development, which is pretty much every other coach, yeah, send this out to your defensemen.

There's no way some of this information isn't one; going to get them thinking about “How do I play the game better?” [and] two; it's probably actionable items for them to go and work on in their own game.

WS: Yeah, I mean, I'm trying to find a way — as we talk about this and all these little subtleties of playing defense and all the things that kind of go undervalued — I'm trying to find a way to shoehorn Brad Hunt into this discussion but unfortunately I'm not sure I'm going to be able to.

I think he's just a really good example of a lot of these things going his way and seems like a beauty of a dude. And, I don't know, if Brad's a reader of this I want to have him on the show to talk about his experiences as an NHL player because I find him fascinating for a lot of the reasons we're talking about. 

It's just [he] might have been a little bit ahead of his time, but a lot of this good stuff is there with him. I don't know, it was the last thing on my mind before we call it a day.

GR: Beautiful. Alright, someone knows Brad Hunt — or, Brad, [if] you're out there, please reach out.

[END Transcript]

[wicked-science-source]

Wicked Science - The Truth Is Out There [2x17]

" It gets worse. Jack has the serum. "

[hermit-lover]

hi! just want to say that i absolutely adore your writing! always finds a way to have me latched on! o(*^▽^*)o🌺

not sure if you're taking requests right now, but may i ask for a ren x sheep hybrid!reader angst/fluff? he needs more love, especially with what's been recently going on with him irl..

just the two comforting each other; giving each other hugs, positive affirmations, all the cute fluff that i really need! (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ♡

feel free to discard this one if it feels a bit much.. no rush, of course!

remember to take care of yourself, eat and drink some water!💜

Reassurance

--------------

Character: Rendog x Sheep!Reader

Type: Blurb (~1.3k)

Theme: Romantic, Angst to Fluff

Summary: When the world gets to be too much, you can always find solace in each others arms.

T/Ws: Mentions of existential dread, negative events, sadness

A/N: Sorry this took me so long!! Ren does deserve more love :D

A shudder ran through your body, trying feebly to ward off the deep chill that crawled into your bones. Even with your fluffy wool, the strange cold that blanketed the sever seeped in. It been lonely recently, the other hermits busied with end-season projects. You however felt....pointless. You had nearly completed your mega base, but were in no state to do the detail work it deserved. Minigames made and played, hermit harassed...

You had nothing. Hollowness a gaping hole in your ambitions.

Well, not entirely.

A small bubble of bitter warmth built up in your chest as the thought of him slipped through. Charming smile, welcoming arms, and easy words. You missed him, but he too was feeling the end-season grind. Fluttering around his boat raceway, Rendog ignored you.

It probably wasn't his fault, the day a hermit doesn't accidentally overwork themselves is the day the earth stops turning!- You quickly shake away memories of a looming anxiety and a too-large moon. Settling instead into this paraylzing chill. The fluffy blanket- a gift from him- cradled you snugly. But it was as if your blood had turned cold. Heart to stone.

A buzz from your comm pulls you back to the dark room, soft ear twitching, screen lighting up with a notification. Hope and confusion muddles your fuzzy head. You grope for the metal box, dragging it towards you. It takes some heavy blinks in order for your pupils to adjust to the onslaught of light, but when they do- your eyes widen.

'Hey, need any help with any projects?'

...

After so long of neglect from Ren the message pulls a mixed reaction. Excitement, and anger. Your fingers dance across the keyboard without thinking.

'No. No need to bother.'

Its snarky, you know it, but your too damn tired to be polite.

'Are you sure? is everything okay? :(' His message pings back, almost instantly. You hold back a cringe, knowing somewhere deep within that lashing out is childish.

'Yes.'

Turning the comm over you stare into the dark abyss of your room. Void a welcome blanket. Covering you and hiding from the outside world. Eyes drifting shut, and you nearly pass out before a buzz jolts you. With a huff, you turn away from the intruding device, nuzzling futilely into the soft sheets. A few more buzzes pass before the pressing silence is back.

Faint birdcalls, the wind against the windows and trees outside, occasional rocket. It was soothing, but reminded you how the world goes on without you. Every hermit plunged into projects or Decked out. While your here.

Here.

Withering away pitifully. Holding back a sniffle you mourn. How did they have such endless energy? How did they deal with the increasing pressure upon their shoulders? How did Xisuma stay so ontop of everything and everyone? How was Tango constantly there for Decked out? How did Grian manage his own life games? How did-

A knock startles you. Snapping your jaw shut to hold back a bleat.

...

The stretch of uneasy silence that follows almost has you questioning if it even occurred. Maybe you were so desperate you were going mad-

"I know you're in there. If you don't want to answer that's alright I just- ...wanted to see you."

His tone is...soft. Sincere. Almost...tired. It stirs in your chest again.

...

You could never stay mad at him.

"Come in." You answer, voice scratchy from lack of use. You swallow, feeling the grit. It seems to take him a minute to realize you gave permission, but you can hear him shuffle and the door click open. It casts a rectangle of light into the dark room, His shadow outlined against the back wall. Ren stumbles inside, kicking off his shoes, and setting on the very corner of the bed. His weight makes it dip, and your heart skips a beat at having him close. Longing to untangle from the bed, and tangle into him, but pride holding you back. He smells of the cold and pine, yet the underlying scent of sweet musk and pumpkin pie like you remember. Ears twitching as he takes a deep breath, indicating your attention towards him.

"So..." Ren begins, surely picking at his cuticles like he does when he's nervous. He's almost never nervous, seeming so sure in all his actions. It hurts you to know he's hurting. Stupid empathy. "How are you doing, baby? I know its been a while since we've had time to hangout.." You huff, bitter amusement forcing a harsh smile.

"Since you've had time to hangout." you correct plainly, and he cringes.

"Right...I'm sorry, baby. I-" He takes an unsteady breath. "This isn't an excuse, but i've been having a really hard time mentally. With the raceway, some weird lingering vibeys from the king, Decked out, approaching the end of the season...It's all a lot. And I've been isolating myself and I know it." He's been having a hard time too...The realization chokes you up. He wasn't ignoring you, he was struggling, same as you. That idiot.

"Baby?-" You cut him off before he can ramble further, lunging from your blanket prison and into him, grappling and flopping backwards to pull him ontop of you. His warm skin sends goosebumps down your arms and a jolt up your spine. He allows himself to be pulled- or perhaps he was genuinely shocked. For a second he remains tense, but your soft hands and hair against him soothe away the nerves and he melts.

"You're an idiot." You scold affectionately, blunt nails drawing up and down his back. For the first time in a long time, warmth crawls beneath your skin. Heart melting from its icy prison. He grumbles, warm breath in your neck shivering pleasantly.

"I know." He relents, you make a noise of protest.

"But you're my idiot, my brilliant, adorable, amazing idiot." The words fall easy from your lips, he was truly a light in your life, and it was easy to tell him. The thumping of his tail against the plush bed brought a smile, you always found it adorable how his body betrayed him.

"Don't flatter me baby, I should be groveling to you" Ren shoots back, leaning back to meet your gaze. His eyes are like gemstones, glittering with affection, yet tinted by exhaustion. "You're wonderful, caring for me despite your own troubles. So talented in everything you put your mind towards, and you always look damn sexy doing it." He winks and you flush, hiding the embarrassed bleat with a cough. Laughing airily he leans, resting his forehead against your own. "We'll get through this slump together, alright baby?"

Humming in agreement you admire his features in the low light. Long eyelashes and quirked smile. What you wouldn't do for him.

"And, lets work on communication. Right?" You raise an eyebrow, sending a flush across his cheeks. "What? don't get sheepish on me now." You joke, a common slight towards you due to your fluffy heritage.

"No no of course not- thats your job." Ren agrees, basking in your faux annoyed eyeroll and small bleat.

"But seriously- together." You insist, smile sweet on your lips.

"Together." He agrees, he would vow himself to you a million times over, give up everything in his life should you need it, wait on your every need.

And you would do the same.

His lips are as soft as ever against your own, slightly chapped from the cold wind, but supple and plush. Ren kisses like it was the last kiss ever, pouring his heart into the connection. Sturdy, warm, caring.

Yours.

[batsplat]

just so you know bc I don’t think enough people tell you this but every time I check your blog (a bit compulsively at this point? your compilations and opinions are very enlightening on the general psychology of those crazy motherfuckers and also the uhhhhhhhh other part) and see that you answered another ask I honestly break into the hugest grin and settle down at the next given opportunity to read the newest batssay (batsplat essay) like it’s an academic paper (it is to us sports scholars, I believe)… please never feel the need to cut short your thoughts on any subject. the longer the better! connect all the dots, bat! we are listening!!

thank youuuuu this is so sweet, I know this ask is a little older but trust whenever I get something kind in my inbox I very much read and appreciate it and it very much makes my day. and I love the term batssay. a lot

so I thought it'd be fun to do a follow up post to the casey/jorge/valentino one where I just dumped a bunch of photos with a wee bit of context... for the culture, y'know. and I'm doing this with just casey/valentino, mostly for 2007-09 but with one 2005 photo chucked in as. build-up. for flavour

we know from the #archives that the two of them did have like. a reasonably warm dynamic pre-casey's motogp debut. they'd talked... also at least one race where casey shows up to valentino's podium and chats to vale's crew chief and fellow aussie jb... I think about it often. what did it all mean

casey's first win!!! qatar 2007, very first race with ducati. he'd gotten very close to a win before - in his third ever premier class race at turkey, lost at the final chicane. casey's goals going into that first season with ducat had just been winning a few races... he notes that valentino congratulates him warmly, but reckons it's just because valentino didn't take him seriously as a threat, which. I don't think that quite stacks up with supplementary evidence from the time, but we'll allow it

one of my fave photos for a reason, idc it's sweet. I was trying to figure out when this photo was from through like, normal means of reverse image search, but then instead I had a horrifying moment of 'oh yeah I'm pretty sure I remember that specific presser backdrop is at mugello that year' and. I was right. which. god. anyway yeah mugello 2007 pre-event presser. by this point casey was 21 points clear in the championship standings

more mugello 2007!!! look at casey constantly sipping from his lil cup. this will have been after qualifying, where casey snagged pole. I'd forgotten valentino actually makes front row in qualifying because he makes a typically horrendous start. I'd also forgotten that this race is like. proper good. one of the best that year. slows down eventually but the first ten or so laps are some of the most exciting of the entire alien era

catalunya 2007, which unfortunately I also dated solely through the presser backdrop. idk I just like the vibes of this photo. anyway!! this race is ofc the one where casey won an all timer late race duel against valentino (+ dani). it is after this race that valentino said casey was, and I quote "riding like a god". a seminal moment

the championship is already extremely over by the time they get to estoril, but casey still needs to formally wrap it up: this is his first match point race. depicted here is valentino getting one of his few Ws that season. an account of this event: “valentino was playing table football in the yamaha hospitality and somebody spotted casey outside. so they invited him for a challenge. it was all good fun”

motegi 2007. valentino had managed to put off the inevitable the race before and temporarily stopped casey from sealing the title, taking his last win of the season (cool duel with dani in that one). but motegi... well honestly it's just a bit of a flop all round, nobody's bike is working the way they want it to, casey seals the title with his worst result all season of a sixth place (the horror) and in his autobiography he was kinda like 'well I was very happy but also. meh race' (I paraphrase). but really, who cares, he had his title

bit of a time skip!! after both of them have put their sketch early 2008's behind them, the pair of them had a proper fun fight at catalunya for p2. a continuation of the battle the year before with valentino once again coming from lower down the field, this time he gets the better of casey. still, things are finally looking up at ducati... and the post-catalunya test might be enough to put casey right back in title contention. the above photo is from donington, where casey confirms the progress ducati made by winning his first race of the season after the opener in qatar

still donington, both of them watching each other etc etc. valentino is in a much better place than the year before, given both casey's rough start to the season and how they're both now on the same tyres. but it's not a good sign if casey's hitting his stride... at assen, valentino makes his one mistake of the year and crashes on the first lap, remounting to finish eleventh (he still beats casey's teammate melandri). this puts dani in the championship lead - and with casey's second win in a row, he is now very much closing in

look at them chatting here!! cute imo. this is casey's third win in a row, at the rainy sachsenring. dani crashes out from a few miles in the lead - while casey had stayed sensible and brings it home for a pretty straightforward victory. valentino needed to fight his way through from further down the field and in the end he loses too much time to put any serious pressure on casey, but it's still damage limitation and he retakes the championship lead from dani (who will miss the next race due to an injury sustained in the crash). and yet, momentum really is firmly on casey's side now... and the rest of the calendar does looks like pretty casey-friendly territory. next up, they're headed to a race track where casey had won very comfortably the year before. would he seal his fourth consecutive win at laguna?

now with my sincere apologies to casey stoner, every photo that came out of laguna 2008 is objectively pretty funny. I have limited myself to a mere two podium photos, but lbr there's a full collection. casey had already rejected valentino's handshake in parc fermé - which some might have taken as a social cue to give him some space. whereas valentino, local dickhead, just will not stop yapping at casey on the podium. this is quite possibly as genuinely delighted as he gets after a race, and it's simply a beautiful contrast with casey who is not quite rude enough to actually tell valentino to shut the fuck up - but may be fantasising about pushing valentino off the podium. this, to me. is art

gather around body language experts, we need to have a conversation. this is at the pre-event presser of the race immediately after laguna, aka brno. by this point, casey's less than flattering remarks about valentino's riding at laguna had already been distributed near and far... everyone's been talking about them, people have Opinions. the captions for these photos are all something along the lines of 'stoner extends olive branch to rossi to apologise for his post-race comments after losing laguna'. now, I don't know if he literally is apologising in these actual photos - though of course he did publicly walk back his comments, saying all riders can react badly to losses and that he'd overreacted when he'd said he'd lost respect for valentino. he has since walked back his walking back, doubling down on his criticisms of valentino's comportment at laguna

still, for all the talk that the feud properly started after laguna, it's kind of fun to have the presser immediately after it showing... well, it does look like casey is actively engaging valentino in conversation, right? whether he's apologising or not - this isn't just valentino yapping at him, if anything it's the reverse. laguna had been right before the summer break, so casey had been given a month to cool off... and also be viciously criticised by the press. brutal, isn't it? it's not just the loss that sucks, it's also being excoriated by the press and fans for having the audacity to get mad over it. is all of this just him being forced into pretending to play nice to get the press to leave him alone? were there any genuine regrets over his laguna comments? what ARE the vibes between them like at this time? what story do these photos tell us

casey went on to crash out of this race from the lead, the first time he had done so in the premier class and his first dnf with ducati after their one and a half seasons together. when he crashed, he'd had a fairly comfortable lead over valentino - though valentino was steadily closing in, and the commentators were already rubbing their hands in anticipation of another laguna

the next race is at misano - and casey is struggling with an old hand injury, see the bandages in the photo. the previous year had been the first time valentino had gotten the chance to race at this circuit, so close to his home... but he'd suffered a mechanical dnf, not his first or last in a frustrating season. this year, everything is different - and casey once again crashes out of the lead as valentino takes victory in front of his worshipful home fans

another trip to america, this time for indy: their first time racing at the track. after the double whammy of brno and misano, casey's title charge is essentially over... but you never know, right? indy kinda gives off the vibe of being a good casey track

in the end, the race is extremely wet and very, very windy and is eventually red-flagged. because of how many laps they still have to go, it is initially unclear whether they would restart... at which point first valentino (who was leading), then casey (in fourth) go to dorna ceo ezpeleta to tell him they have less than zero interest in going out in that weather again. a beautiful moment of solidarity - long live the power of unionising, capable of overcoming even the bitterest of feuds. blast the internationale over the footage, I've seen enough. the race is called off and valentino wins his fourth consecutive race

by the time they get to phillip island, valentino has already won the title, courtesy of his fifth consecutive win at motegi - the same circuit casey had won the title at the year before and the home race of valentino's old enemies at honda. a couple of nice photos of jorge congratulating his teammate and casey spraying vale with champagne here. casey, known phillip island goat, would of course finally end valentino's win streak at that circuit, which is where the photos are from. idk they're fun to me, like this is still not that long after laguna. I'm aware being able to chat normally with your coworkers and share a smile with them isn't normally that high a bar, but canonically valentino has been known to completely blank some of his rivals. it's not like casey is particularly cold towards valentino either, eh

case in point. this is from sepang 2008. #TheEstablishment does not want you to know casey and valentino canonically still regularly yapped in pressers post laguna. they won't silence me. sepang was valentino's last win of this season, after a good scrap with dani - and the season is rounded off with a casey victory at valencia

jerez 2009, where valentino gets past casey with a block pass at the final corner on his way to victory. unlike in 2005, he actually manages to not barrel into his rival. this is just a fantastic photo... I don't even have much to say about it. a+ vibes

a lot of the photos from this season were already included in the jorge/valentino/casey post, which reflects how casey wasn't consistently a factor in the same way the other two were. this one's from assen, the race right after catalunya when all three of them were tied on 106 points. very good side eye here, excellent job casey. unfortunately, casey is now in mystery illness territory - and he can't really compete with the two frontrunners in this stretch of the season

this is the first race after casey's return to competition - valentino goes up to casey after qualifying at estoril to congratulate him for his front row grid position. casey would win an early race scrap with valentino in the race itself, eventually finishing second behind jorge and swiftly silencing all the people who had declared him mentally weak and done for in his absence. a race that brought back suspense to that year's championship

phillip island 2009, another important moment in the canon where I've limited myself to just the one photo. casey wins just his second race back - and he also hugs vale pretty warmly in parc fermé. jorge was kind enough to crash in the opening lap, meaning valentino can very much be pleased with a second place here

and at sepang, valentino seals the title, while casey wins another race. casey ended up crashing in the warm-up lap of valencia, apparently due to an issue with the tyre warming? just kinda... the general vibe of his 2009, really. valentino closes off the season with another podium at his least favourite track, while dani takes the win

anyway after that they spent three years getting into increasingly. dumb arguments. like. so dumb. by the end of 2012 you feel you're killing your brain cells by even engaging with this stuff. it's beyond undignified. there's zero competitive justification, but they just couldn't shut up about each other. that being said, they're still capable of doing a small talk with each other even during the dark years, so that's something. maybe one day they'll finally be able to get that dinner and talk about all the good times

[vibingncrying]

Hear me out, hear me out:

LCF/TCF Miraculous AU

Warning: a bit of yapping

So, first of, I think it's important to mention that they wouldn't be highschoolers or whatever they are in miraculous ladybug but older

And some things are changed for convenience

Okay, with that out of the way-

Backstory stuff:

The Thames family was in charge of holding and taking care of the miraculouses but then, Jour Thames, the last active member of the family line died in 'an accident'.

She left behind a box of possessions for her twin sons (og Cale and krs Cale - idk, name them whatever) to find. The boys did not know about this until they already became young adults.

At that point their father, Deruth Henituse, had already remarried and so they were living together with Violan, Basen and Lily too.

In the box they found a bunch of odd trinkets. When krs Cale tried on a black ribbon, suddenly a small black dragon appeared before their eyes. They later went on to call him Raon Miru. He was a so called 'kwami'.

Og Cale choose a bracelet, that had the kwami that make you able to reverse time a couple minutes, the snake one. Also put on a collar necklace that happens to be the dog miraculous.

So,both of them end up with kwamis. They try out all of them eventually for research purposes. Though, their first reaction might have been locking away that box very very well and ignoring it for quite some time after. Well, until someone showed up to wreak havock in the land and their lives. Yup, the white star and arm.

Basen and Lily don't get miraculouses because they're underage. Same with Ohn and Hong after they get adopted into the family.

They all become aware of the miraculouses or just generally the kwamis in one way or another though. Deruth doesn't know, just sees that something has changed. Violan suspects what's up but won't mention it unless necessary. Ron would know, Beacrox would first suspect but then get confirmation looking at his father.

There are times when they (who am I kidding it's mostly just krs Cale-) ends up putting on multiple miraculouses at once, resulting in 7+ voices talking to him. Og Cale usually wears two from the get go.

The twins gather together multiple people to fight alongside them against the ws and his forces. Sometimes they give out miraculouses to others for extra help, usually temporarily. There are also some people who have miraculouses of their own from the start and also some who live in different countries/cities and use miraculouses.

Another important thing, they wouldn't make it a big thing hiding their identity from their allies. If they trust them they'll tell them, if they don't trust them enough, they won't. Or if they feel like it's irrelevant to know/ would cause danger to the other or themselves.

Ideas for miraculouses or kwamis and characters:

KRS Cale:

-> as I said before, no, he would not have the ladybug one, at least definitely not as his main one

-> he would have the dragon miraculous (wind, water, lightning)

-> the kwami would most likely be Raon himself

-> the form of the miraculous would be a black ribbon he uses to tie his hair up with because I think it would fit

-> he often uses multiple miraculouses despite it not being the best for his body and general health

OG Cale:

-> he would have the snake miraculous because I heard that can rewind time a couple of minutes, it's a bracelet

-> can be changed into a different animal for plot conveniences

-> he'd also have the dog miraculous (teleports to you items you marked)

-> I got that off off the wiki btw, I only watched like first two seasons of miraculous so don't come after me if that's not what the snake/doggo does

-> also, it's an au so who cares about accuracy

-> he's most likely the one keeping the box safe with the other miraculouses so Krs Cale doesn't use too much at once

-> he could also have the ladybug one if you want, one of the Cales shall get it

Alberu:

-> fox miraculous (illusions), it's a necklace, a necklace that he got from his late mother, dun dun dunnnn

-> he was told by her what it does, how it works but only on a basic level

-> it brought him great comfort to have something to remember her by

-> Tasha knows about it and helps, supports him to the best of her abilities, Zed is also aware of it but doesn't mention it nor does he show to care all that much

Choi han:

-> I'm aware that he's literally the human version of both a puppy and a guard dog, but he'd have the cat miraculous (destruction)

-> here it wouldn't be a ring probably but either a cape or a belt, some article of clothing I think

the shamans/illusionists would all have one (Gashan, Jopis, Elisneh, ...)

Cale Barrow:

-> yes I'm using the full government name out of sheer spite, his villain name is the White Star

-> he'd have the butterfly one (transformation), does a little evil laugh every couple episodes but ends up coughing at the end of each attempt ha

Dorph and Sayeru:

-> a lion and bear one, I know, very unexpected (the miraculouses might do something different than in canon)

-> they both got it from the ws

Other people that would have miraculouses but I'm not sure what:

Bud and Glenn:

-> they would not even be in the same city or county as them at all, but!! If I can give my guys a miraculous, then I'm gonna

Jack and Hannah:

-> they would also be in a different city/country

-> Jack would have a healing one while Hannah has two different ones she uses together

Eruhaben:

-> he would be a retired hero/vigilante

-> would be if not for the ws hanging around

Cage:

-> she had a miraculous since she was little (7 years old or so) and the kwami is none other than GoD because I find that ridiculously funny

-> can be other too tho xdd

Mary:

-> I'm not sure... Bones??

Rosalyn:

-> something something probably fire powers

Witira:

-> something something probably water powers

-> my creative juices are used up, okay, it's showing I know

Now, those who get miraculouses but are not full time owners:

Lock:

-> if there's a wolf one, then he'd get that

Ohn and Hong:

-> yes, despite being not of age yet, they sometimes get to use some miraculouses

-> if it happened once, it happened multiple times after much to the Cales exasperation

So,

This all I have for now but I might think up more for it later because I find it interesting

You can expand on it if you'd like, this is just an idea I had

You're more than welcome to adopt this into a fic, please send me a link if you do though so I can read it and please mention me somewhere :D

But yup

[afreakingdork]

I'm sorry about your wrist, hope you get better soon! Take a break if that's what you need!!!

And also yes, truly heartbreaking my (our) husband murdered both our girl and with her our ship. I get it, but DAMN

It would've been something!!

I guess?

How would've it been to have been to have AENEM Kendra and WS/SP Donnie interact? Or AENEM Kendra and reader?

With reader I believe they could get along sort of well, I mean, yeah, why not? Conversation could tackle a few awkwardness down, find a middle ground on something.

With Donnie?

I believe they'd have a small rivalry but like, nothing they would indulge too much in. Mutual understanding, perhaps? I mean,

The possibilities 🤌🤌🤌

Tho I can't shake the feeling Donatello would look down at Kendra for letting herself get imprisoned, lol. That just speaks how 'sloppy' her work was.

I'm just rambling

- That one anon that still gets insecure with their wording. English is complicated

Wah!! Thank you!!! I'm hoping 3 days does the trick because I refuse to lose writing time this weekend!! 😤

ALSO YOU KNOW JUST HOW TO SPEAK MY LOVE LANGUAGE INGENIOUS ANON!! (I WILL BOOST YOU UNTIL YOUR CONFIDENCE IS AS HIGH AS THE ONE I HAVE IN YOU!!!) I'M FEELING BETTER ALREADY BECAUSE KENKEY!!!! 💞💞💞

It's hard because both AENEM and WS/SS are canon compliant to an extent, obviously WS/SS are divergent while AENEM picks up after canon, but they sequences overlap for the show progress. WS/SS Donnie killed Kendra when she first tried to take his tech to make a show of her. If WS/SS Donnie was in the AENEM universe, he would have done the same thing if she got anywhere near him.

SO LET'S CHANGE IT UP!! I BELIEVE KENKEY CAN HAPPEN ANY NUMBER OF WAYS!! 💖💖💖

So the only way for Kendra to survive is to not fuck with Donnie. Purple Jacket didn't happen the same way in WS/SS because Donnie did the Nakamura job while the Purple Dragons were still planning it. That's how she finds out about him and hatches the stealing tech plan. Instead of luring him with bugged clothes, they just bug his apartment while he's out because he was still new and getting his footing in the human world at the time.

Let's move up the timeline! Donnie hits Nakamura before and the Purple Dragons aren't aware of him. Nakamura has already beefed up security and thus the Purple Dragons go for smaller potatoes. Without a foil like Donnie, they probably succeed and become mainstays in the tech world eventually because heist style villainy only takes you so far when the tech sector basically relies on stolen data, patents, and the like.

The probably go legitimate and found their own company. Lined pockets and the world as their oyster I can see Jase and Jeremy becoming two different kinds of complacent. Jeremy likes the work and doesn't wanna take management seriously because he loves what he does. Jase flourishes in a board positions because he gets a power rush he's otherwise been denied. Then, there's Kendra. Our girlie surely wouldn't have enough even cornering her own market and then out of nowhere Genius Built suddenly exists. How can I company that has had no trace suddenly be their biggest competitor? Kendra's furious and wants to take it down, but finds layers of red tape and nonsense. For her probing and hunger, Donnie finds it too tedious to kill her outright, so he takes everything from her in one swift buy out that no one else at Dragon Tech (I bet I could think of a better name) can refuse.

There's Kendra, her company suddenly gone with her and she's totally disillusioned. She basically has no say as she's been the one put in some holdover position unless she retires and starts again. She could, but that was her company, but by bureaucracy, there's no feasible way to get it back. She's disillusioned and has nothing to do (think Ton in season 4 of Aggretsuko where he's shoved off to that little office without real work). She ends up skipping days and bumming around town. She's got more money than anyone ever needs and was wiped out by a ghost. She's sulking in bottomless mimosas one day when she hears someone talking mad shit. We know a certain someone does brunch and AHH I CAN'T SAY MORE BECAUSE SPOILERS!!!!!

ALSO MAYBE I SHOULDN'T HAVE WRITTEN ALL THIS. I MEAN I AM WEARING A SPLINT BUT IM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE TYPING BUT HOW CAN I NOT WITH A PROMPT THIS GOOD!!!

Thank you so much for this!!! I hoped you like it and I have a million more kenkey meet cutes because I wuv them!

[fellthemarvelous]

Okay, people freaking out that CX-2 hasn't been revealed yet because the finale is going to be too late for anything to happen if it's Tech, but like, have y'all seen The Winter Soldier? Like yeah WS was revealed to be Bucky but he didn't just get over 60+ years of torture and brainwashing and immediately jump back into the fray of the good guys. He saved Steve at the very end of the movie and then made himself disappear. We never saw him join the heroes until the third Cap movie came out.

The way I see it, the CX-2 reveal happening at the very end indicates another story yet to come. We don't know how many clones have been subjected to Hemlock's torture and experimentation or for how long. Their identities are erased and the very first CX clone Captain Rex caught referred to himself as a Believer before chomping down on his electric suicide pill implant. And for some reason, that clone was immediately able to recognize him as Captain Rex.

If there's one thing that would cause an uprising, it's the clones finding out that their brothers have been sent to Hemlock for reprogramming since the Clone Wars and that's a really horrific revelation they'll have to contend with on top of the fact that all of it is already horrific to begin with. I'm pretty sure that's where they would have sent Fives if Azi hadn't told him that he heard Fives was going to be reprogrammed and his memory erased.

How many clones believed to be dead were actually being experimented on by Hemlock? There's a lot to explore there, but this is a series about the Bad Batch. We were introduced to our first CX assassin in season 2, and then we met two more this season. One who is probably Tech.

And a reveal in the series finale probably means the story is going to continue elsewhere with Captain Rex and the other clones fighting for their rights as autonomous beings in a galaxy where they have zero clone representation in the Galactic Senate. They're still property of the Empire at this point.

Maybe it's the optimist in me, but I'm not going to throw my hands up in the air and assume that the team just tricked us into thinking it was Tech so they could retain viewers. He "died" at the end of the second season in a three act series about Clone Force 99.